#you’ll never know and i’ll never tell >:)

[theonottsbxtch]

MISS YOU BABY | MV1

an: i need a hug from max verstappen stat, based off this request! thank you for sending it :)

summary: max thought his girlfriend was missing his final race during his triple header, little did he know she'd planned to come and visit all along.

wc 3.6k

The hotel room she was in was quiet.

She sat cross-legged on the bed in a dark hotel room that mirrored his, only three floors below, making sure he couldn’t see her surroundings. Her phone was propped up against a pillow, and Max’s face filled the screen, his hair still damp from the shower, tousled and messy. He looked worn-out but managed a small, tired smile just for her.

"I’m sorry, Max. I really tried to get time off, but there was just… no way," she said, the fib slipping from her lips with surprising ease. "I wanted to be there with you. Especially now."

Max exhaled, leaning back against his headboard. “I know. It’s alright.” His voice softened. “I just miss you, is all. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she could reach through the screen and wrap her arms around him. "You’ll get through it, though. You always do."

"Doesn’t feel that way." He laughed, but it was brittle around the edges. “I feel like I’m letting everyone down. The team, the fans… you.” His eyes searched the screen, as if he might find a solution hidden somewhere in her gaze.

"Never me." She leaned closer, her face so near to the camera that she could see her reflection in his eyes. "I’m so proud of you, Max. Always. No matter what."

For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression softening, and the tension she’d seen in his face for days seemed to melt, just a little. "I wish you were here," he murmured. "I swear, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes."

She swallowed, feeling her heart pull toward him with a force that was hard to resist. "Soon, I’ll be back with you. Just… hold on a bit longer, okay?”

She gazed at his face on the screen, her heart swelling as she watched the way his eyes softened every time he looked at her. She knew he was tired and worn down, but in this moment, he looked at peace.

"I love you, Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, and when he opened them again, there was a warmth there that seemed to cut through the miles between them. "I love you, too," he replied, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than you know."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks flush, and nodded. "Get some sleep, alright? Big day tomorrow."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah. You, too. Dream about me, okay?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart skipped all the same. "Always. Goodnight, Max."

"Goodnight, love."

With a final smile, she ended the call, letting the screen go dark as she leaned back into the pillows, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She’d hardly been able to sleep on the plane ride here, and she could already tell tonight would be the same.

Still, the thought of finally seeing him in person tomorrow kept her too giddy to care. She’d surprise him at the track, slipping through the garage just as he arrived, or maybe even at breakfast if she could manage it without spoiling the surprise. Her mind spun with ideas, each more elaborate than the last, but all she really wanted was to see his face light up when he realised she was there.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she let her eyes drift closed, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, savouring the thought of his reaction. She loved him fiercely, and she knew that being here—no matter how much of a secret she’d had to make it—was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As she finally began to drift off, her last thought was simple but bright, shining like a promise: Tomorrow, he’ll know.

And while she was glad she held onto the secret.

The following morning she wished she’d told him earlier.

She woke to the faint glow of her phone on the nightstand, her morning alarm. Blinking herself awake, she squinted at the screen and saw Max’s name, followed by the time—5:02 a.m.

Heading to the track early today. Miss you already, wish you were here.

She smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. But then her heart sank a little. She’d been hoping to catch him in the hotel this morning, maybe surprise him over breakfast. Now, with him already gone, she'd have to adjust her plans.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and went to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in thick, heavy drops, and the sky was a murky grey. The weather was only supposed to get worse throughout the day; she knew that’d make things complicated, especially for an outdoor track. She had no clue if her surprise would even be worth the stress of navigating the drenched, crowded paddock.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she reached the name she wanted. She dialled, and after a few rings, Max’s assistant, Sophie, picked up.

“Hey!” Sophie greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What’s up? Did you make it in?”

“Yes, I’m here!” she whispered, unable to contain her excitement. “I wanted to surprise him before he heads out on track, but with this rain… do you think I should even bother?”

Sophie sighed sympathetically. “Honestly, it’s a mess out here. They’re saying the rain’s going to be even heavier by the time qualifying starts. He’ll be in back-to-back meetings until then, and I’d hate for you to sit in the rain, just to get a few minutes with him.”

She nodded, glancing out the window at the sheets of rain. “So you think I should wait?”

“I’d say hold off until right before the race,” Sophie replied. “He’ll have a short break, and I think he’d love the surprise then. Plus, everyone’s less frantic between qualifying and race prep.”

“Good point,” she agreed, a little disappointed but knowing Sophie was right. The track on a rainy race day was chaos, and if she could avoid it until the right moment, she’d have a better chance of actually spending time with him. “Thanks, Sophie. Let me know if anything changes?”

“Will do! He’ll be so happy to see you,” Sophie said warmly. “Hang tight, okay?”

As she hung up, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement, knowing the surprise would be even more perfect with the wait. So she ordered herself a coffee, sat by the window, and watched the rain pour down, imagining the look on Max’s face when he’d finally see her just before the most important race of the weekend.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time she arrived at the track, the skies dark and moody, the air thick with humidity. She’d navigated her way through security and weaving lines of drenched fans, her heart racing as she got closer to Max’s garage. But by the time she finally made it, he was already in the car, helmet on, visor down, his focus entirely on the track ahead.

Her heart sank a little as she scanned the bustling garage, hoping for some last chance to catch his eye. But he was already strapped in, a crew member leaning in to give him a final check before he rolled out. She spotted Sophie in the corner, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and made her way over to her.

“Hey,” she whispered, feeling the dampness of the rain still clinging to her hair and clothes. “I… I just missed him, didn’t I?”

Sophie looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, he was swamped the moment he got here. They barely had time to get him settled with all the delays.” She gestured to the grid display above them, where Max’s name glowed beside the stark “P17” position. “Rough start, but he’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

She nodded, feeling a pang as she glanced at his car just as it rumbled to life. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, even from a distance she could see the tension there. She let out a breath, feeling a swell of pride and worry all at once. “Well, I’ll be here watching, then.”

Sophie handed her a headset, which she slipped on just in time to hear his engineer’s voice crackle through with the first instructions as they prepared for the start. The rain was relentless, turning the track into a slick, treacherous maze, and she felt her stomach twist as the cars peeled out onto the track for the formation lap. Max’s car trailed near the back, but she knew he’d fight, as he always did, with a ferocity she both admired and feared in moments like this.

The race began, a chaotic blur of spray and metal, the cars kicking up rooster tails of water, visibility nearly zero as they fought for position. She gripped the edge of her seat as the laps ticked by, heart pounding with every close call. It quickly became clear that the conditions were only worsening, drivers struggling to keep their cars on track, a few even skidding off into barriers with loud, bone-jarring crashes. Her hands tightened around the headset as Max navigate his way forward, battling his way to P10, then P6.

And then, just when the tension seemed to reach its peak, there was a deafening crash, followed by a sudden hush as the red flag went up, halting the race.

Her breath caught in her throat. The screen above replayed the incident—a skidding into the barrier that had caused an emergency stop. The seconds felt like hours as she waited, desperately searching for a glimpse of his car on the feed. Finally, there it was, intact, safe. Relief flooded her, and she felt her shoulders sag.

The race restarted after the delay, and she watched in awe as Max took advantage of the reshuffled positions and tire changes, surging forward with a newfound intensity. Lap by lap, he clawed his way through the field, passing car after car with a precision that made her heart race. It was as if he’d transformed, harnessing every ounce of his frustration from the last few races, channelling it into something extraordinary.

The garage erupted in cheers as he moved into P3, then P1. She stared at the screen, hardly daring to blink, her heart racing as he crossed the finish line in first place, drenched in rain and glory.

She could hardly believe it. From P17 to P1. He’d done it.

Forgetting herself, she laughed, a sound of pure joy, her heart swelling as she watched him slow down, the victory finally sinking in. She couldn't wait to see his face when he finally realised she was here, to be the first person he’d see when he stepped out of that car, soaked and grinning, finally at the top.

Ripping her headset off, she followed the crew as they ran out to parc fermé, her heart racing as fast as the roar of the crowd. The team, buzzing with excitement, parted slightly as she joined them, nudging her to the front so she’d be the first face he saw. She could barely breathe as she caught sight of Max’s car, now still, the rain glistening on its blue-and-red bodywork.

With all the force he had he climbed out, pulling off his helmet to reveal damp, messy hair and a face lit up with exhilaration and disbelief. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the shouts of the crowd and the blinding flashes of cameras. And then, his gaze landed on her.

His eyes widened, his exhaustion and surprise giving way to pure joy. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, crossing the slick tarmac with the kind of speed and determination that made her heart leap. She barely had a second to react before he wrapped her in his arms, his lips crashing against hers as he pulled her close, his hands pressed firmly against her back, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

“You came,” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his face filled with awe and happiness.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.

He smiled, a bright, unguarded smile that melted her heart. “God, I needed this. I needed you.”

And then he kissed her again, a kiss filled with all the missed moments and the words they hadn’t been able to say, the thrill of his victory mingling with the fierce love they shared. She felt the rain soak through her clothes, the crowd and the noise around them fading as they held each other, his arms wrapping around her as if he could protect her from the rest of the world.

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered against her lips, his forehead resting against hers, his hand gently brushing her cheek. “P1. And you’re here.”

She laughed softly, her eyes shining. “You deserve it, Max. I knew you could do it.”

He held her close, a triumphant laugh bubbling from his chest as he buried his face in her neck, and they stood there in the pouring rain, lost in each other, savouring the victory and this long-awaited moment they both knew they’d never forget.

As the noise of the cheering crew and fans started to swell around them, Max pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across her cheek, his gaze lingering on her face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I have to go,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “The interviews, cool-down room, podium… but wait for me? I’ll meet you in my driver’s room as soon as I can.”

She nodded, understanding but already missing the warmth of his arms. “I’ll be waiting. Go,” she whispered, giving him a small smile. “Enjoy every second—you deserve it.”

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her forehead, then turned and jogged off to join the waiting crew, helmet in hand, while she stayed rooted to her spot, watching him disappear into the crowd. Her heart swelled with pride as she trailed after the team to watch his interviews, his beaming, breathless face glowing with pride and energy as he spoke about the gruelling conditions and the unbelievable climb from P17 to P1.

Then came the cool-down room, where she watched from the sidelines as he bantered with the other drivers, sharing exhausted smiles and congratulatory claps on the back, the weight of his achievement settling in as he finally let himself relax a little. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling as though she could burst with joy just watching him, his eyes sparking with energy even as he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.

And finally, the podium. She felt the crowd’s excitement echo through her as she looked up to see him standing tall, drenched from head to toe, a bottle of champagne in hand. When he raised it in victory, the crowd erupted, and she joined them, cheering at the top of her lungs as he sprayed champagne with abandon, laughing as he celebrated with the other drivers. His eyes swept over the crowd, and when they found hers, he gave a subtle nod, a silent promise that he’d be back with her soon.

After the podium, she made her way to his driver’s room, her heart fluttering as she paced the small space, the thrill of the day lingering in every fibre of her being. And then, finally, the door swung open, and there he was.

He looked completely worn out, his hair still damp and messy, his fireproof undersuit clinging to his skin. But his smile was bright, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

Without a word, he crossed the room, pulling her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a soft, exhausted kiss. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held her close, the adrenaline and joy from his victory radiating between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispered against her ear, his voice low and hoarse. “Winning today… and having you here with me. It’s everything.”

She brushed a strand of damp hair from his face, smiling as she traced her fingers along his cheek. “You did it, Max. I’m so proud of you.”

He took her hand, pressing it to his heart, his eyes never leaving hers. “None of it would mean anything without you,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

She felt her eyes sting with tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his words. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always be here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world slipping away. He stroked her hair, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, as if savouring each moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally murmured, his voice warm and soft, “celebrate somewhere a little less chaotic.”

She laughed, nodding. “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

They headed back to his hotel, hand in hand, a peaceful quiet settling over them as they left the track behind. Once in the privacy of his suite, he gave her a lingering kiss, then smiled, nodding toward the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes to wash off all the champagne and… probably half the track dust,” he said with a laugh.

She grinned, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the suite a moment later. While he showered, she took the opportunity to pack up her things from her own room, gathering her scattered belongings quickly. The thrill of being close, of finally sharing a space for the night, filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the tropical heat outside.

By the time she returned, he was out of the shower, towelling off his damp hair, his expression softening as he took in the sight of her standing there with her things. Without a word, he crossed the room and took her bags from her hands, setting them by the closet as he gave her a smile that made her heart skip.

Once they’d both changed into fresh clothes—she’d opted for a simple dress, and he in casual jeans and a loose shirt—they slipped out of the hotel through a side exit, making their way to a tiny, tucked-away Brazilian restaurant that had been recommended. The place was hidden, small enough to be missed by the crowds, with soft, low lighting that created an intimate, cosy atmosphere. A few locals lingered around tables, but they paid little attention to the couple as they took a corner table in the back.

They ordered caipirinhas and he reached across the table to hold her hand, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin as they laughed over silly little things, shared stories from the past few weeks, and spoke of things beyond racing, beyond work, just slipping back into the easy flow they always shared. The food was rich and delicious—small plates of feijoada, grilled meats, and pão de queijo—everything flavorful and homey.

He leaned across the table, his eyes warm and filled with that familiar spark, as he watched her speak, clearly savouring every moment. “You know,” he said softly, “I think this is the best victory celebration I’ve ever had.”

She squeezed his hand, smiling back at him. “Same here. I missed just… being with you like this.”

They stayed until the restaurant closed, lingering over the last bites of dessert, letting the night stretch out as long as possible. Eventually, they headed back to the hotel, the city streets now quiet and still beneath the soft hum of streetlights.

Once back in his room, Max changed into a pair of soft pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest bare, his skin still warm from the shower. She slipped into one of his t-shirts, the fabric soft and oversized, the scent of him comforting and familiar. When she stepped out the bathroom, he was already waiting for her by the bed, his gaze softening as he took her in, a gentle smile curving on his lips.

Without a word, he reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her close, guiding her to the bed. She sank into the mattress beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, his fingertips trailing absently over her shoulder. She nestled into him, feeling his warmth seep through her, a cosy silence wrapping around them.

They lay there, tangled together, her head tucked beneath his chin as he gently traced circles on her back, his breath even and steady. He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers for a quiet moment before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, filled with a tenderness that said everything words couldn’t. She kissed him back just as gently, savouring the intimacy of being close like this, the world beyond these walls feeling miles away.

When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers, a soft sigh escaping as he held her close, one hand settling over hers, fingers intertwined. They stayed that way, her head resting against his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rhythm.

Finally, they drifted off, still tangled in each other’s arms, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of just being together. As the night settled around them, Max couldn’t help but smile, holding her a little closer as he slipped into sleep, his heart full and light.

Max couldn’t have wished for a better weekend.

the end.

[hhughes]

៹࣪ ៸៸ HOME TO YOU . . . ꒱꒱

𐙚 fic ; in which quinn comes home to you after a long road trip

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. quinn hughes x gf!reader 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff and domesticity. smut. mdni. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

Quinn steps through the door of your shared apartment, dropping his bags at the door with a thud and removing his shoes. He knows you’re going to scold him for leaving his stuff there but right now he can’t find it in himself to care if it means he gets to see you a little sooner. He lets out a big sigh as exhaustion settles into his bones. It’s the type of exhaustion that no matter the amount of sleep he got on the plane, won’t be sated until he gets into his own bed, with you.

He makes his way into the living room, where he finds you curled up on the couch with some movie softly playing in the background. His lips curl up when he hears soft snores from you, indicating you were asleep. He always tells you to go to bed but you never listen, always opting to wait up for him instead and he couldn’t be happier that you did because although he has to wake you up, it means he doesn’t have to wait a minute longer to see you.

“sweetheart,” he whispers softly, gently brushing some hair away from your face as your eyes flutter open.

“quinn…You’re home?” you ask groggily, a little disoriented and he takes a seat next to you as you sit up, pulling you into his side.

“I’m home baby,” he confirms, kissing your temple.

Both of you sit there for a few minutes, not saying anything, simply enjoying being in one another’s company for the first time in a few days.

“I put your towel in the drier, so it’s warm when you get out of the shower. I washed the sheets so the bed needs to be made, so I’m gonna do that while you take a shower and I’ll meet you in bed?” you ask and quinn’s heart grows twice the size with pure love for you.

You put his towel in the drier so it would be extra warm. You washed the sheets because you know he likes the feeling of clean sheets after a long road trip. He knows by the faint smell of ginger in the air, there’s a container of freshly baked cookies waiting for him on the kitchen counter, just like there is every time he comes home. Just like he knows you’ll be up before him tomorrow, while he sleeps in. Making him breakfast, and throwing his laundry in the wash so that he doesn’t have to worry about it.

“I’ll be quick,” he assures you, his voice a bit thick by his sudden overwhelming thoughts of love for you.

-

After his shower quinn joins you in bed, pulling you close. You turn around to look up at him, running your hands over his cheek and pulling him closer to attach your lips. A few kisses later, quinn is sitting up against the headboard, your legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him.

“I missed you,” quinn groans, head falling back as his hands squeezing your ass, pressing your clothed cores together.

“I missed you more,” you mumble against his neck, where your kisses had already begun leaving marks on his pale skin.

quinn puts both hands on your waist, lifting you up to stand on your knees as he pulls down your shorts. You help him by removing your shirt, kicking your pants off the bed and his eyes naturally fall to your breasts, buds hardening in the cold. He wraps both arms around you and pulls you closer, his face level with your chest, pressing kisses there.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs

“quinn, please. I’ve already waited long enough, please don’t make me wait any longer,” you whine and he grins up at you. Both of you aware who’s really controlling the situation despite you hovering above him.

“You’re always so desperate baby, huh? Is that what being away from me does to you? Turns you into a needy little slut?” he asks, tongue circling your nipple, his hand playing with the other one.

“Please” is your only response and quinn gives in, pushing you back a bit to remove his boxers, his only article of clothing and pulling you closer again, his hand wrapped around his dick, lining it up with your entrance.

“Only cause you asked so nicely,” he says, gripping your hips tightly as you sink down onto him. There was nothing like those first few seconds of being inside you. quinn was convinced nothing would ever compare. He wondered if lifting the Stanley Cup would bring him as much euphoria as you.

Your hands grip the headboard behind his head, causing you to bend forward, practically shoving your breasts in his face, not that he was complaining. The change in angle causing both of you to moan when he enters you again.

“Fuck baby, you always feel so good,” he groans against your skin, his hand trailing between your legs and thumb lazily rubbing circles across your clit.

“quinn,” you moan, your hands moving from the headboard to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, leaving marks behind, just how he likes it. Your hips still, legs getting tired and unable to do much else but feel pleasure as quinn continues to rub your clit.

“That’s not nice baby, I just got home from a four game road trip and you’re making me do all the work,” he says, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling it, causing you to arch your back. His other hand lands on your ass with an audible smack when you don’t answer.

“Can’t even be bothered to answer? Too cockdrunk to even think aren’t you sweetheart?” he asks, not giving you time to try and formulate a response before both his hands slide to your hips, lifting you up and down in time with his thrusts. You can’t do anything but take it, like a little toy for him to use. The thought sends you over the edge, causing you to clench around him and he finishes inside you.

You both sit there for a few minutes, quinn still inside you. Just being close and savoring the moment waiting for your heart rates to go down.

“I love you,” he says softly, kissing you gently.

“I love you too. Welcome home.” you whisper, kissing his chest and tucking your face in his neck while his hands rub up and down your back.

He hates going on long roadies, but he loves coming home. Warm towels. Cookies. Fresh sheets. And you.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Got a request: Jinx x Piltover reader who comes to the undercity a lot to see some action and excitement with Jinx thinking they’re from there only to find out that they’re from topside.

[Arcane preference zaunites] with a s/o from Piltover (viktor, ekko, silco, vander, jinx, vi, sevika)

In less than a week, I’ve gained 500 followers and over 20 requests, so I’ll ask you right away to please be patient. English isn’t my first language, and I don’t think I’ll be able to post more than two or three headcanons a week (since I also draw). I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I just ask for a little patience. In the meantime, if you’d like to support me, you can follow me HERE (bluesky) even though I haven’t started posting seriously yet, or you can leave a tip HERE. That said, enjoy!

Viktor:

- The most versatile on the subject. He’s the first one who is constantly around the people of Piltover, studying and having his room at the academy, which is even located in a wealthy area.

- Generally, he doesn’t pay much attention to someone’s origins, but as the relationship grows more serious, memories of his early academy years become more vivid.

- Viktor is a chill guy, until he’s no longer chill, (at least the original one).

- Most heated discussions are likely to revolve around politics or events in the city. But as long as you don’t call the people from the Undercity “beasts,” “creatures,” “monsters,” “beings,” or “animals,” his anger won’t be directed at you.

- At some point, he won’t remember anymore that you’re from “different neighborhoods,” and since he needs a hand carrying things to the academy, he’ll start asking you to accompany him to the Undercity when he needs to make purchases or pick up pre-ordered items.

- And although it might scare or intimidate you at first, it won’t take long for you to get used to it.

- Although sooner or later, you’ll learn to change your clothes before going down to Zaun.

Ekko:

- The first meeting with Ekko is straight out of a book: you get caught in a crossfire, and before you can even begin mentally writing your will, an arm grabs you around the torso and pulls you away at such a high speed that you feel like throwing up.

- He can’t take people directly to the hideout, but he can offer you assistance as soon as you’re somewhere safer.

- This is why, the second time he saves you, he can’t help but joke about how it almost seems like you put yourself in danger on purpose, and that you could ask him out in a less dramatic way.

- Of course, he’s just joking to break the tension, but when you actually propose it, even just as a way to repay him, it’s the beginning of the end.

- Between your outfit and the fact that, having run into you twice in a crossfire, you were in some pretty dangerous places, the last thing he expected was for you to ask him to meet up at the bridge and then show up dressed like a Piltie.

- Before his meeting with Cait and the one with Jayce, this would’ve been a breaking point; he wouldn’t have shown up and would’ve just gone back. But now, even if he’s not thrilled, he’ll at least come over to complain that you didn’t tell him you were from the upper city.

- He’s resigned to this fate, but he still remains a bit suspicious and on guard, not knowing your political stance, why you were down there, or how you see the people from his city.

- Even as you become closer, he’ll never stop teasing you about your background. You’re drinking, and you drop your cup? “What a strange way Pilties have of drinking.”

Vander:

- Going down to Zaun without stopping by the Last Drop is a waste, which is why you’re lucky enough to run into the Hound of the underground right away. Not only is he one of the most influential people, but also one with a lot of connections.

- At Vander’s suggestion, you stay at the counter, and he uses the opportunity to ask you a few questions, curious: for example, why is someone from Piltover down in Zaun alone at that hour? What do you study, if you study, or what do you do for work, if you work.

- Vander is extremely sociable, and since he handles negotiations, he doesn’t hold hostility toward upper-city residents, though it’s rare to see them in these parts.

- It’s not even about flirting; he just wants to keep chatting and make sure he won’t have you on his conscience. He asks you to wait until closing, checks in on the kids to make sure everything’s okay and says goodnight, then walks you to the bridge.

- The more regular your visits to Zaun become, the more the other regulars at the Last Drop start to recognize you and get used to you, making that place quite pleasant. And then there’s the deal with the bartender: if you offer him a good chat, he’ll treat you to a good pint of beer.

- The toughest part of getting close to Vander is learning that he’s a single father to four kids, and seeing the hostile and shocked reaction of the younger ones when they find out you’re not from their city.

- But hate is taught, and even if it takes some time, they slowly start to get used to you. Maybe they won’t jump into your arms, but if you decide to stay over, they’ll make room for you or bring you something to dry your face with, in strict silence.

Silco:

- This man, though he may not look like it, is the embodiment of patience.

- It’s his goons who bring you to his office, and the first time, all it takes is a quick glance for him to know you’re not a spy, a rival, a drug addict, or a threat.

- Silco kills, but generally not without reason. So, the first time you have a heart-pounding panic attack from being dragged there, you get off with a warning: if they catch you poking around his business again, it won’t go so well for you.

- But today, Janna’s on your side, and you’re safe.

- The issue is much simpler than it seems: if you live in the Undercity, you know which places to avoid and which gangs control which areas. But if you’re just a foolish Piltie who likes wandering outside your own city, the odds of ending up in one mess after another are high.

- That’s why, the second time they catch you near one of their shipments, his goons already have their weapons drawn.

- This time it’s not even Silco who spares you; instead, a firefight with the Firelights breaks out nearby, and you’re just lucky that bigger problems show up at the right moment.

- It happens repeatedly: either you run into his goons and instinctively wave like an idiot, or you end up in restricted areas, and one of them who’s taken a liking to you motions for you to leave, or you start frequenting the Last Drop and see them all more often.

- Gradually, this brings you more often—and with less dread—to the kingpin’s office, who, since even his daughter likes you, first makes sure to get you a map of the Lanes because “you’re obviously so clueless you must be from Piltover” to keep you from getting yourself killed.

- Then he realizes you’re pleasant enough to let you hang out in his office on weekends, when the noise downstairs is so loud that he couldn’t work anyway.

Jinx:

- You’re essentially the “dumb Piltie” stereotype that comes to mind when people in Zaun talk about those from the upper city.

- Deciding to venture into the alleys without any experience or knowledge of the area purely out of curiosity wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, it’s too late to turn back.

- That’s why, after hours spent looking for something interesting—colorful explosions that have been common recently near the docks, some chase scenes—you find nothing, give up, and throw yourself into a bar.

- If it were evening, you might hope for more than just a jukebox playing country music, four young guys playing pool in a corner, and a girl sitting at the bar who looks half-asleep while the bartender cleans glasses, but you still decide to sit down and order something local.

- Everyone’s eyes are on you, but the moment the girl with long blue braids lifts her head, the others snap back to what they were doing, and she looks at you, still drowsy and a bit confused.

- Meeting Jinx is the beginning of the end; she rambles on, is relaxed, and the moment she hears you wanted action, she jumps off her stool and drags you out before you can even sip your drink.

- She has no particular reason—it's just rare to find someone who wants to have fun, although you quickly realize that her idea of “fun” involves risking your neck.

- The first time ends like that; you don’t even exchange names. When it gets late, she vanishes, leaving you no choice but to return to the bar in the following weeks, where you meet her again and pick up on that fun “tour.”

- This “tour” brings you closer, even if you never talk about deeply personal things because there’s never time.

- It’s one night when you’re sitting together on a rooftop, watching the distant lights of Piltover, that she learns the hard truth: you’re from the other side of the river. This single piece of information seems to destroy everything you had built. Without a word, she runs off, and you don’t find her at the bar at the usual time anymore, but you don’t stop trying.

- The bartender probably tells her, or she sees you, who knows, because weeks later you meet again, and she almost looks sad to see you.

- She expected you to give up, not to keep coming back despite how difficult she’d made it, which is why when you pull her into a hug, she stiffens, taking a while to hug you back.

- The closer you get, the more she becomes like a ghost. You even find her at your place, but you never see her on the streets in Piltover. She rarely stays over, but you know it’s because of personal issues.

Vi:

- Vi isn’t for everyone: she’s for those with a “savior complex” or hotheads who can take a couple of punches to the face.

- The reason you’re in Zaun, dressed incognito, is because your colleagues told you there’s some interesting stuff in the underground city’s shops.

- What you didn’t expect was that the “interesting find” curled up behind an abandoned building would be a person.

- Nothing too serious, just a brawl gone wrong. She’d hidden to tend to her wounds in peace, probably in that vulnerable “cornered wolf showing its teeth” state.

- Cooperation isn’t her strong suit, and, not to rely on Undercity stereotypes, but you imagine it’s also rare for anyone to help strangers wounded on the street.

- She becomes more docile after you simply stand by, “covering her back”—basically just staying put and shielding her from view. 

- whenyou blurt out, “Forget gin; I need something stronger.” she starts to like you

- Once she recovers, she gestures for you to follow her, suddenly motivated by the urge to drink. Surprisingly, she takes you over the bridge to your own city, to a cozy pub that smells of wood.

- Drinking there becomes a habit; after a few drinks, you tell her you hate that the evening has to end, and she chuckles, flattered, before saying you can always do it again.

- And you do it again.

- You keep doing it until you end up kissing clumsily in the pub’s restroom, nearly knocking heads together, until she pins you to the wall and your brain signals a warning.

- You tell her you live nearby, suggesting you take things to your place, unknowingly revealing something you thought was obvious.

- She stares at you for a few confused seconds. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, but the truth is, Vi doesn’t hate upper-city people, so once the confusion passes, the alcohol and hormones work their magic, leaving that conversation as a problem for the next morning.

Sevika:

- Her only interactions with people from the upper city have been with Enforcers, but contrary to appearances, Sevika is a big, intimidating dog that’s actually quite tame.

- She doesn’t get her hands dirty unless necessary, so even though she has no fondness for Pilties, she’d never start a physical fight with one.

- You first see her in the Undercity, at the Last Drop, playing cards for a hefty sum of money against two shady types: one bald with a metal nose, and the other dressed like an out-of-place gentleman.

- It’s only when the game ends and she gets up to head to the bar that you clumsily manage to strike up a conversation, receiving nothing but a scrutinizing glance in return.

- She lets you buy her a drink despite the large sum she just pocketed, and when you compliment her on her play, she puffs up with pride and starts talking about how those two just cheated but still couldn’t win.

- For a moment—just a moment—she realizes she’s never seen you around here before, but then she goes back to talking and listening, fueled by the alcohol.

- Getting her out of your head becomes impossible, and if you catch her at the end of her shift, she’s even more relaxed. It doesn’t take many weeks before you find yourself with your knees over her shoulders in the Last Drop’s basement.

- Emotional or mental intimacy with Sevika comes at an incredibly slow pace, but she starts approaching you in the bar, and your “private encounters” become more and more frequent—until you try to make things more serious by inviting her up.

- Her reaction seems angry, but it’s more surprise; she hadn’t realized and didn’t expect it.

- She becomes a lot more guarded around you, until, in time, she learns to trust you again.

[0mg-bird]

Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But…what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. ���Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

[slytherinboysvip]

Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.

𓆙

talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.

you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.

“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.

𓆙

“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.

“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.

“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.

making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath

“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.

after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.

“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged

she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door

“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow

“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.

zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup

“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.

𓆙

once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another

“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you

“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.

“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.

throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.

the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.

pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks

“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.

“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music

“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.

through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.

you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.

“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.

you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.

he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.

“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.

“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.

you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.

“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.

without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.

you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.

“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.

“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴀ ʟ ᴡ ᴀ ʏ ꜱ ᴍ ɪ ɴ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Maegor I Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: You were always his. From the moment you were born. And it's going to stay that way, whatever you like it or not.

Warning: Targcest, Graphic depictions of violence, Non con, Maegor himself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Art belong to dalberadiata. Hope you enjoy!

Maegor kicked a rock with all the strength his young body could muster, the jagged stone skittering across the ground and disappearing into the brush. His chest heaved with frustration, his fists clenched at his sides, and his face contorted in a mask of anger.

But no matter how much he trained, no matter how hard he fought, his father’s gaze always passed over him. Like he wasn’t even there.

His foot slammed into another rock, as he ground his teeth in fury. He wanted to be king. He would be king. One day, they would all see—his father, his brother—all of them would see.

“Boo!”

A voice, sweet and sudden, pulled him from his thoughts. His body stiffened as he turned, already prepared to strike, but it was only her. His sister, always sneaking up on him, always playing her games. She popped out from behind a tree, her eyes sparkling with mischief, a playful grin on her lips.

“Did I scare you, Maegor?” she teased, laughing softly as she plopped herself down beside him on the grass without waiting for a response.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smile. Of course, he wasn’t scared. His hands flexed at his sides, still shaking with the remnants of his anger. He wasn’t in the mood for her games. Not today.

But she didn’t seem to notice. She never did. Instead, she sat beside him, her fingers absentmindedly plucking at the flowers that dotted the ground. She hummed softly, her hands busy weaving stems together as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

“I’ll be king one day,” he muttered, his voice low, angry. His fists tightened as he stared ahead, his vision still blurry with unshed tears. “You’ll see. I’ll be a great king. Someone important. Stronger than father. Stronger than anyone.”

She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t listening. She never really listened when he talked about his plans. She was too busy with her flowers, too lost in her own world of pretty things and laughter. He frowned, watching as she twisted the stems in her delicate hands, her smile never faltering.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, his frustration bubbling up again.

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, as if his anger didn’t bother her at all. Her smile only grew, and she held up the thing she had been working on. “Done!” she announced, her voice soft and sweet, like the sound of a gentle breeze. She leaned over and placed it on his head—a crown of flowers, woven with care, resting lopsided on his dark hair.

Maegor blinked, confused, his anger momentarily forgotten. He reached up to touch the crown, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand what she had done.

“What is this?”

She smiled at him, that same sweet, soft smile that always made something in his chest ache. “Even if you don’t become king, you’re still my king, Maegor.” Her voice was full of warmth, full of love. “Always.”

He stared at her, the confusion in his eyes deepening. She was always like this—so full of life, so bright. Too bright for someone like him. Too soft for a world as harsh as theirs. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond.

But now, when he looked at her, the only thing that remained was death.

Her body was cold in his arms, a shell of the girl she used to be. Her eyes, once full of light, now stared blankly ahead, her mouth silent as always. But that was alright. She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to smile.

He still loved her.

Even like this.

She was dressed in beautiful silk, her hair brushed and perfect, her lips still stained with the remnants of the last kiss he’d given her earlier. She looked like a doll. Fragile. Beautiful. Untouched. He dragged his hand down her neck, savoring the coldness of her skin, feeling the shiver of pleasure that ran through him.

But the silk? That was a pity. He was going to rip that apart anyway.

He pulled her into his lap, her body limp and pliant, her head lolling to the side as he pressed his lips to her neck. He bit down, hard, savoring the taste of her skin, his teeth sinking in deep enough to draw blood. His hand slid between her legs, fingers pushing against her cunt, trying to get her wet. She didn’t move, didn’t react, but he didn’t care. She would be ready for him. She had to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her skin, his voice dark and rough as he kissed along her neck, his bites growing harder, more savage. “You’ll give me a son. A true son. Something none of those useless cunts could do.” His fingers moved faster, harder, forcing her body to respond. “We’ll name him Aegon. After father. What do you think?”

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her face. Her tears were falling now, silent as always, sliding down her cheeks like the rain.

Oh, right. He had cut her tongue out.

He laughed then, a deep, guttural sound that echoed in the room. How could he have forgotten? She had screamed, hadn’t she? Begged him to stop, to leave her alone. She didn’t want to be his wife. She didn’t want him. But that hadn’t mattered. Not to him. He had made sure she couldn’t refuse him ever again.

He wiped her tears with his thumb, pushing it into her mouth as he did. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice soft, mocking. “I love you still. I like you more like this.”

Then he kissed her, hard and rough, his mouth devouring hers as his hand gripped her neck, holding her in place. She didn’t kiss back, didn’t move, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need her to.

He shoved himself inside her, his thrusts brutal, each one harder than the last. Her body didn’t fight him, didn’t resist. She took him in silence, her tears falling faster now, her eyes empty as they stared at the ceiling. But Maegor didn’t stop. He pounded into her, growling with each thrust, determined to make her his in every possible way.

“You're mine,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked her harder. “Always have been and always will be.”

She didn’t respond. She never did. But that was fine.

When he was done, when her body was limp and unconscious beneath him, he pulled out, only to push his seed back inside her, forcing it deeper, making sure she would carry it.

“You’ll be a mother,” he whispered, his hand pressing against her stomach, possessive. “The mother of my child.”

His.

Always his.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[nadvs]

hard to ignore (two-shot) (part two)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

content warning parental abandonment

» part one

» masterlist

Zach gets you and his daughter box seats for his next home game.

It happens to be on your first day back at work after his family leaves and he jokes that sooner is better than later, not only because his team might get knocked out of the playoffs, but also because Ella could change her mind about wanting to come.

The private space overlooking the stadium is small, only a handful of other people there, as the late afternoon sun shines over the rich green field.

You learned that Zach is a major league soccer player minutes into meeting him. You knew he had an unusual life and a certain level of notoriety as a professional athlete. But seeing the crowds filling the seats below you makes it real to you.

The music and the announcer’s voice boom through the stadium, fireworks going off as players rush the field. All this craziness doesn’t match the man you know. Zach is kind and humble and beneath his silly sense of humor, he has a gentleness to him that you’d never expect from someone whose last name is sprawled over fans’ jerseys, who’s getting cheered for so loudly that it’s deafening.

Ella excitedly claps when her father appears on the stadium screen, his face hard as he jogs under the bright lights. You gaze ahead in awe, unable to believe that this is the world he lives in when he’s not at the house, running around with his daughter, thanking you for everything you do.

After the game ends in a draw, you take Ella home in time for dinner. As you drive, wipers cleaning away the drizzle that just started to fall, she excitedly rambles about the experience from the backseat. You smile to yourself, glad that she enjoyed herself and proud that you’re the reason she went.

As usual, Ella slips out of her chair with a mouthful of food when she hears the front door open halfway into dinner. You watch her dart out of the dining room, listening to the huff Zach lets out every time his daughter roughly launches herself into his arms.

“That was so cool!” you overhear.

“Really?” he says. “You didn’t get bored?”

“Um, it was kind of too long,” she says, “but I had pictures to color.”

“Appreciate your honesty,” Zach replies with a laugh.

They round the corner to enter the dining room and when Zach’s eyes land on you, your heart does a somersault.

“Hey,” he says to you, nervous.

“Hi,” you reply. “Thanks for the fancy seats.”

“They were alright?”

“Good enough for two princesses,” you tease.

“Princess ballerinas,” Ella corrects you as she sits down again.

“Right,” you say. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that we’re princess ballerinas now.”

Zach mirrors your smile, loving the feeling of sharing a moment like this with you. You stand to clean your plate and it reminds him of what his mother said a couple of nights ago. That you look at him the same way he looks at you.

He hopes that it’s true, because he can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s a little embarrassed that you saw him in a match. He’s always loved soccer, but he never liked how much attention is on him as a major league player.

“Maybe you should wait out the rain,” Zach says to you. “It started coming down hard on my drive home.”

“Good idea,” you say, happy to spend more time with him.

The rest of dinner consists of Ella happily chattering with you and Zach. As she clears her plate, Zach’s phone buzzes on the table top. His lips purse in worry at the notification, and then he shows you the severe thunderstorm warning message on his screen.

“That looks bad,” you say. “How long is it supposed to go on for?”

“It says into the early morning,” Zach answers. “Do you want to crash here?”

“I’m sure I could make it home,” you say. “I’ll just drive slowly.”

Zach’s lips part, and then he closes his mouth, simply nodding.

“What?” you chuckle. His eyes dart away.

“Just worried about you,” he admits. You huff an endeared laugh.

“Fine. I’ll sleep here,” you decide.

He sighs a breath of relief and says, “Thanks.”

Zach takes Ella to bed and you settle on the couch, glad you already have everything you’ll need in your overnight bag in the guest room. You eventually hear his footsteps coming down the stairs over the sounds of the television and the rain hammering down on the roof.

He sits on the other end of the couch next to you, so far that a person could easily sit between you. It’s typical Zach, never getting too close to you. The only time he’s ever touched you is when he shook your hand before your interview half a year ago.

“She fell asleep while I was explaining what offside means,” he says with an adorably puzzled expression. “Trying not to be offended.”

“I can’t believe she’s actually interested in soccer,” you say.

“Ouch.” Zach puts his hand over his heart. “Okay, I’m offended now.”

“I mean because you said she never cared before,” you laugh.

“I asked her so many times if she’d want to come to a game,” he huffs. “But you suggest it once and she’s immediately in. She always listens to you.”

“Not when I’m trying to convince her to leave the park,” you say. He chuckles. “Can you believe she’s starting kindergarten soon?”

Admittedly, Zach’s concerned about it. In less than a month, Ella will be going to school and he never was one to have much anxiety before he became a father, but all he does now is worry. He doesn’t want any teachers or kids to be harsh with his little girl. She’s already been through enough.

“She’ll be okay,” you say.

“What?”

“You have that worried look on your face,” you tell him. “She’ll love school. I’m sure of it.”

“You can read me pretty well,” he says, smiling. You shrug timidly, thinking back to how quickly he’d noticed something was bothering you on the night of Ella’s birthday.

“What?” he asks.

“It goes both ways,” you admit. “You saw right through me after the party.”

Zach’s jaw tightens, the playfulness between you replaced by a fragile air. He takes a breath before speaking. He knows he needs to have this conversation with you.

“Do you feel better about what she said?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. Now that you’ve had some time to process, you’re okay. “How about you?”

“Well,” he begins, nerves tightening in his stomach, “it wasn’t easy to hear. Ella shouldn’t have to wish she had a different mom. Jade should be here for her.”

He’s never said her name. He’s never looked like this before, his eyes avoiding yours, hand trembling a bit as he scratches his jaw. You can tell this is hard for him to talk about. But he’s choosing to do it with you.

“You said ex-wife that night, but she was never my wife,” Zach admits.

“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know I haven’t told you much. When we talked that night, it reminded me of just how much you don’t know about it. I just… I hope you know that you’re… you’re so much more than Ella’s nanny. You’re our friend. And you’re obviously a mother figure to her. And it feels weird that you don’t know what happened.”

His words sink into you, every syllable having an effect on your heartbeat.

“What happened?”

“Ella was a surprise,” he tells you. “Jade and I were dating in our senior year of college when we found out she was pregnant. And then I got drafted into the league and we graduated and everything was happening so fast, but we were happy and… I stayed happy and she didn’t.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, looking at him as his eyes stay trained off of yours.

“We broke up a few months after Ella was born. But we were both sure we could handle co-parenting. She stayed at home while I worked. I could see she didn’t like it, though. She wasn’t a bad mother or anything. She just wasn’t very… affectionate with Ella.”

Your chest tightens. It’s painful to imagine Ella wanting love and not getting it.

“I don’t know. I thought she’d eventually feel how I feel about being a parent. I tried everything,” Zach says, remembering how he’d encouraged Jade to go to therapy or take time away or work while they hired help. It was like she was stuck in her unhappiness. “But then she left and… that was it.”

He finally looks at you and the tenderness in your eyes gives him a breath of fresh air. It’s what you do. Just by being you, you give him the push to stay hopeful that he and his daughter will be okay.

“We weren’t in a good place when you came. But you made things so much better,” he says. “You do an amazing job taking care of her. I really appreciate it.”

Your eyes light up, the smile on your face gentle.

“Thank you for saying that,” you say. “And thank you for telling me the full story. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Zach sighs now that the weight of reliving it is gone.

“I really do love her. I meant it when I said it.” At this point, you’re sure you love him, too, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. “And I feel lucky to get to watch her grow up. This doesn’t even feel like a job to me anymore.”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you don’t want the pay?” he says. You find relief in his joke, tossing your head back with a laugh. “Seriously, though, let me know if you need me to keep things the same while you’re part-time during the school year. I don’t mind.”

“Wait, are you offering to pay me for hours I’m not even working?” you chuckle. “Zach, no. I’m good. I have other things lined up. But thank you.”

“What? Everyone knows you should always accept free money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say. “How do you even have the energy to joke around right now? I just watched you run around for ninety minutes.”

Like always, Zach blushes when you bring up his job. He’s intense and focused on the pitch, but he’s different when he’s at ease at home.

“There’s a break in the middle,” he replies.

“I stand corrected,” you say. “So, how’d you get into soccer?”

Your conversation quickly and easily drifts into topics you hadn’t explored before, the storm raging outside as you learn more about him and he learns more about you. He’s still on the other end of the couch, but soon, his arm is resting against the back of it, his hand inches away from you as you sink into the soft cushions, beaming at each other as you talk.

You don’t want to stop, but eventually you can’t stifle your yawn, prompting Zach to check his watch.

“Jeez,” he says. “Ella went down three hours ago.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up. “That flew by.”

Zach knew that the more he learned about you, the more of a goner he’d be. It feels like he just went on the best date of his life and all he did was sit on his couch and talk.

There’s something between you and he hopes that it’s not just his infatuation misguiding him.

────୨ৎ────

You were right. He had nothing to worry about. Ella’s more than happy at school. It’s only a week into the year and she’s already naming all her new friends when Zach picks her up Friday afternoon.

Her first dance recital is tonight and he’s looking forward to seeing you and his family there. Ella had even mentioned that her other grandparents could come. They were elated to get the invitation.

And of course, when he arrives at the studio that evening, you’re already there, reliable and steady like you always are. You greet him and his family warmly and introduce yourself to Jade’s parents.

It feels wrong to hear you refer to yourself as Ella’s nanny. You’ve been in his life for eight months now and you’ve nestled your way into his soul so deeply that he knows you’ll stay with him forever.

He’s been grappling with this since he first realized he had feelings for you; this bothersome sense of wrong. He can’t pursue you. Technically, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it, he is your boss. He pays you to take care of his child. If things went sideways, it could push you to leave.

Although he’s never felt this much love for a woman in his life, it’d be selfish. He can’t do it to Ella. He didn’t even want to date other women when Jade was still around simply because it could confuse his daughter.

But you’re different.

His thoughts are interrupted when you look at him, pulling him out of his haze.

“I saved us seats,” you tell him.

Zach’s sitting between you and his father when the recital starts. Eventually, Ella drifts across the middle of the floor between the other dancers.

“This is the part she’s nervous about,” you whisper to him, recalling how she’d told you that this part in the choreography makes her trip sometimes.

You watch her hop sideways, focused as the music grows faster. You’re so on edge that you don’t realize your hand slips into Zach’s, squeezing nervously. She lands her last skip and rejoins the group. You let out a sigh of relief. Then, you look down, seeing your fingers wrapped around Zach’s.

“Sorry,” you say, trying to laugh it off as you pull your hand back. “I think I’m taking a five-year-old’s dance recital a little too seriously.”

Zach can only offer a tight smile. His team’s inching closer to advancing to the championship semi-finals and the pressure has never been heavier, but even that hasn’t affected him like the tension he’s feeling right now. His whole body is on fire from your touch, and it won’t go away.

When the recital comes to an end, Zach leans closer to you to murmur over the applause surrounding you.

“You going out to dinner with us?” he asks.

“Do I have to?” you quip.

“What, you got a date or something?” He worries that the joke was too much. Too flirty.

But you laugh and say, “I haven’t had a date or something in forever. Yeah, I’ll come.” Although it’s hard to believe that a woman like you is single, he’s glad you are.

The eight of you sit in the busy restaurant, making conversation. As Zach expected, Ella insisted she sit next to you. You have endless patience for her, listening to her talk, answering her questions, letting her pick off your plate. He would move mountains for his child. He can tell you’d do the same.

Zach picks up the bill and you all say your goodbyes to Jade’s parents, who insisted they didn’t need to stay the night. Before you head out, you tell his family it was nice to see them again. He can tell you’re a little surprised when his mother pulls you in for a hug, but you kindly return it.

Connie obviously appreciates everything you’ve done for her son and granddaughter. Zach tries not to daydream too much, but he likes imagining being your boyfriend and telling you that his mom called that you’d become something one day.

When you say bye to Zach, your gazes meet like you’ve been waiting for a private moment for ages. Things changed on the night you stayed over. You went from friends to a gray area of something more, neither of you acting on it but knowing it’s there.

Only an hour after Ella falls asleep, Zach’s parents and sister turn in for the night, tired from their drive in. Zach is too wired, silently sitting in his living room, his tea not having its usual effect of soothing him.

He goes through his camera roll, wishing he could go for a drive to relax, but not wanting to leave his daughter in case she needs him. He stares at a photo his mother took of you and him and Ella earlier tonight after the recital, Ella’s hair frizzy from all the jumping around she did.

His smile is wide and so is yours and you look like more than just someone he hired to help take care of his daughter. You look like a family.

He opens your conversation and sends you the photo. It’s nearing 10 p.m. and he’s not sure if you’re already asleep, but you respond a minute later: Aw I love this. Thanks :) How’s your night going?

Zach responds: Good… but everyone’s asleep and I’m still wide awake. Yours?

You reply: Is your tea not working?

He smiles to himself and texts back: Not this time.

You text: I’m kind of wired, too.

How come?

Not sure.

He replies with a joke: Could be Ella’s fault. I saw her eat a lot of your dinner. It’s probably hunger keeping you awake.

Once again, his mind drifts to the way your palm felt against the back of his hand tonight. Then, he hears a door open upstairs. In case it’s Ella, he quietly rushes up the stairs to run into his mom, who’s leaving the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he whispers when he startles her. “I thought Ella woke up and I didn’t want her to think I was gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll be deep asleep until the morning,” Connie says. She notices he’s still in the clothes he wore to the recital. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’d go for a drive, but I–”

“If she wakes up, I’m here and if she needs you, I’ll call. Go. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go for a drive,” his mother insists. “She’s okay. I promise.”

Zach considers it. With work and Ella and you, his mind has been sort of chaotic. A drive, even a short one, will give him some relief.

“Thanks,” he finally says, giving his mom a grateful smile.

The streetlights plunge him in and out of darkness as he drives through town. When he got in the car, the impulse to go see you seemed ridiculous. With every minute that passes, it feels less and less silly.

Zach eventually pulls over and looks at his phone, staring at the text message he sent you ten minutes ago. How could he even ask to come over without coming on too strong or crossing a boundary?

He’s not sure if he believed in signs from the universe before, but when you text him right when he’s considering if he should text you, he takes it as his answer.

Nothing is ever her fault. But now I’m having a midnight snack lol. Are you still awake?

He replies: Yes. Just driving around. Do you want company?

He’s nervous as he waits. But then you send him your address.

Minutes later, you open your door to gentle knocks, heart skipping when you see him. At this point, being apart from Zach is starting to hurt. You lied when you texted him. You know exactly why you’re wired. It’s because he won’t leave your mind.

“Hi,” he says, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Kind of crazy that you’ve been to my house a million times, but I have no idea what your place looks like.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “You need to see it that bad?”

“I think it’s what’s keeping me awake.”

You laugh, stepping back, inviting him in. Zach’s eyes travel over your apartment, taking in every little piece that you’ve put into it. Being here is more intimate than he expected. And then you shut the door behind him, thickening the tension, both of you now sharing complete privacy in a way you never have before.

“Is that an Ella original?” he says, pointing to a drawing stuck on your fridge.

“Yup. That’s me and her and the castle we live in,” you tell him. You lead him into the kitchen as you gaze at the bright crayon marking the paper. “And that’s her horse. She was very adamant about it being her horse. But I can pet it if I ask nicely.”

He laughs and gazes at the drawing, touched that you’d keep something his daughter made up on display. Even when you’re not at the house, you want to be reminded of her.

“Where am I?” he asks in mock offense.

“I’m sure she meant to include you, but the horse took up too much space,” you explain, looking over your shoulder up at him. He’s inches away from you, towering above you. You’re so close to him that you can see the stubble growing over his jaw.

“The tutus are a nice touch,” he says, pointing to the pink skirts drawn on both of you. You laugh and turn to face him all the way. You clear your throat, smitten that he’s really here.

“She was great tonight, huh?” you ask.

“She was.” Zach’s smile is bright, the same way it always is whenever he talks about her. “And she wanted all the grandparents there.”

“I think that’s progress.”

“Me, too.” He exhales. “It was an almost perfect night.”

“Almost?”

“My hand still hurts,” he mumbles, face pinching as he looks down at his hand.

“Listen…” you say with a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stressed.” Zach laughs and it takes everything in him not to hug you. “Was it really that bad?”

“So bad,” he teases, flexing his hand. “You’re too reckless.”

“Reckless? Is that what you think of me?”

Zach cocks his head, staring down at you with a look that burns through you, and soberly says, “No. It’s not.”

His gaze drifts over your face, taking you in slowly. You think back to the first time you saw those eyes, sad and distant. Comparing the way he looked that morning to how he’s gazing at you right now is like comparing black and white.

The light atmosphere has quickly been replaced by a somberness hanging over both of you. Your heart is thumping against your chest. Hard.

“What, then?” you ask.

How can he even find the words to describe how you make him feel? You fit perfectly in every way. You settled into his life like there was always a place waiting just for you. Even tonight, when you grabbed his hand for only a moment, it felt like he was born to be touched by you.

You’ve brought light to his life. He always looked forward to coming home to his daughter, and now he looks forward to coming home to you, too. And having to continue to live like this, acting like his heart isn’t completely yours, is torture.

“I think you’re…” Zach’s tone is low, lids dropping as he looks at your lips before he speaks again. “Perfect.”

Your breath catches. You’ve been able to keep yourself away from him for what feels like ages. You’re not sure you’ll have the strength for much longer. This is the moment where everything can change. You know you both feel it.

“Should I not be here?” he says quietly.

It’s his way of making sure you’re okay. That you want him to be here as badly as he wants to be here. That even though maybe this shouldn’t be happening, you have faith that it will only bring you both joy, and you don’t need to consider the risks because you’ll never have to face them.

He looks so painfully unsure that you long to comfort him. Your hand finds his and he laces his warm fingers between yours the instant he feels you. He exhales slowly, never having felt so vulnerable before.

Too much is on the line. He’s only thinking of himself right now. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have given in, he shouldn’t have–

“Stay,” you whisper. Your simple word untangles the knot in his chest. You step closer to seal the distance that remains between you. His eyes finally drift back up to find yours.

“I can’t help how I feel about you,” Zach murmurs. “I don’t want to mess up how good things are, but I just…”

He trails off into silence, sighing shakily.

“I know,” you say. “Me, too.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says with a note of pity. You breathe a sad chuckle.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you here.”

Zach’s grip on your hand tightens, his heart feeling like it’s just been put together after being fractured for years. His lips part and while he doesn’t know how to say how much your words mean to him, he knows how to show it.

He leans closer, cupping your face, capturing your lips with a soft and impatient kiss. You dissolve into bliss, eyelids fluttering closed as his hot mouth presses against yours, head swimming, body buzzing.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, eyelashes overlapping as you kiss deeply, hungrily tasting each other in adoration. His arms circle around you and surround you in warmth.

He lets out a short, almost silent moan against your lips, relieved and assured and grateful that you want him this badly, too. Everything about this feels right. He’s where he’s supposed to be, standing here, kissing you, baring his soul.

You’re breathless when you eventually pull away, eyes slowly opening as he tilts to plant a lazy kiss on your forehead, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“I kept telling myself that I can’t like you,” he says against your skin. “Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

You exhale a contented sigh, afraid that you did actually doze off and that this is all just a dream.

“I think I do,” you reply.

Zach’s laugh is breathy, leaning back just enough to look at you. He’s in awe, his lips tender from pressing against yours, his knees weak as he holds your face in his hands. Now that he doesn’t have to hide it or force himself not to stare, he lets himself drown in your eyes.

He brushes his lips against yours again and you smile under the kiss, placing your palm over his hand.

“Is this the hand I hurt?” you tease, gently squeezing.

“Ow,” he playfully winces, making you laugh. You nuzzle your cheek against his palm and smile up at him.

“You sure you like me?” you say. He’s sure he loves you, but it’s too much, too soon to say at this moment. “You know you can’t afford any injuries right now.”

“Worth it,” Zach plays along.

“I keep wanting to ask you about work,” you say. He hasn’t spoken much about playoffs, but you did a little research on his team’s standings. “How has it been? Are you stressed?”

“Pressure’s on, but I’m fine,” he says simply. Your words won’t find you at first. It’s sort of unbelievable how he doesn’t ever flaunt his success, not even a little bit.

“That’s it?” you laugh.

“What?”

“Your team could go to the finals and you’re just fine?” you say.

“How’d you know that?” he says, his heart warming.

“Had to look it up. Not like you’ll tell me,” you quip, pulling away, his hands falling off of you. Zach chuckles, following you into your living room.

“Are we fighting already?” he asks.

“We won’t be if you tell me why you get all cute and shy whenever you talk about your job,” you say, settling on the couch.

He sits to face you, his knee bumping yours. You love that he’s as close as you want him to be, instead of keeping a distance like before. He finds your hands, holding them in his.

“Just a second,” Zach mumbles. “I need to process that you called me cute.”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle against his chest.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. “We talk about my job all the time.”

“Oh, come on. Because we have to. That’s the whole deal.”

“Is it?”

Zach sighs, kissing the top of your head, loving the way your body slightly shakes with your laughter. You sit up again, looking down as you interlace your fingers with his, playing with his hands as you wait for him to speak.

“I love soccer,” he says, “but I never expected I’d be good enough to go pro. And somehow, I did and all the attention that comes with it is just… it’s not me. I’ve never been the loudest guy in the room. Never wanted to be.”

You nod. You could tell soon after meeting him that while he’s confident and loves to joke around, he’s not one to demand the spotlight.

“And now the more attention I get,” he continues, “the more people might want to know about me and I’d rather keep Ella safe and give her a normal life.”

He scratches his cheek, uncertainty flashing on his face.

“And… I’m not exactly proud that I’m not working a normal job. I’m always thinking that maybe it’d be better for Ella if I had a nine to five, but the pay is great and I can’t play forever, so I just want to save up as much as I can for her. Then I’ll find something more steady.”

You're sure you’ve never met a person this humble. It’s nice to know what goes on in his head after having wondered for so long.

“Will you still even need a nanny then?” you ask lightheartedly. Zach purses his lips as he nods.

“I will if she’s you.” You smile as he pulls you in, holding you as your cheek rests against his shoulder.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you shouldn’t be proud of,” you tell him. “You’re an amazing father.”

“You don’t know how nice it is to hear you say that,” he admits. The worries that he’s being selfish have been gnawing at him for a long time. He’s always concerned he’s making the wrong choices for his daughter.

“I think it every time I see you with her. I know you said she was a surprise, but you treat her like being her dad is all you’ve ever wanted.”

Zach leans to kiss your forehead over and over again, palm gently pressed on your cheek, like he’s making up for all the times he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t. You start to giggle under all the kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Speaking of,” you say, “I’m sure you’re thinking it, too, but we should keep acting like we’re just friends when we’re around our boss.”

He breathes a chuckle, nodding as he looks down at you lovingly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’ll take it slow. She’ll be so happy when we tell her.”

“You think so?” you say, your heart blooming from the certainty in his words, from the way he unabashedly intends on being with you and telling his daughter.

“She’s always asking me if I like you.” Truthfully, Ella asks if he loves you, but again, he doesn’t want to use that word until he’s sure you’re comfortable with it.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She actually asks if I like you yet. It’s like she knows it’s inevitable.”

You realize that the way you’re wrapped up in each other does feel like it was always inevitable. You know that your heart would never have been able to resist him. You’re glad he feels the same way about you.

────୨ৎ────

A week after the night in your apartment is the semi-final. You’re sitting in the living room playing with Ella with the game on in the background. She’s partly interested, whereas you can’t ignore the ball of nerves sitting deep in your stomach.

Zach’s been opening up more about his job when you get time alone, admitting that the pressure can give him tunnel-vision sometimes. You’ve taken on the workload as much as you can so that he’s not too stressed.

You’ve kept things the same when you’re around Ella and you’ve already determined that if she asks why you’re so invested in what’s on tv, you’ll simply say you grew an interest in soccer after the home game you both attended. But she’s too busy playing with clay to care.

The first half ends with no goals scored. You set up an afternoon snack for Ella, letting her help, your mind elsewhere as you imagine Zach in the locker room, wondering what his coach is telling him and what he’s thinking about at this moment.

Five minutes after half-time, the opponents score. Your heart sinks. Twenty minutes later, Zach scores. You have to stifle how loudly you want to cheer.

Then, the game goes to penalty shoot-outs. Zach had told you how much he hates when a game comes down to that. It’s a nail-biting few minutes, but Zach’s team wins, securing their spot in the finals. In his next game, his team could take the cup.

Right before dinner, you and Ella change into the jerseys you’d secretly bought a few days ago. Zach already told you that even if his team wants to celebrate a win together, he’d prefer to see you two, so you know he’s coming straight home.

He steps through the front door to see you in his team’s jerseys, rushing to give him a hug. Your arms are around his shoulders while Ella’s are around his hips, both of you excitedly cheering. Zach’s heart has never felt so full.

“So, I take it you watched it?” he mumbles into your hair, reveling in the familiar aroma of your shampoo. It takes everything in you not to kiss him when you pull back.

“You did amazing,” you tell him.

“Daddy, do cats ever come to your games?” Ella asks.

Zach looks at you, puzzled.

“There was a commercial with clips of animals crashing soccer games,” you explain, laughing. “It’s a valid question.”

“I haven’t seen any,” he tells her, kneeling to meet her eyeline. “But I hope we get one so I can tell you all about it.”

“Could we keep it?” she asks.

“If a cat comes onto our field and it doesn’t have an owner, sure, we can keep it,” he says. She jumps excitedly, then runs off to play. Zach stands up again, grinning at you.

“Don’t let her watch any more matches,” he says. “If a cat shows up, I’m done for.” You laugh, crossing your arms simply to keep yourself from touching him.

“Congratulations,” you say. “I know you don’t like the attention, but you deserve it.”

“Thanks.” He looks down at your jersey. “It looks great on you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to show him the back. It’s his last name and number. He almost can’t believe this is really happening, that he met someone like you who cares about him this much.

“Better on you, I think,” you say.

“Impossible.”

You face him and he gazes at your lips in the way you know means he wants to kiss you. In the few private moments you’ve had since you confessed your feelings for each other, you’ve shared warm hugs and sweet kisses. You can’t wait until you don’t have to hide your love for him anymore.

“Dinner in twenty,” you tell him. “I bet you worked up an appetite.”

Zach’s legs are heavy as he trudges up the stairs, partly from fatigue, but mostly because the last thing his body wants to do is be away from you.

────୨ৎ────

Zach’s family drives in to watch the championship game at the house. You weren’t all that nervous around them before, but now that you and Zach are privately dating, you’re eager to impress them.

He had mentioned to you that he hadn’t told them about you yet, but he’s hoping to the next time he sees them. He also told you how his mom had a suspicion about you two, which makes you hope you’re not too obvious.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since you decided to date, but every moment you get alone with Zach isn’t long enough. You knew he was kind-hearted, but now that he’s not holding back, he showers you with affection and compliments, reminding you of how much he appreciates you every day.

Just like it is with Zach, it’s easy with his family. You talk and snack and take turns playing with Ella while you watch the game. The game starts off as promising, but unfortunately, the final ends with a loss for his team.

“He did tell me they were kind of the underdogs,” you say to his family sadly, watching the screen. “I still think it’s great that he got this far.”

The stadium he’s playing in is hours away and he won’t be getting home until after midnight. You spend the rest of the evening with Zach’s family, wishing you could see him and give him a comforting hug.

When Zach gets to the locker room, dejected and disappointed, he checks his phone to see a text from you. I know it’s not how you wanted the season to end, but you played an amazing game. We’re all so proud of you, no matter what.

It’s ten minutes past midnight when you hear the front door open. You’ve been sitting in the kitchen, staying awake on your phone after everyone turned in for the night. You turn on the kettle you already filled with water and find Zach in the dim hallway, meeting his eyes with sympathy.

“You’re here,” he mumbles in surprise. You only close the distance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly.

“Wanted to see you,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he admits, kissing your neck. “This feels good, though.”

“I’m making you some tea if you want it,” you tell him, “but if you’d rather go to bed, I get it.”

“Tea sounds good.” He pulls back, stroking your cheek. “You’re really proud of me? Even though I’m a total loser?”

You half-chuckle, nudging him.

“Never call yourself that again,” you say.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stop ‘accidentally’ making too much food,” you joke, earning a chuckle from him.

You settle in the kitchen, reminded of the first time you sat together like this all those months ago to plan Ella’s birthday party. Now she’s halfway to six years old, growing faster than you could have ever anticipated.

After you put the steaming mug of tea in front of him, Zach puts his hand over yours, squeezing.

“I tried to be positive but I saw it coming,” he admits to you. “They were the stronger team. We’ll just train harder and hopefully get them next year.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way,” you say. “Just don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You’re not a loser.”

“Baby…” Zach breathes a chuckle. “Being with you makes me feel like I’m always winning. It sucks to get this far and to put so much work in just to lose, but knowing you and Ella are waiting for me at home… That's what my life is really about.”

You stare at him, awestruck, heart beating so hard that you can hear it in your ears.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon to say, but I’ve loved you for a long time.”

You bite your lip, giving into the urge to lean closer and kiss him. When you pull back, palm resting on his cheek, you smile.

“I love you, too,” you say. “It’s not too soon.”

“Phew. I was more nervous about telling you than I was about the game,” he says. You laugh, pinching his cheek.

“Stop being so cute,” you whisper.

“I can’t help it,” he quips. “I didn’t forget how you said you haven’t been on a date in forever. What do you think about tomorrow night? Ella will stay with my family and you and I can go out for dinner.”

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. You chat a little longer before you head home.

When Zach tells his mother he’s taking you out for dinner the next morning, she’s overjoyed to hear that you’re an item now and throws in a few ‘I told you so’s. When the evening rolls around, he tells Ella he’s running some errands and instead drives to pick you up from your place.

Sitting across from you at a restaurant on a real date feels like a dream. He holds your hand on the table and nudges your knee with his every so often, unable to keep his hands off of you like usual. It’s like talking with a best friend, the conversation flowing so naturally that he refuses to believe he’s only known you for just shy of a year.

When he drives you home after dinner, you lose track of time kissing him goodnight.

────୨ৎ────

You and Zach had discussed that today would be the day. Now that you’ve been together for over eight months, he’s ready to tell Ella.

It’s a Saturday and Zach’s making lunch while you and Ella set the table. Long gone are the days of spending just a few minutes together, one of you arriving at the house while the other one gets ready to leave. The three of you are almost always a unit now, settled into a routine.

After lunch, you leave as planned so he can talk to her one-on-one. Zach finds Ella drawing on her bedroom floor after he says his goodbyes to you and knocks on her door.

“What are you drawing?” he asks.

She holds up the paper, three figures under the shining sun. When he asks if that’s you, him, and her, she happily nods.

Zach settles on the floor, watching the way she colors in the yellow sun, her legs kicking in the air. He’s seen a change in his child. There’s no doubt about it.

While she was always a happy kid, she’s grown to be much more expressive and affectionate since you stepped into their lives. You bring out the best in her. The best in him, too.

He tries to force down the tears that come up every time he looks at his daughter and thinks about what happened a year ago. She’s too small to have to know the pain of abandonment and betrayal. He pushes away the thought.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Zach says, clearing his throat.

“Do you want another bracelet?” she says.

Zach smirks, looking down at the beaded bracelet on his wrist that she made for him a few days ago. She made you a matching one that you always wear, too.

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy,” he says. “But that’s not it.”

He says it exactly as he rehearsed, telling her how happy you make him and asking if she’s okay with you being his girlfriend. When she grins up at him and asks if that means that you can move in with them, he chuckles, tears pricking his eyes.

Zach always felt like he needed to make up for the love Ella’s mother wasn’t giving her. Now, there’s nothing to make up for, nothing missing. He wishes the circumstances had been different, but he knows he’s lucky that he met you.

He was sure soon after he got to know you that his daughter would grow to love you. Deep down, he was sure that he would grow to love you, too.

────୨ৎ────

It’s past nine p.m. when Zach gets home from training. Now that he’s in the midst of playoffs again, he doesn’t get as much time at home anymore, but he takes it in stride.

When he can’t find you on the main floor, he tiptoes upstairs in case you’ve fallen asleep putting Ella to bed. Sure enough, she’s snuggled up next to you, both of you snoozing.

It’s been a month since he told her about your relationship and somehow, she’s grown to love you even more now that she knows you love her dad. Zach wonders if Ella can see how much happier he is these days. He tried to hide how empty he felt before, but maybe she caught on.

He’d rather not know. He’s rather not think about the past at all, really. Because right now, as he gazes into his daughter’s bedroom to see you hugging each other in your sleep, he knows he’s looking at his future.

(the end)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[homesick4la]

complicated — hamzahthefantastic

3. brown eyes at the entrance

contains: goofy drunk hamzah, quick mention of sex but no actual nsfw content in this one

summary: what do you do when your ex shows up at your front doorstep?

a/n: short but i just wanted to post hi

last part: with you all night

you left hamzah’s apartment that morning feeling more confused than ever. you two ate breakfast together and then you were out the door. he hadn’t even asked to hangout again or talked about breaking the whole “no contact” thing. he simply said he enjoyed the night with you and told you to have a good day.

how could he spend such an intimate night with you and not ask to see you again?

as hard as it was, you tried to be nonchalant about the situation. you could hook up with your ex in a casual way, right?

you call mandy, practically begging her to meet you for coffee.

now you were at your local cafe, anxiously walking up to the table you spotted mandy at.

“y/n! hey!” she said excitedly. you can almost see her eyes analyzing your facial expressions as you walk up to her. “so what’s up? you look like you’ve got something to tell me.”

“oh, it’s definitely..something.” you laugh nervously, “i uh, ended up talking to hamzah last night…”

“oh that’s great!” she interrupts, “did you get any sort of closure?”

“yeah, about that…i actually ended up going back to his place..”

she sighs at your confession.

“and we had sex but listen! i know that it was probably a bad idea but being around him again- it like made my brain go all fuzzy and all common sense went out the window.” you ramble, trying to defend yourself.

“y/n, i told you to go out on the balcony to get closure, not to hookup with him!”, she shakes her head at you. “but i get it. you guys have history, you’re comfortable with him. it’s easy to go back in that situation.”

“exactly! it was so comfortable! it felt like how things used to be. so now, i’m all confused because i thought i had finally gotten over him. and there’s matthew…”

“the guy you said was boring?” she questions.

“he is a bit boring but he’s nice- stable.”

“but what are you gonna do now? keep seeing him?”

“ugh, i don’t know. i guess i should end things with him- because clearly i have not moved on from hamzah yet.”

she nods slowly, deep in thought. “you think you’ll get back with hamzah again?”

“i don’t know,” you let out a harsh breath. “sometimes i think that maybe if we tried again, things would be different. like we’d be able to figure it out this time.”

she smiles softly.

“but today, he didn’t ask to meet again or ask how he could contact me or anything so i don’t even know if he wants to try again.” you shrug your shoulders.

“honestly, y/n, you might want to figure that out before cutting things off with matthew.”

she was right. you didn’t want to ruin a good thing simply for the possibility of getting back with your ex.

after another thirty minutes of catching up over coffee, she reminds you to keep her updated before the two of you part ways.

as you start driving home, your phone rings.

*incoming call: matthew*

“hey babe, you never texted me when you got home?” he questioned, his voice concerned.

you let out a soft sigh, “yeah, sorry- i went to sleep right when i got home.”

“you feeling better today?”

“yeah, yeah i think i just had a migraine or something.”

“good! i was actually wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight?” his voice is hopeful.

he was kind and cute and he knew what he wanted. how could you say no?

“sure! were you gonna pick me up on the way or should i meet you somewhere?” you ask, a soft smile creeping on your face.

“i’ll pick you up at six. oh- and wear something fancy! i wanna take you to a nice place.”

you agree and say your goodbyes. you were excited to get dressed up and be taken out. you hoped that this dinner would change things- show you how interesting and exciting matthew really is, helping you move on from the chaos of hamzah.

…

the restaurant matthew had chosen was beautiful. the warm candlelight and low jazz music playing in the background creating such a romantic atmosphere.

he sat across from you, retelling a story about a hike he had went on.

you could tell he was making an effort. telling you this story with you in an attempt to share something meaningful with you. feel closer to you.

but as he kept talking, your mind kept slipping into memories with hamzah. you thought of how beautiful his face looked when illuminated by candlelight. the way his smile had always been on the edge of a smirk.

hamzah knew exactly how to pull you into each of his stories. he entertained you effortlessly. just one of his jokes could leave you clutching your stomach in laughter.

“and then i was there, completely lost.” he chuckles slightly as he ends his story.

“oh my god, that must’ve been so scary.” you reply, doing your best to give him energy.

he smiled softly as he looked into your eyes. “that’s what i’ve always loved about hiking though- you never know what adventure’s around the corner.”

“yeah.” you respond, smiling sweetly while all you can think about is how hamzah would’ve made fun of that corny line.

“you okay? you seem distracted.” matthew said, watching you as he took a bite of his steak.

“oh! yeah i’m fine, i just had a long day.” you explain, telling yet another lie.

“i get it.” he smiles, “no worries.”

god, did he have to be so kind and patient? it’d make you feel much less guilty if he was a complete asshole.

no, he was everything you should want. he was sweet, understanding, and so open with you.

but there was no allure. no mystery. no edge. all of the surface-level conversation you two were having was driving you absolutely insane.

“well, i actually had something to ask you.” he broke the silence.

you look up at him, nervously waiting for him to continue.

“i’m going on a trip to seattle next week. it’s completely covered by my job and i have a plus one. i know it’s a bit last minute but i wanted to know if you’d like to join me?”

traveling together would change this “casual dating thing”, into something more serious. something you were definitely not ready for. not yet.

you clear your throat to speak, “can i uh- think about it? it sounds super fun, i just have a lot of school work and stuff…”

he nods. “yeah, just let me know whenever you decide.”

“thank you.” you smile.

after finishing dinner, he drives you back home. he thanks you for the night, explaining what a great time he had with you.

he walks you to the front of your apartment complex and presses a gentle peck to your lips before telling you goodnight.

as you ride the elevator up to your apartment, you decide that you have to end things with matthew. you couldn’t go on that trip with him and lead him on any more than you already have. it was unfair of you to be constantly comparing him to hamzah. the truth was that there nothing wrong with him at all- you were the only person to blame in this situation.

you look up as you start walking toward your apartment to see hamzah leaned up against the wall next to your front door. his head tilted back, eyes closed- simply waiting.

“hamzah? what are you doing here?” you say, your voice coated in shock.

his eyes are low. a goofy smile plastered on his face. he was either drunk or high, or both.

“you look pretty.” you can practically hear his smirk.

you stand directly in front of him. “are you drunk?” you ask as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“a little bit”, he laughs. “and maybe a little bit high but listen- i just wanted to see you.”

“oh and this couldn’t wait until you were, i don’t know, less…drunk?”

he shrugged, “but you were out with ‘new guy’, what’s his name?”

“matthew.” you roll your eyes at him. “how’d you know i was out with him anyway?”

“mandy might’ve mentioned that you texted her about it.” he grins, “i think watching paint dry might be more exciting than going on a date with that guy. i couldn’t let you go home and just be with that kind of…energy.”

you bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “hamzah, you can’t just show up at my door every time you think i should be around better “energy.”

“oh i can”, he shoots back at you. “it’s actually one of my best skills- showing up uninvited and reminding you of how fun i am.”

“you’re unbelievable.” you laugh, already feeling defeated by his charm.

“and yet”, he pauses. “here you are, laughing. i’ve still got it.” a cocky grin creeps on his face. you can’t help but laugh.

“you’re so full of yourself.” you shake you head, smiling.

“i just feel confident around you, that’s all.”

“oh really?” you tilt your head to the side.

“c’mon, y/n. tell me the truth- was he as funny as me?”

“no.” you admit, rolling your eyes.

“as charming?” he pushes.

“also, no.” you answer.

“then what are we doing here?” he lifts his hands up dramatically. “why are you spending your night with boring ol’ matthew when you could’ve had all this?” he gestures to himself, that goofy smile of his still lingering on his face.

“hamzah. you are being ridiculous.” you reiterate.

“did you mean ridiculous-ly hot and sexy or?” he can’t help but laugh at his own joke.

you shake your head and roll your eyes once again, still unable to contain the smile that seemed stuck on your face.

“you are impossible to argue with.” you tell him.

“is that a yes to me coming in?” he asks, a hopeful look in his eyes. “please? i’ll just sleep on the couch or even, the floor. whatever you want me to do.”

“you came here to sleep on my couch?”

“i just want to be around you.” he whined.

how could you say no to those brown puppy-dog eyes of his? and you couldn’t send him home drunk- that wasn’t safe. you just had to let him in.

“fine. get inside before i change my mind.” you tease as you unlock your front door.

the second you two get inside, he walks over to the couch, flopping onto it and stretching out with a smug look on his face. “see? look how harmless i am?”

“mhm, very harmless.” you say as you grab a blanket.

you start tucking him in with the fluffy blanket until he grabs your hand, looking into your eyes. “thank you for letting me in.”

“yeah, well you’re just lucky i’m too tired to kick you out.” you joke.

“yeah, lucky.” he repeats, his voice soft as his thumb rubs your hand softly.

just from the way his gentle touch and low voice had such an effect on you, you knew you were in trouble all over again.

a/n: next part soon. promise. also i did not proofread bc it’s 2 am and im tiredddd also writing this kinda reminded me of the song memories by conan gray so that is where the title for this part is from yay here’s the song if u wanna listen

[machveil]

For those who enjoy Dad!141. I present the song “Three year old” by Eric church. Yes it’s country and a little bit religious which isn’t everyone’s ideal but if I can look past that u can too,

Just imagine Dad!Ghost learning how to enjoy life and do stupid things from his little kid.

Also bc it’s country Dad!Graves UGH

-🦒

I’ll bite on Dad!Graves… [sigh], also sorry in advance, I love GirlDad!Cod men haha

Dad!Simon Riley whose little girl wants to play ‘army’ with him. she has him crawling around in mud after it rains, drags him to the local park so she can climb around and ‘train’ with him. he’s sore and achy from getting up and down, nearly slipped trying to stand up from the mud, but he wouldn’t have it any other way

Dad!Simon Riley who realizes he is a good dad as his little girl grows up. he used to worry about being like his father, scared that he’d hurt her, hurt you. but he hasn’t, and he doesn’t plan on it - it eases his nerves when his daughter laughs and smiles, little giggles spilling from her lips as Simon begrudgingly puts on a tutu. he’s doing good

Dad!Phillip Graves who spoils his princess rotten. he’s ‘good cop’ to a fault, can’t tell his little lady ‘no’ without having to look away from her, and even then his voice is strained. everyone knows his daughter has him wrapped around her little finger, you knew as soon as he held her for the first time. you’ll come home to find boxes and bubble wrap scattered around the front door, shortly followed by your three year old running around with a new toy, daddy on her tail with his matching toy

Dad!Phillip Graves who scoops up his daughter, she never has to ask dad to carry her. piggyback rides, being held in his arms, dangling at his side - Graves will pick her up and take her around the house with him. he’s all smiles, listening to her babble about her day and her little friends while sitting on his shoulders. be careful, they might team up to chase you around, your husband picking you up as easily as he did your kid

[jezebelblues]

in body and blood | pt. ii

pt i, pt ii

summary: over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

cw: blood, fem!reader, slowburn

word count: approx 14k

| this update was a bit long but i it felt right idk. the unedited version (some of this is still unedited i’ll go over it later) of this felt toooo long so i had to shorten it down some. hope u enjoy :^)

ps: before anyone anons me none of the gifs are my own

pps: i feel like i overused the words gaze and shadow so much. pretend i didn’t

The tavern was heavy with warmth, thick as the smoke that clung to the low beams overhead, where voices murmured in a haze, blending into a constant hum. Laughter, sharp and fleeting, cracked through the air now and again—its echoes dancing like fireflies in the corners, brief and forgotten as soon as they faded.

YN sat between Niall and Matilda, their bodies a cushion. Matilda—whose presence was like the earth itself, enduring yet delicate, her skin a dusky sheen, glowing faintly in the candlelight, as if touched by some quiet magic. Beneath the taupe of her skin, a subtle flush of magenta seemed to rise, like the softest blush of twilight, weaving around her as silk wraps a pearl. Her eyes, dark as walnut wood, held the deep wisdom of years unwritten, their irises swirling with concentric rings, like the rings of a tree long rooted in the soil of time.

To her, Matilda was not just a friend, but a kindred spirit—a sister not of blood, but of choice, a bond forged through the fires of shared years.

Her cheeks bloomed with the heat of the room, not just from the hearth but from the ale that hummed beneath her skin. The fire crackled, its breath licking the edges of the room, casting tremulous light on the aged wood, the walls darkened by years of ruckus. Silhouettes slithered over the faces of the others—hunched, hidden, lost within the quiet murmurs of their own worlds, each one cloaked in stories too old to tell aloud, too heavy to lift.

"Another round?" Niall’s grin was wide, a glint of something glimmering at the edge of his pupil, his tankard raised as though it were a banner. Without waiting for an answer, he sent a swift glance toward the barkeep, the signal already understood, the ritual as familiar as breath.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head with a weariness that only half-masked her affection. "You’ll have us drunk before the hours out if you keep this up," she warned, but her voice held no real rebuke—just the quiet comfort of knowing his games so well.

"Oh, come now, YN," The blonde teased, nudging her arm with a familiarity that bordered on tenderness. "A few ales to wash away the misery of the week won’t kill us. Besides," he added, his gaze flickering toward Matilda, who seemed as untroubled by the world as ever, "look at Matilda—she's not complainin'."

Matilda's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, her dark curls falling loose and untamed around her shoulders. "I’d never turn down a drink on Niall’s coin," she said, her voice laced with a sly sweetness, "Who knows when he’ll turn stingy again."

He huffed in mock offense, his brows furrowing comically, but the playful warmth in his voice betrayed him. "Stingy? Me? I’ll have you know I’m generous to a fault." He turned toward YN, as if to seek her confirmation, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a half-challenging smile. "Isn’t that right, love?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at her mouth, the soft pull of something more between them than just words. She took another sip, letting the warmth of the drink settle in her chest, a quiet fire against the chill of the world outside. The tavern, with its familiar scent of smoke and old wood, cradled them in a temporary reprieve—a small sanctuary where the burdens of life seemed just a little lighter. Here, the constant hunger of uncertainty, the whispers of bad omens, the specter of rationed days to come—they faded into the background, lost in the murmur of voices and the clink of tankards.

The laughter—clumsy, raucous, and rich with an odd comfort—was a balm, if only for a moment. A place where the weight of daily life eased just a bit, where the laughter and chatter dulled the constant worries of scarce food and rumors of ill omens.

Their conversation meandered as a familiar stream, winding through the usual tributaries of small-village life—Niall’s latest foolishness, whispers of passing strangers with their gold-braided coats, the gossip that bloomed and withered like wildflowers. But amid the hum of it all, YN’s thoughts wandered, drawn, like an invisible tether, to the watchtower that rose solemn in the distance. She remembered the man who had stood there, his features etched in the dim light, his eyes both distant and strangely soft. That fleeting moment had lingered in her mind, growing like a shadow that lengthens with dusk, though she could never quite name the shape of it.

Did he think of her, she wondered, as the days unfolded in their slow, relentless turn? Did the basket she had left—humble, perhaps, but with a quiet weight—find its way into his solitude, and if so, what did he see within it? A gift? A gesture? Or merely an idle offering, as common as the winds that swept across the hills? She could not tell, and perhaps it was better so—this silent question, unanswered, hanging like a note unsung, sweet and disquieting all the same.

As the evening stretched on, the tavern seemed to swell with noise, the laughter and clinking of mugs growing louder, more insistent, as though the very walls of the room had been pressed closer by the pressure heat. The fire crackled with a restless energy, its glow casting flickering shadows that danced across the worn faces of the patrons, each one swallowed up in the merry chaos of the hour. Yet, amidst it all, YN remained still—her secret a quiet comfort, nestled deep within her. She wore her mirth like a mask, laughing with the others, her words light and bright, but her thoughts clung to familiar stones, to the figure there, whose face haunted the edges of her mind.

There was a part of her that longed to speak, to share the strange discovery that had found its way into her heart. She imagined their reactions, the flurry of questions, the curious glances, but each thought was quickly quelled. For in that quiet, secret place where her heart held him, she knew some things were not meant for the ears of others. Some things were meant to linger between the spaces of breath, suspended in silence, known only to her and to the man who had, perhaps unknowingly, entered her world. And so, she kept it, like a hidden treasure, wrapped in the folds of the evening’s laughter, the mystery sealed away for now.

*

The first light of dawn crept over the hills, a pale gray whisper that softened the jagged contours of the land, as though the earth itself still hesitated between the clutches of night and the promises of day. From the threshold of his tower, Harry stood, unmoving, his gaze drifting down the hill toward the distant village, where the rooftops lay muted beneath the veil of early mist. The wind, sharp as a blade, pressed against him, but it did little to soothe the restless coil that tightened ever deeper in his chest.

There was a gnawing ache within him, a need not of flesh but of something more ancient, more desperate. It had been there, always, lurking just beneath the surface of his thoughts, but now, in the stillness of the breaking day, it felt more urgent. The silence of the world around him only served to amplify it, that quiet need, the echo of a longing he could not name. He knew what it was—knew what it had always been. The temptation, the thirst, the lure of something so close, yet so far from his reach. He had fought it for decades, distancing himself from the warmth of human company, the heat of blood that thrummed in their veins. But still, she lingered in the edges of his thoughts, like the faintest stream of sunlight on the horizon, pulling him toward something he could not deny.

Sleep had eluded him, as it often did now, though he scarcely noticed its absence. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, his body caught in restless motion—his thoughts as restless as his footsteps. It wasn’t something he needed, but it passed the time. The hunger was always there, a constant hum beneath his skin, gnawing at the edges of his composure, though he never let it show. It grew stronger, insidious, each time she lingered in his mind. Each fleeting thought of her—so brief, so innocent—pulled at him in a way he could neither understand nor escape.

There was something in her that unsettled him, something he could not quite name, nor bring himself to fully acknowledge. Perhaps it was the simplicity of her, unmarked by fear, offering him what he could not have, without question, without hesitation. Or perhaps it was the way she looked at him—not with the awe or revulsion he had come to expect, but with the quiet curiosity of someone seeing, not a legend, nor a monster, but something far more fragile. Something he had long forgotten how to be.

For decades, he had dwelled in the afterthought of the town’s edge, a half-forgotten relic of flesh and dust, unvisited by any living soul. But the whispers always crept in, insidious as rot. They started as flickers in the periphery, twisting shades that slipped into view and vanished, leaving a nagging sickness in the gut.

Then, in 1650, came talk of a ghost—a tortured soul, they said, who'd taken his own life in the tower and now roamed the woods, yearning for absolution that would never come. Heaven's doors stayed shut, and mercy seemed a fable.

By 1655, the villagers were finding the deer.

Carcasses strewn across the forest floor, gray, gaping, and bloodless, as if some foul thing had drained them dry. It was easier for them to name it, to craft their terror: night demon, they called it, a creature that could live only by consuming what was alive. Harry, feeling the noose of their suspicion, turned his appetite to smaller, lesser creatures, his hands stained with blood too meager to satisfy.

Then in 1698, after the king was beheaded and the fall of the kingdom, the whispers changed, took on a new venom. Now they spoke of a spy, some agent lurking in the ruins of the tower, sent to plot vengeance in the dark. The villagers feared the idea of a spy more than they feared a night demon. They feared each other more than a figment of hell.

In their mistrust, he felt a deep sorrow, hollow as the ribs of the carcasses he left behind. A sadness as profound as death, as he realized humanity could no longer recognize true horror—it had lost all memory of what lurked beyond the mirror's edge.

And in that, something broke, though he could not tell what—nor could he say why.

The thirst gnawed at him relentlessly, a raw, pulsing ache that twisted beneath his ribs, clawing and clawing with a force he could not escape, no matter how he turned his thoughts elsewhere. It hummed in his veins like fire, but darker, colder—a hunger that did not simply ask for blood, but demanded it, demanded the warm pulse of life that he had long denied himself. Each beat of his heart seemed to mock him, each breath he drew only stoking the flames of it, sharp as glass in his throat. The taste of it—the rich, copper warmth of blood—hung at the back of his mind, a constant, maddening memory. He had tried to bury it, to force it away with cold silence and self-preservation, but this morning, the ache was fiercer than it had ever been, digging into his bones with the ferocity of something starved for decades. And even as he struggled to hold it at bay, something else—something equally savage—gnawed at him from within, the hollow, unspoken absence of her. Her warmth, her softness, her blood that had flowed so close, so near, yet remained untouched. The silence in her wake was a wound he could not ignore, and in that silence, the hunger grew sharper, as if the very memory of her could feed the dark emptiness inside him.

He could not say when the decision had come—whether it had slipped upon him like a shadow or had broken through his thoughts with the force of something he could no longer deny. Perhaps it was the slow unraveling of his resolve, or the fierce, raw desperation for something—anything—alive, that had drawn him down the hill. His legs moved of their own accord, a slow, deliberate rhythm that felt both unnatural and inevitable, as if his body had forgotten what it meant to move freely, to walk without the weight of lifetimes pressing down. Each step was a silent battle, a strange dance between the gnawing pull of temptation and the remnants of restraint still clinging to him. The ground beneath him seemed to hum with each movement, as if it too felt the shift in him, the crossing of some unseen threshold, one he hadn’t dared approach in ages. It was not the angle of the hill that made his pace slow, but the unbearable anticipation that pressed at his chest, a swelling tide threatening to overtake him. The world around him felt suspended, holding its breath—waiting for him to yield, to surrender to the human warmth that called to him in the distance.

His ring caught the first light of dawn as he walked, its darkened crest catching the faintest gleam, a shard of forgotten embers against the pale, creeping morning. It was the only thing that had not been swallowed by time, the only gift Thomas had given him that still clung to his skin. A talisman, yes—but not one of comfort. The ring was his quiet, reluctant ally, allowing him to move through the sun’s wary embrace without the agony of flames licking at his flesh. Once, the daylight had been a battlefield, a reminder of the curse that pulsed through his veins, scorching him with every step. Now, with this small circle of silver upon his finger, he was permitted to walk beneath it, though never without the weight of knowing it was a gift that came at a cost.

It was his only reprieve, the faintest whisper of life that still belonged to him—a brief, bitter permission to walk where others could.

The trees, gnarled and bent with age, reached out with twisted fingers, their silhouette stretching long in the dim light. The brambles whispered as he passed, their thorned tendrils brushing against him in protest. He neared the docks, the world seeming to fall into a kind of fragile stillness. The boats rocked gently, their hulls creaking in time with the slow, rhythmic hush of the waves lapping against the weathered posts. The quiet was thick, almost sacred—no voices to disturb the calm, no fishermen hauling nets, no workers preparing for the bustle of the day. Only the soft pulse of the sea, the distant cry of a gull, and the hollow echo of his own heartbeat—steady, but not quite human. The taste of salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with a stagnation in his chest.

Harry came to a halt at the edge of the dock, his boots silent on the worn planks as he gripped the railing, the wood slick with the cold breath of morning. He stood there, staring out at the stretch of water, its surface flat and indifferent, like a mirror to the soul he no longer recognized. He did not know why he had come, could not outwardly say what had drawn him here, there was nothing for him, only the empty echo of a life he no longer belonged to. Yet, even as the thought mocked him, he found himself waiting—a flicker in his chest, a quiet, foolish hope that stirred with each passing wave. He told himself it was madness—he told himself it would never be enough—but still, there it was, a threadbare hope that he might catch a glimpse of her again. Just a fleeting moment, enough to remember the soft weight of being seen, the strange warmth of being spoken to as if he were still warm flesh, still alive.

The ache grew sharper the longer he stood, the hunger twisting within him, no longer a mere thirst for blood, but something darker, more raw, more human—something he hadn’t dared acknowledge in years. It sank into his bones, gnawing at him with a ferocity that made his chest tighten, his throat burn. He knew he should turn away, retreat into the shadows of the tower where the silence could swallow him whole once more, where the cold stone would keep him safely apart from a life he didn’t belong in. But still, his feet did not move, rooted to the planks of the dock as though they were chains of his own making. His gaze remained fixed on the distant rooftops, where the faintest trace of smoke rose into the gray morning, and for a moment, he imagined—foolishly, hopelessly—that if he stared long enough, willed it enough, she might appear. She might step into the light, just once more, and see him—not a demon, not the curse—but him.

If she did appear, he promised himself—though the vow felt fragile, like a thread pulled taut—he would not betray his presence. He would stay at the edges of her world, a fleeting figure that faded with the first light of day. He would not speak of the tower, not give voice to the dark, consuming truths that clung to him like a second skin. No, he would be nothing more than a passing stranger, a whisper on the wind. Yet even as he made this promise, the thought of it felt like a betrayal in itself, as though to remain distant was to deny the very thing that pulled him here, to this moment, to this place. The warmth of her—her kindness, so simple yet so rich—called to him in a way he could neither escape nor fully understand. Perhaps, if he could just stay near her, just a little longer, he might find the strength to endure another day. Just one more, he thought, as the days stretched into forever, as if he could keep pretending he was not already lost.

The thought was a temptation he had no right to entertain. Foolish, even reckless, he knew that. But he had grown weary—tired of silence, tired of the endless weight of his own secrets, of carrying the burden of solitude like a weight suspended from a noose. The girl had offered him a kindness, an offering so simple, yet so out of reach for someone like him. And though he could not, would not, repay it—could not bring himself to mar the fragile thread of warmth she had given—he found that he wouldn’t forget it. She had become something small, stubborn, like a flicker of light that refused to be extinguished, a flame in the deepest dark. And though he knew better than to hold on to such things, he would keep her there, in the quietest corner of his mind, as a reminder of what it was like to be seen, to be human, if only for a fleeting moment.

As if granted by God, or perhaps, the devil—YN passed through the old stone archway at the town's edge, a woven basket slung over her arm. The world seemed suspended, still wrapped in the soft embrace of dawn, the mist clinging to the trees and rooftops like a secret the earth wasn’t ready to reveal. She had risen early, drawn out by the need to gather the last of the winter berries, those fragile remnants of the season before the frost took hold and stilled the earth. It was one of her favorite tasks that led her beyond the town's walls, into the woods, a place where silence reigned and the trees held their own quiet truths.

She neared the docks, her steps growing hesitant, slowing without her willing it. There, at the edge of the water, stood the man from the watchtower—alone, his form carved in silhouette against the soft, silvery light of the sea. His back was turned, the dark coat he wore fluttering slightly in the breeze, his tousled curls stirring in the wind. In the dim, uncertain light of dawn, he seemed less a man and more a part of the landscape—a shadow that clung to the horizon, neither fully present nor fully gone, caught somewhere between the world she knew and something far more distant, more elusive.

She lingered for a breath, torn between calling for him or letting him remain untouched by the world, a figure suspended in the hush of the morning. He had occupied her thoughts ever since their first encounter, his face, his quiet gaze, as vivid in her mind as a memory from one of her grandmother’s old stories—unspoken, yet somehow known. She had kept him to herself, this fleeting, strange man, not spoken a word of him to those closest to her. He was a secret, her own personal sin that she wrapped around herself like silk.

He seemed to feel her before she spoke, the faintest tension creeping into his shoulders, a stillness that rippled like the calm before a storm. He did not turn, but something in his posture shifted—an almost imperceptible movement—as if his senses were attuned to the quiet stretch of her shadow across the weathered planks of the dock. His head tilted slightly, just enough to acknowledge her presence without a word.

"You never told me your name," she greeted softly, stepping closer, careful not to breach the delicate space between them.

He turned slowly, his jaw tightened. His skin was light as snow, the moss in his irises resembling the forest he hid in. Up close, he was as she remembered—shadowed eyes, heavy with unspoken things, yet sharp, as though he saw more than he let on. There was a stillness about him, a quiet reserve in his expression that made him feel both present and untouchable, a figure drawn from a dream—too distant to reach, but unmistakably real.

"Harry," he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain, as though her address had pulled him from some distant place where names held no meaning.

“YN.” She lifted her basket slightly, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Out foraging before the frost,” she explained, her voice warm but quiet. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I thought…” she trailed off, catching herself before admitting where she’d assumed he’d be.

He raised an eyebrow, a desire seeping through the cracks in the wall he desperately tried to keep up. "You thought I'd be tucked away in that old tower?" His tone was even, almost casual, as though he were testing the air between them, gauging her response before the silence could settle too deeply.

YN felt a blush creep up her cheeks and looked away. “Well… I suppose, yes.”

A flicker of something passed over his face, something that might have been understanding or perhaps resignation, but he didn’t let it linger. He nodded slightly, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. “Sometimes solitude wears thin, even in a place like that.”

His words mingled in the air, tinged with a quiet sorrow. She studied him in silence, noting the faintest tremor in his expression, the subtle tension that coiled through his posture. Despite his carefully maintained reserve, there was a weariness to him—an exhaustion that seemed to bleed through his seclusion, as if the silence had exacted a price, one he wasn’t yet willing to acknowledge, even to himself.

She took a step closer, the subtle shift of her weight a quiet invitation as she joined him by the railing, careful not to bridge the space between them too abruptly. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, like the thought were her own, not meant to disturb the fragile stillness. “It must be lonely, a place like that—cut off from everything.”

He glanced at her, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked out over the water, his expression caught between a guarded stillness and the faintest flicker of longing. "Lonely, perhaps," he muttered at last, his voice roughened, as though dragged from the depths of some forgotten grave. "But I've learned to wear it, like a second skin. I've grown accustomed to it… or it has grown accustomed to me." His words were slow, deliberate—each syllable a careful incision, as though he feared what might bleed out if he spoke too freely.

She nodded, tracing the faint shadows beneath his words with her eyes—melancholy buried so deep it seemed to haunt him like a scar long faded but never healed. The longer she watched, the more she felt the weight of it, a solitude so profound it had become his very skin. He had steeped himself in it, wrapped it around him like a cloak soaked in the blood of forgotten years, until it clung to him, a second nature, as much a part of him as the very air he breathed—an absence that devoured him from within.

They stood there in silence, the stillness wrapping around them, thick and quiet, neither comforting nor oppressive—just present. It was strange, she thought, how easily the silence settled between them, how it felt less like a void and more like something shared, their absence of like a language in itself. She let her eyes wander, tracing the rough grain of the dock beneath her feet, then briefly resting on the basket in her hands, wondering if she should break the silence, or if, perhaps, it was enough just to exist there beside him.

She spoke at last, her voice uncertain. “I was about to head up to the hills,” she mumbled, the words gentle but laden with invitation. “The berries won’t last long in this cold, and it helps to have someone along. It’s not a difficult walk, just... company for the journey.” She paused, her eyes darting briefly to him, a fleeting smile curving the corners of her lips—an offering, fragile, tentative. “If you’d like.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze focused somewhere in the distance, his fingers gripping the railing a bit tighter as though wrestling with some unspoken decision. She could see the hesitation in his face, a weariness that ran deeper than caution—the act of reaching out had become a thing he could no longer bear. It was as though he had spent years holding the world at arm’s length, terrified that its touch might unravel him.

When he finally met her eyes, his expression shifted, the stone of his reserve cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of something fragile, almost painfully human. “I don’t often accept such invitations,” he said, his voice low, threaded with an uncertainty he couldn’t quite conceal.

She nodded, her smile softening, becoming something quieter, more understanding—a silent acknowledgment of the weight behind his words. “Then consider it an exception,” Her tone shifted unexpectedly, a playful lilt slipping out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share. “Just once?”

He studied her in silence, it was an invitation, plain and unadorned, given without demand or condition, and for a moment, he found himself undone by it—drawn to the purity of it, despite himself.

“Just this once,” he repeated gently, almost to the wisps that danced in the breeze, as if the words themselves were a concession, a surrender he wasn’t quite prepared to make. He cast a fleeting glance toward the distant tower, that looming sentinel of his isolation, and in its outline, he felt the familiar tug of retreat. But then, as though the very weight of her kindness had pressed down on him, he nodded, the faintest gesture of capitulation, and gave in to the strange, irresistible pull that had led him here, to this moment.

They moved side by side, their footsteps soft echoes on the cobblestones, a rhythm that seemed to bind them together in the fragile stillness of the morning. The path wound upward, skirting the edge of the town's weathered walls, veering into the dense, dew-soaked grass that clung to the earth. The mist lingered, curling around them in cool, gossamer tendrils, as though the very air was reluctant to let them go. For a time, neither of them spoke, the silence between them delicate—neither uncomfortable nor forced, but a quiet communion, as if the world itself had paused.

YN glanced over at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in the set of his shoulders—always poised, always wrapped in a quiet, almost impenetrable composure. "You seem a little different here," she confessed, her voice thoughtful. "When I first saw you, up in the tower… I thought you were someone who'd forgotten the world. Forgotten how to belong to it."

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers as though the question unsettled him. “Maybe I have,” he answered quietly, his tone laced with a distant sadness. “It’s… simpler that way.”

They reached the edge of the forest, where the last of the berry bushes clung stubbornly to the rocky earth, their branches heavy with the deep red of winter's stubborn fruit. YN knelt by one of the bushes, her movements smooth and practiced, fingers deftly plucking the berries, each one a small treasure against the cold. She glanced up, catching him watching her—a mixture of curiosity and something more guarded, as though he were trying to decipher a riddle that had long slipped beyond his grasp.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly, his voice low, testing the words on his tongue before letting them fall. There was a hesitation in his question, an unspoken edge to it. "Doesn’t it frighten you? Being alone out here?"

She looked up, her hands stilling for a moment while she considered his question, settling in the quiet between them. A faint smile touched her lips, fragile. "Here and there," she shrugged, admitting a truth she didn’t often speak. "But I think... sometimes, solitude is a kind of freedom, too. A way to... unearth yourself, without the world carving you into something else. Just you, in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to guide you."

He fell silent, his eyes slipping away from hers, words brushing against something buried deep, stirring it from its dark corner. She studied him quietly, sensing a quiet burden he wore like a shadow that had long fused with his soul—a presence he could not escape, nor would he ever.

She placed a handful of berries into her basket, softly thudding as they rolled about. She stood slowly, offering him a nod that was gentle, careful. "Thank you for walking with me," she said, her voice soft but sure, like words themselves were a bridge between them. "I know... this isn’t your usual way."

He met her gaze, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered across his face—a softness, an unguardedness, almost like a breath held too long. Something that might have been gratitude, or perhaps a reverberation of a feeling he had long denied. “No,” he exhaled, his voice a low whisper, barely breaking the stillness. “It’s not.”

They stood there for what felt like an age, neither moving, neither speaking, the silence between them thick with the weight of things unsaid—things neither of them dared to name. And then, slowly, he inclined his head, a small, deliberate nod.

YN smiled softly, her steps lightening as she turned back toward the path that wound homeward, the weight of her basket now richer with the morning’s bounty. The air around them seemed to thicken, and as she walked, she could feel his presence beside her, a steadiness that clung to her.

Harry moved a pace behind, his steps measured, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots the only sound marking their progress. He kept his distance, a familiar gap between them, a boundary woven from old habits, borne not just of caution, but of something deeper, tragic—something that made the space between them a fragile necessity. Her warmth, the drum of her heartbeat, the maddening scent of her blood—each one was an unholy temptation, a siren’s song that pulled at him from the marrow of his bones. He could feel it stirring beneath his skin, a thirst that coiled like a serpent, winding tighter with every step they took together.

Yet here he was, a willing captive of his own weakness. And there she was—so close, so unguarded, soft.

She moved with a grace that seemed to belong to a world he could no longer touch, crouching now and then to pluck a berry, or to push aside a stray branch, her fingers nimble, delicate—perfectly at ease in the simplicity of the moment. Harry watched her, his gaze lingering on the way she moved through the trees, it made the weight of his own stillness feel unbearable.

She moved through his solitude as if it were nothing more than air, filling the cracks, unspoken, unnoticed—undeniable. A simplicity that made the silence between them feel like a violation, a thing that had no place in her quiet world.

"You don't talk much, do you?" she chuckled lightly, glancing up at him with a faint smile.

He seemed caught off guard, no one had spoken to him so directly in a very long time. "I suppose not," he admitted, his voice soft, deliberate. "Words are powerful things. I find I prefer to spend them sparingly."

She tilted her head, giving him a playful look.

"That sounds like something from an old book," she teased. "Is it isolation that makes you so mysterious, or were you born this way?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a fleeting flicker of something that could have been amusement. For just a moment, she saw it—an echo of a man who hadn’t forgotten how to smile, how to feel. "Perhaps both," he muttered, his voice low, laced with a hint of something half-hidden, the words themselves carefully measured. "Though... solitude has a way of changing a man. It wears him down, carves him into something… different. Something harder."

She paused, her fingers lingering on the gnarled branch, heavy with dark berries that seemed to pulse in the soft mist like droplets of some forbidden nectar. She plucked a particularly plump blackcurrant, its skin swollen with ripeness, and turned to him, offering it with a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Here,” she breathed, her voice warm as though the offering were not of fruit, but of something deeper. “When they’re this fat, they’re sweetest.”

Harry's eyes fixed on the berry, suspended in the air between them like an offering—innocent, simple, and yet impossible. His first instinct was to refuse, to turn away from the thing that could never nourish him, but the invitation in her eyes—soft, untroubled, and daring—cut through the distance he had carefully constructed for centuries. There was something disarming in the way she offered it, human, delicate, alive.

After a long breath, he reached for the berry, his fingers curling around it with an unnatural gentleness, as though he feared the fruit might shatter in his touch. He held it as one might a fragile relic, some forbidden treasure—one so delicate it might slip through his fingers into the void. Her smile deepened, wide and expectant, and something stirred inside him, a soft flicker of something he couldn’t name, it felt almost foreign, like a sun he hadn’t seen in an eternity.

Slowly, he raised the berry to his lips, his movements deliberate, drawn out, savoring not just the fruit but the very act of living. The skin gave way beneath his teeth with a quiet burst, releasing the sharp sweetness that slid across his tongue. The taste was sudden—shocking in its vividness—like blood, but purer, more innocent, the tartness of life itself staining his senses. For a moment, it nearly consumed him, that wild, forbidden rush, and he could feel the juice slip down his chin, dark against the pale pallor of his skin.

He wiped the mess away instinctively, but as his hand rose, it faltered, caught by her gaze—soft, yet piercing—watching him with an intensity he could not ignore. Her eyes lingered on the stain that marred his mouth, a dark splotch of life that only served to deepen the silent distance between them, a reminder of the worlds he had once inhabited. He could see the faint flush of color rise to her cheeks, and in that moment, he realized how he must appear—caught between two realms, a man straddling the living and the damned, part of him still tethered to something ancient and blood-soaked, something that should have long since been buried.

A faint, sardonic smile curved at the corner of his lips, the trace of something like amusement but touched with sorrow. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners,” he mumbled, the words thick with something more than simple apology—a confession of sorts, unspoken, lingering in the air between them. "It’s... sweet," he added, the word seeming to hold a weight it shouldn’t have, as though it bore some deeper meaning neither of them could fully understand. His voice cracked slightly, touched by a note of self-mockery, as if he were both aware and unaware of the chasm that stretched between him and the woman before him. The quiet messiness of the moment—his awkwardness—felt like something sacred, something wrong in a way that set his heart racing, but he could not tear his eyes away from her. Not now.

He met her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, something like warmth flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of something not quite human, yet achingly familiar—humanity, maybe, or the shadow of it. He said nothing, just let the words fall from his lips, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like a secret long buried, surfacing at last. "Just a berry," he breathed, his voice heavy with a weight she couldn’t yet understand. The words seemed to hold a meaning far older than either of them, a meaning he kept hidden beneath layers of time and darkness, a truth he couldn’t quite share.

She tilted her head, watching him intently, the space between them thick. "Maybe this isn't the sort of thing you're used to," she said slowly, testing the waters. "But maybe it’s good to have a reminder now and then. Not everything has to be heavy or distant. Not everything needs to be a burden." Her voice softened with that tenderness that could almost be called a challenge, as though she dared him to let go of the weight he carried—just for a moment—and find solace in something as simple and fleeting as a berry.

A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "You're very kind," there was a trace of gratitude in his voice. "Not everyone would bother with such words."

She dismissed him with a casual shrug, though a soft blush bloomed at her cheeks again, betraying her. "Well," she paused, tilting her head back to her task, fingers deftly plucking berries from the thorny branches. "Consider it my good deed for the day. A bit of company, a handful of berries... it's hardly a great sacrifice."

He watched her in silence, his eyes tracing her movements while she worked. There was something about her presence that settled in the dark places of him, casting a fragile light against his gnawing loneliness. For the first time in what felt like ages, the cold weight of solitude shifted, softened, a faint warmth brushing against his hollowed heart. Her companionship was like a thin ray of dawn breaking through the thick, leaden clouds, gentle and fleeting, but almost enough to make him believe, just for a moment, he belonged to it again.

They made their way back down the hillside, the morning mist lifting, replaced by the golden light of early day. The town came into view below, with the sea stretching out beyond it in shades of silver and blue. At the docks, a fisherman was loading his small boat, preparing to set out with the hope of finding a decent catch before the day wore on.

Harry and YN slowed their pace as they neared the town’s edge, a quiet understanding settling over them. She stopped first, turning to face him, her basket now filled with her morning’s foraging. The shimmer in her eyes was clear, a warmth that Harry had felt weaving its way through each word she spoke, each gesture. He found himself looking down at her, lingering longer than he meant to.

“Thank you,” he nodded, his voice soft but sincere. He felt awkward saying it, as though the words were foreign to him now, yet he meant them in a way he hadn’t for anything in years. “For letting me join you. It’s not often I find myself in good company.”

She smiled, tilting her head, her gaze as warm as the morning light. “Not often?” she teased, her voice light. “I’d have thought you had people lining up to walk the hills with you.”

He gave her a slight, almost rueful smile, lowering his gaze. “No,” he chuckled, “you’d be surprised.”

She laughed, a gentle sound that seemed to melt some of the tension he felt braced against his own chest. “Well, if it ever grows tiresome,” she paused, a hint of suggestion in her voice, “you could come into town. Join me for a cup of tea.”

At her words, something tightened in him—the familiar tension he felt whenever he allowed himself to stay close to her for too long. The sound of her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, it all pressed against his self-control, threatening the thin restraint he kept over himself. He forced a small, polite smile, but he felt his jaw clench almost involuntarily, his fingers curling into his palms.

“I appreciate that” he managed, his voice steady, but softer now, with an almost regretful edge. “But I don’t often go into town. I think… today’s walk will be enough for me.” He inclined his head slightly, hoping she’d accept this without taking offense, without feeling he’d turned down her kindness out of coldness.

She looked at him, studying his face as if searching for something beneath his words, but after a moment, she smiled again, nodding. “Then perhaps I’ll bring you something instead,” she suggested weakly, her voice warm, reassuring. “Lunch tomorrow, if that would be alright.”

A strange mixture of relief and dread nestled within him. The thought of her returning—of her presence filling the cold, empty silence of the tower—was both comforting and unnerving. They would be alone, just the two of them, and though he had spent years learning to control his urges, nothing had tested him like this. Sometimes, the thrum of her heart was louder than anything else, or the scent of salt on her skin after the climb up would linger, sweet and tormenting. It was a peculiar torture, having something so inviting right before him, only to be faced with the hollowness of indulging. Her offer to bring him lunch, to sit and eat with him despite the fact he needed none of it, should have been easy to refuse. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so—not when her gaze held such open, unguarded sincerity.

“That would be very kind of you,” The words came out reluctantly, like couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. “Thank you, YN.”

He liked the sound of her rolling of his tongue.

She nodded, the faintest hint of excitement in her smile, pleased to have found a way around his reserve. “Tomorrow, then,” she beamed. “I’ll bring something good—don’t you worry.” Her eyes sparkled as she gave him a small wave, then turned, making her way back down the path toward town, her figure soon swallowed by the morning bustle.

Harry remained glued to his spot, taking his lip between his teeth to suppress a smile. She was off-putting, to say the least—her tenderness only a dead man could find odd. He was wrong for seeing her again, he knew it, falling into temptations like this. He could be careful, he thought, he has been so far. Or maybe he was just a guilty man trying to justify his crimes.

YN walked back into town with a lightness in her step, her mind turning over the morning’s encounter as if she were reliving each moment. The air had taken on the warmth of a rising sun, and the sleepy town had started to stir with the sounds of morning chores and familiar greetings. She made her way through the winding streets, past a few shopkeepers opening their doors, and toward her own modest home nestled along a cobbled lane.

As she moved, she found herself smiling, her thoughts still wrapped around the mysterious man from the watchtower. There was something about him—something almost magnetic, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. He seemed so… displaced, she thought, like he belonged to some other world or some faraway time. His formality, his quiet reserve, the way he looked at her like he hadn’t been in anyone’s presence in years—it all only deepened the intrigue she felt toward him.

When she had reached her home, her mother was already out front, shaking out rugs and pinning them to the line, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She looked up, smiling at YN’s approach, though her eyes quickly narrowed in mock suspicion.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” her mother remarked, nodding toward the basket her daughter held. “But those berries are no less full, I see. Found a good patch, then?”

“Something like that,” She replied with a faint smile, setting the basket down on the stoop as she untied her shawl.

Her mother peered over at her, an eyebrow raised. “And you’re grinning like a girl who’s got more on her mind than just berries.”

YN’s cheeks warmed, and she glanced down at her hands, hoping her mother wouldn’t press her. “Just… ran into someone,” she shrugged, though she could feel her own heart beating faster as she spoke. She could hardly explain what about the man had affected her so, but there was no use pretending it hadn’t.

The rest of the day passed in the rhythm of her usual tasks, though her mind wandered often, her thoughts circling back to him in unbidden moments. As she washed linens in the cool water from the well, she remembered his soft, careful voice. As she helped her mother hang dried herbs in the kitchen, she thought of Harry’s strange, old phrases, the way he spoke as though he had words tucked away that he never quite spent. And as she swept the front step, she caught herself glancing up the hill, as if expecting to see his shadow among the trees.

When evening came, she prepared her plan for the next day, gathering ingredients for a simple meal—hearty bread, a thick soup made from root vegetables, and a small parcel of roasted nuts, wrapped carefully in cloth. Nothing extravagant, but enough to share.

The next morning, the sky dawned gray again. YN was up before her family, carefully packing the basket with the meal she’d prepared. She’d risen early on purpose, hoping to reach the tower before the town fully awoke, before her courage might falter under the curious eyes of neighbors.

She walked through the town’s cobbled streets and kept her gaze steady, willing herself not to think too much of what she was doing, to simply trust the instinct that had pulled her back to that place. She found her steps quickening as she neared the hillside path, the watchtower looming in the mist like a ghostly sentinel above the trees.

The closer she got, the more her heartbeat quickened, anticipation mingling with nerves. She hadn’t felt this kind of energy since she was a girl, sneaking off to meet a friend in secret, carrying a half-imagined thrill in her heart. But this was different, more serious. She wasn’t quite sure why, only that her curiosity—and something deeper, some small, unshakable sense of understanding—had drawn her here.

When the tower finally came into view, she felt a strange warmth rise in her chest, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability. She slowed her pace, clutching the basket a bit tighter, her gaze sweeping over the familiar stone walls, over the high windows that stood like silent watchers against the morning light.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the door, raising her hand to knock. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if he might not answer, if he’d decide to stay hidden, bound by whatever loneliness had kept him there all this time.

Or perhaps he could just be sleeping, she was a bit too early, after all.

But then, with a steadying breath, she knocked anyway, the sound echoing faintly against the old stone.

When the heavy wooden door creaked open, YN found herself staring into a face that was both familiar and strange in the dawn’s soft light. Harry stood there, his shirt loose at the collar, as though he’d barely had time to pull himself together. His curls were tousled, framing his face with a careless disarray that made him look younger, more human than he had the day before. The faintest flush of color lingered on his lips—a deep red stain that looked, she thought, suspiciously like the mark of freshly eaten berries. She found herself caught in the small details of him, her heart giving an unexpected flutter.

For a moment, he only blinked at her, taking in the sight of her with her neatly packed basket in hand, standing in the misty morning light.

“Good morning,” she managed, offering him a tentative smile. “I thought—well, I know it’s early, but I promised to bring you lunch.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile, and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Lunch?” he repeated, a teasing note in his voice. “Since when does lunch begin at dawn’s first light?”

She laughed, pink rushing to her cheeks, feeling like she’d caught him off guard—and, perhaps, herself as well. “I was just a bit eager, I suppose,” she admitted, her voice lighter than she’d intended. “Thought I might catch you before the rest of the day carried me off.”

Harry tilted his head, considering her with new interest, his gaze softening slightly. “Well, I can hardly argue with such eagerness,” he murmured, though his tone still held an edge of humor. “You are… remarkably prompt, I’ll give you that.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in, his form framed by the dim, shadowy interior of the tower. YN hesitated only a moment before stepping across the threshold. The air was still, thick with the scent of stone and the faintest hint of rain-soaked soil. She could feel him watching her as she looked around, taking in the carefully kept space.

She set her basket down on a small wooden table, glancing over at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I didn’t mean to intrude so early,” she sighed, smiling apologetically as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I thought… you might appreciate it, perhaps.”

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled curls, an almost sheepish look in his eyes. “Well,” he began, a soft chuckle folllwing, “you’re certainly succeeding in such thoughts.” His voice was warm, softened by a trace of lingering amusement, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, still adjusting to her presence.

“Good,” she grinned as she reached into the basket to begin unpacking. She set out a thick slice of bread, the nuts, and jar of hearty soup she’d wrapped carefully to keep warm.

Harry watched her, his eyes following each movement, though his face remained unreadable. There was a subtle tension in the set of his jaw, a hint of something unbeknownst to her in his eyes, but when he finally looked up, his features softened involuntarily. “You needn’t have gone to all this trouble,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, her gesture surprising him more than he wanted to admit. “But… thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I find myself enjoying your presence.”

Harry swallowed hard. He didn’t respond, or maybe he couldn’t. He was immortal, inhuman, a man molded by the hands of the devil, yet he was left intimidated by her.

They settled at the small wooden table, the quiet intimacy of the space filling with the soft rustle of cloth and the faint aroma of the food she’d brought. Harry sat across from her, holding the small slice of bread she’d laid out, his movements measured and deliberate. He took slow bites, his gaze flickering between her and the food, watching her reactions to the meal she’d prepared.

YN, already warmed by the cozy quiet between them, reached for her own serving of bread and took a bite, savoring the way the crust flaked against her teeth. She glanced up to find him watching her again, his expression carefully neutral, though his reserve was still obvious. “Is it all right?” she asked, her tone light, smiling a bit to reassure him. “Not too humble for a man such as you, I hope?”

It definitely didn’t compare to the way she would taste.

His lips quirked, the faintest of smiles appearing, and he inclined his head. “Quite the opposite,” he replied, a whisper of a lie. “It’s nice.”

At least it was warm.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of the meal settling between them. She noticed that he was eating slowly, as though savoring every mouthful, or hating every minute of it, she couldn’t tell. But there was a restraint to it, too—a hesitation that seemed at odds with someone enjoying a meal. Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to company, she thought, though she couldn’t help wondering about the hint of something withheld.

Harry finished his slice of bread and took another sip of the soup, though his attention seemed more on her than the food, his gaze lingering as if he were still surprised by her presence in his world. She caught him watching her and offered him a playful smile, unable to resist a small jest at his expense.

“Tell me,” she said, leaning forward with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “did you actually go out and forage for those berries after all?”

His brow furrowed, and she gestured to her own lips in demonstration. “Your mouth,” she clarified, laughter coloring her voice. “There’s a bit of red left. Did you get curious and try some of the berries after I left yesterday?”

Harry blinked, a faint look of shock crossing his face, and then something shifted—a glimmer of amusement softened his expression, though it was mixed with a flicker of discomfort he couldn’t entirely hide.

If only she knew.

“Ah,” he murmured, lifting a finger to his lips, dabbing at the faint stain. “Yes, perhaps I did. I… wasn’t aware it left such a mark.”

YN laughed, her own cheeks warming, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. “Well, you wear it well.” She teased lightly, her tone softening.

Harry chuckled, something almost guarded in his gaze, his jaw tightening slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice laced with humor, eyes holding an unreadable darkness. “I suppose I’ll need to be more careful.”

YN’s laughter softened, and she shook her head, feeling that strange pull toward him—the sense of mystery he carried, his quiet, watchful presence that seemed both open and closed to her, like he was allowing her only glimpses of his true self. It made her want to know him more, to uncover the depth of whatever past he held close, whatever shadows he kept tucked away.

“Well, don’t be too careful,” she murmured, reaching for another slice of bread and breaking it in half, offering him a piece. “I’d hate for you to lose that touch of color. It suits you.”

Like a painting, she wanted to say, like he was made at the hands of an artist.

Harry took the offered bread, his eyes flickering over her face, something softer settling in his expression. He bit into the bread, more slowly this time, his eyes never leaving hers. “Thank you, then,” he cleared his throat, his voice low, almost reverent. “For the color—and for the meal.”

A silence between them grew soft and warm, filling the small space of the tower with an ease YN hadn’t anticipated. Harry had relaxed slightly, though he still held himself with a careful reserve, his gaze lingering on her now and then as they ate. There was something about him that felt… contradictory, she thought. He seemed distant, guarded, yet here he was, welcoming her presence, even if with a hint of reluctance.

After they’d finished, she began to gather up the remnants of the meal, brushing crumbs from the table into her hand. Harry watched her, his gaze thoughtful, still piecing together how he felt about her being there. She could feel his eyes on her, a weight she found both unsettling and oddly comforting.

“You know, I could bring a bit more next time. Dinner perhaps—if that wouldn’t be intruding.”

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked down, his fingers brushing absently over a knot in the wood grain of the table. “You’d come back?”

She laughed softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she straightened up. “Of course. I find you refreshing—different from most of the folks in town.” Her smile softened, becoming something more genuine. “It’s good, I think, to remind you there’s a world beyond these walls.”

She felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—a desire to reach out to him, to draw him out of whatever sorrow he held close to his heart. She had no idea what kind of loneliness he carried, but she sensed it was deep, rooted in something far older than just the quiet years he had spent in this place. “I can’t help but wonder what keeps you in this tower. You seem like someone with… stories to tell.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, something contemplative and guarded in his expression. He glanced away, a faint look of regret shadowing his face. “Yes, I suppose I have my share.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, she thought he might continue, might open up and share some part of himself with her. But then he seemed to retreat, as if he’d caught himself at the edge of something he wasn’t ready to confront. He glanced back down, his fingers idly tracing a line in the wood of the table again. “I don’t wish to burden you with old tales…Perhaps someday.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, and YN found herself nodding, feeling the quiet promise in his voice. “I look forward to that day, then.”

They sat together a while longer, the silence stretching between them, comfortable yet charged with the beginnings of something. As the morning light grew stronger, casting warm beams through the narrow window, YN reluctantly gathered her things, sensing it was time to go.

“I’ll see you again soon?”

”Yes, YN. Until then.”

Harry watched her as she lingered by the door. Her basket was empty now, save for a few crumpled cloths, yet she seemed hesitant to go, her fingers brushing over the handle as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, to draw out these last few moments. He couldn’t deny the pull of her presence, the warmth she brought to his cold, solitary space. Before he could think better of it, he took a small step forward, his voice soft but inviting.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone careful, “if you have no place pressing to be… you’re welcome to stay for a bit longer.”

She turned, surprise dancing across her face before it melted into a quiet, grateful smile. “I’d like that, if you don’t mind, truly.”

He allowed himself a hint of a smile, nodding slightly. “Not at all,” he kept his gaze steady to reassure her—and perhaps himself—that he truly meant it. “I think I… find myself rather unaccustomed to company. But I don’t mind yours.”

The words hung between them, unhurried and simple, yet they felt as profound to him as a vow. Her presence here was something different, something he hadn’t felt in longer than he cared to remember. And now that she was here, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let her leave, not just yet.

After a beat, she drifted around the room, taking in the details she hadn’t had time to notice before—the faint glow from the narrow windows, the muted colors of the worn stone walls, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the faintest hint of earth. The tower had a solemn quiet about it, a kind of reverence that made her feel as though she’d stepped into another world. Her eyes were soon drawn to the tall shelves on one side of the room, each one filled with rows upon rows of books.

She moved toward them instinctively, her footsteps light as she approached. Harry followed her at a measured pace, his eyes never leaving her as she came to a stop in front of the books, her fingers hovering just above the spines, brushing over the dust-speckled covers. The books varied in size and age—some with cracked leather bindings, others bound in faded cloth. A few bore intricate gold lettering, gleaming faintly in the low light. Each one looked well-worn, like it had been handled and read countless times.

“You have so many…” she smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place before.”

He stepped closer, keeping a small, respectful distance behind her, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “They’re… relics,” he replied softly, his tone thoughtful. “Pieces of a life I left behind, though I suppose they’ve never really left me.”

YN glanced over her shoulder, catching the distant look in his eyes as he took in the shelves. “They mean a great deal to you,” she observed gently, her voice barely above a whisper due to how close he was. “I can see that.”

He nodded, a faint, almost sorrowful smile tugging at his lips. “Books,” he said slowly, “have a way of keeping memories… even when we’d rather leave them in the past.” His gaze lingered on a particular book faded from age and use.

She took in his expression, feeling a pang of curiosity mixed with a quiet empathy. She could sense the weight of those memories, the way they seemed to cast a shadow over him. She paused for a moment, her fingers drifting over the titles, reading names she didn’t quite recognize. Then, one title caught her eye—an ornate, weighty book, its leather cover stamped with intricate designs.

Without a word, Harry reached past her, his fingers brushing near hers as he pulled the book from the shelf with a kind of reverence. He held it carefully, almost lovingly, before turning it over to show her. “This one,” he began, his voice softer now, “is Theuerdank and Weisskunig. It’s… a rare piece. An epic, really. A romance of sorts.” He traced the cover with his fingertips, his expression growing more intense, almost tender.

“A romance?” she asked, her tone holding a hint of playful surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be one for romance.”

Another faint smile crossed his lips, (she had a way of doing that) although his eyes held a touch of melancholy. “Not the sort of romance people think of now,” he shook his head, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “This one is about… chivalry, valor, a man trying to prove his worth not to another, but to himself.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “It’s a journey that changes him, even though he never quite reaches what he’d hoped for.”

She took in his words, her own features softening. There was a depth to him she hadn’t quite understood before, a sense that he carried within him something broken yet cherished, as though he held the remnants of a life that had shaped him in ways he couldn’t express. She could see in his eyes that he loved this story, that it resonated with him on a level deeper than she could fully comprehend.

“It sounds beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to the worn pages as she traced the intricate designs on the cover. “It seems you cherish it.”

“Yes. Something like that.”

She held the book in her hands, holding an urge to ask him about those memories, to know what he had seen and experienced that left such sorrow. But she sensed he wasn’t ready to share that—not yet.

“Thank you for showing me,” she smiled. The green in his eyes contrasted his pale skin, his lips the raspberries that grow in the summer. His hair was parted in the middle, chocolate curls framing his face. Chocolate raspberries, she thought. It fit him. Sweet, a delicacy, something she craved more of. “It’s… a lovely part of you.”

For a brief moment, it seemed as though he might say something more, but he only nodded, a quiet gratitude lingering in his eyes.

As she continued to look over his books, Harry found himself moving closer, his chest only a deep breath away from her back, drawn in by her presence despite the intoxicating pulse of her heartbeat that set his senses on edge. He could smell the faint scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her skin just inches from his own, and he fought the urge to retreat, to put distance between them. Instead, he focused on her fingers as they traced the books, her gentle touch against something he cherished.

Her hand drifted back to Theuerdank and Weisskunig, and she turned to look at him, her smile bright. He clenched his jaw, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes. She smelt of earl gray tea and lavender. He could hear her lungs expand as her breath hitched, the sound of her heart thrumming against her ribcage. He could see the way her jugular pulsed behind skin, how her cheeks flushed the same color as her lips.

Her lips—parted with shallow breaths that were barely audible underneath the rush of blood through her veins. Her lips, soft, plump. The part between them would fit his bottom lip perfectly. He wondered if they were as pliant as they looked.

He, of course, was aware of how pretty YN was, but she never seemed more beautiful in the soft glow of the candlelight.

And god, how he towered over her. His tummy fluttered with something he’d long forgotten, something more than lust, more intense than a want.

He wanted to cage her between him and his books, kiss her softer than he was used to. He wanted to trace her curves, to feel the warmth he was void of. He wanted to trail his lips along the line of her jaw to the softest part of her neck. He wanted to sink his teeth in her, to taste her, to feel the way she would slide across his tongue and down his throat. She was his little lamb, and he, the wolf.

The predator.

He took a step back, swallowing hard. It felt like his world was spinning, crashing in around him. This was so wrong, but fuck, it felt so right.

She could feel the burn of Harry’s eyes as she averted to the shelf, watchful and silent, his presence just behind her like a shadow she could feel but couldn’t see. There was a heaviness to his closeness, a tension she sensed in the way he held himself, as though he were carefully keeping a distance that he longed to close.

She’s had crushes before, desires. She was no stranger to a blush on her cheeks, to the warmth that would bloom in her chest if they locked eyes. But no man had ever brought a heat between her thighs, a fire in her belly that only he could extinguish. It was foreign, yet she relished it.

It was like YN could feel his body buzzing behind her, his breaths cool along the back of her neck—until it wasn’t. He stepped back, distanced himself. Had he not felt the same? Did he not desire her in the ways she did?

Her lips fell into a frown as she cleared her throat. She didn’t like how the silence felt now.

“You must have spent years collecting these. Do they hold a piece of you, Harry?”

Her words were not making this any better. He didn’t know her very long, but she got him.

He took a deep breath, although it didn’t matter much. Comfort of once was, maybe. “Fragments, I suppose,” he swallowed. “Memories from a time when I still believed in… well, things I haven’t felt in a very long while.”

There was something in his voice that made her pause, a thread of sadness woven into his words that tugged at her heart. She turned fully to face him, searching his expression, sensing that there was so much he kept hidden, so much of himself he held back, as though he feared what might happen if he allowed her to see him fully.

“What changed?” she asked gently, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop herself.

He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze intense, his jaw tightening as though he were wrestling with something inside himself. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of whatever past he kept buried, and she felt a flicker of regret for having pressed him. But before she could apologize, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Life… has a way of taking things from us,” he shifted, eyes drifting toward the window where the morning light touched the stones with a cold, silver glow. “Things we thought we couldn’t lose… pieces of ourselves we believed would last forever.”

They didn’t, he thought. Things like that were only supposed to last a lifetime. Things like that have an expiration date, something he didn’t have.

YN watched him, her heart aching at the quiet sorrow in his words, the sense of loss that seemed to surround him. She wanted to reach out, to bridge the distance between them, but something told her that he was not ready for that—that he was still bound to the solitude.

“Maybe not everything has to last forever,” she started softly, her voice gentle. “Sometimes, things are beautiful because they’re fleeting. Because they remind us that we’re alive, even if only for a moment.”

He would laugh if he could. She was alive, beautiful, fleeting, and he was anything but.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on her face. “But the fleeting moments tend to hurt the most when they leave.”

She looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of the table, feeling the weight of his words settle around them like a shroud. There was a sadness to him, a depth of loss that she couldn’t fully comprehend, yet she felt drawn to it, to the mystery he kept hidden, as though she could somehow ease the burden he carried.

After a moment, he seemed to shake himself from whatever memories had surfaced, his expression softening as he looked at her with a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” his voice was rough, heavy with things left unsaid. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve spoken so freely.”

She shook her head, a warmth spreading through her chest. “You needn’t apologize, Harry. I’m glad you feel you can speak with me,” she replied, her voice sincere. “It means a lot that you’d share… even a small part of yourself.”

His eyes held hers, a quiet gratitude, and for a moment, it felt as though the walls around him had softened, as though he had allowed her to step just a little closer to the heart of who he was. She could feel the an intimacy between them, a connection that felt fragile yet profound.

She could feel the tension again, the same one he broke away from before. She hurriedly tucked wisps of hair behind her ear as she turned back around, grabbing any random book that caught her eyes first. “This one looks well-loved.” That was a guess. “What’s it about?”

Harry’s eyes lit with the faintest hint of warmth, and he took the book from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for just a brief moment. “It’s poetry,” he said, his voice reverent, almost tender. “Lines I knew by heart once.”

He opened the book, flipping through the delicate pages until he found a passage, and he held it out to her, fingers tracing the ink with a distant smile.

“Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented:

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contended.”

His voice was tender, his eyes never leaving the page. He was close to her again, their shoulders touching. She wanted to reach out, to hold his hands and tell him how lovely he is, that he isn’t truly alone as much as he may try to be.

And yet, some unspoken barrier held her back, some invisible line neither of them seemed willing to cross. They stood in the quiet of the tower, both of them poised on the edge of something unnameable, something profound and fragile, something that neither of them dared to acknowledge but neither could ignore.

She mulled the words over in her head, trying to understand what lay beneath them. It was before her time, surely—and she was no poet.

He watched her, his gaze softening, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “For letting me… share this. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to speak with, someone who might understand.”

The morning light grew brighter, casting soft beams across the stone floor. She felt the moment settle around them, an understanding that went beyond words, a bond forged in the simple act of sharing a piece of themselves.

YN’s gaze drifted toward the narrow window overlooking the docks below. She noticed a familiar figure moving along the shoreline, preparing his small boat for the day’s work, his movements brisk and practiced. A soft laugh escaped her lips, a fondness shining in her eyes as she watched him.

“Ah, there’s Niall,” she murmured, more to herself, but Harry caught the familiarity in her tone.

He glanced down at her, tilting his head slightly. “A friend of yours?”

Just a friend, he selfishly hoped.

She nodded, smiling as she watched the blonde secure the ropes, his expression focused and slightly comical as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot. “Yes. We’ve known each other since we were children. Niall’s always been… well, restless, I suppose. Could never stay put for more than a few minutes.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Even now, he’s still got that same wild look in his eyes, like he’s just waiting to run off on some grand adventure.”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile as he listened. She was watching Niall, but Harry was watching her. There was something endearing about the way she spoke of her friend, a kind of affection that made her eyes sparkle and her voice warm. He could feel the subtle warmth in her words, the way she brought Niall to life in her memories. In her presence, he was reminded of the depth of human connection—the kind he had nearly forgotten, the kind he thought he’d lost.

“He sounds like quite the character.”

YN nodded, a wistful smile on her lips. “Indeed. We used to dream up all kinds of wild adventures together—though I think, deep down, he always knew he’d be the one to live them. And I’d be here, waiting to hear his stories.”

A sadness dripped from her words, he could feel it. Did she not think herself able? Was she tethered to one world, yet longed for another? He had not known her very long, but he thought her to be anything but trapped.

But before he could dwell on the thought, he noticed her expression change—a faint, startled gasp escaping her lips. She turned to him with wide eyes, a sudden urgency lighting her face.

“Oh,” she breathed, her hand lifting to her chest. “My father—he’s due back today. From his trip at sea.”

She looked up at him, a hint of guilt mingling with the excitement in her gaze. “I should… I should go,” she stammered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “He’ll be expecting me at the docks any moment now, and I’ve completely lost track of time.”

Harry felt the quietness around them shift, the moment slipping through his fingers as she pulled away. Yet he nodded, his gaze steady, a small, understanding smile on his lips. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low, though he couldn’t quite hide the faint regret in his tone.

She hesitated, “Thank you… for this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “For letting me stay, for… well, for everything.” She glanced down, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ll come by again. I’d like to… if that’s all right.”

He nodded, his voice gentle. “Very much so,” he replied, his words carrying a quiet sincerity that felt almost like a promise. “Take care, YN.”

With one last look, she turned and hurried toward the door, her footsteps light but purposeful. As she crossed the threshold and descended the hill toward the docks, Harry watched her until she vanished from view, her laughter and warmth lingering in the quiet emptiness of the tower.

The silence of the tower felt heavier once she left, the warmth YN had brought into the room dissipating like the last glow of a dying fire. Harry stood by the window, his eyes lingering on the distant figure making her way down the winding path toward town, her basket swinging lightly at her side. He had always known his solitude to be vast and impenetrable, something that felt inevitable. But now, watching her retreating form, he felt a quiet ache settle over him, unfamiliar and disquieting.

Below, he could just make out Niall, still by his boat, glancing up and giving a cheerful wave as YN approached. She returned it with a bright smile that seemed to reach even up to the tower, filling Harry with a strange, inexplicable longing. The easy way she moved through the world, the warmth she shared so freely—it was something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Her presence had stirred something deep within him, something he had thought long since buried.

He watched her as she stopped to exchange a few words with Niall, laughter drifting faintly on the morning air, and he could almost imagine her conversation, the honey in her voice, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

He turned away from the window, the emptiness of the tower pressing down on him once more. The shelves of books lined the walls, relics of a life he had loved and left behind, each volume a reminder of the years he had spent in isolation, drawing comfort from words when human connection had felt too dangerous, too painful. But now, for the first time in decades, he found himself wishing for something beyond the familiar comfort of ink and paper.

Without her presence, the tower seemed colder, the silence no longer a welcome solitude but a reminder of what he lacked, of the hollowness that had slowly crept into his life. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior, a frustration at himself for allowing her to breach his walls so easily, to touch a part of him he had kept locked away.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slightly, remembering the softness of her touch, the warmth that had radiated from her as she held the book he’d given her. The memories felt vivid, too close, too real—almost dangerous in their intensity. She had given him a glimpse of something he had forgotten he could feel, something he had once cherished but had long since taught himself to live without.

Then came something that made his stomach churn, he started to miss her.

The thought was dangerous, he knew. His life was built on control, on restraint, a constant battle against the hunger that lurked beneath his skin, a thirst that would never be sated. The solitude he had chosen was a necessary prison, a means of keeping others safe from his curse. And yet, he found himself questioning that choice, the isolation he had so carefully constructed, the walls he had so painstakingly built around himself.

Could it be possible, even for someone like him, to share even a sliver of his life with another? To find comfort, even fleetingly, in the presence of another soul?

Her soul.

He clenched his jaw, parting from the window with a sense of finality, as though ignoring the sight of her would return him to his old resolve. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in such thoughts—not YN. She was a light, a brightness he had long since lost the right to reach for. She was the color pink, she was warmth of tea his mother use to make. She was the sun, the moon and the stars. To hold her close would be to risk the very thing he had sworn to avoid.

Yet, even as he tried to push the thought away, a small, insistent part of him refused to let go—the way she had looked at him as though she could see past the shadows that clung to him, as though he were something more than a curse.

It was foolish, he knew. But a smile began to spread across his lips at the promise of her coming back, to have her close, to listen to the soft lull of her voice.

And despite himself, despite the danger, he knew he would be waiting.

[honeyhotteoks]

do you have any advice on like getting better with writing?

hey! i definitely do!! i’ve talked about this before but i have a lot of new readers, so ill start off by saying i’ve been writing for my entire life, and im 30 so thats a lot of years. if you’re a new writer, trust me i used to be there and good god if you guys could see the stuff i published in old fandoms 💀 really, really bad haha

i only say that because i by no means consider myself a great writer, there are fic writers in this space alone that i’m always so floored by and look up to…. but people have been very kind about my writing style and it’s something that took time to develop it’s not something i just “had”. outside of fic, i was a literature and creative writing major, and got very used to writing and workshopping pieces.

now! onto some actual advice —

1. read a lot and read more, but read stuff you actually like and not stuff you feel pressured to read. i love high brow litfic as much as the next pretentious english major, but i started writing a ton after reading a bunch of kindle unlimited romance because it was fun and it got me inspired

2. watch well written television for dialogue and pacing. people do not talk in proper english, they don’t say things eloquently, and there’s a lot of filler and fluff. that’s good! that’s real, so i love well written tv to show me how it’s done

3. get comfortable writing in weird ways. for years i used to sit down and be like “ah okay so chapter one” and then i was stuck, stalled out, and just felt bad about the process. when i started writing both aurora and tnt, i started in the middle. i had an image of a scene in my mind (for tnt it was actually the claim attempt) and i just wrote it out and then bounced around later

4. outlines are your friend! sometimes i’ll get a random line of dialogue in my head or an image but that doesn’t mean i’m ready to write it. i throw it in one big outline so i don’t lose it.

5. if you’re wanting to write really good smut i have two suggestions but please only do this to your personal comfort level. this is what works for me but do not make yourself uncomfortable— for good smut, i watch porn for reference and for good dirty talk, i listen to nsfw audio. i like to really write the visuals for smut and make it immersive but lol i haven’t experienced everything ive written about and logistics of the body are hard!! i usually find a video or an audio and let that help guide the imagery im writing.

6. be comfortable with the editing process. i know the temptation to post something the minute you finish it is there, but sleep on it. come back and edit it, read the dialogue out loud if you have to. i swear you’ll make the piece better just by leaving it and coming back.

7. don’t be afraid to post. most people are kind, and the worst thing that will happen is you don’t get a lot of notes. that’s okay, it’s a process.

8. research! as i’m writing anything, even a silly little oneshot, im doing research on something. i am hyper aware that im not korean and have never spoken korean or lived in korea, so for my fic i try my hardest to ground elements of that in reality. i truly cannot tell you how many hours ive spent reading like korean case law on revenge porn just for like 3 lines of dialogue. and you don’t have to go that crazy, i’m arguably too intense, but i do think some of that helps the story and the dialogue feel real.

9. describe something real- every place in my writing is based on something real. every apartment, hotel, cafe, venue, etc., they’re all either something i’ve found online or drawn from my life and use that to my advantage. i use apartment listings and save photographs, i do google map walks to see what neighborhoods look like, anything to get the feel of a place or an experience. for the christmas chapters of aurora, i watched hours of gwangju walking tour videos on youtube while i was writing just to understand how to describe their walk in the snow. it really helps me to have a visual that i can put words to.

10. find your weak points and see what other writers do differently. if you want to improve, you should find a small place to start. is it dialogue? overall plot? smut? etc. - i’ll never forget being on a creative writing retreat, and a very important writing professor said to me “everything you write is very pretty but you haven’t said anything. you have to decide to say something.” that feedback hurt, but sent me down a much better writing path when i realized where i was falling short and not challenging myself.

okay i hope some of this was helpful and if it’s a mess im sorry im on mobile. i really just love writing so deeply and will always talk about it, so i hope this was helpful 💗

[lucygraysboy]

“well, coriolanus never played with dolls, but tigris and i did,” billy softly corrects, moving her left foot away from the water and reaching for her right one to repeat the process. he can tell just by the way she talks to him that she’s having a hard time believing his story. “did he ever say anything ‘bout me? my brother, i mean.” most of billy’s friends from thirteen don’t know much about his background and he can’t help but wonder if coriolanus’ ever mentioned him. “how can i convince you that i’m not my brother?” maybe all they need is time, billy thinks to himself, forgetting that he’s supposed to be on his merry way in the morning. but he can’t leave her here. she’ll die. “sorry to rain on your parade again, but last time i was at the capitol or in any penthouse, i was five years old. i’m a little older now,” he counters, but there’s no actual bite to his voice. he’s persistent but far from hateful or angry. “and i’m not a snow anymore. i took my mother’s maiden name after she…” died. but the word sours on his tongue. “to honor her.” he couldn’t call himself william snow while surrounded by rebels, and so he introduced himself to everyone as billy bonney. “that doesn’t surprise me at all. our grandmother hates people from the districts with a passion, fears ‘em, too. maybe you reminded her of our ma on top of it all.” not that their mother was born in the districts, but she had a very similar hair color, was a petite woman with a love for colorful dresses, much like the one she’s wearing now. “i’m sorry you got to meet her,” he sighs, cleaning the blisters on her right foot with utmost tenderness. he’s seen worse things. it doesn’t really bother him. “i’m not my brother.” he feels like a broken record, but what else is he supposed to say? her story sounds crazy and he’s still trying to wrap his head around it, but the blisters on her feet and the state that she’s in are a testimony of their own.

“lucy gray. that’s a nice name.” very beautiful, but it’s left unsaid, hanging in the air between them. she is very beautiful, even with all this dirt and scratches and matted hair. her eyes are very unique, hypnotizing. “nice to meet you, lucy gray,” he offers, briefly wondering if he should shake her hand but making no move for it. “what i meant by…?” he trails off, unsure what she’s talking about. he keeps glancing upwards, smiling shyly in hopes it might soften her demeanor. he dries her right foot and rubs some iodine into her wounds before pulling the other warm sock on it. he lets go of her ankle, her words still ringing in his head as part of him refuses to accept them — a liar with a bad heart, that’s not his brother, that’s not the coriolanus he remembers. “will you let me see ‘em? while we’re at it? i’ll just take a quick look and put some iodine on ‘em. you should change out of this dress anyway. can’t sit here all drenched, you’ll get sick.” his heart lurches into his throat as he can’t help but wonder what kind of wounds her clothes are hiding. bullet wounds? just little scratches? animal bites?

“mhm.” got what from his mother? being entirely wrong and insane? “hard to believe you did that.” the songbird muses, bitterly thinking how he has no heart for himself let alone anyone else. “last i checked…tigris, you and grandma’am all shared a condo. the snow penthouse.” lucy gray reminds since he’s out of his mind and can’t even think for himself. “you never spoke highly about your grandmother even back then. and she didn’t take a likin’ to me much either, so that makes sense.” of all things, he does seem to remember this information about his hateful grandma. “except— you did. you did attack me first in the woods the last time. so i came prepared this time.” dumbass, she bites her tongue from blurting that last word like she almost does. “lucy. my full name is lucy gray, you know that.” annoyingly glaring off to the side, “i don’t know what you meant before.” because at times, she was using him too— in the beginning. a part of her did spark care and love in her heart for him, there was a glimmer of it but it didn’t engulf her because she knew something wasn’t honest about him. she knew something was OFF. those bad feelings extinguished any forming burning love in her chest for him the second she began to sense those red flags arise, even long before he started shooting at her or lied to her. it’s complicated on how to put it in words, because at times her heart did flutter when he was kind to her and kind to maude ivory. when they exchanged kisses and that day at the lake— but all of that died and to her, he very well could’ve just been faking it all which makes it easier to pretend those feelings never happened. “course i cared for you, but i began realizin’ you aren’t the noble person i thought you were and i don’t go for people like that. a liar with a bad heart is a quick way to turn me off.” so in other words, no, she doesn’t have feelings for him anymore. if his kind acts were genuine like the acts he’s doing now, then she certainly would’ve changed her mind. it’s a weird feeling, seeing him be nice to her, it serves to irritate her even more because she would’ve liked coriolanus to be this person but instead he was a monster. is a monster. “there’s one on my upper arm,” covered by her sleeve on her left arm, “and a few cuts on my legs. but those’ll be fine...” she claims even though they aren’t as she watches him slip the sock onto her foot.

[amara-scott]

Imagine... ...Mattheo promising to protect you by erasing every memory of you from his own mind so Voldemort won’t use you against him. When you approach him the next day, his eyes are empty, cold—he has no idea who you are, and he walks away without a second glance.

The tears streaming down your cold cheeks feel like fire burning your skin. Your vision almost too blurry to focus on his pained expression. “You can’t just erase everything we are, Mattheo. You’re asking me to lose you.”

You can tell he holds back a groan, growing more frustrated, more desperate. “And I’m asking myself to lose you, too. Do you think this is easy for me? Every second I remember you, he’s closer to finding out. To finding you.”

Finding you. Mattheo always promised to protect you, not let his dark heritage get the better of your relationship. “Then let me fight this with you. We’re stronger together, we always have been.” You try taking his hands, warm against your cold fingers. He hesitates, eyes fixed on the space between you, carefully taking a step closer.

“Not this time, (Y/N).” His voice breaks slightly, “the Dark Lord knows I’d do anything to keep you safe—and he’s going to use that. He’s going to rip us apart if I don’t do this now.”

You know in that moment that he has made up his mind a long time ago. The storm brewing in his mind calming down and a clear vision left behind. A vision you would never be prepared to face. Never wanted to face.

“So you’re just going to walk away, forget me like I was nothing?” The words leaving your quivering lips were harsh. You knew that. Mattheo's piercing eyes find yours as he steps back, pulling his hands away from you.

“Don’t you get it? You’re not ‘nothing,’ (Y/N), you’re–” he cuts off, looking up to find the right words, eyes glossy as he catches my eyes again, “You’re my everything. And if that means you’ll be safe, I’ll let myself be nothing to you.”

"And what about me? What do I do when you’re gone?” You feel the next wave of nausea hit you at the thought of not having the chance to pull him into your embrace again. Not having the opportunity to turn to him with your thoughts. Not seeing that smirk of his every time you playfully fight with him over mindless stuff, knowing he is right.

“You live. You live a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. You find happiness, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll forget me too.”

[lililye]

Between Lies

Synopsis: At a party, tensions rise when Rafe confronts the protagonist about her closeness to someone he disapproves of. As they argue, emotions run high, and she demands honesty from him. Can Rafe prove he’s worthy of a chance, or will their toxic cycle continue?

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. Apologies for any mistakes!

I'm entering Topper's huge house alone again, seeing the same boring people complaining about the same things.

Yesterday, I was at Rafe's house with him, and he freaked out because I got close to Sarah. It's like he doesn't want me to be part of his family.I walk past everyone, smiling, and see the host on the porch. I decide to talk to him.

"Hey! I didn’t think you’d come after everything," Topper says as he hugs me.

"Sorry, I think I missed something. After everything what?"

"Rafe told me you did something bad yesterday and that you two fought. I don't think you should be here, you know how he is. If he sees you here..."

"I think Rafe got the story wrong. It’s fine, I’ll catch you later."

I walk away, blood boiling. It’s unbelievable that, after being unbearable yesterday, he’s now spreading lies. I grab a beer and notice a guy staring at me. Jonah, I think that’s his name. I smile and keep walking.We start dancing a little to the music playing. He touches my waist and pulls me closer.

After I get tired, I go sit outside. I hear a noise, look to the side, and see Rafe walking toward me. He looks furious, his jaw clenched, and his eyes locked on me. My heart races, but I keep my composure. I won’t let him see I’m bothered.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he snaps, his voice filled with anger.

"What does it look like? I’m enjoying the party,"

I reply, trying to sound calm, but my tone comes out sharper than I intended.

"Dancing like that with Jonah?" He leans in, his voice lowering but still venomous. "Are you trying to get attention or provoke me?"

"Maybe a little of both," I retort, crossing my arms and staring at him. "But honestly, it’s none of your business, Rafe. After yesterday, you don’t get to tell me how to act or who to be around."

He takes a step forward, and for a moment, I think he’s going to explode. But instead, he lets out a dry, disdainful laugh.

"You really don’t get it, do you? This..." he gestures between me and the house around us, "isn’t your place. You’ll never fit in."

Those words hit me like a punch in the stomach, but I refuse to show it. I stand up, getting face to face with him.

"You know what, Rafe? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t fit into your rotten little world full of lies. But if there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s stoop to the level of someone who needs to lie to others to feel important."

He doesn’t respond immediately, but his face twists in anger. Before he can say anything, I turn on my heel and walk back to the party, feeling his gaze burning into my back. The air feels heavy, but I refuse to let him ruin my night.Rafe follows me, and in the middle of the crowd, he grabs my arm. Everyone stops to watch, and I’m furious. How dare he contradict himself?

"We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you. You don’t want me, Rafe."

"That’s not true. Don’t make this complicated."

I let out a dry laugh, dripping with irony, and look straight at him.

"Complicated? Do you even hear yourself, Rafe? Yesterday, you lost it with me, today you’re spreading lies, and now you want to have this conversation in front of everyone? I’m not the one complicating things—you are."

He looks momentarily taken aback but quickly regains his controlling tone.

"I just… I don’t want you leaving here thinking this is all my fault."

I take a step forward, closing the distance between us.

"But it is, Rafe. It’s all your fault. You want to push me away, but at the same time, you act like you can’t let me go. It’s exhausting. I’m not a game for you to win."

The people around us are whispering, and I realize everyone’s paying attention. But at this moment, I don’t care.

Rafe takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to control his anger or find the right words.

"I just… I don’t want you with anyone here."

"That’s not your choice!" My voice rises slightly, but I work to keep calm. "You can’t control everything, Rafe. Either let me into your life for real, or let me go. It’s that simple."

Ele hesita, e por um momento, vejo algo como vulnerabilidade em seus olhos. Mas cansei de tentar descobrir o que se passa na cabeça dele. "Você decide, Rafe. Mas decida logo, porque eu não vou ficar nesse ciclo tóxico."

Mais tarde, quando a festa começa a acabar, sento-me no jardim para finalmente respirar. Ouço passos e sei quem é antes mesmo de me virar.

"Can I sit?" he asks.I shrug, not looking at him.

"Do what you want."

He sits next to me, staying silent for a while before finally saying:

"I know I messed everything up. I know you have every right to be mad at me."

"And what are you going to do about it, Rafe?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes sincere.

"I want to change. I want to do things right, but I need you to give me a chance. Just one."

"Then you’ll have to prove you’re worth it."

He takes my hand, and this time, I let him. Maybe it’s the start of something new. Or maybe he still has a lot to learn.

[leosgreyfringe]

literally can’t get my mind off the match. I already obsess over poor arsenal results but this one included MY LITTLE GUY….

[e-m-p-error]

I have decided to make some muses Discord Only so that I can clean up my muses some! The following I'll still write but they will only be available on Discord.

St. Peter Sera Ace Apple Clara Dodie Fizzarolli Hen Moxxie Odette Paradise Verosika Lilith Cherri Bomb Eve Vaggie