#first with slow dancing in a burning room

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 16

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 16

Word Count: 4260

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: The angst arrives in full force! How about that!? Come on, you had to be expecting that! Also, I'm thinking about two chapters left (well, one and the epilogue), so we're almost at the end! PS: This song fits the chapter like a glove! *chef's kiss*

|Masterlist| | |Chapter 15|

The night is almost over. Just a few more dances before the guests send the newlyweds off to their honeymoon, and then you and Law can escape back into the safety of your room. Just one hour, tops. What could go wrong in an hour?

Even more so now that you’ve finally confessed the three words that have been bothering you for a while. And they were reciprocated.

You’re adamant about not letting go of Law’s hand for the rest of the night. A feeling of dread still coils in the pit of your stomach, and you don’t know exactly why, but you’re not about to let fate play a prank on you.

Except, fate’s got nothing on Donquixote Doflamingo. 

“Nephew, I need you. It’s urgent.” Law groans, his hand tightening around yours, since this is clearly Doffy's last opportunity to feed some lie to Law and try to break you two apart. You’re honestly tired of it all. 

“Tomorrow, Uncle. I’m tired.”

“Now.” Doflamingo’s tone leaves no room for discussion, and Law clenches his jaw. Underneath it all, Law still respects his uncle. You’re not quite sure why he still respects the man, he’s despicable, but you suspect it’s because he instilled in Law a deep-seated sense of family ties and loyalty. And Law won’t break free of his morals. 

“Go. I have to freshen up anyway.” You whisper with a smile. You’ve confessed. He knows how you feel. Nothing will come between the two of you. 

Law smiles at you, and with a last squeeze of your hand, he lets you go. 

-*-

You purposefully take a while longer in the bathroom, fixing your makeup, your hair, and your dress. Unnecessary moves, really, since you’re about to leave to go to bed soon, and you’re actually craving that massage Law mentioned earlier. 

That and… well, you’re craving Law. Period.

You exit the bathroom with a silly smile still plastered on your lips and almost bump into a chest. “Oh, forgive me, I–... Ichiji.” 

Obviously.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He begins.

“Cut the crap.” You don’t even let him say anything else, already pushing past him to return to the reception tent, but he halts you, a hand on your upper arm, and you seethe. “What did I tell you about touching me?”

He lets go of you immediately, taking a step back and sighing while passing a hand over his coiffed hair. “Right, sorry.”

Sorry? 

You look behind you and around, trying to notice if something feels out of place. You might have entered a portal to some sort of alternate universe when you were in the bathroom because there’s no way in hell Ichiji would ever apologise to you.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Doll. For… well…” He sighs again, steps forward, and then back again. “For cheating, for treating you like crap, for taking you for granted… I… well, I know now it’s too late, but seeing you happy with someone else made me realise what I lost and how I was the only one to blame.”

No, seriously, there has to have been a portal back there. Something, anything. This is not happening. 

Your heart constricts in your chest. You lost count of how many times you dreamed about Ichiji asking for your forgiveness, to truly repent for what he put you through. But it happening here, in a place you'd never thought you'd meet him, and completely out of the blue? 

What's his game? 

“I don't think you need my forgiveness to move on. I know I don't need your apologies.” A heavy sigh parts your lips. “Not when you're delivering them far too late.”

You make another motion to pass through him, but he moves in front of you and whispers your name in a desperate plea. “I do need your forgiveness. I need closure.” 

What? You cock your eyebrow, your lips twisting down in a frown. “After all you've put me through for–...” You wave your hands in the air. “I’m not even going to count the years we spent together. Just today is enough! After all the theatrics and the taunting, you expect me to believe you just want closure?”

The way he slumps his shoulders and downcasts his eyes reminds you of the first times you argued, back in the beginning of the relationship, when you actually believed his apologies, and your heart constricts some more at all the memories. 

“Yes, Doll. Just closure. I'm about to leave the party, and I know we won't meet again, unless it's by chance, and I don't want us to part on bad terms.” He takes a tentative step your way. “Just say you'll forgive me, please.”

You want him out of your sight, out of your mind, and completely out of your heart. You know you don't love him anymore, but you still hold memories and feelings of nostalgia, and when he's looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, you can't help but soften up a little bit. He does seem sorry. 

“Fine, Ichiji, fine. We can part ways on lighter terms. I don't completely forgive you for what you took from me or for how you made me feel, but I won't resent you for it anymore.”

He actually smiles at you. Not that conceited, smug smirk, but a genuine smile. 

“That's all I ask for, Doll.”

“Good. Goodbye.”

“Wait, please.” Is that pain in his voice? Is he really sorry and repentant for everything? You don’t say anything, but you don’t move either, just waiting for what he wants to say. “Can I get one last hug?”

The face you make must have been something special to look at because he grimaces and chuckles softly, his hand passing through his hair again. 

“A harmless hug? Please? It’s just for–...”

“Closure, right?” Should you? He’s actually sounding human for once in all the time you’ve known him, and he does seem sorry. It’s just a hug goodbye. What harm can it bring? “Fine. Make it quick.”

With a sigh, you let him bend down to envelop you in his arms, but then you actually smile. You don’t feel anything. No rage, no pain, no hurt, no longing… it’s just a void. You know there used to be something there, but now you’re free.

It’s a wonderful feeling, actually. 

Until Ichiji’s hands cup your face, and he tilts your head to the side, doing the same to his and leaning in further, his lips inches away from yours. His taller frame engulfs you, and the lights are very dim near the bathroom. It almost looks as if you’re sharing a kiss. 

“Wha–...”

“I still win, Doll.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine as he shows you the same smug smile he always did, his canines almost glistening with glee. You’re frozen in place. What does he mean? 

And then he parts, leaving you open-mouthed, chest heaving, and cheeks flushed from trying to grasp what is going on. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to two figures looming at the entrance of the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. 

Doflamingo and… oh, no.

“Law?”

Doffy is bent down, one arm around Law’s shoulders, his lips moving fast as he mouths words into Law’s ears. You can almost bet he’s spewing lies and deceptions about you, twisting everything to make Law doubt you. You know he has trouble trusting people, it would be so easy to make him doubt.

But what breaks you is Law’s expression. His usually stoic face bears the signs of hurt, and he’s clenching his fists by his sides, jaw ticking, trying to contain his emotions and failing at it. 

“Law!” You try again, taking a step forward and see Doffy still speaking into Law’s ear. Lies, all lies, for sure. Law’s gaze falls on Ichiji and then back at you, and you realise that this was orchestrated. It has to have been orchestrated. 

Ichiji holding you as if he were kissing you, Doffy bringing Law by the bathroom? It was their ultimate move.

“It’s not what you think, Law.” You take another step forward, and you can almost hear the shards of Law’s flimsy trust being broken and shattered into pieces. 

He shakes his head and takes a step back, hand flying over his head to tousle his hair. “I… I need some air.” Turning on his heel, he leaves you in a hurry, and you stifle a sob. 

No, no, no.

You need to reach him, to speak with him and let him know what happened. That nothing actually happened! He can’t possibly think you would betray him like this. Turning your wobbly steps into strides, you try to follow Law’s retreating figure into the crowd, despair tugging at your insides, tears already threatening to fall.

And then you’re stopped by a strong hand on your arm. “Where do you think you’re going, princesa?” 

An actual growl leaves your lips. “Let go, Doflamingo. I need to speak with Law.” Your tug does nothing to loosen his grip, and you seethe. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tuts, his fiery eyes boring deep into yours. “You won’t speak to my nephew. Not now, nor ever again. You’ll leave him alone to live his life and disappear.”

Shaking your head, you try again, but his grip is too strong. “He needs to listen to me! He’s going to be heartbroken. It’s not what he thinks.”

“He’ll be fine. He has a family that loves him.” Doffy’s words sound melodic, but the melody is one of doom, not hope. 

“Only Cora loves him, clearly.” Your scoff comes accompanied by stubborn tears you’re trying to keep enclosed. “All I’ve ever wanted from Law was love, all I have to give to him is love. Why do you want to take that away? Do you hate him that much?”

Doflamingo straightens his shoulders, and now he seems impossibly high. “On the contrary, cariño. I love him dearly. And it’s because I love him that I need him to learn this lesson. I thought he had already learned it the hard way, but he didn’t. Romantic love only brings weakness. It doesn’t do him any kindness, and he needs to let that go. He needs to be strong and in control, not a fool in love.”

Finally, your harsh tug makes him release you, but his imposing figure is still blocking the way. You stamp your feet, much like a small child, and grit your teeth, anger making your eyes blaze red. “You think that makes him stronger? Is that why you push the people that love him away?”

He shakes his head, those annoying tuts leaving his lips as he gives you a condescending look. “Not at all. Only those that do not.”

“Then you are a damned fool.” He growls at your disrespect, and you couldn’t care less. He lost any small ounce of respect you might’ve still held for him when he pulled this stunt. “Because if you hadn’t interfered, I would still be by Law’s side, and I love him!”

Doffy’s laugh comes in small waves, his eyes shining with amusement as he sizes you up with his fiery gaze. “An admirable sentiment, mi querida, though I doubt it to be true.” You open your mouth, ready to be disrespectful again, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an all-too-familiar device: your tablet. 

With a flick of his finger, he opens it to the spreadsheet you now know by heart: all of Law’s likes and dislikes, every useful thing for your fake relationship, every piece of information you and Law gathered to make sure you were prepared for this event. 

You can’t help the stutter that leaves your lips, nor the red flushing your cheeks. “Law… he.. Law knew about that.” Why does your voice sound so small? Is it because you were caught?

“I’m sure.” His demeanour contradicts his words. And then he hands you the tablet, a frown finally overtaking his mocking smile, and you almost shrink at how his aura suddenly feels very threatening. “You’re done here. You will never speak to my nephew again.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Doflamingo can’t win this, not after what you and Law went through. Not after realising he’s the love of your life. 

“You can’t do that.” Your voice comes out as a mere trembling whisper. “You can’t pull strings and control Law’s life as if he’s a puppet and you’re his puppeteer! He has a say in his own life!” You try to take a step forward, but he doesn’t budge. “I’ll tell him what happened, and he’ll realise I never meant to hurt him. Just let me through!”

“You’re done.”

“Law has a right to make his own choices. You don’t own him!” The pesky tears start to stain your cheeks, you feel impotent and useless. 

“Not choices that will end up destroying him.”

“The ones you are making for him might do just that.” Your voice finally breaks, and a ragged sob leaves your lips with the weight and the helplessness of it all. “He is not your pawn! You can’t manipulate him like this! Please… please! Let me speak to him! You’ll truly destroy him with this…”

Law placed his trust in you. After what he’s been through with Monet, you know it must not have been easy to let himself love and be loved. And Doflamingo manipulated you both to an extent that will come with dire consequences. Law will be broken, and so will you.

“I will face whatever consequences come from my actions with Law. He might be hurt for a while, but he will emerge stronger. He has done it once.”

“But at what cost?” You whisper, too drained to fight back. With a shaky inhale, you straighten your shoulders as your hands grip the tablet for some sort of grounding. “I’ll speak to him later, then. You can’t keep us apart. You will not ruin what we have.”

Pushing past him, you take one full step before Doflamingo’s words freeze you in place. 

“I would rethink that if I were you, querida.” Something in his voice halts your breathing as you look over your shoulder and find him grinning. “Your father is still recovering from surgery, right? Some businesses collapse pretty quickly when something like this happens… no one would look twice.”

What?

“Is that a threat?” Doffy certainly has the power to ruin your father’s horse business. 

Waving his hands in the air in a dismissive manner, his smirk returns to his lips, more menacing this time. “Oh no, no. I don’t make threats… they’re too amateurish.” His laugh fills your ears, and the same shiver as before courses through your veins. “It’s more of a prediction.”

Gathering strength and bravado you do not have, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. “My father is strong, and he has my help. We’ll manage.” Turning your face forward, you will your feet to move again.

“How brave. So what about Law’s clinic?” Your breath stops so suddenly that you almost think you have a collapsed lung. He can’t be serious. “I won’t be cryptic, cariño, here’s the deal: if you speak to Law again, I’ll make sure his clinic tanks. And you know how much he loves that little place, with his friends and helping people.” He tsks and waves his hand dismissively. “I would much rather he dedicated himself to the company, so perhaps you would be doing me a favour. Law, on the other hand? Now that would devastate him.”

“Please, don’t…” You don’t know what else to do. Doflamingo is too powerful, too influential. He will destroy Law either way and claim to be helping him while doing it. You feel trapped, what can you do? “Please don’t do that to him.”

“I don’t want to. I do love him. But that depends on you.” Doflamingo sets one hand on your shoulder to turn you back to face him. “There’s a car waiting for you outside with all your belongings. You will leave the party immediately with Ichiji, as it will help sell the ruse.” 

Your legs start to wobble as breath begins to catch in your throat again. Powerless. Completely stripped of any will. That’s how you’re feeling. 

“You will not speak with Law today, nor ever. Not even when you both go back to your boring little lives. He’ll think you abandoned him, which suits me, really. No one needs a gold digger.”

“I’m not–...”

“I don’t care!” Doflamingo leans in, and his breath fans your face. He’s as angry as you’ve ever seen anyone, and you can almost see the veins pulsating dangerously in his neck. “You’re a distraction and a liability. Law doesn’t need any of that.”

“Everybody needs love…” Is this your last hail Mary? Because it’s not a very strong one.

“Not the Donquixote family.” He steps back and motions Ichiji forward. “Leave. Don’t speak to Law. It’s simple, I’m sure you can follow that, princesa.” He chuckles again while fixing his tie and suit. “Or else…” 

The words he leaves unsaid are a weight on your soul. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can barely exist. All you know is that Law is somewhere, hurting, thinking you betrayed his trust.

And the fact that you will leave without any explanation will only cement that feeling. 

You thought you’d been heartbroken before - exhibit A is currently walking by your side, leading you away from the party with a hand on your back that you’re too tired to swat away - but you’ve never been hurt like this.

This pain is visceral. It burns, it blisters, it festers, and it destroys. 

You’re not actually sure you’ll ever recover from this. 

-*-

Law was taken away from you by Doflamingo yet again, and as his uncle drones on about business and about the imminent merger, all Law can think about is you in his arms and the peace you bring him.

“Are you listening to me, Law?”

“No, Uncle, I’m not. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He yawns for effect and shrugs. “I’m going to bed.” But before he can retreat, Doflamingo sighs and slings his hand over Law’s shoulder.

“Fine, Law. But first, I’ve made some assumptions during this weekend, and I need you to tell me if I’m right or wrong.” Law sighs and nods. Agreeing with Doffy is the fastest way to get rid of him. He starts leading Law back into the party, and Law follows without giving it much thought. 

“I know you and the little princesa were not a couple before this weekend. I’m actually doubting that you are a couple at this moment… and my assumption is: you told her you didn’t want to come to my daughter’s wedding without a date because I tend to introduce you to a lot of respectable young ladies you don’t relate to. So, to avoid that, she offered to come as your date. Am I right?”

Law already knew Doffy had discovered that bit of your ruse, so he doesn’t act surprised, he acts resigned. 

“Almost. I was the one who asked her.” Law grins. “The ladies you introduce me to are not respectable. Half of the ones I met proposed to do very salacious things to me in very public places.”

Doffy grins back at him, and Law sighs while shaking his head. 

“You got that half-right, Doffy. Are you happy?”

“Not in the least. You see, Law, what I think is that the young lady realised the family you belonged to and decided to take advantage of that fact by seducing you. Is that a correct assumption?”

“Frankly, Uncle, I’m growing tired of that subject. We have already proved to you that we care about each other deeply. And even if we didn’t, we don’t have to prove anything to you anymore. This is my choice, and you will not interfere in it.”

Doffy tilts his head and nods, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he leads Law to the bathroom. 

“Fair enough. But… Nephew… do you truly believe she cares that much about you? Do you think she loves you?” A small chuckle escapes his lips. “I thought you were done with being naive…”

Law grits his teeth while his heart clenches in his chest. Doflamingo’s words always have a way of penetrating his skull and making him doubt everything. “She loves me. I know that.” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but then again, Doffy had no reason to attack him. 

“I hope, for your sake, that you are right.” Doffy brings one hand to his chest and bows his head slightly. “I would hate to see you blindsided. Again.” His emphasis on the word ‘again’ brings hurtful memories of Monet back to Law’s mind, and he grunts. 

“We’re fine, Doffy. Thank you for your concern.” Law is about to turn and leave, but Doffy holds him by the shoulder and directs his gaze towards the dimly lit hallway of the bathroom. 

“Oh… would you look at that, then…”

Law instantly freezes, his brain showing him tricks. It has to be tricks. There’s no way that’s you wrapped in Ichiji’s arms. Law can only see the back of Ichiji’s hulking frame, but that’s your dress he sees peeking from the side, those are your hands holding his waist.

And now he’s cupping your cheeks, leaning… no.

A kiss?

Law shakes his head, denial, frustration, and… betrayal. That’s the word echoing in his head incessantly. Where once were your ‘I love you’s’ now stood that shadow of a word. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal…

“You see, Law,” Doffy leans against Law’s ear, his venomous tongue spewing hurtful words. Words that ring true, too close to Law’s heart. Too at home with his pain. “She’s no different from Monet, really… they both traded you, broke your trust.”

Law’s throat is dry, and he feels little sweat beads trickling down his sideburns. The nails digging into the flesh of his hand cut little crescent indents, trying to ground him, trying to pull him back from the pitfall of despair he’s about to be sucked into. 

“Love hurts, Nephew. Love tears and destroys. You can only trust your family or you should trust only yourself.”

Doffy keeps talking, but Ichiji breaks from you, and there’s a mix of confusion and distress on your face as your eyes meet Law’s. And then there’s panic as you whisper his name.

This can’t be happening. You wouldn’t do this to him. Not you.

“Law!” 

Your plea is clear, but he can’t think straight. It’s too much, it’s too painful. 

“Don't believe her lies, Law. You know what you saw.” Doffy murmurs. 

“I… I need some air.” Law’s voice comes out as a mere whisper as he turns and disappears. The air suddenly feels rare, his chest too tight. 

There’s not enough room in the world to harbour the size of this betrayal. It’s too much. 

-*-

The coolness of the outside air does nothing to soothe him. It still feels stifling, and the control is slipping away from his fingers. Running his hand through his hair in a desperate gesture only brings him more heartache. 

Why?

Law keeps thinking about your pain and grief when you spoke about Ichiji. How could you return to the man who hurt you so? 

Maybe you didn’t.

No. Law knows what he saw. You were in Ichiji’s arms.

But he didn’t see a kiss.

There was no mistaking it. He held your face and–... and what? Could he have forced you? Were you held against your will? Law tries hard to unscramble his jumbled memories, but the pain in his chest is so heavy that he barely knows where to start.

He didn’t see a kiss. Of that, he’s certain. Could he be overthinking it? What if it was nothing, or if he forced you? And instead of helping you or hearing your words, Law panicked? Hadn’t he promised you not to listen to Doffy’s words? 

Yet that was exactly what he did. 

Fuck.

Did he get this all wrong? Law sighs and inhales deeply three times, trying to calm his ragged breaths and his uneven heart. He knows you. You wouldn’t do that to him, let alone with a man who hurt you so deeply.

There has to be an explanation for what happened, and he’s ready to listen to it.

Turning around, Law returns to the party, hoping you’re still somewhere near so he can speak with you and listen to what you have to say, to what really happened, to the truth.

He’s expecting to find you frantically looking for him, and his heart is already constricting from the anxiety you must be feeling. He should’ve just stayed a while longer. You would have explained, and neither he nor you would have had to panic. 

But what he wasn’t expecting was to see you leaving the party. He wasn’t expecting to see Ichiji’s hand resting against your lower back, silently guiding you through the remaining guests. He wasn’t expecting to see you walking out with him.

Willingly. 

So it was the truth.

Law’s heart breaks completely, the full extent of your betrayal settling in, expanding, and commandeering all of his love for you. Doflamingo was right. It pains him to admit this, but he was.

You’re a liar, and Law was foolish enough to trust you.

Tag List:@rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @rainbow2312 @alexturnersgirl

[achilles-rage]

Helpless

summary: you keep seeing eddie die in your dreams, and when you wake up in the middle of the night at his house in tears, you run. eddie chases you down, desperate to comfort you and make you feel better.

word count: 3.4k

request: anon- can you please do an Eddie Diaz fic where reader has a nightmare where Eddie dies in front of her and when she wakes up she runs and Eddie chase her and finds her crying in an alleyway and he comforts her.

a/n: this was kinda fun to write. y’all really like making eddie go through it in requests, just like the 911 producers<33 enjoy!

warnings: descriptions of violence (eddie getting shot), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You weren’t there when Eddie was shot; he was working, and you were helping your friend move, so your phone was off. You’ve heard the story so many times, however, that you can picture all of it in your head. The deafening sound of the gunshot, the way Eddie collapsed, the way his blood spilled onto the road under him as his breathing became ragged.

That day was the reason you’re dating now. After he woke up in the hospital, you couldn’t hold back your feelings; you had gotten caught up in the moment and pressed your lips to his before you could even think. 

You were both surprised, of course, but Eddie was quick to reassure you that he’d been waiting months to do that, and he was sort of glad that you had done it before he was able to talk himself out of it, again.

It’s been months since that day, yet everything still feels fresh in your mind, especially when you go to bed at night beside him. His resistance to sleeping in a shirt means that you can see his wound; that you can feel it when you run your hands up and down his chest and shoulders.

You sometimes wake up in tears in the middle of the night, Eddie’s lifeless eyes burning holes in your brain as you try to slow your racing heart. It’s been happening more frequently, though, and you’re not sure why. Nothing bad has happened since then; nothing too traumatic, anyway.

You’ve been putting off spending the night at Eddie’s for that reason. You don’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night and force him to relive that trauma while at the same time trying to calm you down. You weren’t even there, for God's sake. It’s been getting harder to say no, though, and he’s beginning to get suspicious at your less than believable excuses.

First, it was that you had an early workout class with your friend, and you didn’t want to be up too late. Then, it was that you were pet sitting for a friend, and the only reason that went over well is because you begged your neighbour to borrow their cat for a little while because Christopher begged you and Eddie to come meet her. 

Eddie had finally noticed something was up when you told him that you couldn’t spend the night at his place because you had to do your laundry. He had seen you do your laundry two days ago, and while he doesn’t bring that up, he puts on the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and pulling you flush against him.

When he whispered a soft “please” in your ear, you couldn’t help but agree. You just hope that tonight goes by peacefully, and you don’t have to relieve one of your worst fears yet again.

Now, you’re at Eddie’s house, chest heaving and clothes scattered around the floor of the living room as you try to take advantage of the fact that Christopher is at his Abuela’s for the night. Eddie looks up at you straddling his lap, giving you a dazed smile as you both come down from your highs, and you lean in to give him a gentle kiss, your hands on his cheeks.

When you pull back, your hands move from his cheeks to his shoulders, then slowly drag down his chest. Your fingers dance across his scar, and you swallow, trying to keep your expression relaxed and happy as your gaze follows the path of your hands.

“It’s getting pretty late. I’ve gotta pick up Chris early for school tomorrow, you wanna come?” he asks when you both have caught your breath, although you’re still straddling his lap.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” you tell him, and he smiles, pulling you in for one last kiss before he taps your hip twice, signaling you to stand. 

You get off of him and your eyes watch his movements as he stands up, and when he holds his hand out for you, you take it immediately.

“Shower then bed?” he asks, and you take a second to respond with a nod, forcing a smile onto your face. You’re dreading going to sleep, but you know you can’t put it off forever. That doesn’t mean you won’t try, though.

When you’re both in the shower, the steam filling the room and the hot water is hitting your back, you pull Eddie into a rough kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck as you push your naked bodies together, and he groans softly, hands immediately going to your wide hips. You figure that this could help; either it would make him want to stay up later, or maybe you’d be tired enough to not have any dreams. You’re not exactly sure that’s how dreams work, but you figure it’s worth a shot. 

He loves how you feel against him, and he kisses you back with equal fervor. When his tongue slips past your lips, you think it’s a good sign, but when he pulls back after a moment or two, you let out a soft whine.

“Mi amor, I love you, but I think you wore me out earlier.” he jokes softly, and you can’t help but smile at the way the corner of his eyes scrunch up as he smiles down at you. You lean up and give him one more peck, before you drop your hands and step back under the stream of water.

“It was worth a shot.” you tease back, giving him a wink before you tilt your head back and close your eyes. You let out a content sigh as the hot water hits your back, and although you can’t see him, you hope that he’s at least rethinking your suggestion.

You open your eyes when you feel his hands on you, feeling your cheeks grow hot as his large hands begin to spread body wash across your skin. His eyes follow the path of his hands, admiring your soft curves and stretch marks and freckles as he washes your body, and he can feel himself growing tired as the relaxing atmosphere consumes him. 

When he’s finished, he lets you wash off the suds, and then you grab his body wash and return the favour. You start out innocently, hands ghosting over his chest, and torso, and back as you wash the day off of his skin. Your hands begin to wander soon, though, and he raises a brow, giving you a warning look.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he teases, and you give him a sheepish smile as your gaze moves up to meet his.

“I don’t know what you mean.” you tell him with a shrug. He chuckles softly, rolling his eyes before he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“We’ve gotta get up early, baby. I don’t want you to be cranky tomorrow.” he tells you in a fake stern tone, although the hint of a smile on his lips tells you otherwise.

“That was one time, and I had every reason to be cranky that morning.” you tell him with a scoff, rolling your eyes in response to his eye roll.

“Keep telling yourself that.” he muses, watching as you finish washing his body with a smile. When you’re done, you switch spots a bit awkwardly to let him wash off, and then the water is turned off and you’re wrapping yourselves with towels.

When you’re both finally settled in bed and the light is turned off, you lay beside Eddie, staring at the dark ceiling. Eddie rolls onto his side beside you, draping an arm over your waist and squeezing your soft belly gently as he stares at the side of your face. You turn your head to face him after a moment, a small smile on your face.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, feigning innocence as he keeps his gaze on you, then squeezes your belly again, making you laugh softly.

“Just admiring my girl.” he says in an equally quiet voice, and you shake your head, feeling your whole body heat up and your heart clench. He always knows what to say.

“What time do we have to leave tomorrow?” you ask, scooching just a little closer to him.

“Well, Chris forgot to pack a shirt for school tomorrow, and he said he ‘absolutely cannot’ go to school wearing the same shirt as yesterday, so we’ve gotta pick him up and bring him back here instead of just driving him to school. Should leave around 6:30.” he explains, and you laugh softly. You don’t mind having to get up earlier; you love Christopher with all your heart, and you know you’ll just have to sit in the passenger seat while Eddie drives anyway.

“You sure we can’t stay up a little bit later?” you ask, looking over at him with your best pout, and he smiles, rolling his eyes. You still don’t want to go to sleep, no matter how tired you are right now.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? I have a late shift tomorrow, and I promise I’ll make it up to you after we drop Chris off at school.” he tells you with a smirk, then grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his lips.

You can see the tiredness in his eyes, and you feel a little guilty, so you sigh loudly before you nod.

“Fine. But I’m holding you to it.” you tell him sternly, your lips quirking up at the sides as you narrow your eyes slightly. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, mumbling a quick “promise” against your lips before he pulls away.

“I love you.” he tells you as he pulls you towards him, forcing you to roll onto your side and let him slide behind you.

“I love you.” you reply as you relax into his grip, eyelids getting heavier. 

After a few minutes, you feel Eddie’s arm draped over you get heavier, and his breathing become steadier, and you can tell he’s asleep, but you still try to hold out. You don’t last long, however, as Eddie’s warm embrace and the darkness finally lulls you to sleep.

You gasp when you hear the gunshot echo through your ears, and your eyes immediately find Eddie’s form as he falls to the ground. You’re frozen in your spot as more gunshots are heard, and the pool of blood grows bigger around Eddie, and you feel helpless. 

You try to scream; to yell for help, but nothing comes out. You can’t will your legs to move, or any other part of your body. You watch as Eddie’s breathing slows, and becomes more and more ragged, and you can’t turn your gaze away from him.

You can see the whisper of your name fall from his lips as the life leaves his body, and yet you still can’t move. You feel like you’re glued to the ground, and everything is in slow motion as the beating of your heart moves to the forefront of your hearing. 

You can hear the sirens around you, they’re distant, and you know they won’t make it, because you didn’t do anything. You couldn’t.

When you wake up in Eddie’s bed, and you can barely focus on anything but the hot tears streaming down your face and the way your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest.

You raise two shaky hands up to wipe your tears, and then you rest your face in your hands, trying to slow your breathing. 

You and Eddie drifted apart in your sleep, but it’s the warm touch of his thigh against yours that forces you out of your head and makes you look in his direction. 

He’s facing you, and in the darkness, his face looks exactly like it did in your dream: lifeless. You let out a ragged sob as you jump out of bed, not knowing what to do other than get out of Eddie’s house as soon as possible. You know deep down that it’s a dream, but having Eddie so close to you like this makes it feel even more real.

Eddie picked you up and drove you to his house, but you’re only a couple blocks away, and in your haze, you don’t even think about how dangerous that could be. You’re also so wrapped up in your dream that you don’t see that your abrupt move to stand up caused him to wake up, and he’s now staring at you with a confused expression as he calls your name hoarsely.

He curses under his breath when he sees you dart out of the room and down the hall, and stands up to follow you. He calls your name as you race to the front door, and when you slip on your shoes and run out the door, he stops. He races back to his room and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, a shirt, and shoes before he’s back out the door and following you down the street.

He’s surprised at how fast you’re moving, and he has to run to try to catch up with you already at the end of the street. When you pass under a streetlight, he notices that you’re also running, and he picks up the pace, desperate to catch up to you and figure out what the hell is going on.

All you can hear is your sobs and your shoes hitting the pavement as you make your way home, and your throat is burning as you get further and further from Eddie’s house. 

You finally have to stop a block or two from your house, ducking into an alley and leaning against the bricks as you try to catch your breath. You’re still sobbing, and you drop your head into your hands as you close your eyes, but you shake your head quickly and open your eyes when you see Eddie’s dead eyes boring into yours.

You let out a soft yelp in surprise when you feel a hand on your upper arm, and when you look up and see Eddie, you cry harder, letting him pull you into his strong arms.

He shushes you as you sob into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso and your hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his shirt, as if your grip will stop him from disappearing right in front of your eyes.

“You died.” is all he can make out through your sobs, and his brows furrow as he continues to rub your back gently.

“I’m right here, baby, I promise. I’m not going anywhere. We’re okay.” He tries to calm you, letting you sob into his chest as he shushes you, but he can’t tell if it’s working or not. You’re still shaking in his grip, and he’s not sure what to do. He wants his happy girl back.

“Can you tell me what happened, mi amor?” he asks in a soft voice. He feels you let in a big shaky breath, your cheek still pressed against his cheek, and then you speak.

“I keep having this dream about when you were shot. I just watch you die, and I can’t do anything.” He nods slowly, his expression getting sadder as he finally puts the pieces together. You’ve been pulling away from him over the last couple weeks, and now he knows that you didn’t want to tell him about it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and you inhale a shaky breath as you shrug. “Baby, you have to tell me about these things, you can’t just keep it in.” he continues, and you chew on your bottom lip, feeling increasingly guilty. You know you should’ve told him, or someone, but you didn’t want him to worry.

“I don’t want to lose you.” is all you can say. He sighs, then presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s go home.” he urges softly, and you nod, finally pulling back from him and looking into his eyes.

He gives you a sad smile as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, then begins to walk you home. He keeps you close the whole way, still remaining vigilant to everything around you, and when you’re finally home, he turns on his bedside lamp and sits you down on the edge of his bed, kneeling between your legs. 

You meet his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip, and he raises a hand to rub his thumb across your cheek. He smiles to himself when he sees you lean into his touch, and his other hand goes to your thigh when he begins to speak.

“I’m not going anywhere, yeah? I got shot months ago, and I’m still here.” You blink slowly as you look down at him, knowing that he’s right. You still can’t shake the feeling, though. You can’t forget about the way his body fell limp and his eyes rolled back. And you couldn’t do a thing.

“I just feel so helpless. What if you-” you stop yourself before you can finish your sentence. You feel like if you say it, it’ll happen. He sighs, shaking his head as he shushes you. He hates that you have to think about this kind of thing.

“I have my team with me all the time. I promise you, if anything does happen, I’ll be okay.” You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you nod. You know his team; you love them, and you know he’s right. “What if they’re not there? I have no idea what to do.” you say. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think about how the situation would play out if it were to happen with you there and not Buck. You’re no firefighter. You have no idea what you’d do in that situation.

He thinks for a minute, eyes darting around the room. He’s desperate to come up with a solution for you. He wants you to be able to sleep soundly again and stop worrying so much. 

“How about this? We’ll get you signed up for some classes; CPR, stuff like that. So you know what to do.” he offers with a hopeful smile on his face. You think for a moment, letting out a relieved sigh at the idea. That could work. You feel so helpless in your dream, and learning what to do in a situation like that may actually help you stop feeling like that.

“Okay.” you say with a soft smile, and his smile widens just slightly. He stands up and cups your cheeks, then leans down and kisses your forehead softly. 

When he looks back down at you, he sees that your eyelids are heavy and you’re almost completely relaxed again.

“You wanna go to sleep now?” You nod, sighing softly as he takes his hands away from your face. You lay down while he rids himself of his shirt, then he lays beside you again, pulling you to lay your head on his chest.

“And no more running away, okay? You almost gave me a heart attack.” he tells you in a stern, but slightly teasing voice. You nod against his chest, laughing softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” you admit, and he squeezes your shoulders, jaw clenched.

“Talk to me if you have that dream again, okay, mi amor?” he asks in a pleading voice.

“I promise.” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavy as Eddie’s heartbeat acts as a lullaby.

“Good. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” he whispers, feeling you melt into his body.

“I know.” you whisper back, your eyes finally closing as you fall into a peaceful sleep.

He keeps you close the entire night, and when you wake up in the morning and tell him you didn’t have another dream, he’s extremely happy. Now all he has to do is help you find some courses to teach you some basic life saving techniques, or teach you himself. Whatever is necessary to make you feel better.

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Threads - Part 13

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9, 11, and 13), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut), Part 12

Warning! This chapter contains wedding night smut! Please do not proceed if you are not of age to read such things, or if such are not your cup of tea!

Part 13

For all the time Linnea had spent preparing for it, the coronation itself was a blur. Elven memories did not dim; when she thought of it later, she remembered it perfectly. But at the time, it moved in flashes, one clear moment after another.

Gil-galad taking her hand and leading her from the feast, the wedding guests falling in behind them.

Walking the path down to the great Tree, through the gathered crowds. So many had come that the path was narrow, but those closest stepped back to leave more space, bowing deeply as they did so. The sound of a harp beginning to play.

Gil-galad standing next to the Tree. Her crown, resting on a pillow that Elrond carried, a delicate semicircle of golden mulberry leaves. Linnea had chosen the design both for beauty and symbolism; the mulberry leaf was the preferred food of silkworms. The same smith that had wrought the betrothal ring she had given to Gil-galad had been selected to craft the crown, and she had done her work well.

Herself. Kneeling on the steps to the dais, Gil-galad stepping forward and standing in front of her. Him lifting the crown from the pillow. 

“Varda, queen of the Valar, we call upon you. Grant your blessing to Linnea, daughter of Taucion and Lhénes, wife to Ereinion - ”

His voice catching. Lingering.

“Grant your blessing as we crown her High Queen of the Noldor, that she may rule wisely and well for as long as the Father of All wills it.”

The wreath of golden leaves settling on her brow.

Afterward, well-wishers. An endless stream of them, bowing and murmuring their names, seeking to take the hand of their new queen. The formality of the occasion quickly dissolving, save for the line to greet her. Everyone milling about, enjoying the food from the laden tables, no plate or glass empty for more than a moment. The harp joined by a flute, the music turning livelier. A circle forming to dance. 

Gil-galad by her side throughout all of it. 

And then, finally, the sun beginning to set. The crowds slowly dispersing. 

Her husband, offering her his arm.

No staircase tonight. Instead they went directly to his rooms - and Linnea supposed that now it was really theirs. Still his space, and hers below, but a combined third state that was somehow shared. 

Especially the bed.

The door shut behind them. 

They hadn't spoken about this moment. There had not been time, and she could see that Ereinion was nervous, searching for something to do, an action to take that would help him set his compass. It was part of his nature to be so.

“Will you…” He cleared his throat. “I will await you here, if you wish to return to your rooms and summon your attendants.”

That had been their habit during the previous nights. Linnea had gone to her rooms to change, and then returned for tea and shared pleasures and finally sleep. She could do the same tonight. 

But she found herself not wanting to leave him. It felt somehow wrong to separate tonight, even for those few minutes. There would be other nights for the beautiful nightgown and nightrobe that Eressie had made; there was no reason for her to change her garments only for him to remove them again.

And as she looked at him, so beautiful in his white and gold, she wanted to be the one to undress him.

“Perhaps…tonight we might tend to one another?” she offered softly. 

Her words seemed to bridge the distance, the change that was about to happen. Ereinion smiled and stepped up to her, his hand cupping her face, and she rose up on her tiptoes even as he bent down. A longer, much longer kiss than they’d shared outside; more sensual, deeper, slower. 

And when the kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, he was looking so intently at her. And perhaps that was part of why this act, what they were going to do, was so intimate. Focusing on someone else to this extent, making them the entire world; perhaps it could be done without love like this behind it and still be enjoyed, but that seemed like a different thing entirely. His hand was still on her face, and his voice, when he spoke, was the softest whisper imaginable. 

“Will you lie with me, melethel?”

On one hand it was a strange question. They had stood in front of the assembled guests; they had spoken the blessings; they had exchanged rings and gifts. All that was proper had been done. This was the final step for all that had come before. And they had already shared so much passion and joy with one another, learning each other's bodies before this night.

But on the other, it was that final step, the act that made their marriage. And so it made sense that he would ask, just as he had asked her to wed at the beginning of the ceremony.

“Alassenya nás, meleth nín.” 

It is my joy, beloved.

Ereinion smiled. Slowly, he raised his hands to the crown that he himself had set upon her head, and lifted it free. The mulberry leaves glittered in the lantern light as he set it aside - and the laurel leaves of his own crown did the same, as he bowed his head to her. 

With trembling hands, Linnea took his crown off, and set it on the table next to hers. The sight hit hard, made it real in a way that even the weight of the crown on her head had not done: High King, and High Queen. 

When he straightened up, she decided that the rest of the metal he wore needed to go too. Her fingers reached for his belt and swiftly unfastened it, found the chain of his pectoral and unhooked it. He submitted to her attentions quietly, making no move to help except for positioning himself to make it easier. And when she had dispensed with those things, it was only natural that she should push the overrobe off his shoulders, and then that she should gather up the robe itself and lift it over his head.

He liked silk pants beneath his robes, and had made no exception that day. They were pure white, pale as the moon, and the only other thing he still wore was a pair of soft white leather shoes. And in the next moment, he kicked those off. 

Linnea reached for the pants, but he stopped her hands, catching them with his own.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She did. She felt him gather up her hair, moving the mass of curls off her back and over her shoulder. Once it was out of the way, she felt gentle tugs at her back, one after the other; he had untied her corset and was carefully unlacing it, inch by inch. It loosened around her, dropping down as it did, until the last of the lacing was undone and the dress slithered off her, over her hips and down her arms, to pool at her feet.

She was left in her undergarments: thin white silk, a shift and drawers. Barely anything at all. And then even less, as Ereinion slid his hands over her hips, catching the shift and drawing it up over her head. 

Her heart raced, as her hair fell down around her. She turned back around.

He was staring. His eyes were dark and wide, shimmering as he looked at her. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but he still looked stunned, and she felt his hand tremble when he laid it on her face to draw her mouth to his again. The kiss was slow for a moment and then became more demanding, as her skin touched his and his arms went around her and the heat in her core burst to life.

They had all night. There was no need to rush. But when she slid her hands down his chest, reaching again for the tie on his pants, he did not stop her that time.

This was new. Not the sight of him, as the pants dropped and he stepped out of them, but all of him. They had always left some clothes at least nominally on during the past nights, not that that had prevented anything at all. But it had been a vague notion that there would be something still to discover on their true wedding night. And as it turned out, that idea had had merit, for him proudly naked with nothing obstructing her gaze was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She let her eyes feast. And he stood there, letting her drink him in, and then it was his turn to finish what he'd started. 

He had held still for her; she did the same for him once she was bare, as his eyes moved over her nude form. His gaze was so fierce that it almost felt like a touch, like his hands were running over her breasts, down her stomach, sliding over her hips and between her legs. Her core burned for him and he had barely laid a finger on her. 

“Ereinion,” she finally whispered, and he smiled. 

“What would you have of me, my lady?”

The glitter in his eyes said he knew her answer, but that he desired to hear it. And she would deny him nothing.

“You,” she breathed. “All of you.”

Linnea took his hands, pulling him to the bed. He followed, and once they had reached it and she had sat and then laid down, he joined her, stretching his long frame out next to her. He always made her feel so delicate and small - but not fragile, because his strength was hers, shared between them. 

Ereinion propped himself up on an elbow, brushing her hair back from her face. She burned for him - and his body said he was more than ready for her - but the gentle touch showed that even so, he would be patient. 

He lowered his lips to hers, taking his time about the kiss. Slow and sensual; it deepened gradually, lovingly. He tasted of honey and fruit, the sweets from the coronation reception, and of the wine that had flowed freely. She cupped his face, stroking her fingers delicately over the lines of his cheeks and his ears, feeling the silken strands of his hair brush her hands. 

When he lifted his head, she smiled at him. 

“What would you have of me, my love?”

Ereinion chuckled quietly, shaking his head, eyes closing briefly. “A gift that I never thought to receive at all,” he murmured. “But not before I ensure your pleasure, melethel.”

She was ready for him. She needed no more than him; she ached for him, her body knowing what it wanted. And she opened her mouth to say so, but before she could speak, he had shifted his weight to cover her, and his lips had started making their way down her bare body.

Clearly, he was enjoying the lack of obstacles. No clothing in his way, no nightgown to push aside in some faint semblance of modesty. He had kissed her skin before; his lips had run over her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. Her stomach, her thighs. But he was making sure that no inch of skin was neglected, feathering his mouth over every bit of her. He lingered at her breasts, his tongue swiping over each nipple in turn until both were stiff and aching, and then drawing them one by one into his mouth to suck. He had learned well, over the past nights; he had learned that this pleased her greatly, that she would writhe and moan for him when he did this.  

Linnea reached, trying to touch him, trying to wiggle her hand between them. Her fingers just managed to brush his sex and he shuddered, shifting his hips away out of her reach, and then laughing again softly at the whine that escaped her lips. 

“Patience, beloved,” he murmured. “Patience.”

Truly, his would outlast the stars; she did not have nearly that much. At the slide of his hand down her stomach, she spread her legs eagerly, and the motion made him moan against her breast. Yet for all his admonishments of patience, he did not delay in giving her what she wanted - his fingers gently caressed the soft folds of her and he groaned at how easily they moved, how slick she was already. She rocked her hips into his hand, pushing for a firmer touch, and that elicited another groan. His finger slipped up, circling where she needed him the most, stroking the sensitive bud of nerves in just the way she loved. But he was keeping it slow; it was another thing he had learned so well, that building her pleasure up gradually resulted in the most blinding, earth-shattering peaks.

“Ereinion…”

She curved her hands over his head, his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair. He abandoned her breasts and slid downward, his hand never ceasing its movements to keep stoking the fire in her. Down, down, down; lips caressing the smoothness of her belly, and then low enough that she could no longer reach him and had to settle for gripping the blankets. Kisses on the inside of her knee and then back up, along her inner thigh, and all the while that hand. Those fingers working their magic on her, first one and then two inside, a gentle stretch and thrusting that was a prelude to what she knew would be happening soon.

His mouth took over the work that his fingers had left. Tongue caressing that throbbing little bud; licking, suckling, teasing. Still gentle, still slow, building and building and building, using everything he'd learned over the past nights. Her eyes were torn between wanting to drink in the sight of his head between her legs and not having the strength to stay open; her head lolled back on the pillows, lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps and whimpers.

The motion of his mouth stopped, although his fingers continued their glide in and out of her - less smooth now that she was clenching tightly around them, desperate for release. She felt him shift back, felt his breath on her flesh as he spoke. 

“Let go, beloved. Let go for me.”

When he leaned back in and resumed that soft, deliberate licking, she came apart. It was a miracle that she did not shred the blankets that her fingers gripped so tightly; her vision went white, and her entire body shook with the force of it. And Ereinion’s tongue did not stop; he kept going, groaning his own pleasure at the feel of hers, prolonging the release until she was limp on the bed, drowning in feeling, unable to move so much as a muscle.

Only then did he ease his fingers from her; only then did he move back up on the bed, shifting so that her spent form lay cradled in his arms. She let him move her, eyes still closed, feeling her heart gradually slowing to normal.

When Linnea finally opened her eyes, he was gazing at her, a faint smile on his face. 

“Are you well?”

She laughed. His question held no trace of nervousness, as it had the first time they had been together. It was knowing now, and even just faintly smug - but she did not begrudge him that in the slightest. 

She reached up, caressing his cheek. “I love you.”

Ereinion turned, pressing his lips to her palm, once and then again. She trailed her hand down lazily, over his neck and shoulder, down his chest - and it was her turn to smile as he shuddered slightly at the touch. He was happy to let her recover, to rest a moment after such pleasure, but that did not mean that his desire had been exhausted.

No, not at all. And the proof of that was found as her hand moved lower, down the firm muscles of his stomach and lower yet. 

He shuddered again, more forcefully, as she wrapped her hand around him. She too had learned; she had learned how he liked best to be touched, and she trailed her fingertips delicately over the side of his sex. The hot, velvety skin quivered, his hips pushing his hard length into her hand, and as she rubbed her thumb over the sensitive head, she felt the silken moisture that told her how on edge he was.  

She intended to draw it out, as he had with her. He was not the only one who had learned how to use his mouth, his tongue, to great effect. But as she made to move back and lower her head to his lap, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Not now,” he breathed, and she could hear the tremble in his voice. “Now - melethel, I want you now…”

Oh, yes. Yes. 

For a moment, she wondered how. But he clearly had something in mind; he sat up and pulled her to settle on his lap, astride his hips just as she had been the first time he had touched her. His sex brushed against her still-sensitive core and she shuddered, her hips seeking, pressing down as she draped her arms around his shoulders.

His hand slipped between them, grasping his own sex and dragging it through her folds to notch himself at her entrance. She was used to the feeling of entry by now from his fingers, but this was much different - more stretch, firmer pressure, and the craving for more of both, for that hardness to fill her. 

“At your pace,” he whispered, voice trembling even more. “As slow as you need to.”

She was slick, and the pleasure from his mouth and fingers had helped relax her. But it still made her muscles burn as she sank down, as her body stretched to accommodate taking him in, and she couldn't help but gasp as he slid inside her. Ereinion nuzzled the side of her face, and she turned her head to meet his kiss, all the while lowering herself. And even amid what must have been an onslaught of sensation for him, he stroked her back, soothing her, letting her take all the time she needed. 

When their hips finally met, she drew in a deep, ragged breath, just feeling. Stretch, yes, but also pleasure - and yet, that craving was still there for something more, wanting to move, wanting him to move. 

Linnea lifted her head, meeting his eyes, and gave him a small nod.

He understood. 

There was a shift beneath her, a roll of his hips that pulled him out slightly and then pushed back in. And then another, just as slow and gentle. The movement banished the last of the lingering pain, sweeping it away in a blaze of pleasure; she cried out and he immediately stilled, hands clenching on her, but she quickly took over the rhythm to reassure him, rocking her hips back and forth, and it was his turn to moan, his turn to call out her name.

“Linnea…”

The coil inside her was tightening again, her heart pounding, her body gasping for air, even as the rhythm between their bodies stayed slow. And he was there too; his mouth was open, eyes dark and deep.

His hand stole up, bringing her head down to claim her mouth. The kiss deepened hungrily, and as it did, she felt herself being tilted, laid down with their bodies still one, Ereinion on top of her, and oh, oh, his weight and his warmth and the change in angle of him inside her, the change in position that meant he was in control of the pace; there was more force behind his thrusts, although he was still attempting to go slow. If she'd thought the pleasure would drown her before, now it had the inexorability of the tides pulling her under; the only thing in the entirety of creation was Ereinion's body on her, in her, first and last and only -

And as everything in her tightened, tightened, she was aware of something else new. Even amongst all of the new sensations sweeping through her, it was like a muscle she had never been aware of before - something that could flex if she willed it so. The building pleasure stopped, like a wave stopped by a dam, just waiting for something -

Before she could consider it more, the pleasure broke. For them both.

Even as she was swept away by her own climax, she heard him cry out. He convulsed in her arms, a garbled half-shout, half-moan bursting from him. She felt warmth spread inside her, his release filling her as he spent himself. The dark curtains of his hair cloaked her head as he bent for a kiss, and then she laughed in delight as he peppered her face with more kisses. 

When finally he rolled off, he reached for her, and she went to lie on his chest. His arms encircled her and she had never felt so safe, so cherished. She was a wife now, his wife and his queen, wedded and crowned and bedded. His forever, as he was hers.

Of course, she had already known that. But this day had made it all real. 

Linnea felt his hand lazily stroking over her hair, and a press of his lips against her head. It had been long enough that she felt like she could actually move, and she rose up, propping herself on her elbow, smiling at the sight of him with rumpled hair and cheeks stained pink.

“Are you well?”

Ereinion laughed at that, sliding his hand up her back to tug her down for a kiss. “I am,” he murmured against her lips. “I am well indeed, now that I am your husband. As I have always been meant to be.”

There were no words for that. Nothing but another kiss, and curling herself back up on his chest, letting her eyes close in contentment.

That feeling she had experienced teased at her. It was difficult to summon outside of the moment, but she tried her best, smiling inadvertently as she recalled the pleasure that had filled her. Her hips shifted; she was spent, truly she was, and yet, remembering how he had felt buried deep within her…

“Melethel?” Ereinion stirred beneath her. “What troubles you?”

Quickly, she shook her head. “Nothing troubles me. It was just - there was something different, when we were…something I had not ever felt before, and I was…”

She trailed off, realizing. Of course. She had had no room for thought at the time, but now it seemed so obvious.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh.”

He didn’t press - he waited for her to speak. Slowly, she lifted herself up again, and she could feel her eyes welling up.

“When we are ready to conceive,” she whispered. “I felt - it was something inside that I could open. If I willed it. When the time is right for us. I had known something of it and yet…it is as you said. It is not possible to describe in words.”

He didn’t look surprised. His hand came up to tuck a curl behind her ear, and his fingers lingered on her cheek. “It was so for me as well, my love. And like you, I was unsure of it at the time - though perhaps that is understandable.” The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. “But I felt the same. A part of myself that I could give to you beyond my body. And while it is ill to rush such things, we should consider that this respite - while both the enemy and we prepare ourselves - may be our best chance to know that joy.”

Linnea nodded soberly. Their people preferred to have children during times of peace, to ensure that both mother and father would have ample strength to devote to bearing and raising. Her heart again ached for Eressie, and for all those like her, left alone by the war. But she and Ereinion had spoken of it previously, how there was no way to know how long this war would endure. The enemy was cunning, and patient. He would not strike until he had confidence in victory.

“Soon, then,” she murmured, and he nodded back at her, smiling softly.

“Soon,” he agreed. “But not quite yet. We have time to enjoy these early days of our marriage. I must learn to be a husband first, before I learn to be a father.”

Linnea chuckled, and offered him a sly, teasing smile. “You seem to be well-schooled in all matters that a husband must be,” she said. “But perhaps we should conduct another test? I must also continue learning to be a wife, after all…”

There was a lilt in her voice - a hint of desire, that had blossomed in her when she had remembered their lovemaking. There was much more of the night yet before them, after all, and it was their wedding night. How else to spend those hours but in the practices of marriage?

He heard the desire, and it made him laugh, but she heard that same faint hint from him. And she smiled in welcome, as he rolled her over onto her back, rising over her and nestling his hips between her thighs.

Perhaps she was not entirely spent. 

TBC....

[reilemon]

🍷Ambrosia🍷

♡︎ synopsis: You give Sylus a private pole dance show.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: pre-relationship, pole dancing, lap dance, cowgirl, missionary, creampie

♡︎ word count: 4.2k

♡︎ a/n: If you don't like how I wrote Sylus pls don't say anything. 😭

♡︎ a little gift for my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @cafekitsune

"Why are you walking by yourself in the city at 1 am?" Sylus asks you over the phone.

You look around, searching for Mephisto. You sigh when you fail. "I just wanted to sober up on my way home."

"You can sober up in my car." And as if on cue, a familiar black car pulls up next to you.

The other line cuts off and Sylus exits, walking around and opening the passenger's door. "Get in, sweetie."

You cross your arms. "I don't wanna get car sick."

"You won't. I'll drive slowly."

"But I'm like five minutes away from my apartment." You look around at the empty street. No people and no surveillance cameras. You did pick out a weird route, but it was in a peaceful neighborhood. "Why don't you walk with me?"

Sylus' shoulders slump at your request. Not because it's unreasonable, but because he hoped the car ride would be more than five minutes long.

After parking the car, he returns to you carrying a water bottle and a paper bag with a logo of a donut shop. He hands them over, and you accept, feeling guilty.

"Did you get these for me?"

He shrugs. "I always drive by that place, so I got curious and bought some."

"Oh... Oh?" Your eyes land on a stain on his shirt. Blood? No - "Is that jam?"

He glances down "Right, I tried one and it spilled on my shirt. I can just get a new one."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you can. I have something that can remove the stain."

When you turn to start walking, he grabs your hand and loops your arm around his. "Slow down, I don't want you to trip."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Just when you locked the doors of your apartment, it hit you that Sylus, the infamous leader of Onichynus, your friend (?), is in your apartment. At 1 am, for the first time. The apartment isn't messy, but you still would've prepared it more. For instance, you would've put away the pole standing in the middle of your living room.

Of course, that's the first thing Sylus notices. "You like to pole dance, kitten?"

The question sobers you up immediately. Your face and ears burn in embarrassment, and you can feel sweat forming on your back. "Um, sometimes. When I have time." You scurry away to the kitchen to put away the food, Sylus chuckling behind you. You wouldn't be so flustered if you knew those cool, energetic moves. No, instead, all you know is the sensual, seductive ones. They're like a breath of fresh air, given the nature of your job.

You go back to Sylus who made himself comfortable on your sofa, taking in the new environment. "I have a men's t-shirt that could fit you, and I'll return your shirt the next time I see you."

With a slight glare he responds "I'm not wearing another man's clothes."

You sigh "It's mine. I like to wear baggy clothes around the house." Although, you can't help but smile a little at that display of jealousy. Was it, though? Or are you just being delusional?

You wish it was.

His face returns to the neutral relaxed state, with his usual amused smirk. The face, you noticed, he only has when he's around you. It wasn't like that in the beginning (let's not talk about the beginning), but the more time you spent with him, the more you got to see his gentle side.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't notice that he was almost done unbuttoning the stained shirt, revealing he doesn't have anything underneath.

When he completely takes it off, your eyes are glued to his torso. This is your first time seeing him completely shirtless, leaving you unable to peel off your gaze from his chiseled muscles, broad shoulders-

"It's rude to stare, sweetie."

You blink, snapping out of the shameless ogling, taking the shirt that was lingering in his hand for a moment as he was trying to hand it to you.

"I wasn't staring." You, again, make a run for it, this time to your bedroom to fish out a clean oversized t-shirt for him. When you return to the living room, your eyes are fixated on his face, fighting the urge to look down and stare at his physique.

He thanks you and puts it on. It fits almost perfectly, and although he's covered, the sight is making your heart flutter.

He takes a whiff of the fabric. "Smells nice."

After a brief chat about laundry (of course Sylus doesn't do it, but knows how to, apparently), you turn towards the bathroom, claiming "Trust me, I'll make that stain disappear."

"I bet you can't."

The accusation makes you stop in your tracks. "I bet I can! And if I win, you'll get me something pretty."

Sylus chuckles, eyeing you from head to toe. "If you lose, you'll dance for me."

Fell right into his trap.

With a shaky voice you refuse, "I don't think so. Pick something else."

Sylus raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at your declining of the bet for the first time. "Oh?" He notices how you're shifting where you stand, averting your gaze. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You shake your head "You didn't, it's just that - " You trail off, an idea popping up in your head. By now, Sylus can read your face with ease, so he smirks when your eyes light up and he listens intently. "How about, if you actually want me to put on a little show for you, you buy me a bottle of my favorite perfume?"

You've been running low, and it's currently out of stock literally everywhere you looked. If he actually wants to see you dance, he'll have to put in a little bit of work. Not only is the perfume out of stock, he doesn’t even know which one is your favorite. At least you never told him. And even if he, by some miracle, finds it, you'll just do a few spins and take your perfume. It's not like he asked you to give him a lap dance. You probably wouldn't be opposed to it, though.

He raises his eyebrows before nodding. "Deal."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

As you shut the door of the bathroom, Sylus slowly sneaks his way into your bedroom. Actually, it’s not sneaking in if you left the door open, right?

However, he's not a creep who uses this opportunity to go through your underwear drawer. No, he goes straight to your vanity and takes a sniff of every fancy looking perfume, remembering almost every single scent and occasion you wore them on.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. He needs to wrap this up. There's one more bottle, the printed logo and letters worn out, almost empty. He chuckles, as he wonders if this is the one since you're running low and want him to replace it. You could've just asked him to and he'd get you ten more.

His eyes roll back as the ambrosial scent hits his nose. That's it, that's the one. Oh, how he adores it. It smells intoxicating when it's on you. And you're wearing it tonight, him catching a hint of it when you met up and he had to fight every fiber in his body not to bury his face in your neck, taking in your perfume and the feel of your soft skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

At the doorway of Sylus' bedroom, you stare at the pole installed in the middle of the room. When he said to take the now stain-free shirt to his bedroom, you thought it was odd since, well - why would you go into his bedroom? The last time you were here, was to search for that brooch and he kicked you out every time. Except for the last time, when you succeeded in finding it, the moments on his bed that you fantasize more often than you'd like to admit, where you wish it led to something more.

"You know you're allowed to enter?" Sylus' teasing voice appears behind you.

You peer at him over your shoulder "You already have the pole installed? Without even getting the perfume first?" After all, it's only been a few days since you last saw him, and when you gave him the challenge.

"Take a better look, sweetie." He nods in the direction of the desk.

You take a step inside to get a closer look, with Sylus trailing behind you to stand next to you. Of course, there it is - the bottle of your favorite perfume waiting for you. Sylus smirks in self-satisfaction as your face is too easy to read now, you can't lie your way out of this.

Nor do you want to.

"Well," Sylus gestures towards the bed, "I took the liberty of ordering some outfits for you."

You then eye the clothes that you didn't notice earlier, gawking at the stunning pieces that ranged from coverage to more provocative, and all in your favorite colors.

You turn to him, eyes wide "I - " You don't even know what to say - you want to thank him, but at the same time you didn't expect him to do all this. You know that he is as generous as he is wealthy, but his thoughtfulness always catches you off guard. One of the main reasons why you like him so much.

He chuckles at your cute reaction and pats your head. Then he takes the shirt that was still in your hands and walks towards the door. "I'll give you half an hour to pick out an outfit and warm up."

"Wha - ?"

He shuts the door behind him.

Fuck.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You took more time trying on your new pole outfits than warming up, leaving you with only five minutes to frantically pack them in an empty box you assumed was for the clothes, and to actually warm up. There was nothing underneath the skimpy outfit you picked out, since you had to get rid of your underwear that was ruining the look. There were even some heels waiting for you, and even though you didn't have to wear them, you couldn't resist. You put some of your favorite perfume on, of course, and in the middle of the brief warm-up you thought of one more detail.

There's a soft knock on the door and you frantically exit Sylus' closet, almost tripping in your high heels as you go back to the pole.

Sylus enters the room and you can see that he's stunned for a brief second, as he sees you wearing heels and one of his silk robes.

He closes the door behind him and comments with an amused smile "I don't remember displaying my robe on the bed."

You fidget the soft fabric of the belt, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart as the reality of the situation is starting to settle in. The pole next to you, Sylus asking you which playlist he should play, your nose picking up the familiar scent of his fabric softener.

You must've looked like a deer in headlights, because Sylus' concerned frown as he calls your name snaps you back to reality.

"Are you okay? You don't really have to do this -."

"No, I'm fine!" You clear your throat, steeling your resolve. You want to do this. "I was just trying to remember the song..." You grab your phone and hand it over to him to connect it with the stereo and go back to wait by the pole.

You may have fantasized about dancing for him more than you'd like to admit - and not just in these few days since you last saw him. You also may have more than one song that reminds you of him and that you created choreographies for.

While setting up, Sylus sits down on the sofa in front of you.

He can feel your eyes on him.

"What?" He asks, still setting up.

“Nothing.” You look away and do some of the last warm up moves. You wanted to jokingly ask if he expected a lap dance, but you chickened out. The deal was for you to just show off some of your pole dance moves, that’s it. No striptease, no lap dancing…

You collect the courage to make the joke anyway, but just as you open your mouth the first notes of the song you picked out hit your ears.

He puts your phone away and makes himself comfortable in his seat - legs spread, hands resting on his thighs, lips pulled in that smirk, his eyes fully focused on you.

So you give him your most confident-looking smile, grab the pole with one hand and start walking around it. You drag the platforms of your shoes across the floor, just gliding around before getting into the show-off moves. Your movements are fluid, making it looks so easy - from spinning around to air walking. The music and the dancing soothe your anxiety and lift your mood. You know you look good. After a few spins, the silk robe starts getting in the way. With your back turned to him, your hands untie the belt and slide the robe off your shoulders. You look back at him with a playful grin, and you can't help but feel smug at how immersed he is in your performance, one arm now resting on the backrest, eyes raking over your whole body and face, anticipating your next move.

The robe slips off completely and you toss it away somewhere. You feel your cheeks heat up as the air hits your newly exposed skin. This is the first time you've showed so much of yourself to Sylus, and you couldn't help but feel a little shy. But then you see him shifting in his seat, face a little more serious, the attention giving you butterflies. With so much of your skin exposed, you show off some of the advanced moves, and you feel a new boost of confidence. You know it’s stunning - the way you look in your revealing outfit and how you perform these moves with ease.

The other half of the song starts playing, and you decide to shift from the pole to the floor. Fixing your gaze to the side, on Sylus, you go down on all floors, slowly gliding your upper body, your butt propped up, giving him a perfect view of your silhouette. Red eyes follow every step and take in your expressions that go from focused to playful and a little flirty.

Maybe more flirty than you realize.

You lie on your back, lifting your legs and move your hips side to side, making slow waves with your legs. With every next move, you're bolder, more provocative, locking eyes with him as you move.

In the brief silence between the songs, Sylus chuckles "Is that all, kitten?"

You know he's teasing. After all the time you spent together, some of them literally tied to each other, you know how to recognize the slight differences in his tone.

You know how to tease too. Smiling mischievously, you get on all fours, back arched, and slowly crawl towards him, cat style.

Sylus' lips stretch into a half grin as he watches you close the distance, with you now on your knees by his feet. He loved every second of your performance, his admiration for you only growing, always unconsciously proving to him that you are worth every second of his time and every bit of effort to be more patient. But every moment of that performance made his patience run thin. The craving, the need for you – it’s starting to overtake him. The sensual moves, the most provocative outfit he picked out but thought he was pushing his luck with, they made your body, made you, irresistible. He needed to deflect. He loves teasing you because your reactions are always so cute and amusing. He expected a pout or a snarky comment but instead you started crawling towards him and-

You graze your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles under the fabric of his pants twitch with your touch and stopping just around his hips. Then, you gracefully stood up and turned around, arching your back and moving your hips to the rhythm, giving him a nice view of your butt. As you look over your shoulder, you have to bite back a self-satisfied grin when you catch his gaze raking over your body, not being subtle about it at all. You turn to face him, hands grabbing onto his shoulders as you position yourself to kneel over him, and with every fiber in your body, you fight the urge to just sit on his crotch, to feel if he's hard at all. So you lean back, arms behind your back and holding onto his thighs as you stretch your torso and you roll your hips, your eyes locked with his.

With the second song almost over, you lean towards him, your lips tickling his earlobe, your eyes catching the goosebumps on the skin of his neck and the redness on his ear. "I guess this is all I got."

And just when you're about to push yourself off the sofa, Sylus' strong hands grab you by the hips, pressing them down on his clothed erection, a yelp escaping your lips upon contact.

"Are you sure?" His red eyes, illuminated by the low lights of his bedroom, are on you, lidded with lust.

Just a bit more.

You sigh innocently and avert your gaze, resting your arms on his shoulders, your hips moving lazily over the rock hard erection, earning a choked grunt from the man under you, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips and butt.

"Well..." You trail off, steadying your breathing as arousal started rapidly coursing through your body, making your mouth dry and pussy wet. "I think - !?"

Sylus' hand wraps around your jaw, making you look back at him. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and you don't think you've ever seen his eyes looking at you with such intensity.

Out of breath, he asks you, "Can I kiss you?"

"Y-yes."

His lips take yours in a searing kiss, the hand on your hip trailing over your back and pressing between your shoulder blades, while the hand on your jaw finds its way to the back of your head. It feels like an out of body experience to finally kiss Sylus, to feel his soft lips you've been eyeing for so long, to bury your fingers in his silver hair, to taste mint and red wine on his tongue, to feel the pulse on his neck under your hand. Your clothed pussy was fluttering, desperate for some attention, so you started moving your hips again, grinding against him, drawing out a low groan from the man.

"If you keep doing that I can't hold back any longer." He warns in a low voice against your lips.

You take his 'warning' seriously and suddenly sit up, kneeling above his lap once again. A flash of confusion (or disappointment) on Sylus' face gets quickly overwritten with surprise, followed by a cocky grin as your hands go to his belt.

He puts his hands over yours, making you look back at his eyes that softened a little. "Are you sure?"

You nod and try to shift your attention back to his belt, but he grabs your chin, his face a breath away from yours. "I need you to use your words, kitten."

You swallow thickly, the blood rushing under your cheeks and ears "Yes, I can't wait anymore."

Sylus gives you one more breathtaking kiss before he opens his belt and unzips his pants, hissing in relief as his hard cock is freed from his underwear. Your eyes widen as they stare at the sheer size of it, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

You move the bottoms of your outfit to the side, making him groan as he catches the sight of your naked pussy lips, "Fuck, you had nothing underneath this whole time? You'll be the death of me."

Your chuckle is replaced by a soft whimper as he grabs his cock by the base and guides you by grabbing your hip, the tip sliding along your wet folds, grazing your clit. It slides right against your entrance, dipping in and out of your hole, each time a little deeper, before the tip is fully inside and you're already seeing stars. Now both his hands are on your hips, slowly guiding you down as he watches your face intently, a single drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

"You can take it, pretty girl." He chokes back a groan as your walls squeeze around him as he enters you deeper. It takes him every last bit of restraint not to thrust up into you and fuck you senseless.

He rubs soothing circles on your bud, making your legs twitch, the stretch of his dick already stimulating enough to send you over the edge. With a few shallow pumps, he fully enters you.

"That's it, you're doing so good." Pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips find yours, teeth nipping and tongue licking your bottom lip before he trails over your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. Holding onto his broad shoulders and nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, you slowly start moving your hips, sweat starting to drip from your back and your chest. He takes off your top, leaving you with only your bottom and the heels on your feet, while he's still fully clothed as you ride him. His tongue drags over between your breasts, drinking up your sweat, his lips then latching onto your pebbled nipple while his fingers play with the other one.

Your sensitive swollen clit keeps rubbing against his pelvis, as you roll your hips on his length.

Sylus hisses against your breast, "You're squeezing me so tight." He grabs you by the back of your neck, his face now close to yours. With his other hand squeezing your butt cheek, his hips thrust up, meeting your pace. "You gonna cum, darling?"

You can only mewl and nod in response. He notices your leg muscles shaking and hips staggering in their movement.

"Let me take over." He knows you're getting tired, but too lost in pleasure and probably too proud to admit it. He slides further down in his seat, letting your body rest completely on top of him. He holds onto your ass in a bruising grip, holding your hips in place as he starts vigorously thrusting up, the blunt tip hitting all the right places and the base and pelvis hitting your clit over and over until you're a panting moaning mess on top of him. His teeth latch onto the flesh between your neck and shoulder as your intoxicating smell, your voice, and pulsing cunt bring him closer to cumming too.

Just when you're about to come down from your high, Sylus suddenly sits up and throws a pillow from the sofa onto the floor.

"Hold onto me." He instructs and you do as you're told, wrapping your arms and legs around him, allowing him to, as gently as possible, lay you onto the floor with the pillow under your head.

He adjusts himself between your legs and continues the relentless pounding. The view on top of you makes your pussy flutter again - strands of his silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lust dazed eyes fixed on you, pupils dilated you can barely see the ruby red irises, wide shoulders and his whole fucking hot face and body you could stare at forever. But you need to feel his weight on your body.

As if reading your mind, he lies down completely on top of you, using one elbow for support while the other arm sneaks behind you and grabs your butt. "I'm so fucking close." He grunts against your lips, but you're too lost in pleasure to say anything back, only moaning and burying your face in his shoulder as your walls clench around his throbbing dick, the pressure of another orgasm building up.

The hand moves to grab your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, the gentle touch contrasting with his ruthless hips, "Let me see you, darling." His voice is both soft and strained.

You're the first one to break the eye contact as another orgasm crashes through you. Sylus' orgasm comes only seconds later, enhancing the intensity as his twitching cock spurts hot liquid inside your pussy.

With the last lazy rolling of his hips, you come down from your own highs, foreheads pressed together as both of you catch your breath. He gives you a soft kiss on the lips, and then just gazes at you with a tenderness you haven't seen before. His fingertips trace over the features of your face. "I hope you can spend the night here."

Of course, you accept the offer. And of course, you didn't sleep at all that night.

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

And my, my love had been frozen. Deep blue, but you painted me golden.

Warnings: 18+, mdni! there will be smut in the future chapters. enemies to lovers, 'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope, allusions to unrequited love, mentions of death, injuries, allusions to self hatred, mentions of bullying, this story is set post s4, Vecna and the upside down are gone. slow burn. ‘hate’ sex. fwb kinda thing but they’re ‘enemies’. mean!reader, mean!Steve, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

♡

Prologue ⭐︎

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I’m not around

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Chapter five ⭐︎'Cause you know it could never be

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Chapter seven ⭐︎ Got a feeling your electric touch, could fill this ghost town up with life

Chapter eight ⭐︎ Say my name and everything just stops

Chapter nine ⭐︎ And I'll show you if you let me, girl

Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Chapter eleven ⭐︎ Yeah, I know it seems surprising when there’s lipstick still on the glass

Chapter twelve ⭐︎ When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Chapter thirteen ⭐︎ For a moment, I was heaven struck

Chapter fourteen ⭐︎ Somewhere in these eyes, I'm on your side

Chapter fifteen ⭐︎ I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?

Chapter sixteen ⭐︎ Hold me, love me, touch me, honey

Chapter seventeen ⭐︎ What am I supposed to do? If there's no you.

Chapter eighteen ⭐︎ Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

Chapter twenty four ⭐︎ I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

Chapter twenty five ⭐︎ Who could stay? You could stay

The Epilogue ⭐︎

[luveline]

gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated. 

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong. 

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks. 

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach. 

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong." 

"I'm just trying to figure something out." 

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance. 

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein. 

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?" 

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop. 

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something. 

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention." 

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights. 

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done? 

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time. 

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again. 

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears. 

This is all so messy, and it's your fault. 

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me. 

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid. 

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help. 

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go." 

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention. 

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up. 

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell. 

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you. 

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it." 

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry." 

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel. 

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug. 

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes  

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon. 

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset " 

"I'm an idiot–" 

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–" 

"I shouldn't have–" 

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away. 

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up." 

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into? 

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me." 

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile. 

"It's not okay." 

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even." 

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked." 

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?" 

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back." 

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better." 

"I know." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful. 

"Does it look really bad?" 

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already." 

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to." 

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid." 

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask. 

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not." 

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure." 

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want." 

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks. 

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it. 

"That feels nice," you mumble. 

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?" 

"Don't," you warn. 

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?" 

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it. 

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry." 

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

[tteokdoroki]

brats & bows katsuki bakugou ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about! katsuki lets you wrap a bow around his pretty throat and boss him around… or at least try to.

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, smut. characters aged up to 20s, light!choking, size kink, switch dynamics, unprotected sex, bows for bondage, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

ok ok… convincing bakugou to let you wrap a pink bow around his neck.

riding him slow and steady, your cunt milking him with every clench and his cock spurting little streams of precum deep inside every time it spasms. you sink down on him so slow he think he might die from your tortuous pace. bakugou knows he can take over at any minute, there’s a strength in his body no other human could possibly match. it would be easy for him to flip you over and pound you to putty into the couch. he is a pro hero after all…but he really does like this. he loves the feel of your hand reaching back to wrap around his thick throat and dance along the silk ribbon you’d begged to tie there.

your fingers are so small that they hardly can’t even fit around around him entirely… but he feels the heat of your palm through the pink material and the burning sensation of lust that you pass onto him. katsuki adores your sweet little attempt at choking him while choking back your own heavy tears, hiccuping while you throw your hips back and forth so that his tip never leaves your sweet spot. lewd squelching sounds echo throughout the room, needy whines like a lamb bleating at its slaughter tack themselves to your swollen lips and slide through katsuki’s eardrums like dangerous molten molasses.

something about you crying for him, drooling on him drives the blonde insane and makes it hard for him to hold back — he almost feels sorry for you. his precious little cry baby. he knows he’s a little sick for it.

katsuki likes that you think you’re in control when you’re on top of him and in his lap. using him like your own personal fuck toy — but he knows you’re frustrated, itching for the explosive man to touch your clit, to stick his fingers in your mouth and press down on your tongue or better yet kiss you. your sweaty back to his sweltering chest, his shallow breathing coasting along your bare shoulders makes it worse. katsuki looking so pretty beneath you with a dainty bow secured around his neck to only pisses you off more.

you’d fought tooth and nail to put it on him, grinned like a Cheshire Cat when the blonde whimpered and twitched at the soft sensation of the ribbon around his neck — only just restricting his air ways. you thought that you’d have him under your spell, maybe begging to fuck you while you used him for your own orgasms.

but this is katsuki, and he’s just as bratty as you are. so, if you were going to be in charge, he’d let you. he’d make you work for it — a little bit of pink ribbon wasn’t going to make him submit to you that easily.

and therefore… he does nothing, lets you throw your ass back on his throbbing dick as it drips between your sticky thighs and he thinks he’s still got you under control. that is, until you reach grasp at the soft ends of his ribbon and use it to lug him forward with all your might, startling the cocky blonde.

it’s like a switch has been flipped inside of you, being kept on the edge because your boyfriend won’t fuck you to prove a point has you pent up and desperate. “don’t just sit there, kats,” you snarl in frustration between heavy breaths, sloppy pussy squeezing around the pulsating veins that decorate katsuki bakugou’s, cubby, aching dick. “be useful for once. fuck me. make me feel good.”

from this position, you can’t see the way his black pupils blow wide and swallow the red in his eyes like spilt ink. but your head tips back and to side, just enough to capture his cherry bitten lips in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. you lap into his mouth like a dog having her first taste of water, tasting his flavour and the sweat on his lips. every kiss l is mismatched, rough and messy but your bodies and their movements harmonise like no other — rolling against one another, your cunt never letting go of his swollen cock that fills you up oh so well.

your tone had said it all and it’s all bakugou really needed to let loose, his hips kicking up at the sound of your voice, rough with arousal and deepened with desire. finally, his calloused hands map their way over to your front, the pads of his fingers etching the letters of his name onto your puffy clit while others leave their mark on your hips — holding you in place to take his cock. the blonde loves it all, the way your back arches from his chest and the way your mewls turn to breathless growls when you lose your cool and pull the ends of the pretty bow so hard that his eyes glaze over, his brain goes fuzzy and he can’t stop thrusting up into like his life depends on it.

sweat beads on his brow and against katsuki’s hairline like a crown made of pearls or an angel’s halo much unlike the devilish act the two of you are committing right now. the competing wax and waning of your bodies sends a shiver down his spine — when you slam yourself down onto his seedy girth, katsuki bucks into you, slender hips and sweaty ass rising from the bed to grind his precum into your sluice walls.

maybe katsuki isn’t always in control, even when he thinks he is. maybe your big wet eyes and gushing pushy have more of a grip on him than he thinks…after all, you did manage to convince him to put the bow on after all.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Playing truth or dare with the JJK cast!!

love love love

Playing truth or dare with jjk men

Pairings: Gojo x reader; Geto x reader; Sukuna x reader; Megumi x reader

Word Count: 3,5k

Warnings: a little bit of spice hehe, Geto's part is sooo fluffy

Gojo Satoru – Dare

The game of truth or dare is heating up like it always does when you and Gojo participate. The group is gathered around, your gaze flicking between the men as they take turns while Shoko takes a drag on her cigarette. The laughter is loud, the mood is light - until Gojo smirks at you after you’ve been listening to Geto talking about that strange-looking curse he encountered today.

You feel his predator eyes on you almost immediately, always sharp, always intense, filling you with a wave of unease and...excitement.

Truth is, it’s very hard not to fall for Gojo Satoru. Not when he wrapped you around his long fingers the second he said Hi, not when he never fails to flirt with you during a mission. You hate to admit it, but you’re weak – weak for the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

"Alright," Gojo announces, tilting his head back slightly, his white hair falling in disarray.

How did you not realize the bottle landed on you? But not just by anybody, but Satoru himself?

"Truth or dare?"

You pause for a moment, your pulse picking up, unsure if you want to risk the dare, especially with Gojo's mischievous grin spreading across his face. You bite your lip, hesitating before finally saying,

"Dare."

A flicker of amusement dances across Gojo's expression.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes," you reply, more confidently than you feel.

"Alright then," Gojo stands up and paces around the group, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I dare you to kiss me. Right here. Right now."

The words send a shockwave through your body. For a second, the room is silent, everyone looking between you and Gojo, their eyes wide with disbelief. He, however, is completely unfazed, his grin only widening at your reaction. His confidence is almost overwhelming, and you're starting to feel a little out of breath.

“Satoru…isn’t that a little much even for you?”

“Why? (y/n) can totally decline and live with the shame of being a loser, right?”

Your heart races as you look into his eyes, those blue irises glinting with a playful challenge. You could back out - everyone would understand. But something about Gojo's daring smirk and cheeky words is pushing you forward. Your cheeks flush as you stand up, your body almost moving of its own accord, driven by a mix of desire and curiosity.

Gojo's hands remain in his pockets as you step closer to him. The atmosphere is thick with tension. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, like he's daring you to make the first move.

"You know," Gojo says in a low, almost teasing voice, "I won’t bite, unless you want me to."

Your breath catches at the implication. You don't know what comes over you, but you close the remaining gap between the two of you. Slowly, you tilt your head upward, lips brushing against his. His mouth is warm, but the kiss is slow, deliberate. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the kiss deepening as his tongue gently teases yours.

Gojo's touch is light at first, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending waves of warmth through you. But as the kiss intensifies, his grip tightens, his body pressing against yours almost making you lose what’s left of your self-dignity. His lips move with purpose, and you find yourself melting into the kiss, his heat and presence overwhelming.

When you finally break the kiss, your chest rises and falls with the intensity of the moment, your mind simply blank. Gojo pulls away just enough to look at you, his grin now replaced with a more serious expression.

"Good girl," he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"That was just a taste. I might make you do more next time."

Your face burns at the words, but your lips tingle from the lingering touch of his.

“Can the two of you just…stop?”

“Yeah, get a room or something. I’ll never play truth or dare with you guys again.”

Geto Suguru – Truth

The game has been spiraling in unpredictable directions with Gojo teasing the hell out of none other than Nanami Kento, but it's Geto's turn now. He's been quiet so far, watching with a cool, calculating gaze, his dark hair falling messily around his face. His sharp eyes flick to yours, locking with yours in a way that feels like he’s reading your every thought.

The bottle lands on you.

"Truth or dare?" he asks, his voice smooth and confident, though there's something deeper, almost hypnotic, lingering in it.

You swallow hard. You know Geto isn’t one for games, but he has a way of turning everything into something more intense, more serious. His charm is subtle but dangerous, especially for someone who hopelessly fell in love with the black-haired boy when first meeting him. You hesitate, the thought of what dare he might come up with making your heart race. Truth might be safer, but you know Geto enjoys seeing how far he can push someone, testing their limits. But still.

You bite your lip and, with a deep breath, answer, "Truth."

Geto's smile is slow, deliberate, almost predatory, as though he’s been waiting for this. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him, making sure everyone’s attention is fully on you. He studies you for a moment, considering the best way to get under your skin.

"Alright," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours.

"What’s the one thing you want... but you’re too afraid to ask for?"

YOU.

The question hangs in the air, weighted with layers of meaning. Oh, it’s not a secret to anyone that you fell for him hard but are too shy to admit it out loud. Does he know as well? Does he know how long your gaze is glued to his back even though he said goodbye a while ago? Does he know how often you ask for him, how deeply worried you are when he is forced to leave for a difficult mission? Does he know how many nights your mind drifts off to him, imagining things you’d never say?

You feel the heat rise in your chest, but you're not sure if it's from the question itself or the way Geto’s eyes linger on you. His question is no simple one, and it feels personal, almost invasive. You want to answer, but something about the way he's looking at you makes it harder to speak.

His expression remains unreadable as you fumble with your thoughts. It’s not like Geto to let you squirm. He doesn’t need to push. He knows you’ll eventually crack under the weight of his gaze.

"Well?" he presses, his voice quiet, but with a certain edge to it, as if he’s daring you to be honest.

You take a shaky breath, your mind racing. It’s impossible to ignore the tension between the two of you, the air crackling as you finally speak.

"I..."

You hesitate, feeling your chest tighten. "I want...A boy here at jujutsu high…But I can’t ask for that."

A hush falls over the room as your words sink in. You can feel the weight of Geto’s gaze intensifying, his lips curling into that knowing smile of his.

“Just admit that it’s Geto already, Gosh”, Shoko mumbles under her breath.

Fuck. Heat rushes up your face in an instant. He shouldn’t know that, shouldn’t be confronted by your true feelings. But somehow…Your heavy heart feels the tiniest bit lighter by now.

“I want…You”, you finally press out.

Silence settles in the room, only interrupted by Gojo’s unforgiving giggles.

“I’ve known for a while,” he finally replies, his tone low and comforting, as though he’s carefully choosing his words.

“I didn’t want to push you, but I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

You blink, your mind racing to catch up with his words, not even realizing Shoko punching the hell out of Gojo in order for him to keep his mouth shut. You’ve been afraid for so long to admit your feelings, thinking that perhaps he didn’t feel the same way, or that you would somehow make things awkward between the two of you.

But the truth hits you like a wave -the feeling is mutual.

Geto’s smile widens slightly, and he leans in closer, his eyes now holding a warmth that melts away the last of your doubts.

 “I’m not going anywhere, (y/n). You don’t have to be afraid or hide anymore.”

It feels like the weight of the world has lifted from your shoulders, and suddenly, everything is lighter. You can’t help but smile, a soft, genuine smile that you’ve been holding back for so long. Geto…in love with you?

“I was afraid… that you wouldn’t feel the same way,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

“Don’t be,” he says softly.

“I’m right here.”

His words settle into your heart, and for the first time for way too long, you feel completely at ease. Geto doesn’t make a big show of it, doesn’t make things overly dramatic. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on you with that same gentle, understanding gaze.

"I think," he murmurs, "this is just the beginning."

You smile, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. He’s right. This - whatever this is - feels like it’s just the start of something beautiful, something you never imagined could happen.

“Wooooow, look at that!” Gojo interrups, suddenly leaning forward, his usual playful grin plastered across his face.

“Suguru, I knew you were secretly a softie. Who would’ve thought?”

You can’t help but laugh nervously at Gojo’s interruption, the tension lifting ever so slightly. Geto, for his part, just rolls his eyes at Gojo’s theatrics, though there’s a slight pink hue creeping up his neck.

“I’m not a ‘softie,’” Geto mutters, trying to maintain his usual cool composure, but it’s clear he’s embarrassed by the attention.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo teases, not letting up.

“You can pretend all you want, but the heart wants what it wants, right? And clearly, it wants (y/n).”

You feel your cheeks flush at Gojo’s teasing, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, his lightheartedness makes everything feel a little less serious.

Geto sighs, but you can tell he’s not bothered. He looks at you again, his expression softening as he leans closer, his voice just for you.

“Ignore him. He’s just jealous because no one’s in love with him.”

Gojo grins widely.

“Oh, we know better, Suguru. It’s hard to compete with your charm. But you’re right - he’s a lucky guy, (y/n).”

Geto smirks at that, clearly trying to hide the fact that Gojo’s teasing is making him more flustered than he’d like to admit. But his hand stays gently on yours, the connection between you both feeling real, solid, and genuine.

The rest of the group lets out a collective "aww" at the sight of the two of you except for Nanami who stares both of you up and down while rolling his eyes.

Sukuna – Dare

The air is thick with tension as Sukuna turn comes around. It’s a wonder he decided to join your little round of truth or dare on his own while finally being freed by this brat, but the way his gaze brushes over you each and every minute forces shivers down your spine. He watches you carefully, his eyes narrowing with amusement as he waits for your choice. The room is quiet, save for the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You swallow, already feeling the heat of his gaze like a brand against your skin.

"Truth or dare?" he asks, his voice low and commanding, the words dripping with a certain darkness that only he can carry.

You hesitate. Sukuna is unpredictable, merciless at times. But you know that backing out would only make things worse, so you speak before your courage can fade.

"Dare."

Sukuna smiles, a wicked, almost cruel smile that makes your blood run cold.

"I dare you to sit on my lap. Right now. And don’t you dare hold back."

A sharp breath escapes your lips, the air between you suddenly feeling too thick to breathe properly. You glance around, unsure if the others are watching, but all attention is on you. His dare isn’t something lighthearted, and you know it. His presence is overwhelming, his power like a storm that’s always on the edge of breaking.

You stand slowly, walking toward him with uncertainty weighing your steps. Sukuna’s eyes follow every move, his smirk never fading as he sits back in his seat, clearly enjoying this. His hand rests on the arm of the chair, his fingers long and deliberate, tapping lightly. When you finally stand before him, you feel your body freeze under his gaze.

"Don't be shy," Sukuna drawls, his voice like silk, but there’s a cruel edge to it.

"I won’t bite… Much."

You hesitate one last time before sitting down slowly, your heart pounding as you lower yourself onto his lap. His body is solid beneath you, hard and unyielding. You try to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way his presence consumes you. The moment you sit down, you feel his grip tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, making it impossible to escape.

"That’s it," Sukuna murmurs in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

 "I can feel your heartbeat. So fast. So nervous."

His voice sends shivers down your spine, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. Oh, you’d definitely hit the floor if it wasn’t for him holding you tightly.

"Are you afraid of me, little one?"

You can’t respond, can’t even think. Your body is reacting to him in ways you can't control. The tension between you is unbearable, but the way he looks at you, like he knows everything, like he owns you, makes your stomach flip with a mix of fear and something else, something dangerous.

He chuckles softly when you don’t answer, his hand moving from your waist to grip your chin, tilting your head to the side so he can study your face more closely.

"You’re trembling. Interesting. I wonder what it would take to make you beg for more."

His words are a spark that threatens to set you ablaze. His fingers trace your jawline lightly, sending waves of heat to your skin. You try to steady yourself, to focus, but Sukuna’s proximity, his touch, is doing something to you that you can’t deny.

Finally, he lets you go, a smirk curling on his lips as he watches you squirm, struggling to maintain control.

"Next time, I think I’ll make you do something more... entertaining."

You barely manage to stand, your legs unsteady as you move away from Sukuna like in trance. The game continues, but you can’t shake the lingering feeling of his touch, the weight of his gaze, and the fire that now burns within you, sparked by his unrelenting dare.

“Meet me when this is over, brat.”

Megumi Fushiguro – Truth

The game has shifted into something far more intense now, each turn testing boundaries in ways you hadn't expected. Those countless dirty questions from none other than Panda, Toge who’s blushing like crazy with each passing round, Yuji who fails to understand half of it.

The group’s laughter and joking fills the air, but as the bottle spins to you, you notice Megumi’s gaze subtly lingering on you. There’s something different in the way he watches you today, his usual quiet confidence replaced with a trace of something you can't quite read.

Nobara, sitting across from you, smirks and leans in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You know she’s been planning something, and you feel a hint of dread as she leans forward, her gaze locking onto yours.

"Alright, (y/n)," Nobara announces, her voice playful but with a hint of challenge,

"I dare you to sit on Megumi’s lap."

You freeze.

What?

The room goes silent for a moment, and you feel your pulse quicken. Megumi looks up at you, his face going red as his lips part slightly in surprise. The normally stoic, composed Megumi is now visibly flustered - his cheeks stained pink, his usual calm shattered. He’s staring at you like he’s been caught in a trap.

You glance at Nobara, who’s watching you with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the power she holds in this moment. That lousy friend of yours who knows exactly you have a secret crush on Megumi Fushiguro, who’s aware of the fact that you’d never even ask him for a hug. The others, Yuji included, are looking at you with amused expressions, clearly expecting you to either protest or comply. The entire room seems to hold its breath as you look from Megumi back to Nobara.

"Come on, don’t be shy," Nobara teases.

"It’s just a dare."

There’s no escaping this now. You know she won’t let you off easy, and the others are watching with a mix of curiosity and amusement. The tension is thick. You hesitate, trying to find some excuse to back out, but Megumi’s gaze is too intense, like he’s trying to will you to make a decision without saying a word. He’s still sitting there, looking awkward, like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

Taking a deep breath, you rise to your feet, your legs feeling unsteady as you walk toward Megumi. He doesn’t move, his eyes locked on you, watching you with a mix of embarrassment and…something else. There’s a slight tremor in his hands as you approach him and you can feel the weight of his gaze following your every movement.

When you reach him, you stop, feeling your face warm as you stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Are you supposed to just…sit down on him?

Megumi shifts slightly in his seat, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap. He doesn’t look like he’s angry, more like he’s caught off guard by the sudden closeness, his usual serious expression replaced with something far more flustered.

"You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to," Megumi murmurs, his voice low and awkward, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach flutter.

You can tell he’s trying to be polite, to save face, but the way his eyes dart away from yours betrays him. He’s just as nervous as you are.

But the dare has been set, and you can’t back out now if you don’t want to get teased for the rest of the year.

You sit down slowly on his lap, careful not to be too abrupt, but your heart is pounding in your chest as you make contact. His body stiffens beneath you, and you feel the heat of his form through the fabric of his clothes. The moment you sit, his hands immediately rest at your waist, but it’s not a firm grip, it’s almost like he’s afraid to touch you. The awkwardness is intense and you feel strangely aware of the way Megumi’s body reacts to your presence.

You try to adjust, but it only seems to make things more awkward. His breath catches, and you can’t help but notice how tense his muscles are, like he’s holding himself back from moving at all. You avoid looking at his face, focusing instead on the others, who are watching you both with wide eyes, clearly trying to hide their smiles.

Nobara is grinning from ear to ear, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"See? Not so bad, right?"

That miserable thing of a friend. When this is over, you’ll have a serious talk about personal boundaries with her-

Megumi shifts beneath you, his hands still at your waist, but you can tell he’s unsure what to do. The quiet intensity of his gaze on you makes your heart race and mind go blank. His lips are slightly parted as he glances at you, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you alright?" Megumi asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft and unsure.

His eyes dart between your face and your body, clearly embarrassed by the closeness the two of you never shared before.

You nod, trying to stay composed, but you can’t ignore the way his breath against your neck makes your heart flutter. The heat between you two is undeniable now, and the tension is thick, almost suffocating. Neither of you is saying anything, just existing in the awkwardness and…intimacy of the moment.

You can feel Megumi’s body slowly relaxing beneath you, but there’s still that silent distance between you both, the unspoken uncertainty hanging in the air. His hands shift a little, and you can feel the slight pressure of his fingers against your waist, like he’s unsure if he should move them or leave them where they are.

Finally, the silence is broken by Panda, who is clearly enjoying the moment too much. "Aww, look at out little Megumi. Getting all flustered. You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re shy, Fushiguro."

“Leave him alone, idiot”, Maki mumbles under her breath while smacking his head roughly.

Megumi's face turns even redder at Panda’s teasing, but he doesn’t say anything, his eyes locked on you as if trying to figure out what to do next.

You can see it in his face: he’s utterly embarrassed, yet there's something else in his gaze, something softer, more vulnerable.

"Let’s just get this over with," he mutters under his breath, clearly trying to keep his cool, but failing spectacularly.

You can’t help but smile at his flustered state and the ridiculousness of this moment, a small part of you reveling in how uncharacteristically nervous he is.

Nobara bursts into laughter, clearly pleased with the result of her dare.

"Okay, okay, we’ll move on," she says, but you can see her trying to suppress her laughter.

"But don’t think I won’t get you next time, Fushiguro."

As you stand up, you feel Megumi’s hands linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls them away, his face still red as he avoids looking at you.

“That was…not bad”, you finally admit shyly while taking the free seat next to him.

“Not so bad? I mean, yeah…”

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[pullhisteeth]

saturn return | eddie munson

hello! I'm back :) will leave a little author note at the end of the fic for u. but in the meantime: enjoy this medieval slow burn fluffy smutty monster of a fic (which has not been proofread because I am so tired) <3

in short: you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

medieval/fastasy au with knight!Eddie and fem!princess!reader, smut (18+ only, minors dni!), implied virgin!reader, (one attempted) assault, general fluff and angst and fun fantasy frolicking, mention/threat of arranged marriage (brief), enemies to lovers if you squint but mostly a bodyguard au but he wears armour and you live in a castle.

14k words (!!!)

-

You had only seen your knight without his cuffs and cloak once before in your life.

When you were nineteen, you had a fling with one of the boys who tends the horses in the stables. It had been a wet summer and against your father’s wishes you’d spent many evenings returning to the castle sodden and smiling. Your afternoons were adventurous - too much so for your age, your mother would say over dinner - and your escapades to the woodland beside the keep resulted in muddy fingerprints up the curve of your thighs and difficult-to-hide bruises blooming below your collarbone.

You may have been reckless, but you knew better than to show up to court with purpling bite marks where the collars of your dresses did not reach.

On one of the rare sunny evenings, you had stolen away after supper to the balcony that extended across the western wing of the castle. It stretched from your quarters around the side of the building, ending at the room that had belonged to your sister before she had been married to a man who lived across the sea. The sun was low and the air was thick and so in your nightgown you prowled the terrace, fingers dancing along the worn stone and up the wilting vines. As you rounded the corner there he was - your sworn protector, a man who could be barely a year your senior, hunched in an old chair over his armour. You stopped behind the wall with enough haste that he didn’t spot you - or if he had, he never let on - and while he was engrossed in the work of polishing the silver, you watched.

He’d done away with his undershirt, most likely because of the stubborn, close heat, and though he was side-on to you, his chair facing out towards the mountains in the distance, he was hunched to his left, leaving you with a view you much preferred to the vast one beyond the wall.

The muscles across his back rippled as his arm moved back and forth over the metal. In the quiet of the evening you could hear small grunts and sighs, and as your eyes adjusted to the light you spotted silvery marks of healed flesh across his side. His back was speckled with freckles and as he moved, you took notice of his mop of hair.

Though your father’s knights were never required to wear their helmets in the castle, the hair that now flowed freely was usually tightly bound at the nape of your knight’s neck. You had never realised how long it truly was - nor how unruly. Brown curls stood in what seemed like every direction, swaying back and forth in tandem with his shoulder, glowing a slight auburn in the setting sun.

You had watched him for a while, listening to the sounds of his efforts and drinking in the way the light made his skin gleam golden. It wasn’t until the sun had set that you had made your escape, bare feet padding silently across cool stone.

Ser Munson - Edmund, or Eddie as he preferred - was assigned as protector of the King’s first daughter when she came of age, at sixteen. You had been a moody teenager, belligerent and stubborn, determined you did not need protecting, even if the protector in question was broodingly handsome and a challenge to crack.

Thus, you lingered around the castle while your sisters sought husbands and new lives. Your father, though a cunning ruler, was soft when it came to his girls, and so no man was worthy of a single one of them unless he made her happy.

And no man ever had made you happy. The ones who put themselves forward as candidates for your hand were, in most cases, perfectly nice men. Mostly wealthy, often handsome, but always boring.

It was always the same: they believed you to be the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, and they would be honoured to wed you. But as your father’s eldest daughter you knew one thing to be true: every one of them wanted the throne, and would marry you to get there.

So you sought fun in lowly servant boys, stealing kisses from cupbearers and kitchen porters, running wild in the vast gardens of the castle, just out of grasp of your grumbling mother. One day, you’d tell her when she chastised you over monstrously glutinous dinners. One day a man will come here and sweep me off my feet. Until then, I am content with my lot.

After that evening when you were nineteen, you had not looked at Eddie the same way. His job was to follow you everywhere - well, mostly everywhere, unless you were behind a tree with the stableboy again - so it was difficult to not look at him. But those aimless adventures became tiresome, and your daydreams became occupied instead by the man who tailed your every move. Stableboys were getting married, all your sisters were getting married, every eligible nobleman for a hundred miles was getting married - but you remained, as did Eddie.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, your highness.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, off into the distance, answering your childish questions through gritted teeth. You grin at him, elbow on the arm of your chaise and chin cupped by your hand, enjoying this latest instalment of your petty little game: you ask him silly questions, Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and you get a good giggle and a kick out of teasing him. It began as something lighthearted, a test of the waters after that late night wander changed your perspective, but that was two years ago and understandably, Ser Munson is getting increasingly tired of your games. 

“Your highness, can I suggest that you get dressed? You’ll be late for-”

“No,” you yelp as he stands to move, sword clanking. “I’m sorry, I’ll bite my tongue. Don’t go.”

“But Miss-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll dress, just wait outside the door, will you?”

“I always do, your highness,” he says. “It is my duty.” You cannot see the smirk he sports as he turns his back to you; it is one he reserves only for himself, lest your ego get too big.

You deflate into your chair as he leaves, the heavy door swinging open. Three young maids are by your side as it slams shut, lifting you from your doze and tying you into a corset and skirt. Today you’re offered a deep navy gown, the colour of your family’s flag and perhaps the colour you look second best in.

At least it matches Eddie’s cloak.

You knock softly twice on your bedroom door, your handmaids tugging at the final details, and the guards who stand watch pull it open for you. You breathe in quick and deep, hands smoothing the satin across the top of your skirt, and step forward into the hall.

Eddie stands to one side, awaiting your direction. You follow your usual morning route, down the wide corridor to the stairs, which roll out into an even wider hall like dropped silk. Eddie’s cloak slinks across the stone floor behind you, and you yearn to make a joke, prod at him, get under his skin but you cannot, for many eyes are upon you now.

The Great Hall sits at the opposite end of the atrium to the staircase. The walls between yourself and the huge, towering doors are decorated for the brief return of your youngest sister, the most recent to wed - she is pregnant, and so there must be celebrations.

Floral garlands follow you as you make your way across the room, where, at the far end, your father stands in the doorway, watching, your mother by his side.

Peering glances follow you until other guests arrive and attentions are diverted. So you slow your step just slightly, enough that Eddie does not notice immediately and falls in line with you. Before he can correct himself, you lean in.

“Ed- er, Ser Munson,” you say, tone playful but slightly sinister, an indicator that you are brewing one of your schemes.

“Yes, your highness?” he responds neutrally.

“Ser Munson, would you please do me a favour?”

Long ago, Eddie learned to never respond to this query the way he is supposed to as your protector: Anything, your highness.

Instead, he asks: “What can I do for you?”

“You know that sword?” You twist slightly, tapping the hilt of his blade where one of his fists seems to permanently rest. “You’ve killed people with it, right?”

“Only when I have to, your highness.”

“How many, would you say?”

You hear him take a sharp breath in. You smile softly.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” you repeat. “Care to make it nineteen? Do me a favour and slice through my guts so I don’t have to bear another one of these idiotic ceremonies?”

If you’d paid closer attention, rather than sharing your gaze between Eddie and your father, who was ever-nearing, you’d have seen that your dear knight almost broke. This would have been the closest you’ve come to getting a laugh out of him, your stoic, stone-faced hero.

“That’d be highly inappropriate, your grace,” he says, composed. “And I’d surely lose my head.”

“Oh, but that’s your job,” you whisper. “To die for me! And anyway, I can’t go to hell alone, you’ll need to keep me company. And protect me from the ghouls. So maybe make it twenty instead.”

This time, you do catch it. The corner of his mouth twitches and something in his eye, the way it dodges you, gives him away. In your peripheral vision you see him open his mouth - it’s close to your ear, you almost hear the beginning of a word - but you’ve reached the end of the hall, and your father awaits. Eddie falls back again, a step or two behind, as you drop your shoulders and brace yourself.

-

Being one of many sisters is a difficult life. Impossible to prevent yourself from comparing their hair to yours, their eyes, the slant of their shoulders, their waists, their hands, and worse is the bickering, the competition.

Being the only one of them not to be married is the worst.

Twenty minutes ago, you stole yourself away to a corner of the Hall with a too-full cup of wine and three slices of the best bread. Here you camp, munching on the final crust, eyeing up the table across the room. How do I get a refill without someone asking me to dance?

With your eyes squinted and shoulders hunched in, you scarcely notice your knight down the wall. He’s on guard, back straight with his hand on the hilt of his sword - watching, as he is supposed to. Only his attention is distracted, because in his peripheral vision is you, alone, as always.

It’s only when you hear the familiar clinking of sword sheath on armour that you turn to see that he’s beside you, and in a rare moment of peace, he’s leaning back, letting the wall take his weight.

“What’re you looking at?” You eye him suspiciously, swallowing the final sip of wine. “Come to ask for a dance for one of those snivelling Harrington boys?”

You hear him scoff, though he’s smiling just slightly. “No,” he says quietly. “Why, do you want to dance with Steven?”

You scoff. “Do I fuck.”

“Language, your highness.”

“Please stop calling me that when dad isn't around.”

He glances at you, smiling still, and rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you with the other ladies?”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “The Buckleys aren’t here. It’s no fun without Robin.”

“And your sisters?”

“Oh yeah,” you drone. “I just love being reminded by all four of them how lucky a man would be to have me and how I must get married because, oh, weddings are so lovely!”

He turns to look at you properly, silver collar creaking, and reaches over to take your goblet. “How many of these have you had?”

You drop your hands behind your back, looking down at your slippers like a naughty child. “Three.”

To your surprise, you feel the damp rim of the cup meet your chin, pushing your face up. Eddie looks back at you and keeps the pressure under your head so you can’t divert your gaze. Your cheeks warm, heat blooming under his watch.

“Fine,” you sigh, eyes dropping closed in defeat. “Seven.”

You brace for a scolding, expecting a telling off from your faithful knight, but when you look at him in the silence, you find him grinning down at you.

“You’re going to feel awful in the morning,” he tells you.

You look back at him a little dumbfounded, because he’s very close to your face and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in such detail before. There are creases by his eyes from smiling, and there’s an old, white scar across his nose, which is crooked, presumably from old punches.

“Will you take me to bed, then, please?” you ask softly, and he lowers the cup slowly, placing it on a nearby table without looking away from you. You look back at him, trying your hardest through the fog to give him your best pleading eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’s close, still; time suspends as he nears even more and runs his thumb along the underside of your chin. It is the first time in your life that your knight has ever touched you.

 You watch as he brings it to his mouth - it’s a deep, bruised pink, dyed by the wine from the rim of the cup where it had held your face up - and, taking his eyes off you, slides it between his lips.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been breathless around him, but it is the first time you’re face to face with him as the air leaves your lungs in a slow, desperate whine. It feels criminal, illicit, standing in the shadows at the back of the room, within reach of anyone who cares to look for you, watching Eddie lick wine off the pad of his thumb.

The festive music on the other side of the room ends and people around you cheer. Eddie’s smile drops and he straightens up as though kicked in the back, looking around like he just woke from a dream.

“Uh, yes- Your highness. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

He steps back but holds his arm out for you to take. For a moment you just stare at him, incredulous, before wrapping your fingers around the cool leather covering his forearm and lifting yourself off the wall, your heart wilting as his guard rises again and your fun, playful protector is lost to duty once more.

-

The ceiling of your bed chamber hasn’t changed in fifteen years. You know because you’ve had many nights like this, staring at it forlornly, yearning for something you cannot and will not have.

When you were six, your father had the sleeping quarters across the whole castle redecorated, and you requested a fresco above your bed. Under the guise of education, telling your father that it would help you practise your knowledge of Arthurian legends, you asked for a depiction of the knights of the round table. Truthfully, you wanted to be able to look at Arthur every night before you slept.

Now, it makes you feel sick. It’s an ugly, truthless fairytale, spun to make little girls giggle and you despise every inch of it, regardless of how beautiful it may have appeared to you once.

In the dark, you can still make out Arthur’s faded features. He is plain, with cropped blonde hair and a silly chestplate, looking over the expanse of your ceiling to Guinevere, whose clasped hands by her cheek make the picture of a woman in love.

You turn over, frustrated, and cover your head with a spare cushion.

-

The stone of the balcony wall is cool beneath the palms of your clammy hands. In the courtyard, your sister’s carriage is leaving, followed by many horsemen from her husband’s house. They’ll return only when the baby is born, to christen him in the family chapel.

You sigh as she leaves the gates and lean your weight on your hands. It’s still hot out, too hot for so many layers under your dress and a corset so tight, and you’re too exhausted to carry the weight around. Your maids are nowhere to be seen because it’s the middle of the afternoon and you should be socialising, but you’re an adult. You can dress - and undress - yourself.

As you return indoors, you reach behind your back and tug at the knot at the base of your corset. After a couple of frustrated tries it finally gives, loosening so that you can hook your fingers under each stretch and pull it undone. You gasp for air, filling your lungs properly as your ribs expand, and use your shoulders to pull it loose enough for you to remove. You take care to place each layer gently over your chaise - corset, overdress, skirt. You’re left in your undergarments - a long, loose slip made of cotton - when you hear an unexpected knock and the door begins to open.

You jump, feeling suddenly exposed in so few layers. It’s unlike anyone to disturb you at this hour.

You tense even more when your knight, with his hair loose and his cheeks pink, pushes the doors wider. He stops in his tracks for a moment as he spots you across the room, flushed your own shade of mortified.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “Shut the fucking door.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, knocked out of his daze. You expect him to retreat, but he moves inside and pushes the doors closed behind himself.

“I meant with you outside them, ideally,” you bite.

“I- Uh, sorry- My apologies, your highness, I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry! Sorry, shit, I- It’s important, sorry.”

���So important that it requires you to see me indisposed?”

He looks at you blankly for a second. “I mean, technically I see you like this every morning when you interrogate m-” 

“Oh, shut up,” you spit, eyes narrowing. Your arms are still crossed over your chest, even though you’re covered from neck to ankle. “You know that’s different. There’s no robe or slippers between us now, Ser Munson.”

His cheeks bloom at that, pink slipping into fiery red. He breathes impatiently through his nose, clearly irritated by your prodding, and steps closer.

“Your highness,” he says pointedly. You roll your eyes. “Your father- His Highness requests your presence. In the throne room.”

-

“I refuse.”

“Darling, I-”

“No!”

Your father stands at the other end of the table, his head hung and his hands on the wood in front of him. You are in the room in which he has his important meetings with his council. Over the years you’ve tried a hundred times to get in here during such meetings, to no avail, but now all you want is to get out.

“You are twenty-one,” he says after a breath. “I’ve given you time, five years of it. You can’t remain unmarried any longer.” This conversation has only been happening for maybe two and a half minutes, but it seems more like an age; you’re exhausted from yelling already, especially at him. But it feels like the walls are closing in, your entrapment in a loveless marriage with a stranger now a certainty rather than a possibility. It’s beyond your power to stop the tears falling.

“You can’t make me,” you say through the thickness of your throat. Your arms wrap around your waist, squeezing, breath hiccupping on its way out.

“I can,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be horrible. Your sisters, they’re all happy, why-”

“I don’t care about them. I want to be-” You stop yourself, because this isn’t something to talk about here, with your father of all people; you’d barely even talk to your mother about this stuff. But he’s looking at you again over the expanse of mahogany and his eyes are sad, because he’s fighting with his first daughter, and you break. “I want to be in love, father. I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder because I’m the eldest. That can’t be my life.”

He sighs again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is. There are fifteen houses coming here tomorrow, each with an eligible son. I’m letting you choose; it’s the most I can do.”

Your nose burns with betrayal and terror. Your cheeks are wet, tears falling into soft, wet spots on the front of your dress. Your arms squeeze your middle one last time before you turn, pushing past the Kingsguard who stand at the door, past the cupbearers and the maids, and past Eddie, who has been waiting for you outside. For the first time ever you don’t hear the familiar sound of armour following you, and for a moment you almost stop to turn and look for him, but you’re still crying and although it’s the middle of the afternoon, all you want to do is hide.

-

“It’s true,” Robin sighs. “I’ve been looking in our library, and I’ve counted at least three instances.”

You roll onto your back. Robin sits beside you on the plush of your bed, which has been remade by your maids so that there are no remnants of your painful, sleepless night. She strokes your hairline softly, looking down at you with sorry eyes.

“The most recent was eighty-three years ago,” she continues. “Lady Flora. She ran off with her knight, to be fair… But still!”

“I’m the eldest, Robin,” you tell her, trying your hardest to stop your words coming out in a hiccup; you only stopped crying this morning, and you’re in no mood to begin again now. “There’s too much expected of me. I can’t run off. I have to pick the right person.”

She takes in a breath. “Who says he isn’t the right one? Or that you’d have to run off?”

“Centuries of historical precedent,” you tell her flatly. When you meet her eye, though, you watch as she tries and fails to hold in a laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about historical precedent?”

“Never, but that’s the problem.” You sit up quickly, knocking her affectionate hand back into her lap. “I can’t… This isn’t right. None of it is, but especially… Him.”

“But in the centuries of historical precedent,” Robin says, a poor imitation of you, “There were people like you.”

“And what happened to them?” you ask with a huff, standing to pace beside your bed. “Exiled, abandoned, cut off, ridiculed… I can’t live like that, Robin. But- But I can’t exist here while he’s always around, right behind my back. He’s like my fucking shadow. I can’t-” You hiccup, a wet sound that heralds the return of tears. “I can’t move on.”

Robin watches you with eyes laced with a pity that makes you furious. You want her to fix this; it’s entirely irrational, but you’re lost, and surely someone somewhere has to take responsibility for this, fix it so you don’t have to feel anything anymore. Remove Eddie, replace him with someone lifeless and unfunny and ugly, hand you a beautiful, attentive husband on a platter and, most of all, take the pain away.

But it doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.

“Your Highness,” Eddie says in a raised voice from beyond your door. “It’s time.”

You look at Robin, who looks back at you, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be a minute,” you shout back hesitantly as she rises and rushes over. You let her help you adjust your dress and she dips a cloth left behind by a maid into the basin of cool water by your bedside, wiping it gently over your cheeks in an attempt to reduce the blotches there.

Neither of you say another word. She takes your hand firmly and squeezes.

-

You hate this.

Although you’re desperate for anything but a pre-arranged marriage pact, part of you had quite genuinely hoped for some kind of miracle, that one of your suitors would be The Guy. In your restlessness the evening prior, you’d even let yourself fantasise that one of them, strikingly handsome in your daydreams, would appear at the foot of the throne and you’d feel it in that instant: love.

But in every version of this delusion, The Guy was faceless, nameless, a blur of a person until he wasn’t. Until he was Eddie.

In reality, your knight is out of sight for once, and you’re nearing hour three in the gardens, where the court musicians entertain the countless guests and wine is flowing freely for everyone except you. (With your father at your elbow all afternoon, it’s impossible to get a second cup. Your mouth is dry and your boredom inflating.)

You know better than to assume Eddie’s left the gardens completely, but there are too many people for you to see him.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp elbow nudge your rib.

You turn to your father and find him wide-eyed and pink in the nose - a tell-tale sign of frustration - nodding to the man standing opposite the two of you.

“Hm?” you hum, painfully aware of how obvious it is to the both of them that you weren’t paying a lick of attention.

“Lord Carver was telling us about his hunts,” your father says through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” you sigh, turning to the stranger. “How… Interesting. What do you hunt?”

“Deer, mostly,” he responds, puffing out his chest. His cheeks are blotched with pink and the caramel blonde of his hair is unpleasant. The pleasure of your attention is clearly feeding his ego. “Started on pheasants when I was ten. They’re far too easy now; I’m heading out tomorrow to try for a stag. Say, care to join me?”

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you say with a saccharine giggle and hand to your chest that your father can certainly see straight through. “But I don’t hunt. Thank you, though, Lord Carver.”

Lord Carver seems to take this somewhat personally, despite your almost sincere attempt at a polite curtsy. He comes over stoney, steel-eyed as though you’ve wounded him.

“No matter. Your highness,” he says flatly, bowing quickly to your father before turning on his heels and marching away.

You barely listen as you are accosted by the king for being so blatantly rude. Lord Carver is far from your mind because across the heaving mass of strange bodies, you can see your knight, looking straight back at you.

Your father hisses your name but you do not listen.

“I’m taking a walk,” you tell him. “Sorry, father, I just need a break. And… A glass of water.”

It must have rained this morning. The grass is damp beneath your feet, soaking slowly through the velvet of your lilac slippers as you push your way between bodies as politely as you can manage.

With your focus on the ground you do not see Eddie’s eyes following your figure through the crowd; you also do not see Lord Carver six steps behind.

The latter reaches you first, by quite a margin, a moment after you’ve broken free of curious strangers and can finally breathe again. Everything happens very quickly. In the shadow of a high wall, the man reaches for your arm like a viper. His fingers coil and the fresh garden air is replaced by his coddling breath on your cheek. He spun you so quickly you feel momentarily winded, enough to catch you off guard as your face scrapes the old brickwork. Spit hits your cheek and mixes with fresh blooms of blood as his pink face looms, dominating your field of vision - like a bear in a trap you feel helpless, his fingers around your wrist so tight you fear he may break your bones. In a moment you’re frozen stiff and he takes his chance, his lips pushing angrily into the stretch of bare skin above the collar of your dress.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, muffled by the skin under your jaw. You writhe and whimper but you cannot scream. “You humiliated me. See what happens to cunts like- Ungh-” 

The force of your knee between his legs is enough force to knock him back. Stumbling, he lurches forward again, only to meet your elbow, sharp and swift at his throat. The pathetic choking sound he makes mixes with the familiar sound of heavy boots; you turn to find Eddie, pink in the face, fist on the handle of his sword.

“Christ,” he pants, “Are you okay?”

Lord Carver coughs as he struggles to regain his balance.

“You-” Cough. “You bitch,” he spits, hand at his collar.

“Watch yourself,” Eddie growls, towering over the spluttering lord, his sword pulled only a few inches from its sheath - a warning: I will not hesitate. “I suggest you take your family home, Sir.”

Lord Carver looks up at him, red eyes watering and breath still catching. For a moment he seems to contemplate fighting back, but even you almost find yourself laughing at the possibility, until you look to Eddie and find a version of the man you’ve never seen before.

Your life, which Eddie tails endlessly from a few paces behind, always, is quiet. Mundane, boring, unadventurous; you rarely leave the castle grounds and when you do, it’s inside a carriage. Your bravest adventure since you were sixteen was taken barefoot, that evening after dinner, up on the balcony where you’d stumbled across your knight, bare-chested and panting.

You’ve teased Eddie before about how the lack of danger in your life must mean his own is boring. Though he never once gave into you, deep down you worry that it’s true.

Now, though, your knight is coloured a shade unknown to you. He’s come over like a shadow, eyes hard and brow set, and there’s a vein visible above the collar of his cape. Lord Carver seems to halve in size beneath his frame, and though he has never shown himself like this in front of you before, you’re sure of one thing.

Your pleading cry is too late, too weak - before you can intervene, Eddie’s fist makes contact with Lord Carver’s cheekbone. There’s a crack that, to you, is as loud as thunder, though the skies are as blue as they’ve ever been. As his back hits the floor, Lord Carver yelps like a wounded dog, and Eddie moves in on him.

“Eddie,” you plead, voice weaker still, your hands grasping his arm, “Leave him alone, I’m okay, please.”

In the commotion, you’d failed to notice your growing audience. You’re sure that if you let him, Eddie would give another punch, and another, but the man on the floor is bleeding from his nose and from a wide gash under his eye and your slippers are drenched through and so is the collar of your dress where your tears, unbeknownst to you, have been soaking the cotton.

“Please,” you hiccup, your hands squeezing, pulling Eddie backwards with as much strength as you can manage.

“Asshole!” Carver spits, his voice broken. Two men who resemble him are helping him up off the ground, the small crowd murmuring between themselves as they watch him stumble away. “You’ll regret this!”

It’s an empty threat. You barely hear it, in fact, because Eddie is finally turning to you, his shoulders dropping. His face softens the moment he looks at you.

“Are you okay? Did he- Where did he hurt you?” He asks again. People are dispersing but you pay them no mind because Eddie’s hands hold your face and it stings when he runs his gloved thumb over the gash on your cheek. You wince and his grip on you tightens, as though you might slip away if he lets you.

As his arms wind around your shoulders, you push your face into the embroidered crest that sits by his heart.

“You’re okay,” he tells you firmly, sweet words murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your father’s booming voice cuts through whispering strangers like a whip. Eddie moves away from you so quickly that you almost choke.

Tears mix with old blood and you want to scream. You want these strangers to leave your garden, you want Eddie to clean your wounds, you want to run away.

You cannot have what you want.

-

Two and a half weeks ago, your father replaced your knight via a letter.

Ser Munson has been reassigned.

After two nights of bed-rest in your chamber, wherein you were seen only by your mother and two alchemists, your new knight - an older man, as old as your father and then some - made himself known at your door. He informed you of his new appointment as your sworn protector. When you asked after Eddie, he closed the door.

Two lonely weeks entailed many downward spirals. One evening after countless days spent rotting, refusing the attendance of your mother or father, you find yourself staring blankly at your reflection in the glass beside the chest that houses your dresses. The girl looking back is gaunt and her eyes are bloodshot. There’s an old cut on her bottom lip, close to healing but you’re sure you’ll bite it open again soon enough, splitting the skin so that deep red plumes can burst through and begin the process again.

You think about Eddie. What would he say if he could see you now? Over the weeks you’ve spent more hours than you can count thinking about how he’d held you, the words spoken into your hair, low enough to avoid unwelcome ears. His hands had gripped you so firmly that you’d almost felt whole again after Lord Carver’s grubby paws had violated you so horribly. Now you’re hollow.

His reassignment was surely your punishment: how dare you let yourself be so distracted that you humiliate a noble Lord to the point of such anger? How dare you humiliate him such that he wants to hit you, bite you, kiss you, hurt you?

Meals delivered by your maids go uneaten. You do not speak to your new knight, only catching a glimpse when he opens the door for attendants. 

At the dawn of a Thursday, your mother delivers the news that you are to stay behind while your parents visit your sister. You’re not sure which one of the four it is, but you do not care. With them gone, maybe you can go out; it’s early summer, after all, the weather is glorious, and you’re gasping for some sunlight and some respite from this stupidity.

-

When the sandbag splits, old hay spills onto the muddy ground.

Eddie’s sword is freshly sharpened and slices through the woven material like a hot knife through butter. He imagines Lord Carver’s face where the bag is tied together with string and watches it fall limply to the floor.

Outside in the courtyard, the sun is hot and shade is rare, and sweat beads on his forehead and drips to his chin. Other knights spar around Eddie, practising for nothing. His new position in the Kingsguard is, quite obviously, a downgrade, but only a few of his fellow knights have tried to get the why out of him: why have you stopped tailing the eldest daughter around? Why are you now forced to watch the southern walls in the dead of night? How did it happen? What did you do?

He chances a glance upwards, to the higher balcony along the wall, squinting under the sun. He doesn’t know if what he sees is you, standing in the shadow, or a trick of the light.

-

Your parents have been gone for two days, and the castle is like a ghost town. It’s never like this; even on late night escapades through the hallways, there are always maids at work, cleaning ladies and cupbearers. Guards on constant rotation, your father’s advisers wandering the halls having hushed conversations.

Tonight, though, there’s nothing. Your family’s absence is a moment of respite for the staff, who get a rare few evenings off to venture into town for some fun. You’re completely alone.

The long corridors look almost blue. The full moon is rising over the horizon and you’re enjoying an evening of freedom.

With most of the court staff out of the castle walls, you can’t be sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for tonight. He may have gone off with them, with his friends in the guard, down to a pub, getting drunk because he can, stumbling half-blind into a brothel like the rest of them do.

You shake the thought off because it turns your stomach, despite having no claim over the boy. It’s true that he may have gone but you’re searching anyway, because you’re driving yourself mad with guilt, and secretly you’ve missed him horribly.

You miss knowing he’s right outside your door, only ever a few paces away if you need him. You miss the blooming pink across his cheeks whenever you tease him, his stumbling answers and poor attempt at staying stony-faced and stoic. And you miss the smirk, though you’re sure he thinks he hides it well, that creeps across his face whenever you finish your teasing.

It’s your first time in this corner of the castle. Almost twenty-two years of living here, you’ve never had a reason to venture to where the knights stay. It’s a long way from your own wing - you’ve been walking for ten minutes and you’ve only just spotted a door. You’re treading softly in your favourite ruby slippers which, though you’d never admit it even to yourself, were surely chosen on purpose. You dressed yourself this evening, so there’s no use blaming your maids for the decision to drape you in scarlet.

As you come to a stop outside the room, you hold your breath and listen. You haven’t seen a single knight - not even your own new one - this whole time, but there’s somebody in there, and it sounds like they’re pacing.

Your hand reaches for the handle but just as you touch the iron, it twists on its own and the door flies open. You stumble forwards, losing your balance, but a familiar hand steadies you.

“Your highness?” He breathes, helping you back up. “What the- What are you doing here?”

You look at him. The man staring back at you is wide-eyed, those browns as pretty as ever but framed by new, dark circles. It’s difficult to see in the low light but he’s more tired than you’ve ever seen him. And though he seems sleepy, he’s dressed up in most of his on-duty getup, without the cape and sword.

“Eddie?”

“I thought the- Aren’t you supposed to be seeing your sister?”

“No, I… I stayed behind,” you tell him. A half-lie.

He looks back at you blankly. “Well,” he sighs. “We should… I should escort you back to your chamber.”

“No,” you say firmly. He does not invite you inside but you step over the threshold anyway, pushing past him into what you assume must be his bedroom.

It’s a plain room. The bed is low with old sheets, and there’s one candle burning on a table by the window. On the wall above his bed, he has hammered what looks like a letter into the plaster. And to the left of that-

“Is that mine?” You point plainly to the embroidery hoop. Even in the near-darkness you cannot miss the rosy flush you ignite across his face.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yes.”

It’s a small hoop, one you must have done years ago. A deep red rose, your favourite.

You look at it for a moment, and then to him. “Where have you been?”

He drops his hand. “I was reassigned,” he tells you.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Why?” you press. He sighs and leans in the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“After the… Incident with Lord Carver, your father thought it best that I be moved.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “I’m on the nightwatch.”

“The nightwatch?!” you parrot. Even you, with only superficial understanding of the mechanics of your father’s guard, know that that’s one of the worst jobs. “But you… Why would he punish you?”

“Ask him,” he says bitterly, and so quickly that you know he regrets it instantly. “Sorry,” he corrects, “That was out of order.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say back, stepping past him into the wide hallway. It’s a brighter blueish-grey now, the moon nearing its highest spot in the night sky. You stop, turning to look at Eddie, and there’s a beat of silence.

He’s watching you quietly, and it takes him a moment to realise that you wish him to follow you. Under the moonlight you’re effervescent, your skin almost sparkling. The soft glow of the moon reflects a million times in your eyes like tiny diamonds. You’re so pretty it’s difficult to look away.

Eventually he closes the door behind him and falls into a familiar step, just behind your left foot. You walk and talk as you meander through random hallways, clearly unsure where you’re going but he says nothing, silently grateful to see you again and willing to walk every hall of the castle if it means stretching out the time before he has to leave you again.

“Why do you say that?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, lost. “You told me not to apologise.”

You huff, striding forward. “You don’t have to respect my father around me, Eddie. It’s not like he respects me, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly. You bristle, frustrated that you’ve allowed the conversation to move to you. You’d intended to find out where he’d gone, not tell him about this.

“He can quite easily forget about me,” you tell him over your shoulder bitterly. “I’m happy to forget about him for a few days.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he repeats, and it irritates you double.

“For God’s sake,” you spit, stopping so abruptly that he almost crashes into your back. You spin and stare him down. “I’m a disappointment, okay? They left for their trip, and they left me behind. I’m useless. No man likes me, not enough to marry me, only stupid stableboys have ever come close to me. Something went wrong somewhere and now I’m here, heir to the throne and without a husband. And it’s. Your. Fault.” You jab your index finger to his chest for emphasis, but it’s meagre because you can feel the tears returning and you want nothing less than to be seen crying by Ser Munson. 

You cross the remainder of the hallways alone, Eddie left behind. Whether by choice or because of shock you don’t know, and frankly you don’t care. When you finally return to familiar halls, you push your way into your chambers and slam the heavy door as hard as you can behind you.

After a few minutes of pacing, having make-believe arguments with yourself in hushed tones, there’s a soft knock. So soft you almost miss it, but the eerie quiet of the castle has you jumpier than usual.

“Sweetheart,” you hear through the thick wood. “Let me in? Please?”

Maybe it’s your fear in the silence, or maybe it’s the way the rare sweetheart makes your stomach drop; either way you cave, rushing over and heaving the door open.

On the other side of the threshold, Eddie stands, hair unruly like he’s run his hands through it a few times. The curls stick out at odd angles and stand out dark against his alabaster skin.

Something in his eyes makes you break. The tears come thick and fast and before you can hide or apologise or close the door, arms wrap you up and his hand is on your back, smoothing patiently up and down.

It’s not the most comfortable hug; his armour is mostly leather and cloth but the toughness of it all makes it difficult to completely lean into him. As though he senses that, he pulls back, though his hand lingers on your arm where he gives you a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, palms smudging wet tears across your face in an attempt to dry your eyes. “That was so mean of me, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know what you mean,” he says, his eyes sadder than you’ve ever seen them. You dreaded this inevitability the moment you let the blame fall from your lips, but you owe him that much.

You sigh, look down at your feet, and resign yourself to truth.

“Father… He loves me, but he loves the throne just as much. And I’m the eldest, and I’m almost twenty-two, so…”

In your peripheral vision you see him sag, his shoulder dropping in premature realisation.

“He brought all those men here, and not one of them was even slightly as interesting to me as you.”

Eddie looks at you, at the tears that periodically drop from your cheeks to the floor, listens to you sniff and hiccup, and wonders how on Earth you exist, let alone how you’ve landed here, with feelings so profound for him of all people.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he tells you honestly. You look up at him and the sight winds him: you’re crying, and it’s sad and stressful and difficult but you’re so beautiful.

You giggle and to him, it’s the ringing of a thousand bells by a thousand angels. It’s golden and brilliant. “I’m surprised,” you say, your smile lingering. “You’re really very lovely.”

He steps forward and reaches up, taking your chin in his gloved hand. You look back at him and sigh without meaning to as he moves his hand to cup your cheek and wipes stray tears away with his thumb. It takes your mind back to loud music, seven goblets, and a wine-stained thumb between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you quietly. There’s no one around but this still feels painfully scandalous, like glass that could - and will - shatter at any moment. No sudden movements.

You smile into his palm. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he says as his thumb moves across your skin, over the remnants of the cut across your cheekbone, over expanse of skin to your lips.

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in.

“I wasn’t reassigned,” he admits to you. You match him, breathing deep through your nose, preparing for the truth. “Well, I asked to be reassigned. I had to plead, really, because your father… He’s a good man.”

You roll your eyes without thinking and feel your bottom lip quivering again, the tears reemerging.

“He told me I’d never be able to see you again,” you tell him in a whisper.

“That’s my fault.”

“What?” You lift your head upright and he drops his hand, bringing it to his hair instead to run it through the curls again.

“I asked that I be kept away from you.”

“Why?! Why on earth would you… What could possibly possess you?”

“I couldn’t go through that again,” he says. “I couldn’t be near you. It was too… Too painful, and I let it get the better of me when I punched Lord Carver.”

“You were protecting me,” you say flatly. “That’s- That was your job.”

The emphasis hurts. “I know,” he sighs, “But… I wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell him. You despise the whimper your words come out with, the way your jaw clenches to hold back more tears. What you can see of his neck above the collar of his thick tunic and under the cover of ringlets of tired hair is blotchy, coming up rosy in uneven patches. Is he stressed? Nervous? Both?

Your vision blurs with tears and your nose burns. He looks back at you softly, just like always, his eyes dark and inviting. Your lip wobbles again and you hear his breath hitch in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he offers as he holds your cheek again. You cannot help but lean in, head tipping to the left to feel the expanse of leather over your cheek, his thumb dancing softly across your skin.

“No, I- You have to explain yourself, I don’t-”

“Please?” He looks at you with those fucking eyes of his and you want to kick him and kiss him all at once. “Do you trust me?”

The urge to kick him persists but you nod anyway. Perhaps the kicking is not a frustration aimed at him but at yourself instead: why can you not tell him how you feel? Why does the possibility of what he’s about to do scare you so much?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit to him in a whisper. You feel naked before him, though there’s layers of thick velvet and scuffed leather between the two of you, a hundred barriers of material, an aching yawn of distance that you find yourself disliking immensely. 

Can Eddie read your mind? It feels that way right now - you only uttered six words but he seems to understand you entirely at this moment. He drops his hand from your face, takes a step back, and as you watch him wordlessly unbuckle his armour, your stomach contracts and your soul becomes hollow in anticipation. He removes the belt that the sword usually sits on, and then his leather gauntlets, pulling each finger from the gloves and placing them, too, on the table. As he peels off each piece of his uniform, creating a growing pile on the wood and on your floor, you see, for the first time since that night when you were nineteen, the bloom of his flesh under his billowing undershirt. He’s paler now than he was then, though the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between heavy curtains over your windows is no match for the golden wash of colour he had once basked in. If you had any sense you’d laugh at the display before you: endless metal defences and leather covers come away from his body and pile noisily beside him. But you’re transfixed, fingers fidgeting, bottom lip absentmindedly between your teeth.

You do not notice him glance at you every so often. Between removing each greave, he looks up at you again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the flurry of blood to his cheeks. He’s baring himself, and you’re looking at him like he’s edible; perhaps, to you, he is.

After many minutes filled only by the sounds of deconstructed armour, metal and leather, he’s free of it, and he stands before you in a loose shirt and cotton slacks. His pale chest is visible behind the deep, un-tied collar and your fingers itch, fidgeting still, yearning to know what it feels like.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I saw you like this, once,” you say quickly, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You’re looking at everything - his arms, his legs, neck, chest, hands - except his eyes.

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Years ago. I was nineteen. You were outside-” You turn to look through the open balcony door behind you, at the bright white gleaming down on the stone beyond. “-polishing. It was so beautiful out there, but I remember watching you for ages.”

You turn back, eyes on his finally. As ever, they’re wide and deep brown and beautiful. “Sorry. I know that’s strange. And forbidden, I guess.”

“No,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “No, it’s fine- It’s okay.”

The air is thick and between that and your corset, you can barely breathe. He’s inching closer and it’s difficult to know where to look.

Nobody has ever been this close to you before. Not truly; you kiss your father and mother on the cheek before heading to bed each evening, you give your sisters fleeting embraces, you've fooled around with stableboys and, of course, you once loved to lean into his space whenever you teased Eddie, but this is different. Someone electing to be so near, choosing to breathe your air and not flinching or pulling back, instead lingering just to let his eyes dance over yours once more - it’s new, and it’s addictive.

He’s breathing your air but you’re also breathing his. The hills of his cheeks are mere whispers from your own, and his nose, crooked at the bridge where it once broke, nudges yours so lightly that you ought not feel it. It takes your breath away anyway.

At the sound of your gasp he smiles, only slightly, but you’re so close you see it in his eyes. Crows' feet emerge, wrinkling happiness beside his temples, and you can’t help but return it. As you fight the urge to close your eyes you watch him as he watches you, bated breaths and whimpers. All of a sudden he meets your gaze and you stumble where your foot had been resting on your other ankle. The heel of your slipper slides across bare skin and your balance goes, but before you can panic or cry out, you are pulled in breathless by his strong arm around your back. There may be layers upon layers of fabric but you feel it anyway, the electric jolts up your spine where his palm presses firm into your waist. Whether he means to or not is unclear, but you’re chest-to-chest with him now, the firm bones of your corset pushed against his shirt.

Your fingers spread across the fabric of his shirt. Without meaning to, you venture upwards, fingertips meeting the small smattering of coarse hair there, under the cotton. You watch your hands like they’re moving on their own, until his finger, hooked beneath your chin, tilts you up to meet his eye again.

It’s happening, you think to yourself. But then his arm, still around your middle, tightens briefly and he’s gone.

You watch him cross your room, the few steps he takes to your bed suddenly a criminal distance, too far, far too far. He sits upright on the edge of it, legs parted.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a melodic tug at your core. You move to him, sliding each of your slippers off on the way, and stand hesitantly between his knees, holding your breath without thinking to. 

You can’t look at him. You caught a glimpse of his eyes and the way they’re looking up at you and you can’t. It’ll surely kill you.

He thinks you’re perfect, standing here, towering over him, relenting. His tough palms smooth over the layers of deep red velvet that lie over your hips, and for a moment he allows himself to relish in the small noises of shock you’re making before he urges you to turn around.

“You know,” he begins as his deft fingers untie and release the intricate ribbons at your back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You turn your head towards him, as far round as you can. “What?”

“The… What happened, that afternoon. The way he spoke to you…” Eddie’s fingers still for a moment and you hear him take a deep breath. “The way he touched you. I don’t know what your father- what His Majesty said about it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His left hand begins pulling at the ribbons again, but his right rests safely on your waist, as though he’s demonstrating something: how you should be touched, the way you deserve, soft and kind and gentle and wanted.

You hum in agreement.

“And I truly am sorry I punched him,” he says. “It- If I’d just told him to back away, it never would have become such… Such a thing, a big deal.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, grateful that you can get a lung-full again. You turn back to him in his grasp and take his face in both hands. Your palms are warm but they’re nothing compared to the flames of his cheeks, which almost burn under your touch. “I’m not mad that you punched him. I wish I’d done it, truly. But I’m never mad that you want to protect me.”

Your hands on his face startle him. You both sense it in the moment, how unlike you this is, to touch him so willingly and so carefully.

“I don’t think you needed me to protect you,” he says quietly, a smile emerging though he tries his best to hold it back. “Your elbow seemed to do a good enough job of that.”

Ah! The sound of your feather-light laugh fills a yawning gap in his chest that appeared two and a half weeks ago. It sounds even more beautiful than before, a twinkling spark of a sound, just for him.

“You’re funny,” you tell him. “I’ll always need you, Ser Munson. Don’t worry about that.”

He looks up at you from his seat on the edge of your bed with eyes that sparkle like the sky outside. Perhaps it’s the reflection of the faded stars painted onto your ceiling, or perhaps it’s just the sight of you.

Both of his hands are on your waist, now, as you stand between his legs. There’s a lot of material in your skirt, though, and it feels too distant still, so you reach behind your back to pull the remainder of the ribbons keeping your corset on, and pull it over your head. Eddie helps where he can from such a low vantage point, and as soon as it’s off and disregarded on the floor, his eager fingers are pulling the velvet dress down and away from your body.

“Fucking hell,” he heaves, “How many things do you have on right now?”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle. “It took you five whole minutes just to free your arms.”

“Okay, but that’s important. I don’t want to lose my arms. This must weigh a tonne, and… For what?”

You hold his cheek in your left hand again while he unties various laces and undoes buttons. Your skirt has fallen away, as has the underskirt and the other, thicker layers. You’re left in your underdress, a simple white cotton embroidered at the collar. It’s nicer than the one he caught you in all those weeks ago, moments before your life seemed to tilt and slip away beneath you.

Under the fabric, your nipples harden in the cold, jutting out and catching Eddie’s eye.

“Is this okay?” He asks, pulling you in anyways, standing you safely between his knees, his wide hands tentative on your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Please, yes.”

His hands slide over the hills of your behind to the backs of your thighs. He’s still looking up at you, eyes drooping when your fingers dance through his hair. 

“I meant it, though,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, standing slowly. “I have all the time for you.”

The moonlight bleeds a sharp bluish hue but it doesn’t matter. Right now, as he says those lovely words, the boy is a golden ball of light, humming pinks and warm ochre. Your yearning arms wind over his shoulders as his breath mixes with yours once more, his nose nudges the swell of your cheek, his hands press firm into your waist. He’s slow with it, tantalising, keeping you whimpering and desperate, until he finally dips into you, lips on yours with a surprising urgency.

It’s magic, you are so sure of it. His mouth moves over yours with certainty: he wants to be here, he wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you.

All those fairytales that your wiry old school teacher told you were real, about spells and conjurings and spirits: it’s all real, surely, and it’s in this feeling. There’s no other way you can understand it, though in truth your brain isn’t entirely clear because his fingers are smoothing lower, bunching your dress in his fists to pull the fabric up over the stretch of your legs. All the while his kisses never cease; in fact, once you feel the cool air over the material of your underwear, you gasp and welcome his tongue with your own. Air is worthless to you now; all you want is Eddie.

Much to your dismay, he seems to disagree, pulling back from you to take a breath and lift your dress over your head. He whispers up and you raise your arms, letting him undress you quietly, and once he has, you daren’t open your eyes, instead winding your arms across your chest. You feel the nighttime breeze across the backs of your thighs and you tense knowing that you’re bare in front of him.

There’s a slow beat before you feel his hands again. You hear the dress discarded on the stone floor and then his rough fingers are gently, oh so gently, holding your waist. It’s like he thinks you could break.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course you can.”

You expect more solid grabs of flesh, hands smoothing over the expanse of your stomach, maybe even venturing upwards, but you take in a surprised breath when you feel his mouth on your sternum.

His rough hands hold your lower back and he kisses, framing each of your breasts with rows of feather-light pecks, dancing blossoms of affection. You drop your hands to his hair as you let out a breath of satisfaction, tangling your fingers in the curls as his mouth rises.

The whine of your name that leaves your lips is met with his hands tightening, fingers almost curling into the flesh of your back. His kisses turn eager, frantic, crossing the mounds of each of your breasts. His hands leave you to pull his shirt over his head and it’s too much all at once: too much to see, feel, know. You can’t take it in before he’s kissing you again, less than kind as his arms pull your bare chests flush.

Your fingers explore new terrain, which is littered with freckles and white, years-old scars that stretch over his alabaster skin, each one a story that you hope he will tell you one day.

“Eddie,” you pant. He returns the sentiment, breathing your name over and over into your mouth as he sits back down and pulls you into his lap.

The rough of his slacks sends an unfamiliar jolt up your spine when your hips meet his. In the heat of the moment he’s pulling at you a little rough but your gasp draws him out.

“You good?”

“Just… Slow down,” you tell him, resting back on your heels with your hands on his broad, bare shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. His face is flushed pink and his dark eyes are drooping. “Want to stop?”

“No,” you respond, too quickly to keep your cool. You shake your head. “No, I just- I’m scared I’ll go too fast. I like you too much.”

“I told you,” he says, moving in with his eyes on you. You nod, almost imperceptibly. He kisses your collarbone and then your shoulder. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

“What if someone catches us?”

He pulls back again and reaches up, moving hair from your face and putting it behind your ears. Tidying you up. Fussing over you. It’s nice.

“I promise that everybody who would even think to come anywhere near this room tonight is gone until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He kisses under your jaw, and it returns the shivers back down your spine. “They’re too busy getting drunk. Nobody’s thinking about us.”

“You promise?”

He kisses your chin. “I promise.”

A few years ago, your father entertained a visitor from one of the bigger cities. They had been on a ship for some years and they brought goods the likes of which you’d never seen before: round, vibrant, sharp fruits, powders that made food taste wildly different, and, your favourite, a small collection of fireworks.

In the light of a small bonfire, your father helped the visitor set the wooden tubes alight. They flew off into the air and sparkled, fizzed, popped. It was a display that you couldn’t help but gawk at, enjoying the sizzles and the colours in the deep January sky.

That’s what this feels like. His lips plotting a map across your bare neck, up over your jaw, until they reach your mouth, it feels like seeing fireworks. You keen into his mouth as he licks across your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth gently before letting go, meeting your tongue with his own. His hands at your back pull you in and that flush returns between your legs. He keeps you moving slowly, a lethargic push and pull across his crotch. The dips and folds of the tough fabric there, paired with the growing hardness beneath, give you a friction that you chase instinctively. It’s coupled with a litany of praises whispered into your skin between kisses, and the combination is clearing your head and sending you dizzy.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he coos, “Nice and slow for me, yeah? Just-”

Through drooping lids you watch him, his face scrunching in pleasure as you rock against him. It is not lost on you that this feels just as good for him, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

His face relaxes, and he meets your eye. “Hey.” He nudges your nose with his own and takes a deep breath. “You have to breathe, deep breaths. Doesn’t feel half as good if you stop breathing, promise.”

You let out a sigh and a twinkling giggle and he smiles, wide enough that you can see his dimples. He continues showering you with sweet praises, urging you towards oblivion. Look at you. I don’t even need to tell you what to do. You’re so beautiful.

“Fuck- My god.”

The pace quickens as you chase the abyss. His hands don’t move, keeping you anchored to him, moving you back and forth. It’s bliss like you’ve never felt; your own hand could never get you this far. The friction of his pants between your thighs is perfect and your need is ferocious as your stomach winds like a coil.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “You can do it. You’re doing such a good job, c’mon-”

You fall forwards and rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering something desperate into his neck as your stomach tenses and bends. Please, Eddie, please, please, please.

A white-hot light sears the darkness behind your eyelids as you come apart for him. He’s calling you all sorts of filthy things but you can barely hear him, brain too occupied by the burning in your belly and his hands, which are seemingly everywhere all at once.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hairline. He scatters kisses there as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

He laughs and you feel it reverberate through his chest.

As you slouch into him, feeling returning to each limb, you feel a foreign yearning in your gut, a relentless feeling that prompts you to squirm. Wriggling, your restless hands paw at his arms and his back and they move lower, until you meet the waistband of his slacks.

You whine into his neck when he won’t move to accommodate your impatience. His hands lure you back from your resting place so he can look at you, with your kiss-swollen lips and happy eyes.

“I need to know that you want this,” he whispers. He rests your foreheads together, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

All you can do is whine. You’re too elated to care to form words, but Eddie’s not having it.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells you sternly. His eyes do not betray him: they’re steely and suddenly darker than ever.

You dip your head to kiss his jaw, nosing at his cheek, lips and teeth dragging along his skin.

“I want you, Eddie,” you tell him. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck and pull you back, gentle but firm, as he watches you speak through obsidian eyes. “Please.”

He says nothing as he gives you one more kiss, soft as anything to the pillows of your lips, before helping you off his lap and laying you between the pillows at the head of your bed. You curl up there, the breeze colder still against the wetness between your thighs, which you squeeze together as you watch him stand.

He’s all lean muscle and long limbs. You let yourself gawk for the first time since that night on the balcony; you usually have to ration your glances at him, and he’s always covered by so many layers, so you allow yourself this luxury.

He knows you’re watching, so he makes a little show of it, bending down to get rid of the slacks. Before he does, you notice that the brown has deepened around his crotch with the stains of your pleasure. Acknowledging this makes you shiver, and though you feel you should be disgusted, it’s oddly comforting instead.

When he looks over at you, finally bared and unflinching, he takes a moment to take you in.

You’re still glowing, perhaps more so than before. Some of your hair is stuck to your face, plastered there in the heat of your first orgasm, but the rest of it is laid out around your head like a halo. It’s unfair that you can be so casually magnificent. You’re also not looking at him - well, not meeting his eye, anyway. The tip of your index finger is between your teeth as you take in the sight before you, Eddie as hard as he’s ever been, just for you.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You look up at his face and break out in a grin. “Absolutely.”

He’s slower than you want, leaning over you, his knees on the comforter beside you, mouth lazy as he gives you kisses. You take and take, happy under his touch.

His hands are everywhere again. Your skin is on fire, aflame from the praise and the affection and the attention. The sensation of being so close to another person while naked like this is achingly unfamiliar but learning it is nice, new, natural. Though it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you’re finding that you like it. You like smoothing your hands over his back, feeling the dips and peaks of his muscles there, or around to the slight pudge of his stomach, just above a thatch of hair similar to your own. You like the feeling of his palms on your shoulders, down your arms, across your waist. You like that when he kisses you, you feel the nudge of his nose beside yours. You like that he appears breathless to you, like your kisses are preferable to air, especially when he becomes restless and impatient.

Above you, his hand moves south, fingers burying their way between your legs. Without realising it, you’ve been squeezing them together, desperate for any relief you can find, but his fingers are certainly better. They push your knees apart so that he can climb into your space, his waist framed by your thighs, the weight of him crashing into you as he dips again to kiss you silly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull him in, enjoying the proximity rather than fleeing from it, and feeling desperate without shame.

One hand hooks under your thigh while the other plants firmly on the mattress beside your head.

“You ready?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“I’m going to go slow,” he tells you, his lips moving against yours lest he get too far away. “Just tell me if you want to stop, please?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Yes, of course, please-”

The hand beneath your thigh escapes and he holds himself as you wind your arms under his, around his chest, pulling him in tight.

It’s definitely slow. A slow, tantalising push between your thighs, filling that gaping yearning within your gut. He’s big, though it barely takes you by surprise because of course he is.

He’s panting, biting his lip above you. “Fuck-” he gasps, “Shit- You okay?”

You nod as fervently as you can because words are escaping you and all you can think about is him, hovering over you, pushing into you, breathing your air and nudging your cheek.

“You feel- You feel so good,” he breathes, pushing further. You nod in agreement and tug him closer still, until he’s in as far as he can go, filling you to the hilt.

The proximity dazzles you as you open your eyes and examine his face. The scrunch between his brows, the freckles across his crooked nose, his teeth biting firm into his lip. It feels only natural to lean up and plot a path of kisses across the hills of his face, bright, happy kisses that relax him until he can kiss you back. He lets the weight of his body fall into yours, keeping some pressure on his arm so as not to crush you entirely, but the feeling of closeness is too comfortable for him to forego.

He speaks into the flesh of your cheek when he says, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, and he does, pulling slowly away before pushing back. The friction of the movement over your clit adds to the swelling feeling of fullness each time he returns to you, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You take heavy breaths until they become moans, matched by his own noises. Your head is empty and all you want to do is become him; being here, underneath him, is never quite enough. Instead you wish you could, in this moment, under the stars and the moon and wrapped in the night breeze, merge with your knight and stay here forever.

Your lazy daydreams are interrupted when he groans and mutters some kind of praise into your hairline: You’re doing so well. Fuck, so good. And then, to your surprise, you feel his free hand traverse the expanse of your body, between the two of you, over the hill of your stomach until the pads of his fingers find your clit.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Perhaps you haven’t melted together, but this somehow got even better. His cock moves just as quick as he draws lucid circles with his middle and ring fingers over you. He kindles the flame like an expert as his mouth drops kisses messily across your own lips. That’s it: everything is messy, lazy, desperate. He moves and kisses and whispers please, come on, come for me, are you okay? I know you can do it, you feel so good, you’re beautiful.

The hot wire returns. It burns as it coils, tighter and tighter around an abyss in your gut, tugging on each limb like you might implode and become a black hole right here in your bed.

“Eddie, oh my god-”

“Come on.”

“Unngh- It feels s- So good-”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His movements never relent as you come, the wire burning out in a white-hot bang. You yelp, moaning his name, and he keeps going through it all, kissing you silly all over your face. It’s only when you start to squirm that he slows, brings his busy hand out from between the two of you and smiles. He allows himself a moment to watch you, face lax and mouth agape, sweaty brow and hair a mess, before he taps your hollow cheek with his knuckles.

You open heavy eyes to look back at him and watch as he smirks down at you and brings two messy fingers to his mouth. He’s still inside you and he feels it, the way you squeeze him just slightly as he tastes you on his tongue, making a little show of it for you. He hears you gasp, panting like a dog, and even the moan that leaves you when he pulls his fingers free and they glisten in the low light. “Holy shit,” you breathe, and he breaks out in a grin before he can stop himself. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

“Happy?” he asks.

“Happy? Fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

His laughter is deep and loud, a rumble from his chest that makes you grin back at him.

“What about you?” you ask, eyes drooping again, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead. It burns there, like you have a fever. You must look a state.

“I’m more than happy,” he says, smiling. “You up for a little more?

You look at him. “Hm?”

“I, uh… I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock,” he admits, flushing, “And you… You feel so good, and I’d like to… Y’know.”

He feels bad for a second when your eyes widen and you look down quickly. “Oh, Eddie, shit, did you not- Oh my god, I’m so selfish, are you okay?”

Your hands are everywhere all of a sudden, pawing at his arms and his chest, your fawning interrupted by another bellowing laugh. When you giggle back, he winces, feeling it in the way your body pulls him tighter.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, “But I want to try something.”

“Of course,” you say.

“You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “I want to help you, I want you to feel good too.”

“Hold on, then,” he says, threading an arm between your back and the sweat-damp mattress. You wind your arms back around his neck and yelp when he swings you around, all the while keeping his cock firmly inside your walls.

“Fuck,” you splutter, planting your hands either side of his head.

He likes this view. Your face hovering over his, your knees either side of his waist. He holds you by the hips, feeling the curves and dips, pushing impatient fingers into the flesh at the base of your back.

“God, you are gorgeous,” he says. He likes this view, too, watching you flush and bat your eyelashes, made nervous under his gaze and by his lovely, genuine words.

“Not too bad yourself,” you respond, smiling, lifting one hand to push curls from his warm face.

This feeling is new but it’s lovely. Gravity pulls you onto him and it feels as though he’s somehow even deeper than before. His hands at your ass fist at the flesh there and he tells you he’s going to help you, that you may be worn out and that’s okay, and as he helps you lift yourself upwards, you get the hang of it.

You plant your hands firmly on the expanse of his chest and drop yourself down before pushing yourself back up again. It helps to sit upright so you do, letting him hold you and watch you and god, his face is a picture.

He’s scrunching his nose again, eyes tight as he huffs each time you drop onto him. He’s droopy and blissful as you move up and down, circling your hips just a bit, letting him guide you. It burns after so long but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in your chest watching him near the edge. His stomach tenses, the muscles flexing between your thighs, as his breathing becomes more ragged. And suddenly his arms come up your back and pull you down flush and inside your walls, his cock sits as far in as he can push it. You feel him stiffen and shudder and the warmth as he comes inside, hugging you close, his forehead on your shoulder.

He warns you as he pulls out, and then you lie still, spent, limbs going soft together. The sky is a pale blue-green now, the sun soon to cross the horizon. You can hear birds, and the soft morning light coats your skin in a kind of effervescent glow.

Eddie’s breathing lulls you into a doze, but after a short while he stirs. The space between your core and his is sticky and damp and it’s uncomfortable for a short moment, until he tells you quietly that he’s going to get up and get a rag. He moves you softly onto your back and you sigh, a happy, contented sound, watching him move around your space so comfortably.

He returns from the water basin with a damp cloth, cleaning the remnants of your night from between your legs. You wince when he does, only because you’re tired and sore and the cloth is cold, but he apologises and kisses the inside of your knee.

“Eddie?”

He’s at the basin again, rinsing the rag. “Mhm?”

“Do you really think everyone will be gone until the afternoon?”

You catch him smiling at your question, like he knows what’s coming.

“If you want to play it safe, lets say noon.”

“And what time is it now?”

He looks over to the clock, which sits above your mantlepiece, ticking softly.

“Early,” is all he says. “Early enough.”

“Stay with me?”

He drops the rag over the side of the basin and pads over to you. The mattress dips as he rejoins you, this time lifting your sheets to bury the two of you beneath them.

“I told you,” he says quietly, kissing the peak of your shoulder and pulling you in, his arm around your waist, “I have all the time in the world for you.”

-

The castle is bustling. People rush here and there, carrying armfuls of floral arrangements, buckets of wine, heaving plates of food. Your home is lively and noisy and your mother is pacing, directing the placement of each bouquet and chair.

In your chamber, the noise seems far away. Your maids finish tying your corset and your shoe ribbons before filtering off to complete other tasks. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above your fireplace. Red really is your colour.

There’s a resolute knock at your door. The maids stand to attention and move out of your way as your knight pushes the doors open and you step through to the hall.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you say to him.

Your new knight, a replacement both for Eddie and for the man who took his place all those months ago, bows kindly at your regards. He’s young, younger than yourself and Eddie, but keen and worthy and you’re more than happy.

And then he appears, your beacon, a gorgeous vision of handsome beauty.

Eddie, Ser Munson, your knight. Or, rather, your former knight. He’s been promoted to fiancé.

He stands at the top of the stairs, looking back at you like you hung the stars. To him, you may as well have. You are all he has eyes for now, especially now, after giving up his duties and telling your father: Your daughter is my true and only duty.

“My god,” he breathes. You step over to him, too giddy to maintain any air of grace or class. Your step is more like skipping, your love for him giving you far too much energy to merely walk to him.

He holds his arm for you and you take it, leaning up on tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“How do you do it?” he says in a low voice, dipping his head so you can hear him as the two of you descend the stairs, Dustin in step behind you.

You’re smiling while you cling to his arm. “Hm?”

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?”

“Just think, Munson,” you say in a whisper, “By the time we’re one hundred, think of how beautiful I’ll be by then.”

“I dread to think,” he says sarcastically, squeezing your arm with his. You look up at him and the noise and fervour of the castle falls away. He looks back down at you and smiles, and it’s truly the only thing that matters.

The engagement party, your sisters, your parents, your birthright - what is any of it for, what does any of it mean, when you have the one thing you ever wanted?

-

author’s note  Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling all this way). It's been so long since I uploaded my last fic and I’ve been lurking ever since - I miss u all but there isn’t really any room in my life for writing anymore. I have loved doing this and thank you all so so much for reading everything! I’ll be about, so the blog will stay and you can read whatever you want whenever you want. I love ya, I’ll miss ya, see ya l8r!

[ikeucity]

𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨. ― (희승)

「 ᴘᴀʀᴛ (2/4) ᴏꜰ ᴋᴇᴜʀɪ'ꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴇʀ! ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀᴜ 」 previously on loser! edition: 𝗝𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗝𝗘𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗘. ― (제이)

▸ pairing. loser!heeseung x tutor!reader ▸ wc. 36k

warning. this story contains themes of slow-burn romance, fluff, and mild angst, sub!hee (??), alcohol-use, cute drunk moments, emotional connection. while the story leans heavily on wholesome and lighthearted moments, there may be mild language and themes of insecurity. explicit content (18+). mdni.

after jay kicks him out for drunkenly spilling his secret, heeseung is set on drowning his sorrows. what he doesn’t know is that you’ve had your eye on him for a while. with a bit of liquid courage, you decide to make your move. your attempt to impress heeseung leads to way more than you bargained for.

credits to @slvtella, she is the one who gave me a base storyline and i just added sprinkles.

heeseung stumbled out of jay’s room, his vision swimming a little as the vodka hit him hard. he could still feel the embarrassment creeping up his neck, heat rising to his face as he replayed the disaster in his mind. why the fuck did he have to blurt out the one thing no one needed to hear tonight? jennie. jay’s fucking sex doll. heeseung groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, cringing at the memory. he had one job tonight—be the perfect wingman, help jay finally hook up with the girl he’d been crushing on for months. instead, he got piss-drunk and spilled the dumbest secret right in front of her. he could still see the look on jay’s face, the way it shifted from shock to betrayal in seconds. heeseung felt like a fucking idiot. “stupid, fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact with anyone as he pushed through the crowded room. it felt like every pair of eyes was on him, like they all knew what he’d done. the music was loud, bass pounding through the floor, laughter and chatter filling the air, but it didn’t matter. all he felt was out of place, a walking fuck-up. he definitely needed more alcohol. heeseung found his way to the kitchen, grabbed the first bottle he saw, and made a beeline for the couch. the couch was safe, away from the crowd, away from the judgment. he slumped down, tipping the bottle back, letting the sharp burn of alcohol flood his throat. maybe if he drank enough, he’d forget how badly he screwed up.

the party moved on without him. people laughed, danced, paired off, while heeseung just sat there, watching like a ghost. he wasn’t part of their world, not tonight. maybe not ever. he could feel the alcohol numbing him, dulling the sharp edges of his embarrassment, but not enough to forget. “what a fucking night,” he muttered, taking another drink. he wasn’t the guy who got the girl, never was. just the awkward dude who couldn’t even wingman right. maybe that’s why he got so wasted in the first place, trying to feel like he belonged here, like he could keep up with everyone else. heeseung shifted, his eyes catching the couple next to him. they were all over each other, lips locked, hands roaming. he could feel their heat, their bodies pressed so close he could practically feel them on his skin. he tensed up, looking away, pretending like he wasn’t sitting there, the third wheel on their couch. he tried to move, inch away, but his legs felt like lead, weighed down by the alcohol. their wet kisses filled his ears, the low murmur of their voices mixing with the music. it was too much. he gripped the bottle tighter, praying for an escape, but every time he looked around, the room seemed more packed, more suffocating. moving meant more awkward interactions, more people looking at him like he didn’t belong. so, he stayed put, sinking deeper into the couch, swallowing down another long gulp of vodka.

and then he saw you. you were across the room, eyes locked on him. not judging, not laughing. just… watching. there was something in the way you looked at him, something soft, curious. like you saw him, really saw him. and not in the way everyone else did, not like the awkward fuck-up stuck between a horny couple. there was no pity in your gaze, no judgment. heeseung blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest. it wasn’t the alcohol this time—it was you. you looking at him like that. he hadn’t noticed you before, too caught up in his own mess, but now? now you had his full attention. and suddenly, he didn’t feel so invisible. didn’t feel like the guy who always messed everything up. for a second, it felt like maybe, just maybe, the night wasn’t a total loss.

heeseung had no clue you’d been watching him all night.

even now, as he sat there looking like a complete wreck—his hair a tousled mess, his eyes half-shut, drunk as hell, slouched into the couch like he was hoping it’d just swallow him up—you couldn’t tear your eyes away. it was pathetic, honestly. but something about the way he always seemed so out of place, so awkward, drew you in more than it should.

he never noticed you. not like you wanted him to, anyway. you’d been crushing on him for longer than you cared to admit, but always from a distance. it wasn’t like you could just go up to him, make it clear you were into him. he’d probably freeze up, stutter through something dumb, or worse, think you were messing with him.

because that was lee heeseung—awkward as hell, too wrapped up in his own world, and so fucking oblivious it made your chest ache. he wasn’t the guy everyone noticed, wasn’t smooth or charming. he was just… there. but you didn’t care. you liked him. more than you should, probably.

you liked how real he was, how he always seemed like he didn’t know where he fit in, even when he tried so damn hard. he wasn’t perfect, far from it, but that’s what made him so fucking endearing. every time you saw him—whether it was in class, during group work, or at parties like this, blending into the background—you couldn’t help but notice. the way he’d sit off to the side, like he was hoping no one would call on him, or how he zoned out completely, probably thinking about the games he’d play when he got home. you noticed the way his eyes lit up just a little when someone talked about sports, like it was the one thing he was secretly proud of.

and now here he was, stuck on that couch next to some couple basically mauling each other. they were all over each other, hands and mouths everywhere, and heeseung looked more uncomfortable than ever. he was stiff, like he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself, his eyes darting around the room, looking for some way out.

god, it made your heart flip.

you couldn’t stop staring, watching the way he scratched the back of his neck, like he was trying to make himself smaller, invisible. no one else noticed, but you did. you always noticed. and maybe that’s why you’d never had the guts to make a move. you didn’t want to add to his discomfort, didn’t want to freak him out when he already had enough on his plate just trying to survive the night.

you liked him too much. way too much. but you were careful. you stayed in the background, letting him be, never wanting to scare him off. you were always there, always watching, wishing he’d look at you the way you looked at him. but he never did.

until now.

the alcohol in your system was doing something, messing with your head, making you feel brave—or stupid. you weren’t sure which. but for a second, you thought… was he looking at you?

heeseung’s eyes, hazy with drunkenness, seemed to meet yours. his expression was curious, like maybe—just maybe—he’d noticed you this time. your heart skipped a beat, that stupid giddy feeling hitting you hard. but then, just as quickly, the moment passed. he blinked, his gaze darting away, and that familiar awkwardness took over again. it was like he hadn’t even meant to look at you in the first place, just happened to zone out in your direction.

you liked him too much. way too fucking much.

the alcohol wasn’t helping. it was pushing you, telling you to go for it, to stop sitting in the corner like a damn creep and just talk to him. your heart was pounding, your palms fidgeting in your lap as the idea crept up on you. this wasn’t you—you didn’t make moves like this. but right now? with the buzz in your veins and the way he looked like he could use someone to save him from this disaster of a night?

fuck it.

this might be the only chance you had. and besides, you were tipsy. what did you really have to lose?

you shifted in your seat, adrenaline kicking in, your mind spinning with possibilities. it wasn’t like he’d push you away, right? not heeseung. not when he was sitting there, awkward and alone, looking like he’d appreciate anyone giving him a way out.

before you could stop yourself, you stood up, heart racing and mind spinning from the alcohol. heeseung hadn’t even noticed you as you walked toward him, the music and chatter fading into the background, each step toward him feeling heavier, more uncertain. the couple next to him had finally fucked off, leaving the seat next to him empty, and you weren’t about to waste the opportunity. who knew where they went? who cared? it was just you and him now, and that was all that mattered.

as you got closer, you watched heeseung straighten up a little, like he was finally free from the suffocating makeout session happening beside him. you saw the relief in his face, the way his shoulders relaxed, and he let out this small, tired sigh. poor guy had been through hell sitting there. you could almost feel his discomfort from across the room, and it tugged at something deep in your chest. he shifted back against the couch, clearly buzzed, his eyes slightly glazed, and though he wasn’t as tense anymore, there was still that air of frustration clinging to him. you could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts swirling in his head.

it made your chest ache seeing him frown. you knew he wasn’t the most confident guy, but damn, you didn’t think he was this hard on himself. the more you watched him, the more you wanted to be near him, to sit next to him and maybe make him feel a little less alone in all this mess.

but god, you were just as awkward as he was. every nerve in your body felt like it was buzzing as you made your way over, trying not to trip over your own feet. heeseung, predictably, didn’t even notice you coming. he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, lost in his head like always.

you stood there for a second, gathering whatever courage you had left, and then slid onto the couch beside him. you tried to do it smoothly, but your nerves made everything feel stiff, awkward. heeseung barely glanced up, still too caught up in his anxious energy, but you could tell he was struggling. the way his body slumped forward a little, the tension in his hands as they gripped the empty bottle… yeah, he was a mess.

you cleared your throat, trying to break through his haze. he glanced at you, almost like he didn’t really see you at first, and then quickly looked away. classic heeseung—too stuck in his own head to notice when someone was actually paying attention to him.

“hey,” you said, voice shaky but determined. “uh, you good?” as soon as the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. seriously? that’s what you went with? but it was too late to take it back now.

he blinked, staring at his drink for a moment before glancing at you again. “uh, yeah. fine.” his voice was quiet, almost unsure, and he took another quick sip, like he was trying to drink his nerves away. you weren’t surprised, honestly. you’d expected this.

you pushed forward, hoping to keep the conversation alive despite the awkward start. “so, uh… you come to these things often?” you winced as the words left your mouth, knowing how lame and cliché they sounded. his lips twitched, maybe the beginning of a smile, but it quickly disappeared as he turned back to his drink, downing more of it.

“not really…” he mumbled, voice already slurring a bit. yeah, he was definitely drunk, and he was definitely not handling it well. heeseung was never the guy who could drink much without turning into this red, nervous, slurry mess.

but you weren’t about to give up. leaning in slightly, you tried again. “it’s pretty loud in here, huh? kinda overwhelming.”

he nodded, muttering something under his breath as he took another long drink, clearly hoping the alcohol would somehow make him less awkward. but instead, it seemed to pull him deeper into his own head. with each sip, he retreated further, barely answering your questions.

by the third question, it was clear he wasn’t going to be much of a conversationalist tonight. he was chugging his drink like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, and you could tell he was barely hanging on. “so… what do you do when you’re not, uh, here?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation into something he might enjoy talking about.

heeseung blinked, his face flushed as he struggled to respond. “uh… y’know… stuff,” he muttered, sounding more and more like he wanted to disappear into the couch entirely.

you sighed softly, not even upset. still, it was a little disappointing to see him this far gone, too drunk to even attempt to keep up the conversation. heeseung had a habit of sabotaging himself like this, and tonight was no exception.

eventually, his words turned into grunts, his eyes growing heavier with each drink. you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching him fumble with the now-empty bottle, clearly surprised he’d finished it so fast. his hands scrambled awkwardly on the table, searching for more alcohol, and you watched him with an amused smile, feeling the warmth of your own buzz settling in.

you had no idea how many drinks you’d had at this point, but you were tipsy enough to feel bolder, less afraid of making a fool of yourself. seeing him struggle for another drink, you leaned in, holding out your cup with a small grin. “hey, you can have mine.”

he looked at you, blinking a few times like he was trying to process what you’d just said. for a moment, you thought he’d refuse, but then he let out a quiet, awkward laugh and took the cup from you. “uh, okay…” he mumbled, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it, that tiny contact sending a spark through you, making your heart skip.

you watched him take a sip, his eyes lingering on the cup like it was the holy grail, and for the first time tonight, he seemed a little more… open. maybe it was the alcohol loosening him up, or maybe it was because you’d given him something without expecting anything back. either way, he wasn’t brushing you off anymore.

he took another small sip before looking at the cup again, then back at you. he hesitated for a second, then held it out to you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it back. “here… you probably want this back,” he slurred, his voice soft, a little unsure. you smiled, shaking your head as you gently pushed the cup back toward him.

“nah, it’s all yours. seriously,” you said, your heart skipping at the brief contact.

he blinked, glancing down at the cup before he looked back up at you, a bit surprised. “oh… uh, thanks,” he muttered, clearly still a little thrown off by your kindness, but not nearly as guarded as before.

you tried again, feeling a little braver now. “so… you having an okay time?”

this time, he didn’t hide behind the cup. he glanced at you, his expression softening just a bit. “uh, yeah… just, y’know, not really good at these party things,” he admitted, his words still slurred, but now more open, more willing to talk. “too many people… and, uh, stuff.”

you nodded, sipping the last bit of your own drink, feeling the warmth spread through your veins. “yeah, i get it. sometimes it’s a lot. but hey… at least you’ve got me to talk to now, right?”

heeseung blinked again, like he hadn’t even considered that you might actually want to talk to him. “yeah… I guess so,” he mumbled, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. it was small, barely there, but it was enough to make your heart flutter a little.

with both of you sufficiently drunk, the tension started to ease. maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact that he was starting to realize you weren’t here to judge him, weren’t here to make him feel awkward or like shit for being himself. either way, conversation started to flow, clumsy and random, but comfortable.

each time you asked a question, heeseung would take a sip, trying to answer without tripping over his words. you found yourself laughing softly at his attempts to sound smoother than he was, finding his drunken honesty almost endearing.

heeseung was definitely at the point where you knew he wasn’t going to remember anything tomorrow. his eyes were glazed over, movements slow and a little too loose, words slurring together more with every sip. but there was something cute about how hard he was trying to stay present, like he wanted to keep talking, even though the alcohol was winning.

you, on the other hand, were riding the same buzz, but it just made you bolder, like all your usual fears had melted away. and before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out.

“so… you like games, right?”

you already knew the answer, of course. heeseung always talked about games whenever you managed to get him to open up, but something about the alcohol made you want to hear it again. maybe it was just an excuse to keep him talking, to keep the conversation going.

heeseung blinked, slow and confused, like he was trying to process what you just asked. “games?” he repeated, voice thick and sluggish, but then he gave you a small, drunken smile. “yeah… love ‘em. they’re, uh, fun.”

you bit your lip to keep from laughing at how ridiculously simple his answer was. “yeah? what’s your favorite?” you pressed, not even caring that you already knew—he was talking, and that was all you wanted.

he squinted, like he was trying to remember through the haze in his head. “uh… I dunno. depends,” he muttered, gripping the cup a little tighter as he took another shaky sip. “like… fps stuff. and sports games. y’know.”

you chuckled softly, nodding. “fps, huh? that’s cool. I bet you’re pretty good at them.”

he shrugged, but a small, shy smile crept onto his lips again. “yeah… I guess,” he slurred, his head tilting a little as he tried to focus on you. “but I dunno, ’m not good at… other stuff,” he mumbled, voice growing softer, trailing off into his drunken haze.

you leaned in, feeling a rush of warmth as you pressed a little more. “what do you mean, ‘other stuff’? come on, you’re good at games, right?”

he let out a half-hearted laugh, his eyes closing briefly like he was fighting off sleep. “maybe… but not good at, uh… everything else,” he mumbled, barely holding on to the conversation.

“we should play sometime,” you said, throwing it out there without expecting much, just feeling bold enough to suggest it.

he blinked slowly, his head bobbing a little before he mumbled, “yeah… that’d be cool.”

and with that, he slumped back into the couch, his drink slipping from his hand as he finally gave in to the drunkenness, completely checked out. you sighed softly, shaking your head with a smile as you watched him.

the brief moment of contentment you had was short-lived. reality smacked you hard—he wasn’t going to remember any of this. not you, not the awkward conversation, nothing. what the hell were you even doing? he was practically passed out, slumped against the couch like a dead weight. there was no way he was going to remember anything, let alone you trying to talk to him.

you sighed, glancing around the party, hoping someone—anyone—might notice how far gone heeseung was. but no one gave a shit. everyone was too busy dancing, making out, or lost in their own little worlds to even glance in his direction. great. of course, no one noticed. and where the hell was jay? wasn’t he supposed to be keeping an eye on things, especially since heeseung came with him?

you scanned the room again, feeling your stomach twist in frustration. still no sign of jay. perfect. heeseung’s head lolled to the side, completely oblivious to the chaos around him. someone needed to make sure he got home safe, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.

“heeseung?” you leaned closer, shaking his shoulder lightly, trying to wake him up. no response. you tried again, a little louder, shaking him harder this time. “hey, come on. wake up. you're wasted, we need to take you home.”

his eyes fluttered open, but he looked so out of it, like he had no idea where he was. “home…?” he mumbled, his voice a raspy whisper.

“yeah, home. do you even know where your phone is?” you asked, your concern growing as you watched him struggle to focus.

he blinked slowly, his hands fumbling through his pockets but coming up empty. “uh… no?” he muttered, his voice barely coherent.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t shake the worry settling in. “okay, hold on. we’ll figure it out.” you glanced around again, hoping jay would miraculously show up, but no such luck. just more people partying.

“heeseung, you gotta wake up a little,” you said, shaking him again, but he was barely coherent. his eyes opened for a second before closing again, his head drooping back down.

this was gonna be a long night.

he stirred slightly, blinking up at you with that same drunken daze. for a second, you thought maybe he was starting to come around, but then, in the most slurred, half-assed voice, he muttered, “y'know… if i was a controller… i’d let you push all my buttons.”

you stared at him, blinking. did he really just say that?

his eyes widened in slow motion as the realization hit him, his face turning bright red. he groaned, slapping his hands over his face like he could hide from the embarrassment. “shit… that was so dumb,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands. “why’d i say that…”

you couldn’t help it—you laughed. it was absurd, so random, and so fucking corny, but in the cutest way possible. “seriously, heeseung?” you teased, biting back more laughter as he squirmed in embarrassment. “that’s your best line?”

he let out another groan, his hands still covering his face. “i’m such an idiot,” he muttered. “just… pretend i didn’t say that. please.”

shaking your head, you grinned despite how ridiculous the situation was. yeah, he was a drunken mess, but that dumb line somehow made you like him even more. “don’t worry, it wasn’t that bad,” you said, nudging his arm lightly. “just… maybe save the pick-up lines for when you’re less drunk.”

heeseung peeked out from behind his hands, his face still flushed, and let out a defeated sigh. “god, i’m really gonna forget all this tomorrow, aren’t i?” he muttered, sounding like he’d already accepted his fate.

you sighed, the reality hitting you again. “yeah, probably. but hey, at least you’ll forget that awful line too.”

he gave a weak laugh, still clearly mortified but trying to play it off. “i’m gonna need to drink even more to forget that one,” he half-joked, his hand fumbling around, searching for another drink. but before he could even find anything, his body gave out completely, and he blacked out mid-reach.

without any warning, he collapsed off the couch, hitting the floor with a loud thud. your eyes widened in shock, a shriek of surprise slipping out before you could stop it. “heeseung! oh my god!” you gasped, scrambling to check if he was okay.

you dropped to your knees next to him, heart pounding as panic started to rise in your chest. heeseung was out cold, completely knocked out from the alcohol. shit. you tried shaking him gently, calling his name, but nothing. he didn’t even stir. not even a flinch.

“heeseung?” you called again, shaking his shoulder a little harder, but he was gone. damn it. you couldn’t just leave him like this. you needed to find jay or someone who could help, but when you glanced around the room, it was clear no one was paying attention.

where the hell is jay? you cursed under your breath. wasn’t this his party? wasn’t he supposed to make sure shit like this didn’t happen? you got up, your eyes darting around, searching for any sign of him. you started knocking on random doors, hoping one of them would lead to jay.

after a couple of tries, you heard a muffled voice from behind one of the doors. “JUST GO AWAY!”

you froze. that was definitely jay, and he sounded pissed. you stared at the door, debating whether to knock again, but you weren’t about to deal with him in that mood. he’s clearly busy with his own shit, you thought, your stomach twisting in frustration.

with a sigh, you glanced back at where heeseung was sprawled on the floor, completely out of it. no one else was going to help, and jay was a lost cause. guess it’s up to me.

you took a deep breath, steeling yourself. there’s no way i’m leaving him here like this. he’d never make it on his own, and no one else seemed to care. kneeling down beside him, you muttered, “okay, heeseung… let’s get you home,” even though you knew he wasn’t going to hear you.

you tried lifting him, but holy shit, he was heavier than he looked. “damn it,” you grunted, barely managing to prop him up against the couch. “come on, work with me here,” you muttered under your breath, even though you knew he was too far gone to do anything.

shit, where does this guy even live? you stared at him for a moment, realizing you had no idea. you shook his shoulder again, this time a bit more urgently. “heeseung? hey, you gotta wake up. where do you live?”

he blinked up at you, his eyes unfocused, his head swaying as he tried to process what you said. “wha…?” he mumbled, voice thick and slurred.

“heeseung, i need to get you home. where do you live?” you asked again, louder, hoping something would click in his foggy brain.

he blinked again, looking like he was trying to focus, then lazily pointed in some random direction. “i… live, uh… over… there?” he mumbled, before his hand flopped back into his lap like he’d just given you the most important information ever.

you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this was. “yeah, over where exactly, genius?” you muttered, giving him another shake. “come on, focus. where’s your house?”

heeseung squinted, his face scrunched up like he was trying to solve the hardest math problem ever. “my house… well, we’re not at my house right now,” he said, giggling to himself like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

you rolled your eyes, but a laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “yeah, thanks for clearing that up.”

he squinted again, like he was finally realizing how unhelpful he was being. “no, wait… i got this,” he slurred, lifting a finger like he was about to say something profound. “my mom… she makes pancakes. really good ones,” he mumbled, his head bobbing as he tried to stay awake.

you sighed, half amused, half frustrated. “heeseung, how is that supposed to help me get you home?”

he shrugged weakly, his eyelids fluttering shut. “i dunno… but pancakes are good,” he mumbled, clearly on the verge of passing out again.

god, this is going nowhere, you thought, trying to suppress a smile. as much of a mess as he was, you couldn’t help but find the whole situation kind of funny. here he was, trying his best to be helpful, and all he could come up with were pancakes and vague directions.

“alright, buddy,” you muttered with a sigh, shaking him a little more firmly. “let’s try this again. do you know your address?”

heeseung nodded, then immediately paused, like he’d forgotten what you just asked him. “uh… what was the question?” he mumbled.

you sighed, shaking him a bit harder. “heeseung, please. what’s your address?”

he blinked slowly, and after a few moments, it finally seemed to register. “oh… uh… i live like… three blocks from here? yeah… three blocks,” he muttered, sounding half-asleep but at least coherent enough to give you a real answer.

“three blocks?” you repeated, more to yourself than him. “okay, i can work with that.”

looking down at him, still a complete mess but not entirely unconscious, you steeled yourself for what was coming. “alright, come on,” you said, grabbing his arm and using every bit of strength you had to pull him up. “let’s get you home.”

heeseung stumbled to his feet, barely managing to stay upright as he leaned heavily against you. as you guided him toward the door, his body weight pressing into yours, he gave you this drunken, confused look, his words slurred as he blinked at you in disbelief. “you’re really helping me? why?”

you couldn’t help but laugh a little at how genuinely surprised he sounded. “because i’m not about to let you pass out on some random couch—or worse, end up in a ditch,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get lost trying to find your way home.”

heeseung blinked again, his face scrunching up in a mix of confusion and what looked like genuine gratitude. “oh… that’s nice,“ he mumbled, sounding almost touched. "thanks… like, really… that’s… nice.”

you shook your head with a grin, keeping him steady as you both made your way out of the house and into the cool night air. the sounds of the party faded behind you, replaced by the quiet of the neighborhood, the occasional distant car the only noise breaking the stillness.

"it’s no big deal,” you said, adjusting your grip on his arm to keep him from wobbling too much. “just making sure you don’t end up in a situation you’re gonna really regret tomorrow.”

heeseung let out a low, awkward chuckle. “yeah… ‘preciate it. didn’t think anyone’d… care enough to help,” he muttered, still sounding like he couldn’t quite believe you were doing this.

you glanced over at him, his head lolling slightly as he stumbled along. despite his drunken state, you couldn’t help but smile softly. “well, now you know someone does.”

you walked in relative silence for a bit, his steps still unsteady, but he was at least following your lead. but then, halfway to his place, he suddenly mumbled. “man, i was already at jay’s house, though. i could’ve just crashed there… people know me there…” his words dragged out, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “and now i gotta walk home… and… i gotta pee…”

you stopped in your tracks, blinking at him.  oh, my god. he was right. this whole party is at jay’s place. of course he could’ve stayed there. your stomach twisted as the realization sank in. “oh my god, i’m an idiot.”

heeseung, in his drunken haze, nodded solemnly, like you’d just made some grand discovery. “yeah… but i gotta pee though.”

“wait, when i knocked on jay’s door earlier, he sounded super pissed,” you explained quickly, trying to justify your mistake. “i didn’t think he’d let you crash there. he seemed really… busy.”

heeseung blinked a few times, processing your words through his foggy brain before shrugging lazily. “yeah… jay can be a dick when he’s stressed.” he stumbled forward again, catching himself on you. “but, uh… yeah, it’s my fault. i said some dumb shit earlier. no wonder he’s mad.” he sighed, his head hanging lower. “guess i really do need to go home.”

you stood there for a second, letting it all sink in. turning back now seemed pointless. you’d already walked this far, and heeseung himself had admitted that he probably pissed jay off. crashing there would’ve likely been a disaster anyway.

you sighed, adjusting your grip on him again. “well, we’re almost halfway there. might as well keep going,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “and, uh… we’ll find somewhere for you to pee on the way.”

heeseung let out a half-drunken chuckle. “thanks for… not leaving me in a ditch.”

“yeah, well, you’re welcome. just… don’t pee on yourself, okay?” you teased, shaking your head as a small smile tugged at your lips. the whole situation was absurd, but somehow you were both laughing about it.

“actually… if you could stop here?” heeseung mumbled suddenly, already fumbling with his belt as he swayed slightly. you blinked at him, confused for a second, but then it hit you—he was really about to pee. right here.

“uh, okay, sure,” you muttered, glancing around awkwardly as he stumbled off to the side of the sidewalk, finding a random bush to aim at. you quickly turned your back, trying to give him a bit of privacy, though the whole situation felt ridiculous.

you stared up at the sky, doing your best to pretend this wasn’t happening. this night just keeps getting better, you thought, cringing as the unmistakable sound of him fumbling around and finally peeing filled the air.

heeseung froze midstream, clearly realizing how loud it was. “uh… sorry, this is… louder than i thought,” he mumbled, his voice laced with embarrassment.

you couldn’t help but snort, biting your lip to keep from laughing out loud. “it’s fine, heeseung. just… finish up,” you said, shaking your head, doing your best not to die from secondhand embarrassment. what a mess.

heeseung groaned softly. “i’m so fucking sorry… this is the worst…”

“just… don’t fall over, okay?” you teased, still looking away, but you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“i'm trying,” he muttered, clearly more embarrassed with every passing second. the sound of his pee hitting the ground seemed to echo in the quiet night, and you could practically feel the heat of his embarrassment radiating off him.

finally, after what felt like the longest, most awkward moment of your life, he zipped up and stumbled back over to you, still red-faced and avoiding your gaze. “okay… all done,” he mumbled, clearly mortified.

“great,” you said, trying to sound upbeat as you started walking again. “let’s never speak of this again.”

as you reached out to steady him, your arm slipping around his waist to support him for the walk ahead, heeseung suddenly jerked back a little, still wobbly but clearly distressed. “shit… i didn’t wash my hands,” he mumbled, voice thick with drunken regret, like this was the worst thing that had happened all night.

you couldn’t hold it in anymore. a loud, genuine laugh burst out of you, echoing down the quiet street. “oh my god, heeseung, it’s fine,” you managed between fits of laughter, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold yourself together. “we’ll survive.”

he blinked at you, his expression confused and a little lost, staring at his hands like they were contaminated with something deadly. “but, like… germs,” he slurred, his face scrunched in concern.

“it’s fine,” you repeated, still giggling as you shook your head at the absurdity of the situation. “we’ve been through so much tonight. i think i’ll survive without you washing your hands.”

heeseung squinted at you for a second, then let out a small, sheepish laugh. “yeah… okay,” he muttered, stumbling back toward you. “but, like… sorry.”

“no need to apologize for that,” you said, still grinning as you slipped your arm back around him, helping him walk again, this time without him pulling away. “you’re not the first drunk person to forget about hygiene.”

he chuckled, leaning heavily on you as you both continued down the street, a little more relaxed now that the awkwardness had passed. “still… i’m a mess, huh?” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

“yeah,” you agreed with a soft smile, keeping him steady. “but it’s okay.”

because it was heeseung. no matter how messy, awkward, or downright ridiculous the night had been, it was perfect in its own weird way. the fact that you were here with him—this version of him, drunken, embarrassed, and just so him—made it feel like something special.

heeseung, oblivious to the thoughts running through your mind, kept leaning on you, muttering little apologies under his breath, his head hanging low as he walked. but you couldn’t stop smiling. you could’ve left him at the party, passed out and miserable, let him wake up tomorrow with no memory of any of this. but instead, you were here, guiding him home, laughing at his drunken antics, and feeling this strange sense of contentment.

he might forget everything by morning—forget the dumb pick-up line, the awkwardness, even this entire walk home. but you wouldn’t. this wasn’t perfect by any traditional standard, but it was real. and in its own way, that made it… kind of perfect.

as you both continued walking, the night air cool around you, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. this moment, as strange and chaotic as it was, felt like yours to hold onto.

finally, after what felt like forever, you made it to heeseung’s house. your legs ached a little from the walk, but relief washed over you as you stood in front of his door. you reached out and rang the doorbell, hoping someone inside would answer and help you out.

nothing.

you rang it again. still nothing.

“come on,” you muttered under your breath, glancing over at heeseung, who was leaning against the wall beside the door, half out of it. he was barely holding himself up, his head bobbing as he blinked slowly at the house.

“heeseung,” you said, nudging him lightly. “do you have a key or something?”

he mumbled something incoherent, still not exactly helping the situation. you sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to figure out what to do next. standing there for what felt like forever, you finally turned to him again.

“heeseung, come on. help me out here. do you even live here?”

he blinked a few more times, his expression blank before he suddenly focused on the door. “oh… wait… yeah, it’s unlocked,” he slurred, like it had just occurred to him.

you stared at him, a mix of disbelief and amusement washing over you. “seriously? you could’ve mentioned that ten minutes ago.”

heeseung just grinned sleepily. “sorry… drunk.”

you sighed, shaking your head as you reached for the door handle and pushed it open. “alright, let’s get you inside.”

you helped him inside, guiding him carefully through the doorway, but the second you stepped into the dimly lit entrance, hesitation washed over you. you glanced at heeseung, who was barely able to stand, his body weight practically leaning on you, and then around the quiet house. should you even be here?

“um… are you sure i should help you in?” you asked, unsure if you were overstepping. the last thing you wanted was to intrude, but the thought of leaving him in this state alone didn’t sit right either.

heeseung gave a lazy nod, still leaning heavily on you, his words slurred. “yeah… i’m good. you’re good. ‘s fine,” he mumbled, though the way he said it wasn’t exactly convincing.

you carefully stepped inside, trying not to make too much noise just in case his parents were home. the last thing you needed was to wake them up and have to explain why their son was stumbling around like he’d just lost a fight with a bottle of vodka. tiptoeing through the house, your nerves on edge, you glanced around—it was eerily quiet.

“heeseung… where’s your room?” you whispered, praying he’d give you a straight answer.

he squinted at you like you’d asked him to solve a riddle. “uh… upstairs? or… maybe… downstairs?” he mumbled, clearly just as lost in his own house as you were.

he thought about it for another second before nodding. “upstairs… definitely upstairs,” he slurred, as if he’d finally cracked the code.

you gave him a skeptical look but decided to roll with it. slowly, you began leading him up the stairs, each step feeling like an exercise in stealth, hoping with every creak that no one else would wake up. your heart raced a little more with every step, praying you’d get to his room without waking anyone.

at the top of the stairs, you paused, glancing down the hallway. “okay, which one’s your room?” you asked quietly.

heeseung blinked, swaying a little as he pointed down the hall. “uh… second door on the right? yeah, that’s it,” he mumbled, his voice full of uncertainty.

you sighed but figured it was the best lead you had. guiding him to the door, you opened it slowly, half-expecting it to be the wrong room.

“alright, home sweet home,” you whispered as you helped him inside. “now let’s get you into bed before you pass out in the hallway.”

as you stepped into his room, his scent hit you instantly—a mix of something clean but a little musky, warm, and somehow comforting. your heart fluttered for a moment, and you took in your surroundings. the room was exactly what you’d expected, messy but lived-in. clothes were strewn across the floor, his gaming setup in the corner, and his bed, barely made, was in complete disarray. it was so… him.

distracted by the details of his space, you shook it off and focused on the task at hand. get him to the bed.  guiding him over to the mattress, you gently helped him sit down. he flopped back with a groan, limbs heavy and uncooperative, sprawling across the bed in a way that made you shake your head.

as you were about to leave him to sleep it off, you noticed how dry and cracked his lips were. he’s gotta be dehydrated, you thought, glancing around the room for something. you spotted a half-full water bottle on his desk and grabbed it, kneeling beside the bed.

“hey, heeseung, drink this,” you said softly, nudging his shoulder to wake him enough to take a sip. “come on, you’ll feel better.”

he blinked groggily, clearly struggling to stay awake, but when he saw the water, he mumbled something incoherent and reached out slowly. you guided the bottle to his lips, tipping it carefully as he took a few slow, sloppy sips. a bit of water spilled down his chin, but he managed to drink most of it.

“there you go,” you murmured, using your sleeve to wipe the droplets from his face. “better?”

he hummed softly, his eyes already closing again, the water seemingly calming him a little. “thanks…” he muttered, his voice barely audible as he sank deeper into the bed, finally looking more comfortable.

you couldn’t help but smile at how helpless he looked, sprawled out like a kid who’d played too hard and crashed. he was a mess, but god, you couldn’t deny how endearing he was in this state. with a soft sigh, you stood there for a moment longer, just taking him in—his messy hair, flushed face, the way he was finally peaceful after such a chaotic night.

“thanks, heeseung, i had a lot of fun,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, knowing he wouldn’t hear or remember any of this. it didn’t matter, though. this night had been something you’d treasure, as imperfect as it was.

you pulled out your phone, glancing at the screen, debating whether to text someone for a ride home. as you turned to leave, ready to let him sleep off the rest of his drunken haze, you suddenly felt a tug on your arm. your heart jumped in your chest.

heeseung had grabbed your wrist, his grip clumsy but just firm enough to stop you from walking away. you turned, wide-eyed, looking down at him. he was still half-asleep, his eyes barely open, but the message was clear—he didn’t want you to leave.

“where’re you going?” heeseung slurred, his voice low and heavy with sleep, but the question hit you harder than you expected. your pulse raced, caught completely off guard by the way he held onto your wrist, his grip firm enough to keep you there. for a moment, you couldn’t even find the words to respond.

“home,” you finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. his hand was hot against your skin, and despite how out of it he was, heeseung managed to pull you closer. before you knew it, you were standing right at the edge of his bed, his sleepy eyes blinking up at you like he was trying to figure out what to say next.

heeseung stared at you, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was trying to fight through the fog in his brain. “you… don’t have to go,” he mumbled, slurring his words but sounding oddly sincere. “i… i’m really glad you helped me and… y’know, stayed.”

you raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused. “heeseung, you’re drunk.”

he groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “yeah, but… i don’t want you to leave yet,” he admitted, his voice nervous as his eyes darted away. then, out of nowhere, he blurted, “you can… maybe just… stay here?” the moment the words left his mouth, his face flushed deep red, and he quickly backpedaled. “i mean—not like that! i mean, we could… like, just…”

he trailed off, clearly mortified, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his awkwardness. “what are you trying to say, heeseung?” you teased, watching as his face grew even redder.

he sputtered, clearly struggling to string together a coherent thought. “i—I’m not asking you to sleep with me! i just meant—you could, uh, cuddle? if you wanted to?” his voice grew quieter with each word, until he was practically whispering, his eyes wide with embarrassment.

you stifled a laugh, shaking your head. “heeseung, you don’t even know me,” you said teasingly, though your heart was doing flips at how vulnerable he was being.

he looked up at you, his eyes a little glassy but serious despite the alcohol clouding his mind. “i… i know enough,” he mumbled, his words slow and slurred. “you’re not dangerous. and you kept up with me even when i was, uh, difficult.”

he tugged on your wrist gently again, his expression almost pleading. “just… please?” he asked softly. “it’s… nice when you’re here.”

your heart melted a little at his honesty, and you let out a quiet sigh before sitting down on the edge of his bed. the moment you did, his grip on your wrist loosened, and heeseung gave you a sleepy, grateful smile. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

he blinked up at you with his heavy-lidded eyes, his face still flushed with both drunkenness and embarrassment. “so, um…” he slurred, clearly nervous, “how can i politely ask you to allow me to cuddle you?”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly at how ridiculous he sounded. in all his drunken glory, he somehow managed to be both an absolute mess and the sweetest guy in the room. as he sluggishly shifted toward the pillows, his movements slow and awkward, it was clear he was urging you to follow him, his hand still loosely holding onto yours.

you stared at him, unsure if you should actually move closer, but heeseung was fully beckoning you, his eyes droopy yet focused on you, like he wasn’t going to let you leave without getting his way.

“uh…” you hesitated. “heeseung, I don’t think you’re exactly in your right mind right now.”

he looked up at you with the most pitiful puppy-dog eyes, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “but… i really wanna cuddle,” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little pleading. “and you’re… really comfy-looking.”

“comfy-looking?” you repeated, biting back a laugh.

he nodded, his head bobbing lazily as he made grabby hands at you from the bed. “yeah… you’re like… a human pillow or something.”

you snorted at that. a human pillow? only heeseung could make something that ridiculous sound like a compliment.

“come on,” he muttered, slurring his words even more as he patted the spot beside him. “just… for a bit. i’ll be good, i swear.”

with a sigh, you finally gave in, sitting down beside him on the bed. “okay, but if you drool on me, I’m leaving,” you teased, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

heeseung grinned lazily, clearly pleased with himself, and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “deal,” he mumbled, already half-buried under the blankets, his breath warm against your shoulder.

“wow, you smell good,” he mumbled sleepily against your shoulder, his voice thick with drowsiness but laced with genuine appreciation. his nose brushed lightly against your skin as he inhaled deeply, like he was savoring the scent.

you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. was this really happening? heeseung was cuddled up next to you, telling you that you smelled good, like it was the most casual thing in the world, while your brain was going into overdrive.

“you smell like…” he paused, his words slow and thoughtful despite his drunken state, “like… vanilla. and… something warm, like fresh laundry.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how oddly specific his observation was. vanilla? fresh laundry? it wasn’t anything special, just the everyday scent of you—clean, comfortable, and familiar. and somehow, even in his drunken haze, he’d picked up on that.

your cheeks flushed as he snuggled closer, his arm loosely draped around your waist, his warmth radiating against you. is this real? your mind screamed as your heart raced, pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

heeseung nuzzled closer, his breath tickling the side of your neck as he lazily muttered, "yeah, like… really comfy. you feel… safe.” his voice trailed off, and for a moment, you thought he was finally drifting off to sleep.

but then, you felt it—something unmistakable pressing lightly against your thigh.

was he…? your brain scrambled, trying to process the situation as the atmosphere shifted from soft and sweet to something entirely different. heeseung, still half-drunk and completely unaware of what he was doing, shifted closer, his body pressing tightly against yours. his arm around your waist pulled you into him, and he let out a soft sigh, completely oblivious to the storm he was creating inside you. your mind was a mess, caught between pure panic and disbelief. part of you wanted to wake him up, shake him out of this, and bolt for the door. but the other part of you… the part that didn’t want to admit how much you liked this, that part wanted to stay.

you shifted, trying to pull away, to put some distance between you and heeseung, but your body betrayed you, jerking forward in an awkward attempt to escape. and that’s when it got worse. every time you moved, he pressed closer, chasing the warmth of your body like he was seeking comfort. the way he nestled against you, so warm, so close—it made your mind spiral with thoughts you couldn’t control.

oh god, how big is he? the question flashed through your mind before you could stop it, heat rushing to your face as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. stop it, stop thinking like that, you scolded yourself, but it was impossible. his body was too close, too solid, too… there.

you swallowed hard, guilt creeping in as you realized that, drunk or not, heeseung had no idea what he was doing. he’s drunk, you reminded yourself. he doesn’t know.  but every time you shifted to create some space, he followed, letting out a soft, sleepy groan and instinctively pressing deeper into you.

and before you knew it, his body had nestled itself right between your thighs. your breath caught in your throat, and every little movement from him sent a ticklish, torturous sensation through you. you tried to ignore it, to focus on anything else, but then his hard length brushed against your clothed core, and your hips jerked involuntarily, a wave of panic and heat spreading through you.

oh fuck, this is bad. you could feel it—feel yourself getting wet, and your mind screamed at you to do something, anything, to get out of this situation before it got worse. but heeseung, completely unaware, kept moving closer, his body acting on autopilot, chasing the comfort of your warmth.

you froze, caught between the desire that was creeping in and the guilt that was clawing at your conscience. what the hell were you supposed to do now? your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—desire, confusion, guilt, panic. you were stuck, unable to pull yourself away, and then the worst thing happened.

a soft, unexpected moan slipped from your lips.

the second the sound left your mouth, heeseung’s breathing changed. it became heavier, more deliberate, like he was responding to the noise. a low groan rumbled from him, and though his movements were sluggish, they felt more… intentional.

his hot breath fanned over your ear, and before you could stop yourself, you turned your head, desperate to see if he was awake—if he was really aware of what he was doing. and that’s when your eyes met his.

your breath hitched.

he was already looking at you, his eyes half-lidded and dazed, but there was an intensity behind them that made your pulse race. but the more you stared, the more you realized—he wasn’t fully there. his eyelids fluttered, his gaze distant, but somehow still focused on you.

he let out another low groan, his voice raspy as he mumbled, “this feels… good…” his words were slurred, heavy with sleep and alcohol, but the raw honesty in them sent a shiver down your spine.

his hand brushed lightly against your side, his fingers grazing your waist, and another soft groan escaped him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. he nuzzled against you like he was sinking deeper into a dream, his body responding to yours without any awareness of the chaos he was causing.

his breathing grew more ragged, and his grip on you tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip away. “no… you can’t leave…” he muttered, his voice shaky and filled with a desperation that made your heart pound. “you’re not real… it’s a dream… just a dream…”

the conviction in his voice was clear—he thought this was all a dream. he was convinced that none of this was real, that you weren’t really there, that everything was part of some fantasy his drunken mind had created. a pretty girl in his bed, your warmth against his body, your scent filling his senses—it was too perfect for him to believe it was real.

heeseung inhaled deeply, as if trying to memorize the way you smelled. “wow…” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending another shiver down your spine as your back arched involuntarily. “no… don’t go.”

his grip on you tightened, becoming more possessive, as if holding onto you would keep the dream from slipping away. his fingers, trembling slightly now, traced the side of your waist, slipping under your top. his touch was tentative, almost like he was confirming that you were still there, that this dream of his hadn’t disappeared.

and with each touch, your body reacted, your stomach clenching, your thighs pressing together as you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. his fingers danced across your skin, soft and slow, and you could barely breathe.

heeseung’s desperation grew with each passing second, his movements more deliberate, needier, as his lips pressed warm, clumsy kisses along your neck. each kiss sent jolts of electricity through your body, and despite the alarm bells blaring in your mind, you felt yourself relaxing into his touch. god, you couldn’t help it.

there was an unexpected tenderness in the way his lips moved against your skin, a slow, deliberate trail that made your heart race, pounding so hard it almost hurt. part of you knew you should stop this, pull away before it went any further. but then heeseung groaned softly, his lips pressing a little harder as he bit down gently on your neck, and the last of your resistance melted away.

you were drunk too, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, making your body react without thinking. every kiss, every touch, left your skin tingling, and you let out a shaky breath, barely able to hold back the moan that slipped from your lips. instinctively, you tilted your head back, giving him more access as your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, your mind lost in the moment.

but then you felt him shifting, his hands fumbling as he slowly tugged down his pants, and panic sliced through the fog in your mind. heeseung, wait, you thought, but your voice came out shaky. “this isn’t a dream,” you whispered, but it was like he didn’t hear you—or worse, he didn’t believe it.

he let out a low, frustrated groan, shaking his head. “no… you’re not getting away this time,” he mumbled, his words thick with need. “just… let me put it in. please.” his voice was so desperate, filled with a longing that made your heart twist in your chest. it was like he had begged for this in his dreams, over and over again.

the sound of his cock slapping against his stomach was unmistakable, and your mind reeled as you heard him whine, “i’m so horny,” his tone almost childlike in its frustration, like he couldn’t handle being denied any longer. his hand wrapped around his length, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he positioned himself, dangerously close to you.

the air between you felt thick, heavy with tension. he shifted again, and then he asked, almost too dejectedly, “do you really not wanna do it?” the way his voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability in his tone, made your stomach churn with guilt.  god, yes, you thought. you do want this. but he was drunk, confused, and he had no idea what he was doing.

before you could find the words to say anything, you felt him. the tip of his cock brushed against your damp, clothed core, and you let out a shaky gasp. “please,” he whispered, not giving you a chance to speak, his voice laced with desperation.

oh fuck it.

before you even realized it, your body was moving on its own, pulling him closer, your hands reaching behind to grip his waist and press him against you. the desperation in his voice, the raw need in his movements—it was contagious, wrapping around you like a fever, and any trace of rational thought disappeared.

heeseung groaned softly, his breath hot against your neck as his hips moved more frantically, grinding against you with a helpless urgency. his cock, hard and throbbing, dragged along your clothed pussy, sending shivers up your spine with every slow, torturous movement. you could feel every pulse, every inch of him pressed so close, teasing you.

his tip grazed the entrance of your pussy, the friction lighting up your body, making you gasp. “fuck,” you whispered, your hips rolling against his, your body responding to his every move. each drag of his cock against you only made you wetter, the thin fabric of your underwear soaked from the tension building between you.

heeseung’s breath came in heavy pants, his head resting against your shoulder as he let out a soft whine. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, his body chasing the friction, the need to be closer, to feel more. “mhmm… yes, god yes,” he muttered, his voice thick and broken, filled with raw need.

any hesitation you had melted away, consumed by the heat of the moment. all that mattered now was this—the way heeseung’s body was pressed against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding on for dear life, his cock rubbing against you with a desperate intensity.

“please,” he whined again, his voice trembling, thick with need. his hips stuttered against yours, the friction driving him wild as he ground into you, chasing that feeling that seemed just out of reach. “just… let me… just a little more…”

his lips brushed against your ear, his voice barely a whisper, shaking with desperation. “just the tip? please?”

the way he spoke, his voice filled with such need, sent a shiver down your spine. you could feel him, pressing against the entrance of your pussy, his cock straining, desperate for just a little more.

every nerve in your body lit up in response, your skin tingling with anticipation. you knew you shouldn’t cross this line, knew it was wrong, but the way heeseung begged—how could you say no?

just the tip, he had said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. and fuck, you wanted it. more than anything in that moment, your body was screaming for it.

your breath came out shaky as you considered it, your hips tilting up ever so slightly, pressing against him. you wiggled your hips, testing the waters, wanting to see how he’d react.

heeseung gasped, his body trembling against yours as you teased him. his reaction was immediate, a soft, needy groan slipping past his lips. “please… stop teasing,” he murmured, his voice husky, desperate. “let me feel your pussy…”

the nerves that had been creeping up on you only made the moment more intense. your hands trembled slightly as you slowly lifted your skirt, the fabric bunching around your waist. each movement was heavy with anticipation, your breath hitching as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down, shakily. the cool air hit your skin, and the awareness of how wet and ready you were for him made your head spin.

you weren’t a virgin, but god, the intensity of this moment made you feel like you were crossing some new, dangerous line—and you loved it.

heeseung propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes locking onto yours as his hands gently cupped your cheeks, pulling you closer. the desperation in his gaze was undeniable—he needed to see you, to watch every flicker of emotion cross your face as the intensity of the moment built between you. his breath came out in shaky pants, his gaze half-lidded, filled with hunger and disbelief.

“please…” he whispered, his voice raw and filled with awe as he leaned in, his hands sliding down your body to grip your thigh, pulling it up toward your chest. the closeness, the need between you two, had your heart racing, matching his shallow, ragged breaths.

his eyes darkened with need as he released his cock, painfully hard, guiding it toward your exposed entrance. “just the tip,” he repeated, his voice trembling with desperation, like he was trying to convince both of you to believe it was enough. his hands shook slightly as he held your thigh in place, steadying himself as the head of his cock brushed against your wet, sensitive entrance.

the warmth of him teased your slick folds, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, there was no turning back. heeseung let out a soft, needy groan as he slowly pushed the tip inside, the stretch immediate. your pussy tightened around him, the sensation overwhelming, and you gasped, your body instinctively responding to the pleasure of him barely entering you.

as he eased the tip in further, heeseung grunted, his breath hitching in his throat as your tightness enveloped him. the warmth, the snug grip of your body around him—he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. not like this. his jaw went slack, a low, breathless moan escaping his lips as his head tilted back, his eyes squeezing shut in pure bliss.

heeseung trembled, overwhelmed by how easily he slid inside, the pleasure shooting through his body like fire. “fuck,” he rasped, his hands gripping your thigh tighter as he tried to hold himself back, his body shaking with the effort. but the feeling of you wrapped around him, even with just the tip, was driving him insane.

“ohhh yes…” he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as though you were his lifeline. his body trembled as he fought to maintain control, the promise of “just the tip” quickly slipping from his mind. you could feel his desperation in the way he shook, the tension in his muscles as he struggled to keep his word. but the way your body clenched around him, how tight and wet you were, made it nearly impossible for him to stop.

heeseung’s head lolled forward, his eyes glazed with lust as he gazed down at you, panting heavily. “so… fucking tight,” he muttered, his voice trembling, barely able to form the words as the pleasure overwhelmed him. his cock throbbed inside you, each pulse sending a wave of pleasure through both of you, his body clearly begging for more, desperate to push deeper, to give in to the need that was consuming him.

he was trying so hard, his breath shaky and shallow as he struggled to hold back. the slick between your legs coated his cock, making every movement feel so much more intense. “wow, you’re so wet,” he whispered, his voice quivering with awe and raw need. there was a frantic edge to his words, like he couldn’t believe what was happening, but he also couldn’t stop himself from craving more. his body shook with restraint, but the desperation spilling from his lips betrayed him.

“please… it feels so good,” he whimpered, his hips stuttering as he slid the tip in and out, teasing both of you. the sound of his cock moving against you, the slickness of your arousal, only made you both want more. every time he pulled back, the sensation left you aching, desperate for him to push further.

“can i… just a little more?” heeseung begged, his voice cracking as he gently pushed the head of his cock in again, only to pull it back out with trembling restraint. “your voice, your wet pussy… fuck… i can’t hold back,” he mumbled, his words coming out in shaky, breathless pants.

heeseung’s fingers dug into your skin, holding on for dear life as he fought the overwhelming urge to push deeper. you could see it in his eyes, the battle he was losing, the way his body was shaking, desperate to feel more of you.

despite how much you wanted it too, you found the strength to shake your head. “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trying to hold on to some control in the situation. you couldn’t let this go any further.

heeseung let out a soft, defeated whine, his head dropping in frustration as he continued to thrust the tip of his cock in and out, his body visibly trembling from the effort of holding back. “okay… okay… 'm sorry, just the tip,” he repeated, his voice filled with both submission and longing, his hips grinding slightly against you despite his promise. he was trying so hard, you could see it in the way his muscles tensed, his hands gripping your hips as though they were the only thing grounding him. “i’ll be good, i’m trying not to put it all in, i promise… just the tip,” he mumbled again, like he was convincing himself just as much as he was you. his hips jerked forward in short, erratic bursts, trying to keep the sensation alive without pushing deeper. every tiny movement made him shudder, his breath catching with every second that passed.

“f-fuck…” heeseung stuttered, his inexperience painfully clear in every shaky breath, every clumsy but eager movement. he was overwhelmed. completely lost in the sensation of your pussy, barely able to comprehend the pleasure that had him teetering on the edge.

“holy fuck… it's—” his voice cracked as his hips jerked forward again, the tiny thrusts barely giving him relief, yet still too much for him to handle. his hands clutched your hips tighter, his body trembling as he struggled to maintain control, but the way you squeezed around him, how tight you felt, made him shudder.

you could feel his desperation in every sloppy, uncoordinated thrust. his lips parted, little gasps and whimpers escaping every time he pushed just barely inside you, the sensation clearly overwhelming him.  he was fucking adorable, the way he whined, the way his voice broke with every breath, the way his whole body trembled in need.

“you’re s-squeezing me,” he stuttered, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his breath hot and shaky against your skin, making everything feel that much more intense. you couldn’t help it—your hips began moving on their own, rolling into him, meeting his small, desperate thrusts. your fingers dug into the sheets, and you gave in, pushing back against him, taking his cock bit by bit, your body responding to his in a way that made you crave more.

“shit,” heeseung whimpered, his voice breathless, on the verge of losing control. “oh god, i’m actually inside you… i-i…” his confession was innocent, almost vulnerable, and it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body, turning you on even more.

“yes, that feels so good…” you whispered shakily, your words heavy with pleasure. it did feel good, despite his inexperience, despite his trembling hands and ragged breath. he was making you feel so fucking good, and it was impossible to deny it.

you moaned louder, your hips rocking back against him, each thrust from him fueling your own need. he was desperate, but so were you.

as you took him deeper inside you, you both gasped in unison. the stretch of him filling you was intense—he was bigger than you expected, and the way he fit inside you, stretching you so perfectly, made you cry out. your hips picked up the pace, sliding up and down his cock with an eager, desperate rhythm. the need to feel him deeper, harder, consumed you.

“fuck, heeseung, you’re stretching me so good,” you gasped, your voice dripping with lust. your walls clenched around him, wet and tight, and each time he responded with a breathless hitch, his whole body trembling beneath you.

“i can’t…” he whimpered, his voice cracking, overwhelmed by the sensation. his hands gripped your hips, trying to steady himself, but he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

his jaw hung slack, his eyes fluttering shut as he whimpered softly, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. he was struggling, unable to keep up with the rhythm you set, his movements sloppy and unfocused. you could feel it—he was on the verge of losing control.

then, it happened—a loud, choked sound escaped him, followed by a shudder that rocked his entire body. his breath caught in his throat, his jaw clenching as a deep, desperate moan tore from his lips. “oh—oh fuck, agh!” he gasped, his voice cracking as he shook beneath you.

before you could fully register what was happening, you felt it—the sudden warmth flooding inside you as he came, hard. his hips jerked wildly, his cock twitching uncontrollably as he spilled into you, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm. he tried to hold back, tried to last longer, but it was too much—he was too inexperienced, too caught up in the moment to stop himself.

“oh shit, no,” heeseung whined, his voice barely audible, his hands clutching your waist as he struggled to catch his breath. his eyes were squeezed shut in a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure, his face flushed as his chest heaved from the intensity of his release. you could feel his frustration radiating off him as he came down from his high, clearly upset with himself for losing control so quickly.

heeseung’s eyes fluttered open briefly, his gaze hazy and dazed, looking up at you with a mix of shame and apology. “i’m… i’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his voice weak and slurred, struggling to get the words out. “i couldn’t hold it in…” regret washed over his face, his brow furrowing in disappointment as his body sagged beneath you, the exhaustion from the night quickly taking over.

“m’ sorry…” he slurred one last time, his voice barely a whisper before his head lolled back against the pillow, completely spent. his grip on your waist loosened, his hands falling away as his body succumbed to sleep, leaving you on top of him, alone with your thoughts. his chest rose and fell steadily, his breath evening out as he drifted into a deep, drunken slumber, completely unaware of the turmoil swirling inside you.

you sat there for a moment, still processing everything that had just happened. your body still buzzed with the warmth of desire, but it was unfulfilled, leaving you aching with a strange mix of emotions. even so, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked down at heeseung, now passed out beneath you, his face soft and peaceful in the dim light.

oh, heeseung, you thought, shaking your head softly, letting out a quiet sigh.

as you caught your breath, you took in the sight of him—his face completely relaxed, the tension from earlier gone, leaving him looking innocent, almost angelic.  you like him so much. the way he had been so desperate, so shy and eager to please—it made your heart swell with affection, despite the mess of the situation.

but then reality hit you like a cold splash of water. shit, he really came inside me. panic bubbled up for a moment, but it quickly faded as you remembered—you’re on birth control. everything was safe, and relief washed over you. thank god for that, you thought, running a hand through your hair as you tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions.

you glanced back down at him, his face still slack, peaceful, completely unaware of the chaos he had just been part of. what a night. you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, the absurdity of it all settling in.

but as much as that warmth lingered, as much as you liked heeseung, the weight of the situation started to press down on you. things are complicated now. really complicated. the intensity and desire of the night didn’t erase the fact that it had been a mess from the start.

sure, he was home now, safe in his bed, and that was the least of your concerns. if you left, he’d be fine, but the thought of facing him in the morning, with both of you piecing together the night’s events, made you feel uneasy.  no, you couldn’t stay.  leaving seemed like the best option, for both of you. it was better to avoid the awkwardness and confusion that would come when the alcohol wore off, leaving only the raw reality behind.

quietly, you moved around the room, making sure he was tucked in comfortably. you adjusted the blanket over him with care, your fingers brushing lightly against his skin as you pulled the covers up to his chest. as you stood there, looking down at his sleeping face—peaceful and completely unaware of everything—despite the chaos of the night, it had been special.

messy, chaotic, and complicated, but in its own strange way, one of the best nights you’d ever had.

you leaned down slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, whispering, “thank you,” even though he couldn’t hear you. heeseung remained still, breathing deeply, lost in whatever dreams his drunken mind had drifted to.

with one last lingering look, you quietly slipped out of his room, closing the door softly behind you.  it was time to go.

as you made your way out of his house, your mind raced, replaying everything that had just happened. how did it even get to this point? just hours ago, you had been at that party—drinking, laughing, watching heeseung from across the room like you always did, quietly from the sidelines. everything seemed so normal then. and yet, somehow, the night had spiraled into something else entirely. the walk home, guiding his stumbling, drunk self, making sure he didn’t end up passed out on the sidewalk somewhere. you had seen his room, tucked him into bed, made sure he was safe. how did it escalate from that to…

you stopped in your tracks, eyes widening as a sudden realization hit you like a punch to the gut. fuck, he probably doesn’t even know your name. you never mentioned it, and he was too drunk to ask. not once did heeseung stop to question how you knew his name, or why you were even with him. the entire night had unfolded in a blur of concern, awkwardness, and then passion, but through it all, not once had you introduced yourself.

the more you thought about it, the more absurd the whole thing seemed. it wasn’t just some drunken mistake—it was more than that. you’d shared something with him, even if it was messy, rushed, and impulsive. something had happened between the two of you, something raw and unexpected.

but maybe… maybe it didn’t need to mean anything. maybe it was okay for it to just be what it was—a fleeting moment, chaotic and imperfect, but still somehow… perfect in its own strange way.

as you walked down the quiet street, the cool night air filling your lungs, you felt your head begin to clear. the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were content. you didn’t need heeseung to remember every detail, or even remember your name. it didn’t matter if he never asked who you were, or if he didn’t wake up in the morning knowing what had happened between the two of you.

it was enough that it happened at all.

heeseung, with all his shyness and awkwardness, had let you in. he had been vulnerable with you—drunk as he was, yes, but still, he’d let his guard down in a way that felt meaningful to you. even if he didn’t remember, even if it never came up again, you would still have this night to hold onto.

a soft sigh escaped your lips as a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. it didn’t need to be more than that. you didn’t need answers, or closure, or some kind of follow-up. this night had been unexpected, but it was yours now—yours to keep, to remember, to cherish in your own way.

for the first time since the night began, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. it didn’t need to be perfect. it didn’t need to be anything at all, really. what mattered was that it had happened, and that, in its own way, it had been exactly what you needed.

and as you walked away, disappearing into the night, you felt lighter, more content. this moment, chaotic and impulsive as it was, belonged to you now, and that was enough.

heeseung groaned, his head pounding like someone was hammering nails into his skull. every throb behind his eyes made him wince, the hangover hitting him like a truck. he shifted under the covers, pulling the blanket over his face to block out the harsh light cutting through the room. his throat felt like sandpaper, mouth tasting like something had died in it. he blinked, trying to shake off the fog clinging to his brain. what the hell happened last night?

“wasn’t i at jay’s?” he muttered, squeezing his temples, trying to force some clarity through the pounding headache.

he pushed himself up slowly, blinking through the haze, but panic already began settling in his chest. his clothes were a mess—pants barely hanging on, his boxers sticky with dried cum. wait… what the fuck? his brows knitted together, confusion swirling in his mind. this wasn’t just the aftermath of a wet dream. something felt different. the smell in the room… it was strong, musky. sex. it had to be. but it wasn’t just his usual scent. this was unfamiliar, unsettling even.

he sat up fully, heart pounding as he scrambled to piece together what had happened. did i have some crazy dream? shit, i can’t remember. he tried to shake it off, telling himself he was probably just being paranoid. maybe jay brought me home, and i’m overthinking it.

but the thought didn’t sit right. jay wouldn’t drag my ass home like that, he thought, especially not when he was wasted. no, something else was off. that’s when it hit him—the scent. he inhaled cautiously, slow and deliberate. was that… vanilla? it was faint but clung to the air around him, something soft, delicate, feminine. his chest tightened with unease.

how the hell would a woman’s scent be here? he thought, his pulse quickening. there’s no way. i don’t have that kind of luck. if something did happen, she probably left the second she realized what a fuck-up he was.

“what the hell?” he mumbled, throwing himself back onto the bed, frustration spiking. nothing was adding up, no matter how hard he tried to piece it together. every time he reached for a memory, it slipped away, like water through his fingers. but the scent lingered. it was like a soft whisper of something that had happened, something real, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

and he liked it. god, as confusing as it was, that scent—it was comforting, like a warm hug wrapped around him.

he shook his head, deciding to push the thoughts away. maybe jay—or someone else—brought me home, he reasoned, and the rest was just a weird, jumbled mess in my head.  yeah, that had to be it. he rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to ease the pounding in his skull, letting out a long sigh.

he flopped back onto the pillows, pulling the blanket up to his chin, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to block out the chaos in his mind. whatever it was… it didn’t matter. if something had happened, he couldn’t remember it now. and maybe that was for the best.

he took one last breath, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air around him, and allowed himself to drift back into the haze of sleep, convincing himself that when he woke up, everything would make sense again.

heeseung dragged himself across campus, head still pounding from the aftermath of last night, a heavy knot twisting in his stomach as he neared jay. this is gonna be rough, he thought, each step feeling heavier as he approached. jay stood by the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in anger—still pissed, and heeseung knew there was no easy way around it.

“yo, jay,” heeseung started, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding jay’s glare. “did you take me home last night? 'cause, uh, I honestly don’t remember shit after you… well, after you kicked me out.”

jay’s glare deepened, and the irritation practically radiated off him. “nah, man, i didn’t take you home. why the hell would i after you fucking ruined my shot with her? figured you’d just pass out in the living room or something. i wasn’t about to deal with your drunk ass.”

heeseung’s stomach churned. fuck, guilt weighing down on him even more. he had hoped maybe jay had cooled off, but hearing it so bluntly only made it worse. “look, man, i’m sorry,” heeseung muttered, his shoulders slumping. “i was wasted. i didn’t mean to bring her up like that. shit just slipped out.”

jay��s eyes rolled, sharp as a blade. “yeah, well, you didn’t just bring her up, heeseung. you made it sound like i was screwing around with other girls or some shit. like, seriously? i finally got the confidence to talk to her after losing my virginity, and you just shit all over it.”

heeseung winced, feeling the weight of his own stupidity. “fuck, dude. i didn’t mean to screw it up for you. i’m really sorry.”

jay sighed, the tension still there, but starting to thaw. they’d been friends too long for one drunken mistake to completely shatter things. deep down, jay knew heeseung wasn’t trying to sabotage anything—he was just a dumbass when he drank too much.

“yeah, well, next time, don’t be such a fucking idiot,” jay muttered, though his tone had softened. “you shouldn’t even be getting that drunk and saying stupid shit like that. just… keep your mouth shut next time, alright?”

heeseung chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease between them. “yeah, yeah, I got it. i owe you for this one.”

jay’s lips twitched into a smirk, his irritation fading. “damn right you do.”

heeseung exhaled, relieved. they were good again—thank god. no matter how much of a mess he was, jay wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. not for long, anyway.

later that day, during class, heeseung couldn’t get his mind off the night before. his memories were patchy, but nagging fragments kept resurfacing—the scent of something soft and feminine, the way he’d felt when he woke up.  none of it added up. the more he tried to piece things together, the more his head spun.

sitting in the back of the lecture hall, he leaned over to jay, keeping his voice low. “hey, do you, uh… know if i was with anyone last night?” he tried to sound casual, but the shakiness in his voice gave him away.

jay raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “what, like, with a girl?”

heeseung shrugged awkwardly. “yeah, or like… did anyone leave with me? i can’t remember shit.”

jay snorted. “dude, after you started running your mouth about jennie, i stopped keeping track of whatever the hell you were doing.”

heeseung frowned, feeling even more confused. if it wasn’t jay, and no one saw me leave… who the hell got me home?

jay glanced at him again, picking up on the unease written all over heeseung’s face. “why, man? you get lucky or something?” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

heeseung felt heat creep up his neck, shaking his head quickly. “no, no, it’s not like that. just… never mind,” he muttered, sinking back into his seat.

jay gave him a curious look but didn’t push it, turning his attention back to the lecture. but heeseung’s mind wasn’t on the professor—it was still stuck on the unanswered questions swirling in his head.  who brought me home? and… what else happened that I can’t remember?

he leaned back in his seat, frustration gnawing at him.  why the fuck does this scent keep haunting me?

by lunchtime, jay and heeseung sat at their usual spot in the cafeteria, but something felt off. heeseung dropped his tray beside jay’s and sat down, glancing at him. jay wasn’t his usual self—the cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a frown as he stared at his phone, scrolling through pictures of his crush. the same girl heeseung had messed things up with the night before.

“damn, man,” heeseung muttered, feeling the weight of guilt settle heavy in his chest. “you still upset?”

jay didn’t look up, his frown deepening as he swiped through the photos with more force than necessary. “what do you think?” he muttered, barely acknowledging heeseung’s presence.

heeseung sighed, poking at the food on his plate, knowing he’d screwed up bad. “look, i said i was sorry,” he offered, hoping it might ease the tension.

jay finally looked up, irritation clear on his face, though it wasn’t the kind of anger that led to a fight. “yeah, i know. but you don’t get it, man.”

heeseung nodded, knowing full well how deep jay’s frustration ran. he’d watched his friend build up the courage to approach his crush for months, and heeseung had been the one to ruin it all in one drunken moment. “i do get it,” he said quietly. “i’d be pissed too.”

jay sighed, tapping his fingers against the table in frustration, the weight of the whole situation pressing down on him. he wasn’t angry anymore, just… defeated. heeseung could see it in the way jay was starting to give up on his crush, all because of one dumb mistake.

“honestly, i don’t even know why i’m still thinking about it,” jay muttered, shaking his head. “she’s probably telling all her friends i’m some creep now. what’s the point?”

heeseung winced, guilt gnawing at him. “you don’t know that, man. maybe if you explain, she’ll listen.”

jay let out a small scoff, though it didn’t have the usual bite behind it. “i bet she’s already told hanna i’m a complete joke.”

the silence between them stretched uncomfortably. heeseung didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know what to say to make things right. jay sighed again, finally setting his phone down on the table, poking at his food without much interest. the sharp tension had dulled, but it was still there, hanging between them like a shadow.

“look,” heeseung said, his voice softer, “if there’s anything i can do to make it right, just tell me. i know i screwed up, but maybe if you talk to her—”

jay shook his head, cutting him off. “nah, dude. you know me.” he paused, his jaw tight, clearly holding back more than he was saying.

heeseung leaned back against the bench, feeling the weight of jay’s frustration sinking deeper. it wasn’t just about the girl—jay felt exposed, vulnerable, and that’s what hurt the most.

“sorry, man,” heeseung muttered, his voice thick with regret. “i didn’t realize how much it meant to you.”

jay dragged a hand through his hair, sighing again. “it’s whatever now. i’m done trying. you’re my friend, heeseung, but this whole thing just makes me feel like a complete idiot.”

heeseung’s chest tightened at jay’s words. “you’re not an idiot.”

jay shrugged, pushing his food around the plate like it didn’t matter. “i don’t know, man. now i have to live with the fact that she’s probably never gonna talk to me again. it just sucks.”

he looked over at heeseung, his expression softening a little, the frustration giving way to exhaustion. “i’m not holding it against you, heeseung. we’re good. i’m just… over it.”

heeseung felt a small weight lift off his shoulders, but he still nodded, feeling like he owed jay more than just an apology. “i get it. if you ever wanna hang out, no games or anything, just let me know.”

jay gave him a tired smile. “yeah, thanks, man.”

they sat there for a moment, the silence more comfortable now, settling into that familiar rhythm between them. heeseung was just about to take a sip of his drink when the cafeteria doors swung open, and professor kang strode in, making a direct beeline toward their table.

heeseung glanced at jay, both of them confused as to why their professor was heading straight for them.

heeseung didn’t need to see professor kang’s face to know he was screwed. the sharp, predatory gaze the professor wore as he strode toward their table sent a chill down his spine. heeseung and jay exchanged a look—shit, what now?—but neither dared to move.

“lee heeseung,” professor kang’s voice boomed across the cafeteria, slicing through the chatter. heads turned, eyes locking onto him as the weight of curiosity and judgment settled over the room. beside him, jay stifled a laugh, leaning over with a smirk. “good luck, man,” he whispered, like heeseung was about to face a firing squad.

kang’s stride was too confident, too smug for heeseung’s liking, and his expression all but screamed that this wasn’t going to end well.

“oh no,” heeseung muttered under his breath, dread creeping in.

professor kang stopped in front of their table, crossing his arms, his glare cutting through heeseung like a knife. “heeseung, your grades…” he trailed off, raising a brow. “let’s just say they’ve been less than satisfactory.”

heeseung swallowed hard, resisting the urge to fidget under the professor’s piercing gaze. “i… uh… i’ve been working on it,” he stammered, knowing damn well he hadn’t even opened a textbook.

kang chuckled humorlessly. “working on it? from what i’ve seen, you’ve been avoiding it like the plague. and you know what that means.” his eyes flicked to jay, who had stopped laughing and was now watching intently, clearly enjoying heeseung’s impending doom.

heeseung’s stomach dropped. this is bad.

“starting tomorrow,” kang continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “you’re going to have a tutor.”

heeseung blinked, thrown off. “a tutor?”

kang nodded, his smirk deepening. “yes, a tutor. and not just any tutor—one of my best students.”

jay couldn’t hold back his laughter this time, snorting and covering his mouth. “good luck with that, man.”

heeseung felt like the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on him.  a tutor? really?  he could barely hold a normal conversation without stumbling over his words, and now he was supposed to sit through tutoring sessions with some overachiever? fantastic.

“wait—uh, professor…” heeseung stammered, trying to think of an excuse. “i think i can handle this on my own. really, i don’t need—"

kang wasn’t having it. “it’s not up for debate, heeseung. i’ve already spoken to your parents. they’re expecting results.” his gaze shifted back to jay with a smirk. “if you think you can dodge this like you and jay do with your other responsibilities, think again.”

heeseung’s heart sank. he told my parents? fuck, now he was really screwed.

as if things couldn’t get worse, kang reached into his pocket and pulled out a list. heeseung’s stomach churned.

“let’s review the subjects you’re failing, shall we?” kang’s voice rang out, drawing even more attention. heeseung’s face flushed as heads turned, the whispers starting to spread like wildfire.

“math, history, science… and english,” kang listed, each word hitting like a punch to the gut.

jay was losing it beside him, laughing uncontrollably. “dude, that’s like… everything.”

kang wasn’t finished. “and let’s not forget economics. thirty-two percent on your last quiz. truly impressive.”

the cafeteria buzzed with whispers, and heeseung could feel every pair of eyes on him now, judging, mocking. he wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“look, professor,” heeseung started, his voice edging into panic. “i know my grades are bad, but i don’t need—”

kang raised a hand, silencing him. “you’ll be working with y/n. starting tomorrow.”

heeseung blinked, confused. “who… who even is y/n?”

jay leaned in, grinning from ear to ear. “only the top student in every class, dude. you’re so fucked.”

kang nodded, clearly enjoying himself. “y/n is the best. if anyone can get you back on track, it’s her.”

heeseung’s heart raced, and in a desperate plea, the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “wait, professor, can’t you pick someone else? anyone else? please?”

kang raised a brow, his amusement barely hidden. “why? do you have an issue with y/n?”

heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat rise to his face.  the thought of being tutored by someone so smart, someone who would probably think he was a complete idiot, made his skin crawl. and the fact that it’s a girl? great, just great. “it’s just… i don’t even know her. maybe a guy would be better?”

jay burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “oh man, this is priceless. you’re doomed.”

kang wasn’t budging. “there’s no one better than y/n. i’ve already made arrangements, and she’s agreed. besides, your parents are fully on board.”

heeseung’s face fell. there’s no getting out of this. “professor, please. i’m begging you.”

kang’s eyes narrowed, his tone final. “this isn’t up for discussion. y/n will be tutoring you at your house, every day after school. and if you even think about bailing, your parents will be notified, and the consequences will be much worse than just bad grades.”

the cafeteria had gone dead quiet, more students now eavesdropping on the conversation. jay, meanwhile, was practically shaking with laughter, enjoying every second.

“fuck,” heeseung muttered, slumping in his seat, defeated. “i’m done for.” kang gave him one last satisfied look before walking away, leaving heeseung to wallow in misery. jay slapped him on the back, still grinning like an idiot. “bro, this is gonna be hilarious. y/n tutoring you, at your house? i’m showing up just to watch you crash and burn.”

heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “this is a fucking nightmare. i’m gonna make a complete fool of myself.”

jay leaned in, his grin widening. “oh, trust me. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

heeseung stared blankly ahead, his mind trying to process what had just happened. tutoring, with y/n, at my house, every day. there was no escape.

“i am so fucked.”

heeseung slammed the stall door shut, leaning his back against it, trying to catch his breath. how the hell am i supposed to survive this? tutoring with some girl he didn’t even know? he rubbed his face, feeling the tension building behind his temples. he can barely talk to girls without turning into a stuttering idiot, and now he has to deal with this?

just skip it, heeseung, a voice in his head whispered. who’s gonna care if you bail?

but he knew he couldn’t. professor kang and his parents had him on lockdown—there was no running from this now. fuck.

he checked his phone, tapping his foot impatiently. jay was supposed to meet him after class, their usual spot in the restrooms to decompress and talk shit, but jay was nowhere to be found.

“where the hell is he?” heeseung grumbled, dialing jay’s number.

the phone barely rang twice before jay picked up, his voice low and irritated. “yeah?”

“dude, what the hell? you ditched class without telling me? we could’ve bailed together,” heeseung snapped, his frustration boiling over.

jay sighed heavily on the other end. “i didn’t wanna hang out. just need space.”

“yeah, well, next time, fucking tell me,” heeseung barked, the edge of anger creeping into his voice. “you’re being weird as shit lately.”

there was a tense silence. jay’s irritation bled through the phone. “i’m fine,” he snapped back. “i just need space.”

before heeseung could say anything else, jay hung up, leaving him standing there, staring at his phone like an idiot. great. fucking great.

he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, frustration bubbling inside him. “fuck,” he muttered, running his hands through his messy hair.  jay bailing is the last thing he needed.

he stepped in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. he looked like hell—dark bags under his eyes, his hair a wreck, and he felt like the world was crashing down around him. i can’t deal with this shit right now.

heeseung grunted, pulling out his phone again to type a text to jay: call me when you’re done being a moody bitch.

just as he was about to hit send, someone crashed into him, hard. his phone slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor as he stumbled back.

“shit,” he cursed, quickly bending down to scoop up his phone. he looked up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind, when his gaze landed on you.

you stood there, wide-eyed and disoriented, about to apologize when your stomach dropped. oh fuck. it’s him.

lee heeseung—the guy you’d been secretly crushing on for months. the same guy you’d kind of hooked up with. and now, the guy you were supposed to tutor. what are the fucking odds?

your mind raced, panic rising in your chest. of all the people to run into, why did it have to be him?

“uh… s-sorry,” heeseung stammered, his eyes flicking toward yours before quickly darting away, clearly flustered. “i didn’t see you.”

your heart pounded in your chest, your mind spiraling. just moments ago, you had found out you were assigned to tutor him.  heeseung. the same guy who had begged for you, desperate and needy, finishing way too fast. yet, somehow, it was one of the most intense moments you’d had.

and now, he didn’t even remember.

“uh, it’s fine,” you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tension tightening your stomach. get it together. he doesn’t remember. just act normal.

you forced a smile, your mind buzzing with the memory of how his body had felt against yours, the heat between you, the way he’d gripped you like he couldn’t get enough. stop thinking about it.

as you opened your mouth to say something—anything—his scent hit you. that familiar scent. your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks burn. shit, not now.

heeseung’s brow furrowed as something flickered in his eyes, like he was trying to place a memory. the scent tugged at his mind, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“i—i’m y/n,” you stammered, your nerves tightening your throat. “i’m, uh, your tutor.”

heeseung blinked, the words sinking in. y/n? the girl professor kang mentioned? the best student in every class. fuck.

“oh, uh, y/n,” he mumbled, feeling dumb as hell. “right. i’m heeseung.”

as if i didn’t already know that. you let out a small breath of relief, grateful that he wasn’t connecting the dots. thank god.

“nice to meet you,” you managed to say, even though your heart was racing like a runaway train.

heeseung nodded awkwardly, his thoughts spinning. the scent still tugged at something in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside. no way.  you seemed too… well, smart and collected. and cute. he felt his face flush as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“uh, yeah, nice to meet you too,” he muttered, his brain still whirling, trying to figure out why you seemed so familiar. but for now, he let it go.

the awkwardness between you was thick, both of you standing there like you were stuck in some weird limbo.

“so, i guess i’ll see you tomorrow for tutoring?” you asked, desperate to escape the tension.

heeseung scratched the back of his head, feeling just as awkward. “yeah, sounds good.” i sound like a fucking robot. he glanced down at his shoes, mentally kicking himself for how weird this was.

“okay, cool,” you mumbled, your voice cracking slightly. why am i like this?

heeseung nodded again, gripping his phone so tight it was a miracle it didn’t break. “looking forward to it,” he said, immediately regretting how stiff and formal it sounded. who the hell says that?

you swallowed the embarrassment, shifting from foot to foot, trying to appear casual when everything inside you screamed awkward. “so, um… what subject do you wanna start with tomorrow?”

heeseung paused, like he was mentally sifting through his options, before blurting out, “uh… history? i suck at that.” he let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a wheeze than anything else.

you forced a small smile, unsure if you were supposed to laugh too or just nod. “history it is.”

the silence that followed felt like it lasted an eternity. neither of you knew how to end the conversation without making things worse, both awkwardly standing there, too self-conscious to make a move.

“i… should go,” you finally said, pointing toward the bathroom door like it was the most obvious thing in the world. you winced immediately, what the hell was that?

“right!” heeseung blurted, his response way too eager. “you probably have to pee. bathroom. makes sense.”

you cringed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “yeah, i’m about to burst,” you muttered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. oh god.  without waiting for him to respond, you darted into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you as fast as possible.

heeseung stood there, dumbfounded, replaying the conversation in his head. what the fuck did i just say? he muttered, dragging a hand through his messy hair in frustration.

inside the bathroom, you leaned against the wall, pressing your palms to your face, trying to calm your racing heart. i’m about to burst? seriously? the embarrassment washed over you in waves as you replayed the entire cringeworthy conversation in your head.

tutoring tomorrow, you reminded yourself, taking a deep breath. just get through that, and everything will be fine. he doesn’t remember… right?

heeseung muttered curses under his breath as he shoved his things haphazardly into his bag. there was no way he was staying at school, letting the anxiety about tutoring with you eat at him all day. he’d rather face it head-on, get it over with, and maybe not lose his mind in the process.

as he slipped out of the bathroom, his heart pounded, the hallways feeling too small, too crowded. his mind replayed every awkward moment from earlier—the way he’d stumbled through his apology when you ran into each other, the way he fumbled over his words.  and now i have to spend hours with her? at my house? every day?

and my room’s a fucking disaster. panic crept into his chest. shit, i gotta clean up. his pace quickened as he made a beeline for the exit. and the porn stash. fuck, gotta hide that.

he practically sprinted the whole way home, bursting through the front door with a sigh of relief when he realized his parents weren’t home yet. thank god. he had some time to fix the chaos that was his bedroom before you saw it.

he stood in his doorway, staring at the disaster that was his room. clothes were scattered everywhere, empty food containers littered his desk, and his bed looked like a tornado had swept through. fuck, i’m a slob.

without wasting any time, he threw himself into cleanup mode, tossing clothes into his closet, kicking dirty socks under his bed, and frantically shoving cans and wrappers into the trash. out of sight, out of mind.  he glanced around for anything incriminating and yanked open his bedside drawer. the stash of magazines sat there, mocking him. with a frustrated grunt, he stuffed them into the back of his closet behind a pile of sneakers, hoping you’d never find them.

just as he was tossing the last of the junk into his closet, he heard the front door creak open. shit, they’re home.

“heeseung?” his mom’s voice echoed up the stairs. “you home already?”

he froze, feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “uh, yeah! just… studying!” he yelled back, cringing at how fake that sounded.

footsteps approached, and soon enough, his mom was standing in his doorway, raising an eyebrow at the semi-clean room. “wow, you cleaned your room. impressive,” she said, crossing her arms with a smile. “so… professor kang called. you’re getting a tutor?”

heeseung groaned, flopping onto his bed. “yeah, i know.”

his mom walked over, ruffling his hair affectionately. “it’s not a bad thing, heeseung. you could use the help. maybe it’ll give you some confidence.”

confidence?  heeseung could barely talk to people without feeling like he was choking on his own words, and now he had to sit through hours of tutoring with you, someone who was smart, pretty, and totally out of his league. disaster waiting to happen.

“mom, it’s just awkward. i don’t know her. what if it’s weird?” he said, trying to explain without giving away how much this was freaking him out.

“it’s okay to be a little awkward. just try,” she teased, shaking her head. “who knows? maybe you’ll make a friend.”

he cringed at the thought. “mom, please.”

she laughed, giving him one last ruffle of his hair before walking out. “just give it a shot.”

“and no skipping the tutoring sessions, heeseung!” his dad shouted from downstairs. “professor kang said she’s one of his best students!”

he rolled his eyes, groaning. of course, dad’s on board.

as soon as his mom left, heeseung flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. the reality hit him again—you were going to be in his house. in his room. tomorrow.

and then, there was that scent. it clung to his memory like a whisper he couldn’t shake. every time he thought about you, that faint vanilla scent flooded his mind.  why the hell is this scent fucking me up so bad? he shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension in his chest grow and… lower. fucking great.

he sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. get it together, man. but no matter how hard he tried to push it aside, your scent lingered, making him restless… and hard.

he grabbed one of the magazines from his stash, flipping through it to try and clear his head, but it wasn’t working. his thoughts weren’t on the glossy pages. they were on you. the way you looked at him earlier, the way your voice sounded when you said his name, that damn scent that wouldn’t leave his mind.

he tossed the magazine aside with a frustrated groan. this is fucking stupid.

the tightness in his jeans wasn’t going away, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, his mind kept drifting back to you. she’s smart, pretty… and she’s going to be sitting in this room tomorrow, tutoring me.

and then it hit him, full force. i have a crush. a stupid, overwhelming, all-consuming crush on my tutor.

“fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his face.  this is gonna be a disaster.

your fingers trembled around the straps of your backpack, grip so tight your knuckles had gone white. standing outside his house, all the memories came flooding back, overwhelming you. this house, this fucking house.

“goddamn it,” you muttered, biting hard on the inside of your cheek. how the hell were you supposed to pull this off? how were you supposed to walk into that house, sit there with him, and pretend nothing ever happened? like he didn’t get wasted and stick his piss-stained dick in you, thinking it was some messed-up dream?

your heart pounded, stomach twisting into knots tighter and tighter. every detail from that night replayed in your mind—his drunken giggles, the way his arm slung lazily around your shoulder when you walked him home, and then… that.

you stared at the door, pulse quickening the longer you stood there. just knock, you told yourself. just get it over with. but your feet were glued to the spot, hand hovering over the doorbell like a coward. you wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans, trying to force air into your lungs.

after what felt like forever, you finally knocked.

the door swung open almost instantly. it wasn’t heeseung though—it was his mom, smiling wide, completely oblivious to the storm of hell brewing inside you. “oh, you must be y/n! come on in, dear.”

you plastered on a smile, stepping inside even though everything inside you screamed turn around, walk away. the smell hit you immediately—familiar, something warm and comforting, but god, it twisted your stomach with nerves. your pulse hammered as the memories washed over you, the same house, the same scent. shit, this is real.

“heeseung! your tutor’s here!” his mom called out, her voice carrying through the house like everything was perfectly normal. she turned back to you, still beaming. “he’s been so nervous about this, you know? but we think this’ll be good for him. he really needs the help, poor thing.”

you nodded, forcing that fake smile to stay on your face, even though inside you were screaming. he’s nervous? what about me?

“heeseung, come down already!” his dad’s voice rang out from the living room, laced with amusement. “don’t keep her waiting, son.”

heeseung stumbled into view at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as flushed and panicked as you felt. his eyes met yours for a split second before darting away, awkward as hell. “uh… hey,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.

you forced out a shaky, “hey.”

his parents exchanged amused glances, like they were in on some joke. “heeseung, sweetheart, relax,” his mom said, patting him on the shoulder. “y/n’s here to help, not interrogate you.”

heeseung let out a weak laugh that sounded on the verge of breaking. “yeah, i know, mom.”

from the living room, his dad chuckled. “you’re acting like it’s the first time you’ve ever had a girl over. lighten up.”

your face burned with heat, the irony punching you right in the gut. if only they fucking knew.

heeseung’s face turned beet red, and he looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock. “dad, please,” he muttered, practically begging for the conversation to stop. you shifted uncomfortably, wishing for the same.

his mom, still smiling, turned back to you. “he’s been talking about this all day, you know? but you’re such a sweet girl, i’m sure you’ll make this easy for him.”

heeseung visibly cringed at her words, his gaze glued to the floor. “mom…”

“what? it’s true!” she laughed, giving him another pat before finally leaving. “we’ll leave you two to it. make yourselves comfortable, okay?”

you nodded stiffly, heart racing like it was ready to burst out of your chest. this is a fucking nightmare.

heeseung barely lifted his head as his mom disappeared down the hall, leaving the two of you suffocating in silence. neither of you moved. the tension was thick, almost unbearable. after what felt like an eternity, heeseung finally cleared his throat, still not meeting your eyes. “uh… we can, uh, go to my room. for the tutoring.”

“yeah. sure,” you mumbled, trying to sound normal while your heart pounded against your ribcage.

he led the way upstairs, every step another painful reminder of that night. heeseung’s shoulders were stiff, his back rigid—he looked just as fucked up over this as you did, but that didn’t make it any easier.

his room hit you like a slap in the face. this fucking room. heeseung motioned to the desk without looking at you. “you can, uh, sit there. i’ll just… grab my stuff.” his hands fumbled through his bag, shaking like this was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

you slid into the chair, trying to steady your hands as you opened your own bag. “maybe we should start with history?” you said, your voice coming out shaky.

heeseung froze for a moment, then nodded, his fingers trembling as he grabbed his books. “yeah. history. sure.”

he pulled out a textbook, but it slipped from his hands and hit the desk with a loud thud. “sorry,” he muttered, face turning red as he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to stay as far from you as possible.

“it’s fine,” you whispered, flipping through the textbook even though your hands were shaking like crazy. this is so much worse than you thought it’d be.

heeseung scratched the back of his neck, his knee bouncing with nervous energy. “so… history. what chapter?”

you pretended to focus, flipping through the book without really looking. “uh… chapter seven? ancient civilizations.”

“right,” he nodded, but you could tell he didn’t give a shit about ancient civilizations. his eyes kept flicking to you and then back to the book, like he couldn’t decide if he should look at you or not.

jesus christ. every glance at him brought back flashes of that night—the slurred voice, his hands on you, the heat of his breath against your neck. and now, here you were, pretending like none of it ever happened.

“uh… any questions on the chapter?” you asked, your voice cracking despite your best effort to sound normal.

heeseung shifted uncomfortably, his knee bouncing faster. “not really. i mean… i just don’t get why any of this shit matters, you know?” he let out a nervous laugh, scratching at his neck again. “like, why do we need to know about a bunch of dead guys?”

you forced a laugh, but it came out awkward and stilted. “yeah, i guess that’s one way to see it.”

and just like that, the suffocating silence returned, hanging over the room like a weight neither of you could shake.

“thanks for, you know, doing this,” heeseung mumbled, breaking the thick, uncomfortable silence. his voice was low, barely above a whisper, like he was trying not to make things even more awkward than they already were. “i know it’s probably boring as hell.”

you shook your head quickly, almost too quickly. desperate to respond, to fill the heavy tension weighing down on the both of you. “no, it’s fine. really.” your voice came out too eager, almost like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him.

your nails dug into the wood of the desk as you clenched your hands. the awkwardness was suffocating, thick in the air, making it hard to even breathe. every second you spent sitting there was another reminder of the memories you were trying so hard to bury. this was shaping up to be the longest fucking day of your life.

but then, something unexpected happened.

at first, heeseung was stumbling over every single word, barely managing to string together a coherent sentence. his nervous energy practically spilled out of him, the tension in the room reaching a breaking point. but as you started actually going over the material, you noticed something that surprised you. beneath all that nervousness, he wasn’t completely clueless. in fact, there was something sharp underneath all that anxiety.  he’s not stupid, you realized, a bit caught off guard. he just hasn’t been taught right.

as you started asking him about key points from the chapter, he struggled—obviously. he could barely meet your eyes without his face turning bright red. but little by little, he found his footing. his responses became clearer, more confident, though his voice still wavered slightly. the blushing didn’t go away, but with each right answer, you saw a flicker of pride in his eyes that he tried—and failed—to hide behind his nervous façade.

the air between you started to ease, just a little, like the worst of the awkwardness was finally fading. but your muscles were still tight, your whole body feeling the strain of holding yourself together in the same room as him. fuck, I need a break.

stretching your arms over your head, you stood up. “hey, um, i’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” you said, your voice casual, but the truth was you needed to step away before the tension swallowed you whole.

as soon as you stood, heeseung froze, his eyes going wide like you had just found some dark, terrible secret. his mind spiraled into overdrive. shit, did i leave something out? his heart raced, his eyes scanning the room frantically. fuck, i hope she doesn’t see anything.

he scanned the room, panicking, making sure everything was hidden. is there something i forgot to stash away? goddammit, no, it’s fine, everything’s hidden. he kept repeating it to himself like a mantra as he watched you head toward the door, praying to whatever god might be listening that you wouldn’t find anything embarrassing.

it’s fine. everything’s hidden. she won’t see shit.

but then, as you walked past him, it hit him again—that scent. the one that had been messing with his head since the moment you stepped into the house. heeseung’s breath caught in his throat, and his entire body reacted, a tension tightening low in his stomach. why the hell does she smell so good? the question ricocheted through his mind as a rush of heat surged through his chest, making his skin prickle.

he didn’t understand why, but your scent was driving him crazy, pulling at something deep inside him he didn’t want to acknowledge. it was all he could focus on, filling his head, clouding his thoughts.

completely unaware of the turmoil happening just a few feet away, you walked past him like nothing was wrong, heading to the bathroom. meanwhile, heeseung sat there, gripping the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

as soon as the bathroom door shut behind you, heeseung let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. fuck. his thoughts were a mess, his body betraying him in ways he couldn’t control. he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. this is gonna be so much harder than I thought.

when you came back into the room, heeseung was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like he’d seen a ghost. his hands fidgeted nervously with the pillow he had awkwardly placed over his lap, and you quickly realized what he was hiding—he wasn’t exactly subtle about it.

“ready to pick up where we left off?” you asked, trying to pretend you didn’t notice. but it was obvious. he was flushed, his eyes darting away, and when he nodded, his voice cracked.

“y-yeah, sure. let’s get back to it.”

he was acting weird as hell, but you didn’t push it. you sat back down, flipping open the textbook, trying to focus. but every time you glanced at him, you saw how he squirmed, his knuckles white as he gripped the pillow over his lap. what the hell is going on with him? you wondered, but tried to brush it off.

“so, we were talking about the fall of the roman empire…” you leaned in slightly, pointing to a page, your shoulder brushing against his arm. it was just a casual touch—nothing to make a big deal about—but his reaction was immediate and intense. he stiffened, going rigid like he’d been electrocuted, his hands clutching the pillow even tighter.

“uh—I’ll be right back,” heeseung muttered, standing up so fast he nearly knocked the pillow off his lap, almost exposing exactly what he didn’t want you to see. he fumbled, yanking the pillow back into place, his face burning bright red.

you blinked, utterly confused as you watched him practically run out of the room. “okay… yeah, sure.”

heeseung slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, leaning against it like it was his last line of defense. fuck, fuck, fuck. his entire body was on fire, his mind spinning out of control. this can’t be happening. the scent of you, the way your shoulder brushed against him—it was all too much. now, he was hard as a rock, panicking like a fucking teenager.

he turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, his hands shaking. “get it together, man,” he muttered to his reflection, staring at the mirror as if it could fix everything. but no matter how hard he tried, the memory of your touch, your scent, clung to him, making his pulse race and his skin feel too tight. i’m so screwed.

back in the room, you sat there, still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. he’s acting so weird. maybe he was just anxious, maybe he needed a minute to calm himself down. but the way he bolted out? way too dramatic. something was definitely off.

and then you heard it.

at first, it was faint—so quiet you almost convinced yourself you’d imagined it. but then it came again, clearer this time: a low, breathless moan.

your eyes widened, your heart stuttering in your chest. oh my fucking god. no. there’s no way. you froze, straining to hear, but now there was no mistaking it—the soft, needy sounds coming from behind the bathroom door. he’s jerking off.

because of you.

a rush of heat shot through your body, every nerve on fire as you sat there, paralyzed by the realization. what the hell am I supposed to do? your heart hammered in your chest, torn between shock and… something else. something hotter, more dangerous, pooling low in your stomach as his muffled groans filled the room.

you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting, your breathing shaky as you listened. it was insane, this whole situation was insane, but there was no denying the effect it was having on you. you were turned on, and that knowledge sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite suppress.

when heeseung finally returned, he looked way too refreshed, like he’d just hit the reset button on his whole system. his face was still flushed, but there was a smug, almost guilty glint in his eyes. he thought he’d gotten away with it.

he smiled awkwardly at you, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “uh, sorry about that,” he mumbled. “don’t worry… i washed my hands.”

you laughed—an actual, real laugh that slipped out before you could stop it. something about the way he said it, like a dumbass joke he thought would break the ice, hit differently. it reminded you of the night, a jolt of familiarity running through you, an inside joke only the two of you would get.

“we’ve already been through so much material today. i think i’ll survive without you washing your hands.”

the second the words left your mouth, you saw it—the flicker of recognition in his eyes, the way his face shifted, like something deep in his brain snapped into place. fuck. his body went stiff, the color draining from his face before flushing a deep, panicked red.

heeseung’s wide, frantic eyes locked onto yours, his voice cracking when he spoke. “what?”

your heart dropped, hands going clammy as the weight of it all crashed down on you. shit. you could see it in his face, the way realization slowly crept in, the horror dawning on him. he remembers.

“what?” you echoed, panic rising in your chest. but then you saw it—the way his expression crumbled, the memories hitting him like a freight train, dragging both of you back to that night.

“fuck,” heeseung muttered, stepping back, his eyes darting between you and the floor like he was trying to escape a nightmare. “that was you?” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the question.

the second he said it, your stomach dropped. this can’t be real. you stood there, frozen, heart pounding, every beat louder in your ears. heeseung’s eyes were wild, panicked, and when your expression confirmed the truth he dreaded, he stumbled back like he’d just been hit.

“that wasn’t a dream?” he practically shouted, his voice cracking, the panic raw and undeniable.

you didn’t have words. what the fuck could you even say? you stared at him, mouth open, trying to catch your breath as the weight of everything settled over you both like a goddamn storm.

heeseung’s hands flew to his head, fingers gripping his hair as he muttered to himself, “holy fuck, holy fuck,” over and over again. his eyes were wide with disbelief. “i thought… i thought i fucking dreamt that.”

you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. your throat felt like it was closing up, memories of that night replaying in sharp, excruciating detail. you watched as heeseung flinched, stepping further back from you like you’d just set him on fire. guilt, panic, and something else flickered across his face, thickening the air between you.

he stared at you, voice trembling. “you knew?”

his question felt like a punch to the gut. you swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you tried to find something to say. but everything felt stuck. “i… i didn’t…” you stammered, feeling your face burn as the walls closed in on you. “i didn’t think you’d remember.”

heeseung groaned, fingers pulling at his hair as he started pacing, his whole body a bundle of nerves. “holy shit, this is fucking unreal,” he muttered under his breath, voice barely holding together.

he stopped in his tracks, turning to face you with wide, panicked eyes. “so you knew the whole time?” his voice rose, cracking. “you knew and didn’t say anything?”

you blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs, hands trembling as you tried to explain. “i didn’t think you’d remember,” you whispered, voice small.

he let out a frustrated groan, collapsing onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. “fuck.”

heeseung looked back up at you, his voice cracking under the weight of everything. “i’m so fucking sorry, but like…” he hesitated, panic clearly building again. “was this whole thing… planned?”

the question slapped you in the face. planned? your mind reeled for a second, trying to catch up. “planned?” you repeated, disbelief bubbling up. “heeseung, no! what the hell? of course not.”

he blinked, still wrecked with guilt, but now his expression wavered, uncertainty creeping in. “so… you weren’t pretending?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “the tutoring—was that real?”

you sighed, rubbing your temple. oh my god. “professor kang literally told me this morning that you were failing. i didn’t even know until today.”

heeseung blinked at you, still processing, stuck in his daze. then heeseung narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. “so you just act like it never happened?” he asked, voice tense. “why?”

the air thickened with tension, your throat tightening. do i really have to explain this?

“because…” you hesitated, looking away. “i didn’t think you’d want to remember it like i wanted to.”

heeseung’s eyes softened, scanning your face, the weight of your words sinking in. realization slowly dawned on him.

“wait,” he said, voice lower now, more serious. "you wanted to? i don't get it.”

your heart skipped a beat, body freezing in place. every muscle tensed up as your mind scrambled. fuck.

there was no turning back now.

you closed the textbook in your hands with a quiet thud, the sound cutting through the thick silence. your heart raced, palms sweaty as you tried to steady your breath.

heeseung’s eyes stayed locked on you, dark and intense, searching your face. the air between you crackled with something electric, something you couldn’t shake. you didn’t want to.

“did you?” he asked again, voice softer this time, almost like he was afraid of what your answer would be. “did you want that night to happen?”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his question settling into your bones. the room felt like it was closing in, every breath getting harder to take. you didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to pretend like it didn’t mean anything. but saying it out loud? confirming it? that was like stepping into something you couldn’t undo.

“i—” your voice cracked, and you looked down at the closed book in your lap, gripping it like it could somehow ground you. “yes,” you whispered, your throat tight. “i wanted it, but i never expected it to... go that far.”

heeseung froze, hyper-focused on you, the rest of the world fading into the background. his eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours like he was seeing you for the first time. and before you knew it, he was moving closer.

his face was inches from yours, so close you could feel his warmth, his breath unsteady. but there was no awkwardness this time, none of that usual nervous energy. he didn’t even seem to realize how close he was, or how this should’ve freaked him out.

he just stared at you, unwavering, like he was trying to see inside your head, trying to understand every word you weren’t saying. his breath hitched, and you could feel the tension between you shift, deepening.

“cause i’ve always…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

heeseung’s breath faltered, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“seen you,” you finished, voice soft but steady, the confession hanging in the air.

he blinked, stunned, disbelief written all over his face. “seen me?” he echoed, like he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what you’d just said.

you could see it in his face—the insecurity, the doubt. why me? that’s what he was thinking.

you leaned in slightly, meeting his eyes. “i know what you’re thinking, heeseung. you think you’re a loser, right? that’s what you see when you look in the mirror.”

he flinched, the words hitting him square in the chest, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. the room felt heavier now, the silence deafening.

“but, god,” you breathed, your voice faltering for a second. “i was happy we had that moment, even if you didn’t remember me. i was just… content, heeseung.”

you paused, watching him closely, seeing the way your words settled into him. “you’d probably freak out if you woke up the next morning remembering what happened, so i let it go. i didn’t want it to be complicated.”

heeseung’s voice was barely a whisper, raw and hesitant. “you’re really making it seem like you like me, y/n.”

your heart pounded in your chest, every muscle in your body tight. you swallowed hard, biting your lip before finally speaking.

“seem like?” you said, your voice soft but certain. “heeseung… you think i’d have gone through all of this if i didn’t?”

his breath caught, his eyes wide with shock. it was like he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“i don’t seem like i like you,” you added, your voice steady now. “i do like you.”

his breath hitched again, his eyes flickering with something intense, something raw. he looked at you, stunned, like he was finally seeing what had been in front of him the whole time.

“i always have,” you admitted, each word bringing a wave of relief. “and at that party… i just wanted to make a good impression. you were drinking by yourself, and—” you paused, a small smile creeping onto your lips, “adorably so.”

heeseung stared at you, his eyes wide, disbelief still lingering, but slowly giving way to something else. the weight between you both was shifting, the tension thickening, but in a different way now.

as the truth settled in, you felt lighter, like you’d been carrying a weight for so long and had finally let it go.

but heeseung didn’t react the way you thought he would. instead, he pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them, staring off to the side like he was anywhere but here with you. he was listening—fuck, you could tell—but he couldn’t look at you. not really. and that hurt more than anything. the silence between you was thick, almost unbearable, your chest tightening with every second that passed.

he was processing it all, you knew that much. but seeing him curled up like that, so small, so fucking vulnerable—it made something in you twist painfully.

“anyway… i’m sorry for not telling you,” you whispered, voice shaking under the weight of guilt that had been sitting on your chest for what felt like forever. “i just… i felt like i took advantage of you.”

he didn’t say shit for a moment, just let out this long, heavy sigh like he’d been holding everything in, and now it was all crashing down on him. his eyes, distant and glazed, started to focus again, and the expression on his face shifted—like all the pieces were finally clicking into place.

“no, y/n,” he muttered, voice low but steady. “i kept you here, didn’t i?”

you blinked, staring at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. the words hung between you, heavy, like the truth of it was sinking into both of you at the same time.

“it’s all coming back now,” heeseung said, sounding a little stronger this time, more certain. “i remember… you were kind. you didn’t have to take me home, but you did. and… you made me feel safe, y/n. i didn’t want you to leave.”

his voice softened then, almost trembling. “i asked you to stay, right? because… you put up with me.”

his head dipped, eyes flickering toward you before quickly looking away again, like facing you was too much. “i even asked you to cuddle me,” he muttered, and you saw him wince, the embarrassment creeping up his neck, turning his ears pink. “god, that was so cringy.”

he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide from himself, like the memories were too much to handle. “and then… everything blurred. i couldn’t tell what was real or not.”

his gaze met yours for just a second before dropping again, his voice barely above a whisper. “and you smelled so fucking good,” he admitted, voice cracking. “and… i got horny. like, really fucking horny.”

he buried his face in his hands again, clearly mortified by his own words, his whole body tense, like he was bracing himself for something. his breathing was ragged, the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once.

“i…” he started, voice shaking. he peeked up at you, shame all over his face, red as hell, like he wished he could disappear right then and there. “i even… came inside you, didn’t i?” his voice cracked on the words, the confession spilling out like it was choking him.

heeseung’s eyes finally locked on yours, searching—fuck, maybe he was looking for forgiveness or something—but all you could see was how raw, how broken he was, like he was laying everything bare in front of you. his body was wound tight, waiting, terrified of what you were going to say. the air between you was suffocating, thick with everything that had been left unsaid.

“is… is that why you didn’t want me to find out?” his voice wavered, eyes wide, realization dawning on him all at once. “because… you might be pregnant?” the question hung there, thick and cold, like the air itself had stopped moving. his whole body tensed up, eyes locked on you, fear creeping into his expression. you could see him struggling to breathe, his hands twitching nervously in his lap.

“fuck,” he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “could you be pregnant?”

you couldn’t help it. you lost it. the laugh ripped out of you before you could stop it, loud and sudden, shattering the tension like a glass hitting the floor. you were laughing so hard your sides ached, gasping for breath in between fits, the absurdity of the moment too much.

heeseung just sat there, staring at you like you’d lost your mind. his eyes went wide, his face going from confused to embarrassed in seconds, the color rushing to his cheeks. he was frozen, completely clueless.

“what the hell—” he stammered, voice cracking. “what’s so fucking funny?”

you wiped a tear from your eye, still giggling. “oh my god, heeseung,” you gasped, trying to get your breath back. “no! i’m not pregnant. that’s not why i didn’t want you to find out.”

he blinked at you, completely thrown off, like he couldn’t process what you were saying. “wait… what?”

“dude, relax,” you snorted, trying to hold back more laughter. “i’m on the pill. and it’s only been, like, what, not even that long ago?”

heeseung’s face was now burning, his embarrassment practically radiating off him. “oh… uh, right,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes like the plague.

you watched him fidget, clearly still mortified. his fingers kept twitching, his face still bright red. “right… okay,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now, embarrassed as hell. “sorry, i just… fuck, i’m still processing all of this.”

the room fell into an awkward silence again, the laughter dying down. you studied his face, seeing that raw vulnerability creeping back in. softly, you asked, “you’re not mad at me?”

heeseung’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “mad? no! no, y/n, i’m not mad at you at all,” he said quickly, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you’d even ask that. “i just… i don’t know, i was scared. i thought i fucked up or made you feel weird.”

his hand went back to rubbing his neck, that nervous habit of his you were so used to by now. “but no, i could never be mad at you. i just… i wish i remembered sooner.”

your voice softened, quieter now, the laughter completely gone. “and if you had remembered… what would you have done?”

heeseung looked at you, finally starting to relax a little. the tension between you shifted, turning into something more open, more real. it didn’t feel so heavy anymore, and for the first time, it felt like you were both being honest.

he let out a long sigh, his lips twitching into a small, awkward smile. “honestly? probably nothing. i wouldn’t have had the guts.”

you blinked, surprised. “nothing?”

he shrugged, his blush creeping back, but this time it felt… softer, like he was just a little shy. “yeah. i’d have overthought the shit out of it. by the time i figured it out, you’d have moved on, and i’d still be sitting there like an idiot.”

he chuckled, the sound nervous but genuine, scratching his neck again. “guess i’m not really that bold.”

you couldn’t help but smile, warmth creeping into your chest. “you never had to be bold, heeseung,” you said softly. “i like you because you’re you. awkward, cute… and you turn red like a fucking tomato.”

you poked his cheek playfully, and he batted your hand away, grumbling, “stop it, y/n.” but there was a smile on his lips, soft and shy. the tension between you had melted, replaced by something lighter, something that felt easy, like you were finally just… okay.

“actually…” heeseung started, glancing at the scattered study materials before turning back to you, his expression kind of nervous. “oh, sorry, i think i’m taking up too much of your time.”

you shook your head quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “no, heeseung, i don’t have a curfew. what were you gonna say?”

he shifted in his seat, eyes flickering to the floor as he tried to gather his thoughts. “it’s just… the morning after that night,” he began slowly, his voice a little quieter now. “i woke up, and i could still smell you. your scent was everywhere, but my memory… it was completely blacked out.”

he looked down, clearly embarrassed, like reliving the confusion made him uncomfortable. “i tried piecing it together, but nothing made sense. i thought maybe i dreamt it. but now… now that i remember, it feels like this weight’s been lifted, you know?”

you watched him, that familiar warmth spreading through your chest. he seemed like he was finally making sense of it all, and seeing him find some clarity in the mess of things made you smile. but before you could say anything, a knock on the door interrupted the moment.

heeseung’s mom came in, completely oblivious to the tension lingering in the room. she was all smiles, carrying a tray of snacks like everything was perfectly normal. and the second she walked in, heeseung shot up from his seat, looking so damn stiff and awkward, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at how ridiculous he looked.

“oh, no need to stand, sweetheart,” his mom chirped, setting the tray down with a proud grin. “brought you two some snacks. keep up that energy while you study!”

“uh, thanks, mom,” heeseung mumbled, his voice strained, like he was trying so hard not to die of embarrassment.

his mom winked at you, completely missing the vibe in the room. “don’t let him distract you too much, y/n,” she teased before walking back out, leaving the door cracked open.

heeseung sank back into his chair, his face bright red, still not able to look at you. he was so flustered, you could practically feel the secondhand embarrassment rolling off him.

you couldn’t help it—you grinned, leaning back a little, eyebrow raised. “you okay there, heeseung?” you teased, smirking at how frazzled he looked.

“yeah, totally fine,” he squeaked, voice way too high-pitched to sound convincing. “just… didn’t expect her to come in.”

“she’s sweet,” you said, reaching for one of the snacks on the tray. “it’s not a big deal.”

he let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck like it was a reflex. “yeah, she just… can be a little overprotective sometimes.” he finally glanced at you, but you could tell he still wanted to crawl under a rock and disappear.

you chuckled, taking a bite of the cookie. “i think it’s cute. besides, we got snacks out of it, so i’m not complaining.”

he smiled, and for the first time, it actually looked like he was relaxing a bit. there was this softness in his expression now, his guard dropping. “thanks… for not making it weird and for coming back here.”

you paused, surprised by the sincerity in his voice, but then smiled at him warmly. “heeseung, i wouldn’t have come back if i didn’t want to.”

the tension between you both seemed to melt away, the air feeling lighter now, like you could just exist together without all the heavy shit hanging over you. you popped another cookie into your mouth, enjoying the calm after all the earlier intensity.

“so, now that your mom’s gone,” you teased, leaning back in your chair, “you wanna pick up where we left off? or are you too traumatized to continue?”

heeseung shook his head, his smile lingering on his lips. “nah, i’m good now. besides, you’re supposed to be tutoring me. can’t bail on that.”

you laughed softly, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “oh, i would never. besides, you’re doing pretty well. maybe i’m not even needed anymore.”

heeseung glanced at you, his expression softening in a way that made your chest feel tight. “nah, i still need you.”

the way he said it—so simple, so honest—caught you completely off guard. your heart skipped a beat, but before you could even process it, he turned back to the snacks, picking one up like he hadn’t just said something that made your entire body feel warm.

for the next week, you found yourself going to heeseung’s house almost every day. each time you walked through that door, it was like a layer of awkwardness between you both peeled away. with every study session, heeseung started to relax, not just with the material but with you. his stuttering wasn’t as bad, and there was this growing confidence in the way he answered your questions. it made you feel proud, seeing him actually believe in himself more.

of course, he was still his awkward self sometimes—blushing like crazy whenever his mom brought in snacks or when you caught him staring for a second too long. there was an ease now, a rhythm, this natural back-and-forth that felt… good.

as the days went on, heeseung began to open up more, not just about school, but about everything else. he told you about his favorite music, the stupid shit his friends did, even embarrassing moments that made him groan but that he still shared with you anyway. it felt like you were getting to know him all over again, piece by piece, like he was finally letting you see the parts of him no one else got to.

you were both hunched over the desk, working through equations when the door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall. you both jumped, startled, as jay barged in with his usual loud energy and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“yo, heeseung!” jay’s eyes flicked between the two of you, then settled on a teasing smirk. “oh, shit. am i interrupting something?”

heeseung shot up from his chair, his entire face turning bright red. “jay, what the hell, man?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

jay completely ignored him, his grin only widening as he stepped further into the room like he owned the place. “so this is what you’ve been up to, huh? no wonder you’ve been ditching us all week.” his eyes shifted to you, mischief sparkling in them. “studying, huh? real convincing.”

you rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh at how flustered heeseung looked. “we’re literally going over formulas, jay,” you said, holding up your notebook as proof.

jay leaned casually against the doorframe, that playful smirk still on his lips. “yeah, yeah, formulas,” he teased, but there wasn’t any bite in his tone. “so… is that a no to valorant?”

heeseung looked like he was tempted, his posture shifting as he considered jay’s offer. you couldn’t help but chuckle softly—heeseung had been working his ass off. he deserved a break. “hey, it’s fine,” you said, closing your notebook and packing up your things. “you’ve earned it. we can pick this up another day.”

heeseung shot you a grateful smile, clearly relieved. “thanks, i’ll finish the assignments, i promise.” there was sincerity in his voice, and you knew he meant it, but before he could say anything else, jay cut in with his usual easy grin.

“thanks for not hogging him, y/n. i was starting to think he’d forgotten about me,” jay joked, nudging heeseung playfully.

you laughed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “heeseung’s been doing great. you’d be surprised how much he knows, jay.”

heeseung’s cheeks flushed again, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was embarrassed. “jay, come on…”

“what?” jay grinned, throwing an arm around heeseung’s shoulders. “i’m just saying, it’s good to see my buddy killing it. but seriously, y/n, thanks for helping him out.”

you smiled warmly at heeseung, feeling proud of how far he’d come. “see you tomorrow, heeseung. don’t forget to review what we went over, okay?”

heeseung nodded, his voice soft but filled with appreciation. “yeah, i will.” his gaze lingered on you for a second longer, a flicker of admiration in his eyes before jay gave him a light shove toward the door, both of them grinning as you waved goodbye.

as soon as the door clicked shut, jay turned to heeseung with a shit-eating grin, barely holding back laughter. “thanks, i’ll finish the assignments, i promise,” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, dripping with sarcasm. “you’ve got it bad, man.”

heeseung groaned, running a hand through his hair, cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. “shut the hell up,” he muttered, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

“nah, seriously though,” jay continued, nudging him with his elbow, his grin widening. “you’ve got heart eyes for her, bro. i’ve never seen you like this.”

heeseung buried his face in his hands, groaning louder. “i’m gonna kill you.”

jay, clearly enjoying himself way too much, flopped onto the bed with zero regard for heeseung’s sanity. “so, what’s the deal, man? y’all have been ‘studying’ for, like, days now. spill it.”

heeseung, looking completely mortified, muttered, “jay, get out.”

“nah, i’m good,” jay shot back, smirking. “come on, just ask her out already. what’s the worst that could happen?”

heeseung avoided his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “it’s not that simple.”

jay groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “bro, it is that simple. she likes you too. it’s so fucking obvious.”

heeseung’s face went a deeper shade of red. “you think?”

jay scoffed. “dude, she’s been coming over for a week straight. you really think it’s just for the tutoring?”

heeseung hesitated, then quietly muttered, “well… she did say she liked me.”

jay’s eyes went wide, and then he burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “wait, what? she said she liked you? and you’ve just been sitting on that info like an idiot?”

heeseung cringed, feeling more and more like a complete idiot by the second. “yeah… and, uh… we hooked up,” he added, barely above a whisper.

jay’s laughter came to an abrupt stop. his jaw dropped. “what the fuck? you hooked up with her?”

heeseung nodded, wincing at the memory. “yeah…”

jay was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes wide. “oh my god, heeseung finally fucking did it! you didn’t dream it? it actually happened?”

heeseung groaned, rubbing his temples like he could erase the embarrassment. “it’s real, jay. it happened.”

jay collapsed back onto the bed, laughing hysterically. “holy shit. but—how did it go down?”

heeseung shifted awkwardly, his voice dropping to a mumble. “i, uh… came too soon.”

jay’s laughter died instantly, replaced by a choking noise. “what?” he stared at heeseung in disbelief. “you came early?”

heeseung winced, face burning with shame. “i was drunk, man… it just happened.”

jay shook his head, smacking his forehead dramatically. “dude, you had one shot, and that’s how it went down?”

heeseung groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “trust me, i know.”

jay just stared at him, shaking his head in disbelief before smacking heeseung’s arm. “so, what now? you’re just gonna sit here, do nothing, and keep pretending like she’s just your tutor?”

heeseung blinked, caught off guard. “uh… yeah?”

jay groaned louder, throwing his hands in the air. “you’re killing me, dude. she likes you, you like her, you’ve already hooked up, and you’re doing nothing?”

heeseung shrugged, clearly conflicted. “i don’t know, man. i’m not good at this shit. what if i mess it up?”

“you already messed it up,” jay teased, though his smile softened a little. “and she’s still coming over. what’s stopping you?”

heeseung bit his lip, hesitation clear in his expression. “but… what if she’s just being nice?”

jay rolled his eyes so hard you’d think they’d get stuck. “she’s not just being nice, dude. stop overthinking this.”

heeseung sighed, finally giving in. “fine, i’ll ask her. but if it gets weird, i’m blaming you.”

jay grinned wide, slapping his back. “trust me, she’s not going anywhere.”

but even with jay’s pep talks, heeseung still couldn’t bring himself to ask you out. every time he tried, the words got stuck in his throat, and he convinced himself that staying quiet was safer. he didn’t want to ruin whatever the hell you two had going on—whatever this was.

so he settled.

you were still coming over, still sitting beside him during these study sessions that had long turned into just excuses to hang out. you didn’t seem to mind, and truthfully, neither did he. there was a comfort in the way you both just were. heeseung stole a glance at you while you were focused on your notebook, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. every time he thought about asking you out, that fear crept back in. so for now, this would have to be enough.

“by the way,” your voice cut through the haze of heeseung’s thoughts, snapping him back to reality. he blinked, focusing on you as you kept going. “i won’t be able to come over tomorrow.” his stomach dropped instantly, but he tried to act casual, even though he could already feel himself missing you. “oh, really? why not?” he asked, his voice light, like it didn’t bother him at all. “my childhood friend, jake, is coming back, and i’m picking him up from the airport,” you explained, smiling easily. jake? childhood friend? the name hit him like a punch in the gut, and his mind started spinning. “oh… jake, huh?” he repeated, forcing the words out, trying to keep the unease out of his voice.

“yeah, we haven’t seen each other in years,” you said, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. “we’re just gonna catch up and hang out.” heeseung nodded, forcing a smile that felt way too tight. “sounds cool.” his mind, though, was screaming who the fuck is jake? the thought of you spending time with some other guy—a friend you clearly cared about—made his chest tighten. he didn’t want to feel jealous, but it crept in anyway. he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, but the words came out too forced. “so, uh… jake?” you glanced at him, noticing the slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. you raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into an amused smile. is he seriously jealous? “yeah, we’re pretty close,” you said, watching him carefully, finding his reaction kind of adorable. “he’s like a brother to me. we grew up together.”

heeseung nodded again, but his expression stayed stiff, that faint frown deepening. “right. like a brother.” it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

you bit your lip, holding back a laugh. the way he was squirming was too cute. “heeseung… are you jealous?” you teased, your voice playful as you watched him struggle to keep his cool. his eyes widened, and he straightened up in his seat, clearly caught off guard. “what? no, i’m not jealous!” he blurted out, his voice way too high-pitched to sound convincing. “why would i be jealous? it’s just… jake.” you couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was getting. it only made you like him more. he actually cared. “i think you two would get along,” you said, enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. “he loves gaming, like you and jay. i’m sure you guys would hit it off.” heeseung blinked, trying to process what you just said, but the mention of jake still had him thrown. “fit in with us?” he repeated, his voice hesitant. “he’s a gamer too?”

“yeah, he’s obsessed with valorant,” you grinned. “you guys would probably end up playing for hours if you met.”

heeseung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the jealousy still eating at him. “sounds… cool, i guess,” he mumbled, trying not to let his frown take over. “so… he’s just a friend, right?” you laughed, shaking your head at how obvious he was being. “yeah, just a friend, heeseung.” he hesitated for a second, his voice dropping to a whisper, barely loud enough for you to hear. “have you kissed him?” your eyes widened at the sudden question, but you quickly recovered, fake gagging in response. “no way! it’s not like that,” you said, laughing. “he’s like family.” heeseung’s entire body relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “oh… okay, good,” he mumbled, his tone sheepish but relieved. you grinned at him, leaning in a little closer, enjoying how easily he got flustered. “were you really that worried?” heeseung’s blush deepened as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “i don’t know,” he muttered, his eyes flicking nervously to your lips. “just… had to be sure.” “why?” you pushed, raising an eyebrow as you leaned in just a little more, watching him squirm. “does it make you feel better that i kissed you and not jake?”

heeseung froze, his entire face turning a deep shade of red. his eyes widened in panic, like he was scrambling for something to say but had nothing. “i—I mean, yeah, maybe a little?” he stammered, clearly flustered and caught off guard. you smiled wider, seeing how easily he unraveled around you. “so it matters?” you teased, not letting up. he bit his lip, looking like he wanted to crawl under a rock. “well… yeah,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “it matters because… i like you.” the confession hit you like a truck, and you quickly lifted your notebook to shield your face, trying to hide the way your cheeks burned. heeseung just said he liked you, and your heart felt like it was about to burst. “oh right… i never actually told you,” heeseung mumbled, suddenly realizing the weight of his words. just as you lowered your notebook to respond, the door slammed open, and the moment was shattered. “dad, seriously?” heeseung groaned, rubbing his temples as his dad burst into the room, completely oblivious to the situation. “let’s celebrate!” his dad shouted, grinning like it was the best idea ever, with his mom trailing right behind him, bottles and glasses in hand like they were about to throw a full-blown party. you and heeseung both stared at them, caught off guard. “what?” “just saw your grades, kid! you passed everything! we’re celebrating!” his dad announced, shaking the bottles with excitement. “y/n, you’re joining us too!” his mom added, extending a glass toward you. you exchanged a quick look with heeseung, both of you in shock, trying to process what was happening. heeseung let out a defeated sigh, clearly resigned to his fate. “yeah, sure… why not.” you couldn’t help but giggle, nudging him playfully. “guess we’re celebrating, then.” his dad raised a bottle triumphantly. “i called your mom, y/n,” he said, flashing a proud grin. “she said you could stay the night!”

both you and heeseung instantly turned bright red, whipping your heads toward each other in disbelief. “what?” you said in unison. “yup!” his mom chimed in, completely unfazed. “figured it’d be fun. besides, you two have been spending so much time together, it just made sense.” heeseung groaned, sinking further into his chair, clearly mortified. “dad, you can’t just… do that.” your cheeks flushed even more, completely thrown by how casually they planned it. “uh… if it’s really okay…”

heeseung peeked through his fingers, still looking like he wanted to disappear. “yeah… if that’s what you want.”

you laughed awkwardly. “well… looks like we’re having a sleepover.” “but she’s a girl!” heeseung blurted out, clearly panicking. “well, isn’t she your girlfriend?” his dad asked, like it was the most casual thing in the world. both you and heeseung froze, turning an even deeper shade of red. “what? no!” you shouted at the same time, the words tumbling out in unison. his mom chuckled, clearly amused by how flustered you both were. “oh, come on, you two are practically inseparable.” heeseung groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “mom, it’s not like that!” you cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “yeah, we’re just… friends,” you said, though the word friends felt strange given everything that had happened. his parents exchanged a knowing glance but thankfully didn’t push it. his dad waved his hand dismissively. “well, either way, it’s settled! y/n’s staying, and we’re celebrating!”

before either of you could argue, his mom was already clearing away the textbooks, setting down the bottles and glasses like they’d planned it all out. heeseung groaned again, muttering into his hands. “this is a nightmare.” you giggled, nudging him gently. “looks like we’re having a party.” “please kill me,” he muttered, but you could see the hint of a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. your eyes flickered toward the bottles of alcohol on the table. “looks like they want us wrecked,” you mumbled. heeseung peeked out from behind his hands, glancing at the alcohol. “they’re trying to ruin my life,” he grumbled. you laughed, picking up one of the bottles. “well, we could always just… go with it. celebrate your grades, make a night of it.” heeseung raised an eyebrow, still hesitant but clearly tempted. “you wanna get wrecked with me?” “why not?” you grinned, pouring a small shot. “might make things less awkward.” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, well… anything’s better than this.” he grabbed a glass, finally giving in. “let’s just hope my parents don’t come back.” “why? you planning something?” you teased, watching him fumble with the bottle. heeseung froze for a second, eyes wide before quickly pouring the drink, mumbling, “n-no, I just… thought it’d help loosen things up.” you laughed, thoroughly enjoying how flustered he was getting. “i’m not gonna bite, heeseung.” he handed you a glass, managing a shy smile. “yeah, well… i might need a few of these to survive tonight.” he raised his glass with a grin. you raised yours, smirking as you clinked it against his. “here’s to surviving tonight.” heeseung downed his shot too fast, immediately coughing from the burn. “shit,” he muttered, wiping his mouth.

you shook your head, laughing at him. “lightweight.“ “hey!” he protested, pouring another shot, clearly determined to redeem himself. “i can handle it.”

you took a sip of your drink, the heat crawling down your throat as you leaned in, a grin teasing your lips. "so, heeseung,” you started, your voice light, playful. “what’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done? i bet there’s a troublemaker hiding in there somewhere.”

heeseung blinked, clearly thrown off by the question. “wildest thing?” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was actually trying to come up with something. “uh… does passing out drunk at a party and making you carry me home count?”

you shook your head, grinning wider. “nah, that’s just you being a dumbass.”

he laughed, the sound a little looser now as he leaned back in his chair. the alcohol was starting to settle into him, easing the tension in his shoulders. “okay, okay. i’ve done some dumb shit with jay, but nothing… wild. not like you’re thinking.” “really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “not even a single scandalous high school moment? i’m disappointed.” he snorted, shaking his head. “if you’re looking for scandalous, you’re barking up the wrong tree. i’m awkward as hell. you know that.” you leaned in a little more, closing the space between you just enough to make him shift in his seat. “yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t surprise me,” you said, your voice dipping low, teasing, with something heavier lingering beneath it. the atmosphere shifted, the air thickening as you hovered closer. heeseung swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to your lips before darting away again, his nerves clear as day. “i can be full of surprises,” he mumbled, though his tone wobbled, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. “oh yeah?” you leaned back, pretending to think it over, enjoying the way he squirmed. “like what?”

heeseung grabbed his shot glass and downed it like he needed it to survive, the alcohol clearly giving him the little boost of courage he was looking for. “well, i’m here, aren’t i? with you. that’s gotta count for something,” he said, trying to sound casual, but the way his voice wavered gave him away. the nerves were still there, bubbling just under the surface. you chuckled softly, your eyes holding his. “yeah, i guess it does,” you murmured, your words carrying more weight than before, something unspoken, something just on the edge of everything you weren’t saying. the conversation kept going after that, but the energy between you two had changed. it was lighter, more comfortable, the tension from before still there but softened. you laughed together, swapping embarrassing stories and favorite movies, the topics flowing easily. but every now and then, you’d catch him staring a little too long, or feel the brush of his knee against yours under the table, and each small touch sent sparks buzzing across your skin. heeseung fiddled with the empty glass in front of him, his voice dropping, more hesitant. “you know, you’re… different than i expected.” you tilted your head, heart picking up pace. “oh yeah? what’d you expect?” his eyes stayed on the glass, thumb tracing along the rim as he shrugged. “i don’t know… i guess i didn’t expect to feel like this.” “like how?” you leaned in slightly, your curiosity spiking, the tension between you building, thick with something unspoken. heeseung inhaled deeply, lips curling into a small, awkward smile. “honestly? i thought i’d never have a girl interested in me. they’re usually, uh… repulsed.” you blinked, his bluntness catching you off guard. “repulsed? heeseung, you’re not repulsive,” you leaned closer, your words carrying more weight. “awkward, maybe, but in a cute way.”

he let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “nah, you don’t get it. i’ve had girls literally avoid me. so when you stuck around? i didn’t know what to do.” “well, i’m still here, aren’t i?” your voice softened, leaning in even more. “and i’m definitely not repulsed.” heeseung’s eyes met yours, his face flushing deeper as he tried to process your words. “yeah… i guess you’re different,” he mumbled, voice shaky, like he didn’t fully believe it. you leaned in, your knee brushing against his under the table, the contact sending sparks up your spine. “i don’t think you give yourself enough credit, heeseung. the only person getting in your way… is you.”

heeseung swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, lingering for just a moment before darting away. “fuck,” he muttered, barely audible. “why do you even like me? i feel like i’m gonna mess this up any second.” you smiled softly, your voice dropping to a whisper. “maybe that’s why i like you. you’re real. awkward, messy, but real.” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, muttering under his breath, “and a guy who came in, like… seconds.” you bit your lip, trying not to laugh as a flush crept up your neck. “yeah,” you leaned in, your voice teasing, a little bolder. “but i didn’t mind.” heeseung’s eyes widened, snapping to yours, shock and disbelief written all over his face. “you didn’t?” you shook your head, your hand brushing against his lightly. “nope.” you held his gaze, watching him swallow, his breath catching, the tension between you rising. heeseung’s voice came out barely more than a whisper, breath shaky. “i thought you’d hate me for that.” “if i hated you, i wouldn’t be here,” you said softly, your fingers lingering against his. “and i definitely wouldn’t still be thinking about it.” heeseung’s eyes darted down to your hand, then back up to meet your gaze. his lips parted slightly, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “fuck,” he whispered, the tension in his voice obvious. “i’ve been thinking about it too… a lot.” he shifted, grabbing a pillow to cover the growing bulge in his pants, trying to hide it, but failing miserably. “damn, y/n,” he muttered, torn between embarrassment and the arousal coursing through him. “this again?” you teased, leaning in with a smirk. “gonna jerk off to me in the bathroom again?” heeseung froze, eyes wide as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. “wait… you knew?” his voice cracked as he sat up, completely caught off guard.

you bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “oh yeah, i knew. you weren’t exactly subtle, heeseung. these walls are thin.” heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands, the pillow slipping from his lap as he practically melted into his chair. “oh my fucking god,” he muttered, voice muffled by his hands. “this is so embarrassing.” “hey, no judgment,” you said, your amusement barely contained. “it’s kinda flattering, honestly.” he peeked through his fingers, still horrified but curious. “flattering?” you nodded, your grin widening. “yeah. at least i know i have that kind of effect on you.” heeseung groaned again, slumping further into the chair, torn between wanting to disappear and being completely turned on. “fuck, y/n…” he muttered, his voice strained with frustration. “i’m starting to think you’re a liar. 'cause it’s like you never get as flustered as i do. shy, yeah, sure… but do i even make you wet?” his voice came out breathless, desperate, searching for reassurance.

the boldness of his question hung in the air between you, thick and heavy with anticipation. your heart raced, your lips parting as you considered your answer.

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by how bold he’d gotten, but the smirk on your lips couldn’t be stopped. “oh, you really wanna know?” you teased, eyes locking with his.

heeseung’s breath caught, but he nodded, his face turning redder by the second, gaze not leaving yours. “yeah,” he whispered, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it. “i need to know.”

leaning in close, you brushed your lips against his ear, letting your breath ghost over his skin, the tension between you crackling like electricity. “well, let’s just say…” you paused, savoring the moment, then pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes again, your voice dropping low, “i’ve been wetter than i care to admit this whole time.”

his eyes widened, his breath catching, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “fuck,” he groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair, clearly torn between excitement and embarrassment. “why are you so good at this?”

“i’m not,” you murmured, your voice dripping with teasing heat. “i just don’t have a dick to give me away when i’m turned on.”

heeseung let out a breathy laugh, the tension in his body spilling over, but the flush on his cheeks remained. “fuck,” he muttered again, shifting awkwardly, the pillow doing absolutely nothing to hide the obvious. “that’s so unfair,” he whined, his frustration clear in the way he fidgeted. “you just sit there all calm, and i’m over here losing my mind.”

you leaned back, the smirk never leaving your lips. “why don’t we drink a bit more then?” you suggested, your tone playful but laced with challenge, watching the way he struggled under your gaze.

heeseung swallowed hard, clearly debating whether alcohol would help or push him deeper into the mess. “yeah, maybe…” he muttered, his hands trembling as he reached for the bottle again. “fuck, i need to calm down.”

you chuckled softly, amused by how flustered he was. “take it easy,” you teased, raising your glass. “you’re making this way too fun.”

heeseung groaned, downing his shot far too quickly, wincing as it hit his throat. “fun for you, maybe,” he mumbled, setting the glass down with a shaky hand, his face still flushed with heat.

you threw back your own drink, feeling the burn in your chest, but what really made your pulse race was the way he was looking at you now—his wide eyes, the way his lips parted like he was struggling to breathe, that growing desperation in the air between you both. “heeseung?” you whispered, voice trembling with the warmth of the alcohol and the intensity of his gaze. he blinked, like he was trying to snap out of it, but his eyes stayed glued to yours. “god,” he muttered, voice strained like he was barely holding it together. “you’re making it so hard to think straight.” you bit your lip, and his breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in these shaky, uneven breaths. “don’t do that, please,” he practically begged, his voice laced with desperation, eyes squeezing shut as his head fell back, neck exposed, tension radiating off him like heat. “don’t do what?” you whispered, voice soft, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on his thigh. you pushed the pillow out of the way, and the second your hand made contact, heeseung gasped, the breath in his throat trembling like he was on the verge of falling apart.

“that,” he rasped, his body trembling under your touch, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. you leaned in closer, your hand drifting higher, watching him unravel beneath your fingers. “i thought you wanted this,” you teased, your lips brushing lightly against his ear. heeseung’s eyes fluttered open, staring at you with this raw mix of desire and desperation. “i do… but you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “i can’t handle it… not when you’re this close.” “then touch me,” you whispered, voice dripping with temptation, the tension between you suffocating. “don’t you want to?” heeseung’s eyes shot open, wide, filled with disbelief. “can i?” he asked, voice shaky, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. “you really want me to?” you nodded slowly, your breath grazing his lips, every part of you buzzing with anticipation. “yes, heeseung… i want you to.”

for a second, he hesitated, but then his hands, trembling, finally made contact, resting on your waist, tentative and careful like he was scared he might break you. “fuck,” he whispered again, fingers tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer, his voice cracking with disbelief. “i can’t believe this is happening.” “what if i cum just from touching you?” he muttered, nervous excitement all over his face, his hands still shaking slightly as they gripped your waist harder. you didn’t even answer, just straddled him, thighs pressing down on either side of his hips, and the second your lips crashed against his, it was like all of his control snapped. heeseung’s arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get close enough. his kiss was hot, needy, filled with every ounce of tension that had been simmering between you both. instinctively, your hips ground against him, and both of you groaned at the sensation. he broke the kiss, lips trailing down your neck, hot and messy, his breath burning against your skin as he groaned, hips pushing up into yours, hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. and then, in one quick move, he lifted you up like you weighed nothing, placing you down onto the bed. the sudden shift made your heart race, excitement thrumming through your veins as he hovered over you, eyes dark and wild with need. but then, just as fast as it started, you saw the hesitation flicker across his face again, that shy, unsure side of him slipping back. his hands hovered just above your body, trembling all over again. “wait, y/n…” he whispered, voice shaking. “i don’t wanna mess this up.” “heeseung…” you whispered, your voice soft as your hands cupped his face, pulling him in close. “you’re not messing anything up. i want this. i want you.” heeseung swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours as if he was trying to process the reality of what you just said. “you’re sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. “i’ve never been more sure,” you reassured him, pulling him even closer, your lips brushing against his. he hesitated for a second, breath shaky as he stared at you, then slowly started fumbling with his shirt, his hands trembling. even as he undressed, his eyes never left yours, like he was afraid to break the connection. the intensity in his gaze, even though you were still fully clothed, sent shivers racing up your spine.

when his shirt finally hit the floor, revealing his toned chest, he froze, hovering above you like he didn’t know what to do next. his hands trembled, barely grazing your skin, unsure and nervous. “heeseung,” you whispered again, gentle but insistent, urging him forward. “it’s okay… come here.” “you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against your neck, his voice thick with need as his lips pressed hot kisses along your skin. his grip on your hips tightened, and you could feel the slight tremble in his hands, his restraint barely holding. “can i take it off?” heeseung’s voice shook with desire as his fingers hovered at the hem of your shirt. the question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. you nodded, giving him the green light, and he wasted no time, peeling your clothes off piece by piece, his breath catching in his throat with every inch of skin revealed. his eyes were dark and hungry, devouring your body. “fuck…” he muttered, voice thick and almost breathless, his fingers grazing your waist, trailing up to your ribs.

“i’ve imagined this…” he confessed, his voice raw and rough, his hands trembling as he unclasped your bra. his eyes locked onto your chest, pupils blown wide as he whispered, “and fuck, you’re even better than i imagined.” his lips trailed lower, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his hands wandering down until his fingers found the waistband of your pants. “i need to see all of you,” he whispered, his breath shaky as he slowly tugged your pants and panties down. the way his gaze devoured you made your pulse quicken. once you were completely bare beneath him, heeseung paused, taking in the sight of you with a mix of awe and disbelief. “wow…” he whispered, his fingers trailing up your thigh, the touch light but electric. “you’re perfect.” he settled between your legs, his breath shaky as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to your core. “god, y/n…” he groaned, fingers gripping your hips as his nose brushed against your heat. “it’s so pretty… and wet,” he muttered, almost to himself, before dipping his head down and dragging his tongue over your folds. the groan that escaped him was pure need as his lips wrapped around your clit, swirling his tongue in slow, messy circles. "you taste amazing,” he moaned against you, the vibration of his voice sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. he was uncoordinated, his movements sloppy and inexperienced, but the raw hunger driving him made up for it. your hips bucked involuntarily, his groans muffled as he buried himself deeper between your thighs, sucking and licking with frantic desperation.

“heeseung,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging him closer as your body arched beneath him. his fingers found your breasts, squeezing with nervous eagerness.

he whimpered against your pussy, his desperation evident in every flick of his tongue. “i want more,” he groaned, voice strained as he latched onto your clit, sucking harder, his movements growing frantic.

“heeseung…” you moaned, your body shaking with the intensity of it all, your legs trembling as you teetered on the edge of release. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

he lifted his head, lips glistening with your arousal, eyes wide and uncertain as he asked, “do you like it? am i doing good?”

your heart swelled at his words, at the vulnerability mingled with his overwhelming need to please you. “yes, heeseung… fuck, yes,” you breathed, fingers tightening in his hair. “you’re doing so good. i love it.”

his face lit up at your praise, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips before he dove back in with renewed determination. his fingers fumbled at your entrance, sliding inside you, hesitant but eager, trying to mimic what he’d seen in porn. his movements were clumsy, but the desperation in each thrust, in every flick of his tongue, was enough to push you closer to the edge.

his fingers pumped in and out, curling inside you as his mouth worked messily over your clit, his body trembling with the effort to make you cum. every whimper, every shaky breath only added to the tension building in your body, sending you spiraling higher and higher.

“heeseung… don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breathless, pleading. “please—don’t stop.”

“shit, i’m making you cum, aren’t i?” he whimpered against your core, his voice shaky with anticipation. “it's so warm...”

and with one more thrust of his fingers, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, pulling you under. your hips bucked, thighs squeezing around his head as you cried out his name. heeseung moaned against your clit, the sound vibrating through you as he worked his fingers inside you, prolonging the pleasure as long as he could.

“fuck, y/n… you’re so hot,” he groaned, his voice thick with awe as he watched your body writhe beneath him. "so fucking pretty when you cum…”

heeseung’s face was flushed, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he looked up at you with wide, desperate eyes. “did i do good?” he whispered, voice trembling with the weight of everything that just happened. his hips kept grinding against the mattress, searching for some kind of relief, his cock straining painfully against his pants. the sight of him so worked up, so needy, had you biting your lip to keep from giving in too quickly. “you turn me on so much…” heeseung’s voice cracked, overwhelmed by the sight of you. he was a mess, nearly shaking as his need for you grew stronger, and the lust was becoming unbearable. he's so fucking horny. “please, y/n… i need to be inside you,” he begged, his voice raw with emotion. “i can’t… i need you.” but instead of giving him what he wanted, you leaned down, your breath hot against his ear, and whispered, “not yet.” heeseung froze, wide-eyed, panic flashing in his expression as he tried to process what you said. his breathing got shallow, and he almost looked like he was about to break, but before he could speak, you grabbed him by the face and kissed him hard, hot, and breathless. it left him gasping, his hands trembling as they clawed at your waist, desperate to feel you, to have you.

“shit, i can taste myself on you,” you murmured against his lips, and the sound of your voice alone made him moan. His hands gripped you tighter, but every touch felt like it was pushing him closer to the edge, like he was going to lose control at any second. “i thought you—” he tried to say, voice barely holding together.

you cut him off, flipping him onto his back with one swift move, leaving him stunned beneath you, his breath coming in sharp gasps. The way you moved over him, the way your lips trailed down his chest, sent shivers up his spine. “wait,” he pleaded, his hands fisting the sheets as your lips grazed his skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake. “god, if i wasn’t so wasted that first time… it would’ve felt this good.” you smiled against his skin, your tongue tracing a line along his waist as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. heeseung gasped, body tensing in anticipation, completely at your mercy. “i want it to feel better than you ever imagined,” you teased, slowly pulling his pants down. when his cock sprang free, hard and leaking, you hummed in satisfaction, eyes locking onto his as you leaned in, dragging your tongue up from the base to the tip.

heeseung let out a loud, desperate moan, his back arching off the bed. “fuck… oh my god,” he cried out, his voice cracking as pleasure hit him like a tidal wave. “this feels—” he couldn’t finish, his words dissolving into incoherent sounds as you swirled your tongue around the tip, tasting his precum. every flick of your tongue had him trembling, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, his hips jerking up into your mouth uncontrollably. “more,” heeseung begged, voice barely a whisper, body shaking with need. his desperation was clear in the way his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tight but not pushing—like he was too afraid to break the moment, even though he needed you so badly. you took him deeper, inch by inch, savoring the way he bucked underneath you, his moans turning louder, more frantic. heeseung’s jaw went slack, his head thrashing back into the pillow as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to hold on but clearly losing the battle. “y/n,” he groaned, his voice breaking, raw with need. “how are you—oh my god, this is insane.” his breathing became erratic, his hands fisting the sheets as the pleasure built inside him, spiraling out of control. you could feel him tense, his entire body shaking as the tension mounted higher and higher.

“oh fuck, fuck… i can’t—” he panted, panic edging into his voice as the intensity threatened to overwhelm him. “wait, s-slow down… what if i can’t get hard again—”

but that wasn’t enough to stop you. you took him deeper, your hand stroking him in time with your mouth, driving him closer to the edge with every motion. his moans turned into ragged, broken sounds, his hips bucking up into your mouth despite himself.

“ah, y/n—” heeseung gasped, the tension inside him snapping all at once. his entire body seized, his hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white. with one final thrust, he came hard, spilling into your mouth with a loud, desperate moan that echoed through the room. his voice was raw and unrestrained, his mind blank from the sheer intensity of it all.

as he finally looked down, he saw you still between his legs, your lips hovering close to his still-twitching cock. then he heard it—the soft sound of you swallowing, gulping down everything he’d just given you.

“no fucking way,” heeseung whimpered, wide-eyed, voice trembling with disbelief as you licked along his still-sensitive length, your tongue teasing him in slow, deliberate strokes. every touch sent jolts of electricity through his already overstimulated body, but despite it all, his cock stayed hard, throbbing under your attention.

you raised an eyebrow, that playful smirk pulling at your lips as you glanced up at him. “oh? still hard from that?” your fingers wrapped around him, stroking his cock lightly as you spoke.

heeseung’s head dropped back onto the pillow, his hands fisting the sheets. “i-i shouldn’t be… i don’t even know what’s happening,” he groaned, voice thick with pleasure and exhaustion. “but fuck, y/n… that was—holy fuck.”

his breath hitched as you moved, straddling him with an ease and boldness that left him completely wrecked. “don’t tell me you’re gonna— you’re killing me,” he muttered, chest heaving, trying to sit up, his hands reaching for you. but before he could get a grip on anything, you had his wrists pinned down above his head, your hips hovering just above his throbbing length.

“shh…” you whispered against his ear, your voice soft but demanding. “let me take care of you.”

heeseung whimpered, eyes wide and filled with lust and disbelief, completely at your mercy.

“but i… fuck, i want this so bad,” he whined, voice cracking, body practically vibrating with need. “i want you to ride me, but i also want to…”

you silenced him with the smallest movement, pressing your hips down just enough to have him gasping. “you’ve done enough,” you whispered, lips brushing against his ear, making him shiver. “now it’s my turn.”

heeseung’s body tensed under you, his head pressing into the pillow as he watched you take control, watched you slowly lower yourself onto him. “wait…” he gasped, feeling the way your warmth enveloped him, the sensation hitting him all at once.

you rode him slow at first, deliberate in every motion, your body grinding against him with an intensity that had him completely undone. “just like that, please,” heeseung whimpered, voice trembling as he sniffled, overwhelmed.

his hands clenched into fists above him, pinned down by your grip, his hips bucking up to meet your movements, trying desperately to keep up. every squeeze of your warmth around him, every roll of your hips, sent shockwaves through his entire body, his cock pulsing, threatening to push him over the edge again.

“not so fast… y/n,” heeseung begged, his voice breaking, glassy eyes filled with desperation. “your pussy… fuck, it’s so tight—i don’t think i’m gonna last—shit,” he panted, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“am i still making you feel good?” he whimpered, the need for reassurance thick in his voice. “i wanna make you cum…” his words wobbled, dripping with pride and vulnerability, desperate for your approval.

your moans answered him first, loud and unrestrained, and even though that was enough for him, he needed more. he needed to hear it straight from your lips. driven by the sound of you coming undone, he bucked his hips harder, faster, trying to match the rhythm you set, every roll of your hips pushing him deeper.

“you look so good… i love this… fuck, i love you,” heeseung choked out, barely coherent as the words tumbled from his lips. his hips jerked beneath you, wild with desperation, his breath ragged, voice broken. "i love fucking you… you're so wet, make my cock feel so good—" he babbled, eyes half-lidded, entirely mesmerized by the way you moved, by the pleasure consuming both of you.

“i love you,” heeseung repeated, voice raw, thick with emotion. his hands twitched, still pinned down by your grip, desperate to touch you, to pull you closer as his love and need for you flooded every inch of him.

the way you bounced on him, making sure he fucked you deep with every thrust, had heeseung completely shattered. every moan slipping from your lips was like a hit straight to his sanity, and the tight, wet grip of your pussy clenching around him had his vision blurring, his mind spiraling. “fuck, i’m so close—please, please let me cum in your pussy,” he begged, voice trembling, the desperation in every word clear. “i wanna see it spill out of you.”

you leaned down, your breath hot against his ear, sending a shiver through him. “oh yeah? how bad do you want it?” your words teased, but they hit him like a punch, and he locked eyes with you, pleading silently, needing you to take him over the edge, needing you to give him the release he craved.

“so bad… please, it’s all i want—fuck, please!” he sobbed, voice cracking as his hips bucked uncontrollably, his body convulsing beneath you. pleasure and need swirled inside him, almost unbearable, and you still didn’t let up. each roll of your hips, each slow grind, was torture, dragging him right to the brink, his hands flexing, desperate to hold on, desperate for you.

“i’ll even—” he gasped, his chest heaving, “fuck—i’ll eat it out of you, eat my cum out of your pussy once i’m done,” the words tumbling out in a breathless moan as his head fell back against the pillow, lost in the intensity. the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding only added to the heat between you, his mind spinning, overwhelmed by it all but still needing more.

“you're crazy, hee,” you groaned, breathless, “you’d really do that? what else have you been thinking about doing to me?”

his hands gripped your ass tighter, guiding your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet you with a frantic need. heeseung’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, his eyes blown wide with lust. “i think about you all the time,” he admitted, voice hoarse, shaky from how raw it all felt. “every night… thinking about you riding me just like this. fuck—sometimes i imagine you tying me up, keeping me there so i can’t move… and i’d just have to take it.”

he choked on a moan, the fantasy making his body shake beneath you, each confession spilling out uncontrollably. “you’d be in control,” he whimpered, words barely coherent. “make me earn every second i spend inside your pussy…”

the thought alone had him dizzy, his body quivering beneath you. “and then—fuck, i’d be so desperate, i’d cum so fast, but you wouldn’t stop, would you? you’d make me keep going, even when it hurts… 'cause i want it, i want all of it.” his voice cracked, hands shaking as he held onto you for dear life, eyes glazed with pure need.

he was practically vibrating, his whole body humming with arousal, his mind clouded with filthy thoughts that only made him more desperate. “wanna learn how to make you squirt with my mouth,” he gasped. “could spend forever eating your pussy.”

your own arousal spiked at his words, his dirty fantasies making your heart race as you leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “you want me to sit on your face?” you whispered, your voice dripping with teasing cruelty. “want me to smother you with my pussy until you can’t breathe?”

heeseung’s entire body shuddered, his grip tightening on you as he gasped. “yes, fuck yes,” he moaned, voice trembling with need. “please, suffocate me with it. i want to drown in you, taste every inch of your pussy. i’d let you use me until i can’t think straight, i swear. fuck… just… anything.”

you bit your lip, smirking as you watched heeseung completely unravel beneath you. “so you want to be my little toy, huh?” you teased, grinding down on him harder, forcing a loud, broken moan from his lips.

his entire body tensed, head falling back against the pillow as he whimpered, hands clutching your hips with desperate need. “yes, fuck, i’d be anything you want, just use me,” he begged, his voice cracking. “please, y/n… i just want to make you feel good.”

“oh, heeseung,” you cooed, amusement dripping from your voice as you leaned down, kissing him deeply, your tongue teasing his as he moaned into your mouth. “you’re such a good boy, aren’t you? always so eager to please.”

he groaned, trembling as you continued to ride him, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room. “yes, i just wanna be good for you,” he whispered, barely holding it together.

his words, his submission, his desperation—it only pushed you closer to the edge.

you quickened the pace, grinding harder, faster, driving him to the brink of insanity. the tight, wet heat of your pussy squeezing him had heeseung losing the last shred of control. his breath hitched, his body stiffened beneath you, overwhelmed by the building pressure.

“fuck, y/n—i’m gonna—" his voice cracked, trembling as he begged for release. his hands twitched, desperate to touch you but still pinned down. “please, i can’t—i’m gonna cum,” he whimpered, tears filling his eyes as he stared up at you, completely at your mercy.

but you didn’t stop. pushing him deeper into that maddening pleasure, his hips bucked beneath you uncontrollably. “please, please,” he sobbed, his voice shaking, body trembling as his orgasm hit him like a wave, stealing his breath. “oh fuck, oh god, please—” his moans grew louder, higher-pitched, raw with submission as he came deep inside you, cock pulsing wildly.

“i can’t—i can’t stop,” he cried, tears streaking his flushed cheeks as his hips jerked beneath you, unable to control the way his body responded. “i’m so sorry—no, i’m cumming so much,” his voice cracked, filled with both pleasure and apology as his release seemed endless, his cock twitching violently, spilling more and more inside you.

and the sight of him like this—lost in his own pleasure, tears running down his face, voice shattered—pushed you over the edge.

your body tensed above him, the pressure inside you snapping, and your orgasm crashed through you in powerful waves. a loud, unrestrained moan ripped from your throat, your body trembling as you rode the high, your walls clenching tight around his cock, milking every last drop.

as his orgasm finally began to fade, heeseung was still gasping for air, his body trembling beneath you, completely spent and sensitive. small, broken whimpers escaped his lips as the intensity of it left him dazed, his skin slick with sweat, chest rising and falling rapidly.

even after his release slowed, every slight movement made him jerk beneath you, soft, needy moans slipping out. “y/n…” he whispered, voice shaky, barely able to form words. “i couldn’t stop… you made me… fuck, it was so much.”

his eyes fluttered open, hazy with exhaustion and pleasure, his face still flushed and tear-streaked. when your body settled down on top of his, heeseung’s trembling hands reached up, pulling you close. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath.

“i’m so sensitive… so fucking sensitive,” he murmured, voice barely audible, his body shivering beneath you. every small touch sent shocks through him, leaving him overstimulated, yet still craving your warmth, your touch.

heeseung’s grip on you tightened, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you close, chest heaving against yours. soft, shaky kisses pressed to your skin, his lips brushing gently against your neck. “that was… i don’t even have words…” he let out a soft, breathy laugh, still panting, mind completely blown by everything that had just happened. “i didn’t know… it could feel like that,” heeseung whispered, his voice shaky with disbelief.

“so you love me, huh?” you teased, resting your head against his chest and glancing up at him with a playful smile.

heeseung’s heart stuttered, post-orgasm bliss now mixing with a wave of nervous energy that hit him all at once. his cheeks burned a deep red as he tried to find the right words, arms still wrapped tight around you, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“i mean… yeah, i guess i did say that, huh?” he mumbled, embarrassment thick in his voice, his eyes darting away from yours for a second, too flustered to meet your gaze.

he bit his lip, trying to hide how hard his pulse was racing, but then, as if he couldn’t hold it back any longer, he shyly glanced back at you. the vulnerability in his eyes was clear, he answers, “but fuck… yeah. i do.” the blush on his face deepened, spreading down his neck, hot and intense. “i love you.”

he let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous, clearly unsure of how to navigate this new level of intimacy. “didn’t really plan on confessing like this, though…” he sighed, gaze flickering to the ceiling, face still flushed. “such a dick move, right? confessing during sex…” the nervous chuckle that followed only made his embarrassment more obvious.

his hands rested gently on your back, a bit hesitant, like he didn’t know how to fully relax into this moment. “i didn’t mean for it to come out like that… it just—” he paused, struggling to find the right words, his voice softening, more sincere now. “it felt right… but not because of the sex.” his eyes found yours again, searching your face, his voice a quiet plea. “i meant it, y/n. even if it was the worst possible timing, i really do love you.”

he paused again, his blush darkening, clearly thinking about his premature orgasm from that first time. “god, you could’ve had anyone, and you still decided to tutor me after that mess…”

his words hung heavy between you, and you could feel the rapid thudding of his heart beneath your palm. he was still so vulnerable, even now, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you had chosen to be here with him—his arms wrapped around you, both of you lying together after the most mind-blowing sex of his life.

“heeseung,” you whispered, your voice firm but filled with warmth. “i wanted you then, and i want you now. that doesn’t change just because things didn’t go perfectly.”

heeseung stared at you, eyes wide with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you were saying. “really?” his voice was quiet, fragile, like he was afraid to believe it.

“yes, really,” you reassured him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “i love you. you don’t have to be perfect for me to feel that.”

his face lit up instantly, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his face, almost as if he wanted to cry from sheer happiness.

“say it again,” he practically whined, his voice overflowing with joy as he eagerly leaned down to kiss you, lips messy and eager.

you laughed into the kiss, pulling him closer, your heart swelling at the sight of him so happy. “i love you,” you repeated, louder this time, playful. his whole face lit up like a kid on christmas morning, and you could feel his excitement in every touch, every eager kiss, his hands pulling you as close as possible.

“yup, i’m never gonna get tired of hearing that,” he mumbled between kisses, his hands roaming your back, holding you tighter. “say it forever.”

“well, i totally fell in love with you first,” you teased, looking up at him with a playful grin.

heeseung’s smile widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. “i should be thanking you for that, 'cause i would’ve been way too chicken to do anything.” he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “seriously, i wouldn’t have done shit.”

“was it because of my—” he started, obviously about to crack a joke, but you cut him off with a laugh, shoving him lightly.

“don’t even try it,” you teased, giving him a pointed look. “it wasn’t because of whatever you're about to say.”

he grinned, refusing to drop it. “no, really—was it because of my charm or my amazing… skills?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, even though his red face gave away how flustered he still was.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “it’s because you’re awkward, sweet, and everything i didn’t know i needed,” you said, voice softening as you leaned in to kiss him again. “but sure, let’s pretend it was the 'skills.’”

“look at you, mr. confident all of a sudden,” you teased, feeling the warmth spread through you as he relaxed completely, more playful and at ease than ever before.

heeseung shrugged with a smirk. “maybe i’m learning from the best,” he murmured, leaning in for another slow, deliberate kiss. “you bring it out of me, y/n.”

“whatever, hee,” you chuckle, and he groaned softly at the nickname, arms tightening around you as he buried his face in your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

“a nickname?” he gushed, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes shining with excitement. “i’m totally your boyfriend now, aren’t i?”

his excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how happy he seemed. “yes, you’re totally my boyfriend now,” you teased, running a hand through his hair, watching him grin down at you like he was the happiest person in the world.

“fuck, i love that,” he mumbled, his voice filled with pride and affection as he kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the moment. “your boyfriend,” he whispered between kisses.

he pulled back slightly, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “so…” he started, mischief clear in his voice, “can i tell jay you totally made the first move?”

you snorted, shaking your head. “heeseung, you can tell jay whatever you want,” you teased, brushing your hand along his jawline. “i know you just wanna brag that you didn’t cum prematurely this time.”

heeseung blushed, but his sheepish smile was impossible to miss, his eyes gleaming with playful pride. “well… i mean, it’s kind of a big deal, right?” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i finally made it through without embarrassing myself, so yeah… maybe i will brag a little.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, laughing softly as you nuzzled into his chest.

heeseung’s grin widened, but then he shifted, his fingers trailing down your side with a teasing glint in his eyes. “oh, but before i do that…” he murmured, sending a shiver down your spine. “remember what i said earlier?” he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“i still want to eat my cum out of your pussy.”

the heat rushed through you, your pulse quickening at his words, and you felt your body tense with anticipation. heeseung’s eyes darkened, filled with lust and longing as he watched your reaction, waiting for you to give him the green light.

“fuck, hee,” you whispered, breathless, your body already responding to the idea. “you’re really gonna do that?”

he nodded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, breath hitching slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, wide and full of anticipation. “if you’ll let me,” he whispered, voice soft and pleading. “i… i want to so bad.” his hands trembled slightly as they rested on your hips, his gaze filled with a mix of awe and desperation.

heeseung’s entire body shuddered as he lowered his gaze, like he couldn’t bear the weight of how much he needed this. “you’re gonna love it,” he whispered. “please… tell me i can.”

you couldn’t resist the way he begged, voice trembling with need, so you nodded, granting him what he so desperately wanted. without hesitation, heeseung kissed down your body, his lips soft, breath hot against your skin. when he reached your core, he paused for a second, taking in a deep breath like he was savoring the moment.

“thank you,” he whispered, barely audible, before his tongue flicked out, tasting both you and the remnants of his cum. the sensation sent a shockwave through your body, making you jerk slightly from the overstimulation. his grip tightened, keeping you steady as his tongue worked slow, deliberate strokes along your slit.

“fuck,” he groaned, eyes rolling back for a second, licking another long, slow stripe. he looked up at you, eyes wide and submissive, tongue covered in the mixture of his cum and your juices. without breaking eye contact, he swallowed with a deep moan, like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. “we taste so fucking good,” he mumbled, diving back in with more eagerness, licking your pussy clean.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, guiding him as he continued, every flick of his tongue sending electric shocks through your body.

the overstimulation was intense, but his desperation to please made it impossible for you to ask him to stop.

heeseung pulled back only when he was sure he’d cleaned every last drop, his lips glistening, chest heaving. “did you like it?” he asked, voice trembling, eyes still wide, desperate for approval.

“yeah, you did so good,” you whispered, still catching your breath.

he smiled, pride swelling in his chest, and he kissed your inner thigh before crawling up to hold you tightly. his body trembled with exhaustion as he collapsed into your embrace.

“come on,” you whispered softly, brushing the hair from his sweaty forehead. “let me take care of you now.”

heeseung blinked up at you, too tired to protest even though you could see he wanted to. “but—”

“no buts,” you teased, kissing him gently. “you’re exhausted. I want to run you a bath.”

he watched you with those wide, trusting eyes as you moved around the room. grabbing his hand, you pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the bathroom. “you don’t have to do this,” he whispered, but the look of gratitude on his face said otherwise.

“i want to,” you insisted, turning on the tap, watching as the water filled the tub. his body was flushed, still trembling from everything that had just happened, mind blown from the intensity.

“sit,” you commanded softly, helping him into the tub. the moment the warm water enveloped him, heeseung let out a soft sigh, leaning his head back, his eyes fluttering shut.

kneeling beside the tub, you ran your fingers through his damp hair, massaging his scalp. he hummed contentedly. “this is nice,” he whispered, voice sleepy.

“you deserve it,” you murmured, kissing his temple. “just relax, heeseung.”

he smiled lazily, reaching for your hand, squeezing it gently. “thank you for this… for everything.”

as he started to drift off, he opened his eyes, a playful glint shining in them. “hey… does this mean i can tell jay now?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you can do whatever you want, hee.”

grinning like a little kid, he grabbed his phone and, with zero shame, called jay. “hey, jay?” he said, trying to sound casual, but his voice was still filled with excitement. “yeah, you’ll never guess what just happened… nope, no premature shit this time. and guess who made the first move?”

your eyes widened in disbelief, laughter bubbling up. “you’ve got to be kidding me, heeseung,” you muttered, shaking your head.

he winked at you, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he continued bragging to jay. “told you i’d brag,” he mouthed, clearly proud of himself.

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[yueying-notyingyue]

waking up with seventeen

Seungcheol

obv the person who wakes up later than you

His hand rests gently across your waist all night, in a way that connects both your bodies until people that witness both of you would think you two are connected

His ass definitely has the energy to pull you back to bed if he finds out that you’re getting out of bed

Demands a morning kiss from you (with his stinky breath, he’s going to sulk if you don’t)

Such a clingy guy 

The first lights of the day seeped into your shared bedroom anchoring themselves onto your lover’s face, with each ray caressing his well-defined cheekbones. After acknowledging debating to get out of the current situation you’re in, you struggled out of his grasp (for at least 15 minutes) before throwing the fluffy blankets off. Sleepy eyelids fluttering open, his mouth tumbled out a few incoherent words before ultimately deciding it was more effective to tug you back into the embrace of his arms. Eyes big and lips pouting, you knew what he meant, his morning kisses. Breath stinky and all, he knew how to use his face to his advantage. Leaning down from the awkward position he put you in, you quickly placed a quick peck on his cheek before demanding him to get up for your morning walk. 

“But princess! It’s too early!” >:(

Jeonghan

Someone who would probably wakes up the same time as you

You see hannie’s a light sleeper I feel that the moment he feels you attempting to sit up he’s already looking up at you, eyes begging you to lie back down with him

Definitely lays down near to your chest listening to your heartbeat when you both get ready to sleep

 when you guys wake up his head is still firmly attached to your chest, looking up at you with hazy eyes clouded with sleep

“Hannie we’ve got to wake up!” Although you’ve been whining for the umpteenth time, you didn’t dare to move an inch. Scared to shock him awake from his constant drifting in and out of sleep state, you resorted to slowly stroking his hair, that’ll surely wake him up right? Wrong. You both fell back asleep until midday. The blazing sun rays glared across the room, the burning sun rays making his hair seem ever so elegant. The tranquil quietness that hung in the atmosphere was broken once a call reverberated across the room. This was the fifth time this month that he was late to his dance practice. As he reluctantly pulls away, his sleepy ass has to hear your nagging about how half your day is gone while chiding him about being late. Smug grin plastered across his face; he doesn’t mind at all. After all, he had a restful sleep and much of your attention. 

“But angel,” he whined indignantly while burying his face into his shoulder “it was so comfy getting to cuddle with you!”

Joshua

Someone who makes it a point to wake up early to go jogging and ensure half his day isn’t wasted

You see shua’s presence is like the early morning’s sun that shines through the window

I bet his embrace is so warm like going for a swim early in the morning and when you get out of the pool, the temperature is just right, not too cold not too scalding hot

I need someone like shua to hug me, i bet it’ll solve all my problems :(

Morning kisses are a habit you developed early in your relationship with him. So, whenever you guys have the chance to cuddle throughout the night, shua wakes you up by pecking your face. 

Ticklish, I know.

 But he’s someone who would love to disturb you for fun (in a loving way ofc). 

This sweet baby would wake up early to train his body and to make breakfast for the two of you. 

Nuzzling your face into his chest, his arms instinctively wrapped around your lower back, rubbing slow circles. A loose white t-shirt hanging off his body with a towel wrapped around his neck, he had just come back from his morning run and showered. The slow hum of the coffee machine added to the comfortable silence enveloping the two of you as he made breakfast. The slow morning coupled with the constant assurance that he wasn’t going anywhere made you ease up. It was so long since you last spent time together, you were not budging a single bit from his side so he resorted to lifting you up onto the kitchen counter (cliche ik) while pecking your face and see it scrunch up in pure delight, it had to be one of his favourite sights of you. The warm morning sun doing glory to your face. 

“Darling calm down!” He giggled exasperatedly while pecking your face in between his speech “I’m not going anywhere calm down!”

Jun

Oh this sweet boy :(

He would be so eepy in the morning because both of you would take ages to get into a comfortable position to sleep

Furthermore, he is a member of the performance team, their dance practices diving deep into the night when everyone is asleep

You would have to wait for him to come home and do your night routine before finally tucking in and drifting off

The next day both of you would wake up real late past midday while practically clinging onto each other for dear life 

I feel that he would wake up later than you due to exhaustion, hence you would have to make breakfast (or lunch) before he wakes up

Clingy baby pt2 

“Umphhh” a sudden weight collapsed onto your shoulder, two long arms finding home by latching themselves onto your waist. A mess of hair tickling your neck as he nuzzled his face into your neck and pressed loving kisses against your shoulder blade. The height distance was gigantic, making him bend down awkwardly all the while trying to make himself feel comfortable. Giggling quietly, you nudged him to go sit down at the dining table so that he would feel more at rest. However, this sleepyhead would absolutely refuse to do so, insisting that the awkward position feels comfortable even though his neck aches really bad :( He insists that staying beside you was worth the ache in his neck. When he comes back from another taxing day, you would have to make it up to him by massaging his neck and back before repeating the same routine before the weekend finally comes around.

“Baby it's worth it I promise!” He whined while looking down at you, not listening to whatever you have to say as he makes his way back to your shoulder in refuge.

Hoshi

I’m pretty sure Hoshi jolts bolts of energy 24/7

Except on the days he comes back looking for refuge after a particularly draining day of never-ending dance practices

However, after a good night’s rest, he seems to have almost recharged completely

Waking up once the day’s first sun rays hit his eyelids, he practically bounces onto you while pecking your face in an attempt to wake you up

You would practically beg him for another 5 minutes of rest even though he would be bugging you throughout your well-deserved rest.

Clingy baby pt3

“Soonyoung you’ve got to stop waking me up!” you whined in your sleep, attempting to cover your ears with a pillow. However, Soonyoung being much much (MUCH) muscular than you, you’d find your pillow getting aggressively launched to the other side of the room while Soonyoung practically dives onto your body, nuzzling his cheek against your own. Seeing your boyfriend being in such peace and happiness made you realise. Oh, how much he loves you. Anyways, who are you to reject his cuddles when he looks this cute. Blankets tossed aside and some pillows getting absolutely thrashed onto the cold and hard floor, you shivered as the cold air caresses your skin, goosebumps instantly forming all over your skin. The warmth radiating for Soonyoung’s body was enough to warm you up enough though. Or was it? “Cutie.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was ever so casual, “it’s already seven in the morning! I’ve let you sleep in for an hour today!” Whining while trying to elbow him, he managed to tickle you awake. Your eyelids instantly opened up, shooting a menacing glare at him, Soonyoung teased, “Oh there she is, my baby tiger!”

Wonwoo

Both of you definitely wake up at 3pm

If he didn’t have any dance practices the previous day, he would have been gaming until the wee hours of the morning.

You would either be situated in bed, at your desk, or on his lap waiting for him to grow tired so that the both of you can fall asleep together

Sometimes, when you get too tired, you would practically try and drag him to bed, begging him to cuddle you

I think wonu wakes up later than you cause he sleeps so damn late 

you would have to cook lunch for him

You wouldn’t want your baby to become hungry, would you?

Voice laced with thickness, it was another morning afternoon where you tried not to burn down the house by cooking a simple dish that hopefully wouldn’t be too overwhelming to eat. Wonwoo was sitting down at the dining table, arms supporting his head by leaning his elbows on the table, his gaze following your every movement. As you opened the cupboard overhead, you realised one of the sauces you needed to make your food with was too high up. Jumping up and trying to grab it, Wonwoo laughed at your miserable attempt to reach it. Chuckling deeply, he walked towards your direction while wrapping his hand around your waist. Pressing a peck to the crown of your head, he rubbed the pad of his thumb on your bare skin, his other hand shooting up to grab the sauce bottle. Gently placing it down on the counter, he trapped you in between his body and the counter while kissing you firmly on your lips. Hands gripping your waist tightly, he was about to press another kiss to your temple when you smelt burnt food. Turning your attention to the food which has been on high heat for the past few minutes, you quickly reached over to turn off the stove. Glaring playfully at him, he could only chuckle in guilt. “The food’s burnt Wonwoo.” >:(

“It’s ok I can make us some cup noodles.”

Woozi

I feel that woozi goes to bed late at night

Or just pulls an all nighter in his studio

You would have like late night dates in his studio (it’s canon)

So once both of you return home and go to sleep it’ll be so late

I feel that woozi will wake up earlier than you

He would definitely go to the gym to work out early in the morning

When he comes back you would already be awake, lazing in bed

Both of you would have a playlist playing in the background while enjoying each other’s presence

The fan overhead circulated the air around the bedroom. Windows and curtains closed, the only sound you could hear in the room was the quiet humming of the ceiling fan. Whistling a tune, Jihoon pulled the curtains open, the bright rays of light seeping into the bedroom. Your boyfriend standing in the bright gaze of the sun, shirtless with a towel hanging across shoulders, made him seem much more ethereal than usual. Turning around with a cup of coffee in hand, he catches you staring shamelessly at him. Scoffing a bit, he sits on the edge of the bed beside you while handing you the cup. Accepting the cup of coffee, you place the cup on your cheek, soaking the warmth of it. Reaching out for his phone, he connects your speaker and opens spotify before playing your morning playlist. Leaning against him for support and warmth, the both of you enjoy your slow morning with songs playing one after the other. Jihoon thinks that it was a good investment to get spotify premium, enjoying your quiet presence beside him made him realise. Oh he wants this for the rest of his life. Experiencing each morning with you by his side.

“Darling,” he hums out, turning his face to face yours. The lovesick look that hung in his eyes made butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Yea?” “I just wanted to let you know you look ever so beautiful.” (SOMEONE GET ME A JIHOON RN 👹)

Minghao

wakes up once the sun comes out

Probably in another room drinking tea and shit

(maybe) meditating 

Growing up in an chinese household i’ve seen my neighbours and relatives do 太極拳 (tai ji quan) like before the sun comes out

(Doing it in school during morning assembly makes me shiver in my microscopic boots frfr)

Bro would probably play the routine songs while doing it since he’s a dancer yk

So when you wake up, Minghao probably waits for you at the living room, two cups of hot steaming tea in the ceramic pot while he does his morning stretches

Forces you into doing it with him tho

The artificial birds chirping and the creek flowing sound blasted through the speakers. It resounded across the whole house, lifting you out of your sleep. Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, you opened the windows, basking in the morning air before packing up the bed. Making your way out of your shared bedroom, you caught sight of your lover doing his routine of stretching and tai ji. Sitting in front of the coffee table, you reached out to the teapot before pouring yourself a cup of green tea. Your presence made Minghao turn his gaze to you before whispering a small “good morning”. You returned the gesture by nodding your head. 

“So darling, what would you like for breakfast?”

Mingyu

Another big baby :(

Clingy baby alert! (pt4 i think)

Has both his hands wrapped around your waist and refuses to let go even when you want to visit the washroom

Clingy baby wakes up later than you

I think he said in an interview (with jaeseok and seokjin) that he usually wakes up at 3 to 4 pm

Clings onto you when you’re doing your morning routine 

If he is still tired and feeling incredibly clingy that day he would be like cheol and pull you back to bed and trap you in his embrace

“Gyu you’ve got to let go.” Shooting him a nasty look, he finally obeys before releasing you to go to the toilet. He would lay down on your side of the bed (as if he isn’t situated there the whole night) and act like a sick Victorian child. He would repeatedly call out your name and ask you where you are to which you would reply “Kim Mingyu are you going to let me pee in peace?” TT. Once you finally make your way back to the bed, you would refuse to talk to him (as a joke) and ignore his persistent questions of “What took you so long :(“ Please protect this big baby at all costs. He’s so whiny and clingy, it’s so adorable. You reached out to the bedside table to grab your phone from the charger but before you could even reach it, your boyfriend already reached out to your arm and pulled you back to the bed where he would keep you in his embrace for the next hour.

“Baby are you going to leave me like this, cold, loney..” He rambles on and on about how you’ve left him alone :( “But Mingyu I need to pee!” (sobbing sounds continue)

Dokyeom

Another baby who would wake up earlier than you

So so so energetic (I can’t stress this enough)

He would probably pounce on you to wake you up

Peppering your face with numerous kisses

He would tickle you awake

If you don’t wake up by his tickles you would wake up by his singing at 8 am in the morning 

Broski is probably having a 1 hour session singing in the bathroom

You’d probably have noise complaints from the neighbours lmao

I bet 100% that he’s going to sing the symphony dolphin meme just to annoy you 

No but this baby wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep 

He’s such a softie :(

Waking up to the sound of water splashing (100% real not creek flowing music) you hear your boyfriend singing his heart out to his spotify playlist in the bathroom. Not that you’re complaining though. The voice of his makes your heart melt at his sincerity of being an idol. The music comes to an end and a few seconds later, you hear the water stop flowing before the bathroom door creaks open. You make eye contact with your boyfriend who is currently drying his hair with a small towel. He grins at you before continuing with his next song while choosing what to wear. Seriously, is this sunshine ever going to stop singing?

“Baby~” Dokyeom sing-songs before holding up an outfit he chose. “Should I wear this today?”

Seungkwan

Oh this dramatic diva >:D

He would wake up once his alarm clock rings

He would then spend like the next hour in the bathroom doing his thing before going to the kitchen and grabbing a cooling face mask

By the time you wake up, he must have come back from his morning run

You would find him in the kitchen drinking his iced americano and taking his health supplements

Would probably side eye you and nag you on why you shouldn’t sleep in for too long

“I’ve told you so many times!” Seungkwan whined while clinging onto your shoulder. “It’s not good to sleep in! You should have gone to bed earlier!” Ignoring the poor boy’s constant nagging, you tried to go back to sleep on the bed. You would see him pick up his karaoke machine’s mic and start pouring out his heart and soul into a wonder girl’s song. That should wake you up enough before you pounce on him and ask him to shut up for your sanity. He’s going to dodge all your attacks before trapping you in his embrace and shooing you away to take your supplements.

“I want nobody, nobody but you” (obnoxious clapping sounds) “I want nobody, nobody but you” “Boo Seungkwan if you don’t shut up in the next one minute, I’m going to throw you outside the house.” (你给我滚出去 reference)

Vernon

Oh this guy and his sleeping habits

He has such a laid back vibe and i’m here for it

You guys probably watch those funny cat videos compilation series on youtube in the morning

Or maybe both of you would be on twitter or tiktok and you would send each other funny videos or memes

Both of you too lazy to get up

The only time both of you get up is when either one of you need to use the washroom

I feel that vernon would wake up slightly later than you

both of you guys taking your morning slow

“Nonie?” You tugged the sleeve of his shirt trying to gain his attention. Turning around to meet your gaze, he instinctively raised an eyebrow before you showed him the funny video you found on TikTok. Gently grabbing the phone out of your hand, he looked at the video with mild amusement before returning it to you. “Too late, I've already seen it.” He smirks before laughing his heart out. You can only smack him out of playful annoyance and irritation, trying to get that stupid grin out of his face. “But it is funny!” You whined, bottom lip jutting out as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry babe, it’s just so amusing to see you getting worked up!”

Chan

Oh my precious baby :(

He’s so so so so so pocket sized and tiny D:

Since he is also part of the performance team (4/4) 

I can totally see him sleeping until after midday

When he does wake up, you would be in the kitchen preparing food for him to eat and regain his energy

Most likely cause he didn’t have much energy to eat dinner last night

He would wake up and make his way to you, back hugging you as you focus your attention on not burning the food

He would insist that he wants to help you cook the food but you would refuse bc how can you let your baby work when he is so tired

Shooing him away to the dining table but he wouldn’t budge since he is also another clingy baby (pt5 if i remember correctly)

Arms wrapped around your torso and head buried in your neck, he would just stay there, basking happily in the moment

“Channie, go and sit at the dining table. The food is almost done!” You nudged him, giving him the assurance that you weren’t going anywhere. However, this clingy baby would not leave your side even for a second. You guessed that his training last night must have taken a toll on his body as you noticed him burying his head even deeper into your shoulder, sniffling your neck as his grip on your torso got even tighter. “Why move to the dining table if you aren’t there with me!” He whined gripping you even tighter, you weren’t sure if you were able to breathe anymore due to the fact that he had been working out a lot more recently. You could only chuckle in amusement as you plated the food and walked towards the dining table to put the plates down. Sitting down on the long bench. Chan refused to sit at the opposite side, deciding that sitting beside you (or lying half of his body on you) was the better option. You had no choice but to baby him, feeding him his bread and letting him sip on his water. Chan could only look up at you with his half opened droopy eyes, looking at you with the most lovesick gaze.

“I love you so much you know, right?” :( 

“I know Channie, this has been the fifth time you have said it in the last 5 minutes.” You state while brushing his fringe back, wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

[finelinefae]

semi-finals [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n gets distracted and harry just wants the girl he likes to like him back

word count: 10.7k

contains: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, first kiss(es), jealous!h, jealous!yn, inaccurate height of certain characters who may actually be taller in real life but this is an au so it's fine, a crazy confession but not really bc we all saw it coming

this is part 3 of the game! read part 2 here

. . .

Y/N watched him from across the room, studying the way people walked up to him as though he was some kind of celebrity. He smiled and laughed but it didn’t reach his eyes, not in the way it did when they were together. 

But it wasn’t his charismatic smile and booming laugh that constantly grabbed her attention when she was trying to listen to Sarah’s story about the cat her parents had fostered back home. It was the blonde girl beside him, the one who hadn’t left his side for the entire night, who laughed along with him and stole glances whenever he wasn’t looking. 

Her opponent for the next tournament that was now a month away. 

Astrid Anderson had once been a student at Crestwood. They’d all been in the same infant class together and every boy in their year group was obsessed with her. Harry and Astrid hadn’t started dating until the year before Harry left for Australia. They were the ‘It’ couple of Crestwood, everyone treated them as though they were some kind of celebrity couple. 

All that lasted until Harry had to leave for Australia. He broke things off and then Astrid moved to Trinity Academy which was Crestwood’s biggest rival in most competitive areas. Y/N didn’t know or care what Astrid had gotten up to since she left school. There was no bitterness between them but they both knew they weren’t the type of people to share the same social circle. Whilst Astrid cared more about her social life, Y/N was completely focused on academics and there was nothing wrong with either of those things but it didn’t give them much to talk about. 

“Right Y/N?” Sarah asked, her head whipping around in her direction only to realise she had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Right,” Y/N nodded, having no clue as to what she was agreeing with. 

Adam held back a smile as he sat on the couch across from her, “Mitch, come get a drink with me,” Sarah stood up, tugging the hem of her skirt down, “I need you to push past all the tall people.”

Mitch, all five foot eight inches of him, rose from his place beside Jake on the couch with a self-satisfied stretch, as if flaunting his height as proof that his girlfriend needed him. "Coming, babe," he declared, a hint of smugness in his voice.  Everyone laughed as Mitch winked, following behind Sarah through the crowds of dancing bodies. 

Y/N glanced over at Harry who was now standing with his back to her, talking to Astrid with his hand propped up against the refrigerator. “If you’re not careful, you’ll burn holes into his back,” Adam spoke from beside her. 

“That’s the idea,” Y/N murmured. 

“Hm, I thought you didn’t like him?” Adam asked the question causing her to turn and face him. 

“I don’t,” She answers immediately but the words are like metal on her tongue, “I-I mean I-” 

Adam’s lips curve into a knowing smirk, “I see,”

Y/N wanted to protest but found herself unable to muster the words. Her mouth seemed to glue itself shut as she attempted to argue against Adam’s assumption that she liked Harry even a little bit. Her emotions had been all over the place ever since she asked Harry to coach her. He seemed to bring out a part of her she didn’t even know she had. One moment she was angry, the next she was laughing, and sometimes her heart would beat so hard against her chest that she felt like it was trying to leap out and walk right into the palm of his hand.

She couldn’t comprehend how the wires in her brain had seemingly rewired themselves, transitioning from loathing someone to now seeing visions of them before she drifted off to sleep. It both frightened and excited her, this inexplicable shift in her feelings consuming her thoughts and diverting her attention from the actual game - a game that had never required feelings before. 

“We both agreed on not seeing anyone if this was to work out,” She confessed.

“Did he make that rule or you?” Adam quirked a brow.

“It was a mutual agreement I guess,” Y/N shrugged. 

Adam nodded slowly, his eyes darting to and from Harry. “C’mere,” He motioned with his finger. Y/N leaned in at the same time as he did, until they were only inches a part from each other, “Laugh,” He says.

“What?” Y/N questioned. 

“Trust me, just laugh.” Adam glanced over her shoulder again before smiling. 

Y/N hesitated for a moment before complying, a hesitant laugh escaping her lips to which Adam joined in. The more he laughed, the more she laughed with him until he stopped, “Uh oh,” He smirked, leaning forward and grabbing his drink from the coffee table, “Looks like you started something now.” He motions his head behind her and Y/N turns to find Harry no longer with Astrid but striding towards them, anger radiating from him. 

“Adam, what did you do?” Y/N exclaimed, sitting on the edge of the couch as Harry approached them. 

His eyes were darkened, his jaw tense, “Y/N,” He said her name over the music, “Can I talk to you?” Each word was tense as he spoke them like he was trying to control himself. 

Maybe it was the bit of alcohol she’d had that was taking over her senses but she felt a sudden boost of confidence. Y/N folded her arms, “Ask me again,” She smirked. 

Harry scoffed, “Can I talk to you?”

Y/N’s expression was smug as she spoke the next word carefully, “Again,”

Harry’s jaw tightened, gritting his teeth he spoke again just as she asked, “Can I talk to you, please?”

Adam snorted beside her and Y/N’s lips curved, “Okay,” She stood up, ignoring the way her head spun, and stumbled as she followed him down the hallways of his apartment to a room near the back right by the bathroom that people were queuing up to use. He stood in front of an unopened door and pulled out a key from his back pocket to unlock it. 

Stepping inside, Y/N glanced around the room and noticed how different it was from the rest of the apartment. It had calming blue walls and a simple bed with white sheets. A big window let in soft light, making it cosy. There were personal things like photos and an old music player. There were posters on the wall and pictures of his friends on the corkboard by the desk. On one of the shelves in the corner, she saw the trophies she had previously seen in boxes now displayed on his shelf. 

She smiled but it quickly disappeared as she faced an angry-looking Harry. “What are you playing at?” 

“What do you mean?” Y/N crossed her arms.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his frustration evident as he took a step closer to Y/N. "Don't play dumb with me, Y/N," his voice tinged with a raw edge. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You and Adam? I thought we agreed not to date anybody?”

Y/N scoffed, “So did I until I saw you hanging around your ex-girlfriend who - might I add - is my opponent for the next game!”

Harry took a step forward and Y/N took one step back until she was backed up against his door. He placed one hand on the wall right by her head and hung his head to look down at her. Y/N’s breath hitched at how close he was, “Are you jealous?” He murmurs. 

“Jealous of who? You and your ex?” She emphasised the ‘ex’ like she was reminding him that Astrid was his ex-girlfriend. 

Harry's eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "You are, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a hint of amusement.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she felt the heat of Harry's body so close to hers. She swallowed hard, refusing to let herself be intimidated by his proximity. "I'm not jealous," she insisted, her voice tinged with defiance.

Harry's smirk widened, his hand still resting against the wall beside her head. "Really?" he challenged, his breath warm against her cheek as he leaned in closer. “You don’t think I didn’t see you and those pretty eyes staring holes into the back of my head?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her frustration evident. "You're more arrogant than I thought," she muttered under her breath.

"Do you like him?" Harry's question caught her off guard.

"I've already told you I don't," she replied, a hint of annoyance colouring her tone.

"You know it kills me?" Harry's voice softened, his expression pained. Y/N's confusion was clear as she waited for him to continue. "It kills me to see you with him, to see you with anybody but me. Especially when you laugh like that, I only want you to laugh like that with me."

"Well, unfortunately for you, you don't tell me what to do," Y/N shot back, her heart pounding against her chest.

"I thought I was your coach?" Harry smirked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"You're my coach, not my keeper. If I want to talk to Adam or laugh around him, I will. In fact, I'm going to," she declared, spinning around and pulling the door open, the noise from the party flooding her ears.

As she walked back into the living room, Y/N spotted Adam with Mitch, Sarah, Jake, and some others playing beer pong at the dining table. Adam's smile faltered when he noticed Harry behind her. "Hey, everything okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Y/N nodded determination in her eyes. "Can I play?"

"Sure, it's my round so you can be on my team if you want," Adam offered with a smile.

Y/N grinned. "Who are we playing?"

Suddenly, the boy she had been locked in the room with stood at the opposite end of the table. "Mind if I join?" Harry's question hung in the air, his eyes fixed on Y/N.

Y/N tried not to react as Astrid approached him, placing a manicured hand on his shoulder. "I'll be on your team, H," she said with a smile, and Y/N's jaw tensed at the sight.

Harry smirked, glancing at Y/N, “Alright then,” 

“You sure about this?” Adam asked.

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, “It’s just…How do we play?”

Adam laughed which caught Harry’s attention as he spoke to Astrid, “Just follow my lead, you’ll get the idea.”

As the game started, Y/N sensed Harry was intentionally trying to make her jealous when he laughed and spoke to Astrid far too enthusiastically. But she refused to let it bother her the way he wanted it to. She focused on the game with Adam, watching as he tossed the ping pong ball into one of the cups.

She noticed Harry scowl whenever they got remotely close to each other, high-fiving or giving each other a hug whenever one of them managed to get the ball into a cup. It gave her a sense of satisfaction whenever she’d see his eyes narrow as Adam placed a hand on her elbow to help her aim the ball in the right direction. 

Towards the end of the game, Y/N could feel herself slowly starting to fall under the effects of the alcohol. She had only ever drunk alcohol at functions or dinner parties with her parents and now she was countless drinks in. Her brain was turning fuzzy, there was no thought behind her words whenever she spoke and every time she aimed the ball, it would fly off the table somewhere across the room. 

As Y/N took her last turn, she was already very drunk and she knew she'd feel bad about it in the morning. Even with her friends cheering her on, she struggled to focus. She aimed carefully at the last cup, but the ball bounced off the table and landed in a plant pot nearby.

"Oops," Y/N slurred, her lips curving into a drunken giggle. "Looks like it's my turn to drink."

Before Adam could reach her, she took a step forward, catching her foot on the table edge and tumbling to the floor. Y/N laughed as she lay flat on her back looking up at the ceiling, “Are you okay, Y/N?” Sarah’s voice called. 

"Are you alright?" Adam asked, helping her stand back up again.

"Whoa," Y/N said, putting a hand to her head as it started to pound.

"Okay, I think that's enough for you," Adam chuckled.

"Are you okay?" Harry appeared in her view. "Hey, look at me." He gently lifted her chin with his finger.

"I'm fine," Y/N swayed. "I'm really, really great."

"Yeah?" Harry smiled. "Your knee's bleeding."

Y/N's brows furrowed. "It is?" She looked down.

"Mhm, c'mon, let's go clean it up." He took her hand.

"Oh, but the game!" Y/N looked over her shoulder to see everyone returning to their own groups.

"The game's over, love," he sighed when he realized she wasn't going to take another step on her own. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down the hallway to his room.

"Hey, quit calling me that!" she slurred, banging her fists against his back.

The noise from the party softened as Harry closed the door behind him. Y/N found herself on Harry's bed, her body bouncing lightly as he carefully laid her down. She gazed up at the ceiling, her legs dangling over the edge of the mattress.

Harry stumbled into his bathroom and dampened a cloth under the cold water before walking back to her. Y/N propped herself up as he approached, observing him closely as he knelt between her legs.

He gently took her calf in his hand, “Are you drunk?” Y/N asked. 

Harry chuckled, his cheeks flushed. "Just a bit," he admitted, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Maybe more than a bit."

Y/N giggled, “Me too,” She confessed.

“I know that,” He chuckled, his hair falling in front of his face, “You play a mean game of beer pong.”

“If it weren’t for you I probably wouldn’t be so competitive,” Y/N admitted.

"But it was fun, right?" Harry's smile softened. “You like spending time with me?”

Y/N relaxed, her shoulders dropping, “I think…” She starts, her mind whirring, “Okay shhhhh,” She puts her finger to his lips and his lips pout automatically against them, “Don’t tell anyone this but everyday I wake up and I look forward to spending time with you.”

Harry smirks, “You do?” 

“But don’t tell anybody,” She insists.

“Okay,” He nods, “I won’t tell anybody.”

“How do I know you won’t tell anybody?” Y/N frowns. 

“Hmm,” Harry thinks, “How about I tell you something?”

Y/N nods, “Okay.”

Harry’s eyes look into hers, “No amount of time in the day is ever enough for me. I want to spend every moment of my days with you, every second of time and even more than that.” 

“Woah,” Y/N’s eyes widen, her hand resting on his shoulder, “That’s a lot of time.”

“And it’s still not enough,” Harry whispers, his head leaning closer to hers. The cloth slipped from her thigh, Harry’s cold fingers wrapping themselves around her ankle that was right by his knee as he knelt on the floor. 

“Harry,” Y/N murmurs, “Do you still love her?”

Harry shakes his head immediately, “No,” He says, “For someone so brilliantly smart how do you still not know?” 

“I’m not smart when it comes to people,” She whispers, “Or you. I think that’s why you frustrate me so much.”

“You frustrate me for an entirely different reason,” His hand lifts to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She could feel his breath fanning her face, smelling the scent of alcohol. 

Her hands go to his shirt, scrunching the fabric into tight fists, “Tell me,” Her eyes flutter shut as his lips ghost over her cheek.

“Not today baby,” He says. 

“Y’ said it again,” Her lips curve, “You called me that in the car too.”

“You remember that?” 

“I remember everything,” 

As Harry parted his lips to reply, Y/N seized the moment, her hand darting to the back of his neck as she planted a quick peck on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise as she giggled, "Whoops."

Before she could fully retract her hand, Harry leaned in, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers once more.

Y/N melted against him, feeling his lips merge with hers as he caught her bottom lip between his. Her eyes were closed and her senses were overwhelmed with the taste of alcohol and the scent of his aftershave. His lips were soft and everything about him was so warm. Every time she would try to catch her breath he would just steal the air right out of her as if she were his source of oxygen. 

They both pulled away. Y/N needed a moment before she could open her eyes again as she tried to regain her breath. When she did, green, hazy eyes looked into hers. Her lips curved before she spoke, “I haven’t kissed anyone like that before,” She admits.

"Really?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

Y/N shook her head, her laughter bubbling up. "I mean, I kissed Jamie Keller once in the fourth year, but it wasn't a proper kiss."

Harry rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Fucking Jamie Keller," he muttered.

Y/N laughed, unable to tear her eyes away from him. "Yeah," she murmured, "Fucking Jamie Keller."

Harry's fingers brushed against Y/N's cheek, “Do you think we’ll remember this in the morning?” He asked. 

Y/N couldn’t find an answer, instead, she brushed the curls in front of his eyes to the side and wondered just how much she had had to drink to end up in the one place she’d been trying to avoid. 

. . .

“Shit,” Y/N hissed, “This isn’t real.”

Her head was pounding like someone was hammering against her skull and her spine felt like she had been sleeping folded in half as she sat up straight in bed. She was in a room, a room she didn’t recognise and hoped it wasn’t just some random stranger’s. 

The last thing she remembered vividly was sitting on the couch with Adam and Harry standing somewhere across the room with Astrid, everything afterwards just seemed to blur all into nothing. 

It was her first time getting drunk and probably her last too from the awful state her body was in. She wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep in her own bed, eat foods high in sodium and drink gallons of water. 

Her heart leapt inside of her chest when she heard soft snores coming from somewhere in the room. She looked down and saw Harry curled up asleep on the floor, his arms wrapped around her ankle and holding it to his chest like a teddy bear.  

Y/N's heart swelled with a mixture of confusion and tenderness as she gazed down at Harry's sleeping form. She couldn't deny the warmth that spread through her at the sight of him, even if she couldn't quite understand how they had ended up in this situation.

Carefully extracting her ankle from his grasp, Y/N shifted to the edge of the bed, wincing as her head throbbed with each movement. She needed to get home. She had so much to do and prepare for now that her first game was over. She cursed herself as she tiptoed past Harry, not before grabbing a blanket to place over him as she walked to the door. 

Harry sighed, “You don’t remember do you?” 

Y/N frowned, wondering if he was talking in his sleep or actually asking her a question. She shrugged and pulled the door open, closing it softly behind her. 

Harry’s apartment was a mess. 

There were beer cans littered across the room and silly string on bits of furniture. She wondered whether or not she should stay to clear up but then remembered it was technically Mitch’s party which also made it his responsibility. 

She tried to spot someone who might have been able to offer her a lift home so she didn’t have to get the bus back to her dorm. Fortunately for her, Adam was lying on the couch asleep so she walked right over and gently shook him awake.

“Hey,” She whispered, “Sorry to wake you up,”

“Y/N?” Adam groaned, “I thought you went home,”

Y/N didn’t know why she was suddenly blushing but she replied, “Any chance you can give me a ride home?” She knew he had a car because he lived with his parents.

“I’ve been drinking,” He groans.

“Please?” She was desperate, “I know you only drank water for most of the night,”

He yawns, “Fine,” 

In the car ride back to her dorm, Y/N tried to recall the memories that had been missing from the previous night. She vaguely remembered playing beer pong and Harry playing alongside Astrid but the more she drank, the more her memory seemed to fade.

“You okay?” Adam asked, glancing over at her from the driver’s seat. 

“No, I can’t remember anything from last night,” Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face. 

Adam chuckles, “So you don’t remember falling over?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she turned her head to look at him, “I fell?”

He nodded, “You tripped over the dining table when we were playing beer pong. Harry took you somewhere to fix up your knee,” 

Y/N looked down at her knee and frowned, “My knee?” She murmured, seeing the cut on her knee and the blood that had dried up around it. 

Seeing the cut on her knee must have triggered something in her brain because all of a sudden everything was beginning to piece together. 

Harry’s eyes look into hers, “No amount of time in the day is ever enough for me. I want to spend every moment of my days with you, every second of time and even more than that.” 

Harry's words echoed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her skin as he spoke those words and when he leaned and… 

“No fucking way,” Y/N blurted after everything came flooding back.

“Are you okay?” Adam looked at her concerned.

How could she possibly answer that? Was she okay? Clearly not, considering she had ended up in the bedroom of her longtime rival and kissed him.

She had kissed him.

And she had enjoyed it enough to want to kiss him again.

This wasn't good. It felt like she was breaking all the rules she had set for herself. Harry wasn't just any boy she went to school with; he was her coach, her rival, and someone she had known for years. He was the boy who used to tease her on the court, the one who always seemed to be one step ahead.

It must have been a drunken mistake. Y/N had no idea what she was like when she was drunk and clearly, she wasn’t the most sensible. It didn’t matter if things had suddenly changed between them, she couldn’t be with him, she wouldn’t allow herself to. Her focus was on winning that scholarship at the end of the school year where afterwards they’d be on two separate paths moving away from each other. 

Her feelings weren’t forever, tennis was. 

Thankfully, Adam had pulled into the front of her dorm building. She opened the door and leapt out of the car, “Thanks for the ride, Adam.” She tries to smile. 

“Hey Y/N,” Adam stops her, a look of concern on her face, “Are you okay?” He asks again and she realises she never answered him before.

She bit the inside of her cheek and gave him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m okay,” She lied and closed the door, spinning on her heel and walking to her dorm where she hoped she’d be alone so she could have time to work through her thoughts.

Even when she felt like she was winning, he always managed to one-up her, and this time was no different.

. . .

Y/N walked into school the Monday after the party at Harry’s house. 

When she returned back to her dorm, the first thing she did was shower and then spent the rest of the day wallowing in self pity and trying not to cry at the thought of kissing Harry. 

She had managed to go avoiding him the entire weekend and planned on doing the same today. He had sent her text messages asking her if she was okay but she’d ignored them, putting her notifications on silent like it was enough to trick her mind into believing nothing happened between them. 

Sarah had walked in on her hiding under her bed covers, watching episodes of Gilmore Girls and eating cold pizza. It was a sight she had never seen before which left her wondering if something had happened at the party but Y/N refused to tell. 

People congratulated Y/N in the hallways as she walked to her locker. She wasn’t used to getting attention from everybody. Most of the time, people didn’t really acknowledge her unless they needed help with their homework.

“Heyyy court queen,” Sarah beamed.

Y/N immediately shook her head, “Sarah, no,” she snorted, trying not to laugh.

“What?” Sarah frowned, “I’m trying to think up a catchy nickname so it catches on and people put it on merch and signs for your game.”

This time Y/N did laugh, “Are you trying to make money off of me?” She teased.

“No, of course not, I’m just being a supportive friend. You know my mother is designing a new clothing line? I can totally get her to design something for people to wear for your games.”

“Sarah,” Y/N put her hands on her friend’s shoulders, “I’ve won one game for a school competition. As much as I love you for it, I don’t need you to create merchandise or give me catchy nicknames.”

Sarah’s shoulders slumped, “I know, it’s just… You’re playing against Astrid Anderson. Not only is she popular at her new school, but she’s also still pretty popular here too. Jake told me he saw her volunteering at a homeless shelter, offering them invites to come to the semi-finals.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “We’re playing tennis. It’s not a beauty pageant. Whatever happens, won’t be up to how many people turn up or what everybody’s wearing.”

“But don’t you think she’s trying to do it to throw you off?” Sarah asked, “I’m pretty sure she still has feelings for Harry. Isn’t that weird?”

“Weird?” Y/N replied quickly, “Why would it be weird?”

Sarah looked at her suspiciously, “Because she’s Harry’s ex-girlfriend? And your opponent for the next game and did I forget to mention Harry ‘your coach’s’ ex-girlfriend?”

“What Harry does outside of our training is none of my business,” Y/N cleared her throat.

“Did something happen between you two? At the party, Mitch said he saw you two go off somewhere and now you’re being weird,” Sarah questioned.

“Nothing happened, Harry was just being his usual, annoying self,” Y/N hoped she was convincing enough to drop the subject, but Sarah continued to look at her like she knew there was something she wasn’t saying.

Thankfully, the bell for the first period was a perfect interruption. Y/N slammed her locker shut, “I’ll see you later?”

Sarah nodded, “Lunch, right?”

Y/N froze, remembering that Harry was a member of their usual lunch group, “Um, I-I have tutoring.”

“What?” Sarah furrowed her brows, “I thought you tutored on Wednesdays?”

“Change of schedule?” Y/N blurted out, grasping for an excuse.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, “Something very weird is happening… Are you pregnant?”

“Okay, love you so much, bye,” Y/N rushed, giving Sarah a quick hug before walking quickly past her to avoid blurting out any more hideous lies.

As she turned the corner, she accidentally bumped into someone, her shoulder colliding with theirs. Y/N looked up, and her heart was in her mouth when she saw Harry looking down at her, something flashed in his eyes, his lips parting the same way hers did as she finally laid eyes on him after ignoring him all weekend. He was wearing his blazer for once, but his tie was loose around his neck.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

Y/N’s eyes softened, she wanted to speak to him, but then her cheeks flushed as she remembered the night in his bedroom. “I-I-” Her throat felt like she’d swallowed cotton wool as she tried to get her words out, “I can’t.” She shook her head, walking past him and ignoring him calling her name.

. . .

Y/N had hoped by ignoring the things that were bothering her, everything would fix itself on its own. It was a bad habit she hadn’t learned to kick and the situation with Harry was no different. 

They hadn’t spoken a word about their kiss since it happened, in fact, they barely spoke about anything at all. Y/N had hoped Harry would go back to their usual back-and-forth arguments and forget about everything but whenever she tried to say something that would push his buttons, he’d just ignore her or use one-worded replies. 

During tennis practice, he’d barely even look at her when she asked him a question and stopped arguing with her when she wanted to do things differently from the way he worked. She was even beginning to think her friends had figured out that something had gone down between them from the way Harry would completely shut down whenever she opened her mouth to speak during lunch break, 

As much as she hated herself for it, she missed him. Missed the way they would argue over everything but smile at each other because they both knew it wasn’t serious, missed the way he calmed her down whenever she would get too passionate about something and the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. 

She had tried to forget the kiss but she went to sleep dreaming about it. Every time he got anywhere near her, thoughts of his lips on hers flashed through her mind like a showreel. His low, drunken mumble when he spoke to her outplayed the music in her ears whenever she tried to listen to the playlist he had made for her. 

Worst of all, it was affecting her gameplay. Y/N was pretty sure she had never seen such terrible volleys or groundstrokes in her entire life. Every time she would try to aim the ball, she’d get distracted by Harry wiping sweat from his brow or watching her so intensely when she wasn’t looking like he was trying to set her on fire with his own eyes. 

The game was two weeks away and the dream of winning that scholarship was slowly slipping out of her grasp with every passing day. 

It was the end of the week and Y/N was sitting in her dorm room, eating cereal at her desk with her pyjama bottoms and her school shirt on. She was finishing up the last few questions of her math homework when Sarah walked in. 

“I need to show you something,” Sarah dropped her bag on the floor and pulled out a newspaper. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N frowned, taking the rolled-up paper in her hands and unrolling it on her desk. Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open when she took in the image before her. 

It was a blown up picture of her and Harry on the front cover of the school newspaper. Harry had one arm around her waist and they were both looking into each other’s eyes, a smile on his face and a surprised look on hers. 

To everyone else, it looked like the front cover of a Nicholas Sparks novel and it probably didn’t help that the title was written in big bold letters with the words ‘The coach and his student’. 

“What the fuck!” Y/N stood up, gripping the newspaper in her hands she thought it might rip apart. 

“I know,” Sarah cringed, “I had no idea they were going to do that, Y/N, if I did I would never have gotten Luke that interview.”

“Sarah, ‘The coach and his student’? What is this? The title of a porno?” Y/N couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “How many people have seen this already?”

Sarah didn’t answer until Y/N gave her a stern look, “Everybody,”

Y/N groaned and threw the newspaper in the trash can beneath her desk before sliding on her trainers and storming down the hallways of her dorm. 

“Wait where are you going?” Sarah ran after her. Y/N ignored her as well as the people whispering about her as they held copies of the newspaper in their hands. She made a beeline for the car park, her gaze drawn to the familiar sight of his black Audi parked in its usual spot. There he was, leaning casually against it, engaged in conversation with Mitch, Adam, and Jake.

Mitch’s head turned when he saw her pacing towards them, Sarah still running behind her. Harry’s attention shifted to her. She saw the flash of amusement on his face before it fell flat again. 

“Have you seen this?” She held the newspaper up in front of him.

Harry’s eyes darted to the newspaper before landing on her face again, “Yes.” He said the usual one-worded reply he had been giving her all week. 

“And you approved of it?” She could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. 

“No,” He replied, “But it doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers you it seems.”

“Of course, it would bother me!” Y/N exclaimed, “If I’d have known they would make it look like we were a-”

Harry stilled, his jaw clenching, “If we were a what?”

Y/N paused before answering, “A couple.” He seemed to react in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, “I would have never done that stupid interview in the first place.”

Harry scoffed, “Why does it bother you so much to like me?” 

“It doesn’t bother me,” It did but she wouldn’t tell him that.

“You haven’t talked to me since Mitch’s party,” Harry started but she cut him off before he could say anything else.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” She stressed.

“You and I both know that’s not true.” 

“Harry you’re being ridiculous,”

“Says the girl who ran out here in her pyjama pants,” He quips.

Y/N looked down to realise she was, in fact, still in her pyjama bottoms. She glanced around at her friend’s who quickly looked away to act as though they weren’t all watching their argument like it was some kind of reality TV show moment. 

Harry’s shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh. He reached for her wrist and pulled her in closer. Y/N inhaled, it was the first time he had touched her since the party. “Look,” He murmured, keeping his voice low, “If I’d have known this was how you’d react I would have never have done it.”

Y/N looked surprised, “Really?” She couldn’t help but feel a sting at his words but she ignored it. 

He nods, “I went too far and I know things with you are different,”

“What do you mean?” But before Y/N could get a reply, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. 

She pulled it out and felt a pit form in her stomach when her mother’s name lit up the screen. She immediately answered it and walked to the back of Harry’s car to speak to her. “Mum?” Y/N answered. 

“Your father got an email this morning,” Her mother replied. No hello, no how are you or how’s school, just straight to the point. 

“He did?” Y/N already knew where this was going. 

“It was a copy of the school newspaper,” Her mother’s voice sounded as though she was trying to keep her anger at bay, “We opened it hoping to see our daughter somewhere on the scholar’s page but low and behold there you were right on the front cover - with a boy no less.” 

“Mum-”

“We want to see you,” Her mother snapped, interrupting her, “Your father has reserved us a table at Château Blanc two weeks today. It’s the only day off he could get so be grateful.” 

Two weeks from today was the day before the semi-finals. She needed to train but she couldn’t say no to her mother, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Her mother replied before hanging up the phone. 

Y/N slipped the phone back and sighed, “Are you okay?” Harry’s voice sounded. 

“My parents have seen the newspaper,” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “They want me to have dinner with them.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” Harry looked at her with genuine concern.

“No, what I need you to do is leave me alone.” Y/N had shut down. It was the way she always got whenever she spoke to her parents. 

“Y/N I didn’t know-” He reached for her hand as she walked past but she quickly pulled it away. 

“Leave me alone Harry,” She said, completely defeated. 

Y/N made her way back to her dorm and collapsed on her bed letting out a sigh of frustration. She looked up at the ceiling and wondered if she would ever find the off switch that would finally offer her a break from the life she was living. 

. . . 

Harry stood on one side of the tennis court, sending tennis balls flying with his racket toward Y/N, who stood on the opposite side, swiftly striking them back. She tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze, which seemed to linger on her every move as if he were observing more than just her technique. 

Every time she attempted to slice or backhand the ball, it would completely falter landing somewhere off the court. Whilst her body was on the court, her mind was elsewhere like it had been every day since her parents had called. 

She made an attempt to drop-shot the ball only to end up missing it completely. “Fuck!” Y/N cried out and hit her racket against the ground over and over again in a fit of rage and frustration. 

“Okay, slow down there, love,” Harry chuckled, “Y’ gonna break the racket and I’m pretty sure it’s school property.”

“It’s my own racket,” Y/N replied. 

The corner of his lips tilted upwards, “You still mad about that kiss?” 

Y/N glanced around them to see if anyone heard him. It’s not like it would change anything, everyone already thought they were dating after the school newspaper came out, “No, I’m not mad. In fact, I’ve already forgotten it ever happened, my brain has fully wiped it from my memory.”

Harry’s lips transformed into a smirk, “Oh really?” He took a step forward and she took one back, “Replaced with all those books…and…tennis,” His eyes dart down to her lips. 

“Tennis…” She whispers, her heart thudding in her chest. 

“So you don’t think about it at all?” He asks. 

“N-not at all,” She lies, terribly. 

“Okay,” He shrugs, wiping the smirk from his face, “Well clearly something’s bothering you because those hits were the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N gives him a look, “It’s my parents. I’m meeting them for dinner this Friday and I haven’t seen them since they dropped me off here at the beginning of the year.”

“Are they that upset with you over the paper?” Harry looked concerned. 

“I guess so. My dad even reserved a table at Château Blanc. It’s his favourite place to get mad at me and my mum. He can book a booth and then try to control his anger whilst eating steak and mashed potatoes - honestly, it’s his dream scenario.” Y/N laughs but Harry doesn’t see the humour. She sighs, “I’m worried it will throw me off of the game.”

This time, Harry does smile, “I don’t think anyone could do that.” 

“Everything is piling up and I just feel so mad and I don’t know where to put it,” She huffs. 

Harry's smile softened. "Here," he offered his racket, "Use mine. Can’t have you breaking yours when you have a semi-final to win."

Y/N hesitated, then accepted the racket, seeking confirmation from Harry. With his nod, she began to hit the racket against the floor repeatedly, releasing her frustration with each strike. 

"Ugh," she screeched, "I’m so pissed."

"Oh, yeah, let it out," Harry encouraged with a chuckle.

With each slam of the racket, Y/N vented her frustration. "I just wanna play tennis!"

“I just want to win my next stupid game!”

“I just want my parents to like me!”

Suddenly, Harry joined in, mirroring her actions. “I hate that I have this stupid injury!

“I think my dad’s disappointed in me!”

“I just want the girl I like to like me back!”

They continued hitting the rackets on the ground until they started to crack and split from the force. As the rackets began to splinter, they exchanged a glance, a mix of exhaustion and relief evident in their eyes. With a final forceful slam, they both dropped their broken rackets to the ground, the sound echoing in the quiet of the tennis court.

Y/N looks down at their broken rackets on the floor, her chest heaving up and down. Unable to help herself, she starts laughing feeling relieved to have finally gotten all her anger out. Harry watches and then starts laughing with her. 

“Feel better?” He asks. 

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yeah," she replied softly, meeting his gaze, “I do.”

. . .

Y/N’s parents sent a car to pick her up on the night of the dinner. She sat in the back of the car in a pair of tights and a navy blue dress with a pair of brogues laced up on her feet. Her hair was in loose curls fastened with a clip at the back. Whenever she was around her parents, she always had to dress smart. 

She glanced at her phone to make sure she wasn’t running late as they pulled in front of the restaurant. She tipped the driver before leaving even if her parents wouldn’t agree if they found out later. 

The dimly lit restaurant looked elegant, with fancy lights and dark wood furniture. There were long curtains on the windows and the tables had white cloths and polished silverware. Gentle jazz music played in the background as people chatted across tables.

Y/N spotted her parents in their usual booth at the back. She made her way towards them but immediately began to panic when she realised they weren’t alone. 

Sitting across from them was Harry’s mother, Anne, who Y/N had last encountered briefly before when she had visited his apartment for the first time. She looked regal in her fancy dress and matching pearl jewellery. 

Beside her sat a man wearing a finely tailored suit and tie who resembled an older version of Harry, with grey hair and a face lined with wrinkles, but he didn't seem a day over sixty. His eyes were a darker shade of green than Harry’s were and his demeanour wasn’t as friendly. 

“Y/N,” Anne was the first to acknowledge her presence, smiling as she walked over.

It caught the attention of her own parents, who turned and forced a smile as though to project a united front in front of Harry’s parents. “Hello,” Y/N bent over to kiss her mother and father on the cheek in greeting. 

“Y/N, you remember Anne and James from the country club?” Her mother, Theresa, spoke.

“Of course,” Y/N sat in the chair beside her mother.

“We invited them to eat with us considering this matter contains them both.” 

Y/N nodded, not knowing what to say in response. She knew the dinner with her parents would have something to do with her participation in the Academy Slam but she hadn’t been expecting to see Harry’s parents too. 

“Did you see Harry on his way in?” Anne asked, “He said he was on his way earlier.”

“Mind if I sit here?” His voice appeared out of nowhere and Y/N’s entire body reacted in a way she couldn’t control around him.

Her head lifted to look up at him and the air knocked out of her. Unlike his usual casual attire, he was wearing a black suit with golden buttons and a black tie. His hair was better styled than the usual unruly mess of curls. He smiled down at her, his eyes seemed to brighten beneath the dim lights at the sight of her. 

He winked and sat down in the chair beside her, “Sorry I’m late.”

His presence overwhelmed her senses, the faint scent of his cologne filling the air as he settled into his seat. Whatever this dinner was meant to be had completely changed for her; she suddenly felt less alone.

“Harry,” Y/N’s father, David, spoke, “Haven’t seen you since you left for Australia.”

“It’s certainly been a while,” Harry spoke, smiling forcefully. 

After ordering their food, David speaks, “I assume you know why we’re here,” He directs the statement towards Y/N who feels everyone’s eyes on her.

“The newspaper?” She says.

“The tennis,” Her father replies, saying the words with a hint of disappointment. “Y/N, you don’t seriously think you’re going to get anywhere with this tennis thing do you?” 

Y/N’s cheeks warm in embarrassment, “What?”

This time Theresa spoke, “We understand you enjoy it for fun but don’t you think you’re being greedy taking the opportunity of a scholarship away from girls who want to waste their lives on it?”

“Mum,” Y/N starts, “Tennis… tennis is everything to me. I-I’m not doing this because it’s some game to me. I’m doing this because I don’t have a choice.”

Y/N feels Harry’s knee bump hers beneath the table like he was silently praising her for sticking up for herself, “Don’t be ridiculous Y/N,” David says, “All you’ve ever talked about is going into medicine.”

“Because it was all you were willing to hear,” Y/N quickly responded.

A throat cleared from across the table and Harry’s father looked directly at him, “Don’t think this doesn’t apply to you.”

Harry frowns, “What are you talking about?”

“Coaching Harry? Seriously? After your injury? You know the doctor said you could worsen the damage if you continued and you disobeyed that for what? A silly game of girl’s tennis?” 

He scoffed, “Here we go,”

“Harry,” His mother warned. 

“You know we all agreed that if you were to go back to school you’d need to pick up on other subjects so you could actually go somewhere in life? Instead, we have to hear from your teachers how your grades have fallen only to find you on the front cover of the school newspaper with a girl who can’t hire her own coach and has to put you at risk?” 

Harry’s hands ball into fists beneath the table. Y/N didn’t know whether she felt more embarrassed or ashamed, all this felt like her fault and she didn’t know what to do. 

“I-I didn’t mean to put him at risk, Mr Styles,” Y/N stutters. She feels Harry place a hand on her knee. 

“Y/N, this will stop at once. I’m requesting the school pull you out of the competition.” Her father says and Y/N swears she feels her heart breaking.

“No please,” She was willing to get down on her hands and knees and beg, “Please Dad, this means everything to me.”

David raises a hand, “I won’t hear any of it. If it means you can focus on passing your exams and Harry no longer has to think about his injury then you can quit.” 

“N-no, I won’t let you take this away from me. I’ve been good, I study every day and I’m top of all my classes, why can’t you let me just have this one thing?” She didn’t care if she sounded childish or insane, this competition was all she had been working for. 

“Oh quit blubbering Y/N,” Her mother spoke, rolling her eyes, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Please, please,” Y/N doesn’t know what more she can do or say, they wouldn’t listen. 

Harry pushed his chair back, the sound catching everybody’s attention as the legs scraped against the floor, “I think Y/N and I will eat elsewhere,” Harry spoke, taking her hand beneath the table and flipping it over to intertwine their fingers. His thumb rubbed over the pulse point on her wrist in a way to calm her down. 

“What are you talking about?” James huffed. 

“Do any of you actually know how hard Y/N works?” Harry spits, “I doubt it because you’re all too busy counting the paper in your wallet to look up at your own fucking kids.” 

“Harry,” Anne gasps.

“No,” He glares at both his father and Y/N’s parents, “Y/N studies six hours a day, every day. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take a break from it. When she’s not studying, she’s on the court blistering her hands just so she can get at least one perfect shot. She is the most brilliantly smart person I know and you may not care or fight for her but I will. I always will and right now I will not let you take away something she has worked so deeply hard for.” He stands from the table, still holding Y/N’s hand and everyone can see it as she refuses to let go. 

“Harry, sit down,” James orders but he ignores him.

“You’ve been disappointed in me since the moment I injured myself. I know you think I’m no good to you anymore, in fact, I’ve accepted it and I am glad for it because I have never been so happy and if you looked long enough you’d realise it.” Harry looks down at Y/N, his eyes filled with passion and anger and sincerity, “I am happy.” He says, “Because of what she has given me.” 

James scoffs, “And what is that?”

Harry’s head spins in the direction of his father, “Something you know nothing about.”

And with that, Harry tugs on Y/N’s hand to lead her out of the restaurant. 

Before they could fully walk away, Y/N felt her mother pulling her back, “If you walk out of this restaurant…”

“You’ll what? Never speak to me again? As if that’s anything new,” Y/N scoffs, “Nothing I do will ever be enough to either of you, will it?”

Y/N ignored the throbbing in her chest at her mother’s lack of reply, instead, she walked alongside Harry, holding his hand as they left the restaurant and reached his car.

Outside, the cool breeze felt nice on her warm skin. They shared a glance before Y/N started laughing so hard she started to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed softly. Harry looked at her with a gentle expression, giving her space to let out her feelings and make sense of everything that had just happened.

“I don’t normally cry so can you look away?” Y/N sobs, unable to help herself as the tears fall from her eyes.

“No I don’t think I can do that,” Harry says, “You’re too pretty,”

Y/N huffs a laugh through her tears as she tries to wipe them away with the back of her hand, “I feel stupid,” She whispers to herself, her head falling forward. 

She sees Harry’s shoes on the ground and lifts her head up to look up at him towering above her. He smiles and pushes her hair out of her face, “Hi Y/N,” He murmurs.

“Hi Harry,” She whispers.

“Sorry for kidnapping you,” He says and Y/N chuckles.

“S okay,” She murmurs, her hands balling at her sides when he steps closer until his face is right in front of hers. 

“Can I admit something? You can pretend to be a little shocked if you want,” Harry asks. 

“Okay,”

“I’m crazy for you,” He admits, the words stealing her breath, “I’ve been crazy for you since third year since you followed me around the playground threatening to beat me up with a tennis racket if I didn’t show you how to use one.” 

Y/N’s lips parted, unsure of what to respond with so she let him talk, “And I’ve spent all these years pining for your attention even if it was just a scrap but I don’t think I can take it anymore. I like you Y/N, I like you so much I don’t know how to breathe until I’m around you. I thought tennis was what bought me happiness but I don’t think it ever has. The only reason I ever loved tennis as much as I do is because of you.” 

“Harry,” Y/N’s eyes glisten at the boy in front of her. The boy she had spent her whole life arguing with because no one had ever frustrated her as much as he had. 

“Do you hate me?” He asks, his eyes worried, “Because after that kiss I thought you did for a moment.”

Y/N shook her head, “No,” She murmured, “I don’t hate you.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “Okay, well that’s good.”

“No one has ever stuck up for me before,” Y/N says, “Or believed in me the way you do. I’ve always done it all on my own.” Harry’s expression softens, “I think all this time I thought I was hating you, I was actually afraid of you because you make these things happen in my brain that I couldn’t seem to ever figure out.”

“Have you got them figured out yet?” Harry cups her cheek in his hand, it’s warm and soft and everything she needs.

“Not everything, but I do know one thing,” Y/N stands on her toes, looping her arms around his neck and smiling harder than she’s ever smiled - ever. “I like you an awful lot, Harry,” 

Harry’s smile outshone the moon. It was the happiest she’d ever seen him and maybe the happiest she’d ever been too. A sense of relief seemed to feel the air, Y/N felt lighter like she was a tennis ball flying through the air right into the palm of his hand, “You mean that?” He murmured, lips ghosting her cupid's bow. 

“I do,” She says, “But if you make me say it again I’ll lie and say I don’t mean it,”

“Okay,” He whispers, his mouth grazing hers as he holds her face in his hands, “I won’t make you say it again.”

Instead, Harry surged forward with such urgency and kissed her upper lip between his. Y/N’s eyes flutter shut but the whole world becomes brighter when she does. She was consumed by him, all of her senses had just become Harry. His tongue darted and tangled with hers, his hands pulling her in impossibly close trying to mould them together. 

When Harry’s lips pulled away, Y/N’s eyes remained shut and she was immediately desperate to experience that feeling all over again. Harry chuckled and she opened her eyes, his lips were pinker from the lipstick she was wearing, his eyes hazy and she was pretty sure her own pupils were carved into hearts just from looking at him.

“Can we go back to my place?” He asks.

Y/N didn’t even need a moment to think about it, “M’kay,”

. . . 

Harry could barely contain his desire as they made their way to his apartment. With a forceful push, the door swung open, and he pressed Y/N against it, his lips hungrily exploring every inch of her face and trailing down her neck. Despite her attempts to remove his shirt, her hands kept gravitating back to his tousled curls, pulling him closer for more intense kisses.

As they tumbled onto the couch, Harry hovered over her, his gaze filled with desire. "Harry," Y/N's voice quivered with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, "I-I've never done this before," she confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What? Never kissed anyone? That's hard to believe because you're really good at it," Harry teased, peppering kisses along her neck.

"No, I mean... I've never..." Y/N trailed off, the implication clear.

Understanding dawned in Harry's eyes. "Is that what we're doing?" he smirked, enjoying her flustered reaction.

His expression softened. "Would it make you feel better if I told you I haven't either?" he confessed.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "What? But what about Astrid? You were together for a year."

"Astrid's family is Catholic," Harry explained. "And if it ever came to that, I don't think I could go through with it."

"Why?" Y/N questioned, her curiosity piqued.

"Because," Harry shrugged, "I've only ever wanted you."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, a rush of emotions flooding her. "Don't act so surprised," Harry chuckled.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Y/N inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because..." Harry paused, his gaze locking with hers, "I knew I needed to be careful with you.”

Y/N huffs, “I’m not fragile,” 

His smile is sweet and gentle when he replies, “Maybe not to everyone else,” His breath fans across her cheeks, “But you are to me.” 

Y/N melts into the couch when he kisses her again. She didn’t know kissing could be so magical but suddenly they were eight years old again where life was simpler and games were just for fun, books were read for enjoyment and Y/N’s emotions weren’t so difficult to navigate. 

It was strange having someone understand her the way Harry did. Her whole life she thought no one was paying attention to her, not even her own parents, but he had been admiring her from afar for most of their lives together. 

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Harry says, “I don’t want to rush this with you. I want to do it right,”

Y/N’s lips curve, “You could never do it wrong,” 

He holds her to him, their legs intertwined on the end of the couch. Y/N had always thought the court was where she was meant to be but maybe this was where she needed to be all along. After all, tennis would not be in her life if it weren’t for Harry. 

. . .

“Okay, you gotta go baby,” Harry slurs against her mouth as she continues to kiss him. 

“Wait,” She whines and he smiles, feeling delirious whilst their lips connect repeatedly. His hands reach are holding her thighs as they wrap around him, her hands in his hair pulling him closer. 

They hear Y/N’s name from the umpire once more and Harry has to find the strength to pull away. His lips ghost the skin of her cheek, “Y’ gonna go and win this?” 

“Mhm,” She sighs, releasing herself from his hold and grabbing her tennis bag.

“Hey,” Harry pulls her back into him and she makes a little ‘oof’ sound. He holds her face in his hands, “You think you’re so hard to read? Not with me,” 

Y/N huffs, “I’m nervous. What if I don’t win? She’s your ex-girlfriend and everybody’s made a big deal about this because they already think we’re dating.”

“We are though aren’t we?” Harry quirks a brow, “Dating?”

Y/N looks at him blankly before hitting him on the shoulder, “Obviously Harry!”

He chuckles, “Okay, okay,” His hands slide down her arms to thread his fingers with hers at their sides, he lifts them up so their hands are pressed against each other and leans in close, “Remember what I told you about your anger? And how it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and now that you’re my girlfriend I’m allowed to say that but honestly it’s the hottest thing ever and I almost die everytime I watch you play and I see you get all mad and-”

“Harry, focus,” Y/N snapped before she grinned and kissed him quickly, “But thank you, your ass looks pretty good on the court too.”

“Are you being for real?” Harry says, his mouth falling open, but he shakes his head to bring himself back to the main point at hand. He couldn’t pull her away for another make out session not when they were already late as it was, “But anyway, this game is no different to the others just because you’re playing against Astrid. Use everything you have and channel it against her.” 

Y/N nods, her eyes twinkling when she looks at him, “You’re a pretty good coach,” 

“You’re a pretty hot tennis player,” 

“Okay stop,” She pulls away and grabs her tennis bag.

“What?” He throws his hands in the air and laughs, “Now that I’m your boyfriend can I freely look at your ass under that skirt whilst you play?”

Y/N spun on her heel and glared at him, “That’s misogyny.”

“But I’m obsessed with you,” He argues.

She pauses for a moment and then nods, “Fine but don’t make it obvious,” 

. . .

Harry stood on the sidelines, his heart pounding as he watched Y/N prepare for Astrid's final serve. The tension in the air was palpable; it was match point, and the game had been intense.

Harry had always considered Y/N the greatest tennis player he had ever seen. Maybe he was biased because he’d also been hopelessly infatuated with her since they were in third year but nothing compared to seeing his girl play on the court. 

He couldn’t seem to breathe as Astrid threw the ball into the air and hit it so hard with her racket, the sound echoed across the court. 

Y/N ran to retaliate, backhanding it straight back to her. His eyes stayed fixed on the girl who he had confessed his feelings to just last night. 

Astrid had tried to throw Y/N off multiple times during the game. Waving to her fans in the crowd whenever they would take a moments break or trying to remind her that she was Harry’s ex-girlfriend. Harry had told her to ignore it but Y/N didn’t exactly need advice on how to hit back at her opponent, she’d do it all in the game. 

It was a long match of back and forth before Y/N finally decided to go all in, hitting the ball with so much power and precision it landed in the line and bounced straight off the court. 

Crestwood students erupted in cheers as Astrid threw her racket to the ground having lost the game. Harry could feel the rush of elation over his entire body, his fist pumping the air when the scores appeared on screen with Y/N winning the entire thing. 

Y/N didn’t need to go anywhere to celebrate because the one person she wanted was standing right in front of her. She dropped her racket to the floor and ran into his open arms, “That’s my girl,” He spun her around, “You did it, baby, I knew you could.” 

Y/N was beaming, leaning down to kiss him in front of the whole crowd of people. “We’re going to the final,” She squealed, hugging him tightly. 

“You and me,” Harry responded. 

. . .

taglist: @storyschanging @lilbredsticc @esposa-do-harry @st-ev-ie @itschelseacisneros @hermionelove

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x fem reader | virgin!bakugou × experienced!reader + first time + both heroes.

a.n; i was watching the Twilight movies, and when Breaking Dawn started, one particular scene inspired this… sorry, not sorry. ✌🏻🙃

The first time Bakugou Katsuki and you are intimate is a completely different experience for both of you.

For you, it has been a night you'll never forget. It has been the most magical and intimate experience of your life. His hands caressing the skin of your body has marked you as his forever. His kisses on each corner of your body has sealed a pact in which your soul became one with his. And when he finally entered you, you felt doomed and blessed at the same time. He flew you to heaven with each thrust, each shared breath. But the sight of his red eyes made you feel the burn of hell. The desire, the passion, the all consuming warmth of which you would gladly get addicted to.

It has been a magnificent night for you.

Yet for him…

When you wake up, you feel the pleasurable ache of your limbs and the satisfying burn down there, witnesses of the best night shared with the love of your life. Perfect. It has been perfect. You smile happily, opening your eyes, and finally taking in your surroundings. Headboard of the bed was destroyed, and no amount of effort could repair the damage of broken and burnt wood. Some pillows had been ripped, small feathers still dancing in the air around you. Even the sheets had been burnt and ripped in some places, specifically where his hands had been placed.

Your smile turned a bit cheeky. And proud. Honestly, it is a lie if you say that the environment that shined around you doesn't bust your ego up a bit.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen though.

But you find him after a few minutes of searching for him.

Katsuki is sitting over the arm of the couch in the living room, head hanging low and an almost grunt leaving his mouth showing his annoyance. That's weird.

“Hey, love,” you say almost in a whisper. Knowing your man the way you do, you are always slow and gentle in your approach. He has healed tons after the war, but you are still careful and considerate to not provoke any bad reaction –even though he has told you millions of times that he doesn't mind you, or anything that came from you.

Katsuki raises his head towards you as you stand in front of him in between his legs, your arms immediately surrounding his neck and fingers playing with the hair in the back of his head. His expression softens immediately, but it doesn't match your shining smile.

You're expecting a “good morning, love” in a sweet tone, yet what you receive is completely the opposite.

“How badly are you hurt?” His tone is annoyed, angry almost. But also there's worry right in the front, so you know he's not angry with you.

Yet you can't avoid but to frown in confusion, “What? I'm not-...”

“Fuck, yes, you are… Look,” he signals the mirror right behind you as he pulls down one side of the robe you put on right when you got up from bed, exposing your right shoulder and a bit of your back.

Your eyebrows shoot straight up at the sight the mirror reflects, surprised. There's bruises that are turning purple and small burns that definitely weren't there before last night started.

A flashback immediately fills your mind, remembering you what provided such a wound.

You close your legs around his hips as he slowly raises the strength and speed of his thrust. Your moans and whines sing in his ears as the most beautiful song he has ever heard. He is so close to you, face almost hidden in your neck as he breathes strongly, eyes closed.

You get bold and decide to kiss and lick his neck, right under his ear. And that is what finally gets him to make a more prominent sound, groaning from deep within his chest, one forceful thrust that almost takes all the breath from your lungs and makes you see stars behind your eyes. One of his hands instantly holds the back of your shoulder to try and ground himself from the sudden burst of pleasure both of you felt.

You remember feeling a bit of a burn, but honestly, you had been so lost in the pleasure you barely felt it.

“Baby, that's nothin’...”

“No, it fucking isn't! Look here!” He pulls up the end of the robe, exposing now the back of your left thigh.

Oh. Wow. The burn there is way more deep and red and painful looking. That will definitely need an ointment or something. You get now why it hurt a little bit when you walked.

And again, a flashback.

Of Katsuki resting his forehead over yours, grunts and pants leaving his mouth freely as his thrusts get a bit erratic, desperate to catch that orgasm that is pushing him from the inside out. His left forearm is resting next to your head –you remember now hearing some tearing sound then– holding his weight as much as he can, yet you feel all of him over you. And you love it. His other hand holds the back of your thigh tightly against his hip, like it is the anchor that reminds him where he is. Like the only thing that keeps him from losing himself in the farthest cloud of heaven.

One, two, three more thrusts, and he loses the battle to all of his senses as your hands almost scratch the skin of his back, your walls closing on him and pushing him towards an exquisite feeling he couldn't describe. It is too precious to define it in one mundane word.

Again, you felt the burn at the moment, but it had been so filled with pleasure as you both came together that your mind barely registered it as a wound.

“Fuck! I'm so sorry…” The desperation and regret are clear in all his face and movements as he walks away from you towards the other side of the room.

You feel… disappointed. Why is he getting away from you? Why is he so angry? This is definitely not how you imagined the day after being.

“Don't. Don't do this…” You protest, walking again towards him. “I'm fine-...”

“NO. Don't you say you're fine, ‘cause you're clearly fucking not!”

“Katsuki, please, don't ruin this!”

“I already fucking ruined it!”

You sigh. You know what's happening. He's letting his self-destructive thoughts get to him. He's blaming himself over something that he didn't have control over. And that makes you sad. So you approach him again, this time more calmed.

“Love, I am a hero too. I have been injured way worse than this… Please. Don't you see how freaking happy I am?”

Your tone is calm, sweet even. And he lets you get closer again, your hands touching his chest, sliding up towards his neck. He breathes in deeply.

“Or was, five seconds ago. I'm actually a bit pissed off now…” You admit.

“You should be fucking angry with me.”

You roll your eyes. “Katsuki, we talked about it. We knew our Quirks could backfire a bit on us, especially in a moment like that… Neither of us were alert enough.” Your hands caress his cheeks, body pressing against his. But he doesn't touch you, or moves in any way. “For me, it has been one of the best nights of my life… I don't know… I hope that… it was at least good for you too…”

He snorts, “That's what you're worried about? That I didn't fucking enjoyed myself?”

Your eyes don't look at his. Bakugou Katsuki had never been with another woman before you. He has been so focused on his job and dream of becoming one the best heroes in the world that he never made time to even think about a partner. Never let himself feel deeper than friendship for anybody. Until you appeared in his life. Like a whirlwind that shook his entire life, twirling a fucking chaos inside his being and made him question everything he believed in and gave him new sensations he never felt before. 

He admits that he felt happy once again when you came into his life. And he will always be hugely grateful for that.

He fucking loves you for that.

However, you don't know exactly what or how he felt last night. So you don't know if he actually enjoyed it as you did.

You suddenly feel his forehead press over yours and you look up at his eyes as he says, “Not one single fucking word is enough to express how fucking perfect last night was for me. Not even the word ‘perfect’ encompasses the feeling of what it felt to be one with you… Not a word, or expression, fucking exist to describe it.”

Your eyes water at his confession, chest filled with the love Katsuki just washed you with thanks to his words.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

You smile standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach for his lips. He's way taller than you, so you push him down with a hand on the back of his neck so you can succeed. He lets you do it. Lips finding each other, kissing sweetly and slowly. But a fire raises inside you, yearning, screaming for him. You try to deepen the kiss, your mouth opening and catching his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it lightly but clear in your intentions.

That's when he puts both of his hands on each side of your shoulders and pushes you away. A little bit and gently. But he pushes you away.

You frown. And he's frowning too, but not looking at you. 

Realization washes over you.

“You're not gonna touch me again, aren't you?”

Katsuki's eyes find yours, filled with a sadness that makes your heart hurt. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

You shake your head, “That's not what I meant…”

You know what is happening. He's so afraid to touch you he doesn't even let the inside of his hand, where his Quirk is expelled from, get in contact with your skin. And that's… sad. You feel offended for him. Even when the offender is himself.

He can see the protest in your eyes, but he completely ignores you by saying, “I'll make you some breakfast, okay?”

He sounds wounded. And you know the expression on your face probably looked like that too.

Bakugou walks away towards the kitchen, leaving you there alone. Sad and hurt. But so in love with this man, it's almost unbearable.

So you decide then… you're not going to give up. You love him, and you're not going to give up on him.

a.n; am i also gonna write when Bella begs Edward to have sex? yes, i am. wait for it~😉

[chibsandchill]

Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of. 

Masterlist

My requests are open! 

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption 

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The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes. 

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.” 

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods. 

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing. 

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there. 

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.  

You shake your head. 

“Liar.” 

“I was already awake. I like to…” 

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are. 

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.” 

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue. 

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.” 

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes. 

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.  

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away. 

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.” 

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch. 

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks. 

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye. 

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin. 

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.” 

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.” 

“As my Queen commands.” 

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night. 

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so. 

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells. 

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.” 

“Prove what?” 

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul. 

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there. 

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone. 

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you. 

He was a dragon playing at being a lover. 

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him. 

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer. 

He could simply be him. 

Aemond. 

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained. 

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?” 

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation. 

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please. 

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying. 

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against. 

Then, 

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard. 

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais. 

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes. 

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping. 

Aemond needs more. 

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head. 

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give. 

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds? 

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire. 

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.” 

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure. 

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip. 

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor. 

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows. 

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure. 

“We match,” you told him once. 

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you. 

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure. 

“Aemond.” You moan. 

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops. 

Aemond pulls away, but not for long. 

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there. 

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest. 

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin. 

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him. 

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again. 

And the next moment he’s burning. 

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds. 

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in. 

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul? 

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it. 

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you. 

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself. 

“I love you,” you pant into his ear. 

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return. 

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.” 

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth. 

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future. 

His beauty may be what gods fought for, 

but Aemond? 

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new, 

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets. 

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death and injuries, mention of physical assault (physical fight), head injuries, mention of bruises and scars, mention of Eddie's almost death. pining. allusions to unrequited love. enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort. lots and lots of tension. slow burn. also, instead of writing summaries, I will name each chapter after a song that fits the vibe of each chapter. Also, mentioning this again, her nickname has nothing to do with her hair color.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult you know I will mention you in every chapter, so don't even try to fight me. Thanks for coming up with all these ideas with me mwah! — This is only the beginning, guys. This story will progress into something much more intense after chapter four or five, I can’t wait to share this one with you and get into the good and spicy stuff hehe!

Read the prologue first!

series masterlist ⭐︎ next chapter

♡

Your body was aching and everything inside of you was screaming at you to not open your eyes just yet, you felt as though you were being dragged out of it. All your limbs were hurting, your skin aching, your head was pounding. You could not begin to describe the pain even if you tried, it was unlike anything you had felt before. Your memory was lost, at least that’s what it felt like for the first few seconds. 

Then they started coming back slowly. 

From the gate in the water, to Steve being pulled under.

From the bats trying to bite chunks of his skin to you doing everything in your power to save him. 

From the creepy old Creel house, to Max offering herself as the bait. 

As pictures of her flashed in your mind, you suddenly started to register the smell – the disinfectant, the disgusting smell of hospital. You heard the beeping of the machines next to you, and you felt the wires attached to your body. 

You tried to press your lips together, though tears burned in your eyes when the crack in your lip stung. 

You moved your hand as you slowly opened your eyes to bright lights shining into the room you were in. You squinted them, trying to adjust to the light and the vision in front of you, it took you a moment, everything was still so blurry. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see a mop of dark curls. You slowly moved your head to the left side, restraining a groan when you felt a flash of pain in your head. You blinked a few times, taking in the sight of a bruised and battered Eddie, who was looking down at his rings, twisting and playing with them nervously. 

“Eddie?” You said and only then you felt how dry your throat had felt, how raspy your voice had sounded and how much it was aching. 

You did not notice the movement on your right side.

He straightened up as he lifted his head so suddenly, eyes wide as he looked into yours. Relief flashed his face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“Oh thank god.. Hi sweetheart.. slept well?” 

You stared at him for a good long minute, trying to figure out what had happened to him. By the developing scars on his face and the white bandage around his neck, you had an idea of what had gotten to him. 

Was he on the brink of death just like you had been? 

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that he was. 

“Huh… I’m not dead?” 

He shook his head, eyes filled with relief, “gladly no.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, “well, shucks,” you sighed, like you didn’t fight for your life back at the Creel house. 

Eddie sighed but chuckled, understanding your dark humor better than anyone else – despite only knowing you for a few days. 

A cough finally fell from your lips when you tried to sit up, though losing the strength to, you fell back again.

Eddie instantly reached for the water bottle on the table next to you, pouring some into the plastic cup before he carefully placed it into your hand, trying not to touch the bruises on your knuckles. 

You thanked him with a small smile before you lifted the cup to your lips with shaky hands. 

“Careful,” Eddie whispered as he watched you.

You nodded and closed your eyes as you took a sip of the water, welcoming the feeling of the coldness in your dry throat, you took a few sips before you handed him back the cup. 

“How long was I out?”

The sigh from your right side startled you a little, with furrowed brows, you turned to look only to be caught off guard. 

Steve Harrington.

With his arms crossed, he stood by the window, staring at you with an unreadable look on his face. He took you in, eyes glaring at the wounds on your skin. 

“You had to have surgery. There–... There was a deep concussion in your head and a vessel popped. If they didn’t do it quickly you..” He could not bring himself to finish that sentence, he clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands. 

Your heart fluttered at the sight of him. 

Even in this current state, you could not help but smirk cheekily, though it dropped the moment it appeared when you suddenly could feel all the bruises on your face. Your eyes watered and a wince fell from your lips. 

Steve lifted his head at the sound. 

And Eddie straightened up. 

“Don’t move your face too much, sweets.. It’s…” He stopped as he felt anger and sadness hit him all at once. 

He did not want to tell you how bad it really was – how your skin was bruised, how puffy your eyes were. 

You closed your eyes again and laid your head back. 

“Ah, he got me good, didn’t he?” 

Steve swallowed harshly. 

He pushed away the pain from seeing you like this and cleared his throat. He licked his lips and leaned closer. 

“Yeah, but you got him better.” 

You frowned at his words, not quite understanding. 

Eddie glared at him, not knowing how you would take the news so soon. 

“Huh?”

Steve ignored the look in Eddie’s eyes, he kept his on you. 

“Jason’s dead. He fell onto broken wood… that impaled him.”

Oh. 

Flashes of the night came in a blur. 

The fight. 

His rough hands as he hit you, over and over again, as he held you down and wrapped his merciless fingers around your throat, aiming for the kill. 

You felt your heart beating a little faster at the memory, how scared you were when he pointed a gun at Lucas before you stepped in between them, knowing that he could have shot you, right then and there. How much it hurt when he sliced your cheek open with the stupid ring on his finger as he delivered the first punch, how close to death you were when he choked you. You saw the look in his eyes, the rage, as he called you a traitor for protecting ‘the killer’ of your friend. Tears of frustration and anger fell from your eyes when you almost lost the fight – Lucas’s screams as he called out to Max urged you to fight back, and you did, you used every last bit of your strength to throw him off of you and pushed him away. 

Pushed him into his death. 

You do not feel bad. – Max could have died because of him. He would have killed Lucas. He wanted to kill you. 

“Good,” you murmured as you blinked the tears away that formed in your eyes again, “he was going to kill the kids.. He had a gun.. He had a gun, Steve.”

It was almost weird to hear you call him by his name. 

He instantly rushed to your side and reached for your hand, something that neither of you would ever think back to again. 

“Yeah, and you saved them. Listen, you can’t talk much, you need to heal, Blondie.”

Right. The ache in your neck was not from the lack of water, it was from the bruises, from almost being strangled to death.

“Everything else is being taken care of,” he said as he squeezed your hand. 

You ignored the feeling in your chest and turned to look at Eddie. 

“And you?” 

“Well, you are looking at a free man! A free man that was targeted by Victor Creel himself after he got out of Pennhurst. I trespassed into his home many times and he had a vendetta against me or some shit.”

You felt relief rushing through you. 

Though, you saw the hurt behind his eyes, knowing he had to lie about seeing Creel killing Chrissy. 

He did not want to put the blame on somebody else, he knew what it had felt like to be accused of something he hadn’t done – but there was no other option, he had no choice, he wasn’t given one. People of power had told him what to do. In return, he got his name cleared and had been given a good amount of money for ‘the troubles’. Money that he could live off from for the rest of his life.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Eddie.” 

He smiled at your words, nodding. 

“What happened to you?” 

He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Steve. 

“He played hero when he shouldn’t have.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. 

Hero. There wasn’t only one hero that night. 

Almost in panic, you straightened up. 

“Where’s Max?” 

Steve put his hand on yours again, giving it a pat as he tried to calm you down, though all he gave you was shivers running down your spine from his touch. 

“Healing. He broke one arm and one leg, but she is awake. Robin is with her, she’s been waiting for you to wake up.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the weight in your shoulders fell just like that. You felt like crying, but you wouldn’t do it here, in front of them. 

“And everyone else?”

You took in the sight of him, properly this time. 

There were dark circles beneath his eyes, tiredness in his face.

You didn’t know what prompted you to do this, maybe it was the high anesthetic in your system or a spur of the moment – but you lifted your hand, reached out to him to graze your fingertips against his neck, on the mark where the tail of a demobat almost strangled him. 

He did not pull away, but he stared at you with wide eyes, blushing at your action.  

“I-I’m fine.. Everyone else is too,” he said and cleared his throat. 

A scoff on your left pulled you back and you removed your hand from Steve’s neck to look over at Eddie. 

“Speak for yourself, I have like forty stitches all over my body.”

How he managed to joke about that while he was still in so much pain? You did not know. But then again, you were just the same. 

He spared you the details when he began to talk about what happened in the upside down. Steve did not want to revive the story again, seemingly not handling the thought of his new friend dying so cruelly. He left and told you that he’d come back later. 

As Eddie was telling you about the swarm of bats, you felt the pain in your chest, just like when you had found out about Chrissy, just like when you had found out about him. 

Eddie was a new addition to your life, you two are barely even friends, though you do not know how you would handle the news of him not making it. 

“I’m happy you’re here.”

Eddie’s eyes softened, though a smirk tugged at his lips. 

“Going soft on me now, sweets?” He chuckled, surprised to hear such words from you. “Or are you still on drugs? Where’s the little ol’ meanie, I kinda liked her.” 

A pained chuckle fell from your lips. 

“She’ll be back in no time, don’t you worry.”

Your laughter died down when you thought of the way he looked at you. 

Judging by all the pain you were still feeling, you knew that you looked awful. 

“How bad do I look? Be honest, please.”

Eddie shook his head with a pained look on his face. He looked down for a moment. His eyes flashed with anger and sadness. 

“Bad, sweetheart. When we found out that Jason did this to you.. We wanted to revive him only to kill him again,” he said angrily. “Steve wanted to rip his corpse apart, that’s what Robin told me.”

For a moment, you felt cheerful and your eyes had softened. 

For a moment you had thought that he cared. 

But Eddie quickly pulled you back into reality after shattering that illusion. 

“He saw what he did to Lucas, it’s not as bad as you but.. fuck. He was going to kill Max too.”

Steve was angry at Jason because of the teens, not because of what he did to you, never because of you. He wouldn’t have cared if you bleed out on the ground in the Creel house. He wouldn’t have cared if you died. 

You focused on Eddie, on the anger in his features – it made your eyes soften, knowing that you found another friend, one that you should probably protect from the curse that you are. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I can walk now..”

You frown, tilting your head at him before you look down at yourself. 

“How long have I been out?” You asked when you realized that Steve had never answered your question. 

“You’ve been out for a whole week, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened, you dug your hands into the mattress and pushed yourself up. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raised his hands as he tried to stop you from sitting up. 

“W-What, oh my god, my sister must be worried!” 

He put his hand on your arm, gently – you had noticed it before, how careful he had been to touch you, like he was afraid of hurting you, like you were something fragile. 

“Yeah, about that–” He never got to finish his sentence as the door burst open and your sister stormed inside the room. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of her, not because you were surprised or confused to see her here, but because it’s been two months since you had last seen her. Besides the concerned look on her face, she was glowing – maybe it was the pregnancy or maybe it was just the fact that she has been much happier since leaving Hawkins behind. 

“Hi hi, honey! Are you okay?” 

That day she had the same concern in her voice as she does now while she talks your ear off about how important it is to go to all your checkups at the Hospital. She is calling every day, just to remind you – and to check on you. 

You are fine. Just fine. 

You survived an attack, you survived surgery, you survived. You made a good recovery and you are getting better each day. Besides, Eddie and Max are on your back about the check-ups just as much, you have no choice but to go to them. 

You’re holding the telephone between your ear and your shoulder as you finish touching up your make up, applying some gloss to your lips before you pick up the brush one more time and carefully go through your hair, trying not to hurt yourself, your head starts hurting at every slightest touch and it’s beginning to frustrate you. 

“I’m telling you, this baby is going to be a little runner.” 

“Is she still kicking?” 

Your sister huffs before she laughs, “she is kicking all the time, sis.”

You smile as you take the telephone and walk towards your window, leaning against the wall as you wait for the Impala to pull up in your driveway. 

“I can’t wait to meet her. I never held a baby before.”

“Well, you’re about to – give it a few more weeks and you’ll turn into an auntie in no time.”

“I am already an auntie,” you chuckle. “How could you forget little Luna? She was your first child.” 

You remember how devastated you were when she took the black cat with her as she moved out of your parents house and left the town, for good. You begged her to leave the cat with you, put on your best puppy face but she wouldn’t have it, it was her cat, after all. 

“Right, sorry sorry.” She laughs. 

You hear rustling in the back and a moment later, a loud crunch sounds through the phone. You don’t have to ask to know what she’s eating. Chips. She is always eating salted chips, now even more so than before. 

“What are you doing today?” She asks with a mouthful. 

Looking down at your outfit, you place your palm on your new denim shorts before you slide your fingers into the pocket. 

“I’m going to a barbecue in a few,” you say. “Max basically forced me to come.”

“Wait, you’re not driving yourself, are you?”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as a huff falls from your lips. 

You’re not allowed to drive, not yet. Your vision gets blurry sometimes, and you get light headed very easily. Your doctor said that it would pass, but it’s been two weeks since you had been released from the hospital and it hasn’t passed yet. 

Jason truly did a number on you. 

“No, don’t worry. My friends would kill me if I even tried–”

“Don’t say that word,” she cuts you off with a stern voice. “But I agree with them.”

You snort. 

“Anyways, Eddie is picking me up.”

Silence follows for a good thirty seconds before she continues eating her chips. You can practically hear her thoughts, you already know what she’s about to say next. 

“Eddie. He was the cute one with the long hair, right?” She asks, innocently. “The one who brought you chocolate and magazines?” 

Rolling your eyes at her teasing voice, you push yourself away from the wall when you see the black Impala pulling up to your house. 

“Don’t even,” you sigh, scrunching up your face in annoyance. 

She has been waiting, waiting for years for you to finally have a crush on someone, to fall in love, go on dates and get a boyfriend. 

Though, unlike her, you weren’t exactly popular – maybe it was your own fault, but that’s beside the point. Your sister loved having crushes and going on dates. She loved falling in love. 

You? Not so much. 

Love has only brought you pain. 

And you never cared much for dating – not even for fun. You don’t mind being on your own, loving someone from afar and in secret, for probably the rest of your life. 

“What’s wrong with him? Isn’t he super sweet?” She asks. “He brought you chocolate, sat by your side and you seem to like him–”

“Yeah, as a friend.” 

“Oh,” she sighs, humming. “Yeah, you never liked the nice guys, did you?” 

She got you there. Well, kind of. He is nice. He is nice to everyone, but to you. 

“What about the other guy then? What was his name again… Steve?” 

Just the mention of his name has shivers running down your spine, your heart fluttering and your skin crawling in tingles. 

You feel your cheeks glowing but you roll your eyes at the stupid giddiness that you feel, everytime you think of him.

“Mhmm, Steve.” 

“Huh.” You could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “What about him?”

If she only knew. 

Eddie honks the car horn, giving you the perfect excuse to hang up the phone. You walk back to your dresser, putting the phone down. 

“Anyways, I love you, sis. But a very hungry Eddie is waiting for me in the driveway.”

You know that he is hungry, he is always hungry, always eating away all the snacks and stealing leftover fries from everyone’s plates, no matter how much he had eaten already.

“Have fun with uh Steve! Love you, mwah, bye!”

You roll your eyes once again as you hang up the phone. 

Steve and Fun in one sentence just doesn’t sound right. That guy would rather stay miserable for the rest of his life than even try to have fun with you. 

He can’t stand you. 

And well, you can’t stand him either. – At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself, all while knowing that it’s very much a lie, but how else would you stay sane?

You quickly make your way down the stairs, reaching for your keys and your sunglasses on the way out. You skip down the porch steps. You tap the hood of his car before you get into the passenger seat. 

Eddie is already grinning at you, waving his fingers at you. 

“Hey sexy.” 

His brows shoot up and a smirk tugs at his lips. He playfully eyes you up and down. 

You close the door and sit back, greeting him with a mocking smirk. 

“Hello to you too, sweets,” he says in a low and deep voice – one that almost has you laughing. 

“Oh, I wasn’t greeting you,” you say, nonchalantly. “I was talking to Arwen,” you gesture to his beloved, new car, that he of course named after a Lord of the rings character. 

“But, hi Eddie.”

A loud laugh leaves his lips, his brown eyes twinkle with amusement. He grabs the gearstick, shaking his head at you. 

“You ready for some heavy metal heaven?” 

You put on your sunglasses and fasten the seatbelt after he points at you with a stern look on his face. 

“Sure,” you snort, knowing that the drive to the Sinclair house will be anything but uneventful. When Eddie isn’t singing and bobbing his head to the music, he’s shouting over it, telling you a story that he can’t wait to get off his chest. 

Your friendship with him is something you didn’t see coming. You tried to push him away, knowing how your friendships with people you care about usually end, but he wouldn’t have it. He kept coming back, just like Robin, just like the teens. 

You don’t understand why. 

What’s there about you that they want you around so bad? 

You’re never in a happy mood, you’re never entertaining, you don’t bring anything into the friend group. You don’t get along with most people – by most people you only mean Steve Harrington. 

You wonder if it’s because you almost died and they’d feel guilty to exclude you after helping them or if Max forces them to accept you into a friend group you never even wanted to be part of. 

“How’s your head doing?” Eddie asks as he drives on Maple Street. 

“Good, s’not hurting anymore.” You lie. 

He knows. 

Eddie sees the way you react to bright lights, the way you scrunch up your nose a little whenever the sun shines into your eyes or the way you rest your hand against the nearest wall when you seem to get dizzy. 

“When’s your next check-up?” 

He sounds just as concerned as your sister does, it makes you laugh a little. 

Who would have thought that Eddie could be so caring? 

“Tomorrow, 3pm.”

“Want me to drive you?”

You shake your head, “no, it’s fine. I’ll take the bus.”

He scoffs, shooting you a glare as he pulls up into the driveway, parking his car behind the burgundy BMW. 

“You think I’ll let you take the bus? I’ll drive you and then we’ll get burgers.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, chuckling as you turn to him, “okay, dad.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles at you with a glare. 

Laughing at the look on his face, you get out of the car and make your way over to the house. Eddie bumps his shoulder into yours, tilting his head down, he looks at your heart shaped sunglasses. 

“Where’d you get these?” He asks, pointing at them. 

“Macy’s, why? You want some too?” 

“What if I do?” He asks, ringing the doorbell. 

“Then we’ll get you some pink ones.” 

A smirk tugs at his lips, “hell yeah.” 

Robin opens the door with an excited smile on her face, grinning when she sees you. 

“Hi!” She beams at you. “Come on in.” She steps aside, lifting her arm as she waits for you both to step inside. 

You walk in first, and as you do, Robin pulls you into a hug, greeting you once more. 

“Hey,” you mumble as you slowly lift your arms to hug her back. 

Eddie chuckles at the confused frown on your face, he follows inside and closes the door. 

“C’mon, Steve is already bitching about you two being late.” 

And just like that, your heart jumps a little. You hate yourself a little in these moments. 

Pushing your sunglasses up on your head, you and Eddie follow her out into the garden. 

You can hear the music outside, laughter and Steve’s stern voice as he scolds Dustin, as always. The smell of smoke lingers in the air and as you step outside, you catch sight of Steve, standing behind the grill, with one hand on his hip and the other pointing at Dustin with the grill tong. 

His hair is messy, a spit curl falling before his eyes. He is wearing his black sunglasses, green khaki pants, a gray tank top,– oh god. This is going to be a long day. 

You swallow as you tear your eyes away from him, looking around with squinted eyes, the sun is harsh and you instantly put your sunglasses back on.

“Are the Sinclair’s around?” You ask, meaning Lucas’s and Erica’s parents. 

Robin shakes her head, “no, they’re out in Indianapolis until tomorrow, Steve is probably gonna stay the night.”

You nod. 

You hear your name being called and you turn to your right to see Lucas waving at you with a smile on his face. He is sitting on the lounger Max is laying on, still with casts on her leg and her arm. She pushes herself up on her elbows, looking in your direction, a smile appears on her face and she greets you just as kindly as her boyfriend did. 

Robin leaves your side, walking towards Dustin who plays with his new, portable Stereo. 

As you pass by Steve, he turns around to greet Eddie with a smile and you with nothing more than a nod and low grumble, “Blondie.” 

Whenever he seems moody or pissed off, you feel the urge to make it even worse. And you do, every single time. 

You walk around him and look at the meat on the grill, whining.

“I don’t eat meat.”

He turns to you, eyes growing wide at your words. He didn’t know. And he already feels guilty for not asking you first. He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair as an apologetic look crosses his face. 

“Fuck… I-I didn’t know–” he stops when he notices the smug look on your face and hears Eddie chuckle over his shoulder. 

He should’ve known. 

With a groan, he rolls his eyes and pushes his sunglasses back down as he turns back to the grill. 

“Hey Eddie!” Dustin calls out to him, already grinning at Steve. “Check this out!” 

“Don’t you dare, Dustin–” Robin gets cut off by a scream as it blasts from the stereo. She smacks him lightly on his head, yelling at him to turn it off. 

Eddie laughs loudly, leaving yours and Steve’s side. 

“Jesus christ,” Steve mumbles, scrunching his face up at the music. “That shrimp has been doing that all day. Eddie really is a bad influence.” 

“Aw, poor Steve,” you pout at him, “are you mad that you can’t listen to Madonna?” 

He scoffs at you, though he doesn’t say anything and focuses on the sizzling burgers as he turns them over. 

You press your lips together, ignoring the tugging in your chest or the feeling in your stomach as you use his distraction to look at him. 

It’s only nearing the end of April, but it already feels like the beginning of summer. Steve’s skin is already sun kissed. You hide your eyes behind your sunglasses as you ogle him. Taking in the sight of his veiny hands, his arms that have just the perfect amount of muscle, his chest hair that you always tease him for, the silver chain around his neck. 

You swallow. 

Cursing inwardly when you feel your stomach fluttering. 

He turns to face you again, totally catching you and your staring. 

Fuck. 

“Like what you see?” He smirks down at you. 

You bite the inside of your cheeks, trying not to blush under his gaze. 

He is feeling smug. Not because he likes you staring at him, but because he’s been waiting for a moment to embarrass you with something. 

He expects you to stutter, to step back and answer his question with a shaky and squeaky voice, because that is what he must be used to, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You take a step closer to him, biting your lip as you eye him up and down. 

You can tell that it catches him off guard a little, but unlike you, he isn’t blushing. 

“Yeah, actually,” you whisper and put your hand on his shoulder as you lean closer to the small table where he left his coke. You wrap your hand around the can, it’s cold against your palm and you hum in satisfaction as you raise it up to your lips, taking a sip of his drink. “Mmmh, perfect.” 

You turn around, and walk away without another word, leaving him huffing and glaring at you. 

You fail to notice or feel his eyes on you, the way they rake down your body, the way he licks his lips before he forces his eyes away from you. 

You greet Lucas and Max properly, hugging the latter before you take a seat on the lounger next to her, choosing the one that is half in the shadow, so you can hide your face from the sun. 

You easily fall into a conversation with the teens. You had always been close with Max, even before you were dragged into all of this. 

Being friends with her, also brought Lucas into your life. Unlike Dustin, who is always somehow trying to get on your nerves by teasing you with crushes that don’t exist or annoying you like a younger brother would do, Lucas is always very kind. 

“I can’t wait for you to get your car back.” 

Chuckling at Lucas’s words, you take off your sunglasses and put them down beside you. 

“Why’s that?” 

“So you can drive us around again,” he shrugs as he flashes you a smile. 

“Are Steve and Eddie not good enough for you?” You snort. 

Max scoffs loudly, rolling her eyes as she turns to you. 

“Steve is always whining about something!” 

“Yeah, and Eddie drives like a maniac,” Lucas groans, throwing his hands up. 

Max purses her lips, looking down at her cast. 

“Yeah, like your girlfriend,” you laugh, glancing at Lucas. “I wonder who will teach her how to drive properly.” 

“First of all, I don’t drive like a maniac,” says Max. “Second, why don’t you teach me how to drive?” 

You raise your brows at her, shaking your head, “sorry girl, but I am not a good teacher.” 

“But you’re like a big sister to me, you’re supposed to teach me,” she teases, though she looks at you with her best puppy eyes. “Besides, we can take Billy’s car.”

Shaking your head at her, you lay your head back and close your eyes, “don’t even try, Max. We’ll both end up in a ditch, we barely made it out last time.” 

She snorts at your words while Lucas looks between the two of you with disapproval on his face. 

“I’m starting to think that neither of you should ever drive again.” 

“I actually agree with you,” Robin chimes in as she joins the three of you. “I’ve heard of Max’s driving skills and uh… you lady,” she points at you, moving your legs to the side as she takes a seat on your lounder, “are danger in person.” 

“Me?” You gasp, putting your hand on your chest. 

“Yeah, you!” 

Steve watches you from afar, ignoring the heavy metal music and the curly heads behind him, who are going crazy over a song he just can’t find a liking to. 

He watches you – the way you crack a smile and shake your head with an amused look on your face. 

He watches you talk to the teens and to his best friend, easily falling into conversations. He rarely sees you like this – smiling and carefree. You’re usually always tense, annoyed and wearing a permanent frown on your face. Mostly around him. 

Steve will never know what it’s like to have a normal conversation with you, to see you smiling at him, not in a teasing way, in a real way. He is not sure if he ever even saw a real smile on your face – not even the one you are wearing now is real. 

But, why does he even care? You two have never gotten along, you hated each other, at first glance. 

With a sigh, he turns off the grill. He carries the tray filled with food over to where everyone is sitting, motioning for Eddie and Dustin to follow. 

Steve walks past you, not paying attention to how close he is to you, he accidentally bumps you in the head with the corner of the tray. He doesn’t even notice that he did – not until, you duck your head down and raise your hand to touch the side of your head. 

Max snaps her head up at him with a glare on her face. Lucas freezes when he sees how angry she is. 

He looks down at you, to see you looking up at him already. 

“I’m sorry..” He murmurs. 

You don’t speak, instead you look up at him with big eyes and a pained look on your face. 

“Oh come on, I barely even touched you,” he says, nervously. 

Eddie and Robin glance at each other, confused and worried. 

He rolls his eyes at you, knowing that this is another one of your little games that you always play, whenever you get bored. 

“Are you fucking with me again?”

Max shoots out of her seat, almost falling over due to the cast on her leg, her cheeks grow red in anger as her eyes burn into Steve. 

“Her head! You hit her head, you stupid idiot!” She points at him with rage in her voice. 

Steve’s eyes widen as deep guilt rushes through him, he instantly drops the tray on the table before he crouches down in front of you, shakily laying his palm on your shoulder as Max continues to curse at him. 

He wasn’t thinking. He didn’t think of that. 

“S-Shit,” he mumbles, looking at you apologetically. 

How could he forget? The doctor told you how sensitive you would be at every slightest touch to your head, how every slightest bump could cause nausea, dizziness or even a migraine. He was there, he heard him say it loud and clearly, yet he forgot.

Only now does he notice the hurt in your eyes as you place your palm over your ear – your ear that is ringing, for a moment it feels as though you’ve been pulled under water, and still you hear Max yelling at Steve. 

It’s not his fault, it was an accident. 

“Max! It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t do it on purpose! J-Just fuck…” You curse at the pain, not even recognizing your own voice for a moment. Who would’ve thought that you would be this sensitive? You feel his hand on your shoulder, maybe it eases the pain a little, or maybe it’s just the comfort that you feel from only his touch. 

“I-I’m gonna get you some ice,” Steve mumbles and rushes into the house, with Eddie following close behind. 

He throws his sunglasses on the counter and huffs in frustration as he tugs at his hair. He opens the freezer and gets an ice pack out. 

“Steve–”

“Fuck, Eddie. I didn’t know, I thought she was fucking with me again,” he stammers, wrapping the icepack into a cloth. “She always does this a-and I wasn’t thinking of the fucking injury.”

Steve is cursing at himself and at Jason who caused all of this, who did this to you. 

Eddie takes a step closer to him, placing his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his friend down. 

“Steve,” he sighs but he won’t look at him. “You didn’t know, i-it’s just a migraine, nothing else–”

“Nothing else?” Steve scoffs, frowning at Eddie. 

How could this be nothing else? He caused you pain with the slightest touch, something that reminded you of what you had been through, only a few weeks back. And he might have just triggered even more than a migraine, he might have triggered some thoughts to come back that you tried to not think of. 

He rushes back out to you. 

When you see him, you are already reaching for the ice pack, waving your hand at him to give it to you but he pulls it back, not handing it to you. 

You huff in annoyance, looking at him in disbelief. 

Max is standing with a hand on her hip, extending her arm as well as she glares at him in annoyance. 

Lucas and Dustin glance at each other, like they are afraid to move or even say anything as they quietly eat their food. 

“Lego head, give me the ice pack–”

He startles you a little by sitting down right behind you, “where do I press?” He asks. 

You’re taken aback by his words and his action, you’re taken aback by his touch. 

“Huh?”

“Where do I press the ice pack?” He asks again, breathing down your neck. 

You glance up at Max, she raises her eyebrows at you. Normally, she is the one who helps you, sometimes it’s Eddie or Robin, but Steve? Steve never helped you. 

She eyes Steve and the look in his eyes, the guilt and the pain from hurting someone when normally, he tries to do everything in his power to protect people, even the ones that he doesn’t like. 

With a sigh, she slowly sits down. 

Despite the pain that is pulsating in your head, you feel shivers running down your spine when Steve moves your hair to the side, his fingertips grazing your skin. 

“Where?”

“I uh–... here,” you mumble, quietly as you point to the spot where it hurts the most. 

“Okay,” he whispers and scoots even closer to you, he presses the ice pack against the back of your head. 

You sigh and relax a little, closing your eyes as you welcome the coldness. 

Your heart flutters in your chest when he presses his free hand on your shoulder, touching you gently. 

“Max, you should eat something,” Robin says, trying to smile at the angry teen. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna heal faster if you eat a burger,” Eddie grins, trying to ease the tension as he hands her the plate. 

“A burger will help me heal, really?” She scrunches her face up but grabs the plate, nonetheless. 

“Yeah, actually. It’ll give you some of the strength back,” Dustin winks at her before he takes a bite of his burger. 

She snorts, shaking her head at them. 

You listen to your friends chatter as you keep your eyes closed. Tilting your head to the side, you lean back slightly, – wishing you could just lean into him. You can sense how tense he is, you are almost certain that you can hear his thoughts, how he is cursing at himself for this, for hurting someone – even if it’s just you. 

“Stop stressing about it, Harrington. It’s nothing,” you sigh, trying to ease some of his tension. 

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “You and Eddie, I swear if you keep saying this is nothing..” He huffs in frustration. 

Not only does he hate all of this – he also hates the feeling of your soft skin beneath his touch, the smell of your perfume, the smell of your body wash that he is close enough to smell – and fuck, does it smell good, good enough to make his stomach feel all weird again. 

You try to chuckle, though he can tell that it’s pained. 

“What, you worried about me, Lego head? Thought I didn’t affect your life at all?” You ask smugly, as though it’s a joke to you. 

Your words feel like a punch to his gut, even though he was the one who said these words to you, it hurts for some reason, because maybe, these words aren’t true in the slightest. 

You might not be someone important to him, you might not be special to him. 

Yet it doesn’t change the feeling he had felt in his gut when he found out that you were on the brink of death, that night. When he saw you in the hospital room hours after your surgery, how lost and empty he had felt when he saw the state you were in. How he sat beside you for hours before the nurses finally kicked him out and told him to go home and rest. 

He clenches his jaw.

“Yes, I’m worried,” he huffs. “So shut up because you will make it worse, Blondie.” He says with full expectation to hear some smartass comment back from you. 

But you stay quiet, fully quiet. 

You open your eyes and you look down at your hands in sadness. 

You wish he didn’t say that to you. You wish he kept the hate comments instead, that he left you with the idea of hating you completely, not showing an ounce of worry towards you. Because this is ruining you. The act of kindness is completely destroying you, and he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t feel it either. 

You really are hopeless. 

>> next chapter