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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

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you were in the darkness too, so I stayed in the darkness with you (ao3 link)

guess what @solreefs, I was your secret santa and all those queer lines I was sharing were tiertice :) (thank you to @song-tam for organizing this! also I said more on ao3 so. read that)

summary: The Solreef family is having a rough night and ends up in pairs comforting each other after a series of nightmares, ending in a proposal that will change their family forever.

word count: 19.5k

warnings: canon-typical horrors (kidnapping, burning), all part of the nightmares, brief mention of scratching at skin

ao3 link above (recommended) or read below the cut! this is in multiple povs

There was space. A savage, bleeding space where he had been where he was supposed to be where he wasn’t.

She could see him, imagine him, feel the shape of his hand in hers as the world left them behind. He stood right in front of her, tugging at his bangs, footprints leaving marks in the wet sand.

And then he was gone and there was a space, a space she could not bridge, dripping and frothing and echoing so silent, so solemn.

The chasm opened and it thrust them apart, away away away as they’d never been and they were strangers and there was no one there to watch as it swallowed her whole, as it swallowed him alongside her.

It pulsed, pulsed, pulsed, washing against her feet in an ocean of space, twinkling as the footprints disappeared beneath their uncaring, vast sweep.

As though he’d never been there, as though it was only a memory and there’d never been anyone but her and an ocean storming her mind, swirling and begging and dancing and crying.

Please, no. Please, don’t leave.

She reached and reached and reached, the twinkling waves pulling and pulling and surging forward as she cried out silently, trying to draw him back together, as though it would make her brother reappear, as though she could save him.

But there was only water, washing in to fill the void he’d left, the dark.

The twinkling swelled, static in her fingers as the sand fell beneath and clung to her fingers and there was only space and space and--

[Paragraph break]

“Linh,” a firm voice said, and she gasped, jerking upright and away, a hand falling from her shoulder as she scrambled away, panting, not enough breath in the world for the way her lungs wanted.

Her fingers dug into her blankets, all twisted and damp around her, trapping her. All she could do was try and breathe, try and find herself.

“You’re fine,” Rayni--the voice, it was her voice--added, though she hadn’t reached out again, perched on the edge of the bed. “Probably.”

A noise she couldn’t describe, somewhere between a sob and a groan, escaped her throat as she swept her hands across her face, trying to wipe away every fragment and piece of the images clouding her eyes, flashing in her vision whenever she closed them.

Sand and beaches and waves winking like the night and space and space and--

Nightmare. That’s all it had been. A stupid dream trying to get under her skin. It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t.

Rayni made her own noise, and the bed shifted beneath Linh as she crawled over her legs. She sat still, rubbing at her eyes, trying to erase the feeling of that twinkling water from her mind. She was in control. Not the water, not her power. Her.

Maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it.

A slight squeak sounded and cool air brushed against her burning skin, stirring strands of hair into her face and sticking to her lips.

When she looked up, the window stood open, Rayni peering into the night beyond, pursing her lips in thought. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid, though a few chaotic curls had slipped out. It suited the rumpled look of her pajamas, decorated with stars and constellations she didn’t know. Sophie probably did.

“Why are you…” Linh began, but trailed off, clearing her throat, rubbing at her arms as her body tried to adjust, an uncharacteristic dryness in the air. The night soothed the repugnant, stifling heat trapped in her blood, brushed it away, but the sweat on her skin made her shiver. Water loved to freeze.

Rayni lowered from the window, plopping back onto the bed. “Why am I here? How about are you trying to flood the house?”

“I--what?”

She gestured to her face, clearly wet, as though she’d stuck it in a puddle.

Linh frowned, reaching forward and twisting her fingers, opening her senses and focusing only on the water on her face, tuning out the rest of the world calling for her, drowning for her, pulling it off Rayni’s skin and dispersing it into the air.

“Why are you wet?” she asked.

“Your bubbles,” she explained very helpfully, rubbing at her now-dry face. “The ones made of water floating all through the house, apparently one was right next to my pillow and I rolled right into it and it popped all over me. Which is not a fun way to wake up, by the way.”

Linh started, pulling back the covers and shivering at the rush of air as she pushed out of bed, feet meeting the ground.

She froze right there, didn’t need to go any further.

All across the floor of her bedroom stood puddles of water, as though bubbles of it had fallen to the ground all at once, now a pockmarked safety hazard if you weren’t careful. A particularly dense patch had all melded together, giving the impression someone had poured an entire bathtub of water right onto her bedroom floor.

She was usually so careful, so in control, had spent years learning not to lose it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing a hand through her hair as she grimaced, reaching the other towards the marks on the floor. No wonder the air felt dry: she’d stolen all its moisture.

Rayni shrugged. “It’s not my problem. Though whatever’s going on with you…that might be a problem.”

Linh didn’t answer, too focused on the careful, deliberate expansion of her senses. She would only feel for the water in the house, the water on the floor, wouldn’t go any further. She wouldn’t feel the air, wouldn’t feel the dew on the grass outside, wouldn’t feel the clouds.

Just the puddles, just her mess.

Exhaling, she curled her hand, and in a sharp jerk, dispersed all the puddles, all the water she could feel. Concentrated around her room, they lessened the further she went, but still reached all down the hall, into Rayni’s room, into the bathroom, as though she’d drenched the second story. There was just one spot she could feel on the third floor, different than the other, but she didn’t pay it any mind.

Slumping back, she winced as the hand in her hair got caught, tugging on a tangle.

“Not to be rude, but you look like a mess,” Rayni said, tapping at her nails as she watched Linh dismiss the water, give it back to the air as the cool night pressed against her flushed skin. “I didn’t know your hair could get so…”

Linh gave her a look out of the corner of her eye.

“Alright, cool, cool, it’s totally fine. We’ll fix it.”

Before Linh could say anything in response, Rayni had hopped off the bed, clamoring back beside her and nearly tripping as she pushed to the floor, disappearing out the door on bare feet.

Running her fingers through her hair, she tried to smooth it down, but it wasn’t going very well. Even with all the practice she’d had in the neutral territories without access to toiletries, this was bad.

A thunk sounded a few rooms away, followed by sharp, muttered curses.

“Okay, here,” Rayni said, reappearing as she pushed the door open with her hip, hands full. One held a brush, the other a vial of spray, a few hair-ties dangling off her pinky finger as she hopped back into bed, dropping her haul.

Hands free, she rubbed at her thigh, wincing.

“...thanks,” she managed, grabbing the brush, which worked much better than her fingers. “Are you alright?”

Rayni nodded, glowering at her limbs. “Someone left the cabinet doors open, and those corners hurt.”

Linh said nothing, just humming in response. She and Rayni were still figuring things out, learning where they fell in each others’ worlds. She’d gotten past the worse of her anger, of her blame, of her jealousy. But that didn’t make conversation…easy.

Not that Rayni picked up on it.

Rayni didn’t care what anyone thought, what anyone else did. There was no hiding, no trying to please anyone else. She talked to Linh like she talked to anyone, even though Linh…couldn’t reciprocate.

But she was getting better. It was getting better. It was.

“So, you wanna talk about whatever it was that had you thrashing and making bubbles?” Rayni asked in the same way she’d ask about the weather as Linh tied her hair back, mimicking the braid across Rayni’s shoulder. She was too tired to think of any other style and needed something to do with her hands.

She tensed. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, right, it’s nothing,” she echoed, eyes on the open window, squinting at something beyond. “If you don’t want to talk, how about we do something else?”

“What do you mean?”

Rayni grinned, getting on her knees to push at the window screen. “Follow me.”

[paragraph break]

Hands on his wrists, blisters on his skin, and pain pain pain pain pain. Every inch of him a haze and oh so alive in all the wrong ways. Every piece of him lit up and dazzling and he wanted it off, wanted it gone, wanted everything to go dark.

He didn’t know what they wanted, didn’t know how to answer, didn’t have the answer but they didn’t believe him.

Again, the question.

Again, he didn’t know,

Again, the light.

Burning and burning and burning and they never slipped, never grew careless, never strayed from the jeering rigidity watching and watching and asking and hurting.

It hurt, more than he’d ever told.

The chair against his thighs the rope on his wrists the bubbles and boils and blisters on his skin and the light in his eyes the light the light the light.

He never wanted to see it again, to feel the heat, to touch it to know it. He wanted far away he wanted out he wanted it to be over.

They kept him conscious, kept him awake, never let the hurt give in to the dark.

He wanted it, so bad.

Please.

Let it wash over him let it take him let it drag him down never to return, he didn’t care, it didn’t matter so long as it was away from the light, from the burn, from the brightness on his skin with each snap, each press.

Darkness, please, someone give him--

[Paragraph break]

“Hey.” A voice called, quiet, gentle, low.

Wylie nearly screamed, every muscle in his body tensing, rigid.

There was a hand on his arm.

Tam drew back, glancing around the room, as though uncertain whether he should be there or not, and everything in him quieted.

“Hey,” he croaked back, absentmindedly pressing a hand to his chest, to the heart howling beneath.

Tam shifted away, tugging at his bangs as he shifted his weight. “I’m--sorry. To scare you. You were making noise and I--”

Wylie shook his head, pushing up from the bed, running a hand over his cropped hair, exhaling. “You’re alright. I’m sorry--for disturbing you.”

Rubbing at his eyes, spots danced in front of them as his body shivered against his will, his wrists aching, body trying to set itself alight.

He grimaced.

“Are you…alright?” Tam asked, hesitating. They never knew just quite how to act around each other. Were they friends? Acquaintances? Family? Strangers in the same house, sharing the same roof? Something entirely new?

Wylie nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

I’m supposed to be the one worrying about you.

“I don’t believe you.” Tam’s eyes were on his wrists. He hadn’t realized he’d been rubbing at them, but the pain refused to leave, stuck to his skin the same as those blisters and welts had clung to him--or so he’d been told. He hadn’t been awake when Livvy had patched him up.

Wylie dropped his grip, but the light in his skin didn’t stop.

“I’ll be back,” Tam said, disappearing out the door, footsteps almost imperceptible against the floor as they faded.

Blinking, all he could do was wait, rubbing at each bit of skin burning even though he knew nothing was wrong.

About a minute later, the sound of someone coming down the stairs came from above, and Tam reappeared in the doorway a few moments after that, first aid kit in hand as he set it down on Wylie’s nightstand, immediately backing away.

Whatever Wylie’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“You got--I didn’t even hear the cabinet,” he startled. The emergency kit was kept under the sink in the bathroom on the second floor--the middle of the house--but the cabinet doors had been finicky for a while. No one cared enough to fix it, but--

Tam shrugged. “The doors are too loud, didn’t wanna wake anyone.”

“I guess we just have to hope no one runs into them, then,” he said, reaching for the kit, pushing the blankets off further. Not only were the doors loud enough to hear from his room a floor below if you weren’t being careful, one of them had a wicked sharp corner.

There was no use pretending he didn’t ache, not when it had been obvious enough Tam had gone to get their first aid, so he moved slow. Every shift, ever stretch of his skin reminded him of the light, the burn, the blisters.

The fire, melded into his skin and pressed into his bones. That’s what it was. He could call it a million different words, but that wouldn’t make it any less fire.

Popping the top off a painkiller--Elwin always made them a rich magenta color--he downed it as quick as he could, setting the bottle down next to the kit as he rubbed as his skin, waiting for it to kick in.

“Are you--do you…” Tam started, reminding Wylie he was still standing there, still watching. Too observant, nothing slipped past him, not the mindless circles he rubbed into his skin, not the bags under his eyes, not the slump to his posture. He hated knowing what, exactly, had forced him to be that way.

Wylie looked out the window, through the sliver of the curtains, wincing at the light he found there, dancing and curling through the air. Ever there, ever present, he couldn’t get away from it.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get back to sleep,” he admitted, trying to make it light. Tam wasn’t supposed to worry about him, take care of him like this. It was Wylie’s responsibility to take care of him, him and his sister and now Rayni, too.

Instead of lightening the mood, Tam nodded sagely. He glanced around the room, then said, “Snack?”

“Huh?”

“Midnight snack. It’s what I do when I can’t sleep.”

Wylie almost asked him what he’d been doing awake, but instead found himself nodding, “Sure. Snacks.”

[Paragraph break]]

Everything was glass shattering into sand in his hands, laughing as he tried desperately to fix the pieces. There was no fixing this.

All he could do was watch, watch as every piece, every memory disappeared and ground itself into dust scattered in the whirlwind of his mind, him screaming and begging it to stop, for him to come back.

His mind swallowed the screams like they swallowed everything else: whole and without remorse.

Could he even feel remorse anymore? Was there enough of him left to register, to understand, to feel? Or was he too far gone? Please, don’t let him be gone.

He hoped so, desperately, with everything he had left.

He hoped something could feel he hoped he could save something he hoped there was a world, a universe where they--he--didn’t need to be saved and everything was okay and he hope hope hoped every sick and twisted person who’d done this to them would rot, and burn, and suffer a thousand times over.

He didn't have a body, didn’t have eyes, but he could still see the way his mind sucked down down down, shatters of memory, of sanity, of a mind he had so loved, still did, vanished into itself, a black hole devouring, tearing itself to shreds.

It tried to take him, too, and he wanted to let it. He wanted it to consume them both, flesh and mind, leave nothing behind. No more pain, no more ache, no more echo where he’d used to be.

But could he give up the ache, the imprint left behind? Could he bring himself to destroy all he had left?

Glass shattered in his hands, pummeling itself into sand and brushing itself away, laughing as he tried desperately to think, to fix, to do something so he’d stop losing people and running his fingertips over the edges of the holes they’d left behind.

All he could do was watch, watch as every--

[Paragraph break]

“You’re dreaming,” a voice said, and Tiergan’s eyes flew open as he gasped, flinching, fingers clenching in the blankets as he took a breath, frantic gaze darting between the nightstand, the wall, the ceiling, his hand.

Groan muffled as he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he closed his eyes, breathing. In and out, in and out.

Dreaming.

In and out, in and out, a cycle. That’s what he’d taught Wylie, only months after he’d moved in with him. A middle of the night, a gentle cry waking him, tears as they both tried to figure out what to do, what was next.

“You’re alright. It’s alright.” Prentice. That was Prentice’s voice, and Tiergan opened his eyes again, rolling just enough to look over his shoulder in the dark.

Prentice rubbed under his eyes, squinting down at him from where he sat, clearly dazed, tired, exhausted. He’d propped himself up on his elbow beside him, hardly space between their faces. A few of his locs had fallen around him and he tucked them back in place, other hand squeezing in reassurance where it rested on Tiergan’s arm.

All he could do in response was shift further, half-turning and half-flopping back as he moved to face Prentice; he’d been sleeping with his back to him, but now lay on it looking up, eyes searching the face that searched him.

His hand covered Prentice’s on his arm as he let out a deep exhale, unable to take his eyes away.

“You’re trembling,” Prentice frowned, looking where their fingers intertwined.

“Am I?” His voice cracked, lips sticking to each other.

Tapping against his skin, he whispered, “Everything alright?”

No. Yes. Never. Always, when you’re here.

He didn’t say anything, all the words stuck in his throat as he stared into his eyes, as though he could see the mind beyond.

Was it glass shattering into sand, sifting away in his fingers as he tried to shovel it back, force it into pieces that made sense, that could be saved? Was there anything there, or was it imploding inside itself right before his eyes and he didn’t even know, only watched as his mind disappeared forever beneath the--

“Hey,” Prentice interrupted. “None of that. What’s going on? Bad dream?”

Eyes watering, Tiergan blinked hard, refusing to close them, in case when he opened them again, he’d be gone.

In case he’d be alone in their bed again, waking in the middle of the night with one side always too-cold, untouched, sacred.

“Tiergan, love, it’s okay. It was just a dream, alright? It wasn’t real. It’s alright, I’m here.”

I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m here.

“You’re here,” he whispered, lips trembling, biting his tongue as the tears welling in his eyes slipped out. “You’re really here.”

Prentice’s eyes, already creased with concern, softened further. Looking at their intertwined hands, he carefully, gently lifted them to his lips, pressing a kiss into the skin of Tiergan’s palm. “I am.”

He didn’t resist as Tiergan moved his hand from their laced hold to his face, thumb brushing against his cheek, needing to feel, needing to touch, needing proof this was real. That he wasn’t dreaming again.

Breath trembled in his lungs as he blinked, evidence of his distress falling silently down his face, no matter how much he tried to wipe the tears away. There was always another.

“Please. Keep talking,” he managed. Please. Be real.

Prentice only blinked once before nodding, hand coming to rest atop his own on his cheek. “Alright, love. One moment, I need to think of something to talk about.” His lips twisted in thought, eyes searching something he couldn’t see for a long few seconds. “How about this--do you remember, when we were young, all the things we used to do together?”

Tiergan paused. “Do you?” He’d thought everything was gone.

He winced. “Not truly. Everything is…well, that doesn’t matter. But even as my mind is now, there are still glimpses. Flashes of the past. And the more one thing happened and I interacted with it, the better chance it had of sticking, because it was in more memories, more places. Harder to destroy them all. How do you think I remembered Wylie? Or Cyrah? Or you? It’s because there is so much of you in my life that years of shattering couldn’t erase that, you were always in the pieces. The more one thing happened, the more I can remember.”

Tiergan waited, wiping at his eyes, unsure where this was going.

“I…don’t know how often we did it, or why, but I can see…” Prentice pressed his eyes shut, leaning into Tiergan’s hand, brow furrowing as he concentrated. He had the sudden urge to press his fingers to that crease between his brows, to smooth it away.

“What can you see?”

“A rooftop. Perhaps more than one. But we were…looking at the stars, I think. You’ve always loved them.” The tip of his tongue stuck between his lips in thought. “Kitchens, but it’s dark out. I can see the moonlight through the curtains, how it catches your hair, that ridiculous style you used to have. I think you were grabbing bowls.”

Nodding even though Prentice couldn’t see him, he brushed his thumb against his cheek again, new tears slipping where the others had dried.

Through the thickness in his throat, he explained, ignoring the comment about his old hair, “For midnight snacks.”

“Midnight snacks? That does sound like you.” Prentice smiled, eyes still closed in concentration, and Tiergan nearly burst with the light it lit in his skin, burning every doubt away. “There was…a library--no, it looks too small. But there were books all along the walls, and we must’ve been there often…”

“My family’s personal library,” Tiergan breathed, a laugh bubbling beneath.

“You really are a know-it-all.”

Prentice opened his eyes, blinking down at Tiergan, who couldn’t look away. Never, not in all his life, could he bear to look away.

Before he could think to stop himself, his other hand was reaching, cupping the other side of Prentice’s face, holding him in the palms of his hands, the space between them so small compared to the vast, eternal shattering sands they had endured.

Prentice’s breath caught, loud in the silence. “Better?” he asked, as though struggling to hold on to the words, dazed.

“Thank you,” he managed, taking a breath.

With his free hand, Prentice reached towards Tiergan’s face, thumb tracing through the tears, looking like he had something on his mind. Was thinking of leaning in closer.

“You should drink some water,” he murmured. Already, his attention was elsewhere, looking to the nightstand for a bottle of Youth. Instead, he frowned. “Wasn’t that full last night?”

Tiergan followed his gaze, humming in agreement at the empty bottle of Youth next to his bed. He’d grabbed a bottle before they’d gone to sleep, but had only taken a few sips.

Now, it sat on its side, barren of all water, cork nowhere to be found.

Oddest thing was, there was no puddle around it either. No sign that, even though it was on its side, it had spilled.

“Water does strange things in this house,” he said, offhanded, dropping one hand from Prentice’s face to wipe at the final tears drying to his skin.

“So do shadows, and light,” Prentice mused, gazing towards their balcony, the glass doors leading out into the night on the third story.

Tiergan followed his line of sight, and for a moment he could’ve sworn small flickers of color, of light scattered themselves through the air, barely perceptible, hanging in the air like stars.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. He was seeing things, his rattled mind putting black holes and empty space where there were none.

Prentice thought for a moment longer, tapping absentmindedly against Tiergan’s face where his fingers rested. “It’s a good night to look at the stars.”

He pulled his eyes from the night and pushed from the bed, covers falling away as he pulled Tiergan after him, skin soft against his own.

“It would be,” he agreed, and he let all thought of the imagined light fall from his mind. He’d much rather think about Prentice, about the edge of his jaw in the soft dark, the tilt of his brow as he smiled, the warmth of his skin beside his own, his body in the same bed that had sat empty for so many years.

His mind. Awake. Alive. Intact.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Prentice said, feet silent against the carpet, smiling down at him.

He couldn’t help but say yes.

[Paragraph break]

“This doesn’t feel safe,” Linh half-hissed, half-shouted, fingertips white as they clutched to the sides of the house.

Rayni turned to look at her from a little ways above her, feet braced on the edge of a windowsill on the third floor. “Well, first of all, you do unsafe things all the time. That’s kinda how your friend group works. And second of all, we’re levitating. It’s not like we’re gonna fall.”

Linh was, in fact, levitating. Her body floated weightless in the open air, anchoring herself to the house with her hands as they propelled themselves, controlled, along the wall. She had plenty of experience with the skill from the years she and her brother had spent banished in Exillium, so she wasn’t at any significant risk.

That didn’t mean she wanted to admit Rayni was right.

The window of her bedroom lay open beneath them, the screen pushed out, letting in all the cool air in the world as they made their way up.

Up, up, up, and away from all the people she cared about.

“You can push off here, at a slight angle, and that’ll get you to the edge of the roof,” Rayni was saying, drawing her attention back.

She watched as she demonstrated, grabbing at the top of the windowsill, leaning out from the wall slightly, tongue sticking out as she pushed off, hand extended before her to grab the lip of the roof. It stuck out a little ways over the wall, hence the angle needed to get over it. Otherwise, she’d either bash her head against the lip or go flying off into the free air.

Rayni neatly floated herself over the edge, body disappearing until she stuck her face back over, looking to Linh.

With only slight grumbling, she pulled herself to the same ledge Rayni’d stood on, heart pulsing harder than it should’ve considering how little danger she was in.

Maybe it was the height. Maybe it was the novelty. Maybe it was the lingering sandy beaches in her mind and vanishing shadows, people swept beneath her waves never to emerge again that had her pulse screaming so.

Maybe it was the fact she was following Rayni of all people.

Either way, she trembled as she let out a breath, eyeing the edge of the roof, sticking out a foot or so from the wall, Rayni ducking her head back out of the way to give her space with an encouraging Hurry up, will you?

“Okay, simple,” she told herself.

She pushed off, hands braced above her head for when she passed the edge, ready to grab.

Except she’d misjudged the angle she needed, Rayni’s nonchalant commentary urging her to act when she knew, she knew she should’ve been careful, should’ve waited, shouldn’t have sacrificed control for anything else. She’d learned that the hard way a long time ago, so why was it so easy to forget?

A small shriek escaped her as her body passed by the edge completely, into the open air and away from where she was trying to be.

Okay, I just need to--

Before she had the chance to correct her course, something she was entirely capable of doing, Rayni reached out and grabbed her, pulling her down to the roof where she already sat against its slant, nearly losing her balance as she tugged her next to her.

“I had it,” she frowned as she found her footing on the roof, fingers pressing into the slope as her bare feet slowly took on more of her weight as she stopped levitating. Rayni had already set herself down and was crawling ahead up the slope, towards a section of the roof that lay flat.

“Sure, but this was faster,” she called back as Linh found her footing, following after her, ignoring the grime that she could feel start to coat her soles, her palms, the knees of her pajamas--they were covered in cats, a gift from Tiergan when she’d gotten Princess Purryfins.

And now she was dirtying them. Roofs were not, generally speaking, clean places to be.

Rayni didn’t seem to care about the grime as she plopped herself down on a flat expanse of it--the space above Tiergan and Prentice’s room, where they’d be sleeping right below. She tried to be ginger and deliberate with her steps, to stay quiet, but she had no clue how well it worked.

Twisting her fingers, she drew some of the moisture from the air. “Why are we even up here? This is pointless.” She let the gathered water soak into a section of the roof across from where Rayni sat with her legs on either side of her, making a W with her body.

“If it’s pointless, why did you follow me?”

Linh quietly blasted the water off the roof, leaving one spot slightly cleaner than the rest, which she lowered herself down on, legs crossed. There was no way she was getting her body to bend like Rayni’s

Rubbing at her eyes, she tried again. “Fine. What’s the point of the roof?”

“Look.”

Dropping her eyes and blinking through the spots, she raised her gaze. Rayni had her hand pointed upwards, head tilted back and staring towards the sky.

Linh did the same.

“Oh.” She saw.

All the sudden, she was eleven, freshly banished, shivering against the chill of the earth and sweating inside her thick Exillium robes, too big for her tiny body, brother beside her as they looked up and up and up, the stars looking back.

No roof above their heads, they hadn’t found a place to stay, no gnomes to keep them company and tell them children’s stories as they shared their meals, not yet.

Only the two of them, a darkness, a weight she couldn’t fathom shadowing her brother's eyes as they watched the night twinkle, washing over itself in solemn silence, lulling them to sleep with indifference. It didn’t care what happened to them, wouldn’t notice if they disappeared.

And yet it offered them so much.

Comfort. Calm.

She’d forgotten how long it had been since she’d looked to the sky, wondered what was beyond it. How it would feel to drift among them, to see it all in person. To let it consume her and give it control, just as she wasn’t allowed to let the water do.

Planets of construct she could only imagine, cosmic events started long before her lifetime, that would take eons to complete, on a scale her small mind couldn��t begin to fathom, but would continue to try.

Wylie had told her of a trip beyond their world the day he’d become Lord Wylie, member of Team Valiant. Oh how she envied the opportunity.

To be there, to watch, to get away from it all, lessen the constant pull against her senses, even if she couldn’t escape it entirely.

Rayni made a noise. “Tam told me you’ve always loved the stars.”

“He did?” Her response hardly more than a whisper, she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“He spoke of you more than anything else--when I could get him to talk, that is. He’s very stubborn.”

Something sour coiled in her stomach. “You mean when you were with the Neverseen.”

“Yeah, when we were in the Neverseen.” She said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Linh said nothing, eyes above, trying to pretend she was alone, that it was her and Tam, side by side in the neutral territories, scared out of their minds but together.

Her eyes on the sky kept her from noticing Rayni’s eyes on her, the scrutiny as she looked her up and down, from the rumpled pajamas and the tackiness of her skin, not quite sweaty but not quite calm, either, the rushed braid they shared, the bags beneath her eyes as they longed for the night.

So when Rayni shook out her hands and snapped, it caught her entirely by surprise.

Specks of light winked into the air around them, twinkling in whites and blues and purples and reds, suspended in motion, drifting slightly. Pin pricks of color danced alongside milky clouds, puffing and swirling and ever changing, a gradual, private existence. Vast and unending, pouring from her fingertips into the world, lights crashing together, revolving and twirling into one. Flashing and pulsing, arranged in personal patterns and images, casting colored spots of light onto her hands, her face, the stretching cats on her scuffed pajamas. Different sizes, all scattered about with no real rhyme or reason, but she could still recognize it for what it was.

Rayni had brought the stars to them.

“He also told me you’d always wanted to go out there, to the stars,” she added,light flickering along her fingers and in her skin.

Finally, Linh looked down, stopped trying to ignore the girl sitting across from her on the roof, who’d dragged her out here in the middle of the night. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“You had a nightmare.”

Linh, impatient, waved away the explanation. “But why do you care?”

Rayni’s hands lowered, falling into her lap, fiddling with her fingers, mirroring the way she shifted uneasily, uncomfortably. A frown pulled as her lips, brows puckering, the stars around them the loudest thing between them.

“I’m not the bad guy, you know.” She plucked at her pajama pants, the stars printed there. “I know you tolerate me, and we don’t fight anymore--at least not as much. But I know you still think of me like…the enemy, sometimes. And I’m not.”

“I don’t think you’re--”

“You do, Linh. You don’t have to try and hide it.” Reaching out, she let a flickering, dying star roll across her knuckles. “I see how you look at me. And I don’t know how to make you understand that the reason I joined the Neverseen wasn’t because I like them--I left, after all--or because I believe you need to hurt and destroy to change the world. It was because they were my only option; it was the kindest thing I could do for myself. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“I would never willingly join the Neverseen.”

Rayni made a noise, shaking her head. “You say that now, but think about it. Actually think about it. If someone found you and your brother in the neutral territories while you were shivering and starving on the ground, cursing the people who’d done this to you or mourning the life you’d lost. And they promised you a roof over your head, a meal, to take care of you, to acknowledge how fucked up the world was and what had happened to you--wouldn’t you say yes? No knowledge of what they’d done, all the people they’ve hurt, just someone saying they’re on your side and you aren’t alone anymore, do you honestly think you’d pass that up?”

Her mouth had been open, ready to argue, to deny anything that would tie her willingly to the people who had hurt her so.

But…

As much as she was loath to admit it, Rayni had a point.

“Hate me all you want, it’s nothing new. But don’t try to tell me that we’re so different. Tell me when I fuck up and I’ll fix it, but don’t blame me for saving myself. Especially not when you’d do the same. When you did the same. You were just lucky enough the Black Swan found you first.”

Linh pressed her hands to her face, rubbing hard like she could reset the world and do it all over again. Do it all right.

“You made your point. I get it. I’m too harsh and you’re throwing it back at me. But can you blame me? A complete stranger, working with the people who kidnapped my brother--who he hated--and then you’ve suddenly switched sides and he suddenly trusts you? My brother, who hardly trusts anyone?”

Rayni let the star drop from her knuckles and thought for a moment, conjuring a planet of rich, red light between her palms, shaping the colors and swirls, dim, dull lights casting her face into deep shadow.

“No, I can’t,” she finally said. “I wouldn’t believe my story either. Especially if my brother was involved.”

Linh stifled a yawn, the adrenaline from her nightmare and the climb to the roof starting to ebb, the weariness of that ending ocean settling into her bones. “And where does that leave us?”

“It leaves us…” she pondered for a moment, letting go of the planet, letting it join the medley suspended in the air, still drifting around them, all held in place by her control.

“It leaves us?”

“Even. It leaves us even.” Rayni finished.

The two of them sat, surrounded by faux stars on the roof, facing one another. A chill breeze pressed against their pajamas, blew stray strands of hair from their matching braids, cooling, calming. A universe between them, not separating them, but created in tandem. It watched over them, whispering and swirling and flashing.

They watched, eyes on the other, waiting, and waiting, and watching.

Then, Linh held out her hand. “Let’s start over then. Hi, I’m Linh.”

Rayni’s answering grin shone brighter than her stars. “Hey, Linh. I’m Rayni. Rayni Aria. It’s nice to meet you.”

Rayni’s hand was warm in hers, and she jolted slightly when she felt the chill of Linh’s skin, as most people did. Something about the water always dragged the heat out of her, no matter how hard she tried to hold it in place.

Making a face for a moment in deliberation, Rayni moved, half-crawling and half-scooting around on the roof to come closer, so they were more next to each other than facing one another, though not quite. It was as if they were in a group huddle, but the rest of their group had abandoned them, leaving only them on the roof.

“Since we’re friends now--or closer to it, yeah, I get it.” She waved away any objections Linh might’ve voice about taking their time. “But since we’re starting over, let me ask, as someone who cares at least a little bit about you--do you want to talk about that nightmare?”

She was tempted to say she’d almost forgotten about it up here, amongst the stars. But that was a complete and utter lie. Not a moment among the cosmos had she forgotten the twinkling of the beach of her mind, the person dragged under by her own waves.

“It’s…nothing. I’ve had nightmares before, I’ll be fine.”

“It was about Tam, wasn’t it?” More statement than question, Rayni picked at her fingernails, squinting at the light beneath her skin.

Linh started. “How did you…?”

“I…may have omitted some of my story,” she admitted, dropping her hands, sighing as she brushed a hand through the air, sending the stars swirling, drifting.

Linh squinted at her, ready to scoot away, but reminded herself they were even now. They were starting over. That she should listen before she did anything else.

Rayni didn’t look at her. “I wasn’t lying to you, if that’s what you’re making that face about. I did wake up to water in my face, and it was all over the house--I think I even saw some out the window. And that is why I came to find you. But…you weren’t just making little spheres of water all over the place.”

A myriad of older memories surged from the back of her mind. “My parents?” she guessed.

“Do you often make people out of water when you sleep?”

She shrugged. “Not as much as I used to. But I had nightmares about my parents a lot when we were…you know. Scared the shit out of Tam more than once.”

Rayni peered curiously over at her, her hands, as if imagining her molding those nightmares into waterlogged flesh. “It wasn’t your parents tonight.”

Linh shifted, quiet, even though she could guess what she’d say next.

“I woke up sputtering, and right next to my bed was Tam. At first I thought it was him--you know, because I was disoriented and sleepy and it made the most sense. But when I asked him what he was doing, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, and then I realized I could see through him. Because he was made of water. He just stared at me until I got up to get you, and when I started moving he started following me. His steps sounded like splashes as he walked behind me to your room, and I swear even though he was made out of water he could see me. He collapsed into a puddle when I woke you up, but as soon as I got close to you he started reaching for me. He didn’t get the chance to touch me though, but I don’t know what he would’ve done. Has anyone ever told you your ability is seriously freaky?” she finished, nonchalant, brightly, as though she hadn’t recounted a horror tale.

“I’m…sorry,” she said lamely when Rayni didn’t continue. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Rayni waved her off. “It’s not like I was sleeping well anyways. But I’m guessing there’s a reason Tam showed up in my room tonight.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and a planet was about to bump into her head when Linh sighed, shifting. They were starting over even now, she didn’t want to hold back, to harbor grudges.

“I was dreaming about losing him,” she admitted.

“And your mind connected that to me.”

“Yeah. It did.”

Rayni said nothing for a moment, only pushing the impending planet away from Linh’s skull before it could crash.

“I know--I know you’ve told me, and Tam’s told me that that’s not what you were trying to do. And I’ve seen it in the months we’ve all been living together that you’re not trying to take him away from me and it’s a stupid fear, it was just a dumb nightmare. I don’t actually think you’re going to do anything. So.” Linh cut herself off, shivering as dew condensed on her arms, trying to brush it discreetly away.

“I get it,” Rayni said. “I can’t blame you, even if I don’t like it. But I’m used to it. But I guess now it’s out there and we both know. You still have trouble fully trusting me, and I understand why. But I can be patient,” she added. “Take your time. I won’t rush you--though I might have a problem if you keep waking me up with creepy water people.”

“I really can’t control that.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to, because seriously it’s terrifying.”

“...We?”

Rayni shrugged as if it was the most casual word in the world. “Unless you want someone else to help you deal with your issues trusting me. I don’t care who it is, I just want Water Tam to stay far away so I can sleep in peace.”

“So that’s your ulterior motive, why you dragged me up to the roof,” she squinted, a slight tease to her voice that surprised the both of them.

Exasperated but smiling, Rayni rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I took time out of my night to drag you onto the roof, my safe spot that I’m sharing with you, and show you that I’ve paid attention to you to try and get to know you--because, you know, we do live in the same house--and help calm you down after a nightmare all because I have a secret motive of wanting to sleep. You know, the thing I’m not doing right now.”

After a moment, Linh offered a small, “Thanks. For caring. Even though I’ve just been tolerating you.”

“Forget it,” Rayni told her. “We’re starting over even, remember? All that’s behind us.”

Linh opened her mouth to respond, to agree and remind herself where they were now, that it didn’t matter what had happened in the past, only what they were trying to do now.

Before she had the chance to, a crashing thud resounded through the house from below, cutting her off.

Rayni startled, all the stars falling out of the sky, the planets and galaxies crumbling into nothing as they both stared down, as though they could see through the roof to whatever that was.

“What was that?”

“We should probably…” Linh trailed off, Rayni already ahead of her, climbing towards the edge of the roof with her body weight lowered, ready to launch herself over the edge.

“You coming?”

Linh pushed to her feet. “I can’t believe you even have to ask.”

[Paragraph break]

Wylie had nearly debated himself completely in a circle over whether it was a good idea to make a small light to see by, or if he should surrender himself entirely to the bumbling darkness and avoid the light altogether, bumping into walls be damned. On the one hand, he was perfectly fine never thinking of or seeing light for the rest of his life, not when each thought of it reminded him of that blinding burn, the suns beneath his skin boiling and bubbling from the inside out.

On the other hand…how pathetic was it to be a flasher avoiding light?

Fortunately, before he got too circular in his reasoning, Tam solved the problem for him.

Moonlight spilled through the curtains as he pushed them open, soft, careful, cool. Nothing bright enough to burn, but enough to see by.

Wylie stopped in the entrance to the kitchen, standing awkwardly and rubbing at the almost completely faded aches in his wrists as Tam moved about with a practiced precision, pulling open cabinets and walking on the pads of his feet, minimizing the noise. His all-black pajamas only served to meld him further into the background, in sharp contrast to the bright patterns of his own, orange and yellow sunbursts repeated all down his pants.

He paused before the cupboards, however, hand halfway between the bowls and the plates. He glanced over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

“I don’t…” he started, dropping his hands when he noticed Tam’s eyes on them, always noticing. He didn’t want him to worry. “I don’t have a preference. I don’t usually do anything like this.”

Tam nodded, as though he expected that answer. “There’s leftover mallowmelt. That good?”

“...yes.”

Grabbing plates, Tam gingerly set them on the counter with only a slight clink. With clean movements, he withdrew the mallowmelt Edaline had been so kind to send back with the twins when they’d been over at Havenfield the other day, citing something about how she didn’t trust Tiergan in the kitchen and thought everyone could use a treat.

If he was unnerved by Wylie watching him as he cut two slices, plating them and grabbing forks from the silverware drawer as he returned the sweet to its place, he didn’t let it show, only quietly handed Wylie the plate with the bigger piece when he was done.

He took it in equal silence, wincing as the fork scraped when he shifted, so unlike the phantom Tam was as he leaned against the counter.

“Do you want to stay here, or…” Tam trailed off, looking him over.

“What do you usually do?” Maybe, if he was careful about it, he could learn something about this mysterious ghost of a kid who’d come into his life, who lived in the same house yet so far apart.

Tam gestured with his chin as he said, “I spend most of my time either in the living room out front or the side porch.”

“Great. Perfect. I’ll follow you,” Wylie offered with a flourish that didn’t ease the concern in Tam’s eyes, eyes far too young to have seen the things they had. If only he could’ve done something, but what? Been there to protect the twins? As if they’d even want him in their lives like that. Awfully presumptuous of him. But he couldn’t stop the thought.

Tam only nodded, oblivious to the storm of his mind trying to figure out what they were, if he was allowed to care as much as he suspected he did.

Wylie trailed behind as Tam brushed silently through doorways, Wylie trying to copy the way he moved, failing, but still trying, watching.

They passed through the living room, curtains pushed back just far enough to let a burst of gentle light onto the couch, where a book he didn’t recognize sat open on the cushions. Tam didn’t pay it any mind as he readjusted his hold on his plate to allow a free hand to unlock and open the door to the porch, the one practically invisible from the front due to the thick foliage on one side, wrapping around the side and open to the sky, dotted with stars oh so far away.

Wylie vaguely remembered Linh mentioning once that she loved the stars, the sky, everything oh so far away. He had half a mind to go get her so she could see, but figured it was better to let her rest. No need to bother her with his nightmares.

Tam fell into a seat with such casual grace he must’ve done it a thousand times before. Even though Wylie had lived here for years, he’d hardly used the porch, and certainly never at this time of night.

“How often do you do this?” Wylie asked, taking a bite from his mallowmelt now that they were settled. Any crumb, any inkling of information about this kid who wasn’t even a kid at heart anymore.

Tam shrugged through his own bite. “Whenever I can’t sleep.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” he frowned. He couldn’t blame him after all they’d been through, all the battles and close calls and kidnappings had left their mark, but Tam was so quiet about it. Everyone knew Sophie hardly slept, that Dex stayed up late working on his inventions and gadgets, that Marella needed a fireproof bedroom just in case.

But Tam never said anything about himself.

“Says the one who woke up crying from a nightmare,” Tam snorted, poking at his mallowmelt with his fork.

“Crying?”

Tam shifted. “I heard you. I was in the living room, and you were crying out, so I woke you up.” His face started to close off, as though bracing for something, so Wylie interrupted before he could.

“Thank you, I--I appreciate it. And for letting me intrude on your…” he gestured vaguely at everything, the porch and the mallowmelt and the sky and the chairs and the two of them.

“You’re not intruding.” Tam took another bite. “I offered.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute, content to enjoy the dark, everything outlined in white silver from the moon above, eating mallowmelt side by side as Wylie tried to let the shivers of light in his skin fade, the echo of those burns and binds pushed to the back of his mind.

But with each moment of silence, they started creeping, crawling back towards his mind with claws digging into the dirt, impossible to vanquish. Lights and burns and bubbles and cloying sweetness stuck to his lips, his skin.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Tam asked, shattering the silence like glass, catching Wylie’s attention. He hadn’t realized he’d started to drift, and saw Tam eyeing his hands suspiciously.

Glancing down, faint marks marred his skin where he'd been scratching, rubbing, trying to ease the feeling, already fading.

Wylie sighed, scratching at the back of his head self-consciously. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Maybe if it keeps happening that means you’re not dealing with it right.” Tam polished off the rest of his mallowmelt, setting the plate down on the small crystalline table between them, threaded through with sparkles of rainbow as though he hadn’t rocked Wylie’s mind to its core.

Was he dealing with it all wrong?

Whenever one of the nightmares came back to haunt him, kidnap him from rest and hold him hostage under the light, he’d try to breathe his heartbeat back into place. He’d wait, keep all the lights off to stay away from that burn, and hold himself close until it faded, until the phantom pains that he knew weren’t real stopped plaguing him. He’d stay quiet in the dark, and either fall back into fitful sleep or brave the morning with a smile he didn’t feel. He didn’t need anyone worrying about his stupid nightmares. He was an adult and there was so much else to deal with. His kidnapping had been over a year ago, there wasn’t time in the day to focus on what lingered.

But it wasn’t day.

“My kidnapping,” he found himself saying. “It comes back, sometimes. The memories, even as…hazy…as it was.” Because he was drugged. Because they hurt him. Things had gone fuzzy even before time had started to creep over, images blurring in his mind, leering faces fading away where they’d once haunted him, empty space he’d never fill.

But not the feelings.

Those were crystal clear.

The sear of fire against his skin, pushing through the layers until he screamed, held in front of his face and blinding him as question after question was asked. A question he didn’t know he had the answer to. Yellows and oranges and reds that turned blue and bored into the bones of his being.

“Hey,” Tam said, a hint of something sharp beneath the words. Nothing friendly, but stern. “You’re okay now. They can’t catch us off guard like that anymore, they can’t take you like that again.”

“They took you.”

They took you and you took Linh with you.

Tam might’ve paled, but he couldn't be sure in the washed out light. “That’s different.”

“How?”

Linh had turned into a ghost of herself, and nothing Tiergan tried could fix it, nothing Wylie tried. And then she, too, was gone. Back to her shitty parents because of a warning and it was just Tiergan and Wylie and sometimes his dad in a house too big, a house that’d used to hold so much more.

“I wasn’t…” he started, tugging at his bangs. “I wasn’t going into it blind. We knew something was happening, and we saw it all coming. I was already involved in everything at that point. You weren’t. You were collateral.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like--”

Wylie waved away Tam’s flushed corrections, smiling wryly. “I know. I’m just teasing you. I get what you mean, but you’re way underselling your own…whatever you wanna call it.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” he grumbled, sinking into his seat a little. “You’re the one with the kidnapping nightmares.”

“Yeah, I am,” he sighed, looking down at his wrists, turning his hands over and watching the twist of the smooth, unbroken skin, no sign of blister or light. If he pushed up the sleeve of his pajamas, he’d find the same, the same dark brown without a bubble in sight.

And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about…whatever it is that haunts you, too,” he added, looking back at Tam, who was looking at him.

Tam averted his eyes.

“I’m not haunted--”

“You couldn’t sleep. You don’t, regularly,” Wylie reminded him. And immediately wondered if he should have, if this was a boundary he was allowed to cross, or one he was supposed to remain firmly outside of. What was he allowed to do?

What was Tam to him?

“I’m a shade.”

“Is insomnia a symptom of shadehood?” “Maybe.”

Wylie nodded. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s definitely what it is and not you having problems.”

“You have problems,” Tam shot back, making a face. Not an offended one, but rolled eyes, exasperation mixed with fondness. The kind Wylie often saw when he was bickering with his sister.

It was enough to stun him where he sat, mouth falling open, unable to decide whether to gasp or smile. His eyes stayed on Tam, heart panging away inside his chest.

What was he supposed to do with this kid?

“Wylie?” Tam waved his hand back and forth. “Hey, I was just teasing you. You thinking about the nightmare again?”

Wylie shook his head. “Ah, no. No, um…” he trailed off, unsure what to say next.

His nightmare, the light, it was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. He’d actually forgotten that’s why they’d come out here. The conversation, the dark, it had distracted him.

Tam raised a brow at him, head tilting to the side in question.

Fuck it. “I was thinking about you,” Wylie sighed, sinking back in the chair, shifting to keep his limbs from tingling.

“Me? What about me?” Suspicion laced his voice thicker than Wylie thought possible.

“What to do with you.”

“Do with me?”

A nervous smile pulled at Wylie’s lips as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You make it sound so much worse than it is. I meant…I don’t know where to fit you. In my life. Are you…are we friends? Friends who live in the same house? Are you Linh’s brother, and we’re polite with each other but not really friends? Are you…are you my…” he stopped, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s my thing to work through.”

Tam had gone quiet, not just in voice, but in every part of his being. His expression, his posture, all stood somehow silent. He couldn’t tell what was going on behind his eyes, the ones looking far away from Wylie, up towards the sky, arms crossed over his chest as he sought something out among the stars.

Wylie grimaced as the silence wore on, heart pounding in his chest. Maybe he should’ve just stayed quiet, worked it out on his own without telling anyone, let Tam do his own thing with the people he loved without interfering.

Finally, Tam asked, “What do you want to be?”

The words were small, almost lost as they fell from his lips, lips he bit at as he reached for his bangs, like he couldn’t help protecting himself against something, everything, someone.

Against Wylie.

Wylie’s heart calmed a touch. “I don’t know. I just…want you to know that I care. About you and your sister. And Rayni,” he added at the end. “She’s newer, but she’s important to you. So I’m…trying to understand better.”

Tam took a breath, and Wylie swore he could hear his heart hammering right alongside his as he said. “When we were…when I was a kid, I always wanted an older brother.”

Was his heart still beating?

Tam had practically sunk through the chair, pillows swallowing him whole as shadows bracketed his posture, trying to steal him into the night as he eyed Wylie out of the corner of his eye, watching and waiting with bated breath.

“You did?”

Tam nodded, opened his mouth, but closed it again, as though he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else yet. Not until he knew what Wylie would say.

“I’d like that. To be that,” he clarified, clearing his throat as he felt his face grow warm.

The shadows curling around Tam melted, fading into the wood of the deck and slithering off into the night, like he’d released a breath, a weight alongside Wylie’s words.

Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the comfort the darkness held that prompted them to speak, drew the secrets out of them, because a moment later, Tam opened his mouth again.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted an older brother so that it wouldn’t have to be me anymore. I know Linh and I are twins, but…I was the one who stepped up, because she got so in her head struggling with her ability, and our parents never cared. Not unless we were messing with their precious reputations. And I always wished…there was someone else who did care. So I wouldn’t have to be the responsible one anymore. I love Linh to death, don’t get me wrong, but…”

“But it’s a lot,” Wylie finished for him, nodding. “And it was too much to expect of someone as young as you were. Even if you don’t regret it and would do it all again, it’s still a lot.”

“Yeah.” Tam blew out a breath.

“I can’t…I can’t go back and fix it and be there for you and Linh when it was really bad,” Wylie said, looking off into the stars. “But I can be here now. If that’s worth anything to you.”

He glanced back down, watching Tam’s gaze flicker towards the windows, the second story windows where Linh and Rayni should be lying fast asleep, unaware of the movement of the house below. The nightmares and restless nights that had drawn the two of them out here. He was eternally grateful that at least the two of them were having a restful night.

“It is,” Tam said, quiet, drawing his attention back away from the window. “I…uh…appreciate it.”

Wylie nodded, unsure what to say next, savoring the ease in his heart as they sat in silence.

He could see what Tam liked about this, why he came out here when he couldn’t sleep. The world was quiet here, calm in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while. Soft gales rustled the grass, brushing patterns into the dewey blades, catching the silver light. Chill air rested against their skin, still but not stagnant, a blanket wrapped around them and holding them, a casual embrace. Nothing and no one expected anything from them, least of all themselves. They could sit and do nothing, fade into the background of the night and let the weight they carried so valiantly wash away in the silence, passed on to something infinitely larger than themselves.

A small pocket of time where the rest of life didn’t exist, that’s what this was.

“Thank you,” he said again. “For sharing this with me.”

Tam shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“That I can’t sleep sometimes? Yeah. Linh lived with me for years and Rayni…well, she found out. But that I come out here? No, that’s just you.”

Just him. Something melted inside him, but he couldn’t figure out what, searching the sky above them like they’d say something back, like the answer would be up there.

Maybe there was, because he could’ve sworn something about the sky looked different near the edge of the roof, like the specks were brighter, closer. Stars brought down to their level to live among them, but he knew that was absurd.

He turned to Tam, but before he could get any word out, a sudden, powerful thud sounded from inside the house, and those stars he thought he’d seen winked out of existence, like he’d imagined them the whole time.

Tam jerked up, fingers clenching in the pillows as his brow furrowed. “What the--”

Wylie was already on his feet, glancing back at him, as he moved to the door, pushing down the handle and pulling it open all in one movement.

All he could think was that there were people he cared about in this house, that he needed to find them, to protect them.

“It’ll be fine, it’s probably nothing,” he said, trying to be reassuring. Trying to convince himself as he took a breath, stepping over the threshold, searching for the source of that noise.

His little brother didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let him lead the way.

[Paragraph break]

The house sat silent as Tiergan let himself be pulled along, Prentice’s hand warm in his own, and he sent thanks somewhere in the world that at least the kids were having a peaceful night.

He tried to be gentle on the stairs, and Prentice did the same, each holding their breath and listening for any disturbance, letting out their worries when there were none.

“Ah, someone left the cabinet open again,” Prentice mumbled, pausing in the hall of the second floor.

He dropped Tiergan’s hand, ducking through the open door to push the sink’s cabinet doors closed, being oh so careful to stay quiet so they wouldn’t wake anyone. They’d been in need of fixing for a while and had a tendency to slam and thunk if you weren’t paying attention.

But Prentice was. As always.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, taking Tiergan’s hand again. “Don’t want anyone to run into them or anything. Those doors have sharp corners.”

Tiergan didn’t say anything, only squeezed his hand tightly in reassurance, following along as they passed through the rest of the hall to the stairs that would take them to the kitchen, the stairs that would wake Wylie if they weren’t careful; he’d learned that the hard way when they were still getting to know their new lives together.

Prentice led the way, face set, already thinking ahead. Tiergan almost interrupted as they passed by Linh’s room, remarking on a bit of a draft he felt under the doorway. Had she left her window open before she fell asleep? He remembered her mentioning how she’d liked to keep it open sometimes during the night, all the nights she’d spent in the outdoors in the neutral territories had acclimated her to the fresh air. If she closed the window it got stuffy, which she said made her more likely to be restless and have nightmares.

In that case, they could all deal with a bit of a draft if it eased her mind.

They both let out a sigh of relief as they successfully made it to the kitchen without disturbing anyone.

For the second time that night, Prentice dropped his hand, carefully opening the fridge and retrieving two bottles of Youth, shivering from the cold glass as he handed Tiergan one.

“Thank you,” he murmured, absentminded, having crossed to the other side of the kitchen to close the pantry door. He could’ve sworn he’d remembered to close it when cleaning up from dinner the night before. A small smile tugged at his lips as he got a glimpse of the mallowmelt Edaline had sent, and he made a mental note to send her a thank you with the kids whenever they went over next. Prentice had an excellent rosewater cookie recipe, perhaps that would work.

It couldn’t be from him, though. Baking was…interesting, when he tried it.

Pushing the door, it moved on silent hinges and closed with an empty thud, and as he looked at the mallowmelt disappearing from view he could’ve sworn a few more slices were missing.

He hummed in surprise as Prentice’s arms wrapped around him from behind, unconsciously leaning back into him as he toyed with the cork on his bottle.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, lips against his shoulder, locs falling forward and brushing his skin.

He couldn’t help himself. “You’re a telepath, Prentice.”

Fingertips pressed into his skin as Prentice pulled him closer. “I’d never read your mind without your permission, Tiergan.”

Oh.

“I was thinking,” he started, swallowing to clear the sudden thickness in his voice, “that I should ask Wylie to talk to Tam about whether he’s been taking some late night excursions. I only have suspicions, nothing concrete. But he’d respond to him better than to me.”

“He would? Why do you say that.”

Tiergan blew out a breath, and Prentice’s fingers brushed against him in response. “You’ve seen how the twins act around me. It’s like they’re always waiting for me to have enough of them and kick them out. If I started telling Tam I was worried about him because of whatever he does in the night, he’d stop. Pull back further into that shell of his.”

“But he wouldn’t if Wylie was asking about it.”

“Right.” Finally, he pulled the cork out of the bottle.

Prentice pulled back, arm dropping from where they’d held him, allowing Tiergan to turn to face him, to watch those dark eyes watch him back, a crease between their brow.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out, pressing his fingertip to that worry mark and watching it disappear beneath his touch.

Prentice sighed, a smile pulling at his lips, lips his attention lingered on. “You’re the one having nightmares. I should be asking you that.”

A roiling, jolting wave crashed through him, alight with painful electricity at the reminder, a bucket of ice water dousing his system. His fingers tightened on the untouched bottle, his heart quickening.

Shattered glass into sand, sand trickling away through his fingers as he desperately, selfishly tried to hold it together, begging it to come back, to reform, to do anything but leave him alone--

“Hey, hey, come back to me,” Prentice soothed, and Tiergan took a gasp of a breath, shaky sight searching the room he hadn’t realized he’d left until it'd come crashing back.

When had they gotten so close?

One of Prentice’s hands held the opened bottle, easing it from his shaking fingers, setting it on the kitchen island behind him. The other held his face, thumb brushing against his cheek in slow, deliberate rhythm. They swayed slightly to a tune hummed under patient breath, a melody he faintly recognized but couldn’t place.

Bottle safely out of the way, Prentice’s other hand returned to his waist, fingers warm through the fabric of his night wear. They’d been a gift from Wylie once when he’d revealed his identity, he somber rock face embroidered like a patch on the front wasn’t his, but it was close enough. Prentice’s had a matching swan decal.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push. I thought the distraction and joking were working, meant you were alright. I didn’t realize it was still so sensitive. Please, forgive me,” he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear, watching the movement.

“No, it’s--” Tiergan cut off, clearing his throat, reaching up to wrap his fingers lightly around the wrist of the hand on his face. “I know. I didn’t either. It’s not you.”

Prentice said nothing for a moment. Then, gentle, “You’re lying.”

“I thought you weren’t reading my mind.”

“And you’re avoiding it.”

Tiergan’s fingers tightened on his wrist, eyes flitting away.

But he couldn’t keep them away.

What if, what if he looked away and when he looked back, it was all gone? What if this was nothing more than a brief reprieve, a dream come true of the desires he never let himself think about all those years alone, raising Wylie and pretending it didn’t ache as the way he quirked his brow reminded him so much of someone else. Someone gone.

If this was a dream, he hoped he never woke.

He hoped this moment stretched into eternity, as vast as the night sky, twinkling and burning and remaking itself over and over and over again.

“I…I can’t,” he whispered, closing his eyes, breath shaking. “Not yet. Give me time. I don’t…” the words stuck in his throat.

I don’t know how to tell you I can’t stop thinking I’m losing you.

“Okay, that’s okay, love,” Prentice assured him, and Tiergan could practically see him think, watching him wrack his memory. “How about we do what we used to do when we were young? Another distraction until you’re ready. Rooftop, snacks, or libraries. What would you like?”

What would he like?

You.

Taking a breath, letting it out slow, he looked around the kitchen for inspiration. Rooftop? The thought of climbing out there, sitting on the cold, hard tiles already had his back aching. Maybe another night, but not this one. Snacks? The idea of eating something turned his stomach, melting and molding it into sour sludge. Which left…

“Library,” he decided.

Prentice only nodded, turning to grab the cool bottle where he’d set it on the island, pressing it back into Tiergan’s hand, taking the other as he led the way once more.

When they were young and Prentice had been staying the night in Tiergan’s family home, they’d stay up late, then quietly make their way into his family’s personal library, trying to find the most ridiculous passages and lines in all the various books kept there. His mother’s interest in dwarven poetry had led to a few interesting ones, but the dwarves still had a measure of depth and importance even with the unfamiliar diction and structure. Prentice, however, always had a knack for finding the most pretentious sounding elven writers. Elves had a habit of thinking themself important, and it made them fools in their work and oblivious to their embarrassment.

Now, even though it had been centuries since he’d seen his family home, he couldn’t help thinking of all those nights as Prentice pushed open the door of their own family library, flicking on the warm yellow light. .

It’d originally been on the third floor, but soon after Wylie had moved in, he’d moved it to the first floor. The poor kid had been too nervous to run into him on his way to get a book, so he’d never take any despite how much comfort he found in them. So, after he’d realized, he’d put it on the same floor as his bedroom. Then, he’d have a much smaller chance of encountering him while they were still figuring out how to live together. Tiergan had always been in his life as a baby, but never the way he’d been after…everything had happened.

“I think this might be my favorite room in the house,” Prentice said, offhanded, turning to shut the door with a soft click behind them.

Tiergan hummed in agreement, reaching out a hand to run them along the spines of a nearby shelf, inset words delicate beneath his fingertips. One was missing that he didn’t remember taking down. Odd.

Split into two levels, shelves lined the walls on the left all the way to the ceiling well above their heads, so tall a sliding ladder hooked onto a railing at the top to be moved where needed. To the right, half of a second floor overlooked the first, like a mini balcony complete with twining railing to keep any particularly clumsy children from tipping right over the edge.

On the first level, under the balcony, sat a desk; it didn’t belong to anyone in particular, but he used it more than everyone else. And since a lot of that work was classified Black Swan work, the kids usually stayed out of it. They hadn’t at first, of course. But multiple attempts where they found only the most boring, in-depth reports on the most menial things possible had dissuaded them from ever trying to learn anything via the scrolls he left out again. Little did they know they’d left those ones there on purpose. What kind of rebellion member would he be if he left scrolls out? Did they think he was an amateur?

“You’re thinking again,” Prentice said, drawing him towards the stairs curling around the room, ending at that second half-level. The bottom was work oriented, but the top he’d furnished with plush couches and chairs, thick pillows and luxurious blankets with embroidered gnomish patterns telling stories across the fabric. An assortment of seating options perfect for reading, resting, or recovering.

“I do that sometimes.”

“Care to share?”

Tiergan hummed a smile. “Remembering when we tricked the kids into thinking we would leave important documents lying around, and that those documents were boring.”

Prentice grinned in return, huffing out a laugh as they climbed the stairs. “They’re brilliant kids. But so gullible sometimes.”

Cresting the top, Prentice clearly had his eyes set on the couch near the railing, not even glancing at the rest of the comforts as he settled into the forgiving cushions, adjusting as Tiergan followed in his stead.

Sinking into the softness, he let out a small noise of satisfaction, leaning back, savoring the released pressure from his joints. A night of restless sleep hadn’t been kind to his body.

Prentice moved in closer, their sides pressing together as he draped an arm over his shoulders, body heat shared wherever skin pressed together, even through their clothing. Prentice had always run hot, and Tiergan had always run cold. He’d made some joke once about them matching when they were young, but he was sure he couldn’t remember it.

“I remember…I remember the books, all the shelves, but I’m not sure what we used to do,” Prentice said faintly, his mind was elsewhere, and when Tiergan glanced at him he was squinting off into the distance.

Tiergan reached for his hand, ignoring the tremble in his fingers at the thought of all those lost memories, how he’d watched them slip away.

“We would look through all the pompous books my parents owned. Try and find the most ridiculous lines we could. We made a competition out of it.”

Prentice hummed to himself, blinking, eyes searching for something he couldn’t see.

Then, he shook himself off, abandoning the effort. “That sounds like something we’d do. Though I doubt our library will be as easy to find pompous lines in.”

It definitely wouldn’t be. The ridiculous lines had only worked because his parents had so many ridiculous books. He’d once found one theorizing about how elves should try harvesting starlight and consuming it. Something about how it would balance the body’s natural glow, because elves were made primarily of light. Despite nothing ever being found about elves made of light.

It had been over 800 pages long.

“How about a different category then,” he proposed, leaning into Prentice, settling against his chest to make room for the arm around his shoulders, savoring the feeling. There’d been a time he’d thought he’d lost this forever. That he’d never be allowed to have it.

Prentice’s fingers tapped mindless patterns against his arm, his other hand brushing his locs out of the way over his shoulder. “Well then, what books do we have? Lots of reports, lots of history books…I found some poetry the other day as well…”

Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, he proposed, “Most superfluous word use. Even if our books aren’t as pompous, some of the authors…like to get creative.”

“Perfect,” Prentice smiled, then stuck his tongue out between his teeth in concentration as he furrowed his brow, reaching his free hand forward to catch the book he’d telekineticked into his grasp.

It’d come from the history section below, and from the name of the author he knew Prentice already had a head start, so with only slightly childish motives, he slapped his hand over the book, holding it closed in Prentice’s lap as he reached out and grabbed his own book from the poetry section with his--admittedly rusty--telekinesis.

“I thought we were adults,” Prentice chastised, but he was laughing as he said it.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Tiergan told him as he flipped open his own book, a poetry anthology of various authors, the engravings on the exterior only slightly familiar.

Comfortably nestled in Prentice’s embrace, he skimmed through the words, hoping a particularly bold writer had left something that would work in his favor.

A few minutes later, Prentice exclaimed with delight, nudging him. “Look, here, second paragraph. They called the battle a hoplomachy. That must be worth a point--I’m assuming this is a point system at least.”

“It is,” Tiergan said, frowning. “How do you even find them so quickly?”

It was a few anticipatory minutes more of impatiently paging through poetry before Tiergan held up his own book in triumph. “Xertz. Fourth stanza. I believe that’s a point for me, my dear.”

Prentice squinted down at the page, sighing in acceptance. “That’s a point. Wait--did they rhyme xertz with hurts?”

“Rather disappointing, I know. You’d think for as creative a word as that, they’d come up with something better.”

“We’re tied now,” Prentice noted, floating another book towards him from the wall.

“I suppose we are. For now.”

He lost track of the time they spent searching through books, Prentice blissfully never asking what, exactly, had dragged him breathless and frantic from sleep, what had frozen him in place in the kitchen with only a thought. Even though he couldn’t quite forget it, not as every breath of a touch reminded him of all he could lose, had lost. He never knew how to think of it.

All he knew was he’d gotten two more points for miniaceous and paedonymic, but Prentice had found epalpebrate, quadragintireme, timenoguy, and quodlibetificate for four more.

He wasn’t actually sure what any of those words meant, but he knew it put him a solid two points in the lead.

“I was fighting a losing battle from the beginning,” he groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he let his current book--something about ogre-troll weaponry fusions in centuries past, which he wasn’t sure how he’d come to own--fall to the side of the couch.

“Are you forfeiting?” Prentice asked, all too sweet.

He set his own book down, shifting to rub soothing circles into his back, an affection Tiergan had never told him he enjoyed but Prentice had discovered made him melt all on his own. Even when he tried to hide it.

“Yes, I forfeit. You win, just like when we were young.”

Prentice’s hand faltered for a moment. “Did I win a lot? When we were kids?”

“Always,” he breathed, swallowing.

I never stood a chance against you.

Holding his breath, Tiergan turned, Prentice stilling beneath him as their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke, bated silence growing thick, heavy, that crease reappearing between Prentice’s brow. Their chests rose in tandem, breathing, waiting.

Prentice broke first. “You’re worrying me.” He spoke it like a confession, head tilting to the side, fingers fumbling in his lap as though they wanted to reach out.

“I’m sorry. For worrying you.”

“Please. Don’t be. It’s part of this, of us, for me to worry about you.”

Tiergan blinked. “This?”

Prentice offered a small smile. “You look so surprised. As if you aren’t the same. You are mine, Tiergan. The good,” he interlaced their hands, tracing the lines of his palm, “and the bad.”

He reached up, cupping Tiergan’s face, trailing his fingers across his forehead, a small frown marring his lips.

Tiergan wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore, didn’t dare do anything to break the moment, the faint echo of shattering glass playing back in his mind. All he could do was watch, helpless, as Prentice watched him back, eyes trailing over him from the tremble of his fingers to the pulse beneath his skin to his lips and finally, finally back to his eyes.

“You keep freezing when I touch you. Why? Should I stop?” He started pulling back.

“No,” he managed, voice suddenly hoarse. “No, please don’t.”

“Alright, love. I won’t.”

The books lay forgotten around them, piled erratically on the floor, poetry and history side by side, and for the life of him he couldn’t seem to care about how tedious it would be to find where they’d come from.

Prentice leaned back in, fingertips warm on his skin. “You’re always so cold,” he murmured, filling the silence for him.

“You’re always so warm,” Tiergan offered in return, playing along, both of them oh so aware they were only waiting, time ticking away between them, filling the space until he could speak. They both knew he was going to, it was only a matter of letting it happen, being there in the interim.

“We match, then.”

We match.

Each brush against his skin sent his heart thundering, a dizziness building in the back of his mind, cradling him from the shadows and their secrets as the seconds passed, until, with the comfort of a hand in his and the ease of the game, that nightmare no longer pounded against his conscious, threatened to tear him to pieces and scatter them in the night.

It burned in his throat, the words he’d shoved down that wanted out.

“You were right,” he admitted into the quiet, a salve against the ache.

Prentice only continued his touches as he spoke.

“You were right, it is you. Not in the way you thought. You haven’t done anything wrong; you’ve been…” he couldn’t find the words, and paused for a moment. “More than I could ever hope for. Whatever this is, whatever we are…I wouldn’t change a moment of it.”

He could’ve sworn there was a flicker of something on Prentice’s carefully impassive face, but he couldn’t place it. Fondness? Amusement? Worry?

He took a breath, averting his eyes, continuing. “But I worry sometimes. And sometimes, it haunts me at night.”

Raising his gaze from their interlaced fingers, he met Prentice’s eye, searching his face. “Sometimes, I dream I’m losing you again. Watching your mind, your memories fall apart and all I can do is stand there and watch. As you disappear and I can do nothing. And then I wake and you’re right there and I can’t stop myself from wondering if it’s real, or if this will be taken from me, too. If this is too good to be true and I’m dreaming again. If I’m fooling myself and you’re disappearing before my eyes, just like when--” he cut off, letting out a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, we’re okay,” Prentice soothed, squeezing his hand. “I’m real. I’m here.”

“You are.”

Prentice pressed his lips together, eyes a little glassy as he blinked. “I may not know what it was like for you, to lose me, and Cyrah, to raise Wylie on your own. I don’t know how the years have been. And I know you don’t like to talk about it. But I do know it’s all going to be okay in the end. I believe it will be.”

Tiergan couldn’t help a small, sad laugh. “Your optimism is incredible; I don’t know how you do it.”

He’d spent so many years in the dark, struggling day by day to get through the next, to just hold on, hold on a little longer, stay afloat. The storm would pass, they’d promised it would pass, it would end some day. He’d get him back.

Now that he had, he didn’t know how to stop trying to survive and starting trying to live.

“It’s a struggle, some days,” Prentice whispered, his hand falling from Tiergan’s face and settling in their laps. “You are not the only one who fears my mind will collapse again.”

Tiergan didn’t know what his face looked like, but it had Prentice smiling, a soft, sad thing.

“No need to look so shocked. I see how you all watch me, you and Wylie more than most. You tiptoe around me some days, like you’re waiting for me to shatter again. And I try to be patient, and show you that I’m here. I’m here. It helps you, I can see that. The tension eases in your shoulders and you smile more. But there are times it is…more difficult, because I’m trying to convince not just you, but myself that I’m here. That everything is okay.”

He was drowning. He sat on dry land with warm touches but there was no air and he couldn’t breathe and the water wanted to pull him under. It lurched and raced through him, whiting out everything and anything he’d ever thought before, wiping the slate clean and leaving him breathless, his heart pounding in his chest as everything in him shifted.

“Tiergan?” Prentice’s face, vulnerable, had drawn back, hardened, brows furrowed as he sat up straighter, hand hesitating between them. “Tiergan, what is it?”

A half-strangled noise escaped him, his lips, his tongue refusing to cooperate, his blanked out mind incapable of sentences or sense.

All he could do was surge forward, wrapping trembling arms tight around Prentice’s, pulling him close, books falling from the cushions to the floor with hardly noticed thunks as Prentice gasped out a small oh, hands landing light on his back.

After a frozen moment, Prentice moved, sighing into the embrace as he held him back, palms against his body, fingertips pressed hard against him, nearly digging in. His head rested against the crook of Tiergan’s neck, breath warm on his skin, unsteady but there there there.

“I…” Tiergan started, but his voice caught. “I didn’t know you worried, too. Oh, how many times have I made it worse for you with my fretting when I could’ve been helping, doing something, anything, I don’t know what. If I’d known--Why didn’t you tell me?” He spoke the words into Prentice’s hair, lips pressed near his ear, hushed tremors all too loud in this silent night.

Prentice’s heart thundered, the echo of the beat reverberating in his own chest, pressed as close as they were. “You were already so worried, I didn’t want to add to it. You do so much for so many people, for me. I want to help you, I want to ease that burden, not make it worse. I know I’m not what I once was, that I can’t help however I used to. But if I can help you even slightly, that’s enough. I’ll take that. And, if we’re being completely honest…I didn’t want to give my fears a voice.”

He cut off, letting out a shaky breath, arms tightening for a moment.

“Thank you. For telling me.” Tiergan’s hand came to rest atop Prentice’s head, nestled in his body as he was. “And for listening to me.”

He hadn’t realized how it had weighed on him, just how heavy the fear was, pent up, shoved to the back of his mind and molding under the neglect he treated it with. All the months he’d spent oh so aware of what he’d lost, what he’d been mercifully allowed to have back. All the months he’d kept quiet in front of the kids, telling them everything was okay when he, himself, harbored unspoken terrors tingeing every word.

And the facade hadn’t fooled Prentice for a moment.

“I told you, it’s part of the deal, part of what we are. I listen when you need me too, and you listen when I need you. Because we want to and care. I care. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“There are a million things to thank you for.”

For being alive. For being here.

“Please,” Tiergan continued, “let me appreciate you..”

“I do. Every day. You’re quite ridiculous with it at times,” Prentice laughed, pressing a kiss into his neck. “The kids are always embarrassed by us because of you.”

“I won’t apologize for that.”

“I’d never ask you to.”

Something in his words, the tone, nestled heavy over them, hushing them into a poignant quiet, the seconds sneaking past until Prentice shifted in his arms, palms rested over Tiergan’s heart as he pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

“So where does that leave us?”

Tiergan thought it over for a moment, bracing himself as he ran his mind over the edges of the worries, the blades of glass poking and prodding, nestled in deep by the years of darkness he’d survived.

They still stung, would bleed if he pushed too hard. One night of confessions wasn’t enough to undo more than a decade of panic, of grief, of waking alone in the night. Sharing their fears didn’t erase them. When the sun rose, he’d still wonder whether this was something that would truly last, or if it would crumble like sand in his hands, slipping out of his grasp and washing away.

But now he could run his fingertips over the blades, their sharpness dulled to an ache that wouldn’t break skin at the gentlest touch. Each breath came easier, and the glass breaking into sand stilled, calm, washed clean beneath the waves even if it was still there.

“Better,” he finally answered, shifting so his hands were between them, their palms pressed together. “It leaves us better.”

Prentice smiled at that, a soft, private thing. “Better. I like that.”

He traced his finger over the lines in Tiergan’s palm, light touch sending shivers across his skin as Prentice started trailing up his own fingers. Tiergan watched the movement in silence, content to just be for as long as they could be.

He paused on his ring finger, fingertip lingering over the empty skin.

“You said something earlier,” he started, his tone shifting, and he had the sense whatever they were about to discuss was entirely different. But he wasn’t sure what it was.

After a few moments, Tiergan prodded. “What did I say?”

Prentice hummed, tapping against his ring finger a few times. “You said, ‘whatever we are.’ What are we to you, Tiergan?”

“We are…” he stopped, blinking. No answer came to mind, nothing he could put to words. “I…don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I suppose I was too caught up in having you back to worry about it.”

He nodded, then asked, “And if you did think about it. What would you want us to be?”

Eternal.

The word popped, unsolicited, into his head. He’d hadn’t even tried to think of an answer, it had provided itself.

“You thought of something,” Prentice noted after a moment.

“It’s silly.”

“We were just playing a game from when we were young where the whole point is teasing ridiculous authors.”

Tiergan could hear the laugh in the words, and sighed. “You’re right, as usual. Alright. When you asked…I thought of a word.” He took a breath, his heart taking off. “I want us to be eternal. I don’t want this to be temporary. I don’t want to lose you. I want to be yours, whatever way you’ll have me, for as long as we’re here.”

“Eternal?” Prentice toyed with his fingers, his focus on the ring in particular. “Not forever?”

“Either. Both. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take. If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you,” he repeated, quiet, as though tasting the words, their weight on his tongue. “You are…more important to me than I can ever say, Tiergan. Of course I’ll have you. All of you, the good and the bad. You’re not going to lose me.”

Tiergan couldn’t hold back his smile, didn’t want to, not as Prentice leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, cradling his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“And you?” he breathed. “What are we to you? What do you want us to be?”

Prentice hummed, and Tiergan swore it was nervous. “Eternal would be nice. But I’ve been thinking recently, your finger looks awfully bare.”

“My finger?”

“What would you prefer: silver or gold? Though I suppose we don’t need to limit ourselves to two options. You’d look good with something copper, or something darker.”

Tiergan leaned back, searching Prentice’s face, his eyes, oh so observant, so loving, eyes he hoped would never leave him again. Eyes watching every minute reaction. “What are you saying?”

Prentice took his hand, trembling, raising it to his lip. “You can be so dense at times, it’s adorable. I’m saying, if you’ll let me, I’d like to put a ring on your finger.”

Tiergan stared, heart pounding.

“I’d like to marry you, Tiergan.”

He blinked, staring and staring and staring, a warmth blossoming in his chest, a buzz building in every nerve and iota of his being, whiting out anything and everything in its path.

Prentice shifted, head tilting to the side. “Are you alright?”

A worry crease formed between his brow, lips hinting the beginning of a frown, and he swore he could hear his heartbeat through the air, matching his own.

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’re alright? Or yes--oh,” he let out a soft gasp as Tiergan’s arms crashed around him once more, pressing their bodies tight together on that sofa.

“Yes, I’m alright, yes, I’ll marry you. I never thought--I didn’t know--” he stumbled over the words, trying to say a million different things at once. I never thought I could have you, I didn’t know you wanted the same things I did, after Cyrah, with Wylie--

Prentice was laughing, bright, relieved, pulling back out of his embrace and searching his face, cupping it in his face and leaning in close, eyes alive.

And then his lips were on his, warm as the rest of him, soft, tender, smiling, breathing a contented sigh against his mouth, knee bumping into his leg as he moved in closer, dropping a hand to his chest and pressing against his heart.

Tiergan’s arms fell slack, trailing against Prentice’s sides and holding to the fabric, trying to pull him closer, eyes fallen shut as bliss, golden and comforting, rushed through him, blooming from his chest and spreading to every nerve in his system at the unending, undoing touch.

He wanted to live in the moment, the two of them eternal side by side, sensitive kisses loving him breathless until the end of time as he surrendered his body and mind to the wonder of Prentice Endal.

Prentice seemed perfectly content to let him.

He could burst from the joy of it.

Without warning, a resounding, world-ending crash reverberated through the room, a cacophony akin to the house collapsing

They sprung apart, gasping for air as they sat up, eyes wide and searching searching searching for the source, minds reeling towards attacks and explosions and the kids--

“Huh,” Prentice breathed, eyes scanning the room as the echoes faded.

All around them, books sat scattered, flung across the floor, flipped open to random pages in their fall. Piling haphazardly over each other, pages overlapped, covers pressed against each other, words blending into each other as the wooden floors disappeared beneath it all.

“I don’t think there are any books left on the shelves,” Prentice observed, tension draining from his body in the silence, leaning subconsciously into Tiergan, who’d gone rigid, pulling him closer as though he could shield him, save him from whatever was happening and offer himself in his place.

Glancing over the railing, he scanned the shelves, coming to the same conclusion. “I don’t understand, what hap--ah,” he managed, faintly.

His rigid posture melted into swaying, the room spinning as he tried to breathe, hand grasping for the cushion to steady himself as the reverb hit him, unable to focus on anything as his body tried to compensate.

“Tiergan? Tiergan.” Prentice tapped on his shoulder, pressing a hand to his forehead, his pulse.

“I’m…alright.” He took another breath, and the dizziness eased further, enough for him to lift his head and watch the anxiety ease in Prentice’s eyes, though they still searched, frantic, over every inch of him, fingers trailing in search of an answer.

Prentice exhaled. “Was that you?”

“I believe it was,” he answered, a burning heat rushing through his skin. He knew he must be bright red, and cleared his throat. “It wasn’t intentional. I was…excited.”

Brushing his locs back, Prentice huffed a laugh, looking at the carnage in amazement.

“If I’d known how you’d react, I would’ve asked you sooner.”

“Have you been thinking about it? Us?”

“Every day.”

Tiergan faltered for a moment, caught between the fading adrenaline and the absolute wonder threatening to burst him apart at the seams.

There’d be more to say, more to talk about, questions to ask, confessions to make, decisions to debate. What to do, the next step, what to tell the kids, what this meant, and rings. Rings and vows and so much to consider.

All he could think to say was, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He reached out, squeezing his hand, one without a ring but with the promise of one.

And then the door burst open.

[paragraph break]

Of all the nights he’d spent lurking, wide awake as the rest of the house lay quiet in the dark, never before had Tam found his heart pounding as hard as it did as he followed Wylie.

Reeling from their conversation, brother brother brother echoing in his head, it took him a moment longer than normal to start his usual methodic breakdowns.

There’d been a noise, a crash, and it’d come from inside the house.

Was it the Neverseen? Had their home been attacked? Both Wylie and Prentice had been targets in the past, two of them in one location could’ve been too good an opportunity to pass up. But Wylie had been outside with him, a more vulnerable position than inside. It didn’t make sense for them to be inside the house.

Was it Linh? Things could happen with her in the night. He’d woken up screaming to their water parents more times than he could count. But water splashed, it didn’t crash like that.

Was it Rayni? He hadn’t spent as much time with her, but he wouldn’t put midnight mischief past her. But her ability wouldn’t crash either, and devices were Dex’s territory, not hers.

All those thoughts filtered through his mind in the seconds it took for Wylie to open the door, pushing through.

“It’ll be fine, it’s probably nothing,” he said, trying to be reassuring, but Tam didn’t believe him.

What, like something had crashed for a good reason? Yeah right.

Banging shut behind them, they paused in the living room, Tam’s book from before still laying out on the cushions, page marked with a scrap of paper he’d stolen from the desk in the library. He’d been reading it when he’d heard Wylie’s soft cries and hadn’t bothered to put it away yet.

Tiergan had mentioned it a while back, so he’d been borrowing it from the shelves at night, working his way through it.

“It came from that way, right?” Wylie asked, pointing down the hall, towards where his bedroom was, a few rooms beyond it.

“I think so.” Corners flowing with shadows called to him, quieting his steps and gathering at his wrists, his fingertips, staining his nails black as they started moving, past his door.

Wylie made a noise, pointing ahead. “See, the light!”

Before he could follow his direction, pounding footsteps above caught his attention, and he stepped back, pressing his body to the wall as he raised his arms, shadows curling.

Linh and Rayni stopped halfway down the steps, her mouth falling open in confusion as she saw the two of them.

Tam dropped his arms, but kept the shadows close.

“Was that super loud and disruptive crash you?” Rayni asked, then squinted, looking him over. “No, it wasn’t. You’re way too wound up.”

Wylie made another noise. “It came from the library.”

He was still pointing; Tam looked.

Under the door to the library, a sliver of warm yellow light sliced into the dark house. Someone was in the library.

A good someone?

Wylie glanced at him once, a strange expression on his face he tried--and failed-- to contain as he started forward first, Tam still following behind, now with Linh and Rayni bringing up the rear.

With a burst, he shoved the door open, other hand raised, light flickering beneath and over his skin in a rainbow of hues in preparation, just in case.

Tam couldn’t see into the room beyond, but he watched Wylie’s shoulders loosen, the light dismissed as he dropped his hand.

“Huh,” he said.

“What?” Rayni asked, impatient, the sound of her foot tapping against the floor filling the hallway.

Instead of answering, Wylie stepped through the door, eyes on the floor, leaving the rest of them to follow.

“What,” Tam started, “the fuck.”

He’d stepped through after Wylie, shadows ready, but there wasn’t a shadow in sight anymore, not as his arms hung loosely at his sides, turning in a slow circle, surveying the damage.

Books scattered across the floor, piling on top of each other, pages bent at odd angles Tiergan would bemoan later. He hated to crease things. He’d said as much when he offered Tam the suggestions he’d been working through.

“Oh, hi,” Linh said, and when he looked at her, she was looking up.

Tam looked up.

Tiergan and Prentice looked back.

Prentice watched them as they stopped moving. “Hello.” He frowned, looking them over. “Were you all awake?”

Tam didn’t answer, leaving it to someone else as his gaze slid to Tiergan beside him, who rubbed at his temples, an uncharacteristic flush across his cheeks Tam was sure he wanted to know nothing about.

“If I hadn’t been, that awful crashing would’ve woken me up for sure. Do you hate books that much?” Rayni asked, toeing at a nearby cover before squatting next to it and picking it up. “Advanced Social Theory of the 1300s: A Guide to Intuition and Anomie,” she read aloud, then made a noise of disgust. “Nevermind, I get it now.”

“Sorry about that,” Tiergan said, leaning forward alongside Prentice so he could look down at them, too.

It was odd, having a conversation between two different floors.

“I…why…?” was all Wylie could manage, gesturing helplessly at the room, then back to his dads.

Tiergan’s face reddened further, wincing as he looked around. “It was an accident, I was excited--hey, why are you two all dirty?” he interrupted himself, looking between Linh and Rayni.

They both immediately hid their hands behind their backs, but that did nothing to disguise the scuffed, blackened knees and feet, evidence of their…whatever they’d been doing. The matching braids only made the two look more similar standing there next to each other.

“Nothing, we were just,” Linh floundered, “hanging out. Stargazing.”

Together? Linh and Rayni had been doing something together? Alone? And were both alive to tell the tale?

Was he the one dreaming?

She noticed his attention, and made a face that said, Don’t be so suspicious.

You’re being suspicious, his said back.

She scrunched her nose at him, effectively ending the conversation none but the two of them were privy to.

Tiergan was going to say something else, but cut off with a noise as he gazed around. “Ah, sh--shoot. Those creases are never going to come out. They were some of my favorites.” His eyes rested on something Tam couldn’t see from the bottom level, but he could only assume it was another pile of books crammed together. He’d wrecked the entire place, afterall.

It was impressive, if he was being honest. Usually only Sophie could cause that much damage with her head. If she even bothered to use it, that was. Then again, if she used it, then he’d have so much less to tease her about, and where was the fun in that?

“It’s alright, we can salvage this,” Prentice assured him, hand lingering on his shoulder, the fondness in the gesture visible even from this distance. Apologetic, he looked back down at them as he stood from the couch, purpose in his posture. “Sorry for disturbing you all. Would you mind helping? Or do you have other things to do at…” he trailed off, looking around.

“One in the morning,” Tam supplied for him, giving a nod of acknowledgement when Prentice thanked him.

Wylie and Linh spoke in tandem. “Of course.”

“It’ll go faster with extra minds,” Linh added, smiling that smile he’d once thought had disappeared for good.

So he added, “Sure.”

“Well,” Rayni looked between them all, “now I gotta help or I’ll look like an asshole.”

“You’re welcome to go do something else--” Tiergan started, but she cut him off.

“No no, I can’t have you all being better people than me; I’m helping. Shush. I’m not listening to whatever else you have to say.”

Tiergan closed his mouth as she held out an outstretched palm, silencing him.

“Well,” Wylie scratched at the back of his head, “we’re never going to get anywhere if we keep standing here.”

“I bet I fix exploded libraries better than you,” Rayni said to no one in particular, reaching out a hand as a conduit, lifting the topmost dozen or so books from the nearest pile.

To his utter amazement, it was Linh who responded.

“You forget, I spent years skill training in Exillium. Your Neverseen time can’t compete with that.” With a smirk, she reached out her hands and lifted twice as many books, reorienting them so they sat the right way, spines facing out.

Tam traded a glance with his brother, who looked just as surprised as him. Had Linh just casually mentioned her time with the Neverseen? What had they been doing?

He deadpanned, “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister? Also, I spent just as long at Exillium, so good luck.”

He lifted another pile off the floor, matching Linh in number.

Then, he added one more, just to spite her.

Wylie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but it didn’t hide his smile.

When Tam looked up, Tiergan and Prentice leaned side by side over the banister, watching over the four of them with something like awe, though it mixed with a healthy dose of confusion.

“Don’t bother organizing,” Tiergan said, rolling his wrists, preparing himself. “The system was haphazard to begin with. This will just make trying to find anything…interesting, to say the least.”

That seemed to be the cue, the six of them falling into the task in tandem, working side by side and around each other to grab books, smooth out the creases they could--some were hardly noticeable, but others would be permanently scarred by this night; all they could do was keep it from worsening--and shoving them back on the extensive shelves wherever they’d fit.

Linh, Wylie, Tiergan, and Prentice were all methodical about it, going shelf by shelf, filling one before moving on to the next.

Rayni and Tam, however, had different ideas.

“Do you enjoy causing chaos?” Tiergan asked Rayni as she snuck a book from the bottom floor onto the second, right where he’d been about to put one.

She smiled. “I’m helping! You said not to bother organizing.”

“I did,” he admitted, a rueful look adults sometimes got when dealing with smartass kids gracing his features. “I can’t deny that. It was implied we’d generally keep things where they were supposed to be, but I can’t argue with you. Or you,” he added to Tam, who was putting books upside down and backwards on the shelves. Just for the hell of it.

Tam tried to shrug nonchalant, but a bit of a smirk shone through.

Though if he ever needed to find one of the books he’d left backwards, it’d really come back to bite him in the ass. That was a problem for Future Tam, though, not him.

Prentice shook his head, but didn’t do anything to stop them, indulging their antics. “What were you kids doing up this late? You didn’t look dazed at all when you burst in.”

“Responsible things,” Wylie told him, right as Rayni muttered something to herself he didn’t quite catch.

He could’ve sworn it had something to do with cabinets.

Tam frowned then, turning towards Tiergan and Prentice. “What were you doing up this late? That ended in,” he gestured wildly towards everything, “this.”

Tiergan went red again, glancing at the couch, fingers floundering as he pressed his lips shut tight. Was he trying to avoid looking at Prentice? Because if so, he was failing miserably.

It was embarrassing to be around them sometimes, he had to admit.

“I just had a sort of…proposal, you could say,” Prentice explained, looking far too amused as he watched Tiergan cough. “Since we couldn’t sleep, just like the rest of you.”

He didn’t explain further, leaving the four of them to look suspiciously between each other.

They were over halfway through the mess, but that didn’t mean they were done, so they let it slide, chalking it up to more of their quirks. Living with Tiergan and Prentice was…interesting, to say the least. Between the homely baking, loving bickering, and the way they always seemed to learn towards each other without knowing it, you’d never know there was a near decades long gap between the two of them, that they’d only had each other back for months, that they’d ever been apart at all.

He wasn’t sure how much everyone else noticed, how much they saw. Maybe it was another symptom of shadehood like the insomnia, or maybe it was just the way he was, but Tam saw more than anyone else ever had.

Shadows hid secrets, but uncovered them just as readily for those willing to look.

Either way, he couldn’t watch one of them without seeing the other, in their expressions, their mannerisms, the word choice. Prentice didn’t exist without Tiergan, Tiergan without Prentice. Maybe they never had.

But tonight there was something…different, between the two of them. He just didn’t know what.

Rayni slid next to him, shoving books on his shelves. “I know I’m newer here, but I can’t be the only one thinking something’s is going on.”

“Oh definitely,” Wylie agreed, passing behind them, pretending to be very focused on smoothing out a few folds in a book. “They’re terrible at hiding it. How they kept secret identities for years is a miracle.”

“This is the most obvious secret huddle I’ve ever seen,” Linh said, joining the very obvious secret huddle.

Above them, they heard Prentice comment on how they were practically done, Tiergan replying saying he’d finished his half of the upstairs. Downstairs they were about the same. Only a few dozen books remained, and Wylie’d pressed out their creases, making them ready for their chaotic storage.

Steps sounded on the stairs, and they tried to act inconspicuous--Tam had never seen anyone fail as spectacularly at is as they did--scattering back towards the shelves, Tam stepping back to let Linh and Rayni lift and put away the final books, looking almost as good as new. Some of the volumes looked out of order. Tiergan could deal.

“Thank you,” Tiergan said, “for the help.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Linh said, kind as always, fiddling with the end of her braid. “I’m just sorry so many of your books got bent.”

Sighing, he nodded in agreement, surveying the room. “It is…unfortunate. But they’re just books. Since you’ve been kind enough to lend me your time, is there anything I can do for the four of you in return? I know it’s late, but--”

Rayni’s hand shot into the air. “Yes! You can tell us why you lovebirds keep looking at each other like that. You’ve done a horrible job hiding it. Not to be rude,” she tacked on at the end, to little effect.

The four of them turned expectantly towards the two of them in silent expectation.

Tam raised a brow.

Tiergan had flushed again, floundering about for words, trying to find something to say.

Prentice laughed, laying a hand on his arm, quieting him. “I told you they’re brilliant kids. There was no hope keeping it secret.”

“You were trying to?” Wylie asked, teasing.

Prentice thought for a moment. “No, I wasn’t. I was occupied with the mess, that’s all.”

Tam huffed out an impatient sound. “Okay, we get it, you’ve got something to share. Will you get on with it?”

“Please,” Linh added for him, kicking him lightly in the leg and looking not at all remorseful when he yelped.

Tiergan and Prentice shared a look, the kind that spoke without words, and after a moment turned back to look at them.

“How do you feel about weddings?”

#kotlc #quil's quill #kotlc fanfic #tiertice #kotlc secret santa 2022 #sure hope everything's formatted right because there's a lot of words there #i'll see you all in a few hours when you're done reading this beast of a fic #what do I do with myself now ough #well. post this #guess I'll do that!#for once you've read it: hey anyone wanna scream with me and also tell me every single thought you had reading that

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flecks-of-stardust · 2 years ago

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Avengeance: Chapter One

Chapter one of a multi-chapter Rain World short story about Artificer.

No specific content warnings. Contains spoilers for Artificer's campaign; read at your own discretion.

Read this chapter on AO3.

A spear thuds into the wall next to her. Instinctively, she parries; a second spear clinks against the ground behind her as she grabs her pup in her mouth and leaps. A bomb whistles past her ear, past the mewling pup latched onto her back; she tries not to flinch as it explodes a few tail lengths away from her. Ignoring how her ears ring from the noise, she hits the ground running, bounding away with her pups as she weaves through a rainstorm of spears and explosives.

Coming here was a mistake, but did they really have another choice? Food is getting scarce around their den, and rarely does the food they bring back to the pups stay fresh until they return. It had seemed simpler to just bring their pups along, but—

Her mate screams, the sound a drawn out, agonized howl. Every muscle in her body tenses, and it takes all her willpower not to turn around and dive back into the fray. They should not have come here. Their pups will be safe; she will ensure that, but with them in tow she cannot lend her strength. Her mate is strong, but… she’s never seen this many of them before. Not over a small centipede nest.

A scavenger, an ugly, gangly brown thing, shoves its way out of the ground next to her. Its eyes widen, but little more than a peep of terror escapes it before she jams a spear into its throat, snarling. She’s running again before it even hits the ground, swerving around a corner and leaping up onto the blocky path that leads to their den. The pup in her mouth mewls, squirming as she continues running. She dares not let them down with the sounds of explosions still ringing behind her. She’s so close now. Her chest burns from the exertion, her paws ache from the rough ground scraping against her toes, but on she runs regardless, ducking around another scavenger that waves its spear at her. She’s almost there. Almost home. Almost safe. They can’t follow her there.

Leap, crawl up two steps, kick off the wall, bomb jump, and she’s up to their den. She ducks in, releasing the pup in her mouth and sliding the other off her back, and she ushers both deeper into the little hollow in the stone they made their home. Tottering on their little paws, they stumble into the soft bedding, blinking up at her with huge, terrified eyes; she croons to them as she curls around them, briskly grooming the explosive powder off their tiny bodies. They’re unharmed, thank the stars, but they’re shaking. That was not a good first introduction to the outside world.

She grooms them and rubs her face against theirs until they settle into her, breaths soft against her side as the tension bleeds out of them. Distantly, the explosions continue to ring, interspersed with the clanging of spears; her mate’s keeping them busy. She tucks her tail around their pups as she watches the entrance of the den, ears pricked for any sound of her mate returning. They… had not gotten any food. The scavengers arrived before any centipedes emerged. She can’t leave their pups here to try and hunt someplace else; they’re too young to be left unattended.

So she waits. She counts the spots on her pup’s back; there are five, the dark blotches splayed unevenly against the gentle blue of their fur, and they ripple as they paddle at her, nuzzling against her belly for the long dried up milk that was once there. She traces the outline of her pup’s ears, watches the way they flick at every explosion, how they flatten against their head as they tuck their face under their little tail. Their fur, as green as the acid that pools along the ground, as soft as the plants that she and her mate painstakingly harvested before they arrived in this world, as sleek as the surfaces of the pearls that she chances upon sometimes.

They are beautiful. Precious. Both look more like her mate than her, but that’s alright. She starts grooming them again, rasping her tongue across her pups even as they squirm and wriggle away from her, chirping in protest. She corals them back into her embrace, wrapping her tail tightly around them. They are everything to her.

A soft drumming of rain above their den begins. She looks back towards the mouth of the den, ears twitching worriedly. The explosions have stopped, but there’s no sign of her mate. Out hunting for food, perhaps? The two of them can go without food for a while, but their pups need to eat. Though most things would have gone back into hiding by now…

The rain crescendos to a persistent, impatient drumming, then to a thudding downpour, and then to a screaming crash that makes her pups whine; she tucks her tail over their ears. Still no sign of her mate. This area is more shielded from the rain, but sometimes the caverns flood. Neither of them can swim well.

She waits, eyes searching through the dimness for a flash of bright teal. She can’t hear anything but rain. Their pups start dozing off, unaware of the pounding fear that twists inside her chest as she waits, and waits, and waits.

There are other dens. This is not the only safe area to ride out the rain. There are places that don’t flood, that are warm, that can shelter her mate until the end of this rain cycle. There is a world beyond this. Her mate will be fine.

Her vigil stretches on with no end in sight. Her eyes start fluttering shut, but she yanks them open again, shaking her head to clear it. She’s exhausted, and hungry, and afraid. The nest is conspicuously colder without the warmth of her mate pressed around her. She can’t tell if it’s flooding. Can’t tell if her mate found food. Can’t tell if her mate is warm. Is safe.

She can’t keep her eyes open anymore. She lets them drift shut, lets herself sink into an uneasy, fitful sleep filled with nightmares that she can’t pull herself out of.

Over and over, she dreams of her mate never returning. When morning comes, the ache in her body rivals that in her belly, a dull, throbbing soreness that does not go away when she stretches. The cold bites into her, sinking its fangs deep into her bones as she limps around the den, and then out to the exit, peering around outside.

Her mate is nowhere to be found. No cheerful yowl to greet her, no centipede being carried up to their den, no gentle grooming of her ears amid a storm of purring. Gone. Dead. Her mate is dead.

The last bushel of hope in her chest shrivels up into nothing.

Chapter one | two | three | four

#rain showers #i caved. basically everything in little natterings is rain world stuff #and this blog has been mostly rain world for a while so. i might as well make a tag for rain world writing LOL #rain world #downpour #artificer #avengeance #tagged for ease of perusal since this is multi chapter #i hope the formatting works out oof oof #arti's mate and pups have no name and i do not care to figure out what they would be called #'artificer' is not a name either we just turned it into one <3

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swordgrace · 3 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen x y/n

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vampiricgf · 4 months ago

Text

— v. lycaon | perfect coincidences

·₊̣̇. ⊱ warnings: fem reader, baby fever, breeding kink, he just wants to knock you the fuck up, explicit talk of pregnancy, knotting, creampie, praise, established relationship, biting, pet names (sweetheart, little mate), mating press, crying, cervix fucking, he's also so in love with you it's sickening

wc: 2.5k+

tumblrs being stupid so im sorry if this posts n the formatting is off >.< im once again saying he would have the most diabolical breeding kink okie bye~‹𝟹

It had been a running commentary all day as you two ran errands together, from one person after the next.

At the flower shop, being stopped by a kindly older woman who asked for help selecting flowers for a granddaughter. Of course Lycaon knew the best ones and the old woman was clearly absolutely taken with him, ever the gentleman, as you'd watched with a bemused smile on your face. Only when she had finished and paid for the colorful bouquet did she turn to you, grinning in that sort of conspiratorial way grandmothers tend to do.

"Your husband is wonderful, do you two have any children by chance?" With a light hand on your forearm she posed the question.

It left you floundering briefly. Husband? Children? You two weren't even married, had only been dating for a little over a year.

"Oh no we're not-"

"Well, you should definitely change that dearie," she grinned and gave you a wink, which only made you run hot all over and stutter before she walked out of the shop humming to herself.

As Lycaon returned to your side, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers tucked in the crook of his elbow he gave you a curious once over. "Is everything alright?"

You shook your head, flashing him a small smile and grasping his hand tightly in yours. "I'm fine, do you want to grab coffee before we go home?"

Then again inside the Coff Cafe, as he handed you the bouquet to hold so he could pay and grab your drinks a young woman standing next to you gave you a wistful look, eyes flicking from the bouquet to Lycaons back.

"You're so lucky to have somebody who gets you flowers."

That made you shyly glance down at the fragrant blooms before answering. "Mhm, he is really wonderful."

"I bet you two have the cutest little kids, all fuzzy ears and fluffy tails." She sighed longingly and you could only feel bewildered. Was there something about you screaming talk to me about my hypothetical kids today?

You laughed nervously, feeling grateful for Lycaons return and gladly accepting the warm to-go cup from his hand before answering as you turned to leave. "Well, I hope you find someone to bring you flowers."

You felt him looking at you quizzically as the door jingled shut behind you and the mild chill of the outside world returned as you walk towards the metro station.

"Isn't it strange, all these people asking if we're married or have kids today?" You said, looking up at him and not quite sure what you're hoping his answer will be.

His face was unreadable, in the way he gets with his clients, like he's purposely maintaining a safe distance as he responds. "I suppose it's only natural to wonder."

His noncommittal answer only left you more puzzled but as you two boarded the train you took the opportunity to silently ponder the questions from strangers, fingers tangled loosely in his as you sat side by side.

Would we have cute kids?

It was late when his eyes cracked open, late enough that the bedroom was still pitch black and you were sound asleep against him, curled on your side with your back pressed to his chest. He could hear your soft, even little puffs of air in the dark as his nose pressed to the back of your neck.

You murmured something in your sleep, something that sounded an awful lot like his name and it brought a little thrill to his heart. He tried to mostly keep it contained but the reality was that you were just so sweet, so adorable and as it turns out you were the exact same way when you were unconscious and it made his arms flex, squeezing around you a little tighter.

He'd heard the term once from Ellen at work, cuteness aggression. It fit how he felt about you in moments like this, as if he could just squeeze and squeeze until you two were mashed into one entity because you were just too cute, it couldn't be helped.

My adorable little mate.

The sudden thought made him freeze. You two weren't actually mated, and it was at his own insistence. He never wanted to hurt you and constantly worried anytime you brought it up because the simple fact was that he was stronger than you and could easily lose control of himself during the act. It was already hard enough to not pummel his knot inside you like you were just a toy when you two had sex, no matter how much you begged for it.

But then again, it was an urge, a longing, he consistently felt the need to fulfill. To dig his teeth into the side of your neck, hold you still while his knot locked you two together and he drowned your fluttering pussy in cum. More than enough to get you pregnant.

Unconsciously his hand slipped beneath your shirt, massaging slow circles into your side, then your tummy. You'd look so beautiful like that, belly all round with his child and breasts swelling with milk. Your scent would change first with the undercurrent of that sweet, milky smell all young children carry with them for a short while.

You'd looked at him so expectantly earlier as you'd asked what he thought about all those people commenting on if you had children at home. You'd tried to sound flippant, but he could tell you expected a certain answer from him. Had seen the look on your face on the train, silently pouring over the question and it didn't take much to know you were imagining those hypothetical babies.

But even after more than a year of dating he'd never once cum inside you, always pulling out to press your thighs together and fuck them before spilling against your stomach and chest.

He'd take such good care of you though, you'd never lift a finger or even leave the bed if you didn't desire to throughout the entire long nine months. You'd be a princess inside this spacious home, wanting for nothing and he'd lavish you every second of the day if you let him. No part of you would go underappreciated.

As his hips started moving of their own accord, pressing his growing erection against the swell of your ass, and he breathed you in even deeper it suddenly clicked, a bizarre flash of perfect clarity.

He needed to get you pregnant, needed to knot you as many times as possible to make sure it took, needed to make you cry out and do that thing he secretly enjoys: twining the fur at the back of his neck between your fingers to tug on it then smoothing it back down as if you're apologizing for the act. Wanted to feel exactly how tight you could get when he squeezed his knot inside and felt you clamping down on him to milk him for all he had.

Oh and he'd give it to you, give you everything you could ever ask for.

"Lycaon?" Your voice was low, thick with sleep as you stirred at the feeling of him grinding against you.

He gave a little mhm before burying his face against your neck again, nipping and sucking lightly on the delicate flesh, his hand sliding higher to grope at your breasts beneath his shirt you wore. Never before has been so thankful for your habit of wearing only his shirts and a pair of panties to bed.

Your own hips moved lazily with his, little groans muffled as you turned your head to the pillow that only spurred him on to pull the flimsy fabric between your legs to the side, dipping a finger into your wetness before sliding up to play with your clit. As soon as the pad of his finger pressed against you your breathing changed, becoming a little more rough the more he circled and teased at your needy little bud.

Before long he was lapping at your neck, practically whining as he ground his now painfully hard cock against you and plunging two fingers inside your soaking wet heat. The way your body eagerly welcomed the intrusion only fueled the haze of lust gripping his mind, reinforced the thought that this was what you wanted too.

But tonight he was too impatient to do his usual routine of playing with your pussy until you were so wet it would stick to your thighs and drip down to the sheets. Tonight he had a more direct goal driving him forward.

So gently he encouraged you to turn onto your back, letting him slide those silky underwear off and spread your legs wide, drawing sticky hearts against your clit with one hand while the other hiked up the t shirt you wore to expose your chest. Greedily he took one of your nipples into his mouth, canines grazing the thin skin of it dangerously as he sucked and flicked his tongue against the hardened bud.

In a hurry he pulled back, hands fumbling with the pajama bottoms he wore in order to let his throbbing cock spring free, smacking against his lower abdomen and as he glanced up you moaned at the sight. If only you knew what an ego boost it was when he saw your eyes go wide every time, as if it were the first time all over again. The way you looked like you were practically salivating at the size of him. When your eyes flicked up through sleep heavy lashes it sent a shiver down his spine.

Sometimes he swore you were more beastial than he was.

Quickly he leaned back down to capture your lips, a searing needy kiss that was a tangle of sloppy teeth and tongues. It didn't matter, all that mattered was that you knew how badly he wanted you, needed you.

In between panting breaths you spoke and it was like an adrenaline shot to the heart.

"I love you."

"God I love you," he sighed, lining himself up with your entrance and as the head of his cock pushed in, sitting heavy inside you, his head hung down with a moan of your name.

Strong arms grabbed at your legs, pushing them up to his shoulders before he bent back down and fully slid inside you, groaning against the feeling of your walls sucking him in deeper and his knot coming to rest right up at your slick hole.

"You always take it so well," he couldn't help the words of praise, watching your breasts move as your breathing became strained against the feeling of him prodding at your cervix. He kissed the spot between your brows, smoothing the look of pained adjustment and waiting until you give a little nod of your head for him to continue.

"So good for me," he wasn't sure what had gotten into him but tonight he just felt overcome with the urge to make sure you knew just how much he loved you, loved this.

His pace was slow initially, pulling out to just the tip only to rock back into you and hit that perfect spot that made your toes curl in midair. It was heaven, feeling you cling onto him, mewling and whining while the soft squelch of your pussy filled the room. The perfect symphony to match the lust drunk feeling buzzing in his veins.

All those little sounds encouraged his hips to set a more demanding pace, making your body jostle so violently it was all you could do to just hang onto his shoulders and lock your ankles together against his lower back, just above the base of his tail.

He pushed himself up onto his forearms, seeing how glossy your eyes were and the way your lips were parted in a wail as he pounded into you with an uncharacteristic abandon. As your voice reached a fever pitch you brokenly said it again, I love you. Over and over again like it was the only tether you had in the world and suddenly all of his earlier fantasies came spilling out in between frantic presses of his lips against your jaw and throat.

"I wanna get you pregnant," he gasped and you moaned a particularly loud curse, "please sweetheart, please I wanna cum inside you" the last syllable was an unintelligible kneen from low in his throat as your heels dug into his back.

Against the cacophony of skin smacking and the wheezing of your breath as he pushed your legs harder against your chest he heard it.

"Gonna have your baby- ah!"

And that was all he needed, hips snapping against you mercilessly, teeth bared against the side of your throat. The way you squeezed around him in a stranglehold told him you were close and he could feel his balls tightening in response, preparation for release and his knot was swollen, throbbing, aching with every press against your entrance and teased with the promise of popping in snuggly against your spongy walls.

And within seconds he could feel it, one last punishing thrust before it bullied its way into your pussy, expanding and slotting itself perfectly in place while he flooded you with thick, gooey cum. Desperately he kept rocking against you, like he could fuck it deeper inside you and his fingers came back to rub loving circles over your clit, watching as your eyes rolled back and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

The way you felt around him in that second was the most explosively pleasurable feeling he's ever had in his life. Greedy walls massaging against his cock, squeezing his knot hard enough that it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

It was perfect, you were perfect. Your body so willing and waiting, taking his painfully thick knot so well it was like you'd done it a thousand times, rather than tonight being the first. And you were entirely his, his to pump load after load inside, his to pin down and fuck until your belly was nice and round.

Even as you remained locked together and coming down from your own orgasm his hips never stopped moving, and he licked at the saltwater tracking down your cheeks, apologizing for making you so oversensitive but surely you can tell he can't stop here. He held you and continued to mindlessly rut against you, holding you so impossibly close.

"We have to make sure it takes," he finally, brokenly, spoke as he could feel the swelling come down yet he didn't soften inside you, if anything he felt even harder as he fell back into the slow, yet firm rhythm he started with.

You cried out so high, so obscenely, clutching and pulling at his fur he couldn't help but give you a cautionary bite to the shoulder, a warning to stop twitching your hips and take what he was giving you and like a good little mate you listened.

As he moved to nip at your bottom lip it was with a million silent promises, to care for you all throughout what would come from this.

And you have to know he means it, know he'll tell you all over again in the light of day when you're so sore he'll have to carry you to the bath, when you both admire the smattering of light bruises on your thighs and hips. Because you're his mate, his love for the rest of his life.

#txt ☆ˎˊ˗#von lycaon smut #von lycaon x reader #zzz smut #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero smut #zenless zone zero x reader #von lycaon

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celiime · 3 months ago

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୨ৎ — .ᐟ him ‘n his stupid infinity!

Part 2 to him ‘n his stupid infinity!

[it’s my first time posting on tumblr!! please tell me if anything looks wrong or the formatting is looking bad!! ^^ i hope everything looks alright, heh. ^^’’ 🥹🥹]

him and his stupid limitless, his stupid—infinity!

it felt like a taunt, his whole limitless technique felt like a huge taunt in your face, it felt like it served as a constant reminder of why it was there.

not to protect himself from threats, but to protect himself from your presence!

of course, you know that it’s gojo’s technique and whatnot, you know it’s extremely beneficial—it holds a huge significance as to how he’s the strongest. he uses it whenever there’s an active threat, and, as much as you hate to admit it, it is pretty damn cool to see how he can just stand there as if an active threat isn’t right in his face.

however.

let’s be honest, there’s always a however when it came to Gojo Satoru, right?

he certainly didn’t have to feel a need to turn on his infinity around you! look—just what is he turning it on for? do you seem like an active threat or something? come on, he was literally double your size!

ugh. stupid gojo, right? it was so irking, especially when it was painfully clear that he never had it activated whenever he was with geto and shoko. you could tell. how? well, if geto slinging his arm around that bastard’s shoulders, while they were laughing about some stupid joke gojo said, was anything to go by—then yes, he never had it activated around them. or the way shoko elbowed him softly whenever he laughed a little too loud? yep, his infinity was totally off then!

so, why does this bastard feel the need to have it activated around you? you were merely a first year, for crying out loud! listen, it’s not like it bothered you, you weren’t even close. it just rubbed you wrong, how you were a student like him but had to maintain a FIVE feet distance whenever talking to him! five feet. how outrageous was that?

he was your upperclassman, of course you had to respect him, but, respectfully, he was rightfully annoying for that move! you felt excluded, he really has it turned off around all the students—even kento and haibara—except you?!

today was no different. of course, it wasn’t.

your gaze drifted down to the wallet resting in your hands—it was stuffed with bills, it was no surprise that he was loaded—blinking down at it. did his wallet really fall out of his pockets or something? on school grounds? or did he drop it on purpose?

a hum left your lips as you walked to the training grounds, the vast garden-esque place in their school, a bit dismayed at the idea of returning something to—ugh—gojo. the idea of him suddenly turning on his infinity the second he saw you was humiliating.

just what about you was threatening?!

a sigh left your lips as you looked around, your narrowed eyes spotting the aforementioned boy alongside his two friends. it seemed like they were in the middle of a conversation, with geto letting out a small laugh and playfully landing a hit on Gojo’s shoulder. oh? his infinity is off.

maybe today would be different.

with a newfound confidence, you walked towards them, slow, deliberate steps as you prepared yourself to not be disappointed. gathering the courage to speak, taking a deep breath before calling out. maybe he’ll be super super super thankful to you and won’t turn on his infinity this time? yeah, he’ll be thankful.

“gojo-senpai. your—“ two steps. you didn’t even get to take two steps in his direction, before you were forced to stop by some invisible force, leaving…exactly five feet between you and him.

nevermind. ungrateful bastard!

the corners of your previously pursed lips dropped to a scowl, fingers tightening around the leather wallet in your hands, resisting the urge to just throw it at him—who were you kidding, it wouldn’t hit him anyways!

“—your wallet.” you completed, trying your hardest to not glare at him, it would be disrespectful to your upperclassman, but isn’t what he’s doing right now immensely disrespectful?

“oh—whoops! did i really?” a sheepish expression—more so playful—rested on his features as he raised a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “hehe! I’m so forgetful, yknow!” his tongue poked out of the side of his lips, embodying the perfect definition of the silly teenager that satoru was.

gah—why were you glaring at him like that?! what did he do?! do you not like a silly man like him? hmph. the way you were looking at him was unnerving. he decided you definitely look prettier with a smile on your pretty face. but hey, this scowl wasn’t ugly either! it was cute! he was a man of many preferences. nevermind how his heart instantly picked up its pace when you stepped towards him, he was probably just a bit frazzled after training.

“right…” you trailed off, irked at how casually he was speaking as if he didn’t just rudely interrupt your path of walking, “i’ll give it to geto-senpai so he could give it to you then…”

this guy! why was he acting like he didn’t just embarrass you by activating his infinity like that? especially infront of your two cool upperclassmen; shoko and suguru!

no, he was not in the cool upperclassmen criteria.

“huh? give it to…suguru?” a small confused mumble left satoru’s lips as he parroted your words, blinking for a few seconds in order to register your words. he snapped his head to you, his eyes rounding with confusion behind his round sunglasses, “why give it to him?! that’s my wallet!”

he thinks he heard a snicker from his best friend. what’s so funny?

it wasn’t the notion of his best friend receiving his wallet, it wasn’t as if he minded suguru having his wallet—there was more money where that came from anyways—but it was the concept that you were so revolted by him that you would not even step forward to give it to him!

what was so threatening about him?

what is so threatening about me.

you huffed, narrowed eyes focusing on the whining man child infront of you, holding back the urge to just open his wallet and tear apart all the money in it, “well, since you obviously treasure your space soooo much when I’m around, I’m respecting you!” you crossed your arms, notice going short of how the two students beside him chuckled, exchanging mischievous looks with one another.

meanwhile, satoru was panicking.

heh? what did you even mean? he never said any of that! you were so just making up stuff! why wouldn’t he want his cute lowerclassman to give him his wallet?!

“huuuh, who said that?” a look of pure comedic disbelief struck satoru’s features, “i never said any of that!” a small pout tugged down the corners of his lips, obviously as a way to make himself seem as innocent and harmless as possible.

this idiot was so not innocent! he knew what he was doing!

just as you were about to spout a few more things his way, you got interrupted by the sound of suguru stepping towards you, a gentle—ah, how handsome he was—smile forming on his features as he extended his hand out to you, “don’t worry about him. i can take the wallet, if you want.”

this was how an upperclassman was supposed to act! not like that…jerk!

a bashful expression formed on your features the second his gentle smile was directed at you, handing him the wallet with both hands, “here you go, geto-senpai! thank you!” your tone switched into a softer tone, tilting your head as a small smile tugged up the corners of your lips.

no, you weren’t in love with suguru or crushing on him, but who wouldn’t be bashful in the face of such a gentleman like him?

in the background, a sound of disbelief was heard from satoru as he watched the interaction go down, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as he watched how your demeanor switched around suguru—his best friend!

why did you not treat him like that? suguru was the scary big man here! not him!

as he watched the interaction end, with a small wave from you directed at suguru, then looking back and sharing the same wave to shoko—who waved back with a lazy smile on her lips—then…your gaze drifted back to satoru.

and just as his heart lurched, hand raising to reciprocate your, hopefully eager, wave…

you dropped your hand the second you looked at him him, the scowl on your face returning—

and, was that a huff he heard from you?! gahh, you hated him!

and he didn’t even know why!

a pout formed on his lips as he watched you retreat, ignoring how he heard his friends snicker behind him, talking and whispering about something. probably the interaction between suguru and you.

hmph! he didn’t want to hear of it!

————————————————————————

“do you think her presence activates his infinity?wait—do you think it’s because he’s flustered?” suguru questioned, raising an eyebrow as he watched how satoru walked away with slumped shoulders, a raining cloud hanging over his head with how visibly down he was.

“think? no, i know. it’s obvious. whenever she so much as approaches him or even looks his way, it activates. his body probably considers her a threat from how fast his heart beats when she’s nearby.“ a whisper left shoko’s lips as she ushered Suguru closer, hand cupping over her mouth as if to protect the secret from any unwanted listeners.

even though the garden was empty, with the exception of her and suguru—who knows where satoru went off to mope.

“he’s probably not aware his infinity turns on when she’s nearby, heh.” a giggle left her lips, a mischievous look swimming in her pretty eyes.

“wanna bet on it?”

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ovaryacted · 3 months ago

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─ Variant! Logan Howlett x fem! reader || WC: 1.4k

CW: None. Sort-of fluffy content/slice of life. Alcohol consumption. Kissing at the end. Just relationship dynamics and a growing yearning from grumpy Logan.

You knew I wasn't done talking about Logan right? Well, in this case, we are talking about Variant! Logan aka the Worst Logan from the Deadpool & Wolverine movie. I just got on the doc and thought about him, and this could've been a fic but this is what I came up with. This is also the first time I've written in this kind of format like "headcanons" but as you continue its basically a fic lol. Had to talk about this version of him because I am very fond of it and I loved him, truly. Anyway, hope y'all like it. <3

Variant! Logan who gets introduced to you on Wade’s account and it’s a complete accident. You stumbled into the apartment asking for the bottle of wine he had yanked from you earlier in the week.

Variant! Logan who observes you from afar as you walk into the kitchen, reaching toward one of the higher cabinets to grab the bottle of prosecco you desperately wanted. The moment you turn around to spot a whole new stranger in the room, you pivot to Wade and ask “Who’s the big guy?”

Variant! Logan who gets pressured by Wade to formally introduce himself and shake your hand, fingers mindfully wrapping around yours as he catches your name after saying his. He notices the way you smiled up at him, bright and charming, before turning to give Wade a friendly kiss on the cheek and waltzing back out.

Variant! Logan who quickly begins to get used to your presence, frequently stopping by Wade’s place to drop off dinner, cooked pastries, and alcohol. Your cooking definitely beat the emergency pizza and sandwiches Wade constantly got for him. Not to mention you made a mean tiramisu he grows addicted to craving.

Variant! Logan who often spots you chatting with Wade over anything and everything under the sun. He can’t recall the multiple pop culture references you both shared, or how you managed to make him laugh with your corny jokes, but he’s not complaining.

Variant! Logan who sits on the left side of you when you come by for movie nights or to binge-watch reality TV shows with Wade. You’d be munching away at some popcorn, wearing matching PJs with him while Logan leans into his side of the couch nursing a beer.

Variant! Logan who catches your glances as you hand him the popcorn bowl to grab a handful. He reaches for it, large palm grasping several kernels and munching on them one by one. Your eyes met his for a brief second before returning to the screen, and Logan swears you were grinning.

Variant! Logan who is uneasy speaking to you when Wade isn’t around, not wishing to make you uncomfortable with his grumpy attitude. You don’t mind either way, walking into the apartment to drop off some food and a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels for Logan as a proper welcome present. He didn’t expect a gift, or for you to even be thinking about him at all, but he’s glad you’ve allowed him space in your mind.

Variant! Logan who is more comfortable talking to you in person outside of grunts and nods. Despite babbling like Wade and having an equally foul mouth, you could hold an actual conversation in comparison to the other. Hearing your voice was also a plus.

Variant! Logan who is surprised when you bring him a book you think he might like, something about contemporary American history that felt like something up his alley. It was the first book that got him back into reading, and slowly but surely, he finds himself reading a little every night when Wade isn’t snoring his ears off.

Variant! Logan who gets invited to dinner at your place with Wade tagging along, something to celebrate your job promotion. Wade is really only there for the food and the lemon pound cakes you saved, munching away and telling you about the dickhead he just stabbed not too long ago. And though Logan wants to pretend he’s there for the hard liquor you only reserve for him, deep down he knows he came for you too.

Variant! Logan who enjoys the quiet moments with you, sneaking away to your apartment when you offer and lounging on the couch with another book in his hand. You sit across from him on the armchair, quietly reading on your end. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you look at him from the corner of your eye, forcing him to flip to the next page.

Variant! Logan who isn’t paying attention to the current film playing on the TV, another late movie night with The Godfather on the screen. Wade had already fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and you dozed off at the 2 hr mark. Your body had ended up leaning against Logan’s, naturally gravitating to his warmth and stability. He could have moved you to let you sit up straight, but instead he moves his arm from resting on the back of the couch to wrap around your shoulder. His breath hitches when you move in closer to him, and he thinks you can hear his heart pounding in his ribs.

Variant! Logan who catches himself peeking at you for longer periods of time. It didn’t matter if your back was facing him, or if you were too busy showing Wade the latest TikTok trend. His eyes always seemed to drift to you, and it would be worse when you caught him looking. He’ll blow it off and huff as if he were irritated, missing how you smiled to yourself from the interaction.

Variant! Logan who has to take shit from Wade teasing him over his obvious not so obvious crush. “C’mon man, just tell her. If you don’t, I will!” That conversation ended with the schling of Logan’s claws piercing into Wade’s leg. He’s pissed off, but Logan knows he’s right.

Variant! Logan who sits with you on the couch during one of Wade’s house parties, nursing a cup of whiskey as you enjoy your homemade cosmo. The two of you have already mingled with the rest of the party-goers, your social battery running dry. So you both decide to be in your own bubble, communicating amongst yourselves and making fun of Wade’s lame party hat.

Variant! Logan who nervously swallows when you laugh at his joke, playfully slapping him on the sternum, shaking your head and nearly dropping your red solo cup. He takes in your expression, commemorating it to his memory as your smile widens and you shift to look at him. Your hand didn’t move from its place on his chest, and he didn’t have any intention of telling you to remove it. So you leave it there for a while longer before drawing away from him.

Variant! Logan who walks you back home after the party, using it as an excuse to “sober up” and make sure you were alright to ease his own anxieties. You talk along the way, and he ignores the flutters in his stomach from the close proximity.

Variant! Logan who stands by your front door as you unlock it, asks again if you were going to be alright on your own to which you nod. You thank him, his heart beating at the way you looked at him, like you cared about him, like he mattered. He brushes it off with a shrug and digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Variant! Logan who doesn’t stop you when you step closer to him to place a gentle and affectionate kiss on his cheek, the touch making a shiver roll down his spine. You were right there, temptation dangling in front of his face. His eyes ask you a silent question, letting you call the shots when you plant your lips over his, soft and mellow.

Variant! Logan who suppresses the moan that threatens to slip out, feeling the tip of your tongue graze his bottom lip and silently ask for entrance. He shouldn’t, not when the alcohol was still running it’s course. Hesitantly, he pulled away from you, holding your waist with one hand and the other caressing your forearm.

Variant! Logan who is quick to reassure you after your sudden look of disappointment. “Not like this. Maybe, when you don’t taste like vodka and cranberries?” You laugh at that, nodding and rubbing the tip of your nose against his. “Only if you make it up to me with dinner.” He lets you go after that with one last kiss, standing in front of your apartment door for a minute more to catch his breath before heading back outside.

Variant! Logan who walks back to the apartment with a stupid smile on his face, one that he doesn’t register he’s sporting until he stepped through the door to spot Wade cleaning up the mess left behind on the kitchen table. He mentioned something about lipgloss over his lips and the side of his cheek, only getting a grumble and a few curse words in return. Logan ignores him and goes to the bathroom “to take a piss”, spotting the remnants of your lipgloss over his aged features. He grins, making a mental note to look for places to take you out for dinner in the morning.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

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neowinestainedress · 4 months ago

Text

wave | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)

a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.

masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)

Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.

You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.

Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.

You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.

Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.

You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.

Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.

That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.

He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.

He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.

Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.

You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.

You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.

“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”

You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.

“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.

“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”

He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”

“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.

“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.

“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”

“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.

“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.

“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”

“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.

But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.

But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?

Haechan is going to find out.

You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.

It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.

That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.

Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.

Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.

He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.

So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.

“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”

“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.

You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”

Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”

“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.

“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”

“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”

“You think I did that on purpose?”

“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”

“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.

“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”

He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”

The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.

“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.

You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”

He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”

You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”

“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”

“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”

The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.

“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”

“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”

“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”

“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.

You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”

“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”

Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.

You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?

You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.

“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”

You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”

“Come in.”

You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”

“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.

“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”

“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.

“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.

Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”

You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.

You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.

“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.

“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”

“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”

“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”

Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.

“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”

You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”

“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”

“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”

“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”

Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.

“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”

“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”

“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.

“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.

Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.

“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”

Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.

The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.

Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.

“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”

“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”

“Grating? Really?”

“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.

You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.

“I am studying.”

“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?

“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”

“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”

“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.

“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.

“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”

“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”

You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”

“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.

“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”

“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”

You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”

“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.

Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”

“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”

“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.

“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.

You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”

You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.

“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.

“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.

“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”

“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.

“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”

You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”

“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.

“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”

Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”

“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”

“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.

“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”

Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.

“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”

“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”

“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”

Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”

“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”

“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.

“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.

“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”

You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.

“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”

He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”

You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”

“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.

“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.

“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”

You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.

“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.

Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.

“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”

“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”

“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”

“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.

He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”

You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.

“So, anybody in mind?”

You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.

“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”

“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.

Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.

You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”

Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.

“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”

You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”

“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.

“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.

Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”

You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.

“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”

“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.

Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.

“Are you close, brat?”

You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.

“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.

“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.

“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again.

“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”

“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”

“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.

“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.

“It’s not smart of you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”

It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.

A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.

But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.

“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not.”

You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”

“Why do you care so much about what I study?”

“So I know how to beat you?”

“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.

“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”

“We are not studying together.”

“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”

You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”

“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.

“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.

“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.

“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”

“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”

“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.

“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.

“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”

You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”

“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.

“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.

“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.

“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”

“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”

“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”

“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.

“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”

Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”

“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.

“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”

And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.

Haechan hates you.

If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.

He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.

He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.

You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.

Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.

“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.

“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.

“Did you mistake our notes?”

“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.

“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head.

“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”

“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”

“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”

Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”

“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.

“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”

“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.

“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.

“With what notes?”

“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”

When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.

“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.

“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.

“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.

“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.

“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”

You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.

“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.

“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”

You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”

“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”

“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.

He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”

“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.

“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”

You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”

“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”

“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.

“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”

“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.

Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”

You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.

When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.

Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.

“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.

“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”

“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.

You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.

“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.

You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”

“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”

“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.

“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”

You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”

He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”

“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.

“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”

You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.

“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.

“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”

“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”

“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.

“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”

“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”

“I just replied.”

“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”

“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.

“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.

“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”

“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”

“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.

“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”

You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.

You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.

“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.

“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.

“Not now.”

“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.

You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.

“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil.

“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.

“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.

“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.

You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.

“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.

“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.

“You didn’t write anything down.”

Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”

“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”

“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.

“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.

“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”

He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”

“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.

“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”

“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”

You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”

He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”

“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”

“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”

You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.

“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.

“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”

“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”

“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”

“Is it really that small?”

“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”

“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”

“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”

“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.

“But you love it.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”

“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.

“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.

“And I’ll be at the library!”

You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.

From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.

“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.

“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.

“Want to go out with me?”

“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”

“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.

You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.

When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.

“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”

“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”

Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”

“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.

You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.

Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”

“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.

“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.

You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.

“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.

“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.

“Wanted to take the metro?”

You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”

You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”

“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.

Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”

“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’

“Oh God,” he whispers.

“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.

“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”

You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.

“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.

“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.

You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”

“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”

You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”

“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”

“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”

He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”

“And attracted to honey.”

“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”

“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”

You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”

“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”

“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”

The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.

“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.

“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”

“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”

“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”

“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.

“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”

“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”

You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”

“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.

“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.

You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.

“But it was still better than this, I guess?”

You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”

He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”

You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”

His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”

“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”

Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”

“I have some notes to edit and —”

“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”

You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”

It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.

“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.

“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.

“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.

“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.

“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”

“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.

“Haechan, what are y—”

“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”

You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.

“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”

“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.

He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”

Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”

“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.

You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.

“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”

He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”

“What if they lock us inside?”

“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”

You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.

“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”

His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”

“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.

“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”

You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.

“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.

Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”

You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.

His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”

You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.

“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”

“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.

“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”

“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”

“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”

You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.

He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.

“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”

Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.

“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”

“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.

His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.

“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”

You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.

“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”

You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.

“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.

“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.

He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.

When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.

“Eager, honey?”

“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.

“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.

You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.

One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.

Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.

“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.

“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.

“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”

You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.

“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”

You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.

“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”

“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.

Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”

“You’re not the professor so…”

“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”

You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”

Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.

“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”

You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.

Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”

“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”

When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.

“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”

“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.

“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”

You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.

“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”

“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.

“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”

You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.

“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.

“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”

Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.

“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.

“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”

You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.

“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”

“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.

Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”

“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.

“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.

“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”

“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face. And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”

You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.

You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.

“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.

“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.

“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.

“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.

“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”

You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”

Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”

“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.

“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.

“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”

He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“They locked us in!”

He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.

“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”

“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.

“No,” you say resolutely.

“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.

“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.

Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.

And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.

When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.

There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.

Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.

Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.

He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.

You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.

But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.

“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.

“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”

“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.

What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.

“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.

“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.

“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.

“Are you hinting at something?”

“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”

“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”

“Do you?” He winks.

“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.

“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”

“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.

He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.

But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.

“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.

“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”

You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.

“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”

Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.

“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.

“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”

“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.

“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”

“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”

“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.

He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.

You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.

His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.

“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”

“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.

Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.

“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.

I played with your heart.

And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.

“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”

“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.

“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.

“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”

“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”

He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”

“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”

“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s a crazy choice.”

“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.

“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.

One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.

“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.

“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.

Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”

You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.

“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.

“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”

“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”

Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”

You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”

He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.

“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”

He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

#nct fanfiction #haechan smut #lee haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #haechan fluff #lee haechan fluff #donghyuck fluff #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #haechan scenarios

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cheeseceli · 1 year ago

Text

SKZ arguing over the bill

Pairing: ot8!skz × gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff

Request: yes!

Warning: mentions of food, reader never pays lmao. Changbin, Chan, Seungmin's were heavily inspired by "Telling your Stray Kids boyfriend you can’t afford to eat out with them" by @ronnierites . If you don't allow this pls lemme know and I'll delete this post. Not proofread

A/n: that's kinda a new format, hope you guys like it! And this have been on my to do list since forever lol sorry for the wait

Bang Chan

Doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable

But he wants to spoil you so badly

Would let you pay if you were uncomfortable but he wants to make sure you get it he would love to pay for you as well

"You know Chris, I can pay for it."

"I know."

"So?"

"I'd rather do it. But thank you baby."

"But-" you stopped talking once you saw his card swiping. You truly should be used at this point "oh."

"Why do I feel like you're unhappy?"

"It's not that I am not happy, it's just that you always pay."

"It's my pleasure."

"But I don't know, I don't want you to think you're being pressured or something like that."

"Babe, I don't feel like that at all. Don't you worry. You're always doing so much for me, that's just a little 'thank you' of mine."

You gave him a little smile and proceeded to hug him, feeling safe in his warmth.

"I'm so lucky to have you."

"I should be the one saying it."

Lee Know

Bro you don't even spare a chance

He's paying before you even have a chance to take your wallet out of your pocket

I'm surprised you even try tbh

"Should we ask for the bill?"

"Oh, I already paid for it, don't worry."

You looked dumbfounded at him while he was finishing his food. You didn't see him talk to a waiter and you're sure he didn't pay for it before you two had your meal.

"What? When?"

"When we were asking for the dishes. Didn't you see it?"

"No?" you tried to recall the moment with no success "Why would you pay? I feel bad that you pay for everything all the time. I don't feel like reciprocating enough."

His eyes soften and a little smile comes to his lips while he watches you pout. If only you knew how much you did for him.

"Hey, look at me. It's okay. You already reciprocate with everything you do. That's already perfect"

Changbin

He pays with the money, you pay back with kisses

Sorry but that's his boyfriend duty

He is physically incapable of not paying for everything

"Hey baby. I'm off work in 40 minutes. I'll pick you up so we can have lunch, okay?"

You were glad that for once you were on a voice call with him instead of being in a face time like you'd usually do. This way he didn't see the way your smile dropped so quickly.

"Um, I don't think I'll be able to."

"Oh? Why?"

"I'm kinda... broke right now. I haven't received my last payment yet."

"Okay? What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't want you to be the one who always pays for our things. I should be able to pay sometimes."

"You don't need to. That's my boyfriend duty. You know I don't mind, I actually enjoy it quite a lot."

"Still bothers me though. I'd hate to not contribute at all."

"You can always cuddle with me and shower me with kisses. That will make me happier than anything money can buy."

Hyunjin

Stop he'll be like genuinely so sad if he can't pay

He would let you pay if you were really insistent

But then he'll go like :( and you would let him take the bill out of pity lmao

"Hyunjin, stop looking at me like that."

"But darling, I can pay. You know it doesn't bother me."

"Just this once, let me pay, okay?"

"Okay"

"...Jinnie I really need you to stop that."

"I'm not even doing anything."

"Oh God" you sigh and let your head fall, knowing the man beside you won the argument once more "Fine. You can pay."

He didn't waste a second, swiping his card as fast as possible just so you couldn't have the time to change your mind. After he payed the meal, he took your hand in his and started to walk in the direction of the restaurant's exit with a triumphant (and really sweet) smile.

"I swear I don't get why you like to pay so much."

"My love should be treated as royalty, and that includes me paying for everything you wish for."

Han

Bro is offended

Believes with all his heart that he should be the one paying

Tries to distract you when the time to pay comes

"Were you paying while I was in the restroom?"

"... perhaps."

"Han."

"Baby. You know I like to pay for you."

"But you do that all the time."

"It's my way of showing love! If you ask me, I actually don't think it's enough. It's the least I can do."

He could see in your eyes that you weren't convinced. Unfortunately (for you), he only saw that as an opportunity to spend even more money. Maybe then you would believe him.

"C'mon, lemme show you a little bit of love. You can pay me back with thousands of kisses if that's what's bothering you."

Felix

He loves to pay.

If he could, he would pay for absolutely everything that you could ever want or need.

But if that's something which really bothers you, he will let you pay as well

Tries to do that "the one who invites is the one who pays" thing and fails

"Felix. Don't even dare."

He looked at you confused until he realised you were staring at the credit card in his hand, probably hoping that it could disappear before the waiter came back with the bill.

"C'mon, it's just a small lunch. I can pay for it."

"No. I invited you. I pay."

"Actually, if you think about it, I'm the one who suggested this place."

"Two years ago."

"Still counts."

"Not as an invitation though. I'm the one who asked if you wanted to come here."

Felix sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to convince you of otherwise. If only he could.

"Okay. Next time it's on me."

Seungmin

LMAO sorry you're 100% not paying

Don't even try

Boyfriend duty pt 2 except he is even more dedicated somehow

"Why did you bring your wallet?"

"I wanted to pay for this one."

"... why?"

"You always pay for everything."

"And I don't plan on stopping so you can take your wallet away."

"Minnie, please. I don't want you to be the one who always end up paying for everything."

"But I want to. I wouldn't mind paying for every single thing for the rest of our lives. So you can't take your money away of my sight because I'm paying."

"For the rest of our lives huh?"

"Don't tease." But you didn't miss how the corners of his lips lifted once he thought you weren't looking anymore.

I.N

Rock, paper, scissors. The winner is the one who pays

It's funny and neither of you can complain about the outcome of it because it's technically fair

Except you always throw scissors first and never noticed it

And Jeongin doesn't have the heart to tell you

"We should change this game."

"No way" he said while giving the money to the cashier whilst trying to hide his grin from you "Not my fault you are horrible at this."

"Seriously though, I think you're cheating. It's impossible for you to win every single time."

"How does one cheat at 'rock, paper, scissors'? Besides, you won yesterday."

"After losing at least 50 times. And I got to pay for some ice cream. It's not the same as paying for a whole meal."

"Get better at this and maybe you get to pay for a whole meal one day. C'mon, we can have some milkshake now. Maybe you'll win this time."

You had a feeling you wouldn't though. He was sure you wouldn't.

Reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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motorsportbarbie13 · 27 days ago

Note

Hiiiii couldn’t help but see you do requests, could you do something where after a hard race reader placed on the podium but felt sick and Max catches her when she collapsed after getting out of the car? Maybe with the words "I can't... my legs... everything's tingling..." and him being super worried. Basically a little angsty with a fluffy end where he’s checking on her, can be established relationship or not.

OH ANON. this was so fun.

Enjoy!

Heatstroke In which, as it turns out, Max wasn't just 'Maxplaining' the difficulty of Singapore to you after all

Pairing: Max Verstappen X FerarriDriver!Reader Warnings: fainting, getting sick/weak, max being a knight in shining armor. Word count: 2.2k Masterlist

Max tried to warn you. Lando tried to warn you. Checo and Lewis had tried to warn you. Hell, the entire fucking grid had tried to warn you that Singapore was a different beast. You had thought they were just coddling you and being over dramatic, as the boys tended to be with you. It was a hazard of being the only woman on the grid, which frankly, drove you bat shit crazy because you had earned your way into the red Ferrari seat next to Charles on your own, thank you very much. You didn’t need to be coddled and you didn’t need to be warned off anything.

But they were right.

Singapore was a different beast.

The heat during the day was oppressive but at night? There wasn’t any relief once the intense sun went down either. You were from Michigan though, that midwestern state being famous for its hot and sticky summers so you had thought you’d been prepared.

As you claimed into your sleek red car, lining up P3 behind Max and Lando though you knew you were in trouble before the green flag waved. The thing about sweating in the humidity like this is that there’s no where for the moisture on your skin to go, the air already too heavy so that slick sweat sticks to you, making you even hotter than before.

“Fuck, this is going to be brutal.” You mumble, hoping that the braid you tied your hair in would stay for the entirety of the race. Suddenly, shaving your hair into a pixie cut like Fred had been suggesting (mostly jokingly) for weeks seemed like a good idea.

The formation lap is fine.

The first ten laps are fine, if not a little squirrely thanks to your car being wildly loose.

The first fifteen laps are fine, if not a bit hot.

But on lap 23? All hell breaks loose.

First, your hydration system fails and you’re completely unable to get any water through the tiny straw that you usually flip into your mouth on the straightaway, just like Danny taught you. You’re sweating up a storm with no way to replenish those valuable electrolytes.

Then, you’re so busy focusing on the fact that you’d give your first born child for a sip of water you nearly slam into the same exact wall that took George out on the last lap of last year’s race. You yank the steering wheel around so hard, you feel something in your wrist pop. The searing pain causes you to over correct and you nearly drive right into your own fucking teammate.

“Fuck. Tell Charlie I’m sorry.” You groan over the radio, telling your engineer to pass on the message to Charles.

“Focus on your race.” Your engineer tells you, voice obviously strained just as yours is. “Charles is fine.”

Well, I sure as fuck am not fine. You think as you fight the car down towards the starting line.

On lap 45, you’re granted a reprieve when a Sauber goes into the wall, bringing out a yellow flag. The leaders all duck into the pits, including yourself. There’s nothing anyone can do about your water situation and at this point, your instincts have kicked it.

Max was right and you knew it. Singapore was hell. He had tried to tell you last night, as you had been snuggled up in bed with him, a ritual that you both had become dependent on this season. It seemed cliche, you falling for one of your rivals. You hated it but there was no denying that there was a magnetic chemistry between the two of you that had started the moment you had met last year while you were still driving in F2.

You had resisted his charm for a while but things had taken a turn the night it was announced you’d be driving for Ferrari alongside Charles. Several of the drivers that lived in Monaco full time insisted on taking you to Jimmy Z’s to celebrate and who were you to say no to a bunch of handsome men paying for your drinks?

The night ended just as you might expect it: Max drunkenly confessing his year-long crush on you and you drunkenly kissing him in a dark alleyway as you waited for your Uber. What had started off as a drunken confession and your reckless response that wasn’t supposed to mean anything had turned into one of the greatest things that has ever happened to you. Max and you? The pair of you were endgame.

But none of that mattered now. Not here, in the raging heat and humidity of Singapore. You knew that Max was going to give you shit for not being better prepared the moment you got out of the car. You knew you were in for an ‘I told you so’ lecture on the plane ride back in the morning. You knew Max was right and you had been stupid to underestimate the power this track had over drivers.

Looking back on your first race in Singapore years later, you don’t quite know how you managed to finish those last laps. Pure determination and stubbornness, Max would insist later on that night. But before you’re able to fully wrap your head around how dangerous of a situation you’d gotten yourself into, the checkered flag is waving and you’ve crossed the finish line in P3, right behind Lando and Max.

Your third podium of the year. If you had been more coherent, you probably would have been elated. But all you could think about as you pulled your car into parc ferme, right behind that little cardboard 3 sign, was the ice bath you knew was waiting for you somewhere in the paddock.

Your red racing suit is soaked through and through, you can feel it before you even get out of the car. It takes a mammoth effort to pull the steering wheel out of it’s dock and for a moment, you worry you’re so weak you can’t even do that. In front of you, you see Lando pop out of the car in the P1 spot, elated to have won with a healthy margin of over 20 seconds for the second time that season.

Max is out of the car too, albeit a bit slower than Lando. There’s a distant buzzing in your ear that sounds eerily like your engineer’s voice asking if you’re okay. But you’re completely unable to focus on anything beyond the tingling sensation in your legs. This wasn’t something you’d ever felt inside a race car in all your years of driving. Everything stung, like a million little fire ants were making a meal out of your flesh. It took every ounce of strength, of which you didn’t have much, to hoist yourself up out of the car.

Your head swims the moment you stand up straight, and you feel your legs collapse under you. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Max calling your name but you can’t look up, your helmet suddenly feeling like it weighs 300 pounds.

Crouching in your car, you desperately try to pull yourself together before anyone notices you’re struggling. You didn’t want to give the media the satisfaction of pulling another ‘look, another woman who thinks she can hang with the rest of the F1 drivers.’ Like they’ve been attempting to do all season.

Your eyes are closed but you still hear the faint call of Max’s voice somewhere off in the distance. The entire world is reduced down to a singular pin prick of light while you fight to stay conscious, the heat and humidity wrapping their ugly little fingers tightly around your throat.

Just as you’re about to surrender to the warm quiet of the darkness that seems to be calling out to you, a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, hauling you out of the car like you weigh less than a bag of potatoes. You go limp in the arms of whoever has come to your rescue, collapsing under the strain of what you just put your body though.

“Baby, please. Look at me.”

Somehow, your helmet has been removed and you find yourself blinking up at Max.

When did he get here? You wonder idly, not realizing it was him that pulled you out of the car.

Max had gone practically feral when GP told him that you’d gone nearly 3/4 of the race without water. He knew how brutal this race was, and the humidity was unusually high tonight. He had gotten out of the car fairly quickly but had panicked when he saw your helmet tipped forward, resting on the halo device and you not moving.

You lift your head, still wondering where your helmet was and instantly found yourself staring straight into the baby blue eyes of your boyfriend. “Maxie?” You croak, throat feeling like you just dined on a three course meal of sand and gravel.

“Hey…” He coos, bringing you closer to his chest. “There’s my girl. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He rubs soothing circles over your back, not caring that the press is having a field day with this.

“I can’t…” You stutter, struggling to make the words in your head sound coherent when your mouth tries to form them. “My legs…everything is tingling.”

If you had been a bit more coherent, you would’ve seen the look of absolute panic cross Max’s face. He frantically looks around as he lifts you into his arms, one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back against his chest. He knew you were going to absolutely murder him when you come around and see the pictures. You hated being coddled and hated showing affection on the grid even more. You and Max weren’t really hiding the fact that you were together, most fans knew and it was common knowledge around the paddock but the causal fan might be surprised to find out the lore between the two of you. So this outright show of concern, affection, and panic over the state of you that Max was showing right now? It was absolutely not a common occurrence

“Interviews are going to have to wait.” Max barks at Jensen, this weeks post-race presenter. “She needs medical attention.”

Jensen simply nods, allowing you to pass.

Fred and Charles intercept you half way to the tent, insisting that getting you in the ice baths will be the thing to help you the most. Max, nearly delirious with worry because while your eyes were open and you were somewhat alert, follows their instructions and takes you back behind the garage area where the ice baths had been set up.

It’s all you can do to stand upright as Max unzips your race suit. It’s so heavy with your sweat that it practically peels off of you with no effort, gravity doing the work for Max. And then your left in just your fireproofs. If you hadn’t been in the middle of the paddock with thousands of people and cameras around, Max would have stripped you down to just your underwear, but that wasn’t an option.

WIth Max and Charles’ help, you’re able to hoist yourself into the waiting ice bath. The shock of the frigid water jolts some awareness back into you the moment your body is submerged in the glacial water.

“Holy fuck.” You grit out, eyes closing in pain.

“I know…I know, schatje. But it’ll get you feeling better so much quicker than anything else.

You nod, still not fully aware of how you got here but thankful for Max’s steadying presence beside you. He’s crouched down so he’s eye level with you as you ball yourself up to get as much heated skin under the cold water and the worry etched all over his face is enough to steal your breath.

“Max. Holy fuck. That was…you weren’t just Maxsplaining to me last night, were you?”

A chuckle finds its way out of his lips, despite the state of panic Max is in. “No, I was not just ‘Maxsplaining’ anything last night, silly girl.”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve got your fire back, I see. I think you’ll live.” Max leans in to press a kiss to the crown of your head before dropping another kiss on your temple, then your cheek, and finally his lips find their home on yours. Right where they belong. It’s not a lingering kiss, or a passionate one. No. This kiss is filled with gratitude and relief and sheer dumb realization of how much this man loves you.

Your eyes are open more now, a few minutes in the ice bath doing your heat stroke symptoms good. It takes you a few moments to really grasp the severity of what just happened. How close you came to passing out mid-race. How it was Max that got you out of that car and was at your side before anyone else.

All around you, the paddock is bustling to life. The scene Max created by hauling you over to Ferrari’s garages has somewhat dissipated. Only a few onlookers are stopped still, but your team remains solidly around you, faces a mask of concern. But the only person you see is Max.

“Thank you, baby.” You murmur when he leans in for another kiss.

“Anything for you, schatje.” He rasps, emotion clawing at his throat. “Anything.”

#max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #MY FIRST REQUEST EVER omg #anon ask #one shot #angsty fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear �� cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

1K notes · View notes

blueberrybeomgyu · 24 days ago

Text

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤descrip. : leehan just wants ur eyes on him!! :(

+*:🩷:*﹤content : sub!leehan, dom!reader, edging, riding (who's surprised), surely this is exhibitionism and voyeurism???

+*:🧃:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni! :T (i'm watching you 🫵), female anat 4 reader, piv sex, both characters are quite flawed imo but everything is consensual 🫶, leehan confesses to reader like ten times but it's mostly in his head, leehan’s kinda weird in the mall sorry idk how men flirt idk how anyone flirts, leehan has a scent kink in my book idk how that happened but it did

+*:❤️:*﹤word count : 4.7k phew it's a long one buckle up

+*:🍏:*﹤a/n : i tried my best to write the first paragraph as plot but it was so hard so I wrote it in drabble format but the rest is in story format!! sawry bout that </3 selfedging!leehan anon if you read this i hope u like it <33

+*:🌟:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

BF!Leehan who wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. He knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. He's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

You're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. He’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

He’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. He wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom.

“Don’t go to work. Stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. You consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“I can’t, baby. Gotta get this project done, then I’ll be all yours, m’kay?” He pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. Within minutes, you’re out the door.

Leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. It feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. It’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

He’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. He thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

His hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. He tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. It's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room.

You never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. He’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. He sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “Good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. He knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? Just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. You wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. He spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. Then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. When he feels close, he presses the “Record a Message” button beside the text bar.

At first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. Then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. The audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The answer is absolutely nothing. You don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “Did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door.

He continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

He knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, Leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games.

Leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. He’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. Leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch.

You’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. When lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving Leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest.

“Um, hi. Are you busy?” A feminine voice says. The girl has to stand directly in Leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. When he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Can I help you?”

“No! Well, yes. I…was just wondering if I could have your phone number. I saw you standing alone earlier…” The girl’s voice fades out as Leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so I thought I should take the chance.”

Leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

He flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. She’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but Leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. He watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him.

“Is that…alright?” She says, looking at Leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. He pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. Her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

He’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. The girl pulls her hand away from Leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask. Your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. His composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“This girl came up to me and…” He trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“And?” You ask impatiently, but Leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. This girl came up to me and I pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? He has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. You turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“You’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. I’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” The girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. She accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off.

You shoot Leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. He considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

To be honest, you scare Leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. He’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. You don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

You lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “Sit.”

Leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. He expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. He doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. At least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him.

“Baby–”

“Shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. You stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. Then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. He may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“Why are you acting like this, Leehan?” It takes Leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“What do you mean?” That’s his intelligent response. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Don’t act dense with me. You were flirting with that girl just so I’d see. I know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” Leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“No? You didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? Didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? Didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” Leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. Hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Show me.”

Leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “W-what?”

“You wanted my attention so bad. Now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. Your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. He has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it.

“Go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. Leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs.

You make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“Your little cock is hard, Hannie.” He knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “Gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

Leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

He does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. Instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“Stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. He would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. He tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“Keep going.”

He continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. His tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close.

He strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. He has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“Let go.”

Leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. He’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“Hm…I dunno. Something’s not right.” You tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. He can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. If you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes Leehan flush with shame. “What do you think, baby boy?”

He huffs out a laugh at the question. How is he supposed to know? But you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “I mean– Usually I’m, like, in bed, I guess. Thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” God, don’t get him started on smelling you.

You hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. In seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. Your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. You hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. He’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

“Is that right? You think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

Of course you’d know his weak spot. You’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. Your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“Touch yourself, Hannie,” you say sweetly.

He takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. He’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

He knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. The way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. Your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you.

If he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. He wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“Ha– Ah, fuck–” Slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“Let go,” you whisper in his ear. His hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. Fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last.

He’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. He doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

You pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. You smile at the sight and caress his cheek. He melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. You used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you.

“I do think you were louder that time. Moaned just like you did in those recordings.” He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap.

“Fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched.

“Stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. The action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

You stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. He lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“C’mon, Hannie. I’m not done with you yet. Let me see.” You push his legs apart with your knee. He looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. He’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“W-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “How long are you gonna make me do this?”

You tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “However long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” Leehan whines a little in protest.

“Just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

The look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “I missed you too, Hannie. So. Much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “It was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. But bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” Leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. He’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. You’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind.

“Please– N/N, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. It’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. Leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment.

His hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. He’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. You know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” But you’re not looking at him. Your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. Your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. He’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you.

“Stop, pretty boy.”

His hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. He gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

His head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. His mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt.

His eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. It comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

You pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. He nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. It’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“Aw, Hannie. Look at me. Tell me what you want.”

“Mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” You giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“Wanna taste me?” You reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. You straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. You make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out.

You whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful Leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. Your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue.

Leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. You always taste so good, so sweet to him.

His eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. You slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

You wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

He’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. He tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible.

“Do you have a color for me, baby?”

“Mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

You interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and Leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. He’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. Any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. There’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“I think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” You ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. You pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as Leehan longed for.

You cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. He knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway.

You wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. It feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. Leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

Your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy Leehan has ever seen. You lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. Your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. You grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. He gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. His thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot.

“Fuck yeah, Hannie. That’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me, N/N. Please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. It’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“You fill me up so good, Hannie. Make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna fill me up nicely?” And he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say.

You trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. The rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “Cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It takes Leehan a while to come back to Earth. He’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. After asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

It’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “I really am sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been more considerate. I respect your work so much, I just got so lonely…” You smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“I’m sorry you were so lonely, Hannie. I should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. From now on, I’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

#i played no part in editing that leehan photo props to whoever made it #my warnings are literally never consistent it is not my fault i have adhd #i stayed up until 4 am writing this but it was worth every second #do u guys see the way im cranking out ffs like #i have many ideas and probably an overactive imagination #but hopefully i dont burn out i love writing ff </3 #i poured so many of my leehan hcs into this it was very fun #boynextdoor hard thoughts #boynextdoor hard hours #leehan hard thoughts #leehan hard hours #boynextdoor imagines #leehan imagines #boynextdoor smut #leehan smut #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader

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