#i love how easy it comes to me writing this fic
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Rambles/ clarification of my nonsense
âą I just wanted to go ahead and clarify something before you guys make the connection between the TF One Megatron fic and the latest Thundercracker bit and start asking. First off, I have a fated mate series I write. I do love that trope, but I have an issue with how itâs handled sometimes so I will gently poke fun at it from time to time.
âą I donât like the insta-love eyes meeting across a room and falling hopelessly in love that some novels incorporate. I prefer love/affection to be earned over time through actions. Insta-love always comes across to me as losing a piece of yourself to another person, losing free will. Instant attraction or lust? I can work with that, tie it to a sense of belonging that keeps dragging you into that personâs gravity whether you want to be there or not. Just because itâs fated doesnât mean itâs perfect or easy. I want the characters to clash, to fight that sense of need and maybe even resent that bond at first. Slowly building up trust and getting to know each other.
âą If I write more TF One characters, Iâll probably use fated mates in that universe because Iïżœïżœm a gremlin and I like writing conflict. I wouldnât mind writing that version of Starscream, B127, or Optimus Prime at some point.
âą This blog started as a venting space. I needed to work on manuscripts, but I was so burnt out and my usual tactic of just swapping to a different project wasnât working. Iâd open the documents and just stare at the screen in dread. So, I wrote a silly little Starscream snippet, because I used to write fanfiction on FFN years ago under a different handle. And I missed writing silly, self indulgent nonsense that didnât have to be perfect. The quick bullet point snippets I do are actually how I quickly get scenes down to expand later.
âą I only meant to make a few characters and scenarios and then go back and start fleshing them out like a properly formatted story. Then you guys started asking questions, asking about different characters. So I just kept going, because I honestly missed writing for fun, for myself. Nothing serious, just telling a story to amuse myself. I needed an outlet for the stress and this is it.
âą So, thank you guys so much. Iâll keep these going as long as folks want to read them, because I really did miss the Transformers community. Thereâs a sense that when you swap to professionally writing, youâre not supposed to keep doing the fanfiction stuff. Youâre supposed to grow up and just write novels, nothing else. And thatâs why I stopped ten years ago, but this makes me happy. I can do both and itâs not like I follow normal writing rules anyway. Iâve been told my writing can be too visceral, too much like a stream of consciousness instead of a literary work. That used to bother me, but that shipâs not only sailed, it caught on fire and sank with no survivors. Never been great at following rules anyway.
âą And maybe someone else needs to hear that. You donât have to stop what you enjoy because itâs âunprofessional.â Keep it separate, but keep doing it if it makes you happy. It shouldnât be a trade off.
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I've got you
Clone OC Banshee Ă GN-Reader
Word Count: 727
Prompt: "back hugs" from @littlemissmanga and "comfort fic for nonverbal reader" from @nika6q
Song: Get You The Moon by Kina (feat. SnĂžw)
Rating: PG, but as always Minors DNI đ
Contents and Warnings: hurt/comfort, light swearing, Banshee kicks a door down in the name of love.
Summary: It's been a long time since Banshee's been home, and the stress of life has you overwhelmed at the worst possible time: right when Banshee gets home.
Author's Notes: another Banshee POV!!! Some hurt/comfort this day. Sorry it's so short, and not at all what I've been saying I'd write next, but at least it's something.
Taglist: @returnofthepineapple @wizardofrozz @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @wings-and-beskar @multi-fan-dom-madness @starrylothcat @n0vqni @sev-on-kamino @mythical-illustrator @523rdrebel @littlemissmanga @atomickidsoul @moonwreckd
"Hey Ban~ Today is day 43 of our tragic separation, you're millions of miles away, and it's not fair. So today at work..."
"Day 55 of "No Banshee hugs for me". Seriously, when are you coming home? I miss you. Anyway, my Tooka came back from the vet today- oh right, I adopted a tooka kitten yesterday, I bet you can't guess what I named him-"
"Day 97, Rai told me you miss me. I just... I wish I could hear it from you. I know, I know it's not easy, I know you don't talk, I just-- I'd do anything to have you with me, just so I could understand that you miss me..."
"Day 122... I wish you'd come home..."
I've been listening to your recordings every day since I was deployed. All 132 of them. Every single day since we left, you sent me a diary of your day, stars I can't tell you how much I needed every single one of those. Running through battle fire, hearing you laugh about what "Banbino" was doing. I can't believe you named your tooka after me.
I've thought about you every second of the days. How your hair is tossed in the morning, how you scrunch your nose at how I make Caf... don't be mad, but I still haven't learned how to make it proper. The way your voice sounds and feels when you put my hands on your throat and chest, so I can feel every way you say you love me... I've thought about being with you again since the second I turned to leave 132 days ago.
So why am I stuck behind your front door? I can't even raise my hand to knock. Can't even enter the code to your flat... it's my number, you told me that so long ago now... I've been keeping track, I know it's your day off, I know you're just right behind this damn door so why can't I open it!? Come on Banshee! Open the door! Open the damn door, they're right on the other side, just open--
I... I heard that. Did you fall? Are you hurt? No, no don't be hurt I'm so bad at medical. C'mon, karkin' door open! Remind me to fix your locks, I'll replace them, I swear. Oh fuck, the hinges too, I uh... I kicked a little too hard, I think...
"Ban...?" You're crying... why... why are you crying?
When you hold your arms out to me, I dont even take a full step forward before you recoil and cover your face with a racking sob. I don't stop moving. I can't, you need me. I get to one knee behind you and gently rub your back, but it only makes you curl in on yourself more... what can I do for you?
Carefully I sit behind you, and collect you up in my arms, your back pressed to my chest. With my helmet off, I put my head on your shoulder, "I've got you, Cyare... I'm here."
You sound like me a moment, trying to talk, trying to force words. I shush you, leaning my head on yours and swaying softly. Eventually, you turn around, and bury your face in my neck. When I hum, you start to relax in my arms, and eventually, I can't help the little chuckle in my throat. You're snoring... Stars I love you.
It's another hour before you wake up. I moved us to your bed, and had since changed into the civvies you'd gotten me. Softer clothes, I figured you'd like it more than my hard armor...
"Banshee? You're... you're really home? I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry for-- I-I was just- I was so--" your blush when I press my lips to yours, it's so warm I could feel it on my own skin.
"I... it's okay, y-you don't ha-have to expl-pl-plain." Your eyes shine at the sound of my voice... I wish I could talk better, I'd speak for you all the time. "I've g-got you, Cyare."
You nod and set your head back on my chest. As I hum again, you join in, mumbling the words under your breath when you feel up to it. Take your time, Cyare. I know how hard it is to talk, I'm not going anywhere.
#from the archivist#grave squad clones#404th clones#clone oc banshee#clone oc banshee x reader#banshee x reader#banshee x you#oc x you#clone oc x reader#oc x reader
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Every word of this was breathtaking, Tara! đ©” I am a mess in the best way. I loved reading this, and then reading it again!
The imagery of water all throughout is so beautiful itâs like you captured the sea as its own character, incredibly powerful and deadly bringing these two together and at the same time almost parting them foreverâitâs haunting and Iâm so in awe!
Goshhh how close they both were to drowning genuinely made my heart beat a little quicker you are so talented at evoking emotions and I could picture her trying to keep him afloat in the water vividly, her struggle to keep swimming and trying to save him too, how it would be easy to give in because sheâs exhausted but she doesnât đ„ș she looks at Kinoâs face and keeps on swimming and I just !!!!!! ahhhh my heart that was such a profound moment that said a lot underneath what was happening!
The waves lap at your face, forcing salt up your nose on an inhale. You splutter, losing your grip on that arm slung across your shoulders, and for a moment it slips. You kick frantically at the water as you scramble for him.
Like! Once again Iâm transported right to where they are and it feels like Iâm in the water too, itâs sooo good I love how you wrote the beginning sequences, all the tension and desperation, the loss of time and being surrounded by water and then the detail of her dreaming of it, reliving it again because that also says so much in itself, all of that was so neat to read
The emotional layers of their own mortality and coming face to face with it also felt so raw and now theyâre just adrift in the aftermath and the reality of escaping the prison while being stuck together whether they want to be or not, it makes for such a compelling and complicated and heart wrenching story and bestie you delivered, you ateee with this I was thinking about this fic for days when I read it
You know youâll have to recommend sharing body heat at some point soon, but youâre reluctant to do so because you also know it wonât go over well. Youâre certain itâs the last thing he wants, even if the alternative is stubbornly dying from exposure.
Ohh KinoâŠlove that stubbornness being ever present, the way you write him does things to me because the way I love how frustrating he can be. Him being like yeah you should have let me drown, ooh this man is aggravating in the âJUST LET ME LOVE YOU IDIOTâ kind of way and you are making me yearn so bad and I will forever be in love with your writing!!
The fact that heâs so hung up on how close of a call it was that she almost died too helpp do I sense âšfeelings âš
Really love how she matches his attitude, she misunderstands his anger and everything heâs holding back as hate towards her and Iâm kind of obsessed with how she gives it back to him when heâs being an ass! And I think itâs because really she cares and so does he, they care so much underneath it all and I simply have to scream about ittt
âYou wanted to die.â The shocked realization tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. âYou donât know what youâre talking about,â he says quietly as he gathers those strong arms around himself and crosses them like a shield.
This line was so good! His body language đ„č
âBecause I was scared shitless about what could happen to you! That place was cruel to the men it was designed for. Whatever it had in store for you was going to be much worse. I thoughtâŠâ He runs a hand down his face and over the scruff of his beardâŠ
Oh there it is! Please, his concern is so deep he was terrified for her from the start oh my godâŠand it makes so much sense why heâd want to try and distance himself, to create a hard line so when the inevitable did happen it wouldnât hurt so bad to see I-
The vulnerability is incredible between them but especially from Kino, the fact that he didnât think he was worth it if she had died saving him wow that hit me like a ton a bricks
This man canât keep getting away with breaking my heart wtf!
TARA THE KISS! The kiss oh my god that was beautiful and the moment right before that with her reassuring him that sheâs right here, they survived and sheâs desperate to get him to see what she sees is literally so tender I have to take a second
I love that he went for it like itâs almost as if he canât keep it back anymore and his apology in words, the way he rests his forehead against hers, the yearning is too real and itâs so amazing to watch these two realize they are breathing and next to one another and this moment is all theirs
Her âshow meâ yesss girl I know thatâs right, she deserves it! They both need this, to come back from the edge of death that theyâve been so close to these handful of days wowww yes this is just perfect and the building up of them finally letting the walls down is everything, I was glued to the words!
He smells like sweat and smoke and saltwater, and his skin is sharp and briny on your tongue, as you lap at a spot on his neck. He tastes like drowningâŠ
I think this may be my favorite line đ„șđ so gorgeous especially that last line oh
Even how he lays her down, itâs different and she can tell heâs making it up to her and all the sensations that are in contrast here too, the hard rock underneath her and the chill air but Kino is covering her and pulling her under a different kind of tide and I am SHOOK at the heat there, the steaminess!
The sounds he makes oh my god heâs so sexy even in this perilous situation I love that they can indulge in the desire for one another, jfc đ„”đ„”đ„” the way he speaks to her, how he doesnât let her look away from him, how he wants to see and hear what heâs doing to her I am in love and in my feels ahhhh
âAbove you, heâs blanketing you in heat and the delicious slide of flesh along your nerves. A lovely contrast already, but then his hand finds your hip, his fingers digging into your fresh bruise, and you gasp from the painâit hurts, but if it hurts that means youâre alive. He doesnât stop at the sound. Instead, thereâs understanding in those eyes as he pulls you in to meet each plunge of his cock, and, oh, thatâs even better.â
NEED THAT OLD MAN SO CARNALLY FR
Literally every word of this felt intentional and swept me right up from the beginning and youâre incredible for sharing this masterpiece with us all!
In the afterglow of it all Kino doesnât shut down! My heart fluttered when he held his arms open for her and she snuggled against him in the endâthe detail about being lost, the unknown is before them and itâs terrifying, they arenât even out of the woods yet and very much still on the run but now they are together, the agreement that theyâll figure it out together in the morningâŠexcuse me I will cry Iâm being so serious right now!
Her insistence and reminder once again that he canât ever tell her heâs not worth it to her, I LOVE IT I LOVE IT SO MUCH đ„Čđ
That little passage at the end you included by Ocean Vuong is so fitting and so beautiful for this story, they became water in the endâŠyour use of symbolism and just the sheer depth of emotions is so stunning and makes it all poignant and moving!
I could rave about this all day truly so thank you for writing this, it was a fantastic read!
Remember You Are Half Water
Pairing: Kino Loy x f!Reader
(7.2 k words)
AO3 link
Summary: Drowning is easy. It's surviving that's hard. Or: After the prison break, you and Kino hide out on Narkina 5.
Warnings: (18+) Explicit, angst, enemies to lovers (kind of), they argue and not in the flirty way, vaginal sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, grim realism, survival situation, descriptions of drowning, descriptions of resuscitation, cpr, thoughts of death, thoughts of dying, talk of dying, mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of imprisonment, themes of death, themes of drowning, description of pain, dreams, nightmares, illness, self-indulgent melancholia
A/N: I accidentally wrote this after getting a random idea in my head while working on I Want You to Show Me Weak (my brain will do anything but finish a fic đ), so have a surprise Kino oneshot. Just please mind the tags, especially with the events currently happening in the real world. This isn't a dark fic, but the tone is quite grim. (Mostly. I am still a filthy hopeless romantic, after all.) Also, I'm well aware of what Narkina 5 is supposed to look like, however I simply Do Not care đ
Fic title is from The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood. Collage quote from Nathaniel Hawthorneâs The Ocean.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) itâs always ourselves we find in the sea
- e.e. cummings, maggie and milly and molly and may
Your lungs burn.
There's a weight across your shoulders, pulling you down and under the waves. Your arms are spent and heavy with exhaustion. You have no idea how long youâve been swimmingâdragging something through the water, but your muscles are on fire. Your lungs are on fire. It would be so easy to just give up.
To just let go.
Because you're so tired. Youâve heard drowning isn't so bad. Like going to sleep, they say. You can do that. That's nothing compared to this.
You catch sight of a face at your side, barely breaching the surface. His face. His eyes are closed and his mouth is slack. Like he's sleeping.
You go back to swimming.
âBreathe, goddamn you!â You sob. Even though you're numb from the cold, your hand is trembling as you pound against his back with your fist. Between the shoulder blades, behind his lungs. Every hit makes a wet slap. His white uniform is soaked through and nearly translucent. It clings to him. The water, greedy, still won't let him go. âDon't you fucking do this, you prick! Wake up!â
He doesn't flinch under your assault. Not even when you roll him back over onto the rocky sand and press a rhythm into his ribs.
This is worse, you think, because now you can see his face and feel the ghost of his angry stare, even through his closed eyelids. His skin is grey and clammy, his lips nearly blue, and his beard and hair are slick and dark with water. His expression is relaxed. Peaceful. Not asleep. He's never looked like that before. This isn't how he's supposed to look.
The only movement beneath your hands is the jolt of his body from the compressions.
You let out a scream of frustration.
The waves lap at your face, forcing salt up your nose on an inhale. You splutter, losing your grip on that arm slung around your shoulders, and for a moment it slips. You kick frantically at the water as you scramble for him.
âNoââ Your voice gets choked off by the whitecap of another wave.
You grab at his face, drive it back above the surface, even as you plunge below it. Whatever else you were going to shout is lost in a cloud of bubbles. You're the only thing keeping him from sinking to the bottom now. Just you, clinging to the hope of life.
You can't think about that dead weight.
You fight back to the surface with a cough, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. You have to keep moving. You have to keepâ
Youâre being shaken awake. The hand on your shoulder is warm, but the grip is almost harshâunforgiving as the fingers dig into your flesh.
You blink your eyes open to find Kino staring down at you with a frown. The light from the small fire throws shadows across his face and deepens the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth and along his forehead, making him look even more severe than he usually does.
âYou were dreaming again,â he grumbles. Then he releases your shoulder without warning, nearly shoving away from you in the process, and he shuffles back across to his side of the small cave to resume lying down.
Now that you're conscious, all of your injuries and pains from the past few days come rushing back to fill your awareness. You let out a groan as you push yourself up off the cold stone floor. Not that sitting is any betterâthereâs a rock digging into your ass to prove your point, and you send it skittering. It doesn't make a difference. With a sigh, you rub the heels of your hands into your heavy eyelids in an attempt to clear the blurriness from your vision.
âSorry,â you try, your voice hoarse with sleep. You quickly clear your throat and try again. âDidn't mean to wake you.â
He only grunts in response.
The sky at the mouth of the cave is a slate grey. Itâs been raining the last few daysâas if the water is trying to follow you ashoreâso you aren't sure if the muted light is the growing dawn or due to the thick storm clouds that leave the landscape darkened, no matter where the sun is overhead. It's made everything damp and chilly, and you can feel it in every joint and bone. Between that, your desperate and adrenaline fueled escape from the prison, nearly drowning, and laying on the hard, rocky ground, your entire body aches.
You're both still wearing your white and orange uniforms, though they're worn and filthy now. More brown than white. The fabric is also next to useless outside of a temperature controlled environment, but you have nothing else to keep you warm and nothing at all for your feet. Youâd gotten lucky that there had been driftwood piled inside the seaside cave, brought in by the tide and left safe from the rain. Kino had found several more pieces along the beach on that first day and dragged them into the shelter to dry out. Neither of you dared to venture any further afterwards, either from fear or exhaustion.
The last of the wood is burning between you, and, when itâs gone, there won't be anything left to keep the chill at bay. You know youâll have to recommend sharing body heat at some point soon, but you're reluctant to do so because you also know it won't go over well. You're certain it's the last thing he wants, even if the alternative is stubbornly dying from exposure.
âThink theyâve moved on yet?â You ask, just to have something to distract you from your thoughts.
âDoubt it,â he replies in that gruff voice.
âYeah,â you sigh. You slump forward and let your forearms rest on your knees, suddenly weary. âBut we're going to have to leave eventually. We need food and real shelter.â
âYouâre too weak to walk it,â he says to the cave wall.
âIâm fine,â you insist.
Kino's head whips around, and he meets your eyes with a glare. âNo, you're not.â You let out a noise of disgust before you can reconsider, and his jaw clenches in response. âYou nearly died.â
âDonât start this again.â You mean it as a plea, but it comes out merely resigned in your exhaustion. Youâve lost count of how many times youâve had this argument since you first woke up to him coughing and shouting on the beach. You don't want to have it again.
âLike youâd listen anyway,â he says. And then he scowls, like you're the problem.
Alright, maybe you'll have it one more time.
âGods, that bit of power really did go straight to your thick skull didn't it?â You laugh in disbelief. âWhy can't you just accept that it was my choice? Mine!â
âIâm well aware of your poor decision making!â He shoots back. Then he sits up to face you, and now it's a proper fight, you think. âIâve already told you, no one was supposed to die because of me!â
âAnd I already told you to get over yourself!â You fight the urge to roll your eyes. âDo I look fucking dead to you? Hmm?â
âDon't act like it wasn't a close call!â
âI never said it wasn't.â You pinch at the bridge of your nose in an attempt to keep your frustration at bay. Screaming won't make him listen to reason, no matter how good it will feel. âWhat would you have had me do, Kino? Just let you drown?â
âYes,â he replies without hesitation.
âWell, I didn't.â Your arm flops to your side, too heavy to hold up now. âSo maybe you should just consider being fucking grateful instead.â
âI didn't ask for this!â He snaps. It's followed by an immediate look of regret.
Oh. That's new. You take a moment to study his faceâthe way he can suddenly no longer meet your eyes, like he's ashamed of all things.
âWhat the fuck is your problem?â
You ignore his sardonic, âYou.â
Because you don't understand him. Is he really this upset or his pride so wounded over the fact that he needed to be saved? Is he truly this angry just because someoneâor more specifically youâsaw him when he was weak after being in control for so long? Those are convenient reasons. They're probably even contributing to his horrid mood, but they don't feel as if theyâre the reason. It's almost as ifâ
âYou wanted to die.â The shocked realization tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.
There's a long, deafening beat of silence.
âYou don't know what you're talking about,â he says quietly as he gathers those strong arms around himself and crosses them like a shield.
Part of your mind is screaming at you to just drop it. Youâve entered new territory. You've never made him defensive like this before, and you don't know how he'll react. But based on all of your previous interactions with him, you know it won't be pleasant. Which is an understatement. The stubborn part of you, however, hopes that this means you're actually making progress. And if youâve come this farâŠ
âIs that why you won't even try to leave this shit hole again?â You press. âIs that why you're trading one prison for another?â
âThat has nothing to do with this,â he says as he narrows his eyes at you, and you're almost disappointed to hear some of his anger returning.
âYeah right,â you scoff.
âListen, neither of us is in any condition to evade the searches. All weâre going to accomplish is getting caught.â It sounds almost reasonable, but you know better. You know it for what it really is: a deflection. You did hit a nerve.
âThat's only going to get worse,â you argue back. âThe lack of food is going to weaken us further, assuming we don't freeze to death first.â
âAnd it will still be easier if we're not being hunted. We have to be patient,â he says as his frown deepens, frustration beginning to take root once again. âLet them think weâre dead or gone.â
âAnd how long will that take? Days? Weeks?â
âA hell of a lot longer than three days!â
âFine. Then we should at least go out and do some scouting so we have an idea of which way to go when the time comes,â you offer instead. âWe might even find supplies.â
âIt's too risky,â he says dismissively as he waves you off. You bristle against the gesture. âWeâre safe here. The cave entrance is hard to find, but if we go in and out too often, weâll draw attention to ourselves.â
âThere's always going to be risk, Kino, whether we leave tonight or a week from now. If we wait, it could be too late,â you point out. âFor all we know, the Empire is sending a blockade to keep us all trapped here! Then what?â
âThey aren't going to send a blockade for a prison break,â he scoffs.
âAnd how can you possibly know that?â
âHow can you?â
âWhy is it so hard for you to trust me?â You hate the hint of misery that seeps into your voice and betrays how much that idea pains you.
âWhy should I? If I recall correctly, your judgment has nearly gotten you killed once already,â he says in a mocking tone.
You glare at him. âMy judgment saved both our lives.â
He glares right back. âI'm starting to think that was sheer dumb luck.â
Oh, how fucking dare he. After everything you went throughâ
âI didn't realize you were such a coward,â you say coldly, desperate to hurt him as much as he's hurt you.
The tendons in his neck go taut with rage. âFuck you,â he spits, but he no more than gets the words out when he's racked with a violent coughing fit. The force of it makes him double over onto the cave floor, and his body heaves with each one.
You wince at the sight, feeling ashamed of your comment now. You didn't want this.
The coughing spells are a parting gift from Narkina 5âthe water still won't let him go. He's had a few of them since you got him to shore and forced the ocean from his lungs, and each one sounds a little bit worse than the one before. You're no healer, but that's obviously not a good sign. He needs medicine. You also haven't broached the subject with him because you know it will just start a fight.
As if everything you say doesn't start a fight.
You lean back to wait it out, letting your head thunk tiredly against the cave wall. There's nothing you can do to help him and trying will only make it worseâyou learned that the hard way. Plus, it doesn't seem fair to argue with him while he's like this, even if you're only doing it to get through to him for his own good, the stubborn jerk.
It takes several minutes before he finally stops coughing long enough to get his breathing under control. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, rights himself with as much dignity as he can muster, and gives you a cold, hard stare. âGo, then, if you're in such a hurry to end up back in a cell,â he grits out, his voice a strained, wet gravel.
âFine,â you huff, pushing yourself to your feet. âStay here and waste away if you want. See if I care. I can find a way off this slag heap by myself.â
You almost make it past the mouth of the cave.
The moment your foot touches the rain slicked rock, the combination of fatigue and an unsteady gait causes you to slip. You hit the ground with a grunt, landing hard on your hip. Sharp, hot pain shoots through the joint, curling up your spine and down your leg. The shock of it takes your breath away, and your eyes sting with fresh tears.
Oh, brilliant, you think caustically. Of all the times to fall on your ass.
Behind you, Kino swears. A second later, you hear the slap of his bare feet on rock as he stomps towards you.
âBroken?â He doesn't quite snap the question at you, but it's a near thing.
âNo,â you choke out.
âYou have a fucking death wish,â he growls before he hauls you to a sitting position.
Despite the pain, that statement makes you laugh, though it's a bitter, near hysterical sound. You tilt your head back to grin up at him. âGuess we make quite the pair, huh?â
He doesn't respond.
He just shoves his hands under your armpits in an attempt to get a grip on you with those thick fingers. Then your laughter quickly dissolves into a wounded hiss as he drags you back into the cave with no care for your new injury. You're not sure why you suddenly expected him to start coddling you. He never did before.
He dumps you back into the spot youâve been occupying, glad to be rid of you, and you catch yourself with your hands before you land in a heap.
âAsshole,â you mutter under your breath.
After that, neither of you speaks for a while, content to sit and lick your wounds in what passes for peace now. Eventually, the pain in your hip lessens to a dull throb and the fire is reduced to embers, the long hours sucking the heat out of both.
Outside, the sky has gotten a bit lighter, but is still that dreary mask of grey that makes time feel nebulous. Unknowable. The rain, at least, had turned into a mist about an hour ago. Without the sound of the drops echoing throughout the cave, the silence is unforgiving. Every shuffle along the rock, every sniffle or sigh, every brush of clothes is harsh between you.
âWhy are you so mad at me?â You finally ask, desperate for any noise that isn't him heavily exhaling a whistle through his nose.
âI already told you,â he replies, emotionless.
âIâm not talking about that,â you sigh. âYou hated me the moment I stepped onto the floor.â
In the low light, there's a brief look of shock on his profile before his scowl returns in full force. âI didn't hate you.â
âYes you did. You could barely look at me. And you yelled at me all the time.â He opens his mouth to protest, but you continue on so he can't interrupt you. âLook, I understand, in a way. I was slower than nearly all of the men, and you were pissed about being stuck with me. But it's not like I did it on purpose.â
âIt wasn't that.â There's a renewed touch of exasperation in his voice. You're intimately familiar with that tone. Youâve heard the way he normally sounds when speaking to other peopleâgot to see what it was like without ever experiencing it yourselfâbut youâve never spoken to him without receiving either his impatience or his distaste. You prepare yourself for another fight.
âThen why? Because I was a distraction?â Your bitterness bleeds from you, an anguish built from months of labor and fear. And loneliness, you think. Because, even though youâd been constantly surrounded by people, youâd never felt so completely and utterly alone.
âIt's nothing.â He rolls onto his side to face the cave wall, intent on ignoring you.
âIt clearly wasn't nothing,â you respond dryly.
âJust drop it,â he says over his shoulder.
âNo.â You cross your arms. You're done listening to him just because he tells you to. You don't have to now. You're not in there anymore. âAfter everything, I think I deserve to know what I did to have you treat me that way.â
âAnd I don't want to fucking talk about it,â he growls.
âWell, too damn bad! Because there's nothing else to talk about, and I want to know why you hated me when all I wanted wasââ You cut yourself off with a hitched breath before you accidentally finish that sentence.
Fighting is one thing. That's easy. Safe. But this is something big and messy that you're still trying to come to terms with, made all the more complicated by your current situation, which was already plenty complicated before. This will only make things worse. You know it will. And despite all the hurtful things youâve said to each other, you wouldn't be able to stomach his rejection. His pity. His disgustâcouldnât handle being forced to endure it while stuck in this damned cave and made to wallow in the forced intimacy of the space that's anything but. No, this is the one truth you could never take back.
To your embarrassment, your voice is rough and raw with emotion when you speak again. âWhen all I wanted was to be treated like a person.â
âIf that's what you wanted, you were in the wrong place,â he says coldly to the cave wall. âNow shut up and let me sleep.â
âNo!â You shout. You no longer care if youâre being petulant because you are angry about it. Youâve been holding onto the feeling for months, but you're tired now. You don't want to carry it around anymore. âI won't let you bully me into silence. I want the truth.â
âKeep your voice down!â He hisses as he flings himself upright to glare at you. Every bit of him is rigid with tension. Dangerous. At least he's looking at you again.
âThen answer me!â You stubbornly glare back at him. âYou owe me that much.â
âFine! I was afraid, alright?â He finally snarls, reminding you of a cornered animal, spitting as it lashes out. âIs that what you want to hear? That you were right? That I'm a coward?â
âWhat?â All of your anger leaves you in a sudden rush. The hiding, the running, the waterâthat fear you can understand. But this? You stare at him in genuine confusion. âWhy?â
âBecause I was scared shitless about what could happen to you! That place was cruel to the men it was designed for. Whatever it had in store for you was going to be much worse. I thoughtâŠâ He runs a hand down his face and over the scruff of his beard, now grown out beyond a neat trim. The action wipes his own anger away, and underneath it is something human: exhaustion and vulnerability. âI thought, if I kept you at a distance, it would hurt less when it finally broke you, but you made it so damn hard.â
âOh,â you breathe out in shock, as though youâve just had the wind knocked out of you. You have, in a way, because, gods, what can you possibly say to that? It's the last thing you were expectingârealistically, you thought he was worried your lack of strength or speed would get someone else killed. This, howeverâŠyou couldn't have even imagined this. The implication of it⊠âKinoââ
âDon't. Okay?â He cuts you off. And then he turns away to shut you out as well. âJustâŠfucking don't.â
So instead you sit there in the uneasy quiet of the cave, feeling adrift. Helpless. Like you're right back in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the waves, with nothing to hold onto to keep from sinking; thereâs only water in your fumbling grasp. At least then you'd known which way you were supposed to go, it was the getting there that was the problem. Now you don't even have that. You wonder if youâd have the energy to even try if you did.
A part of you wants nothing more than to reexamine every interaction, every look, and every word heâs ever spoken to you and see what you might uncover that you'd missed, but you can't do that with him right there. His presence just muddles everything up until you can't help but mix reality and memory, past and present, assumption and realization. You're nearly dizzy with it.
Plus, knowing that things weren't so black and white between you doesn't change what happened or how you feel. Youâve been hurting and angry for a whileâespecially at him, and most of which he still deserves for how he treated you. That something more existed lessens the intensity of those feelings, but it doesn't erase them completely. Not yet. Reconciling what you know and what you thought you knew will only come with time.
To the rest of you, however, that reconciliation doesn't seem as important as your fear at almost losing him or the realization that there is something more than just hatred on his end. Even if that thing is nothing more than kindness and compassion, it's something. And you could have died not knowing that. Or worse, you could have lived without knowing instead.
Gods, complicated is an understatement. If only you could have wanted something easy for once. You wonder if he thought the same thing as he watched you from across the work floor. And it feels odd to think that maybe it's not such an unrealistic hope anymore.
âIâm sorry,â you whisper, breaking the silence between you at last.
He laughs, and it manages to sound condescending. The familiarity of it is grounding. âWhat do you have to be sorry about?â
âI guessâŠâ What are you apologizing for? For misunderstanding him? For making his life harder, even if it wasn't your fault? For not agreeing with him? For being unable to shoulder his anger? For continuing to push and push and push. Maybe all of it, you realize. For your part in the making of this. âI guess for saving you when you didn't want me to,â you answer with a shrug instead.
At first, you think he isn't going to respond to that, and you can no longer find it in yourself to blame him. But then, with a voice thatâs softer than youâve ever heard from himâwerenât even sure he was capable of itâhe says, âIt's not that I didn't want to be saved.â
âThen why? Help me to understand, Kino,â you plead, praying that he won't clam up or lash out again. Not when you've come so far. âPlease.â
He gives you a heavy, resigned look before settling his attention on the cave entrance where his gaze becomes unseeing. Though there are only a few feet between you, he suddenly seems miles away.
âWhen we were planning all of this, I knew what was waiting for us on the outside. I mean, they built the fucking thing in the middle of an ocean and I can't swim. How ironic is that? All that work, and I was gonna make it to the door just to drown.â Then, quietly, âI never gave a thought to what I would do if I didn't. Now I've got no clue what comes next.â
âNeither do I,â you say in disbelief.
He lets out a dark laugh. âSure don't act like it,â he mutters.
âIâm just better at hiding it.â You give him a small smile that he cannot see.
âMaybe I should be, too,â he muses to himself. âItâd be a hell of a lot better than feeling so lost.â
âHiding it doesn't make that go away,â you say sadly. You know that all too well.
His only reply is a non-committal hum, and it suddenly occurs to you that he has no clue what you actually went through. How could he? He lept into the water and woke up on shore with nothing but darkness in between. All he knows is that you saved him. Without the rest, he thinks he's struggling alone.
âI almost gave up, you know,â you admit quietly.
That gets his attention again. He turns to look at you, and his eyes are wide with fear and concern. âWhat?â He gasps.
âI could barely see the shore when the adrenaline wore off. When faced with that distance, all that water, and no strength left?â You shrug in an attempt to seem unbothered, even as the memory fills you with dread. âFor one horrible moment, I suppose drowning just seemed easier.â Like going to sleep, you don't say. âBut I couldn't. I looked at you, and I couldn't. Not without trying first. And before you say anything, leaving you behind was never an option. Not for me. If this place was going to win, it was going to have to take us both.â
âI never wanted that,â he says helplessly. âWhen I came to and saw you laying there, I thought you were dead.â His voice breaks and he takes in a deep, shaky breath, but it does little to steady him. âI knew then what you did for me, and I thought it killed you. That after everything, it was me. I broke you, and it wasn't worth it. Not me.â
âYou didn't,â you insist, desperate to make him listen. You recognize that despair because it's the same one that haunts your dreams and doesn't let go when you're awake. It's the same fear that grips your chest in icy fingers whenever you catch his sleeping face or you're forced to sit by and listen to him coughâthe water still won't let him go. You understand now that he needs the reassurance that it's over just as much as you do. So you push yourself to your knees and dare to move closer, despite the protest of your aching body. âIâm right here. See? I was just tired afterwards, that's all. Just tired. Iâm right here.â
Without warning, he reaches for you, and, even though he's never harmed you, you flinch thinking maybe youâve finally pushed him too far. Only, he grabs the front of your uniform and pulls you to him, just as unkindly as he dragged you across the cave. And then you think he's going to scream again, but when he opens his mouth, he leans in and crushes your lips together instead.
You freeze against him.
Because Kino Loy is kissing you, and that can't be right. He hates you. His mouth can only scowl and scream and cough andâthereâs a little grunt from the back of his throat as he adjusts the angle of your lips, and, oh, this is real. Without another thought, you're kissing him back.
At first, there's only tentative reliefâat the reassurance, the sensation, at finally getting something you wantâbut heat starts to build in the breath-humid space between your bodies the longer you kiss and kiss. Something born of more than lust or desire. And though they flicker in your belly as well, it's a bone deep desperation to feel alive that drives you forward and aches to be quelled.
When you break apart to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours. Close enough for your noses to brush together and to feel each hard exhaleâthat blessed, life sustaining airâacross your skin.
âIâm sorry,â he says with a sob. His voice is low and thick with grief against your mouth. The sound and shape of it is so different from his angerâin the low light, only a ghost of that harshness is left, clinging to the shadowy lines of his face. You don't have to ask what he's apologizing for.
âShow me,â you whisper back. You let your lips brush over his again in invitation. He responds by delving into the wet heat of your mouth and wrapping you in his arms with a moan.
So you give yourself over to the exploration of his tongue against yours and his large, callus roughened hands as they engulf the sides of your face, caught in the whirlwind of him. It leaves you breathless faster than you like, and when you break for air again, you don't want to give him a moment to change his mind or to pull away completely. So your mouth wanders to his cheeks, the scruff on his jaw, his Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat above the collar of his uniformâseeking out every bit of him that you can reach as he pants and swallows beneath your lips.
He smells like sweat and smoke and saltwater, and his skin is sharp and briny on your tongue as you lap at a spot on his neck. He tastes like drowning, and for a moment you're lost in the memory of him in the water, his weight pulling you beneath the waves. His lifeless face staring up at you from the shore. But then he sucks in a sharp breath, jolting you back to the present, and his lips are on yours again. Warm. Alive. Not the cold flesh you forced air through. Not the same shared breath.
âWanna see you,â you gasp into his mouth as you lift at the hem of his shirt.
Without a word, he moves to obey.
You both peel away your filthy uniforms with trembling hands, revealing bodies that are just as dirty and unwashed to the chilled air, but beneath all of that is color. His flush of arousal. Bruises that are starting to fade, a gruesome rainbow of healing. The shadows playing in the shifting of muscle as he reaches for you to pull you back into the warmth of his arms. Alive.
He's the first soft thing youâve touched after days of nothing but rock. And before that, months of only tools and labor and struggle. You bask in the sensation: The greying hair on his chest, the roundness of his belly and hips, salt dried skin, his palm on your cheek. The other on your thigh. Heâs softer than you remember from when you were hauling him through the wavesâ
You wrap your hand around his cock, and his heartbeat throbs in your fist. Alive.
He lets out a groan when you stroke him, something deep and guttural that rumbles through the cave like thunder. The sound sends blood and heat rushing to your core, where it pools between your thighs and leaves you aching and empty. You tease the silken foreskin over his length and work your thumb along the underside of the swollen head just to hear more of it.
With a growl, he falls upon you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongues and hunger. His hand cups the swell of your breast while his thumb circles your nipple. You cry out and arch into the roughness of his hand. Then you're both eagerly groping and learning all the ways you can draw more noises from each other until you're left squirming against the insistent throbbing between your legs.
âI want you inside of me,â you murmur into his mouth.
He clenches his eyes shut as his breath hitches, and you're thrilled you can get that reaction out of him. But then he opens his eyes again and, in a shaky voice, asks, âYou're sure?â
âYes!â You growl, impatient. âFuck me, Kino.â
He lets out a groan. âIf you keep that up, Iâm not gonna last very long.â
âDon't care as long as your cock is inside me first.â
âFuck!â He hisses. His hips involuntarily jerk forward at the thought, and said cock grinds into the bend of your groin. âThen I'll give you what you want.â
After that reaction, you think he's going to throw you down and do just that. Instead, his touch gentles, his palm cradling the base of your skull as he lays you out along the rock. The movement doesn't make you feel delicate or like something that's injured and cowering in a cave, but rather like something to be revered.
This is his apology.
A caress along your inner knee has your legs falling open, leaving you exposed before him. Before you can be self-conscious about it, he gives your arousal a heated look that drives the thought from your mind. Then he traces a fingertip up the tender skin of your thigh, and fire licks from your thigh to your belly.
For a moment, you wonder what it would be like to have this on the other side of the galaxy. Not in a cave, but in a bed, warm and clean with a full stomach. Maybe it would be sweet like this between you the whole time rather than something that's taking an effort just to maintain. Because you know this is only a momentâa reprieve. It can't last, not when that cold desperation and panic are rebuilding within your gut.
It's a lovely thought. But by the time he kneels between your thighs, you need again. You pull him down and he goes willingly, falling to brace his hands on the stony ground on either side of your shoulders. Then you hold your breath as he closes the distance, slowly, until the length of his cock is resting and throbbing, flush against your sex.
Your hips grind up against him, trapping him between your heat and his belly so that when he thrusts back, seeking more, he drags himself along your wet folds; the sensitive head of his cock rubs against your clit. Both of you moan, wounded and strangled sounds. So he does it again. And again. Over and over until you're both gasping and shuddering at the slick friction.
All the while he stares down at you, studying you. Taking in the way your face contorts and breaks with pleasure. His eyes are sea blue, you realizeâthe water, greedyâso wild and deep and pulling you in. It sets your pulse racing and makes your palms sweat against his shoulders. You turn away from the intensity in that gaze.
âNo.â To your surprise, he takes your chin between his finger and thumb, not gentle but steady, and he forces you to look anyway. To face him. âLet me see you.â
He holds you there with the weight of his body as he shifts to nudge at your opening. It's so close to what you need. Your legs wrap around his waist in silent encouragement. Then, once he's lined up, he sinks forward with a groan and stretches you open on his cock until you're aching and full.
His mouth goes slack. Those eyes become heavy and lidded. Not closedâalive. Which makes all the difference to your wounded mind. So you drink in the sight of him like this, buried in the tight embrace of your cunt. A ruinous look.
You're drowning again.
It scares you, just how much you want to give yourself over and let go. How easy it would be to become lost. To believe that this is something more than desperation. But then his eyes refocus and whatever tenderness had gripped him is absent from that gaze. In its place is hunger. Need. Urgency.
âGods, you're so tight,â he grinds out from behind clenched teeth as he gives a shallow thrust into you. The sound goes straight to your core, soaking him further. âFeels so good.â
Then he finallyâfinallyâfucks you. Hard and fast.
The ground is cold and unrelenting beneath your spine where you're folded and crushed against it. Above you, he's blanketing you in heat and the delicious slide of flesh along your nerves. A lovely contrast already, but then his hand finds your hip, his fingers digging into your fresh bruise, and you gasp from the painâit hurts, but if it hurts that means you're alive. He doesn't stop at the sound. Instead, there's understanding in those eyes as he pulls you in to meet each plunge of his cock, and, oh, that's even better.
You spare a thought for his knees right before he shifts. Then he's dragging against that spot inside of you, and your mind goes blissfully empty with pleasure. Your head falls back, weightless with it. At that opening, he buries his face in your neck, muffling every grunt into your skin. He presses the vibrations of them into your flesh and bones alongside his exhales, the scrape of his beard, the unconscious skim and purse of his lips. You shiver.
You won't come from this alone, but you don't care. This is enough. You just need to feel somethingâneed the proof that he's alive. That you're alive. That this IS real and not some drawn out hallucination your dying brain came up with between the span of one heartbeat and your last.
But it has to be real. Even in your darkest moments, alone in your cell, you never allowed yourself to want thisâthe thing you could not have. The galaxy had been cruel enough on its own without any assistance from you. So there were no images or dreams in your mind to conjure this from. Which means these messy kisses, the wet noise of your joining, your sweat slicked skin, his hair, salt-stiffened and curled between your fingers, must be real. It also means every moment of this is new and unburdened by expectation or comparison.
It's everything else that haunts you.
All too soon, and just as promised, his body grows tense, and he starts to tremble above you. Between your exhaustion and his unrelenting pace, this was never intended to last. And he's so close, but when he meets your eyes, you see hesitation. Uncertainty. When he moves to pull away, you realize he means to finish by stroking and spilling himself across your belly instead. But that isn't what you need.
âNo! Donât,â you beg. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you grasp at his neck and shoulders, unwilling to let him go with a strength that surprises you both. Then you roll your hips and grind yourself onto his cock, dragging a hiss out of him. âI want to feel you.â
He groans as he yields to your plea, too near that edge to argue, so he falls right back into a punishing rhythm. Yet underneath the hunger and determination, there's anguish now, too. As if by doing this, he remains afraid he'll break you somehow. Still, he clings to your hips as every thrust turns short and sharp with purpose until, at last, he buries himself fully and chases that relief in the depths of your cunt.
When he comes, the only sound he makes is a harsh sob. And then his cock is pulsing inside of you, filling you with warmth. Life.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
He collapses heavily at your side with a few wet coughs, spent and too exhausted to hold himself up any longer. You lay there for a moment, listening to his ragged breathing, unsure of what comes next. You're afraid heâll push you away once his mind clears. That heâll go back to hating you from across the cave, now muggy with the scent of sex, as his come leaks down your thighs.
He doesn't.
Instead, he holds his arms open in silent invitation and you realize he's offering you a choice: move forward with or without him. And this time, you know he accepts that it's your decision to make. But youâve already made this choice once, when you watched him slip beneath the waves. When you dove for him in the water, hauled him back out of it, and then forced it from his lungs. It was just as easy to make then. Maybe now heâll understand what it means.
You go to him and curl against him in acceptance. He kisses the fragile skin of your temple, and then he helps you get settled by tucking your head under his chin and rubbing warmth in a soothing pattern along your stone chilled back. Your hand finds his waist. His leg entangles with yours. Back and forth until there's nothing but drying sweat between you, as if you have always fit together in this way.
You want to savor this. More than that, you want to have this if you can. If heâll let you. If he doesn't go back to holding you at a distance out of habit and self-preservation in a day or so, always waiting for the worst to happen and scared of the hurt that might follow. As if anything could be worse than losing him now. Then he really would be the thing that broke you. A self fulfilling prophecy. You almost want to laugh at the irony.
All at once, the silence feels heavier than you can bear.
âNever again tell me you aren't worth it,â you whisper fiercely to the cave. âYou are to me.â
He doesn't respond, but the hand splayed over your ribs twitches before clutching you tighter.
âWeâll try in the morning,â he says quietly instead. Under your ear, the compromise rumbles loudly throughout his chest. Beneath that, his steady heartbeat.
His statement doesn't fill you with anything as naive as hope. The Empire is still looking for you, and they aren't ever going to stop now. Youâve only traded imprisonment for the illusion of freedom. The thought claws at you, threatens to pull you under. But there's an arm around your shoulders that squeezes as it holds you close, and you remember that you can't let go. You can't lose him. You won't. You have to keep moving.
âIn the morning,â you agree.
"Hey,â he said, half-asleep, âwhat were you before me?â âI think I was drowning.â A pause. âAnd what are you now?â he whispered, sinking. I thought for a second. âWater."
- Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
A/N: The song for this fic is Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish btw.
#guys you musttt read this#kino loy x reader#kino loy x f!reader#kino loy smut#andor fanfiction#andy serkis#tara đŠ#fics
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Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy AU Part 8!
Hi, sorry for the wait!! I was a little in doubt about if making this chapter in Percy's or Nico's POV, tbh, but in the end I decided that we're back to Percy! I always enjoy writing him being all smitten and in love <33
Enjoy~
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
You can also read it on AO3!!
~~~~
Percy had been looking at his phone for what felt like hours, staring at the empty message box and the name written on top, trying to find something, anything, to write that wouldn't sound extremely lame.
He knew his friends were looking at him, probably thinking he was the most ridiculous lovesick fool they had ever seen - which was fair, honestly, because Percy did feel like he was one second away from screaming into the void and starting to roll around on the cafeâs floor.Â
So, yes, he was a lovesick fool - but a lovesick fool with his crush's number now safely saved into his phone.
Crush.
It had been two days since his meeting with Nico at the beach, and for the whole time Percy had felt like the word wasn't right, wasn't nearly heavy enough to embrace the way he felt. When he had told Annabeth, she had looked at him and smiled.
âI can see that, Percy, but you do realize you barely know him, don't you?â
It was true, of course it was - yet it didn't matter.
Percy could still feel the warmth of Nico's hand in his like it was engraved on his skin. The need to hold it again was almost overwhelming, Percy could feel himself going crazy for it.
They had held hands, and it had felt like Nico hadn't wanted to let go either, that he had wanted to make the contact last as long as possible just like Percy had.
Percy wanted to text him. But what do you even write to the guy who's been haunting your mind for the past few months and who you aren't exactly friends with but at the same time it feels like you're so much more?
âHi, it's Percy, how are you?âÂ
Yeah, no, that was lame.Â
âHey, would you like to go on a date with me?â
Too forward, definitely not.
Percy groaned, frustrated.
âI swear to god, Jackson, if you don't stop staring at that phone right now, I'm gonna kick you out of this placeâ.
Thalia's voice pulled him violently out of his thoughts.
âThis is a public space, Thalia, you can't kick me outâ, he replied without even looking at her.
âOh yeah, watch meâ.
Percy only looked up at her when a kick did actually hit his legs under the table.
âEhi!â
Thalia smirked down at him. âTold yaâ, she said. âI can't believe I only come here like two times a year - and when I do, you're too busy to look at your phone to actually talk to me? That's low, Jacksonâ.
Percy rolled his eyes, but the pull in his guts let him know that he did feel guilty. He sighed and finally put his phone down, straightening himself and going back to sip his coffee. Not that he would apologize to Thalia, but he could admit to himself that she was right; and after all, if he put aside for a moment his current concern, he really was happy to see her. It had been months since the last time they had the chance to hang out together like this.
âDon't mind him, Thaliaâ, Annabeth jumped in. âHe just got his dream boy's number! And now he's trying to figure out what to write to himâ.
She said it like it was ridiculous, but Percy remembered how happy she had been for him when he had told her about the events of two days ago, so he didn't take it to heart.
âHis what!?â, Thalia almost screamed, accompanying every word with a painful slap on Percy's shoulder. âWhy don't I know anything about this! How could you guys not tell me, come on!â
He swatted her hand away. âOuch, ow, ow, okay, alright!â
âI can't believe this! I can't even remember the last time you had a crushâ.
âYeah, wellâ, Percy said, and lowered his eyes. âDoesn't really feel like a crush, anymoreâ.Â
âOh woah, then it must be seriousâ, she said. âCome on, tell me everythingâ.
And so he told her - told her about the first time he saw the pretty goth boy working at the beach kiosk, about how long he had spent just looking at him. Trying to leave out the most embarrassing parts was no use because of course Annabeth had to jump in to point out how ridiculous he had been the whole time and how much he had panicked to just go and talk to him to buy something, and obviously she couldn't leave out his plan to impress Nico with his fantastic surfing moves.
âAnnabeth, stop making me look like a loser!â
âI'm not making you look like a loser, Seaweed brain, Iâm just telling the truth!â.
Percy kept talking, and he kept thinking about Nico, and he knew that he had the most enamored smile painted on his lips as he spoke. He talked and he couldn't stop because, god, he did love to talk about him.
They had only seen each other the previous day and Percy missed him already. He definitely needed to find the courage to text him - perhaps he didn't need to think too much about it, maybe a simple hey how are you would do, after all.
He wondered if Nico was doing the same, looking at his phone and trying to find something to write to him, or maybe waiting and hoping for a text to arrive.
He was so focused on recounting everything that he didn't notice the way Thalia's expression went from curious to surprised, then to confused, and finally to pensive.
âWait, what did you say this guy's name is?â
Percy stopped in his rambling. âNico, his nameâs Nicoâ, he said, and finally noticed how Thalia seemed to be deep in thought. âWhatâs that face?â
It took a moment for her to reply. âNico as in⊠Nico Di Angelo?â
Percy stopped and looked at her like she had grown a second head. âWhat?â
Next to him, he heard Annabethâs voice echoing the same sentiment.
âWhat are you talking about?â
âGoth boy, shortie, long hair and lots of piercings, doesnât seem like he own anything but black clothes, looks like he doesnât know how to smile-â
âHey, Iâll let you know that he has the prettiest smile you could ever imagine!â
Thalia waved him off at the same time that Annabeth said âYes that does sound exactly like himâ.
âAnd he works at the beach kiosk with a blond guy?â
A long moment of silence passed during which Percy kept staring at Thalia as her words kept swarming around in his head, blinking at her trying to process what she had just said.Â
It couldnât be, could it?
âYou know him!?â
Percy could feel his heart run around in his chest, pumping blood loudly in his ears.
That felt so much like fate.Â
âHuh, kind of?â, Thalia said. âI saw him a couple of times when I went to visit my brotherâ.
âYour brother?â, Annabeth asked.
Thalia nodded, smiling. âThe blond guy working at the kiosk. Thatâs my brother, Jasonâ.
Another moment of silence passed before Percy finally came to his senses. âWhat the hell, why didnât you tell us!â
This time, it was his turn to swat Thaliaâs arm over and over. She hit back with just as much strength.
âOw, why would I tell you! I didnât even know you guys went to that beach - see, your fault you donât tell me anything!â
Percy could feel Annabeth rolling her eyes at their antics.
But he had more pressing things to think about. He couldnât believe it- really?Â
It was so stupid, feeling giddy for something like this, but Percy couldnât help the smile that rose to his lips. They were connected.
Youâre so ridiculous, Percy Jackson, so ridiculous, he told himself, as his heart danced in his chest.
âNico Di Angeloâ, he murmured to himself.Â
He knew his friends were looking at him ready to laugh at him. He looked at Annabeth. âSee? I told you he must be an angel!â
They did laugh at him at that, and Percy felt so light he joined them.Â
âYou really are so ridiculous, Seaweed Brainâ.
âHey, canât a man be a little in love?â
They stopped in their laughter to stare at him, and it took Percy a moment to realize what he had said. He felt himself blush - he hadnât even admitted it to himself yet, yet the words had felt way too natural on his tongue, leaving his lips without him even thinking about it.
âPercyâŠ.â
âI knowâ, he cut her off, looking away. For some reason, his hand felt warm. âI know, I donât know him all that well and itâs too soon. But⊠thatâs why I said a littleâ.
âSo you like him for real, huh?â. Thalia asked. The look in her eyes was earnest in a way that Percy wasnât very used to. He and Thalia had been friends for a long time now, but it wasnât often that they ended up talking seriously to each other.
Percy nodded. He really didnât think he had ever liked anyone like he liked Nico before.
âNow, I donât know him too wellâ, Thalia said. âBut Jason told me once that it took him a pretty long time to get close to him âcause Nico isnât an easy person - so, from what I know and from what you told me, I can say that you are an exception to this ruleâ.
Percyâs heart was running miles.
He thought about Nico so easily talking to him, smiling at him, thought of him asking about him out of worry, of him taking his hand and getting in the ocean with him despite his fear of it.
âI can ask Jason about him, if you want. Butâ, Thalia continued, pointing a finger at him. âYou better text him - todayâ.
~~
When he went home that evening, the phone felt heavy in his head.
He would see Nico tomorrow anyway, he didnât have to text him, he could easily wait until he could talk to him face to face. Or he could simply wait until tomorroâs evening and see if Nico would be at the beach after his shift again. He could.
It didnât feel like the right thing to do. It felt like the coward way out, the one that wouldnât lead to anything more.
And so, before he could think too much about it, he pressed send.
Me: Ehi, Nico! You have the afternoon shift tomorrow, right? Letâs hang out at the beach again after it?
#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#heroes of olympus#nico di angelo#nicercy#percico#pernico#percy x nico#goth/surfer percico#my fics#sorry for the longer than usual wait! ive been trying to work on original stuff lately#but i sat down today and wrote this all in one go lmao#i love how easy it comes to me writing this fic#is such a breath of fresh air#i hope you like it!! i loved writing thalia and percy's interaction it was so much fun#anyway#i saw that people posting fics on tumblr tend to tag people so they dont lose updates#and its just coming to me that maybe i could do that too#if theres anyone who want to be tagged lmao
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writing fluff is so hard esp for a character you havenât written for before + other characters in the fic đ
#satoru iâm abt to get real acquainted w you in this fic#so far it just all sounds v corny and not at all like how satoru sounds so i need to rework everything#also itâs so hard to segue into another part of the fic or just another paragraph for me so i need to practice FLOW#and NOT make it choppy/clunky#and i also have to find voices for tsumiki & megumi đ mikiâs is pretty easy sheâs sweet & playfully teasing#wanna make megs adorable yet slightly grumpy bc i know heâs mature but i still want a childish vibe for him hmmmm#iâm actually⊠SURPRISNGLY. having a LOT of trouble w the âreaderâ themselves#i just canât seem to find their dynamic w each character yet⊠hmmmmmm#yâknow what i may have to do⊠keep the beginning part but scrap everything else and start fresh#sighhhhhhhh.#iâm willing to do that though bc this story so far isnât hitting the way i want it to#and i love the Premise of the fic a lot and want to do it TOTAL justice#like itâs serious business to me đ i donât play around when it comes to this omfg like i HAVE FUN but i want it to be decently written too#gonna need to insert more personality to each character + their DIALOGUE TOO omg dialogue is so fucking hard & speech tags are so blegh#i actually might dream on it tonight and imagine how it would realistically play out in my head and then go back to fic writing#yeah iâll do that itâs 9:30 pm rn basically so iâll just dream on it đ#personal
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AHHH THANK YOU FOR YOUR TAGS ABT THE DOODLE I MADE!!!! I use they or he interchangeably but u can do w/e u want lol.
OF COURSE, THANK YOU AGAIN, IT MADE ME SUPER HAPPY TO SEE!!!! :D You deserve the appreciation! ^^ You definitely opened my eyes to all the possibilities, hehe. I think he/they Beta is a very based take :D
#ask tag#forgetmenautical#i was feeling he/it but i was also getting HUGE he/they vibes so i'm glad i'm not the only one who sees the nonbinary transmasc swag hehe ^#in any case#i think it would be v interesting to explore beta's gender journey bc i don't think they have really experienced the social aspect of gende#having been born in the odyssey and raised with very little social interaction#and growing up believing his life purpose was only to restore gaia#i think it would've been very easy for him to see himself as a tool and see no point in exploring his identity beyond being a lis clone#so even though he does know about gender he has never really had to think about his own#and it's only after the whole zenith drama is done and after beta starts adapting to life on earth that gender comes into the equation#and they become Keenly Aware of how people perceive them not just as aloy's sister but... as a sister in the first place#and i would love to see beta working through their trauma and STILL feeling a different kind of disconnect from aloy and lis#something that they can't put their finger on.#and them having to deal with the initial panic and the crisis as they're still comparing themselves to aloy and lis and the self doubt#and the eventual relief that comes with finding answers and finally feeling comfortable with his own identity. you know?#aloy calling beta sister for the first time is OUT aloy calling beta brother for the first time is IN.#oh man. someone should get in on this and write this fic. <- remembers i literally write fic#ANYWAYS sorry for writing a whole essay in the tags lol but you gave me the beta brainrot so :)#yeah. he's just sitting there. w the baggy clothes and the shrimp pose and trauma and their admiration for varl. ASKING to be projected on#beta my beloved :')
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obviously the best way to become a better writer is to read real books but thereâs so many things that annoy me in fic that i feel like should be able to be addressed by simply READING MORE FANFICTION. iâm going to be mean here but so often i will see things like the way people use commas (or more accurately, donât use them), or calling characters âthe blondâ âthe younger manâ etc, or idk those are the main examples on my mind at the moment but other shit like that. and iâm like surely even if you donât read books you read other fanfic right??? do you not think it sounds bad when other fic reads like this???
#like do you not have a sense of what sounds good and bad when you read?? even if youâre only reading fic?????#the commas really get to me#idk man i have a lot of insecurities with my own writing mainly i feel that i am not creative enough to come up with evocative descriptions#i love writing dialogue but i struggle with the narrative parts of writing prose#and similarly i have a hard time coming up w ideas for plots and stuff!#like that is just not my strong suit i would say i struggle with. creativity.#but iâm truly like how are people still referring to characters as âthe taller manâ and shit. like isnt everybody always talking about#how much they hate that#thereâs a drawfee bit where theyâre joking like âdrawing is easy just look at it and draw what you seeâ#and sometimes that is how i feel about writing even though i know it doesnât work like that <3#like literally just read something good and write it like that <3#anyway the solution to this IS to read real published books#bc they will be professionally edited and you wonât be getting things like ââhiâ he said smilingâ#real books are not immune to bad writing iâm sure you might still encounter some âthe younger manâ âthe taller manâ bullshit#but itâs. better.#anyway disclaimer i am not talking about people whose first language is not english#although a lot of times those authors are the least guilty of these crimes anyway so#r.txt
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plz write a domestic toji fic
áč content tags. áč fem! reader, pure fluff, house husband toji, reader is pregnant, toji attempting to cook, petnames.
wc. 1.8k
toji quirks an arched brow in frustration. with a concise glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday, it reads three am. sighing, the back of his wrist smears a sheet of sweat off his forehead as he gets a good sniff of the cuisine. like always, he stayed up all night, watching those random cooking mom videos on youtube. trying so hard to mimic their recipes and methods but failing anyway. âtch. fuckinâ shit,â he grumbles under his breath, covered in nothing but flour. the sizzling of the pan was quite loud. the smoke detector went off at least four times. he was wearing another thing you bought him. an apron that had the words of âkiss the cookâ imprinted near the front in bedazzled little sparkles. âwhy does it keep stickinâ to the pan.â
as his annoyance grows, he hears familiar little footsteps approach the linoleum kitchen floor. itâs you, his shoulders lower and his mood softens at the sight of you in comfy silk pajamas and a grouchy expression. âtoji? âs like three in the morning,â and as you take a whiff of the air, you furrow your own two brows. âare you . . cooking?â
âyeah yeah,â he gruffly grouses, going back to whisking the flour. âgo back âta bed, baby. almost done. âm jusâ practicing.â
âat three am,â you deadpan, a hand rubbing against your plump growing tummy.
so cute, you were a few weeks pregnant yet everything was moving at such an rapid speed. with the way your body was changing so quick, he could barely keep up. toji hears the sass in your tone as you speak and he knows good and well he should be back in bed with you. you wondered why the left side of the mattress felt empty. you waddle over beside him, hugging him from behind. his bulging muscles rub against you and you let off a playful little whine. âtooooji, you need sleep. come back to bed.â
âprincessss,â he plays along with a fake pout, his entire hands covered with piles and piles of doughy flour mix. âbut âm makinâ breakfast for us two,â and with a brief notion of turning the fire down a bit, he utters last minute. âerâ three.â and you smile at him not forgetting to include your unborn child.
toji never cooks, itâs always been just you.
itâs not like he was incapable or anything. heâs always found a liking to watching you cook though.
you always prepared him the best of meals, so good that it had his mouth watering, licking the tips of his tongue in sweet sweet relish.
right before youâd got pregnant, youâd pack him the most divine lunches for work, always with such loving care. youâd never forget to leave him a little adoring note or two, wishing him the best of shifts. so the moment you ended up getting knocked up, he wanted to try.
try to do better,
for you.
sacrificing his sleep wasnât really an issueâhe didnât mind if it wasnât for you and his unborn baby. and if toji had to learn how to cook simple meals, heâd do that.. despite the struggle it was.
giggling, you stretch your arms over his torso.
âtoji . . making pancakes is easy,â you hum, and his muscles relaxes from your gentle touch.
heâs missed you dearly, even though he was only out of bed for at least a good hour now. hearing him swear vulgar curses underneath his breath at messing up the instructions was quite near adorable. peering at the mess in front of you, you take the cerulean blue mixing bowl from him. âyou couldâve woke me up if you needed help, you know.â
âi know,â he grumbles, his voice softening a bit.
you pauseâtojiâs body language seems a bit different. it shifts. he looks a bit ashamed.
once toji turns off the stove, he deeply sighs. âi just wanted âta learn how to cook for usâ you know, like as a family. so when the babyâs here, iâll uh- be prepared. donât want ya to be doinâ everything, darlinâ. yâer gonna be limited to do lots of stuff soon ân i jusâ wanna help out a bit more.â
with a smile, you stroke a thumb against your husbandâs chin, right near his little scar. âawww,â and thereâs an immediate embarrassed scowl stretching against his thin lips.
toji wanting to try more for you made your heart swarm up with a variety schools of butterflies. it flutters and flaps as he spoke. speaking in a soft tone, a thumb swipes a few remnants of flour near the crevices of his lip. âyouâre sweet, toji. but i donât want you stressing out over cooking. âs okay, besidessss we can always do it together.â
âeh,â his eye twitches at your smug growing grin. âthatâs⊠not what i meant, mama.â
âdonât eh me. yeah it is, you want me to teach you how to cook like me,â you simper, planting a kiss against the back of his arm. âyou wanna learn how to be a househusband?â
toji groans, turning to face you. verdant eyes leer at you for a long timeâbut he could never stay too vexed at you, you were so adorable, especially whenever you were this enthusiastic.
âthatâs not the term iâd use for myself, but i guess,â and he wipes a few pounds of flour off his apron. âdonât worry âbout the mess. iâll clean that up too.â
âi like this new toji.â you tease, leaning up close to press a wet kiss against his temple.
toji buries his hands in his pockets, staring off to the side and trying to ignore the incoming flush setting against his skin.
oh, you had him weak,
weak everywhereâweak in the knees.
he was feeling himself getting soft as the seconds pass. toji couldnât lie, he was starting to like this new side of his too. heâd never in a million years admit it though. âbaby please,â he grunts, switching the sink on to wash his hands. as the water screams out of the faucet, he lathers everywhere with soap before grumbling. âbeen watchinâ so many of those damn mom vlogs of cooking. was so annoying, wanted to pull my hair out.â
âyou could have just asked me for help, silly,â and your arms securely wrap around his beefy body once more. tojiâs frame was a lot more broad and built compared to you. he sucks his teeth, leaning into your touch before staring at the kitchen counter. âokay, good. you have all the ingredients . . eggs, flour, milk, umm sugar..â
and as your words continue and you observe his unkempt handiwork, toji clears his throat. âi gave up once the things kept stickinâ to the skillet.â
you let off a pretty laugh that makes his ears twitch. âwelllll thatâs probably because you didnât add enough oil or butter to the pan,â and he watches as you grab a nearby stick of butter. you cut near the end part it with a butter knife before spreading it on the middle of the pan.
toji cutely stays quiet, staring intently and taking in everything youâre doing. heâs attentive, he doesnât wanna miss anything because heâd soon be doing this for you and his soon-to-be baby.
after a few long seconds, you turn on the stove and it starts to sizzle again. âokay, so you mixed the batter, thatâs good. now all you have to do is just pour a good amount into the pan and flip it once itâs a brownish color.â
âehhhh.â
âtoji, you wanted to cook so youâre gonna cook.â
âyes maâam.â he sighs, his tone playful.
some minutes pass before you both finally finish making a fresh, scrumptious batch of pancakes. with your arms wrapped around him, you showed him all the steps slowly. you were patient with toji, helping him pour the batter and mix it. every time he messes up, youâd kiss the edge of his arm, reminding him that he can just try again. he calms down after a while, and you step away to watch him make a pancake of his own. he flips it over, and he has a sly grinâglancing back toward you, hoping you caught that. you did, giving him an encouraging smile before showering him with praise.
it was almost four am and toji was desperately trying to stay awakeâyou could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open with how heâs swaying a bit. turning off the stove for the nth time, you set the steaming hot spatula aside before looking in tojiâs direction. âwe can always eat them when we wake up.â
âwe?â he grumbles, combing a hand through his messy strands, giving it a solid scratch.
âyes, we,â and you wrap the heated pancakes with plastic wrap, tucking the undersides of the plate with the material before putting it in the microwave to preserve heat. you then grab onto tojiâs hand. âweâre going back to bed.â
with a sigh, he knew he wasnât gonna win this little spat. toji squeezes your hand back, yet before the two of you could go back into bed, he bends down.
raising your brow, toji gets on his knees before bringing a chaste kiss toward your tummy. âhey little one,â he whispers, rubbing a palm gingerly against the front of your stomach. dark, tired eyes meet yours and he bedaubs a thumb near your the print of your navel poking through your his oversized t-shirt. the cold, frigid texture of tojiâs fingertips almost tickles. as he softly runs a finger down the center of your growing belly bump, a bit of flour gets against your clothes. âhow are my girls? any cramps or pain i should know about?
girls,
the gender was still too early to determine but toji always pondered about how it might be a girl.
ân- no,â you breathe, moving a few raven strands of hair out of his face. everything felt different, it was as if you were walking with volumes of water stored within you. tojiâs always been supportive during your pregnancy, he was trying. he stands up again before kissing the crown of your head. âyou still think âs a girl?â
âkinda, yeah,â he utters, and a strong arm slings around your shoulders.
toji guides you to bed, not minding your cute slow waddle of a walk. âup we go, câmon,â and he helps you up the steps, lowly chuckling into your neck at your adorable state. toji was always patient, the moment you finally reach the bed, he pulls down the fat cover so you could climb in. ââŠ. thank you baby.â
âfor what?â you slump against the cushioned sheets, slipping off your baby blue socks. toji crawls in beside you, leaning in to switch off the lamp. he still had a bit of flour on his faceâand he spots you swiping some of it off with your thumb.
toji groans, acting as if the next incoming sentence was gonna kill him.
âfor . . teachinâ me how âta be a good househusband,â he pouts, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. âi love you.â
âi love you too toji.â
âi love ya more,â and he lowers his neck to kiss the middle of your stomach. âoh, ân papa loves you also, little one. love my girls so much.â
#â
vegasbaby.#toji x reader#toji x you#toji fushiguro x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji x y/n#toji fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x you
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Milk and Sugar
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isnât anyone specific donât @ me
Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesnât actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.
Word Count: 9.6k
Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldnât write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao
You were just doing a favor for a friend.
Or thatâs what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadnât even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and thatâs what friends are for, right?
So thatâs how youâd ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.
Youâd met Max a few years back. Youâd moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.
âApollo! Stop!â You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didnât listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.
The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.
Once youâve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see whoâd saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. Youâre met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.
Youâre too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.
âAre you okay?â And then he speaks for the first time and youâre captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.
You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, âYeah, yeah, Iâm fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.â
The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, âIâm more of a cat person, anyway.â
You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, âAhh, guess we canât be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.â
He laughs again, grinning warmly, âAny way I could help you with this? Canât imagine itâs easy moving in with a dog running around.â
Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, âOnly if youâre free! I wouldnât want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.â
Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, âItâs no big deal, Iâm surprisingly free today.â
You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.
âUsually I learn a manâs name before I invite him into my apartment,â you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.
âIâm Max.â
You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.
âItâs nice to meet you max,â you say, smiling as you see Maxâs face light up happily, âHow inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?â
Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, âIâd love to help, y/n. Canât have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?â
Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldnât try and run away before closing the door behind you.
Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that itâd be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didnât bring up the fact heâd been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.
That had been three years ago and youâd been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.
Heâd had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, youâd casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.
Heâd also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldnât watch them if they hated each other.
All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.
It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.
You were very content.
This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. Youâd given him a key for emergencies, although you couldnât possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.
You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.
âHello, Max. Can I help you?â You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.
âBad time?â
You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, âMaybe a little, but itâs fine, really. Did you need something?â
Max nods, sitting up straighter, âI may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.â
You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, âOkay?â
He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, âYou know how I just went through that breakup, right?â
You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.
âWell,â Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, âItâs been weird on the grid since then.â
âOkay,â you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.
âEver since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like Iâm a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though Iâm completely fine!â
You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasnât very fine for a while, although heâd miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes heâd soon get to the point of the conversation.
âThey also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,â Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.
Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, âI was wondering if you could, maybe..â
Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.
âSorry?â
Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.
âCould you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?â Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, âJust long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you donât even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-â
Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before heâs cut off by you interrupting him.
âMax!â You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since heâs crashed through your front door, âIâll do it.â
He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, âReally?â
You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, âWhy not? Youâre my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesnât want to travel around the world to all those different cities?â
Maxâs face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, âThank you so much! I owe you one.â
You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.
âWhere are you going? Did I scare you off already?â You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didnât really think heâd scared you off.
He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.
Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.
What had you gotten yourself into?
ââââ
âAre you ready?â
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Maxâs car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping theyâd hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.
You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, âYeah, Iâm good.â
Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering heâs the one whoâd asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.
You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.
The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish youâd opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, youâd always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. Youâd also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.
As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You donât even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.
You finally do notice that Max hasnât let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.
As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel peopleâs eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.
Youâre sure youâll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Maxâs hotel room the next day. Youâre sure your mom will send you whatever article theyâll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity âboyfriendâ.
Youâd been curled up in Maxâs hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. Heâd wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you werenât entirely sure you were ready to step out as âMax Verstappens new girlfriendâ until youâd woken up Sunday morning.
Youâd woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Maxâs soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.
You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, youâd immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasnât the only reason.
You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.
You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.
You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
You werenât entirely sure why youâd agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadnât. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.
The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You donât glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.
âThere was only those little creamer pods,â Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, âHope thatâs okay.â
You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, âThatâs fine, thanks.â
Youâd usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but youâd had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that youâd be able to survive with just the creamer pods.
You watch Maxâs side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You donât quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.
You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.
âYou coming to the race today?â Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail heâd just been looking out over.
Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times heâd dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days heâd come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when heâd attempted to cook you soup when youâd been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day youâd met when heâd helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.
As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why youâd agreed to do this in the first place.
âYeah, I am,â you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.
ââââ
That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Maxâs car passes the finish line in second. Youâd been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You werenât the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. Youâd even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.
Because of Maxâs insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what itâs worth, didnât seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, youâd only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.
Max doesnât get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know heâs talking out of his ass but youâre grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.
âLandos gonna have a big celebration,â Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, âHeâll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.â
You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, âGood for him, seems like he really deserves it.â
Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, âYeah, Iâm not even that mad about losing. Nothing I couldâve done really. Im just glad he got his win.â
You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, âYou should go to his party, Iâll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.â
You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, âWhat are you talking about?â
You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, âYou should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!â
He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, âWhy would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? Iâd rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, youâll be there to see me win.â
Youâre already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, âThat okay?â
At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You donât notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.
âIâm gonna shower and then we can leave,â he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.
You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Maxâs shirtless back etched into your mind.
Jesus Christ.
ââââ
âWhat do you wanna watch?â Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.
You shrug, âI donât know.â
Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, âCome get some food.â
He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasnât currently sitting on.
Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You donât notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.
Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. Heâs wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. Heâs also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you canât understand.
You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.
You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.
âWhat?â Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, âWhatâs so funny?â
Your head turns toward the driver whoâs grin is now matching your own, âYou chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words âGrand Prixâ canât even get away from racing in your hotel room.â
He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, âItâs a good movie.â
You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamiltonâs voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.
You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Maxâs face, youâre right back into it again, Max laughing in response.
You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you donât move from your spot, using the reasoning that itâs just easier to see the screen from his bed.
You try not to notice the proximity between you. Youâd been holding hands all day and youâd pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldnât bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Maxâs arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.
He doesnât move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that youâd know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesnât notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.
You wake up before him again the next morning, donât the same thing youâd done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.
When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact youâd woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.
ââââ
The SĂŁo Paulo Grand Prix.
It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. Thatâs right, youâd managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. Thereâs been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.
The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.
He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, youâd end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. Youâd also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.
Heâd eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.
This specific morning, you were watching the city of SĂŁo Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadnât completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it shouldâve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing youâd worn something other than a t-shirt.
The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as itâs placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.
After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Maxâs Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but heâs still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.
You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.
The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you donât really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.
Once youâve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.
You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that youâd missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.
You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man whoâd handed you the drink, âIs this milk and sugar?â
Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, âYeah, thatâs how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.â
You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, âWhereâd you get milk and sugar?â
âCouldnât sleep last night, went for a walk. Thereâs a corner store down the block and I picked some up,â Max says it casually, like itâs not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.
You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.
As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what youâd been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.
You were in love with Max Verstappen.
You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didnât just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches youâd flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.
You wanted this life with him. All the time.
âMax-â you start but youâre quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.
âMy ex is going to be at this race,â he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, âJust wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.â
You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Maxâs ex rolling around aimlessly.
You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you donât even look up as you rush into the bathroom, âIâm taking a shower.â
âOkay?â Max says as you close the door behind you. You donât notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.
Youâre too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee heâd handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.
For a moment there, youâd thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didnât want you to come back around the next weekend.
Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one heâd loved, you were just a girl he knew.
You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where youâd been anxiously picking at them.
You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.
ââââ
A few hours later, youâre by Maxâs side again, although thereâs a slightly larger distance between you than usual.
That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.
But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.
Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your⊠situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.
At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.
So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.
Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.
Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.
You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.
The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.
The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.
As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.
But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.
You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people youâd gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.
When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.
It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.
He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.
You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, âGood job, you did amazing Max.â
His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, âThank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.â
You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.
He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.
But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.
Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.
Throughout all of that, youâd almost forgotten you were in love with him.
But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.
âIâll see you in a minute, yeah?â
You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.
Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, âLetâs get to the podium, kid.â
You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.
The podium celebration is cute, Maxâs happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.
But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.
You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.
As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.
It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Maxâs voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.
And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Maxâs ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.
He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.
You roll your eyes when you catch Maxâs eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, âHey, baby.â
Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, âHey, Max.â
You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, âOh my god, hi! You must be Maxâs ex!â
She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, âYeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.â
You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, âI am, yeah. He's just so perfect. Weâre so happy together!â
She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.
âWell, Iâm happy you moved on, Max,â She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, âYou seem⊠perfect together.â
Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, âYeah, Iâm really happy.â
His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, âHave a great life, Max!â
âThanks, I guess!â Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.
âThank you!â Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, âDid you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.â
You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, âYeah, you're welcome.â
You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.
âYou okay?â He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.
âYeah,â you nod curtly, looking back ahead, âYeah, I'm fine.â
He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.
He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.
While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.
And with the departure of Maxâs ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Maxâs life and give him the solitude he so longed for.
The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.
When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.
He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.
You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.
You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.
"What is your problem?" You hear Maxâs voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.
"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.
Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."
"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.
You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.
Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.
He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.
"It doesn't matter, Max.â
"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.
"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.
Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"
Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"
He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"
"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.
Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.
How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?
"What?" Maxâs voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.
"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,â Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.
"What are you talking about?" At Maxâs purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.
His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence youâd had at the start of your outburst.
The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.
"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,â you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.
You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.
But he doesn't.
His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.
"I do, though. I do need you."
You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.
He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.
His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.
As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.
Maxâs hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.
âI love you,â the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, âI'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.â
You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.
âI only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,â he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, âBut I'm kind of glad I did.â
You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.
But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."
You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.
And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."
Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.
Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Maxâs eyes, a special glint shining through.
You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.
âI love you too, by the way,â He says softly, âDont know if you noticed.â
You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, âI assumed so, yeah.â
You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, âShut up.â
And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.
The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.
You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.
Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you donât even have to look to know itâs Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.
You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesnât walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.
You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.
Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.
ââââââ
Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej
#scheduled#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#formula 1#max verstappen x fem!reader#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen x reader
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Labyrinth â„ Aemond Targaryen
Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laenaâs oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemondâs injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isnât my first language<3 itâs very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.
Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)
a/n: Iâve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when itâs from the manâs pov, and thereâre so little fics that get into the depths of Aemondâs pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! Iâve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3đ©·
A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideasđđ«âš
âWhere is duty? Where is sacrifice?â
Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyraâs forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.
He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friendâs eyes.
You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?
He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.
No, you left him, he hasnât done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.
The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaenaâs hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.Â
Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your motherâs funeral.
âWhat do you want?â he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.
âI-I wanted to ask how you were doingâŠâ
âAfter leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?â He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.
âI-I donât have any excuses, but Aemond, pleaseââ âNo, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!â âI know you are upset with me, and Iâm so sorry for what happened to you, but please let meââ âNo!â he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.
âAemondâŠâ the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesnât spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagarâs saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.
You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.
Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
Jacaerysâ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crownâs money. He canât blame them though, theyâre desperate to get on the lordsâ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.
Unnecessary, stupidâŠÂ
Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that theyâre arriving today, and heâs aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.
With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.
He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.
He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.
As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.Â
It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.
He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.
He can do it, he has done it countless times.
Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his motherâs servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.
He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.
He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.
There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.
Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.
He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but itâs never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.
He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.
He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, itâs not enough, itâll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to womenâs attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms â a reminder of how he has become the man he is.
He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.
He has told everyone that there shouldnât be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.
He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he canât care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room â and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.
âSer,â Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a âgood morning, my princeâ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.
The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princessâ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isnât enough torment from them.
He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realmâs delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegonâs arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes â how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.
âGood morrow, Mother,â he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, âyou look radiant this morning.â
âHush you, sweet talker,â she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, âhave you heard about the Velaryonsâ arrival?â
âLord Corlys is coming as well?â he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicentâs elbows, âI did not knowâŠâ âNeither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemonâs eldest will.â
âDriving on dragonback, obviously,â he mutters, sighing shakily.Â
Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, âDo not project your anger on her, she was but a child.â
âYet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,â he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.
âGive your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,â Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.
Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they arenât going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.Â
âYour grace,â Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.
âPrincess,â Alicent smiles, âwelcome back to your home,â she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.
âAegonâŠâ
Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemonâs who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemondâs gaze doesnât waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.
He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.
âHe is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,â Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.
Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He canât shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.
The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasnât for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.
Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesnât let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. Itâd be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.
âHow are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?â Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasnât meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegonâs constant teasing of Rhaenyraâs family coming back to Red Keep. Â
âWell enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,â Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.
âCanât do that! Itâd be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.â Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemondâs sneer.
âAs much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you canât give them more reasons to resent us,â Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, âbesides, they are here anyway.â he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.
Aemondâs heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your motherâs house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring wayâŠÂ
Aemondâs eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.
His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.
He doesnât move from his spot, he canât move even if he wants to; heâs struck between shock and something he canât pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes itâs a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.
The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesnât need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.Â
You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who⊠suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.
âMy lady,â he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.
âMy prince, itâs so good to see you again,â you grin at him, âI hope you are doing well.â
âAs well as a half-blinded man can do,â averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasnât left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; itâs been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.
âDarling,â Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.
He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sisterâs lips while she tightens her grip on her husbandâs arm.
âWe have missed you, the girls, and I,â Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, âyou did not visit us at Dragonstone.â âI donât like it there, the castle unnerves me,â You reply softly, âI rather enjoy the silence of grandsireâs castle.â âYou are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestorâs sit,â Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.
âIâm a Velaryon just as much as Iâm a Targaryen, but âtis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, donât you think, princess?â you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sisterâs words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Motherâs side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.
âI would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but Iâm afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,â you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.
Aemond doesnât spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.
âYou have grown, Aemond,â you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, âno longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.â
âYes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,â he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, âDid I jest about something Iâm not aware of?â
âNo, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Motherâs funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope youâre still the sweet prince who helped me study.â your lips twist into a small smile.
You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Motherâs soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.
Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.
âI apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,â
âIâm reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.â his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.
âI look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.â âPerhaps we can,â he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown â the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that â is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.
He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air â he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.
Weak, he thinks to himself, heâs weak.
He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.
Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; itâs not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself â an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.
Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the kingâs solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.
âAemond!â You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.
âMy lady,â he bows his head politely, âHow come you are late for such an interesting gathering?â
You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, âI was spending some time with Helaenaâs children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!â
âIndeed they are,â he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, âwhat are you doing, My Lady?â
âI did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,â âThere is nothing to forgive,â he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til Kingâs solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.Â
Thereâs an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he canât understand it â it can be his heart since itâs beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He canât even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels⊠right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, itâs all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.
Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.
The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their motherâs side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.
He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years youâve been Lord Corlysâ ward in Driftmark.
âYouâre staring,â Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesnât look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.
âI am merely observing,â he replies, but knows his brother is right. Itâs only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.
âWhatever makes you happy,â Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.
He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one whoâd sit beside him, but when he sees itâs you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.
You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.
Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncleâs cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.Â
He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.
Tonight, Aemond doesnât look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.
You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue thatâs cast on your irises softly.
He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.
You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, âIs there something funny, Prince Lucerys?â your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.Â
Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.
âI was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,â he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.
Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he canât â not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.
Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; thereâs no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Lukeâs blushing face.
âYour words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how itâs been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,â you say, âI find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.â
âI-I apologize, good sister, I wasnâtâŠâ
âIt is not me who you should apologize to, itâs Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.â You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.
No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps youâre just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.
âI apologize, uncle,âÂ
Aemondâs stare is blank as he looks at Luke whoâs chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.
âLet us put our differences aside, and become a family again,â the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.Â
The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemondâs surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, heâd rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.
His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply canât though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.
âAemondâŠ?â you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.
âYes, My Lady?â
âAre you alright? You look quite flushed,â You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.
âYes, yes, I might have had too much wine,â he doesnât know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, itâs him who needs to be convinced that itâs the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.
âOh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,â
âWhy would I be?â he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his⊠enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.
âThen Iâd be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.â
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.
Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.
With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jaceâs nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.
Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.
That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemondâs arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.
He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.
He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.
You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.
He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.Â
âI have never heard you laugh so freely before,â you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.
âI donât remember having a reason to do so,â he replies, smiling up at you.
âIâm glad that Iâm able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.â leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.
He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?Â
He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.
He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and wonât stop until you are satisfied.
You donât let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesnât realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.
âYou promised you would make a sandcastle for me!â you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.
âI did not,â he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.
âFine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!â
He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, âAlright, I will make one for you.â
It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadnât thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him â and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.
And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.
Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.
You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.
Aemond doesnât dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.
âOpen your eye, My Prince,â you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.
He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.
âDonât think about anything, just⊠just focus on me.âÂ
He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.
You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.
The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemondâs broken heart.
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jaceâs birthday arrives. He is in his motherâs solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you werenât Daemonâs daughter.
âMotherââ
âYou should dance with her tonight, my darling!â Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, âI have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.â
Aemondâs heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, âDonât let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.â
âThey would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,â he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.
âI have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.â
âHow can I choose my happiness over her life?!â he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.
A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queenâs room.
âOh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.â
Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.
âYou look so beautiful, my darling,â Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.
âThank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,â you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, âyou said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?â
âEnchanting,â he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, âYou look breathtaking, My Lady.â
âSo do you, My Prince.â
âShall we then?â he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.
âYou said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,â you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.
âI am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,â he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.
âIs everything alright, Aemond?â you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. âYes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.â
âDoes that mean you will dance with me?â you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.
âWe shall see,â he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.
You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemondâs tunic.
A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemondâs face as he watches you get flustered at your sisterâs attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.
He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.
He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.Â
He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isnât who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.
He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.
âStop glaring and do something!â Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, âI donât like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.â âI thought you liked your stepmother,â Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.
âItâs Rhaenyraâs schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.â Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.
He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain canât start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.
He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks heâs not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another manâs arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.
Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. âMy Prince Aemond,â you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.
 He doesnât wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someoneâs shoe on his blindside.
âLady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.â
âWhy thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,â you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.
âYou are playing with fire, darling.â he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.
âIâm a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,â
âIs that so? Well, I must sayââ
He doesnât know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he canât see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isnât in his hand anymore.
âAemond!â you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.
What have I done?
What have I done?
I dropped her.
I did this.
What happened?
His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.
âAemond, lookââ
He canât look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.
Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldnât have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.Â
With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.Â
His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He canât breathe, no, he doesnât deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?Â
He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.
âYou are dismissed!â he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, âAh!â He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if itâs burning his skin.
The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees donât have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasnât in pain⊠if only his eye wasnât cut outâŠ
Aemond doesnât hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.Â
âAemond, please let meââ âNo, no, no, noâŠâ he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.
You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.
âItâs going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,â You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.
âGently, my love, gently,â you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.
âStay, please,â he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.
âI will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and Iâll be back in bed with you.â You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.
He canât see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke wonât get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesnât bother him anymore before you come to bed again.
You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.
Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.
âMy love, you need to help me pull the gem out,â you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.
âNo, it is an unbecoming sightââ
âNothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,â you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, âthe skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.â
He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he canât help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain⊠that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.
âAlrightâŠâ he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. âShouldnât we use something moreââ âTake it out, take it outâI donât care how!â
You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.
He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
He is running.
Where is he? Why is he running?
He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.
The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.
Whatâs this smell?
He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.
He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesnât expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.
âDarling, are you alright?â
âDonât- donât come closer,â you say, taking a step away from him.
âI donât understand, whyââ âYou did this to me!â screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.
âI was not hereââ
âYou did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!â
âAemond!â
âAemond!â...
He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.
âYou should leave,â his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.
âAemondââ âI will only hurt you, why donât you understand?!â he asks, raising his voice a little.Â
He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he canât cope if he ever hurts you again.
âYou have not hurt me, you wonât hurt me.â âI killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I wonât fucking hurt you? I have already done it.â He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.
âItâs not your fault, I should have been more careful. I wonât let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.â you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.
âDonât push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.â
He doesnât reply, but his arms tighten around you.
He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.
âSleep, Iâll be here when you wake up.â
âąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâąâą
He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.
âItâs very rude to stare,â he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.
âNot when he is my lover,â you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, âyou look like a fairy when you sleep.â
âNo one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?â He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.
âYou are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!â
He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?
âYou are staring,â he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasnât even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.
âCan you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.â
âWhat happened to the insecure boy I held last night?â You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.
âItâs still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,â his palms rest on your thighs.
âI need you,â it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.
âI love you, darling,â he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.
His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.
âI-I have already lost my maidenhandâŠâ
âI donât care, I have you now,â
He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.
He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.
He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.
âA-Aemond, please, need you closer,â
He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.
His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.
You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.
âCan I move?â He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.
You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.
The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.
You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.Â
He watches your face twist in pleasure â the pleasure he is giving you â and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.
He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.
âThey would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.â You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust â he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.
âMust you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.â
âYou should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,â you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed âand you shall do it with the braids I do for you,â
âYou are impossible,â he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.
âCome, sit!â You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.
He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesnât disgust him, it doesnât scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels⊠beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.
âDo you wish to know what I see when I look at you?â You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.
âI see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.â
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#prince aemond#aemond x reader#rue:smut#rue:angst#rue:fluff
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A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read
I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.
But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.
The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.
Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?
So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)
The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.
I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.
Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.
Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."
âïž Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.
Contrast that to:
I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!
â Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.
Reframing
The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:
I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.
âïž Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.
This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.
I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.
â Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.
Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:
I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.
â Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.
Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was đ„đ„đ„
âïž "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."
thank u, next
The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones đ," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.
Let's do some examples:
This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.
â There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.
You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].
â "You should get me a new phone, too."
I want a sequel. đ
â "Thank you, next!"
You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.
I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.
âïž Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.
You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.
#fandom#fanfiction#commenting#fanfiction etiquette#emily post please help me express my feelings about this yaoi
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fall right into me
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but itâs (say it with me) for the plot!!!
a/n: i know itâs been a LONG time since iâve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope itâs at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)
đđ
Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steveâs.
He picks up on the third ring. âHello?â
âHey, Steve.â
âHi,â you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, âwhatâs going on?â
Youâre not quite sure where to start.
Coming home from work earlier, youâd been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.
The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartmentâone in the basement of a sweet, older coupleâs house who just never used the space and converted itâthe carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.
You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.
You donât know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.
Unfortunately, it wasnât.
The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. Theyâd both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasnât their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle âweâll take care of it, sweetie.â
You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.
Itâs an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasnât so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?
Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.
Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, youâre on the phone with the one person youâd known would pick up.
You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, âShit.â
âYeah, shit,â you agree. âAnd now Iâm gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I donât know how Iâm gonna go back into that house, Steve.â
If youâre being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose thatâs one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.
âJust come live with me, instead,â he offers without hesitation.
Steve says it like itâs obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since youâve slept over at the Harringtonâs house countless times before. Only, this is different because youâd be staying for a while, because youâd be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.
Heâs been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and youâre one hundred percent sure youâd offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesnât make it any easier for you to accept, not when youâre already frazzled from the events of the day.
âNo, Steve, Iâm sorry Iâm just being dramatic,â you say, twisting the phoneâs cord around your finger. âIâll be fine, really. Itâs just a month, or so, and I donât wanna be in your way or-â
âWhen have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?â The pet name heâs called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. âBesides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents wonât be around to care, either.â
âI canât ask you to let me move in, Steve.â
âWell then, itâs a good thing youâre not asking. Iâm offering. Itâll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. Itâs perfect!â
Thereâs a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory heâs talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.
You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he canât be bothered to hold himself up, like thereâs constantly a weight on him.
âAre you sure about this, Steve? Itâs really okay if youâre not. I swear Iâll be fine.â
âAs if Iâm letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parentâs house. Youâre staying with me, alright?â His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that heâs being honest, that he means it. âWeâll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, âkay?â
âYou can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.â
âDon't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,â he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. âSo, youâre living with me, yeah?â
You donât think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.
âYeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.â
âNone of that. I know youâd do the same.â
Thereâs something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where youâve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. Thereâs no questioning whether or not youâd be there for each other if you were in need.
Itâs known, felt. Like a fact.
âNow,â he continues, âIâll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.â
âOkay.â
âYou need me to bring boxes for your stuff?â
âIâm not sure how much is worth keeping. Itâs pretty ugly in there.â
Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. Youâll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you donât have money for right now.
But, you havenât let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.
âIâll bring some anyway, then. Weâll figure it out, angel, donât worry.â
âThanks again, Steve. See you soon.â
âTen minutes,â he assures you, then the line clicks.
-
True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isnât surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.
Youâre sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steveâs BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.
His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, âYou okay?â
The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that youâve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, âGuess so,â you nod. âMaybe ask me again after all of this?â
Steveâs arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. âIâve got you. Weâll get through this, angel.â
Weâll, he says. A team.
You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.
âI hope you didnât wear your good shoes for this,â you say.
Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, âShoes can be replaced.â
He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though youâd seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think itâll just make it all more real.
He mouths the word âfuckâ while you arenât looking, then claps his hands once. âOkay, letâs figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?â
Youâre grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. âMaybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.â
ââKay. Iâll just go grab some boxes from my car,â Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. âIâll be right back.â
You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.
Youâre opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.
Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that heâs there, youâre glad for it.
Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least itâs only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.
Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that itâd be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save whatâs there.
Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroomâs doorway to look at you and make sure youâre doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.
Youâre not sure how youâd be managing this if you were alone, and youâre thankful that you donât have to.
The next time he checks on you, youâre by your nightstand.
Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the pictureâs stained with water and the frame youâd decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.
Where yours and Steveâs handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the markerâs colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.
Before you can stop yourself, youâre tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture thatâs sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.
âHey, angel?â Steve calls.
When all you do is sniffle and mumble an âmhm?â in response, he sets the box heâd been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.
âIt was my favorite one,â you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.
Although itâs soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where youâve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and youâre both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.
Steveâs clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and youâve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.
It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.
Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.
âWe can fix it,â he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.
âBut the frame-â
âWeâll fix it, angel. Iâll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.â
âSteve-â
âLook at me,â he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. âThis fucking sucks, I know it does, but youâre strong and Iâm here, and we can handle this.â
His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what heâs saying, and he really believes in you.
âThank you for being here.ïżœïżœïżœ You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. âIâm sorry for crying. I know itâs kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, itâs just-â
âItâs not stupid,â he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. âYouâre allowed to cry. Hell, Iâd probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.â
You laugh wetly into his shirt.
âNow,â he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, âthe quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. Iâll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.â
A smile tugs at your mouth. âDeal.â
-
Steve wouldnât let you do much of the work after that.
Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where youâd been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a âyes,â or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a âno.â
Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steveâs carâwhich wasnât a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.
Youâd refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.
By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like youâd lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.
Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when itâs time to fill the silence and when it isnât, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.
He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were no stranger to the Harringtonâs house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing youâll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.
Steve, however, doesnât let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. âHoney, weâre home!â
âDork,â you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.
Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.
The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesnât even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.
It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide youâll deal with them later.
Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that youâd left there, and hands them to you. âI figured youâd wanna wash up.â
âYou calling me smelly, Harrington?â
âShut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.â
âHey!â
âIâm teasing, angel.â He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. âYou know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?â
You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.
Itâs funny, youâve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasnât said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when youâre in it. Thereâs a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when itâs not around.
You nod, âThank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I wonât be in the way, promise.â
âI want you in the way. You know youâre always welcome. This is no different.â He shrugs, âPlus, itâll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when itâs just me.â
âMaybe Iâll just stay forever, then,â you say, tone light and joking.
Steve, completely serious, says, âIâd let you.â
Thereâs a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something youâve never feltâor noticed, ratherâaround him. It throws you off just a little.
âAnyways,â Steve cuts your thoughts short, âIâll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when youâre done.â
He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.
Youâve been to his house a million times, so you donât really feel the need to âget settledâ but you desperately need a shower so thatâs where you go.
You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.
When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steveâs sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.
Itâs the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.
-
Youâve been staying at Steveâs for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when youâre there, especially when youâre around him.
Heâs taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. Youâve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where youâd done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.
Itâs been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.
This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, heâd even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasnât out of his way at all.
After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.
Eventually, youâd taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.
You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.
Though you havenât worked together in years, and he isnât far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where youâre simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.
If Steve were with you, heâd make stupid jokes that you donât wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever youâre cleaning.
Heâd probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.
You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.
Thatâs it.
Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isnât feeling too different from you.
Heâs spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever heâd come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robinâs been manning the desk.
Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.
Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (youâd told him he could tell her, because sheâs your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how youâd ended up staying with him in his house.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isnât very good at hiding things.
âWhat?â Steve asks.
âNothing.â When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, âWell⊠are you sure thatâs a good idea?â
Now, Robin is one of Steveâs closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesnât want to see anyone hurt.
She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, itâs clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesnât even know it.
When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldnât be filled by anyone else.
He would say itâs that of âbest friendâ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks heâs an absolute dingus, sheâs trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.
Clearly, itâs taking fucking forever.
He looks confused at her question, âWhy wouldnât it be a good idea?â
Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, âYou know what they say: become friends with your roommates, donât become roommates with your friends.â
âWhoever they are, theyâre dumb as shit,â Steve says. âSheâs been over, slept over, hundreds of times. Itâs not any different, just longer.â
âI guess so,â she settles on. âThe rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.â
âThatâs because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.â
âHow would you know? Itâs not like youâve ever tried following them.â
ââCause Iâm a rule breaker, Robs.â
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair heâs sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.
âDonât think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.â
-
That night, your routine was pretty much the same.
Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.
Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. Theyâd met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.
Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.
After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldnât even remember already), theyâd assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.
You probably wouldâve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, youâd squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.
Steveâs hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.
He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they wouldâve found a way to blame you for it.
You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didnât know exactly what it felt like beforehand.
After giving the couple Steveâs phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.
Home, you call it. Like itâs yours.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, youâre back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie heâs brought back this time.
âGremlins?â You ask, smiling and shaking your head.
âHell yeah, angel. Itâs a classic.â
Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing âplayâ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.
âSo, how was work?â Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. Itâs why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.
âWeekdays are so boring, Steve,â you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. âYouâre so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.â
âRobin is a pain in my ass.â He says. He doesnât really mean it, because even when she is, heâs glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. âShe kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. Thereâs probably a dent in the desk.â
âThatâs because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.â
âWhat the fuck!â Steveâs smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. âYouâre supposed to be on my side.â
Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. Itâs contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.
Shrugging, you say, âI donât know, Iâd wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.â
âYouâd spin me too much. Iâd get sick all over you and then nobodyâs happy.â
âDonât talk about barf while Iâm eating, Harrington.â
You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesnât even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
When the bowlâs empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.
Itâs a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes youâre asleep. Youâd been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.
That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.
He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldnât be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.
Steve, though he doesnât let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.
Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.
âHey, angel,â he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. âCâmon, letâs get you to bed.â
Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. âHmm?â
âYou fell asleep.â
âOh, sorry,â you mumble.
Steve laughs softly. âDonât be sorry, I just didnât want you to be uncomfortable.â
The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.
You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steveâs being. As if you havenât fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.
Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small âCareful.â
He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to whatâs become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.
Tomorrow, youâll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you donât feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.
Youâre practically asleep again by the time youâre settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.
Youâre just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft âGoodnight, angelâ against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
-
On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.
âWe should go shopping,â he says when you walk into the kitchen. Itâs a little later in the morning, having slept in since itâs a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.
You raise your eyebrows at him. âLike, groceries?â
âNo, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?â
You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that youâre looking.
You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. âYou literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.â
âThatâs what theyâre there for!â The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. âYou need new clothes,â he continues, âand I need to get out of this house.â
âWe can do something else, Steve,â you say. âI thought you hated shopping.â
âWell, I donât hate you.â Thereâs a pause, Steveâs eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didnât notice, because even heâs not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. âPlus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really canât stand for that, can I?â
âOhhh,â you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, âso you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?â
âExactly. Weâll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?â
So thatâs how youâd ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.
He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.
Youâre a couple of stores in, and Steveâs been complaint-free so farâwhich makes sense, since this was his idea, but youâve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know heâs got some remarks in his head he just hasnât said out loudâand follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you canât imagine that this is any fun for him.
âHow about that one?â Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the storeâs wall.
Heâd seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what youâd lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.
He knows you. He cares enough to know you.
âYeah, thatâs really pretty, actually,â you admit.
At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things heâd already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was âtoo hard to browse with your hands full.â
After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steveâs holding. âYou can wait out here, Iâll be quick.â
âHold on,â he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. âWhy do you think Iâm here, angel? I wanna help you pick.â
âSeriously?â
âYes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?â
âOh my God,â you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.
Theyâre hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.
âHi there,â an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know itâs a practiced one. Customer service smile. âHow many you got there, darling?â
âOh, um,â you turn back towards Steve, whoâs counting the hangers in his hand. âFive.â
âPerfect!â The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, âYour man can have a seat right here. We call them the âboyfriend benches.ââ
âHeâs not my-â
âThanks,â Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didnât want you to correct her.
Did he⊠like the idea of being your boyfriend?
Fuck. No. He just didnât want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. Thatâs all.
The redhead smiles again, âHoller if you need anything,â she says before walking off.
You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?
âCome on,â Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. âShow me what youâve got.â
âI can't believe youâre making me do this,â you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.
You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that itâs not scratchy on your skin. Then, thereâs just some basic t-shirts that arenât all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.
Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.
It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You donât always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you donât hate what you see.
You actually like it.
âWell?â Steve calls softly from the bench.
In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.
Steveâs seen you in plenty of dressesâhell, you went to prom togetherâbut for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe itâs simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way youâre smiling shyly as he looks you over.
Or, maybe itâs because heâs the one who picked it.
He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he canât take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isnât very big, so with both of you in it, youâre standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steveâs eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.
As if he canât help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.
âYou look beautiful,â he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadnât meant it to slip out that way. It sounded⊠more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. âI have great taste. Clearly.â
You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. âYeah. Donât let it get to your head.â You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steveâs arm. âSteve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?â
You probably shouldâve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, âI didnât know!â
âOkay, Iâm gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.â
âWeâre not stealing.â
âI know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and donât buy something. Trust me.â
You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.
Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.
Heâs just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.
âFor you,â he says, holding out the bag for you to take.
âSteveâŠâ You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. âYou didnât have to do that. I wouldâve been fine with something from the Gap.â
âI know that,â he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. Itâs a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. âI wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.â
Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you donât think youâve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.
You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. Theyâre so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesnât have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.
Heâs the sweetest boy youâve ever known.
âWell,â you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. âThank you, Steve. This is really nice.â
His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. âYouâre welcome, angel.â
You donât buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each otherâs baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.
Itâs the best day youâve had in a while.
-
You donât think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (âI donât even pay rent, and I live here all the time.â)
But, this morning, youâve decided youâre gonna try.
Steveâs favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. Heâd told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that heâd have the kitchen table to himself.
Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. Theyâd ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.
So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.
You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steveâs usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.
Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheelerâs and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. Sheâd directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.
By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, youâve already made the batter and set out the toppingsâberries, maple syrup, whipped creamâlike a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as youâre swearing at the waffle maker.
âStupid fucking thing,â you mutter, trying to open it.
Steve smiles to himself before saying, âMorning, angel.â
You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.
Steveâs still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And heâs shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. Heâs got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.
Youâve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.
The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.
You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. âIâm making breakfast. Coffeeâs already in the pot, too.â
He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread youâve prepared, âWaffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?â
âJust wanted to do something nice for you,â you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. âTo thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-â
âHow many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?â He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. âI like having you around.â
âSo you donât want the waffles then?â
âOh, I want the waffles. I just donât want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. Itâs not some debt youâll owe me, angel.â
âWant you to know I appreciate you is all,â you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.
Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, âI appreciate you, too.â
Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.
And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.
Your cheek still tingles from where heâd kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like heâs still remembering exactly how it felt, too.
You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steveâs got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and youâve got your berries on the side the way you always do.
Neither of you work until later in the day, and itâs nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be âcoolerâ in school (heâd told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). Youâd told him he was going soft with age.
You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says âif you have time to lean, you have time to cleanâ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each otherâs impressions of him.
What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.
You wonder what itâll be like when you have to leave. When youâre living alone again.
Logically, you know youâll still see Steve frequently, because heâs your favorite person and you canât remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, itâll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.
Youâll miss it, you think.
Trying not to dwell on something thatâs still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.
He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.
Then, he teases you, âThese are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.â
You kick his leg under the table. âThatâs a funny way of saying âthank you,â Harrington.â
He kicks you back, much gentler than youâd been. âThank you.â
âThatâs what I thought.â
When you look at him, thereâs an easy, boyish smile on his face.
A similar one stretches across your own lips.
-
Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he shouldâve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.
And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he canât lie and say that he isnât glad that youâve ended up sharing his space.
The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.
He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like itâs him. For everything youâve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever youâd cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.
Even when youâre not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until youâre fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.
He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasnât seen you cry since, or even bring it up, heâs decided he wants to fix it. Heâd told you he would.
Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steveâs room for his copy of that same picture.
When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, heâs glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasnât always all bad.
Steve probably shouldâve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (âDude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.â âI was four!â)
He hopes itâll be worth it.
Dustin was the one who found the picture theyâd been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steveâs face as if theyâd been racing.
Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasnât too difficult, âcause Steveâs writing still isnât that neat), heâs waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.
Heâd picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so heâd taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.
Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows youâre done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later youâre walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.
His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.
He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. âI have something for you.â
âSteve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.â
âThis thing was free, so you canât even be mad,â he says, smiling almost sheepishly.
Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks⊠nervous.
Steveâs never nervous around you.
âOkay,â you say, shuffling on your feet. âWhat is it?â
âHere,â he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. âOpen it.â
You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isnât your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.
What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.
Itâs your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, itâs not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.
When you look back up at him, heâs already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.
Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. âThank you,â you say into his skin.
Steveâs arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.
âItâs not perfect,â he says. âBut I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.â
âSteve. Shut up. It is perfect.â
âIâm glad you think so,â he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.
You hug for what couldâve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. Youâre not sure if itâs still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you donât care at the moment.
This is probably the nicest thing anyoneâs done for you in a long, long time.
When you finally do pull away, you donât go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steveâs hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.
âIâm keeping it forever,â you tell him.
âYou sure?â he asks.
âCertain. Youâll always be my best friend, Steve.â
âYouâll always be mine too, angel.â
Then, your eyes both move to each otherâs lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.
Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupidâs bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that canât be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.
Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.
He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but heâs too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.
âWhat are you in the mood for tonight?â he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. âI brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.â
âMmm,â he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. âHorror. Unless youâre too scared?â
âYouâll just have to hold my hand, then, wonât you?â
âI guess I will.â
You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.
His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when heâs scared.
-
Youâre having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.
You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long youâre open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.
Youâd think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow youâd be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You canât quite remember what happened, only that youâd been yelling for Steve and he wasnât there.
Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you donât bump into anything.
Just as youâre pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.
âHoly shit,â he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. âI thought you were a ghost or something just now.â
You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that heâs distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.
âI feel like I should be offended right now,â you say, âif you think I look like a ghost.â
âShut up,â he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. âMy eyes arenât awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.â
You shake your head, though thereâs a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, âCouldnât sleep?â
He shakes his head. âBeen tossing and turning. Just canât get comfortable, then I got pissed âcause I couldnât get comfortable and only made it worse.â
âYou would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.â
He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. âWhy do you know everything? Spying on me?â
âHate to say it, but youâre getting predictable, Harrington.â You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. âI know you too well.â
He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.
Fitting, he thinks. Youâre his angel, after all.
âYeah, you do,â he agrees. Then, âWhat about you? Whyâre you up?â
âNightmare. Been forever since I had one.â
âYou okay?â he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.
âYeah,â you say, skin tingling where heâd touched you. âI can't even remember most of it, but now my brain wonât let me sleep.â
Steve wishes he couldâve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. Itâs silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.
He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.
So, he blurts, âWhy donât you sleep over?â
You furrow your brows at him, âUm, Iâve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.â
âNo, I mean, like in my room with me,â he says, suddenly shy at the idea. Heâs grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. âA proper sleepover.â
Youâve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, âOkay.â
Steveâs eyes widen like heâs surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, âCâmon.â
Soon enough, Steveâs lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.
You blame sleepinessâor, maybe, the lack thereofâfor the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.
He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.
His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.
âGoodnight, angel,â he says into your hair.
Your hand splays itself on top of his. âNight, Steve.â
And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesnât feel like much of a battle anymore.
-
You wake up the most rested youâve felt in a while. Thereâs warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.
Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than youâd been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.
Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.
Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.
Steve hasnât woken up yet, you donât think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like heâs fighting to keep you close.
As if youâd go anywhere even in your sleep.
His knee is tucked between your legs, and youâre quickly realizing that itâd be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. Youâre completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.
In his sleep, Steveâs mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.
It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that donât make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. Heâs met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.
âSteve? You awake?â you ask, checking.
âMhm,â he hums.
Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so thereâs space between you. âFuck. Sorry.â
âItâs okay,â you say. Because he canât control the way his body reacts while heâs asleep.
âI didnât think-â he cuts himself off, because heâs not quite sure how to say I didnât think about the whole morning wood factor or that Iâd fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, âIâm sorry.â
You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand thatâs now laying between you.
âItâs okay, really,â you say. âItâs, like, anatomy. Youâre human, Steve.â
âI donât want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,â he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.
âI donât think that at all,â you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. âWeâve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything Iâm surprised this hasnât happened already.â
âOh my God,â he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.
âSteve,â you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way heâs acting. Heâs got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesnât reflect the things you heard about him in high school. Heâs changed a lot since then. âItâs seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.â
Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.
He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after youâve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.
Itâs during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. Youâre sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and theyâd be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. Heâs already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.
You know Steve, could tell what heâs feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one youâve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.
Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.
âWhat if we didnât forget about it?â he says. Quiet and scratchy.
You donât have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. âWhat would that mean?â
Steve doesnât answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.
You donât.
Instead, the hand of yours that isnât still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.
It isnât as tentative now that youâve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morningâs haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.
Youâre simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.
Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.
Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze buttonâand you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits itâbefore diving back into you.
You feel hot all over, where one of Steveâs hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.
Itâs so good, youâre almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.
You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his âlast tardy warningâ from Keith.
Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, âbye, angel,â on his way out. His hairâs still a mess from your fingers, and he doesnât even seem to mind.
You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like youâre searching for physical proof that everything was real.
What the fuck just happened?
-
Itâs been a couple of weeks, and Steve canât stop thinking about that kiss. He doesnât know it, but you canât stop thinking about it either.
Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.
You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and itâd be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldnât that be something close to perfect?
You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steveâs, you realize that youâve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as datesâthe movies, lunch or dinnerâyou cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and youâve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.
You havenât brought it up with Steve because you havenât even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and youâd like to have a better idea of whatâs going on in your own head before asking him about his.
Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. Heâs in love with you.
Heâs pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.
It hadnât come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions youâve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.
Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where heâd practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed âthank youâ before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.
Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?
Steve canât answer those questions. He canât say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesnât think heâll ever come back from it.
Youâre his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl heâs ever seen, and he canât picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.
Heâs fucking terrified of losing you, but heâs also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.
So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddieâs trailer.
Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, âoh, hey Harrington. More weed?â
âNo, shut up. I need your help.â
âYou,â Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, âneed my help for something? Are you ill?â
âOkay,â Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.
âCome on,â Eddie laughs, âIâm just joking. Whatâs up?â
Soon enough, Steveâs sitting on Eddieâs couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.
âBasically Iâm in love with her and I have no clue what to do,â Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.
Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, âYou know Iâve never dated anyone in my life, right?â
Steve groans into his hands, âWhy do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.â
Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. âHave you ever thought of, I donât know, telling her how you feel?â
Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. âOf course I have, but Iâm fuckinâ scared.â
âWhatâs the worst that could happen?â
âUm, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and Iâd lose my best friend in the entire world.â
âWhat if she does feel the same?â Eddie asks.
Heâs both yours and Steveâs friend, heâs been around the both of you together. Heâs seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but itâs always looked a lot like love to him. Heâs pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhat if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because youâre too afraid?â Eddie says. âMan, donât you think that risk is worth taking?â
Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddieâs right. Heâd hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.
You are worth the risk to him.
âWhen the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?â
âDunno,â Eddie shrugs. âWanna smoke?â
Steve laughs, âYes I do.â
-
With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, thereâs been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.
Youâve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.
You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever heâd been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.
The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.
How youâd been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddieâs, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didnât care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.
The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.
Sure, youâve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.
You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.
For a second, youâre purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and youâre scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.
So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like youâre running away.
Truthfully, youâre not sure what else to do. Youâve never been in love before, youâve never known it this wayâso kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didnât set a good example for you. Theyâd fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then theyâd be back and the cycle would continue.
Youâre scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.
Youâre stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steveâs quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. âWhat are you doing?â
You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like heâs nervous.
âI thought you werenât supposed to be home until later,â you say, hoping he canât hear the shake in your voice.
âIt was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-â Steve furrows his brows, âare you leaving?â
You nod. âIâve been in your way long enough.â
âI told you, youâre never in my way.â Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that thereâs something going on. That youâre panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. âI want you to stay.â
You want to stay, too. You just donât know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.
Your mind doesnât work the same when youâre afraid.
âGive me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. Iâve been taking up your space for weeks and-â
âBecause I love you.â Steve cuts you off. He hadnât planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he canât wait any longer. Especially not when youâre trying to run away. âIâm in love with you. And I want you here.â
You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like youâre not sure youâd heard him correctly. âYou- what?â
âI love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.â
âYouâre not high again, are you?â You ask, your eyes a little misty.
Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure youâre looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, âCompletely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesnât really feel like home unless youâre in it.â
âWhat about when my apartment is ready?â
He squeezes your hands. âStay then, too. Stay forever.â
You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy youâve ever loved.
You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how itâs turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.
Itâs easier than you thought it would be to say: âI love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. Iâm so scared of losing you, is all.â
âYou wonât. Not ever.â
You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if itâs one heâs known for years. Itâs slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love youâre practically overflowing with it.
The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesnât go far, resting his forehead against yours.
âSo what happens now?â You ask.
âWell, weâve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-â
âUm, Iâm pretty sure youâre supposed to ask me first.â
He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. âMy angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?â
Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you donât care one bit. âYeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.â
âAnd, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.â
He kisses you once more. And you donât ever want to not be kissing him again.
đđ
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rotten to the touch; luke castellan
series masterlist
wc: 3.2k
pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader
synopsis: youâre pretty sure youâre an awful person. youâre pretty sure luke castellan is too. and youâre pretty sure you want to make out with him.
warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little darkđ«Ł, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more âi can fix himâ or âi can make him worseâ itâs âhe can make ME worseâ
notes: this is⊠sluttier than my usual stuff so itâs not as good but iâm trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where youâd place her im curious :) maybe iâll write more of her in the future sheâs interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain
You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.
Itâs unclear to you why you turned out this wayâevery reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Bloodâs black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And itâs not just for show. You know youâre rotten. You know the anger will never go away.
Itâs evident in the things you think about other peopleâthe way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just donât see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.
Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.
But everyone loves Luke Castellan.
Heâs a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. Heâs the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, youâd even love Luke Castellan if you didnât know any better.
But you do, and you donât, and itâs complicated, okay?
Because thereâs something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: heâs miserable and wicked, too.
You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when youâre picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. Itâs exciting.
During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. Heâs light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and heâs alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.
He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. Thereâs something there. A chasm heâs hopeless to fill.
Before you know it, youâre going out of your way to catch him training alone. Itâs creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.
Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. Itâs almost . . . longing.
Wherever she is, youâre pretty sure Aphroditeâs having a cosmic fucking laugh. And youâre sure sheâs laughing double tonight.
The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. Youâre definitely of age to be a counsellor, but youâve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D donât know what to do with you. Youâre sure youâll be kicked out of camp soon for good.
But youâre here anyways, for a reason you donât want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And youâre fucked. Youâre so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.
An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. âHey, sorry, you want a drink?â
âFuck off, you idiot,â you snarl.
You wait for her to leave. She doesnât. âYou know, you donât have to be so mean all the time,â she says evenly. âIf youâre here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.â
âHave you ever thought that Iâm not being mean? Maybe I just am.â
You glare at her. She looks you up and down. âSure,â she shrugs, walking away. Thereâs a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesnât soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.
The night drones on. Youâre sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And youâre sick of yourself. You canât believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you donât even know why. Heâs fascinating, and you resent him, and heâs also beautiful. But heâs looked back at you all of three times tonight and youâre sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.
Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.
To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. Thereâs a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it wonât matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?
They stars only get brighter. Itâs probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, âOh, fuck you,â to them. Itâs not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. âFuck you. Fuck off!â You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:
âIâm guessing youâre not having a fun night.â
You whirl around. Itâs hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.
âYeah, me neither,â Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.
Even when heâs close enough, you donât say anything. If you do, youâre afraid itâll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.
The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since youâve been funny.
He nods at the sky. âThose things donât talk. You do know that, right?â Heâs still so captivating, so self-assured, even when thereâs no one around but you.
âGods, youâre the worst,â you scoff. You really mean it, so you canât look him in the eye.
âThen why have you been staring at me all night?â
It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â
He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. âIâm not stupid. Youâve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.â He cocks his head to the side, adding, âActually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you donât think youâre being subtle.â
You huff. âOkay, if weâre really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!â
His hands shot up like he was being arrested. âHey, I never said I minded it. A guyâs . . . just gotta wonder. Whatâs up with you spying on me when Iâm training alone, anyways?â
âYou have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âYou watch me when thereâs nobody else around. Iâm not blind. Itâs weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what youâre looking at, at least be upfront about it.â
You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. âYou didnât answer my question about why you started staring at me first.â
The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.
âPeople think youâre mean,â Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like heâs choosing them all with care. âYouâre rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think youâre awful.â Again, he looks you over. âIâm not so sure.â
âIf Iâm awful, then youâre awful,â you spit before he can say anything else.
He just shrugs. âWell, I guess thatâs why Iâm not sure.â
Itâs irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but itâs too far back. Simmering. âJesus,â you mutter, âYouâre worse than me.â
He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. âWhat?â
âYouâre a pretenderâthatâs what you are.â Itâs your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. âLook at you. Everyone loves you. Youâre this perfect golden boy and youâre sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know itâs one giant lie. At least Iâm honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you donât have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. Weâre the same, but Iâm the only one getting shit for it.â
Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also canât remember the last time you saw him lose one.
But when you play, you play to win.
âYou donât know that,â he dares.
âOh, I do. Youâre rotten, Castellan,â you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. âAnd youâre not owning up to it, so youâre also a coward.â
However scathing you look, it isnât enough. If anything it only makes Lukeâs manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe thatâs why you donât slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.
He tilts his face towards you, grinning, âThen why do you want to kiss me?â
All right. What the fuck. It feels like youâve been electrocuted.
âWhat theâwhat are you talking about?â You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because thereâs something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you donât want to admit it, youâd like to read his just as much.
He cocks his head. âI mean, you did call me pretty,â he teases, and itâs almost endearing. âYouâre pretty like this too.â His other hand comes up to your face, and youâre surprised you donât flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. âDonât call me a coward, heathen. Then weâll both be embarrassed.â
The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. âYou donât want to kiss me, Luke,â you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.
âYouâve gotta stop telling people what they want,â he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. âOne of your more disagreeable qualities.â
His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.
âOne of?â You challenge.
âYou let me make out with you and Iâll give you a whole list.â
You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. âWhat a charmer you are.â
His lips brush yours. âWell, thatâs what makes me so rotten, isnât it?â
Thereâs hardly time to unravel if thatâs a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.
His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. Youâre warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know heâs thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.
His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and youâre pretty sure heâs admiring it. You donât complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like heâs testing the waters. âYouâre so nice like this,â he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. âIf only people could see you.â
âThen theyâd see how mean you are too, no?â You huff. âYou donât want that.â
Another kiss to your jaw. âNot yet, sweetheart.â
Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, itâs so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. Youâre not supposed to want things. Worse, youâre not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that youâd kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.
He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. Youâre pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.
âEasy, heathen,â he reprimands in your ear, and you know heâs still smiling.
âDonâtâdonât call me that.â You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.
He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. âHard to when it makes your face do that,â he goads. âI thought it was impossible for you to smile.â
âBe quiet.â You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.
He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, âYes maâam.â
Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.
Itâs a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and youâre both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesnât matter yet. Now youâre just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and itâs the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. âSo sensitive,â he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.
He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. Youâve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.
After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. âPartyâs letting out,â you mutter.
âWhat a damn shame.â His hand rubs your jaw, and itâs too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.
âIs now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?â You ask once youâre ready to look at him again.
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. âActually, I came up with more since I said that so Iâm pretty sure itâll take more than one night.â He fakes a wince, âMight have to spread it out for a few days.â
You roll your eyes, âOh, you ass.â
âIâll give you one for starters.â You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. âYour hands are too cold.â Theyâre tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You donât move them. âAnd,â he adds, âyouâre incredibly crass.â
âThanks, dipshit.â
âThank you for proving my point, heathen.â
The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. âYou meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?â He raises his brows.
The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps theyâre hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. âEven though Iâm rotten?â You ask, and thereâs an echo of mischief in your voice, too.
Heâs got a strange expression when he looks at you. âThatâs not true.â
He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. Itâs slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until youâre pretty sure thereâs blood. âLuke,â you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.
After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know youâll see him tomorrow.
He says, âYouâre not rotten. Youâre right.â
And damn it, you really do believe him.
#perrieâs fics#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo x reader#pjo series#pjo tv show#luke castellan smut#pjo#heroes of olympus#charlie bushnell#i like sexy evil people making out okay.#maybe will make a part 2 to this series because iâm just so fascinated by their weird little dynamic but weâll see#i kind of hate this but WE MOVE ANYWAYS!!
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i'll love you forever
pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader
summary: you were sunghoon's first everything; first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. after years of quietly crushing on you, he was finally ready to confess. so ready to confess, that he told his parents the two of you were already dating! it was an easy enough lie to keep up and he kept it up for months, what could possibly go wrong? he thought. little did he know, you would have a falling out and stop talking for months.. and then, you'd both get invited to spend a week at home with his parents, who still believe you're his girlfriend.
genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, childhood best friends to lovers, fake dating
warnings: minors dni, fake dating is pretty mild (sorry), she kinda doesnât rate him at the start, these two kind of exist in a vacuum a little bit idk i had a self-enforced word count to stick to and broke it.. (im within the 10% allowance !), sunghoon in a vest, sunghoon arms, sunghoon
word count: 21,858
playlist: click here.. (for my non-spotify babes, the main song is light by wave to earth (which for some reason i put last.. whatever))
author's note: for silly @asahicore. happy birthday pooks i hope it's amazing and that u enjoy reading this when u have the time !!! LOL (lots of love) also im never writing without telling you things again this was so absurd.
to everyone else.. ok happy reading also emma did not beta read this so im sure it's missing its charm .. anyway it's for emma not you đ anyway i hope u enjoy regardless and lmk ur thoughts! omg this is the first fic im nervous about posting.......... please enjoy or else.
In the three years since Park Sunghoon moved away for university, heâd been doing a pretty good job of going home to see his parents. Theyâd welcome their baby back to the nest with open arms and wide grins. With a rehearsed level of indifference, his younger sister, Yeji, would say, âOh, I didnât know you were coming home this weekend.â when she saw him at the dinner table. Sunghoon pretended to only be marginally hurt by this.Â
In the last three months, he hasnât so much as sent a text to his parents.Â
Or to you.Â
Ignoring texts from his mother is devastating. Between classes, he watches as, âHi, sweetie, I love you đ,â turns into, âMissing you, honey, know you must be busy but spare some time for your old mummy, no?â which turns into, âGetting really worried now, are you doing okay? Has something happened with YN? Talk to me, I love you, my baby boy!âÂ
Ignoring texts from you is easy because texts from you never come.Â
Sitting at the end of his bed, Sunghoon rereads a text his mother sent a few minutes ago: Please talk to me, son. Really worried and YN isnât answering calls either. Whatâs going on with you two?
When he leaves his room, he finds Jake lying on the couch, and with his keys in hand, Sunghoon says, âIâm going home.âÂ
And the drive is great! At least, he tells his mum it is. In truth, the drive home without you was nearly impossible. Your ever-expanding home time playlist buzzed through the speakers in his car, but without you there to screech along to the songs, it wasnât the same. He felt your absence the most when he stopped to get petrol and you werenât there behind him struggling to carry enough snacks to feed a small family without offering to pay.Â
The look of worry on his mumâs face stirs a pit in his stomach. âWhy are you so quiet these days? God, you look so tired,â she says, frowning. âIs it school? Or something with YN? Itâs not like her not to text back.â Her brows crease as she whispers the word unless. She pulls him into a hug, her chin resting perfectly on his shoulder, and her comforting hand strokes the hair on the back of his head. âBreakups are never easy, honey. Iâm so sorry, I know how much you love her.âÂ
Breakups are never easy. The sentence hangs heavy over his head.Â
Whether she knows it or not, sheâs handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card, the opportunity to set things straight, to end this mess once and for all. No further questions, and most importantly, no more lies.Â
For the first time since he left your flat three months ago, Sunghoon lets himself cry. Heâd imagined this moment countless times, his first cry since you ended things. In his mind, it was always intense. Today, as it happens, only a few salty tears leak from his eyes, spilling onto the cuff of his sleeve, darkening the blue cotton in tiny indigo splotches.Â
âWe didnât break up,â he says in a small voiceâfor some reason. âIâm just having a hard time.â Neither statement is technically untrue, but the words taste rotten in his mouth.
The tightening grip of his mumâs arms around his body is what brings on the harsh, shoulder-racking sobs heâd been anticipating. For a while, they stand like this, Sunghoon weeping into his mumâs cardigan until she sends him upstairs to lie down, promising a cup of tea that never comes.Â
His childhood bedroom is chilly, so he changes into clothes he left behind and climbs into bed, pulling his duvet up to his chin. He turns his head to look at the walls and the room around him, everything is exactly where he left it in the summer. It should be comforting, but itâs weird to be home without you.Â
There are photos of you and him everywhere, growing up and around each other through different stages of life. The two of you together during the summer your family moved in next door, you wore glasses back then and were the first friend heâd made in his life. Sunbathing and sharing earphones at the beach, listening to music together on your iPod classic. Sunghoon in thick glasses with a stiff smile and your arm around him on the first day of high school. Wide grins at the start of this summer, the last time things were okay between you.Â
Overwhelmed, he stares up at the ceiling, only realising heâs crying when a hot tear slips from his eyes to tickle his ear. Because Sunghoon likes to upset himself, he screws his eyes shut and thinks about the night before you stopped talking.Â
Though he didnât know it at the time, youâd left Yeonjunâs place to sit with him in a tiny restaurant on campus, the one youâd only visit to toast to each otherâs heartbreaks. It had become a ritual â ever since your first year boyfriend dumped you after two weeks â to cry as much as you wanted and drink as much soju as your bodies could handle before stumbling back to your apartments.Â
Having spent years suffering from an unrequited crush on his best friend, Sunghoon was always the one to comfort you. But that night was different; you were there to comfort him. It was easy enough to play the part of âboy whose crush likes someone elseâ because he spent your entire friendship in that role. Heâd had no problem accepting his fate, but his composure started to slip when you met Yeonjun. It was the first time youâd dated someone who Sunghoon had reason to be jealous of. In every way, Yeonjun was better than himâtaller, funnier, hotter. Sunghoon knew he didnât stand a chance. He took it personally, you liking Yeonjun instead of him, and let his jealousy consume him from the inside out.Â
This jealousy led him to start telling you about Minjeongâlying to you about Minjeong, and his feelings for her. She was a girl from a college out of town that he saw on his Instagram Explore page. He followed her by accident, and by some stroke of luck, she followed back. Sunghoon didnât really have feelings for her â he didnât even know her â but she was a girl that you didnât know, so you wouldnât be able to meddle.Â
It only took a few weeks for Sunghoon to become so upset about your relationship that he couldnât hide his emotions anymore. So, in a fit of tears, he told you over the phone that things ended badly with Minjeong, and he was in urgent need of a soju ceremony.Â
But the night was missing its usual comforts.
It was strange to be the one crying, to see you looking put together and ordering the food. To see you pouring the drinks and raising your glass to propose a toast to âHoonieâs first heartbreakâ. You were driving that night, so you only had a tiny sip of soju and let him drink as much as he needed, the way he always did for you, at the same table, in the same restaurant for years.Â
Hours later, in your car, you entertained his drunken rambles, though he remembers how your lips were set into a frown that he wanted to kiss away while you gripped the steering wheel like you thought it would run from you. Sunghoon was more drunk than heâd been in a while, drunk enough to let you sling his arm over your shoulders and keep him upright until you reached his flat.Â
The voices coming from Yejiâs room disrupt the memory. Heâs thankful.
âYour brotherâs going through something, so be nice to him this weekend.â His motherâs voice is her version of hushedâa loud whisper.Â
Yejiâs response is harder to make out, but he doesnât miss the way their mum says, âI mean it, missy.âÂ
A dramatic sigh rumbles through Yeji as she barges into his room without knocking. Sunghoon sits up, feeling an ache in his back and crossing his legs.Â
âMum told me to lay off you today, which is fine, but before I do, I need to tell you something.âÂ
Yeji pushes the door shut behind her, and the open window makes it slam, both of them flinching from the sudden noise. She pulls her hair out of a silk scrunchie and throws herself on the floor. A pang of irritation forms in his chest, knowing that he could immediately find the empty hanger in his wardrobe where the shirt sheâs wearing used to live.Â
âI hate you and your perfect golden boy image, Hoon. Would it kill you to fail a class for once? I donât know how Iâm supposed to carry on your legacy.â Sheâs looking up at him, her chin in her hands and irritation written in the crease between her thick brows.Â
Itâs impossible to know if itâs because of Yejiâs complete lack of boundaries or the fact that her âperfect, golden boyâ big brother is on track to fail three out of three classes and get cut from the hockey team, but Sunghoon immediately bursts into tears.Â
âOh, uh.. Iâm sorry?â Yeji offers. âI was kidding if that helps.âÂ
âIâm alright, itâs okay.â The tears donât stop stinging his eyes. âWhy do you want me to change everything about myself?âÂ
With a frown, Yeji pours out her frustration and mild resentment. She doesnât understand how Sunghoon effortlessly conquers every aspect of life while she struggles. Neither do their parents, who had been baffled by her plummeting grades since she moved to boarding school, especially when Sunghoonâs academic performance has only soared since he left for university. The weight of this perceived injustice pulls Sunghoonâs shoulders down with guilt as she talks about the expectations he has inadvertently set for her.Â
âBut other than that, Iâm good.â She shrugs, sitting with her legs out, and leaning back on her palms. âHowâs YN?â she asks. Itâs clear from the brightness in her voice that she thinks sheâs helping.Â
Sunghoon cries again.Â
Back on campus, heâs trying to scrape together whatâs left of his academic career with the help of two of the smartest guys he knows, and their friend Jay. Though the word âfriendâ feels a little strong at the moment given the way Jayâs goading him.Â
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, sitting back in his seat. âThereâs nothing you can do that I canât,â he says, meaning every word.Â
Jay scoffs, shrugging and raising his brow in a way that, over the years, Sunghoon knows to interpret as his âabout to say something ridiculousâ look. âPretty sure I could call YN right now, and sheâd answer.âÂ
Thereâs a pit in Sunghoonâs stomach as Heeseung turns his head in the other direction like heâs been slapped, trembling with stifled laughter. At least Jake doesnât hide his amusement, throwing his head back in a fit of giggles that draw nasty looks from the other students in the library. Sunghoon doesnât waste his energy trying to argue because Jayâs right.
Now composed, Heeseung turns back to the table, flipping through some of Sunghoonâs course materials to find whatever his class was doing in class that week. The English Literature class heâs taking â The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway â is the same class he had to send a million emails over the summer to get enrolled in, but itâs the same one Heeseung aced two years ago. Lucky for him none of the boys seem to be in the mood to make fun of him for trying so hard to have a class in common with you, and then practically failing out of it before the term had started properly.
âThis class is, like, beyond easy, dude.â Heeseung pauses to sniffle and twist the stud in his ear. âEveryone in my class aced it. How are you doing so badly already?âÂ
âI only took it because YN thought itâd be fun if we had a class together, but.. I kind of havenât been going since we stopped talking.â Sunghoon shrugs, pretending to be unaffected.Â
As if the mere mention of your name has some sort of summoning power, like saying Biggie Smalls in the mirror three times, you appear in his eye line, rounding the corner with a furious stride. Your demeanour crumbles when Jay waves at you, and you grin, waving back, but as soon as you look Sunghoon in the eye again, the rage comes back, and you smack a hand on the table when you reach it, leaning over to him.Â
âSunghoon, a word?â you ask.
He thinks youâre asking, but itâs hard to tell with the way you set your jaw afterwards, and the way the warmth of your signature vanilla scent hits him hard. Dazed, Sunghoon lifts a hand, pointing at himself. âMe?âÂ
âDoes anyone else at the table answer to Sunghoon?âÂ
âOkay,â he says, somewhat pathetically, nudging Jay for laughing at him.Â
As slowly as possible, Sunghoon pushes his chair from the table and stands up, following you to the corner of the references section where only anthropology students in scratchy thrift store knits, and Jay, come to check out encyclopaedias by volume. You look good, save for the rage written all over your faceâwhich, honestly, Sunghoon thinks he likes.
Sunghoon isnât sure what to expect, so he says, âHey.â Heâs being cautious, waiting a moment to gauge your reaction. âWhatâs gooooood?â His cheeks burn as soon as he closes his mouth around the vowel, but you laugh. You laugh, and itâs beautiful and happy, and youâre laughing because of himâor at him, but heâs glad either way.Â
Annoyance quickly clears all traces of amusement on your face. âWere you ever going to tell me weâre spending next week at Mum and Dadâs?â you ask.Â
Sunghoon gasps dramatically, clicking his fingers. âI knew there was something Iâve been meaning to do.âÂ
His attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, and you only nudge his shoulder gently, sighing. âCan you be serious? For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me?â Youâre frowning, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at your feet. âItâs not fair, Sunghoon. For you to keep saying thingsâmaking plans involving me and then acting like Iâm the bad guy when I turn you down.âÂ
âI donât think youâre the bad guy at all,â Sunghoon admits. âIf anyone is in the wrong, itâs me, I guess.â
You scoff, looking at him like you hate him. âYou guess? Are you serious?â You look furious, but you sound hurt and Sunghoon hates it. Hates himself. âI canât have this conversation with you right now. Tell mum Iâm sick, and itâs contagious.â You roll your eyes and walk away, leaving Sunghoon alone with his thoughts and judgemental stares from students in crochet scarves so long they graze the floor.Â
He sighs, slumping against the wall. How does he keep getting it wrong with you?Â
Back at the table, Sunghoon manages to act like heâs not falling apart and makes some serious headway on his missing assignments with Heeseungâs help before they call it a day as the sun starts to set.Â
When he gets home, he lies down on his bedroom floor, spending hours poring over the conversation you had. Over the minute changes in your facial expression, the tone of your voice, and the endless list of things he should have done, rather than watch you walk away.Â
The moment feels familiar, both identical to and worlds apart from what happened after you left three months ago. When he managed to scrape the last shreds of his dignity from the kitchen table, he dragged his feet to his room and lay down like he is now, face to the rug. That day, he left his door open and lay so still that Jake thought he was dead. Sunghoon remembers wishing he had been.Â
For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me? The words run on a loop in his mind, over and over, until he canât remember the order of the sentence or where you put emphasis. Theyâre cutting all the same.Â
Sunghoon sighs into the itchy fibres of his black rug before rolling onto his back. In the diminishing purple light of the setting sun. he looks at the walls of his room. At the Fleetwood Mac poster, he stole from Jay when they moved out of their first year dorm, that curls away from the wall towards the ceilingâa diagonal strip of shiny tape being the only indication of the otherwise invisible tear through the face of Stevie Nicks.Â
Heâs glad when his phone rings, cutting through the quiet, though the sight of your name and the anatomical heart emoji next to it only dampens his spirit. Reluctantly, Sunghoon answers the phone, holding it to his ear.Â
âI just got off the phone with Dad..â You trail off. Tangible silence follows, so thick it weighs on his chest. âIâll go home with you.âÂ
âYou will?âÂ
âYes. Goodbye.âÂ
Sunghoon reaches your flat at five in the evening. You donât smile when you open the door for him, nor do you invite him in. Instead, you dump your bag at your feet and he cringes, looking from the floor to you. Youâre aggressively beautiful and cosy-looking as you pull a jacket over the sweater you wore that night. Sunghoonâs heart aches in his chest and he wonders if you even realise. Suddenly, the memory of the last thing you said the morning after hits him like a truck: Then letâs not be friends at all.Â
A familiar weight lands on his shoulderâyour hand. Concern lines your eyes as you ask if heâs okay.Â
With a lump in his throat, Sunghoon nods.Â
In the discomfort of his car, the two of you sit in silence while he starts the drive home.Â
âHowâs Yeonjun,â he asks, eyes flicking towards you but regretting it immediately when he sees how you clench your jaw.Â
âNo,â you say simply, shaking your head. âYou donât get to ask me about him.âÂ
These are the only words you exchange until Sunghoon stops for petrol. He has enough fuel for the rest of the journey, but he feels like dying and thinks the fresh air might quell his thoughts of running his car off the road. Like always, the two of you get out and head into the kiosk, where he follows you wordlessly through the aisles, watching you debate on snack choices before settling on the same things you always get. Sunghoon pays for your snacks and you roll your eyes but donât protest, mumbling thanks as you take them into your arms, leading the way back outside.
He knows he needs to tell you before you reach the house, but heâs not entirely sure how to say itâso he just does. âMy, uh.. my parents think weâre dating.â
You stop so suddenly in front of him that he almost bumps into you. Stepping around you, Sunghoon keeps walking.Â
Over the top of his car, he watches your face cycle through all five stages of grief until anger comes back around in the loop as you scoff. âWhy do they think that?â Your face is devoid of expression now, the blankness over your features dragging a sharp chill over his spine.Â
He stares blankly at you, processing. âBecause I told them weâre dating,â he mumbles.Â
âWhy did you.. do that?â You tilt your head, eyes pressing shut in a long blink. âWhat are you even talking about? Why did you.. What?âÂ
A thin layer of sweat coats his palms despite the cold. Why did he do that? âWe can stage a breakup during the trip or say we broke up right now,â Sunghoon offers. âJust one night, YN, please.âÂ
The wind whistles by, ruffling your hair and jacket that you hug tightly to your chest. Behind you, Sunghoon takes note of the group of girls standing by the pumps, all five of them jerking their heads abruptly when they notice him watching, suddenly finding interest in the scattered litter and flickering halogen bulbs in the steel canopy over their heads.Â
Youâre staring when he looks back at you, nostrils twitching with a sniffle before you sigh. âOr we could say that youâre a liar and end things there,â you say. âOr better yet, you go down there on your own and tell them the truth.â
Sunghoonâs gaze drops, his thoughts racing in his mind. He knows youâre right. At some point, his parents will have to find out, and itâd be better for them to find out now. Sunghoon sighs, nodding. âAlright,â he concedes. âIâll take you back.â
An angry laugh comes out of you as you shake your head. âNo need, Iâll walk.âÂ
The station youâre at is neatly nestled in the middle of nowhere, on a road so narrow heâs not even sure it has a pavement. Youâre halfway through the three-hour drive, so thereâs no telling how long the walk would be, never mind the fact that the sun is already setting and itâs deep enough into October for the wind to sting.Â
âFrom here?â he asks, incredulous.Â
âYes, open the boot so I can get my bag.âÂ
Sunghoon can only bring himself to say your name, a desperate whisper.Â
âOpen the boot.â
He repeats your name as if itâll make a difference, heâs pleading with you, beggingâthough he doesnât know for what.Â
You go to the back of his car where Sunghoon joins you, a pit in his stomach when you step away. With misty eyes, you look up at him and his heart breaks. âPlease.â
Sunghoon knows you well enough to know that youâre not actually going to attempt the walk home but also knows that you wonât back down if he keeps challenging you. He nods, opening the boot for you and getting into the driverâs seatâyour move.Â
You stand there, unmoving, and long enough passes that he thinks youâll actually leave. The boot closes softly and you join him in the passenger seat. You sigh, buckling your seatbelt. âLetâs just get this over with.âÂ
For the rest of the journey, you sit in silence as Sunghoon briefs you on the relationship, fighting a smile as he thinks about being your boyfriendâeven if only for a night. You scoff when he âremindsâ you that youâve been together for four months now and the only reason you havenât been able to come home recently is that your schedules donât match up very well anymoreâwhich couldnât be further from the truth as, before term started, you went out to celebrate the fact that your class schedules couldnât be more suited for seeing each other.Â
Finally, at Sunghoonâs childhood home, the two of you smile and laugh for his parents before going to bed. Your relationship has only made his mother more averse to the idea of you sharing a room under her roof than she had been when you were younger. Heâs relieved about this, and in the solitude of his bedroom, he lies on the duvet of his twin bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the last few hours.Â
With his parents, youâd sat up in the living room watching TV. They sat on the couch together, his mum nestled in his dadâs side, while you two sat on the couch opposite, mirroring their position. If your complete stiffness was anything to go by, you were less than comfortable with his arm around you and Sunghoon felt terrible for begging you to go along with this. It was after midnight when you all went upstairs and you let him kiss your forehead before all but slamming the door to the guest room in his face. His heart twirled and his mum beamed at him before saying goodnight again.Â
Now, at 3 a.m. he canât sleep. Flinching at the knock on his door, he furrows his brows and goes to open it. Itâs you. Standing there with your hair scraped away from your face in one of his t-shirts. Your eyes are red, brimmed with tears as you step into his room and sit on his bed.Â
He closes the door softly, heart aching at the sight of you so upset, and when he sits next to you, his heart tears apart because you move over, putting a distance between you. It falls out of his chest onto the floor when he realises youâre not wearing your necklace.Â
Sunghoon suspected you might have stopped wearing it, it only made sense that if you didnât want him, you wouldnât want the necklace he bought for you either, but at least earlier, your sweatshirt sat so high he couldnât see if you had it on or not.Â
It was a gift for your sixteenth birthday, after your first heartbreak. He was so upset and angry that you let some loser hurt you that way, upset and angry that someone could be loved by you and fuck it up. Sunghoon was inspired by Jay, whoâd gotten a pretty necklace for his girlfriend, and talked about her cute reaction for weeks, how happy she was to have a piece of him with her all the time. It was a locket, with a picture of Jay in one side and a picture of her in the other so the pictures would kiss when she wore it.Â
While at the jewellers with Jake, Sunghoon thought something like that might be a bit much for the two of you and eventually picked out an equally pretty piece with his first initial on it. He wrote a corny note to put in the box, something about how âboys come and go but Sunghoon is foreverâ and gave it to you with trembling hands a few nights laterâit was the first time he ever made you cry. Immediately, he thought heâd done something wrong and was ready to snatch the box and run back to the jewellers (even though he trashed the receipt). You hugged him and told him you loved him. Sunghoonâs been riding that high ever since.Â
Until tonight at least.Â
âAre you okay?â he whispers.Â
âIâll do it, Hoon.â Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his gaze. âFor as long as you need me to, Iâll pretend.â
As soon as the words leave your mouth, Sunghoon feels lighter, an unbearable weight slipping from his shoulders. You havenât called him âHoonâ in ages, and he canât tell if youâve said it out of vulnerability, or even noticed that youâve said it at all, but it warms his heart nonetheless. However, heâs not fully at ease, still curious about your sudden change of heart and why youâre crying.Â
âWhat happened?â
You pull him into a hug, and his eyes bulge out of his head. âIt doesnât matter,â you say, the words muffled by the skin at the base of his neck.Â
For as long as heâs known you, youâve smelled like vanilla, a sweet warmth that grounds him. Yet itâs only after these months apart that heâs able to put a name to the sensation: home. The realisation of how much heâs missed this feeling, missed you, floods him with a rush of emotion so overwhelming he canât find the words to press the issue. A moment passes before he remembers to hug you back, his arms finally wrapping around you, pulling you close, and you sink into his hold. Months ago, he would have kissed the top of your head and mumbled reassurance into your hair, but tonight, Sunghoon settles for stroking the back of your head and hopes itâs enough.Â
âYou can talk to me, you know? You can always talk to me.â
A heavy silence follows, sharp as a daggerâscraping his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge and lodging itself between his shoulder blades. Sunghoonâs breath hitches in his throat when you cling onto him even tighter, shifting so close youâve had to settle in his lap. His heart races in his chest, pounding a rhythm so loud it fills the room.Â
Finally, you speak, assuring him that you know and that youâre okay. At this, Sunghoon holds you as tight as he can, and neither of you speaks for the rest of the night. You fall asleep like this, in his arms, so deeply that you donât even stir when he lies down.Â
Rubbing your back, he watches the clock on his nightstand, the piercing green LED digits cycling through two whole hours right before his stinging eyes until you wake up. Sunghoon presses his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when you kiss his cheek and leave his room.Â
For the entire morning, you stay in your room, and although Sunghoon is concerned, he decides not to bother you. In the afternoon, he sits at the dining table with his mum, listening as she talks about work. When she asks him, he gets up to make a cup of tea for her. Itâs at that moment when you finally come downstairs, looking so effortlessly pretty. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and youâre bundled up in one of his old sweatshirts. Thereâs a bright grin on your face that leaves his heart thudding.Â
âBaby!â you squeal when you see him, charging towards him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. âGood morning.â Your words are muffled against the back of his t-shirt, and the four-letter word, and the sugar coating it, make his cheeks burn.Â
âItâs great to see you too, YN,â his mum says with a smile. âMy night was amazing; I slept very well and had no dreams.âÂ
You let go of Sunghoon and walk over to the table, kissing his mum on the cheek and wishing her a good morning as well. âSorry, mum, how are you?âÂ
His mother doesnât seem to have the heart to correct you either, allowing your 3 p.m. âgood morningâ to go unnoticed.Â
Sunghoon carefully fills both mugs to the brim and, with extra caution, carries them to the table. He places a steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of his mum and a milky coffee in front of you. A warm smile spreads across your face as you mouth a âthank youâ, and his knees turn to jelly.Â
The next day, after eating an early dinner with his parents at the table, the four of you go out on a walk along the bike path you used to take for school. His parents have gone ahead, not intentionally, but because Sunghoon canât stop you from dragging your feet.Â
As with most things in the town where you grew up, nothing about the trail has changed. The leaves are yellowing in standard form for the season, and crunching under his feet with each step he takes. The only foreign experience is the silence that youâre determined to uphold. Everything Sunghoon says to you is met with either a hum, a nod, or no acknowledgement at all. At this point, he feels like he could drop dead at your side and the most youâd do is step over his body like a fallen branch.Â
After letting you go ahead, the weathered slats of the wooden footbridge sag in the middle under his tread. Itâs been like this for as long as he can remember and he wonders how nothing has been done about it. The stream rushes under it, loud and unruly, the smell of wet grass both comforting and suffocating as you look over the railing. Itâs like something from a postcard, the low-hanging branches sweeping back and forth under the breeze, the grass lush and green around the path, murky water thrashing against the mud and rocks underneath with you in the middle of the frame, peering over the edge.
You keep walking when Sunghoon approaches, leaving him alone on the creaky bridge with nothing but the ache in his chest. He looks up, staring at the grey clouds in the sky through the gaps in the leaves, and sighs.Â
Eventually, he catches up with you, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours when his parents slow down. You stiffen, looking up at him with cut eyes and a creased brow. âWhat are you doing?â
Sunghoon matches your clipped tone. âHolding my girlfriendâs hand.âÂ
âNo oneâs looking, boyfriend.â
âYou think my parents arenât going to wonder why weâre lagging behind?âÂ
A scoffâyour fingers remain defiantly stiff. âDo you think your parents are going to care whether or not weâre holding hands?âÂ
âMy mum might after the show you put on yesterday afternoon, baby.â Bitterness covers the word like a blanket, a stark departure from how you said it.Â
A long sigh rumbles its way out of you before you fix your lips into a strained grin. âSorry, sweetheart, this is my first time pretending to be in love.âÂ
As your words hang in the air, Sunghoonâs emotions brew like a storm within him. Frustration gnaws at his patience. All hopes for a smooth week are dashed, though determination simmers in his chest with a strong resolve to make this work, to fix your relationship. It doesnât stop the sharp pang of hurt piercing his stomachâhe knows you donât feel the same way, he knows youâre faking, but the word âpretendingâ hits him like a truck anyway.Â
âWe held hands all the time when we were friends,â he points out.
Your smile drops immediately, hurt flashing behind your eyes. âYeah, and now weâre not.âÂ
If there was a competition for who could hurt Sunghoonâs feelings the most, youâd be a shoo-in for first place. With distinction.Â
âExactly!â he says, feeling the sting of his own words. âBecause now weâre dating.â
At the sight of his mum turning around, you switch up in an instant. Lock your fingers with his, wrapping an arm around his bicep, leaning into him, giggling. Itâs forced but his parents are far enough away that all that matters is the curve of your lips.
âYou two okay back there?â she asks.Â
âPerfect! I feel like a kid again!â you call back, beaming up at Sunghoon in a way that makes his stomach flutter even though it doesnât meet your eyes.Â
The two of you donât talk at all when you get home, with you hugging his parents goodnight and running up the stairs.Â
âSheâs not feeling too well,â he explains, nodding when his dad tells him to make you some tea.Â
His parents spend the whole day at work, and you spend the whole day following him around like a shadow until the evening when they return. He doesnât pretend not to like it.
Sunghoon helps you make dinner, turning leftover rice into fried rice with the help of some eggs and vegetables. Itâs nice moving around the kitchen with you, watching you scramble eggs in his t-shirt and bump his hip with a playful frown when he eats some of the peppers youâre chopping.Â
His parents watch from the table, cooing over the two of you and he does his best to fight the blush forming on his cheeks and neck. Embarrassed, he hugs you from behind, hiding his face in your neckâthe scent of your coconut conditioner mixing with your vanilla perfume doesnât do anything to stop the flush.Â
Over a bottle of wine, the four of you eat together at the table, swapping stories about your days. Sunghoon tries to hide his surprise as you lie about the time you spent at the play park by your primary school, competing for height on the swings and spinning on the roundabout until you couldnât stand up. You grin at him, and it meets your eyes as you hold his hand under the table, and kiss his cheek.
After eating, his parents head upstairs, leaving to clean up together. You hum a song heâs never heard as you load the dishwasher, carefully placing the plates and cutlery in the rack, shaking your head when he hands you the glasses youâd used.Â
âLeave ours,â you say. âIf you want.âÂ
Sunghoon nods, putting them back on the table, where you sit in the seat across from the one he was sitting in. He sits too, staying quiet rather than saying the wrong thing. You donât speak either. Itâs reminiscent of the pastâthe hours youâd spend in the same room, only speaking to share a funny post youâd come across or to ask if you were hungry.Â
His eyes track your movementsâreaching for the half-empty bottle on the table to pour yourself another glass, filling it to the brim. Before putting it down, you offer him some, filling his glass too when he nods. The three glasses of wine heâs already had must be the reason he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand, run his thumb over the soft skin on the back of it.Â
Sunghoon doesnât know why youâve been so nice to him all day or why it makes his chest hurt.Â
âYou know you donât have to be nice to me when weâre alone, right?â The words come out before he can stop them.
Over the top of your glass, your brows knit together. A sound of confusion, a low hum, comes from your throat as you try to finish your sip. âWhat?â you ask finally.Â
âI only asked you to do this because of my parents, you know? You donât have to sit or talk with me when theyâre not around.âÂ
Sunghoonâs known you long enough to recognise the look that flashes across your face. The way your eyes narrow and your brows tug together, the little pout that sets on your lips before you speak; youâre hurt.
âWhy canât I just be nice to you because itâs the right thing to do?âÂ
Because it hurts, is what he wants to say. He wants to cry, to beg you to forget everything he said that day. âBecause I donât want to make you any more uncomfortable than I already have.â Is what he settles for.Â
Your face softens. âI donât feel uncomfortable around you, Hoon. We were best friends for ages, I donât think you could ever make me uncomfortable.â You pause to take a gulp of wine. âWhy canât I just want to be nice to you?âÂ
Sunghoon has to chew on his cheek to distract himself from how much your word choice stings. The implications of were and all of your past tense. âIâm sorry,â he says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âEverything.âÂ
Thereâs a sadness in the way you run your fingers on the base of your glass. The way you chew on your lip, how your hair falls when you tilt your head and how it moves when you shake it. âItâs not your fault,â you say. âI donât know anyone who would choose to have unrequited feelings for their best friend.âÂ
Wow, he thinks. Youâre on a roll. Sunghoon wonders if youâre meticulously choosing your phrasing to upset him. Wonders why you feel the need to remind him that his feelings arenât reciprocated as if he didnât live through and spend hours reliving the day he confessed.Â
âBut I didnât have to tell you about it. It was unfair of me to spring that on you when I knew about Yeonjun.âÂ
âDid you.. did you think I was going to leave him for you?âÂ
âMaybe?â Sunghoon chews on his lipâhe has no idea what he thought would happen. âI think I thought I loved you enough for both of us, that you might play the part for fun or out of curiosity, and.. I donât know, just learn to love me.â
âHoon,â you whisper, frowning. âHow could you even think about settling for something like that?âÂ
Sunghoon shrugs. âItâs not settling if itâs you.âÂ
Silence takes a seat at the table after he speaks, interrupted only by the ticking clock on the wallâa glittery mess of scrapbooking paper and washi tape layered over each other that Yeji had decorated at summer camp years ago. Youâre picking at your fingernails, letting flecks of black polish fall to the table, stark against the varnished oak.Â
âI know itâs not my place to ask,â Sunghoon starts after a while, hesitant and only continuing when you nod. âBut what did Yeonjun say when you told him? About.. everything?âÂ
You take a long sip from your glass and sit quietly for so long that he thinks youâre not going to answer himâhe doesnât blame you.Â
âI didnât.âÂ
He waits for you to elaborate. You donât.Â
Sunghoon nods slowly, deciding not to ask any follow-up questions. Instead, he takes another drink, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste. âHe didnât ask why we stopped hanging out?â he blurts out.
âI told him we fell out but I didnât say why.â You shrug, but your posture is stiff.Â
âWhere did you tell him you were going to be this week?â He knows itâs not his business at all, that heâs pushing your boundaries, but he canât help his curiosity.
âNowhere.âÂ
âYou told him you were staying on campus?âÂ
âI didnât tell him anything.â Your gaze shifts, avoiding his as you toy with the stem of your glass. You drum your nails against it, letting the dull clink ring out.Â
âSo you just left?âÂ
âDoes it make a difference to you?âÂ
Sunghoon nods.
For a while, you tug at the drawstrings on your hoodie, pursing your lips to the side, considering this. âYeonjun and I arenât together anymore.â Your admission is so shocking that Sunghoonâs jaw drops. He tries to cover his surprise by coughing, his tongue sticking out like a small child. âI didnât want to say anything because I didnât want you to think it was because of you.âÂ
Sunghoonâs thoughts move at lightspeed, too fast for him to catch onto any of them and process this information. His emotions compete with each otherâdisbelief, guilt, and a painful glimmer of hope he hadnât dared to acknowledge until now all at the forefront.Â
âWas it?â he asks. âBecause of me?âÂ
You scoffâan incredulous sound that doesnât match the sad look on your face. âI donât know, Sunghoon. Do you think my boyfriend used me to make his ex jealous because of you?â
Heâs not sure what he expected you to say, but this is.. Complete disbelief eclipses him as his heart sinks in his chest, shock, and guilt bubbling in his stomach.Â
âIâm sorry,â he says after too long. âThat I wasnât there. That I havenât been there.âÂ
âYou didnât know,â you say, gaze softening as you look up at him.Â
âBut I made you feel like you couldnât talk to me about it.âÂ
You shake your head. âI made me feel like I couldnât talk to you about it. All you did was change the friendship, Iâm the one who ended it.â
âI still shouldâve been there.âÂ
âYouâre here now, right?âÂ
Sunghoon nods, earnestly. âAlways.âÂ
Only one thing comes to mind when you repeat the word âalwaysâ before taking a sip from your glass, downing its contents. Sunghoon gets up and crosses the room with wobbly steps to open the fridge, where he pulls out as many bottles of soju as he can hold in his hands and puts them down on the table. He goes back to collect some glasses from the cabinet, puts some of the leftover fried rice from dinner into the microwave, and brings it all over when itâs done, with bowls and utensils. You watch him with a fond smile as he opens a bottle and he hopes you think the flush on his cheeks is from all the drinking youâve been doing.Â
âIs it bad that Iâve missed doing this?â Youâre grinning now.
Sunghoon shakes his head, raising his glass. âTo YNâs fifteenth heartbreak.âÂ
You grin, clinking the rim of your glass against his. âTo YNâs fifteenth heartbreak,â you repeat.Â
Both of you down the glasses, and Sunghoon refills them, pouring the soju with an oddly steady hand. As you eat spoonfuls of rice and sip your drinks, silence settles over the room. The soft glow of the kitchen lights forms a warm ambience, a cosy familiarity that brings up simple memoriesâdoing homework together at the table while gossiping about your classmates, the first New Year after you were both eighteen and had your first drink with his parents.Â
For at least an hour, the only sounds are the occasional clinks of forks against bowls, glasses hitting the table, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of Yejiâs clock. Sunghoonâs eyes meet yours, and he canât help but notice the slight change in your expression when they do.Â
You clear your throat, running a hand through your hair. âThis is my sixteenth, actually.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
You take a small sip of soju, staring down at the table. âMy fifteenth heartbreak was losing you. Yeonjun is my sixteenth.â
In the two days since your soju ceremony, Sunghoon finds himself sinking into the role of your boyfriend like a hot bath. But thereâs no use pretending it doesnât hurt. Pretending it doesnât hurt when you kiss his cheek before bed, or when you reach out to push the hair out of his face or snuggle into his side on the couch; because it does hurtâa lot. It hurts to think that in three days when you put your bags in the boot of his car, youâll sit in silence all the way home. When he drops you off at your flat, youâll close the door in his face and stop talking to him again. These realisations are harder to confront when heâs alone in his room, like now.Â
About an hour ago, you asked if you could borrow his car, saying there was something you needed to do on your own. It seemed important, so he handed over his keys with no question. Sighing, Sunghoon gets up from his bed and heads to the shower, where he jerks off to clear his mind. On his way back to his room, he notices the light leaking from the open kitchen door that illuminates the landing.Â
He hears the lock on the front door clicking, and stands at the top of the stairs, dripping water onto the carpet while listening attentively. His ears perk up when he hears a gaspâhis mother.Â
âWhatâs this for?â she asks.Â
âI just..â You trail off. âI know itâs not much, but I wanted to thank you both for always looking after me.â You pause, and Sunghoon holds his breath, waiting. Your voice trembles as you continue. âItâs been hard since my parents went back home, and I guess it was still hard when they were here, but you both supported me. I donât think I couldâve managed without you guys. I want to make you guys proud, you know? And Iâm trying, really, so this is me saying thank you. Iâm sorry it took me so long.âÂ
He grips the railing by the landing, digging his nails into the wood until they start hurtingâan ache in his fingertips that makes him wince.Â
An odd feeling settles in his stomach, a bittersweetness tinged in his fondness for you, and the gentle shock of realising how much his parents have done for you. Growing up, you became an honorary member of Sunghoonâs family. His parents showered you with gifts during holidays and birthdays, which you often celebrated with them rather than your own family.Â
The memory of your parentsâ sudden decision to move across the country still lingers, and Sunghoon vividly recalls the tearful conversation he overheard at the top of the stairs. Your parents understood the enormity of their request but had earnestly asked if Sunghoonâs parents could continue looking after you.Â
His chest tightens when you start crying.Â
âYou donât have to thank us for anything, sweetie. Just you being here and taking care of our boy is more than enough thanks. You never forget our birthdays, and you always come and visit when you can. Youâre doing a great job, and you should give yourself some credit,â his dad says, a little choked up. âWeâve always been proud of you.âÂ
Sunghoonâs eyes sting with tears and his skin gets dry in the spots where the water from the shower is evaporating. He presses his fingers to his closed eyes, forcing a few tears to fall and walks the rest of the way to his room with his eyes shut. He canât hear anything through his closed bedroom door, which he decides is a good thing as he coats himself in moisturiser and swipes deodorant under his arms with intention to spend the whole night alone. Once heâs dressed, he gets into bed and pretends not to be bothered by the way his wet hair dampens his pillow. Under the duvet, he tosses and turns before sighing and heading to Yejiâs room.
In her absence, the roomâs subtle transformation is stark. The sage green-painted walls, once a backdrop to the A3 faces of Wave to Earth and Beabadoobee, now bear the faint imprints of those missing posters. Tiny, shadowy rectangles are the only remnants of the 6x4-sized pictures of her and her friends, of her and Sunghoon, that she took away with her to school.
Her hairdryer is still on her desk where sheâd left it for him to use and he sits in her stiff wooden chair, plugging it in. The airflow starts immediately, hot and loud, humming throughout the space as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, feeling cosy under the heat. His shampoo is fresh and soapy scented under his nose, and his reflection watches him in Yejiâs mirror, eyes red and concerned while his hair blows around his head. Sunghoon closes his eyes and finishes his hair, sighing as he lets his worries slip under the whir of the fan.Â
Finished, he shuts off the dryer and opens his eyes, flinching at your reflection in the doorway behind him with a soft smile on your face. âMum and Dad are going to open a bottle of wine if you want to join,â you say, meeting his eyes in the mirror.Â
Sunghoon canât find it in himself to speak, only nodding in response. You smile wider but donât move. He unplugs the hairdryer and leaves it on the desk where he found it before crossing the room. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, smiling into your hair when you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him closer.Â
Youâre sitting on the edge of the bathtub, mumbling sleepily that youâre never going to drink again, and Sunghoon leans over the sink brushing his teeth, heâs glad you have the decency to cover your mouth as you speak.Â
âBrush your teeth and go back to sleep then,â he mumbles around his toothbrush.Â
You donât respond.Â
Sunghoon sighs through his nose, spitting foamy toothpaste into the sink, leaving bubbly, blue splatters on the porcelain. âAnd quit staring at me, I can feel your beady little eyes on the back of my neck and itâs freaking me out.âÂ
âBut youâre so pretty,â you coo.Â
Thereâs a flutter in his stomach and he rinses off the sink and his mouth, buying himself some time. With a hand on the Listerine, he lifts his gaze to meet yours in the mirror and stops short. Youâre still staring at him, features soft and glowing under the afternoon light. You look like an angel; a gentle smile spreading over your lips, and a sleepy glint sparkling in your eyes, wide and gorgeous as you watch him. Sunghoon gulps, mumbling his thanks and looking back at himself. He hopes you canât see the flush on his cheeks.Â
âGo back to sleep,â he says.Â
âWill you come and lie down with me if I do?â Your voice is a sleepy drawl, coming out in a slow, high-pitched slur, and your eyes are closing on themselves.Â
Lying down doesnât sound like a terrible idea, especially not if itâs with you, so he nods. âIf you brush your teeth, then yeah, baby, Iâll lie down with you.âÂ
You chuckle softly at Sunghoonâs agreement, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and genuine amusement, showing no repulsion to him calling you the B-word. He didnât mean to, itâs been a confusing few days. You nod, saluting to him and getting up to join him by the sink, using your hip to bump him out of the way, but he feels like heâs glued to the spot.Â
âMove, baby,â you mumble sleepily, reaching for your toothbrush. âWe can cuddle in my bed,â you suggest, to which Sunghoon only nods, taking your words as a cue to unstick his feet from the floor and go to your room, playing the word âbabyâ on a loop in his head.Â
He stands in the doorway staring at your bed, the duvet is all crumpled in the middle, and the pillows are in an L shape at the top corner. He sighs, he canât go on like this, canât stand around hoping even a tiny part of you called him âbabyâ and it meant something for you as it did for him. Itâs not fair for him to project his feelings on you like this, but he canât help it. Youâre already pretending for his parents, so would it be so bad to pretend for his sake as well? Even if only until the day after tomorrow when you leave?Â
The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you snaps him out of his thoughts, your bright smile making his heart race when you tug him by the sleeve to your bed where the mattress dips underneath you as you curl into his form, resting your head on his chest and falling asleep. Youâve shared the bed before, countless times, but he knows youâve only asked him because youâre tired. Because your brain is foggy with drowsiness that clouds your judgement, not because you want him there, not because you miss him when heâs two doors down the hall, tossing and turning at night thinking about you. He wonders absently if you can feel his aching heart beating through his chest, a painful, yet all too familiar rhythm that pulls his own eyes shut, plunging him into a deep sleep too.
Itâs dark in the room when he wakes up, the sun already down behind the curtains and the soft yellow of the bedside lamp casting a glow around the space. Youâre staring up at him, smiling and you donât look away when he catches you. âWhat is it?â he asks, voice thick with sleep.Â
âNothing,â you mumble. âI just missed you.â Sunghoon has no time to respond or even register what you said before you clear your throat, speaking again. âCome on, dadâs cooking tonight, heâll need help.âÂ
Helping Sunghoonâs dad with dinner always looks an awful lot like Sunghoon eating snacks on the kitchen counter and staring at you as you help his dad cook. Tonight is no exception, heâs sitting on the island, and his snack of choice is a family pack of Chilli Heatwave Doritos his mum bought for Yeji. Heâll have to remember to replace them before leaving seeing as heâs reaching the halfway point.Â
You go back and forth with his dad about measurements, with you rummaging through the drawers for measuring cups while his dad says itâs best to trust your gut. Reluctantly, you nod, chewing the inside of your cheek as you watch him eyeball the seasoning.Â
The gas stove turns the kitchen into an oven, and you complain about it while opening a window, pulling your hoodie over your head and leaving it in Sunghoonâs lap. Time stops when you grin at him, the light from the stove hood illuminating the necklace youâre wearing, his initial resting on your chest and glowing under the light. He chokes around a crisp when he sees it, catching your attention with his coughing.Â
âYouâll spoil your dinner, snacking like that, baby,â you scold, using a hand to push his knee. âWeâre almost done, I swear.âÂ
All he can do is nod, cheeks burning as he folds the crisp packet over before putting it back in the bread bin where he found it.Â
âWow,â his dad says, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head in amusement. âBeing in love looks good on him, heâd never have listened if I said that.âÂ
Itâs already your last day when Sunghoon picks up Yeji from school. She grumbles for the entire half-hour drive and all the way to the front door about why the two of you couldnât have started the trip today instead of ending it, but all of her irritation dissolves when she sees you in the hallway, leaving the front door wide open to fling her arms around you. You and Yeji exchange compliments for a while â You look so pretty. No, you look so pretty. I love your hair. I love your hair. â as Sunghoon locks the door and watches with a smile.
âGod.â Yeji sighs, holding you by the waist and craning her neck up to look at you, as you push some of her hair from her face, pinning back her wispy bangs with the palm of your hand. Yeji giggles. âIâm so happy you two are together, even though I have no idea what a girl like you sees in my loser brother.âÂ
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Despite his mild irritation at Yejiâs words, he finds the sight of you with her so adorable his stomach flutters. Over the top of Yejiâs head, you look at him with a fond smile. âHeâs not so bad.âÂ
It doesnât sound like a compliment, but Sunghoon takes it to heart.Â
Like always, Yeji manages to capture your undivided attention and the two of you giggle and whisper with each other all afternoon while Sunghoon watches, too enamoured by the sight to care about being left out. An hour or so passes like this, until his parents get home from work, excited to see Yeji after a few weeks, and you leave her side, coming to cuddle with Sunghoon instead.Â
Itâs nice being home with everyone, laughing and sharing a meal before his family walks the two of you to his car with at least a monthâs worth of cooked food for you to share at university. Yeji makes you pinky promise that she can visit you and waves with a pout on her face until the car is out of view.
Contrary to what heâd been expecting, the drive back is nice. Your playlist is on, and youâre telling him about all the new songs you added, catching him up on things with Chaewon and Yunjin, and all the things you got up to in the time you spent apart. You tell him about a new cafĂ© that opened up near your place and how youâll have to go together when he has the time, and Sunghoon bites his tongue before telling you that he always has time for you. The first half of the trip goes on like this but you start dozing off around the halfway mark, your sentences becoming few and far between, eventually turning into half-mumbled thoughts that end prematurely.Â
Youâre still asleep when he reaches your flat, head propped up against the window with your soft lips parted, looking too pretty and cosy to wake up. Instead, he drives in circles around your block, deciding to wait for you to wake up on your own. It only takes a half-hour but you blink your eyes open, stretching your neck before looking around and out the car window, recognising the street. You donât say anything, only smiling when you look at him, a small curve of your lips that makes his heart race.
He gets out of the car with you, opening the boot to get your bag before pulling you into his chest for a hug, liking the way your arms settle around his waist. âThank you,â he mumbles into your hair.Â
Sunghoon doesnât follow you when you take your bag from him, only watching from the back of his car. You donât notice until you reach the main door, looking over your shoulder and frowning at him. âArenât you going to walk me up?âÂ
The two of you walk in silence up four flights of stairs as the lift in your building is out of order. Your bag feels much heavier in his hand now than it did outside. At your door, he watches you dig around for your keys, sighing with relief when you find them.Â
âDo you want to come in?â you ask from your open doorway.
âIâuhâI have training in the morning and Iâm already pretty tired, so..â He trails off.
Unfazed, you nod. âRight, of course. I had fun this week.âÂ
âYeah, me too.âÂ
You smile at him, sweet and sincere. âText me when you get home, yeah?âÂ
Sunghoon nods, saying goodbye. Out of habit, he doesnât leave your doorstep until he hears the lock click shut, and walks back to his car with his head down.Â
True to his word, he sends you a text to let you know he got back to his place safely and you read it immediately but donât reply. Itâs empty in the apartment, Jake is out with his football team and the space is larger than usual in his absence. Far too tired to even consider going out and joining him, Sunghoon goes through his night routine, putting his phone on the charger and stepping into the shower where he spends entirely too long wishing he could live in this week forever as he scrubs his body. With brushed teeth and damp hair, he goes back into his room where his phone lights up with a notification; a text, from you.
YNđ«: iâm glad you got home okay, i just got into bed :) i donât want to make you uncomfortable or overstep or anything and you can say no (obviously).. iâve been missing you so much and didnât know how to reach out or if you wanted me to but i had soooo much fun this week and spending time with you again made me happy, so iâd like it if we could keep hanging out, like before yk? ik itâs a long shot ahahaha but just say youâll think about it?Â
hoonie: Youâre not overstepping at all, Iâve missed you too, so bad. I had soooo much fun this week as well and Iâd like it a lot if we kept hanging out, thank you for agreeing and coming along đ If youâre free after Lit tmrw you could come over? Or we could go out and do something, whatever you prefer
hoonie: I missed you so much..Â
hoonie: đ€
The texts greet you as the first rays of Monday morning light filter into your room, instantly lifting your mood. Your bright smile doesnât escape Chaewonâs notice as you find her in the kitchen, bathed in the soft light seeping through the sheer curtains. The kettle is boiling with a loud rumble that fills the whole room and leaves her yelling as she speaks to you.Â
âGood trip?â she asks, coming over and hugging you. âNever leave me for that long again,â she mumbles into your shirt.Â
âIt was a week, Wonie,â you say, rolling your eyes even though you missed her too.Â
She leans away, looking at you with knitted brows. âIt was nine days.âÂ
âThe longest of my life.âÂ
Chaewon pulls air through her teeth, tilting her head and releasing you. âThat bad, huh?â she asks, walking back to her seat at your tiny square table and shooting you a look that tells you to join her.Â
During your trip, you gave her nightly updates over text, so you know she knows how much you enjoyed yourself, but you elaborate anyway, sitting across from her.Â
âNo, not at all,â you say, shaking your head and trying to fight a smile. âI had fun.â As soon as the words leave your mouth, you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the grin curving them; it doesnât work.Â
Chaewon raises a suggestive brow, crossing her arms over her chest. âHow much fun?âÂ
âYouâre disgusting.âÂ
âI didnât even say anything!â she defends, holding her hands up. âI made an implication. It was only a matter of time, you two have that whole.. lifelong best friends to lifelong lovers thing going on, and itâs hot.âÂ
âShut up.âÂ
âYouâre telling me, you spent nine days playing lovers with Sunghoon and you still donât want him? Youâre a lost cause, people would kill for that chance,â she says, tilting her head. âI think I would kill for that chance.âÂ
âDonât touch him.â
âOh?âÂ
âJesus, Chaewon, itâs not like that. Hoonâs too sensitive for your roster.âÂ
âI never said it was like anything, youâre the one whoâs dangling me over the ledge for saying I want to fuck your hot best friend.âÂ
âSunghoon isnât hot; heâs..â You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure how to continue your lie. Of course, Sunghoon is hot, youâve known since you were seventeen and spent the summer at your grandparentsâ house, only to come back to find your previously scrawny best friend having ditched his LEGOs for dumbbells. You sigh. âJust leave him alone.â
Chaewon grins, eyes sparkling as she leaves the table. âOkay,â she says in a singsong voice, leaving you and the irritation in your stomach alone in the kitchen.
You sigh, pressing your eyes shut and trying to will away your discomfort. Itâs not like Chaewon would actually try anything with Sunghoon. Right? Even if she did, it wouldnât bother you, nor would it be any of your business. Theyâre grownups and reserve the right to explore their options. Still, thereâs a nagging feeling you canât shake, an uninvited guest in the back of your mind.Â
When you check your phone, you realise you have half an hour before you need to head to campus, so you leave to get ready and text Sunghoon back on the way to your room.
you: sounds good, see u later đ€
After showering, you stand in front of your wardrobe, towel hanging from your body as you pick an outfit. For some reason, you feel under pressure, picking a pair of jeans that do the most for your ass and a low-cut top that Sunghoon once â drunkenly â said he loved on you.
You have the residual sting of mouthwash on your tongue, and one foot out the door when your phone vibrates in your hand.Â
hoonie: Do you want to head to class together?Â
you: sure! iâm omw out, where should i get you?Â
hoonie: .. Iâm outside your building :DÂ
Breathing a laugh through your nose, you donât fight the giddy smile on your face as you make your way downstairs to meet Sunghoon. Through the glass in the main door, heâs standing at the edge of the pavement and kicking a stone between his feet. The top of his puffer jacket covers the bottom half of his face, and the draught nips your skin when the door opens. Two girls you vaguely recognise stumble in with smudged makeup and heels in their hands, smiling at you while holding the door to let you out.
âHey!â you call out, jogging over to him.Â
Sunghoon turns around, his head poking out of his jacket to grin at you, holding a travel cup and an abundance of tinfoil in your direction.Â
âI wasnât sure if youâd have eaten anything yet, you donât normally in the morning,â he says, a sheepish smile spreading over his lips when you take it. âMatcha. Ham and cheese toastie.âÂ
âDid you make these?â you ask, inspecting the familiar cup and appreciating the warmth it provides.Â
He hums, nodding his head.
You ignore the heat spreading over your cheeks and thank him with a hug, grinning when he offers to hold your drink while you eat on the walk. The toastie is still hot, the cheese coming close to burning your tongue as you chew, but you appreciate it wholeheartedly, humming contently with each bite. When youâre done, you shove the foil into your pocket, taking your drink from him and smiling around the sweet taste of a matcha latte as he tells you about his schedule for the day.Â
âIâm meeting with Coach after class to talk about my grades, but Iâm all yours after that.âÂ
âTalk about your grades? Whatâs wrong with your grades?âÂ
Sunghoon groans, head falling back and highlighting the bump of his Adamâs apple. âMy grades are.. I failed my coursework this month, so I have resubmissions during finals, and I think heâll bench me if I fail again.âÂ
He sounds like heâs being serious, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he is. The news creases your brows because for as long as you remember, Sunghoonâs grades were your parentsâ favourite point of comparison.
âReally?â you ask. He nods. âWhatâs up? Is something the matter?âÂ
A humourless laugh slips out of him before he pulls air through his teeth. âYeah, my best friend didnât talk to me for three months.âÂ
âOh..â Guilt stirs your stomach as you look up at him. âIâm sorry.â
âIâm not blaming you, itâs not like I was trying to talk and you ignored me.â He nudges your arm with his elbow, giving you a warm smile. âBut if you feel as guilty about it as you look, you can tutor me for Lit.âÂ
âDeal.âÂ
Sunghoon grins, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and holding you close; the action itself isnât unusual, but the increased heart rate it brings about is. âYouâre too good to me,â he says, holding onto you for the rest of the walk to class.
At his request, you sit with Sunghoon in the back row, watching as the lecture hall gradually fills up in front of you. He seems well-prepared, with his laptop and a small notepad and pen neatly arranged on the desk in front of him.
Throughout the class, your eyes inadvertently track his every move. He diligently types up colour-coded notes, occasionally pausing to write things in his notepad before continuing to type or stopping entirely to listen. Thereâs something melodic about his actions and the way his fingers run over the keyboard.Â
During a five-minute break, you glance at his screen. What you find is more than just lecture content; itâs a document adorned with Sunghoonâs own musings about Hemingwayâs style and carefully analysed quotations that go beyond the class discussion.
âHow are your notes so good?âÂ
âI picked up the book over the summer when you mentioned it,â Sunghoon replies with a shrug, a shy smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat. âI liked it.âÂ
A slow nod is your response, though your thoughts swirl like autumn leaves in a breeze. The last time Sunghoon read for leisure, you were in primary school, buddy reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. But thisâthis is different. You canât help but stare at him, awestruck as you take him in. His eyes are wide, shining amber in the sunlight as he pushes some of his hair from his face, frowning when it falls back where it was.Â
âDonât look at me like that,â he mumbles.Â
Sunghoon takes a new line in his document and points at the screen where you watch the cursor move through the words heâs typing: I wouldâve read and annotated the Bible if you wanted me to..
Thereâs no time to digest what he wrote or the funny feeling in your chest as you reread it before he deletes the whole sentence, pressing his lips together and looking out the window. Speechless, you stare at his side profile, willing your heart rate to slip back to normal. Steep-sloping nose, plump lips flattened into a line, two points of the triangular mole constellation on his face. Analysis worsens your condition, breath hitching in your throat before stopping entirely. Warmth and trepidation blend within you, fuzzy enough at the edges to seem like one thingâa single force that makes your palm itch with desire, desperation, to reach out and run a finger over his features, feel the bump of the mole on his nose â the most prominent â against your skin.Â
You remain this way â silent, watching â even when your lecturer resumes the lesson, and Sunghoon starts typing, writing, and listening again. Polite enough to pretend he doesnât notice your gaze searing into his face.
After class, and his meeting with Coach, you let Sunghoon lead the conversation and the way to your flat, where you find Chaewon and Yunjin sitting on the couch, whispering to themselves while the two of you study at the coffee table. Itâs uncomfortable, an awkward height, too high for the way youâre sitting but you feel calm under the supervision of Chaewon and Yunjinâyou wonât do anything to merit teasing in front of them, no matter how badly you want to feel Sunghoonâs face in your hands or stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs.Â
To the best of your ability, you answer the questions he has for youâheâd written a ton in his tiny notepad during class, his own concerns clear with each neatly-penned iteration of: How to see actions/dialogue for what they are and not what I want them to be? written in the margins and you try not to feel heartbroken for him.
Three hours have passed by when you walk him to the door, the two of you wrapped up in a bubble so secure youâre surprised to find Chaewon and Yunjin still sitting on the couch. They donât say anything about Sunghoon in his absence, or the fact heâd given you his sweater when he noticed you were cold. Youâre not sure why their silence disappoints you.
Instead, Yunjin asks you about trivial things like dinner while Chaewon sits in silence.Â
âWhat flavour for ice cream?â Yunjin asks, rolling her eyes when you tug on the blanket but not complaining. âAnd donât say something ridiculous like mint chocolate, YN.âÂ
âThat happened once! And it was three years ago.. How was I supposed to know you hate fun?âÂ
Chaewon leans into you, letting you curl your limbs around her from behind as you rest your chin on her shoulder, liking the way her clean scent tickles your nose.Â
âMint-cho isnât that bad,â she starts. âItâs a little jarring, sure, but itâs kind of sweet. Like watching people come to terms with their feelings for each other.âÂ
You nod your head, humming in understanding and furrowing your brows when Yunjin scoffs, staring straight at you. Her tone is equal parts cutting and loving, so you know sheâs not trying to insult you, but donât know what she means when she says, âIt must be so nice to be as oblivious as you.âÂ
Yunjin never elaborates, and you never ask, actually feeling the statementâs journey in through one of your ears and out the other when dinner arrives. The three of you share pizza, ice cream, and secrets â the three pillars of 20-something-teenage-girlhood â at the kitchen table, with Chaewon sitting in your lap and picking pepperoni from your slices.Â
Itâs only hours after Yunijnâs gone home, that her words circle back to you, the statement and all of its weight perching on your chest with all the debilitation and persistence of a sleep paralysis demon.
âI think Iâm getting sick,â you say as soon as she opens her door. âItâs been coming on for a while now, at least a week, maybe more.âÂ
Unimpressed and exhausted, Yunjin looks down at you through half-closed eyes. âDo you..â She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. âDo you have any idea what time it is right now?âÂ
âYes. Itâs three a.m.âÂ
âExactly. See a doctor if youâre sick, Iâm going back to sleep.â
âThis is an emergenââ Yunjin cuts you off by pinching your lips together. âItâs three in the morning,â she reminds you. âYou canât yell like that in my hallway, come in.âÂ
You nod, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes next to hers. âSorry,â you whisper when the door is closed.Â
Using her hand, Yunjin lifts your chin, squinting as her eyes adjust to the light when she flips the switch to inspect your face. âYou donât look or sound sick,â she mutters, flicking the light back off and going to her room. âWhat are your symptoms? And why did you come here?âÂ
You donât have an answer for her last question so you ignore it, following her and tripping over a pair of her shoes in the process. âMy cheeks start burning like crazy and my heart races, sometimes it gets hard to breathe.â
âYou seem fine to me.âÂ
A shoulder-slumping sigh slips from your lips. âThatâs the thing. Iâll be fine and then Sunghoon shows up with his pretty smile and perfect hair and I feel like Iâve run a marathon.â You know how it sounds, choosing your wording meticulously to let Yunjin be the one to say the words out loud instead of youâitâll be easier to confront that way.Â
From the doorway, you watch as she arches a brow, her interest piqued. âOh?âÂ
âI know.â You nod, head bobbing rapidly in furious agreement. âItâs only a matter of time before I cough up a lung and die in his bedroom.â
At your words, Yunjin doesn't reply, only lifting her duvet and getting cosy underneath. You feel like youâre glued to the spot, waiting for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes. All she does is pat the empty spot in her bed.Â
âWhat are you smirking for?â you ask, entering the room properly and closing the door.Â
Her response only comes after youâve taken your jacket and hoodie off, sitting next to her under the covers. âItâs nothing,â she says, laughing.Â
âTell me.âÂ
Yunjin sighs, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. You think itâs meant to be comforting but itâs the opposite. âYouâll be fine, I promise. Lovesickness isnât deadly.âÂ
Feeling the weight of her reassurance, you settle down properly and sigh when your head hits the pillow. Lovesickness. Hmm.Â
Closing your eyes, you try to sleep but canât help tossing and turning as Yunjin snores behind you. You pat blindly around the end table for your phone, grabbing it and wincing at the brightness of your screen. Chewing on your lip, you open Google, looking up âlovesicknessâ and frowning immediately at the results. Endless negativity fills the screen, terrifying words like âunrequited loveâ forming a pit in your stomach. Thereâs nothing negative about what you feel for Sunghoon, nothing unrequitedâyou think.Â
It was obvious during the trip, painfully so. In the way heâd tuck your hair behind your ear when his parents werenât there to see, or how he slipped up and called you âbabyâ in the bathroom, blushing when you said it back. You canât fake something like that.. Can you?
Yeonjun did.
Shaking your head, you open Instagram to distract yourself. Jakeâs story comes up first; heâs at a party where Jay is losing a game of beer pong, and at the other end of the table is Sunghoon grinning with a bright red lipstick kiss on his cheek. You lock your phone, using your hands to press on your belly to stop the stirring.Â
Oh, you think. Lovesickness.Â
When you wake up, the first thing you do is check Jakeâs story again. The video is still there and that terrible stir in your stomach churns on, burrowing deeply into a pit of canyon-like proportionâso vast thereâs a safety railing lining its edges.Â
You eat breakfast in silence with Yunjin, zoning out mid-chew to figure out the origin of these feelings and how to handle them. Suddenly, the moment hits you clear as day, vivid like youâre watching it on a screenâit was your third night at his parentsâ house, after your walk.Â
You felt bad about how you acted, and what you said, so went straight up to your room. With nothing but the bedside lamp turned on, it was dimly lit, shadows cast on the walls as you sulked, replaying everything in your head. Guilt wrapped its long arms around your body, making you feel sick as you thought about it all. About the hurt etched over his face with every word you said, and the frown that stuck around for the rest of the walk as his hand clung limply to yours.Â
There was a knock at the door, so gentle you almost missed it, and Sunghoon was standing there when you pulled it open, chewing on his lip with a mug in his hand. Steam skated over the opening, a rich chocolatey smell hitting your nose but the real kicker was the mug itself. In its place on Jake and Sunghoonâs mug tree, it was unassuming, a regular white mug, but upon meeting hot water, the face of young Sunghoon appeared, grinning with his tiny glasses on. It was a gift from one of his old coaches and though he never used it, it was your absolute favourite cup in the world.Â
You felt soft around the edges when you looked up at him, his eyes wide and unsure as you met his gazeâhe brought that mug three hours across the country so you could use it again. The thought shifted your heart into a comfortable position, settling in your chest with overwhelming warmth and an increased rate.Â
âHi,â you said, clearing your throat.Â
âHi,â he repeated, holding the mug out for you to take. âItâs still hot so be careful.âÂ
Nodding, you covered your hands with your sleeves, taking the cup from him and asking if he wanted to come in. Sunghoon nodded, shutting the door behind him and standing by the bed, watching you set the hot chocolate on the bedside table as you sat down. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with him only moving when you patted the spot next to you on the duvet. Your train of thought escaped you as soon as he sat down, the warmth of his familiar fresh, citrusy scent taking over and becoming the only thing you could register. The smell of summers with him, long days at the beach and short nights spent on the couch at random parties, cuddled into his side with his arm over your shoulders. The smell youâd come to associate with comfort and homeâwith Sunghoon.Â
âItâs not fair for me to treat you like shit just because Iâm annoyed, I shouldnât have spoken to you like that earlier. Iâm sorry.âÂ
A crease ran over Sunghoonâs thick brows as they tugged together, he shook his head. âYou donât have to apologise. I roped you into this whole thing and didnât even try to think about how you would feel. Iâm sorry.â His eyes carried a mix of regret and sincerity, mirroring the weight of his words.
âAnyway, I only came to bring you that,â he said, pointing at the cup. âAnd to check up on you, Iâll get out of your hair for tonight.â Sunghoon wiped his palms on his pants before standing up, reaching behind him to pick up the cloth he brought. For a moment, he stood there, staring down at it in his hand while you thought about telling him to stay, telling him that you wanted him in your hairâwhatever that meant. But he spoke before you had the chance. âYou left this, at mine, after.. well, you know. Iâm sure you left it intentionally, I mean it was folded up perfectly on the end of my bed, so I know you did, but it didnât feel right keeping it, you always wore it more than me.âÂ
Sunghoon extended his hand, holding it out to you and you knew exactly what it was as soon as the fabric touched your skin after so long. It was the shirt Jay bought him for Christmas in first yearâthey were roommates still trying to get a feel for each other. For a few weeks, Sunghoon had been pestering you about what he should get for Jay, saying it didnât feel right not to get him anything, and you suggested a targeted t-shirt, one youâd been laughing at all day after seeing an ad for it on your timeline. Sunghoon was sceptical, but bought the red shirt anyway, hoping Jay would find BEING DAD IS AN HONOUR, BEING PAPA IS PRICELESS funny. He did. And Jay bought Sunghoon a targeted shirt too, your favourite. It was black and two sizes too big, with I NEVER DREAMED IâD BE A SEXY FIGURE SKATER BUT HERE I AM KILLING IT written over the chest.Â
âGoodnight, YN,â Sunghoon said, crossing the room to leave but hesitating before closing the door. He poked his head through the opening and sighed. âI really am sorry.â
That night, you fell asleep in the shirt, the thinning, yet cosy, fabric wrapped around you like a hug as your heart started to beat a new rhythm, one that eerily echoed the five-foot-eleven figure skater who you let break it.Â
This morning, Yunjin claps her hands in your face, seeming irritated when you look over at her. âYou have class in an hour, what are you doing?â Before you have the chance to speak, realisation covers her face. âOh, the feelings.âÂ
You nod solemnly, too caught up in the butterflies raiding your stomach to come up with something to say.Â
At lightspeed, you scarf down the rest of your food, apologising for showing up so late as you head out the door. When you get home, you take the fastest shower of your life and feel grateful Chaewon isnât around to tease you about the smile you canât wipe from your face thinking about Sunghoonâyouâll text her later.
You run to campus, feeling the brisk autumn wind beating against your face while the rest of your body overheats under your jacket, hoodie and long sleeve. Despite the discomfort and ache in your lungs, you donât stop until you reach the door of your lecture hall, huffing and puffing into the faces of classmates who donât take any notice. Of course, in a stroke of pure luck, your lecturer is late, and you realise bitterly, that all of your huffing and puffing was in vainâyou would have gotten to class with time to spare even if you walked.
Itâs not a total waste though; you use the time to update Chaewon.Â
you: i have news wonie.. i like sunghoon
wonie: âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ.. fork in the kitchen yn whatâs the news?Â
wonie: OHHHH news to YOU.. can i call?Â
She calls you immediately. You answer without thinking because your lecturer still hasnât arrived, and thereâs no one sitting close enough to hear or notice you taking a call.Â
âAre you going to tell him?!â Chaewonâs voice is so loud you wince, pulling the phone away from your ear.Â
âI donât know.â You shrug even though she canât see you, still holding the device at a distance just in case. âI donât have any confirmation that he still.. likes me. Itâs been a while, and I was pretty mean that day.Â
Chaewon groans and you can picture her throwing herself onto her bed, exasperated. The rustling that comes through the receiver only frames the image, hanging it up. âDid you have to tell him to get a grip?âÂ
âYou know..â You trail off, chewing on your bottom lip. âIn hindsight, probably not.âÂ
A beat passes, sheâs thinking. âDonât worry,â she says. âIâll help you.âÂ
âI.. have never been so worried in my life.â You sigh, picking at your freshly painted nails. âBut I know youâll do something no matter what I say, so do what you want, Wonie, but please be subtle about it.âÂ
Chaewon squeals down the phone. âI love youuuuu!â And itâs the last thing she says before kissing the mic a few times and hanging up.Â
Slumping in your seat, you donât have any time to stress about Chaewonâs plans because your lecturer walks in, with a travel cup in her hand and a paperback tucked under her arm.Â
She apologises for being late, running a hand through her hair as she announces that youâll be watching a film, an adaptation of a book you read at the start of termâIan McEwanâs Atonement. You spend the first hour of the movie falling in and out of sleep until a text comes through from Sunghoon, and sheer excitement keeps you up.
hoonie: Wanna study together after class?Â
you: of course!!!!!!Â
hoonie: đ€
The rest of the movie goes by in a drag, and you come away from it with a mild irritation towards Saoirse Ronan.
you: class just finished, heading to lib rnÂ
hoonie: Shit, still in the locker room, sorry !!! Omw, can you get a table?Â
you: iâll try..
It takes a while but you find an empty booth on the second floor, and set your bag on the plush green seat to take pictures of your surroundings to send to Sunghoon. You sit on the side facing the stairs so he can see you when he arrives. The thought of seeing him makes your heart race and you try out a few natural-seeming poses for when heâs here, cycling between resting your palm under your chin and sitting with your arms crossed a few times until the top of his head comes into view.Â
Seeing him knocks the wind out of you as he approaches the staircase, taking them two at a time with his damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. It doesnât help that heâs wearing a tight black vest, and his sweats are hanging low on his hips. A breath you didnât realise you were holding slips out when he lifts his head, spotting you immediately as a grin spreads over his lips and he raises his arm to wave, the veins in his forearm peeking out to say hi too. You canât tell if itâs his lack of winter wardrobe or your newfound appreciation for him thatâs making his biceps look so huge but itâs hard to look away, even when he reaches the table.Â
âAre you hot?â you blurt out.Â
Sunghoon laughs, raising a brow and something about the way heâs looking down at you makes your cheeks burn. âDepends whoâs asking.â He takes his backpack off, leaving it on the table as he sits down, dumping his jacket and hoodie in a pile beside him.
âIâm asking,â you mumble.Â
âThen, yeah, Iâd hope so.âÂ
Is he flirting? It sounds like heâs flirting. Flirt back! âNice arms.âÂ
He looks down at his biceps for a beat before looking at you warily. âAre you flirting with me?â He canât fight the smile twitching at the corners of his lips but he tries his best, pressing them into a straight line.
âA little. They are nice though,â you admit.
Sunghoon grins. âThanks, Iâve had them for a while now.â
You canât come up with anything to say, too distracted by the way his smile reaches his eyes, lighting up his whole face and forcing a flustered heat to spread over your cheeks and neck. Itâs only when you look away from him that you remember what youâre here for. Itâs a study date, not a study dateâthereâs a difference.Â
You hand Sunghoon the material youâd printed for him over the weekend, excerpts from texts youâd studied in class, so he can practise close reading and proper citation. As he makes his way through them, you canât help stealing glances, smiling at the way his tongue sticks out a little while he focuses, or how he twirls his pen in his fingers while heâs thinking. You arenât making the best use of your time together, copying out the slides from class yesterday, but you canât help noticing the way he watches you when he thinks you canât see. The small smile on his face while he does so only flusters you, an odd weakness settling in your knees as your cheeks heat up.Â
After a while, Sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. âCould you stop watching me?â
âIf you noticed me watching, that means youâre watching me.âÂ
He shrugs, chewing on his lip. âWell, yeah. Iâm always watching you,â he says like itâs a given. âBut you donât normally watch back, itâs distracting.âÂ
âYouâre distracting.â
A playful smile curves his lips as he arches a brow, smugness painting his face. âAm I?âÂ
Too scared to verbalise your response, you nod slowly, hoping you donât look as wound up as you feel.Â
Sunghoonâs eyes flick over your face, flashing with something you donât recognise. At least not from him. He sits back in his seat, assessing you and eventually shaking his head.Â
âYou know,â he says, eyes glowing with something you do recognise: cockiness. âIf my sexy arms are getting to you that much, I can always put my hoodie back on. Wouldnât want my little tutor getting distracted, would I?âÂ
Oh.Â
Your stomach turns with want, mind reeling from his tone and the way his gaze lands on your lips. Sighing, you roll your eyes and try to seem unaffected. âSunghoon, I never said your arms were sexy.âÂ
His phone starts to go off, buzzing against the table and he turns it over immediately, screen down on the surface as he shifts his focus back to his work. He chews on his lip while he does, eyes flicking back and forth between his phone and the words on the page. Curious, you lean over the table, elbows propped up as you rest your chin in your hands. He doesnât spare you or his phone, which vibrates another four times, a glance.
âAre you going to get that?âÂ
Sunghoon shakes his head. âItâs nothing.âÂ
You hum, letting just enough curiosity seep into the sound that heâll elaborate without being asked to. It doesnât take long for him to deliver.
âItâs just Chaewon,â he says, running his hand through his hair and lifting his head. Sunghoon smiles. âWeâve been texting a lot these days.âÂ
âCool.â You nod a few times, aiming for nonchalance but hitting bobblehead as you wait for him to continue. He doesnât, only humming in response, nodding too.Â
After a beat, he picks up his phone, angling it just high enough that you canât see the screen. He reads the messages, an exhaled laugh coming from his nose as the tips of his ears reddenâFuck. This is worse than you thought.Â
Chaewonâs commitment to girl code runs deepâsheâs been rebuffing Jake since first year when she overheard a girl sheâd never seen before telling her friends she thought he was cute. So you know without having to read the texts that nothing sheâs saying is even remotely flirty, you can smell the auto-caps and use of the word âbuddyâ from across the table.Â
What you hadnât counted on, however, was the potential for Sunghoonâs feelings to shift. If they really have been texting more, can you rule out the possibility that he might like.. her? Chaewon is a catch, beyond a catch, and youâd already turned Sunghoon down. Brutally. Of course, heâd move on, he has moved on.Â
The rest of the study session is spent manifesting, writing Park Sunghoon over and over in the back of your notebook. You fill three pages while brainstorming ways to snatch a lock of his hair until he suggests that the two of you call it a day. He walks you home, telling you about how Jakeâs been bribing him with food to get a ride to the LEGO store across town for the new Marvel set.Â
âWith or without the meals, I wouldâve taken him, but his ramen is my favourite, so..â Sunghoon says, climbing the last step of your building and holding the door open for you. âHe even brought a slice of tiramisu to the rink for me after practice.âÂ
âYouâre terrible,â you say, frowning up at him as you search for your keys. âDo you want to come in?âÂ
Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head. âI have a meeting with one of my lecturers soon, Iâd have to leave inââ He pauses, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time. ââeight minutes.âÂ
âIâm cool with that if you are,â you mumble, suddenly shy.Â
A bright smile spreads over his lips and he nods, following you in.Â
Chilled by the harsh wind, the only thing on your mind is a hot drink as you lead Sunghoon to the kitchen. He shakes his head when you offer him one, sitting on the countertop and exhaling into his palms before rubbing them together. You canât help but frown at the sight, feeling guilty that you canât change the weather to suit him. At your thought process, your brows raise. Wow, you think. Is this who you are?Â
You busy yourself with the selection of hot drinks you and Chaewon have accumulated, eyeing each container from top to bottom. A purple tub of Cadburyâs hot chocolate that youâre sure is on the brink of expiration, coffeeâsachets of the instant stuff youâve grown to like since leaving home, Earl grey from one of many brands, or the fancy silk tea bags Chaewonâs mum brought home from a tripârooibos or plum-apple-cinnamon.Â
Craving something sweet, you settle for hot chocolate, pulling the heavy container from the cupboard next to Sunghoonâs head and setting it beside your cup. Heâs on his phone, scrolling too fast to take in anything heâs seeing and he shakes his head when you ask if he wants something to drink.Â
On the dish rack, Chaewonâs mug catches your eye, so you pick it up to dry it off and put it down next to yours. âIâm going to check if Wonie wants any,â you say, wiping imaginary crumbs from the counter onto the floor.Â
Sunghoon only clears his throat, shaking his head. âSheâs not home, one of her acrylics popped off so sheâs at the shop waiting for a cancellation.âÂ
The information itself isnât jarring but hearing it from Sunghoon is. You put on what you hope is a neutral smile and nod, taking milk from the fridge and assembling your drink on autopilot while thinking of ways to redirect the conversation.Â
âIf you knew youâd have to go back to campus so soon, whyâd you walk me home?â you ask, watching your cup spin in the microwave. âI couldâve walked on my own.âÂ
Sunghoon is already looking at you when you turn your head, his cheeks puffed out with air as he blinks slowly. Because I love you, is what you hope heâll say. You think you need him to say it.Â
âBecause you donât have to do anything on your own when you have me,â he says instead, and itâs infinitely better.Â
The words seep through your every fibre, his intonation and lucid affection making a home for themselves in your heart, spreading warmth from head to toe. Your smile becomes a radiant grin, only brightening when he shakes his head, smiling down at his feet.Â
Sunghoon hugs you in the kitchen when itâs time for him to leave, his arms holding you tight to his chest as he rocks you back and forth. You inhale his scent, all warm citrus under freshly washed cotton and something exclusive to him.
Wiping the smile from your face feels impossible. You donât let go when he does, and a sweet laugh â a giggle, you think â tumbles out of him as he mumbles that he really has to go. Still, you cling onto him, taking clumsy steps backwards, with your arms locked around his waist, to your front door, smiling as you watch him put his shoes on.Â
âYou donât have to walk me downstairs, honestly,â he says, looking down at you in the doorway.
âI want to.âÂ
His lips quirk up at the corners, a full smile breaking through and causing your stomach to flutter with so much force youâre sure itâs visible through your shirt. His eyes fall to your lips, lingering, before he clears his throat, looking away.Â
âIâll text you when I get to the door, promise.âÂ
You lock your pinky with his. âSend a selfie, just so I know itâs you and not someone else using your phone.âÂ
Sunghoonâs head falls back in a laugh. âShould I just call you? That way you can make sure I get back to uni in one piece.âÂ
You nod.
âThat wasnât anything with Chaewon earlier, I just needed advice on some girl stuff..â He trails off, searching your eyes. Itâs obvious that heâs telling the truth, that he wants you to believe him. You do. âI wasnât sure if that was something I could talk about with you.âÂ
Girl stuff. Hmm. You try not to read too much into it and look at the bigger picture insteadâyour best friend is going through something and doesnât feel like he can come to you about it.. You squeeze his pinky reassuringly, a flutter in your stomach when he smiles.Â
âYou can talk to me about anything,â you say, meaning it.Â
Sunghoon presses his lips together, humming and unlinking your fingers. âNext time,â he says after a beat, waving at you.Â
You shut the door, locking it while watching through the peephole, he leaves as soon as the lock clicks shut. In the kitchen, your hot chocolate is cooling down, and your phone rings in your back pocket. Sunghoonâs calling.Â
Hanging out with Sunghoon. Making sure he sticks to the time-blocked schedule you made for him. Quizzing him on biology terms until he gets restless. If the last two weeks were an episode of Family Feud, those would be the top three answers to the question: Name something YN is doing right now.
Thankfully tonight, itâs the first one.Â
Youâve been sitting on the couch for so long, Jake has both left for football practice and arrived from football practice. Conversation ebbs and flowsâan hour or so of nonstop talking, followed by another hour or so of comfortable near silence.Â
Itâs during a quiet hour that Sunghoon sits up straight, clearing his throat before saying, âLet me ask you something. He retreats to the other side of the couch, turning to face you with his whole body. âI donât want things to be weird after I ask, so no matter what your answer is, I wonât bring it up or ask again.â
Arching a curious brow, you nod. âYou can ask me anything,â you say, meaning it.
Sunghoonâs face is impressively blankâminus the motion of sharp teeth worrying plush lip, thereâs absolutely nothing behind his eyes that seem to stare right through you.Â
Eventually, he asks, âCan I kiss you?â He says more. Big, scary words like for closure and moving on, but they donât register. They donât matter.Â
Your heart pounds at the base of your throat as you find interest in your hands that sit in your lap. Even without looking at him, you canât get over the slight crease he had in his brow and the slight tremor in his hands.Â
âFor closure,â you repeat, though your voice doesnât sound like itâs coming from you, muffled under the thump of your heart.Â
Sunghoon nods. âFor closure.âÂ
A humourless laugh sneaks past your throat as you look at him. You shouldnât have. In the lamplight, Sunghoon is golden and glorious. Warm light casts one side of his face, diffusing gently over the steep slope of his nose, highlighting his moles and the look in his eyes, gentle and curious all at once. Unwillingly, your gaze falls to his lips, parted, tempting.Â
One firm nod of your head brings Sunghoonâs hand to your face, his palm cupping your cheek with soft skin as his thumb traces your cheekbone. You grow anxious under his stare, under the drag of his eyes over your features, taking them one at a time like heâs committing them to memory.
Leaning in, your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet his and he freezes, mouth completely still on yours. Delicately, your tongue traces the seam of his lips, soft and plump, until they part for you, moving with yours. Sunghoonâs kiss is unpolished when it reaches you. Itâs hesitant but tender, clumsy but sweet, heâs trying and heâs perfect; your favourite.Â
The kiss is.. itâs everything. Itâs the racing of your heart, the thudding, the vibrant buzz you can hear, feel humming against your ears. Itâs a rush of blood to the head, a lightness all over that pulls you out of your body. Itâs Sunghoonâs soft lips curving into a smile against yours, his gentle hold on your face never letting up as he holds you as close as he can manage, and itâs every bit as lovely as the rest of him.
Palpable is the heartbeat of your friendship, beating to a lull under the surface of the kiss, fizzling out into nothing, a steady silence, flatlining to give way to something more, something bigger.Â
Every brush of your lips against his is a revelation, a confession. Youâre all Iâve ever wanted, you tell him with your kiss. Youâre everything I need. His free hand finds yours, locking your fingers and squeezing, the action timed well enough to make you think he hears you, to make you think heâs saying, weâll be okay, I still love you.Â
With that, he pulls away, a delicate tension piercing the air. Blown eyes and laboured breathingâheâs beautiful, fuzzy around the edges with warm orange and all of the love in your heart. Breathless, you chew on your lip, cognisant of Sunghoonâs hand in yours and the sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you.Â
Belatedly, you squeeze his hand back, smiling. âWas it everything you ever dreamed of?â you whisper, part teasing, all curious.
Abruptly, Sunghoon stands up, letting go of you in the process. âI have to go.âÂ
You want to stop him, you think youâre supposed to. To grab him by the arm and kiss him again, to yell in his face that you love him until he understands. But you donât. Instead, you stay seated, staring at Sunghoonâs back and following him with your eyes out of the room and down the hall until heâs out of sight.Â
Itâs your first time being so upset after a kiss, and you canât tell if itâs his leaving or the mention of him moving on thatâs tripping you up so much. Thatâs causing melancholy to crawl from the shadows, sinking its jagged nails into your skin to pull you under.Â
You love him. Heâs gone.Â
Eyes stuck on the doorway, time stretches over the room around you, thick and malleable, wet and cloyingâclay stuck under your nails for days as the fire in the kiln rages on.Â
Sighing, you get up and wait at his door. You ball your hand into a limp fist, knocking weakly. Sunghoon doesnât reply. You try again, harder. Still nothing.Â
Barging into the room, you find him sitting on the end of his bed with his face in his hands.Â
âDonât move on.â The words come out before you realise and Sunghoon lifts his head, squinting at you.Â
âHuh?â He tilts his head, watching closely as you approach him, tipping it back enough to meet your eyes when you stand over him.Â
You take a breath, holding it until your head starts to spin. âI donât want you to love someone else, Sunghoon. Please donât move on.âÂ
The stillness that follows is disconcerting, a long quiet you can feel on your skin, amplifying the blank stare on his face as he looks up at you. His eyes flash, a spark of hope behind them so bright it stings to look at.
âDo you..â He trails off, his lips moving to form the next word though stopping short.
âI do,â you whisper, nodding. âIâm sorry for taking so long.â
An exhaled laugh comes from his nose as he grins, shaking his head. âYou like me?â he asks, excitement and disbelief fighting for authority over his voice, his hands holding your waist and pulling you down into his lap.
âI love you,â you admit, settling on his thighs.Â
âYou do?â His eyes are wide and gleaming, searching every feature on your face before settling on your own.
You nod. âSo much.âÂ
Sunghoonâs chin tips up, his lips pressing against yours, excited pecks that canât turn into much more for the smiles on your faces. You rest your arms on his shoulders, hands clasping behind his head, nervous fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.Â
âSo.. will you be my boyfriend? For real?âÂ
Tilting his head, he tries and fails to fight a smile. âI will. Iâm a little bummed though.âÂ
âWhy?â You raise a brow, and the word tips up at the end with it.Â
âI wanted to be the one to ask you.â Sunghoonâs honesty warms the room, endearing you completely.Â
You grin, loving the heat spreading over your cheeks. âAsk me anyway.âÂ
âPlease can I be your boyfriend?âÂ
In the weeks that followed, it became immediately clear that boyfriend Sunghoon operated on a pendulum swinging between sexual ferality and terror. Heâd get distracted during study sessions at home, finding more interest in biting at your neck than stream-of-consciousness prose, but closed his eyes if a sex scene came on TV. Heâd buck his hips against yours while making out but flinch at the sight of condoms in the store.
He wasnât ready to have sex and didnât know how to tell you, so you took matters into your own hands, asking if you could wait until after his results for resubmission came in, saying you didnât want the distraction for either of you. Sunghoon agreed, pecking your cheek and holding you tight to his chest.Â
The only thing was that your lecturer hadnât given him an exact date, so every morning, you held your phone in a vice grip waiting for Sunghoon to update you, and every morning, you got the same text: Nothing today, baby âčïžÂ
This morning, youâre brushing your teeth when he texts you, in all caps: NO FUCKING WAY I GOT A 98 !!! LOOK !!!
When the picture comes through, itâs of him in the mirror and you choke on mouthwash at the sight. Heâs smiling, bright and beautiful, in a black vest that heâs holding up a little to show his stomach, though his palm is in the way of his toned abs, and it cuts off right at the top of his grey sweatpants.Â
Your mouth goes dry as you click on it, fixating on every little detail you can find: the thickness of his fingers against his phone, the dip in his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders and the cinch of his waist. In a fit of desperation, you try swiping at the bottom of your screen, willing the picture to magically extend. It doesnât.Â
hoonie: Finger slipped.. You like?
you: mm..Â
you: 98??? HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT YOU!!!
hoonie: All you.. do you like the picture?
you: i love itâŠâŠâŠâŠ.
hoonie: My girl đ€
Another picture comes in, and sure enough, through the glare of his laptop screen, you see: Course name: The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway. Marks Awarded: 98.0.
you: well done baby !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
hoonie: Thx đ
hoonie: Can I have my prize now ha ha .. haha đ
you: just for that emoji, no you absolutely cannot.
Your resolve isnât strong enough when it comes to Sunghoon, because purple devil emoji and all, you show up at his door with condoms in your bag and a bouquet of lilies behind your back.Â
The door creaks open and Sunghoon greets you with a grin. âHey, gorgeous. You proud of me?âÂ
You beam at him, holding out the flowers. âIâm very proud, Hoon, well done.âÂ
âI donât want to ruin the moment,â he starts, taking the bouquet from your hands and sniffing the flowers with an approving smile. âBut hearing you say youâre proud of me is awakening something I didnât know existed.â
âA good something?âÂ
âMm,â he hums, arms finding your waist before he pecks your lips. âA very good something.âÂ
Sunghoonâs words hit your lips and your core, a desperate heat flooding your stomach as he kisses you deeply, his body pressed tightly against yours while he pulls you into his apartment. He kicks the door shut with his foot, slipping his hand under your jacket to settle in your back pocket, not quite squeezing but holding your ass as gently as he can manage.Â
He breaks away from you, love in his eyes as he stares down into yours, catching his breath. âI donât think we own a vase.âÂ
In his kitchen, you rifle through cupboards to find something to hold the flowers, eventually finding a whiskey decanter in the cupboard under the sink, and holding it up for Sunghoon to see.
âOh, yeah,â he says. âItâs Jayâs. Itâll work right?âÂ
You nod, taking it to the sink to rinse it. Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder watching you fill the decanter with water and flower food before grabbing the bouquet. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and you struggle to stay focused as you cut down the stems on the flowers, arranging them neatly.Â
âCan I take a photo?â he asks when youâre done.Â
Heâs smiling when you turn around to look at him, a soft curve of his lips that makes your heart race, a deep tenderness in his eyes when you meet them. You smile too.Â
âTheyâre yours, baby, do whatever you want.âÂ
âA photo of you with the flowers,â he clarifies.Â
Warmth settles in your chest, a grin spreading over your lips from ear to ear. You nod, taking the decanter in your hands when he lets go of you, holding the flowers up beside your face and smiling for his camera. As his phone shutter clicks away, you steal glances at his face behind it. Heâs watching the screen with a smile, telling you how beautiful you are.
âI want pictures of you too,â you say, handing the flowers over.Â
âIâm yours, baby, do whatever you want.âÂ
Sunghoon poses for your photos, smiling sweetly in some and sniffing the bouquet appreciatively with closed eyes for others. Heâs glowing and heâs beautiful and your heart triples in size while taking picture after picture until your phone tells you it has ten percent.Â
âThank you, YN,â he says. âIâve never gotten flowers before, I love them.â His arms settle around your waist, lips pressing against yours before you have the chance to respond.Â
You try anyway, mumbling against his lips that you love him. In response, Sunghoon grins, but the feeling of his cock growing hard against you is distracting, a lust-coated thorn in the side of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. With locked lips and uncertain steps, the two of you bump into corners and trip over your own feet, stumbling to his room and parting only to tear his hoodie over his head.
Breathless, you pull away, eyes trailing over him and picking up on everything, from the tremble in his hands to the lust-addled worry in his eyes. Heâs nervous, you thinkâthough it escapes you, the last word coming out like a question.
Sunghoon scoffs, his hands resting on your waist under your shirt, skin clammy against yours. âOf course, Iâm nervous.âÂ
âYou donât have to be.â
âI just want to be good for you.âÂ
âDonât worry about that, let me take care of you, Hoon.â Your palms drag up his torso â firm abs through soft cotton, defined chest over racing heart â to rest on his shoulders. âSit,â you say when he nods.Â
He gulps, taking a seat on the end of his bed under your gentle push, eyes widening when you sink to your knees between his legs and reach for his drawstring, pulling the ends to untie the knot.Â
âWait,â Sunghoon says, breathless, scrunching up his face and dropping his head. âLet me calm down, baby. At this rate, Iâll come just seeing your hand on it.âÂ
You giggle, resting your head on his thigh and wrapping the drawstring around your finger.
âIâm serious, YN,â he mumbles, laughing as he takes his vest off. âI need a minute.âÂ
Sunghoonâs eyes are pressed shut as he tries to collect himself, lips pouty and kiss-bitten, slightly parted with ragged breaths slipping out. You wait patiently for him. Heâs so pretty like this, with the crease in his brow and the pretty pink flush dusting his cheeks as his chest rises and falls. You canât help but smile, leaning into his touch when his hand rests on top of your head, his blunt nails grazing your scalp. After a while, he seems more at ease, his eyes finding yours and he smiles shyly, telling you heâs ready now and lifting his hips from the bed to let you pull his sweats and underwear down.Â
Free from the constraints of fabric, his cock slaps his stomach with a wet sound as the tip meets his skin, leaving a pearlescent streak over his abs. The sight makes your mouth water and you canât look away. âPretty,â you whisper.
Wrapping a hand under his tip, you swipe it with your thumb, taking time to memorise the flutter of his eyelids, the bobbing of his Adamâs apple, and the soft sigh he lets out. You stroke him slowly, liking the way his breath picks up as his brows knit together before you take him in your mouth. Itâs a tight fit but you do your best, spurred on by the way he tugs at your hair and stutters through a holy fuck as you take as much of him as you can.Â
Sunghoon goes silent, only squirming when you use your hand to stroke him near his base. Self-conscious about his lack of vocal affirmation, you look up at him through your lashes, and the pure bliss on his face is unbearably attractive. His eyes are rolled back under furrowed brows, his mouth hanging open as he throws his head back.
âAm I doing okay?â you ask, using the moment to catch your breath.
He nods, inhaling shakily and screwing his eyes shut while his hips buck up into your fist. âIâm.. Youâre doing such a good job, baby, so good.â
Satisfaction courses through you from the praise, a high that dulls the ache in your jaw. Still watching him, you massage his balls in your palm, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his tip when he whines. You tongue at his slit until he thrusts back into your mouth, tip hitting your throat, and he gasps when you gag, his arm coming up to cover his eyes. A belated apology slips from his lips, mumbled as he strokes your hair with a shaking hand and goes quiet again. When you speed up, his breath stutters, the muscles in his thighs contracting around your head as you suck and lick and drool on his cock.Â
A moan of your name, and his hand holding your hand down, are the only warnings you get before Sunghoon comes, spilling his load right down your throat. Whining, his hips buck up against your face, pushing further and further until he falls back onto the mattress.
Your throat is hoarse and aches while you use the back of your hand to wipe at your lips, enjoying whatâs left of his taste on your tongue. Deep red tints his neck and chest, a pretty flush gleaming under the sheen of sweat on his skin. Heâs mesmerising, as he tries for air through swollen lips and looks up at you through squinted eyes. He reaches for you, cute grabby hands tugging your shirt and pulling you down so youâre lying next to him with your head on his chest.Â
âYouâre amazing, baby, so good for me,â Sunghoon whispers, eyes fluttering shut as you drag your nails over his torso, feeling the subtle heave of the slick, sculpted muscle over his stomach and chest.Â
Pride heats your chest, satisfaction rolling over you like a wave. âReally?â
He hums in affirmation, nodding his head.Â
âYou were so quiet, I couldnât really tell,â you add, hungry for more praise.Â
âThe walls are so thin in here, I just got used to being quiet,â Sunghoon says, frowning. Hand meeting your chin, he tips your head up towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and mumbling, âIâm sorry. You were perfect, I swear.âÂ
Itâs a sweet kiss. Until lips move harder and hands get lower, desperate as he thumbs the top of your leggings, palm unmoving but a dangerous heat blooms in your stomach anyway.
âCan I..â Sunghoon pinches you softly through the material, unsure eyes boring deep into yours.Â
You nod. âYou can.âÂ
Slipping under your waistband, his fingers skate across your skin dipping between your thighs. He grazes your slit, satisfaction clear in the groan he lets out as he feels the wetness there, pulling it over the length of your slit to cover your clit. Your breath hitches, a strangled gasp, pleasure and surprise meeting in your throat under the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the gentle sting of his finger pushing into you.Â
What Sunghoon lacks in experience, he makes up for with the sheer length and thickness of his fingers. Itâs almost jarring, itâs enough to force your eyes closed and bring a sigh rumbling out of you, ache and relief settling between your legs, where he curls a finger against your walls and drags slow circles over your clit.Â
âCan you take these off, baby?â he asks, hand away to touch your leggings.Â
You donât waste a second, sitting up to pull them off, throwing them and your underwear across the room. Sunghoon licks his lips, tugging at the hem of your shirt.Â
âAnd this? If you want..âÂ
You nod, pulling it off immediately to let it join the rest of your clothes in a heap on the floor. The way he gulps is a confidence boost, his dilated pupils taking in every inch of your body, though his gaze always pulls back to your braâwhite and lacy, thin enough for your nipples to push through the fabric and Sunghoon canât seem to get enough, though he waits until youâre lying down again to touch you.Â
Sunghoon props himself up on his elbow, leaning over you. âYouâre beautiful,â he whispers, dragging a finger over the lace at the top of your bra, toying with the material and the little bow sitting between your breasts. His eyes flick up to meet yours. âSo beautiful,â he repeats.Â
Hiding your face in his chest, you mumble, âThank you,â into his skin while trying to ignore the heat spreading over your body wherever he touches you. His hand trails from your arm to your waist, resting on your hips to slip over your ass for a beat, where he grabs and squeezes the flesh there before coming back around to slot between your legsâyou lift one of them, resting it over his body, and heâs smiling sweetly when you look up at him.
Sunghoonâs movements are unchanging, though the sensation is heightened by the unbridled desire in his lidded eyes that urges white heat to lick over every inch of your skinâthis time he pushes two fingers into you.
It doesnât get better than this, you think. But it does, quickly.Â
Leaning over you, his eyes flick across your face, one feature at a time as he chews on his lip. Reaching up, you push some of his hair from his face, holding it back and saying, âRelax, baby.âÂ
âDonât want to hurt you.â
Moving your hand, you blink when his hair flops back over his forehead, tickling your eyelashes. His eyes are focused now, staring straight down into yours, want and worry flashing behind them.Â
âYou wonât, I promise,â you say, locking your pinky with his, feeling relieved when he smiles.
Sunghoon pushes in slowly, his name slipping from your lips when he exhales shakily, head falling forward. The sting, the pleasure, make it hard to breathe, molten desire taking hold of your lungs as he carves out a place for himself as far as youâll take him, all the way to the hilt as slow as he can manage.Â
A moan tears out of him, lewd and whiny as his hair tickles your collarbone, head falling into the crook of your neck. His skin is hot and damp against yours, his breath burning your shoulder as he tries to calm down. Itâs difficult to register much else, tethered only by the sound of his voice when he asks, âAm I hurting you?âÂ
âHoon,â you whisper.Â
âCan you look at me, baby?â He lifts his head, resting a hand on your cheek. You blink your eyes open, gaze locking with his, where concern pushes through his desire. âAm I hurting you?â he asks again. âAre you okay?âÂ
You nod. âIâm okay, just..â You sigh. âFull. Need a minute.âÂ
Sunghoon kisses you, lips moving gently with yours, passing breathy whines between your mouths until you feel yourself relaxing. Pulling his plush bottom lip between yours, you suck on it, nodding. âWant you to move, baby,â you mumble.Â
He scans your face, eyes meeting yours as he pulls his hips back. Heâs slow, so slow with his thrusts that your belly turns with want, your fingernails sink into the taut skin of his back, and jagged sobs fall out of you with each drag of his cock along your walls.Â
Everywhere his skin touches yours is set ablaze with scorching heat, goosebumps pushing past the surface as his breath fans your neck and his sharp teeth graze your skin. He bites hard enough to sting, and you wince as his tongue flicks over your bitten flesh to soothe you.
You were so worked up earlier, writhing against the sheets and coming undone in his palm, so bliss quickly pushes through the ache between your legs. âGood, Hoon, feels so good,â you manage, struggling to convey how perfect it is.
âJust want to make you feel good.â His words melt into each other, vowels soft and elongated as they curl around each other. Heâs working up a steady rhythm, his tip consistently nudging you where you need itâthe spot that makes the room blur around you. âThatâs all I want.âÂ
Before long, the knot in your stomach pulls you up from the mattress, arching your back towards the ceiling. Mouth to mouth, chest to chestâitâs the closest youâve ever felt to someone else, the closest youâve ever been. The thought alone knocks the wind out of you, and his persistent whining does nothing to help.
Your want and adoration for Sunghoon run bone-deep, inching up your spine and creeping over your shoulders, intertwined with an all-consuming pleasure that turns the heat in your stomach molten as a shudder zips through you. Even though you canât find the words to let him know, he lifts your hips from the bed to fuck you deeper, harder, into the mattress until shaky orgasms pull both of you under.Â
You let him fall into you, fingers curling around his hair, whispering I love you into the skin of his neck as he comes, most of his weight on top of you while you catch your breath, relishing in the fullness you feel as the last waves of your high pull back. You stay like this for as long as he needs, his head coming up from the crook of your neck to smile at you before pressing his lips to yours. A sleepy haze fills the room around you, tongue swiping tongue as you giggle happily into his mouth.Â
After a while, he gets up, tying the condom to throw it away and comes back with his shirt. He uses it to clean upâgentle between your legs, pressing kisses to your calves while he does. Sunghoonâs tenderness wraps around your heart, and love clouds your vision, forming a blurry trail that follows all of his movements, glowing like something from a dream, ethereal, an apparition.Â
The bed dips beside you, his arms around you, pulling you in so his chin rests on your head. You push your cheek into his chest, hoping the two of you will meld into oneâthe thought makes you warm all over, a fuzziness that reaches every part of your body while he presses kisses into your hair, rubbing your back.Â
âI love you,â he says, voice as soft as the rest of him. âIâm glad I exist.â
mama park: Hi lovely đ missing you lots, wondering when youâll be home for XmasâŠâŠâŠ..love ma
Sunghoon stirs, nose scrunching as he snores softly into the quiet of a winter morning. His chest rises and falls steadily under your head and he doesnât move when you sit up. The lamp on his desk is still on â neither of you could be bothered getting up to turn it off last night â and under its dim glow, you admire him. Perfect lips gently curvedâlong lashes kissing the skin under his eyes.Â
Love hits you from all angles, warmth all over from head to toe despite the chill in Sunghoonâs room. You canât help but grin, leaning up to nose along the underside of his chin, his natural scent so soft yet dizzying as you nuzzle into him. He stirs again, turning his head this way and that before resting, you feel a bit bad, deciding to leave him be and text his mum back.Â
you: hi mum !!! missing you sooooooo much :((( will be home asap
mama park: BTW Sunghoon told me everything. I raised such good actors LOL make sure he looks after you and keeps you happy!
you: iâm so sorry we lied to you..
you: but iâm really happy with him and he loves me a lot
you: i love him so much .. never been so sure of anyone in my life
© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !
permanent taglist: @asahicore
#sunghoon smut#enhypen smut#enha smut#enhypen scenarios#sunghoon scenarios#sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon smut#park sunghoon x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen oneshots#sunghoon oneshots#sunghoon imagines#enhypen hard hours#fic.sunghoon
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đ anon
congrats on 5k
hey bb ! iâve been brainrotting on insatiable lando and his gf for weeks now omg
for a cute lil fic i was thinking of reader being max fâs sister and lando and her being secretly together. theyâre all on vacation together and lando and reader are super insanely insatiable and the story on how they act on vacay đđ
anywhere she wants.
ln x fem fewtrell!reader
in which no one approves of your relationship, so lando shows them just how good he is to youâŠ
oh my sweet đ anon, iâm sorry this took so long! slowly getting back into the groove of writing, starting with this little piece! i went a bit off script but the vibes are hopefully similar to the request! huge thanks to angel bby @fairene for helping me out!enjoy! lemme know what you think!! big hugs and lots of love đ
songs to set the mood: my love mine all mine by mitski, i know places by taylor swift, she will be loved by maroon 5, summertime sadness by lana del rey
warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, fluff, angst, a bit of exhibitionism kinda, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, established relationship, max being a dick, angry/feral!lando, girlboss!reader, hints of ownership kink? for like. a second, lando being wise (not canon lmao), swearing
4.2k words
fairy lights drench the pool with light, a glow dancing over the still surface in ripples. you smile, hum with content as the warm evening air washes over your skin, leaning over the balcony to take in the sight of where youâll be staying.
footsteps sound from behind you, the master bedroom, and you quickly feel two warm arms wrap around your waist, tan and thick. you lean into his touch, chest warming from the kisses peppered over your jugular.
âyou like it?â lando breathes, nosing over your earlobe.
âitâs beautiful.â you whisper, turning your head to nuzzle against him. he seizes the opportunity to seal his lips over yours, kissing you soft and deep. you spin in his arms, clutching at his shirt to hold him close, the kiss intensifying, changing pace. just as he licks into your mouth, a sigh, so loud that it breaks the sound barrier, tears you both apart.
âso is that all you two do now, suck each others faces?â max rolls his eyes, his disapproval of your relationship one of the worlds worst kept secrets.
âyes, max. thatâs all we do.â you mock, biting back at your older brother.
because of course youâre dating your brothers best friend. of course you are. life is funny like that.
lando stays silent, but you feel his hand on your waist tightening. max swallows hard.
âwe ordered pizza, if you guys wanna come down.â max bulldozes through the awkwardness, offering an olive branch, and leaves.
âhe is such a knob.â you mutter, shaking your head. lando strokes tentatively over your cheek, soothing you.
âheâs your big brother, baby. heâll get over this.â lando coos reassuringly, and you choose the easy path of believing him.
you and max occupy opposite ends of the excessively large dining table when you join the rest of your friends.
the tension has been palpable between you and max since he caught you sneaking out of landoâs london flat one morning, the reason for your visit quite clear. youâd stood with your ear to the door when heâd stormed past you and entered the apartment, making you more than aware that your presence was unwanted when he quickly slammed the door behind him.
youâd endured the one-sided screaming match that followed, the accusations that lando must be playing with your feelings, that it would never work out, that it wasnât fair at how exposed youâd be to the cruelty of his fan base, that he couldnât believe how low lando would stoop to date his little fucking sister.
you wanted to understand, and really, you tried!but max hadnât made it easy, constantly pushing your buttons and making needless digs at the both of you. lando convinced you that this holiday during the summer break would be healing; max would get to see how much lando cared for you, and everyone got much needed time to relax. so, with your friend group in tow, the three of you jetted off to the tiny spanish island.
surely, everything would be fine.
-
everything was not, in fact, fine.
you can smell it in the air, the tension building thick and heavy. everyone thought they were slick, waiting for lando to leave so they could corner you, and corner you, they did.
lando had kissed you sweetly by the sliding doors to the garden, popping his airpods in and shouting a quick: going on a run! to the rest of your holiday party. youâd sauntered carelessly to a lounger, bikini clad, sprawling out across the chair to tan and watch the who can do the best canon ball into the pool competition that has become a long running championship. but you can feel stares, feel the walls closing in, and you push your sunglasses up to rest over your hairline.
max and pietra are locked in on you, as are the rest of your friends.
âwhat?â you feel hot, embarrassed all of the sudden for no reason at all.
âso, itâs going well, then⊠with lando?â one of your girlfriends starts, but it sounds extra high pitched, awkward. your stomach sinks as you realise the pathetically choreographed dance about to take place.
âfor fuck sake.â you mutter.
âsheâs just asking!â max shoots back, as if heâs offended, as if you canât see right through him.
âitâs going great.â you state, blunt as ever whenever your relationship is questioned.
âwe just wanna make sure that this is right for you.â pietra says sympathetically, her eyes soft. youâve known her long enough to know that even though her dickhead boyfriend is being callous, she genuinely cares.
âlando is right for me, you are all so full of shit! i donât get what it is that youâre seeing.â you try and keep your voice level, even as your blood pressure begins to rise menacingly.
âitâs not so much what we see between you, itâs more about what he was like before.â tom jumps in.
ah, yes. the infamous hoe phase.
âbecause no one here ever fucked around.â you glare pointedly at your brother. he lowers his gaze.
âare we sure this isnât just a⊠a fling?â pietra tries again, staying soft. her words still sting.
âyeah, i know him better than you do, and i-â maxâs voice cuts you like a thousand shards of glass and you body ignites with rage.
he knows him better? what does he know?
does he know that lando canât sleep without telling you that he loves you? does he know that lando cried into you arms after his miami win? does he know that lando feels itchy if he doesnât tell you that youâre beautiful at least eleven times an hour? does he know that youâre so crazy about his gorgeous, loving, infuriating best friend that youâre prepared to tell your brother where to go and to never come back?
âshut the fuck up, max. you know nothing! nothing about our relationship because you never gave us a chance. you donât see how much i love him because every time you see us together, youâre hellbent on destroying our happiness.â you point angrily, standing from your chair. before you turn to the house, you leave them all with a parting message.
âand all of you will do very well to remember who paid to bring your bitter arses here. remember whose fucking house youâre in.â you lecture, watching as they all turn sheepish as they realise how ungrateful they sound.
âi donât think i have anything to add.â you hear from behind you.
you jump, turning to see lando leaning against the door.
âshit, baby.â you breathe, rushing towards him, your skin crawling as you wonder how much heâs heard.
âforgot my phone.â he shrugs, smiling warmly at you. only at you. ânow unless anyone has anything to add, iâm gonna take my very, very serious girlfriend upstairs.â he grins smugly.
the silence is so deafening that you couldnât of even heard a pin drop if youâd tried.
you hold up your middle finger as he leads you away.
your bedroom door slams so hard that they must hear it outside. heâs tense, enraged at the disrespect that youâd endured, but heâs soft with you, pulling you into his rigid body. he relaxes into you, walking you further into the room.
âhow much did you hear?â you whisper, clinging to him.
âoh, you know, just all of it.â he laughs bitterly, fingers sinking into your hips.
âtheyâre assholes.â you growl, threading your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes it.
âthere is one good thing about it though.â lando hums, still guiding you deeper into the room. your back thuds softly against the sliding glass door, the one that leads to your balcony.
âwhat?â you breathe, suddenly extremely aware of his lower body.
âyouâre so fucking sexy when youâre mad.â he smirks.
turns out, he didnât steal you away to mope.
his lips crash against yours fiercely, teeth and tongue getting in on the action as he moves his mouth feverishly against your own. your neck tilts back, allowing him to swallow you whole, like his life depends on the feeling of you pressed against him. he trails kisses over your cheek, across your jaw, down your neck, two fingers grazing your ribcage. he snaps the tie of your bikini against your skin, stone cold aware of the lack of clothing adorning your body and he hums low from the back of his throat.
âthey need to learn that youâre mine, that youâre always gonna be mine.â lando grunts, pulling away to slide the door open. he pushes you out onto the balcony, the one that overlooks the very pool that your friends and your brother are licking their wounds around.
âlandoâŠâ you gasp, weary of his overly adventurous attitude.
âmaybe this will make them realise just how crazy you make me.â lando looks possessed, moving towards you like a wild animal engulfing its prey.
he cages you in against the wall, pulling one leg over his hip to spread you open, his fingers travelling to the flimsy tie of your bikini bottoms. youâre already soaked, embarrassingly so, really, but thereâs just something about those gorgeous, haunted eyes. lando letâs the bottoms fall to the floor, kicking them away impatiently as he quickly finds home between your legs.
âthink anyone else can get you this wet?â lando asks, eyes rolling back as he finds your slick folds. your jaw drops, already boneless at the feel of him. âanswer me, baby. nice ân loud for me.â he demands.
âno, lan.â you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. heâs teasing, stroking lightly over your folds and your sensitive bud.
âand can anyone else make you feel this good? i mean, baby, iâve barely touched you and youâre shaking.â landoâs teeth catch his bottom lip, his eyes glazing over as he watches you.
âlando, please.â you mutter, grinding down on his hand. you need more of him. he grins, flashing his teeth with pride as he renders you desperate.
âmy pretty girl fucking my hand, god, youâre so perfect.â lando praises, earning a moan from your kiss-swollen lips. âbet they can hear how soaked you are, baby.â
you flush red, shame and embarrassment blurring the pleasure and you press a tense hand to your mouth, trying to silence the waterfall of whines.
âdonât you fucking dare.â he warns, sliding his fingers deep into your pussy. he gives you no time to adjust, curling them upwards and rocking his whole hand against you. his palm bumps against your clit and you writhe against the wall.
thereâs no point covering your mouth, there is no hiding whatâs happening. you let him have you how he wants you, a consolation for him having to hear his friends badmouth him, and he takes every liberty, mouthing at your covered tits, lapping over your peaked nipples. you cry out, weak as he manipulates your body closer to an orgasm, your wetness trickling down his wrist.
âso good to me, baby, only you, lando.â you choke, your voice echoing between the stone walls.
âthatâs it, honey, make a mess for me. let âem hear you pretty girl.â he encourages, talking you straight into your first orgasm.
you tremble, gushing all over his hand as you cum, droplets splattering all over the paved floor. landoâs eyes turn black, mouth hanging open as he watches you fall apart, riding you through it.
lando letâs you cool down, propping you carefully against the wall, and leaning over the balcony. funnily enough, max is long gone, but the rest of them sit in stunned silence. he canât help himself, driven mad by your quivering body and their cruel jabs, choosing whatever the opposite of the high road is. he reaches into his pocket, finding his credit card.
âget out of the villa that i paid for so i can fuck my girlfriend anywhere she wants.â he shouts, watching the way their necks snap up to look at him, revelling in their reddened faces that are not just flushed from the sun. âtake this. have dinner. just fuck off.â he frisbees his card at tom, - rather carelessly really, considering just how much there was to lose on that little black square - and he revels in the way it lands square against his forehead.
they all stand up and scurry away, as few faint sorryâs! carrying through the air towards the couple on the balcony, but lando has more important business to attend to.
he scoops you up into his arms, grinning at your coy smile and your drooping eyes. he carries you to bed, planting you in the middle of the mattress.
ânot done with you yet, baby, open those eyes for me.â lando coos, crawling over you, his shirt and workout shorts flung to the other side of the room. he feels delicious against you, caging you in beneath him.
âwant you, lan.â you plead, a desperate smile on your face as you keen, stretching against the mattress like a cat.
âyouâll have me, baby. always gonna have me.â he smiles, eyes finding yours. âi love you.â
âlove you so much.â you whisper, pulling him flush against you. âno matter what.â you affirm. he needed to hear that, it seems, his eyes sparkling with something else, other than the sheen of lust.
he kisses you, firm and wanting, his fingertips sliding up over your arms, leaving prickles of lightning and goosebumps in their wake. one of his hands interlocks with yours, twining together above your head, his body stretching languidly over yours. you can feel him, hard and throbbing between your legs, teetering on the knife edge of self control.
âtake me, lando. have me how you want me. âm yours.â you croon, disguising a helpless whine as you arch your body into his. youâre squirming for it, to feel him sink deep and claim you his.
that seems to usher him along, and he drags his cock through your folds with a slow roll of his hips, the head catching your sodden entrance. you hiss, the intrusion not even nearly enough, but the sensation overwhelming you nonetheless. he slides into you carefully, stilling when his hips hit flush against yours. you do not want careful.
âfuck me.â you groan wetly, hot breath fanning his face as your mouth instinctively fills with saliva. youâre close to drooling for him.
âbeg.â he snaps, jaw tight as he battles his natural instinct to utterly ravage you. âbeg me to show you that i own you.â
your legs quiver, pussy clenching around him and he cannot help but buck his hips and suppress a whine. he styles it out, tantalisingly slow as he rolls his hips, grinding against your pleasure point, your slick walls. blood rushes in your ears, your body feral with need. you canât even tease, disobey him for the fun of it, not when heâs wound you up so delectably. your body keens for him, hums with the sparks, a live wire.
âdonât wanna be able to walk when youâre done,â you slur, beginning to ramble. âwant to feel you so deep that iâm ruined. âm yours, lando. have me.â you plead.
pleasure shoots through him, then, rapid and unwavering. heâs unforgiving as he rails into you, immediately stoking the fire in your belly. all of his body weight is on you, sweaty skin sticking and slapping as his hipbones bruise into yours.
âis that how you want it, huh, baby?â he manages to growl, scooping up your wrists in one big paw, his other hand working down the planes and curves of your body. he finds the triangles of your bikini top, hastily tearing them down just enough so that your tits spill out. all for him. all his. âlook at this perfect fucking body,â his breathe hitches, awestruck. âis it all mine?â
you cry out, nodding shamelessly as he ghosts his fingers around the swell of your nipple, switching to the other when heâs satisfied with the peak. he alternates between them, twisting and tugging, barely there and all too hard. you can only plead his name and tighten around his cock.
once heâs overstimulated your chest, he works his fingers further down your body, stopping now and then to dig into your flesh, appreciating the soft feeling of your skin under his calloused hands.
âand this hot, little cunt⊠is this mine, too?â lando breathes, right against the shell of your ear. his thumb presses hard against your thrumming clit, smearing your slick over the bud. âto play with? is it baby?â
âgod, yes.â you manage to bellow, the strained words tearing over your vocal chords.
âyes, what?â lando snaps, slapping lightly over the bundle of nerves.
âitâs yours!â you sob, choking on your own voice.
âtoâŠ?â lando coaxes, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips as he looks at you expectantly.
âto play with.â you stutter, cheeks tinged hot with embarrassment that seeps down your neck and between your sweat-dampened bodies.
âthatâs my good girl. my pretty, pretty girl.â he mutters, more to himself than to you.
ââm so close.â you breathe, writhing up the mattress, his body atop your inescapable. he toys with your clit, pinching the electrified nerves, watching how you buck your hips and leak onto the mattress. heâs covered in you, his belly glistening in the sunlight that washes over you, sealing you forever in this golden, sparkling moment.
âwant me to cum all over your tummy, baby? mark you mine?â lando gasps, driving into you with one goal in mind. he has to get you there, wants to be painted in the remnants of your pleasure and hung up in every art museum in the world. if only he wasnât so selfish, yearning to keep this stunning sight to himself for the rest of his life.
ân-no,â you pause, your jaw going slack for a moment as he circles your clit just right, grinds his hips so deep. âinside me.â you beg.
âfill me up.â
his vision blurs.
lando just about folds you in half, carnal desire surging through his veins. the hand keeping yours suspended over your head falls away, finding your navel where he applied a brutal, sweet pressure that leaves you blind and wailing. his other fingers busy themselves sinking into the meat of your thigh, dragging you backwards and forwards on his throbbing length.
your body goes limp, tears of pleasure trailing wetly down your face as your orgasm hits you, and lando canât help but bury himself as deep as he can go. the rutting of his hips and the messy rub of his whole hand against your clit leaves you awestruck, sobbing into the air of the room. youâre covering him in waves, shivering as you grow overstimulated but you canât help but chase the high. your violent quivers and dripping cunt make him whine, high pitched and divine, and he drops onto you, filling you up. he canât seem to stop, painting you white from the inside out, watching the way it drips out of you, coating the base of his cock.
this canât be over yet, he decides. he needs to hear you scream.
âlemme help you with that.â he mumbles, slinking down your body, eyes fixed solely on where you were joined together.
you donât even get a chance to mourn the loss of him buried inside of you, no. youâre too busy pushing at his curls, pleading that he lets up, but he canât. itâs not that he wonât, itâs that he quite simply canât.
his tongue runs up the seam of your pussy, lapping over the mixture youâve made and you canât do anything but cry and thrash, white hot with pleasure and pain. its so good that it hurts, and you give in, knowing that he isnât going to stop unless you say the magic words. lord knows, you wonât. lando knows you wonât.
itâs torturous, really, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, drags his tongue over his mess and slips it right into your entrance. he swirls and sucks and nips and tugs. itâs like heâs turned a faucet on, watching hazily as you drip and drip, more of you and him seeping onto his tongue. heâs insatiable as he licks you clean, unable to resist luring you into a third orgasm.
and when it hits, god, does it hit.
the scream he pulls from your body is deafening, makes him shake with the intensity of it, the vibrations rippling through your body and ricocheting off of his. you relax limply into the mattress, urgently needing a break. you watch through hooded eyes as he slurps anything left of you from his reddened lips, your thighs clenching unconsciously. he just chuckles, flopping down beside you.
âtired, baby?â lando teases, stroking over your rapidly rising and falling ribs.
âjust a tad.â you deadpan, unable to hold back the giggles as serotonin soothes you.
âoh, sweetheart. iâm not even nearly done with you yet.â lando grins toothily, deviously.
something he said about fucking you âanywhereâ you wanted dawns on you and your eyes widen.
-
anywhere really did mean anywhere.
heâd had to carry you to the shower when you were finally done, holding you close under the spray. you were lost to the memory of him pushing you into the sideboard in the hallway, laying you flat across the kitchen counter, eating you like dessert on the very same sun lounger that youâd been perched on when this whole marathon commenced.
youâre utterly spent, eyelids sagging when he finally sets you down on the sofa, playing on his phone while you fall asleep watching the office.
youâre curled up in landoâs lap, legs hanging over the end of the sofa when max finds you. hair still wet from the much needed shower and fast asleep in his best friends arms. he actively chooses to quell the disgusted curl of his lips. you look so peaceful, safe. his plans to throttle lando for his earlier stint subside.
âcall me a wankstain on society later, if you want, but please donât wake her up.â lando speaks with a hushed tone, not even gracing max with eye contact, his eyes remaining on the candies heâd been crushing before the other fewtrell turned up.
âi- no, i wasnât gonna call you that. i did, however, consider driving that very nice, very vintage lambo you hired off a cliff.â max mutters. lando scoffs a laugh.
âyou would have paid for it.â he still doesnât look up from the phone. max eyes the way lando strokes your side, in time with the crests and falls of your breath. itâs tender, intimate.
max considers that thereâs a strong possibility he was wrong.
âmate, listen-â
ânope. sheâs your baby sister, i get it. i get it. you can hate me for it, but you crossed a line going after her like that.â lando finally looks up at max, glowering sternly.
âiâm gonna talk to her.â max bows his head, as if heâs ashamed of himself and lando softens slightly.
âyou should, mate. she wants your support, your approval means everything.â lando says. âlook, i love her. i really do. and while you were accusing me of trying to ruin her life, you were crushing her.â lando sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of pain. max meets his gaze.
âfor the record, i donât think anyone will ever be good enough for my little sister, but you come pretty fucking close.â max relents, pushing his pride aside, finally. lando smiles, small and knowing.
âi just wanna make her happy.â he shrugs, a look of hopeless romance, utter devotion and pure happiness radiating off of him in waves as he gazes down at your frame. something in maxâs belly snaps, the apprehension dissolving to mush. he had gotten this all wrong.
âyou do.â he hums, watching how you curl further into lando as you stir in your sleep, the drivers fingers delicately combing your hair away from your face. âbut,â max quips.
lando grimaces, bracing himself.
âif you ever, ever, pull something like that again,â max shivers with disgust at the insinuation. âi will remove your bollocks and make you watch me crash the miura.â max swears, pointing a finger of warning.
âseems like everyoneâs come to their senses, no more⊠pranks from me.â lando holds his free hand up in mock surrender.
âhave you two kissed and made up yet?â you murmur, stretching out in landoâs arms. you rub sleep from your eyes, sitting up and leaning into your boyfriends solid frame, resting against him as your eyes flit to your brother.
âweâre good. âm, uh, sorry.â max nods, attempting to be heartfelt. lando chokes on a laugh as it falls flat.
âyouâre âuh, sorryâ?â you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest.
âiâm really sorry.â max tries again, and you grin cheekily at your brother, watching as his shoulders release the tension theyâve been carrying all afternoon. he turns to leave, halfway to the door when you call out to him.
âhey, max?â
âyeah, lovely?â your chest warms at the sweet nickname. youâd forgotten the last time heâd called you that.
âwash your sheets.â your eyes blaze with amusement and you hear landoâs sharp inhale of breath, shocked that youâd gone there.
âyou didnât- my god, you did not-â max splutters, his face almost green with nausea.
âyouâll never know for sure.â you grin. you think heâs going to faint.
serves the bastard right.
-
hehe
lemme know what u think!! <33
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JULY REC FICS
Hello, my sweets!! I wanted to try something out to provide my full and utter support to all the amazing writers I've come across in the form of monthly rec fics (starting this month). Join me in giving them love through comments and reblogs. It really is a joy to hear how you're doing as a writer. It makes up for all the angst we write lol
I will be going based on what I've read recently and not by the date the fic was posted. And the number of fics will depend on how much I've read the entire month. Also, please respect these writers. Some contents are 18+, so MINORS should not be interacting in any way, especially when the authors themselves specify it.
â âż â âż âż â âż âż âż
Spencer Reid
âż a question unasked by @easy-there-leftovers âł SOOOO ADORABLE. I'm a workaholic craze gal, so it speaks to me on a silly level.
âż missing the happy hormone by @lavenderspence âł I'm a sucker for Spencer fluff this month, what can I say? This fic Tina made had my waterworks going on for about a minute because it's so sweet
âż desk duty by @reiderwriter âł All you have to know is the amount of evil laugh I made while reading this
âż the theory of love by @ophelia-is-complex âł Genuine intimacy is quite a challenge to write, but THIS ONE, this one had me in a sappy mood
âż like nothing matters by @cerisereids âł gagged and had to pause the reading so many times because HELLOâ had me spiraling at work
âż the devils disguise by @qlossytbh âł I said I sobbed a little bit, but I actually cried so much I ended up taking a nap and felt better afterward. It's all fluff, though, don't get me wrong. I'm just very dramatic when the red devil's on the clock
âż not so funny by @reidmania âł Angsty, that made me wanna start a fight with some random twiggy tall guy. Sooooo good!
âż cloaked in passions touch by @raekensluver âł If you don't like Spencer's hands, you're fucking lying to yourself!!!!!
âż language of devotion by @gghostwriter âł I'm in love with reid, and this fic just had me stumbling back onto his lap like a good gal
âż this req response by @mandarinmoons âł Sorry, I'm not sure what the title is, but it's so adorable and got me to go to work, so kind of a lifesaver tbh
âż hallucinate by @gghostwriter âł Oooo, this one was so cute, hehe. Honestly, I lean towards Spencer fluff lately just because I've been too overstimulated with work this past month, so READ THIS ONE ITS CUTE
âż it's golden, like daylight by @dudeitiskarev âł I actually felt like I was reader the entire time I read this. It's well-written and so adorable and something that should be framed in a museum
âż much ado about nothing series by @incognit0slut âł binged it all morning, and I was whipped !!! It's ongoing, so if I have to wait, so does everybody else
â ⊠â ⊠⊠â ⊠⊠âŠ
Aaron Hotchner
⊠choiceless hope series by @hotchfiles ⳠThis series had me rolling over my bed on a Saturday. A lot of feelings getting played (mostly mine)
⊠beanstalk by @solardrop ⳠI kid you not; I was giggling like a weirdo when I read it. And that itself deserves the recommendation.
⊠too busy being yours by @hotchfiles ⳠLari knows how to get a sick gal to giggle. I love bau!rossi!reader. I love Rossi as reader's dad, so I enjoyed it more than I thought I would
⊠ignorance by infatuation by @boneblushed ⳠOh, this one was a nice snack while on my break at work. LOVED IT SO MUCH
⊠hungover by @basketonthedoorstepofthefbi ⳠMmmm, such a good read! Plus Jemily is there sooooo
⊠from across the bar by @hotchscoffeecup ⳠEvil laugh ensues. A nice cuppa of some good ole kinky stuff
⊠doomed by @hotchfiles Ⳡguys, I stopped my car in the middle of driving home just to read it, so it's THAT good. Honestly, I strongly encourage everyone to read all of Lari's works! She's my writer crush, if none of you realized it by now
⊠a bunch of cuties in love by @lavenderspence âł hehehehehehe this definitely did not remind me of that one older guy I used to flirt with who had an adorable younger brother that I babysatđ€
⊠schrodinger's cat by @none-of-your-bullshit Ⳡangst on a Saturday morning is like taking a shot of soju before 11 am, and this one felt like it <3
how about you also comment your top 3 fave fics for this month to spread more love to our great writers?
#spencer reid#aaron hotchner#criminalminds#criminal minds#dr spencer reid#cm#ssa spencer reid#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotch fic#spencer reid angst#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid series#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#ker's rec fics
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