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oatmealwrites · 3 months ago

Text

Initiation

nsfw [FRAT JJK AU] CHOSO X F! READER

Hematology Student! Frat Brother! Jealous! Choso x Grad Student! Reader

Synopsis: It's Yuji's pledge initiation and you've been dragged out to the JJK function to celebrate the fact he's a full member now. Of course the main reason you want to go is to see the one man completely off limits: Yuji's brother Choso. With alcohol flowing and music playing, maybe he'll admit the only reason he comes to these parties is the off chance you show up

NSFWWW (porn with plot LMAO, mdni) Roomate Suguru, slutty Satoru, mentions of alcohol, oral [m receiving], oral [f receiving], female anatomy, she/her pronouns, p in v, unprotected, creampie, aftercare, yuji is a cockblock, helpless pining, jealously, established relationship at the end

this is a LONG ass fic but I had wayyy to much fun writing it hehehe [i wanna keep doing fics like this in the future too]

Word count: 12.8 k (LET ME COOK OK)

Masterlist

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Papers scattered, Red Bulls empty, and lofi playing in the background, it’s one of the rare evenings Suguru joins you at the shared kitchen table to study for an exam. Silently, you pass snacks and drinks to each other, only looking up from your content material to stretch the ache building in your back muscles. On any other Thursday night Suguru would leave you, his roommate, alone in the shared apartment for a ‘chapter meeting’ and return late in the night to continue his studies alone in his room while you stayed in the same position hunched over the wood table for hours on end.

A comfortable silence lingers between the two of you, each too focused on your separate exams to make small talk, but enjoying the atmosphere of not studying alone. It’s a routine that occurs several times a week, and one of the rare occasions you’re actually productive. Eventually the lofi playing on the tv in the living room hits an ad roll and you both take it as a moment to break from the material.

“God this exam is going to be the end of me… remind me why I chose oncology as my specialization again?”

“Pretty sure it was just because Satoru persuaded you to stay in the same med field as him-”

He kicks your shin from under the table and laughs with as much emotion as he could muster given the 3rd hour of review you’ve begun. You weren��t in the same field as Suguru, hell not even the same school of study within the university, but that didn’t stop you from spending hours together reviewing material in a shared state of depression.

“Speaking of which- Satoru’s on his way over.”

Suguru scrolls through his phone mindlessly and pushes back from the table to clear some of the empty snack wrappers that littered the kitchen. You lean back in your chair and frown at him, “Huh? I thought your stupid chapter thing was cancelled.”

He takes a moment to step back from the running sink and flicks some water at you with a smirk, “Ok it’s not stupid, it’s called loyalty to a frat.”

“Yea more like cult-”

He splashes you again, laughing at the way you shriek and desperately try to protect your notes from the potential water damage.

“Ok Ok fine, frat. But why is he coming here anyways?”

Suguru dries his hand on the cheap kitchen towel you bought together when you both moved in and slides his phone off the counter to check his messages again; his other hand runs through the long dark hair he’s let hang freely down.

“Hmm, not sure. He said he’d be here in 10 minutes roughly an hour ago… so that means-”

There’s a quick courtesy knock at the door before the sound of the spare key turning the lock clicks and the wood swings open. Satoru saunters in, no backpack with him, and shuts the door before pulling out a chair, throwing his coat somewhere on the floor, and sitting like he is a third unannounced roommate.

“Hey~”

Suguru opens the fridge and slides him a canned soft drink before walking around to sit back in his original spot.

You don’t mind him, but you do mind the fact this small 15 minute study break could very well turn into a 90 minute one if he plans on staying a while.

“Hey, what are you doing here? No exams to cram for?”

He slides off the sunglasses covering his eyes, even though it’s 6pm, and rests his chin in his hand, letting strands of milky white hair swing idly.

“Nah, not into all that stuff-,” Suguru and you exchange a tired look, “I’m actually here to collect my vice president.”

Suguru sighs and leans his head to the side, making no effort to hide the exhaustion on his face, “Seriously, Satoru? What do you need me for? Chapter’s cancelled this week to prep for the pledges’ final initiation.”

“That’s why I need you! Nanami is holding the frat treasury hostage as we speak– without your override we won’t be able to pay the downpayment on the rental house.”

There’s a twitch in your eyebrow at the conversation. Nearly all your friends were involved with Greek Life in some sort of way, but the frat JJK was infamous for their extravagant parties. Most likely the white haired man’s fault for his expensive taste in renting out a house for each function- finding it easier to simply pay the damages and cleaning fees than actually take care of the property.

“I’ll go with you to Haibara’s, but that’s it Satoru.”

You snap back into the conversation between your roommate and his best friend for the last few sentences, “Suguru and I planned on a delivery order while we studied. Do you wanna come back here with your bag afterwards and join us?”

Satoru breaks the pleading look on his face and turns to you with an airy laugh, “I already said exams aren’t really my thing, I don’t really like trying that hard. Besides,” he puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’ll probably be borrowing him for a few hours anyways~”

Suguru shakes his head and stands up to head over to the coat rack and flip through the jackets before sliding on his winter coat. Satoru follows suit and stands up but doesn’t leave the table’s edge; instead he admires your burnt out state. Hair sloppily thrown back, one of Suguru’s undergrad sweatshirts, comfy pants that are nearing 4 years old, and skincare done but no makeup applied.

“You should come.”

“What?”

Satoru makes no move towards his jacket and stays looking at you, “You should come to this party once I get Nanami to approve the budget.”

You stay motionless for a few seconds, already knowing your answer of ‘no’ before the sentence can form on your tongue.

“That’s not her vibe Satoru, you know that,” Suguru wraps a dark scarf around his neck and tosses the puffer jacket towards his friend.

“Still, it would be good to get you out of the house.”

A small ‘V’ is formed by the scrunching of your eyebrows as you watch the man now finally shimmy the coat he threw on the floor back onto his shoulders.

“I do leave the house for your information. I actually go to class and regularly study at the library in addition to meeting with my thesis professor.”

Satoru lifts his hands and rolls his eyes dramatically, “Oh my, what a great social life you got there. At this rate I’m sure the space between your thighs has grown cobwebs.”

“Hey!”

“Satoru-” Suguru warns his friend with a slight shove.

He raises his hands in defense but turns back to you, “ok my bad, rude wording. But still, you need some stress relief,” he snaps his fingers, “or sex relief.”

Suguru smacks him again while Satoru is too busy laughing at his own joke before pulling up the zipper on his jacket. You stand and turn to the fridge, trying to avoid letting the truthfulness of the commnet get under your skin. You’ve gone on dates before, mostly with assholes who never get a second one, but it’s not like you were actively trying to stay single, just no one caught your eye.

Ok that’s a lie.

In all honesty nearly every member of that stupid frat was painfully attractive, but the one you couldn’t help thinking about was the only one totally off limits: your best friend Yuji’s older brother.

God even thinking about him was enough to make you lose focus as you dug around in the fridge for another energy drink. Dark hair pulled back, a scar? No, birthmark? Tattoo? Across this bridge of his nose, and a body you’re sure is sculpted from marble. To top it off he never once made you feel uncomfortable or objectified like half the members of the frat did when they flirted at parties. Nope, he was a total gentleman who always put his brothers first and never asked for anything in return.

Suguru brings his index finger under his chin in a silent thought while Satoru rubs the spot on his arm where he was just punched.

“Come to think of it, when was the last time you brought someone home?”

An apple from the refrigerator flies towards both of them, but Satoru catches it with ease and begins to howl with laughter. Suguru laughs a little, though less mockingly than his friend, “you know I wouldn’t mind having to give you a noise complaint once in a while.”

“BOTH OF YOU-!”

The two men continue their laughter and torment, making your frustration only grow inexplicably bigger as you watch.

“Alright well,” Satoru wipes a tear from his eye and opens the door to slide the spare key back under the welcome mat, “Wish us luck on getting this party approved! See ya later babe~”

Suguru gives him one last push before waving off and shutting the door behind him while you sit alone at the kitchen table now listening to the subtle lofi continuing to play in the background. It’s lonelier but not unfamiliar as you collect your papers and organize them into your backpack, unable to focus in the apartment anymore.

It would be impossible to face Yuji at this moment, too caught up in the terrible thoughts about his brother infesting your brain. Instead you slide out your phone and click on Megumi’s contact before hitting ‘dial’. There’s a dial tone that rings three times before a gruff voice mumbles out a short ‘hello?’.

“Hey it’s me! Wanna go to the campus library?”

*******

A few days go by and most evenings are spent alone in the apartment with Suguru being dragged by Satoru to finalize purchases for the now approved function. Nanami and Haibara gave the green light on the rental house, but it left a majority of the budget unable to cover the steep alcohol costs. Not that any of it would deter Satoru of course: being heir to his family’s extremely successful private hospital left him swiping his metal black credit card without a second glance at the final price, purchasing enough alcohol to stock an entire bar.

This Wednesday night is like many of the others you’ve had this semester so far, sitting in the campus library with Megumi and Toge reviewing projects, editing thesis papers, and cramming content before exams. The three of you work silently, sipping on to-go coffee cups and listening to music playing in your respective headphones. Occasionally a ‘ping’ from Toge texting you memes causes a slight break to giggle at his antics, but they’re short lived and the three of you continue working again.

“Hey guys!” “See? I told you they would be here!”

Yuji and Nobara stroll up, dressed casually and without any backpacks in tow. The three of you at the table exchange a quick glance before sliding chairs over and making room for them to sit.

“You have to come Y/N,” Yuji whines while shaking your arm back and forth in a pleading manner, “You literally never attend the functions.”

Any attempt to continue reviewing your lecture notes is thrown out the window by now as Yuji continues to shake your arm with vigor.

“Yuuuji. Why do you want me to come to this one so badly?”

“It’s my first party as no longer a pledge! I can finally get drunk with no one to drive home and no repercussions. You. Have. To. Come.”

He shakes your shoulders now with each word while Megumi shrugs his shoulders at Nobara who is attempting the same conversation on him.

“You’re on attendance probation for missing too many social events Megumi, you have to attend.”

“I don’t even wanna be in this frat anyways, wouldn’t probation be beneficial to me?”

Toge leans across the table, already deciding he was indeed going to the party and carpooling with Yuta to the function; he gives Megumi a confused look silently before Nobara explains.

“His dad is a legacy member, so he was basically born to be in the frat,” she turns to Megumi, “It’s also highly unlikely you’ll ever be kicked out too- with that idiot Satoru as your big, he’d never let you drop.”

Megumi rolls his eyes and huffs, looking at you in exhaustion and longing to continue studying already. Yuji continues shaking you until you’re able to pry his hand off your shoulders for a moment, a small headache forming from the yelling.

“Ok ok, shush please! I don’t wanna get kicked out.”

He dulls his whines to whimper.

“I’ll go ok? But who else is even going to be there?”

Yuji breaks into a grin and Nobara nudges Megumi to indicate he has to come too, otherwise he’d be the only person not attending.

“It’s the pres and vice pres of course, Nanamin, Haibara, Shoko, Todo, Choso, -”

The list of names grows but you stop listening after Choso’s name is mentioned, the sound of it bringing your heartrate up immediately.

“Choso..?”

“Huh? Oh yea,” Yuji pauses and grins, “He’s always been set on staying sober during my pledge time with me, so now he can finally get shitfaced with us!”

It’s the type of thing you’re not surprised to hear, Choso being so supportive of his brother and even voluntarily having mediocre Friday nights just to keep him company. He’s been to your apartment a handful of times before, studying for medical exams with Suguru and Satoru when they took shared courses in Hematology, his own specialization. He never came over empty-handed, bringing energy drinks and snacks, and even staying after to clean up any mess they had made.

Every time you would come back from the library or leave your room and see him sitting at your kitchen table like he belonged there, like it was the most natural sight to see, it was enough to make you a stumbling idiot. The scent of his cologne would linger in the air hours after he left, and despite being so collected, he would always text you when he inevitably left something behind. It started out as a pencil case, then a scarf, and now even his sweatshirts had all been left accidentally and only returned when he would call you the next day and offer you coffee in exchange for the forgotten items.

It’s bad. So fucked up to even think of him like this. This is Yuji’s half brother and now full frat brother– pull yourself together.

Yuji continues talking but the only thing running through your mind is the image of Choso’s hair when he lets it down in concentration, the image of his biceps flexing as he slings his heavy backpack on his shoulders and waves you goodbye, or the way his thighs strain against the fabric of his jeans-

“Is that plan ok with you?”

You blink and snap back to reality, now noticing everyone staring at you expectedly and waiting for your response. Yuji points to his phone, open to a message from Suguru aimed at you, “Suguru told me to let you know he wants your help setting up the house on Friday since you’re coming.”

“You already told him?”

Yuji blinks, “Yea I told the group chat…”

A sigh escapes your lips and any excuse now to bail at the last second has dissipated. “...alright.”

****

Steam rolls out of the bathroom door and you use the edge of your robe to swipe away the fog of the mirror,feeling fresh after a grueling ‘everything shower.’ Suguru grunts a small, “finally” before ushering you out of the room so he can piss.

Stepping out into the living room and pivoting into your room, music can be heard in the kitchen, likely Satoru’s doing to fill the silence while he works on packaging liquor bottles and decorations into cardboard boxes.

Skincare, haircare, and lotion on, you rummage through your closet for clothes. On your bed sits a variety of party outfits, though all holding very different vibes. Jeans and cropped shirt were a bit too basic given the ‘initiation’ Yuji kept talking about, and the mini dress seemed too formal considering it was technically still a frat party.

You shuffle through a variety of tops until you settle on black opaque tights under a black miniskirt and an off-the-shoulder tight long sleeve top. The outfit is slutty enough for a frat party but cute enough for a first date if you wanted to recycle the look in the future.

Taking your makeup bag off your dresser and stepping into the living room, you notice the sound of running water from the bathroom.

“Hey! I thought you were just gonna take a piss!”

Suguru can’t hear you or the knocks on the door, but Satoru wolfishly laughs from behind you. Cutting your losses, you place the makeup bag on the kitchen table and slide a few boxes over to make room for you to spread out. Without looking at Satoru and using the compact mirror that came with your blush, you begin applying products.

“I didn’t know you cleaned up this good Y/N.”

“That’s because you never actually see me outside of this apartment,” you grumble, now pressing powder to set your foundation.

Satoru shrugs and continues filling boxes with an array of liquor bottles, but lowers the volume on his phone to make the conversation easier, “Well if I had known, I would’ve made some moves on you sooner.”

You roll your eyes at his exaggerated smile and now focus on applying eyeliner without skimming the surface of your cornea. Before Satoru can thickly lay on another pick up line, Suguru steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and snuggly tied just below the ‘V’ line of his pelvis.

You don’t bother looking up, having seen this sight a million times before, and instead you raise your eyebrows dramatically to apply a thin layer of mascara on your bottom lashes. Suguru whistles at your appearance and steps into his room to throw on a t-shirt and jeans while Satoru slides the last few bottles into the final box.

You click your compact shut and zip up your makeup bag, satisfied with your look, and slide your lipgloss into your purse to reapply later. Suguru enters the room and counts the boxes, silently working out in his brain how this would all fit in an Uber with the three of you.

Satoru saunters up next to you and shrugs with a slight wink, “Well if you want those cobwebs cleared out for you I don’t mind helping. Take a quick ride to the party~?”

“That’s my roommate, asshole.”

Suguru nudges him in the rib cage and slides the remaining decorations of strobe lights and speakers into an oversized IKEA bag, waiting for Satoru to help. The white haired man laughs and shrugs with a light ‘worth trying’ mumble before Suguru shoves him again.

You slide on a pair of chunky docs and sling your purse over your shoulder before grabbing Suguru’s phone from the table.

“Hey– Uber’s here.”

The three of you lift as many boxes as your strength allows and make your way down to the apartment lobby to load them into the trunk of the SUV. It takes 2 trips up and down with all three of you carrying boxes until the back is completely filled and the driver looks between you uneasily. Suguru shrugs and sends a few messages to the other brothers while the driver pulls out of the apartment complex and heads towards the rental house; glass bottles clinking with every turn.

You’re squished between Suguru and Satoru, giving a slight nudge to the flirtatious man on your right.

“Hmm? Can’t keep your hands off me already?”

“Ugh, just make sure to tip this guy extra once the ride is over ok?”

Satoru nods and smirks into a shit eating grin, “Of course~ now is there any tip you were hoping to get too-?”

“She’s. My. Roommate. Asshole.”

You laugh lightly and sink into your seat, pulling out your phone and messaging the small group chat with Yuji, Megumi, Toge, Maki, and Nobara that you were going to be setting up the house soon.

******

The rental is huge, fitting the extravagant nature of the man who protested so badly to have it and confirming that Nanami’s hesitation for the budget was completely valid. Boxes filled with alcohol sit on the marble kitchen island while Yuta and Toge work filling coolers with ice and assorted beer bottles and Maki and Nobara stock the freezer with handles of vodka and tequila.

You let out a whistle and do a quick 360 in the room, taking in how the boys have already shoved the sofa and loveseats closer to each other to make room for the pong table Megumi and Yuji were setting up. The house is an open concept with the entire first floor connected except for the staircase leading up to the second floor bedrooms and bathroom.

“Alright, speakers are set up and lights are all working– are the drinks nearly finished?”

“Yep,” Maki shuts the freezer door and turns to Nanami with a thumbs up, “All done!”

Satoru claps his hands and looks around the crowd, “Alright remember– no normies unless we actually know them OR they can name at least 5 brothers. Keep the ratio good, yea?”

The group mumbles a response and breaks up to complete the last few touches, Haibara dims the lights and Suguru sets up his music playlist to the speakers, already queuing a few songs that Shoko recommends him to play. A group of you decide to take a few pre-game shots to loosen up and then split to finish up preparations before anyone arrives.

You walk up to Yuji and help arrange the red solo cups in a pyramid formation on the folding table, “Where’s your brother?”

“Hm? Oh! Choso and Todo are picking up Maki’s sister and a few others. Should be here shortly.”

Yuji is buzzing with energy, excited to get the night started as more pledges begin to trickle in and assist with the final preparations. After a while Haibara officially cuts the overhead lights and turns on the ambient strobes while Suguru increases the volume on the speakers; after another 30 minutes the house is fairly packed with everyone now dancing and drinking. Enough alcohol is coursing through your veins to feel relaxed and warm, but not enough to make you irrational.

You grab a drink from the kitchen and admire the party, giggling with Nobara as Yuji is already borderline shiftfaced and yapping Megumi’s ear off despite the speaker next to them deafening every word.

“Should we stop them?”

“Nah,” Nobara laughs into her drink and points at Todo who’s walking over to the two of them, “I think it’s about to get good.”

“My brother! How can you claim you’re officially a brother when you are unable to win a single game of pong?”

Yuji turns to him confused and Megumi takes this as his opportunity to escape with Nobara following after him and laughing hysterically.

“What does pong have to do with being brothers…?”

“My best friend–” A single tear threatens to fall from Todo’s eye as he grasps a metal chain necklace longingly, “If you can’t increase your skills to win a single game we can’t possibly stay friends. A brother of mine would never be complacent with their mediocre skills!”

Whatever energy Todo emits is enough for Yuji to yell out his passion for improving in beer pong and the two take to the folding table to begin a game. Yuji misses the first few shots, but sinks two in after a few turns and evens the game.

“Geez, they’re really going at it huh?”

The voice is deep and rumbles loud enough through the music to immediately indicate it’s Choso’s. He stands tall next to you, giving you a slight smile and dragging his eyes up and down your outfit before coughing lightly and turning his attention back to the game.

“Oh yea.. Ha! They really are quite passionate.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you stand side by side and watch the game unfold, giggling at their dramatic reactions and downing the liquid in the cups when their adversary sinks one.

“I’d want to go in there and help him but…” Choso scratches the back of his head awkwardly, the dark hair cascading down instead of being pulled back into his usual hairstyle, “It’s a rite of passage I suppose for this frat.”

You have to physically peel your eyes off the man to avoid staring any further, his hair sexily falling around his face, dark piercings in his ears reflecting the strobing lights, and the powerful body standing idly and awkwardly at your side. The conversation isn’t out of place or forced; the nature of it makes you regret not coming to more functions if it meant you could've been this close to him the entire time.

He looks into his cup and takes a big drink before continuing, wincing slightly from the burn of alcohol, “You know I’m actually glad you came– I know you usually don’t go to these sorts of things.”

A blush warms your cheeks and you look at him for a moment before sheepishly laughing, “Ah yea... Usually school takes up so much of my time. I’m surprised you noticed considering how busy frat life and med school can be.”

“-Of course I noticed!”

He looks around awkwardly and shivers slightly at his outburst before attempting to save face, “I mean you’re one of Yuji’s best friends… he always mentions how bummed he is that you aren’t around..”

You blink and swallow thickly, “right…” of course Yuji would be the one actually wondering why you didn’t show up, “I feel bad about letting him down.”

Turning back to the game of pong, you miss the way Choso cringes hard at himself, completely unable to rephrase the sentence into admitting how he was actually the one who would look for you at every party and stand in a corner moping when he realized you didn’t show, waiting until his brother was ready to go home. Instead, he downs the rest of his beverage and turns back to you, “Would you like a drink? I can grab us another and then we can continue the conversation–?”

You turn back to him and look at your own empty cup, it’s a bad idea to continue but you don’t want the conversation to end just yet. Even if Yuji is standing right in front of you both, and can plainly see the way you're hopelessly staring into his brother's eyes, you didn’t want this moment to end.

“Yea, I’d like that.”

Choso smiles lightly at the opportunity and takes the plastic cup from your hands, “Something sweet but not too sugary, right?”

Your insides melt when you nod and he walks off into the kitchen while your eyes stay focused on his ass for just a moment too long to be casual.

“Hey~ enjoying the party pretty?”

An arm is slung around your shoulders and the mix of cologne and tequila sunrise is enough of a scent indicator to know it’s Satoru who’s gripping you so close.

A sigh leaves your lips but you don’t make an effort to move, watching Yuji miss his shot while Todo scrambles to try and pry the ping pong ball from where it rolled under the couch.

“Sure, it’s actually kinda fun.”

“Kinda?”

“I’m not giving your ego anything else besides that,” you shrug his arm off and he feigns a wound from the action before laughing and taking a sip of his own drink.

“Talk to anybody yet hmm? My offer of stress relief still stands if you strike out– I’ll keep the door open for ya if you ask nicely~”

You roll your eyes and arms cross at your chest, you deadpan at him, “Seriously, Satoru?”

He shrugs and raises his hands up in defense, “It’s just a casual offer, for real. Suguru is your roommate and we’re friends– I’m not trying to make things awkward.”

“You already are.”

You and Satoru swing to see Choso carrying two red cups tightly, with his fingers bending the plastic, and approaching with an unamused scowl. Satoru lets out a low whistle and chuckles to himself before leaning into your ear, “Alright you got your relief plan sorted out.. Guess I’ll look elsewhere.”

He stands up and gives a nod to Choso before turning over his shoulder and waving off, yelling Suguru’s name to skip the current song.

Choso watches the man walk off until he disappears into the crowd before he slips a cup into your hand and looks at you concerned, “You alright?”

You take the drink and smile lightly at him, noting the way his shoulders are tense and eyebrows are knit together, “Yea, I’m alright. Thanks.”

He breathes slightly before his eyes shoot open wide and he brings his hands up apologetically, “I hope I didn’t misread that then… if you are interested in Satoru I completely understand,” he looks back at Yuji’s game now speaking quieter, “Don’t let me ruin your plans.”

It takes a few blinks before you sink into the exact meaning he was hinting at and you instantly raise your hands in defense and embarrassment, “NO!”

A few people look in your direction and you pull Choso down closer by the fabric of his band t-shirt, his height towering over you regardless, “I mean.. Trust me, I don’t like Satoru like that. We’re buddies.. Not romantic at all.”

He examines you for a moment and looks back into the crowd nervously where Satoru had walked off, “But physically?”

You lock eyes with him and your lips widen in slight shock before you gently shake your head, “No. Nothing like that.”

He holds your gaze for another moment before smiling gently and standing back up, he takes a sip of his drink, “I’m glad. I was worried I made myself look like an ass there for a minute.”

“You never could.”

He glances back at you with a pink dust on his cheeks, looking into the liquid of his cup once again and releasing a shallow breath of relief. There’s an unspoken tension building between the both of you, though you can’t tell if it’s all in your head or in your pants.

The familiar heartbeat feeling pulsing in your panties and you opt for downing half your drink and watching the stupid exchange of ping pong balls instead. Choso rocks idly and shimmies from side to side to let people continue past him, making no effort to move from the spot by your side despite the lull in the conversation.

He takes another long sip, some alcohol dripping down from the corner of his mouth and trailing down his neck eroticaly; you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, consumed in the way he looks. Choso wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes a deep breath with a pitiful smile on his face when he turns to you.

“You know I couldn’t help but worry. I know you don’t always come to these parties, and I was worried that my one shot to have you alone was already taken by someone else.”

His eyes are focused on only you and his voice is raw with a rare vulnerability, his cheeks dusted pink with embarrassment and heat from the alcohol. Your heart rate picks up exponentially and you stare at him openly, not even caring if Yuji can see the way you look at his brother.

Before you can issue a response, Nobara scuffles past the back of Choso effectively knocking him forward and spilling the remainder of his drink all over your shirt. Nobara offers a short ‘shit’ before getting pulled through the crowd by Maki towards the beer cooler on the patio.

Choso’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen and his eyebrows furrow as if he could cry from frustration and disappointment. His hands twitch as he quickly drops the empty cup and carefully approaches you, worrying this would be the moment you yell at him to leave you alone and never speak to you again.

“I-I’m so sorry… Y/N.. I didn’t..”

The words die in his throat as he watches you look down at your shirt in surprise and slight disgust at the sticky feeling of alcohol coating your chest. You place your drink on a nearby table and pull the fabric from your stomach to examine the damage.

“It’s alright! Really…” you bite the inside flesh of your cheek with your molars and gnaw on it, wondering how to get the stain out.

Choso gently steps closer and reaches out to take your hands gently, “Here– let’s go to the bathroom. Let me help,” he looks at you with pleading eyes, “Please.”

You nod once and he leads the way to the stairs, gently slipping between bodies to clear a path for you to step through and ascend the stairs. Leading you down the hallway, he enters the second door on the left into an empty bathroom and shuts the door promptly behind you.

His hands rush for the faucet while you dig around on the linen shelf to pass him a washcloth; he tests the water’s temperature before raising the cloth to your shirt.

“It’s not too hot right? Not burning at all?”

“No, I’m alright.”

You’re leaning against the counter, feeling the vibration of the bass from the music playing beneath you shake the marble countertop. Choso’s touch is gentle, though his hands shake from nerves and the acute drunken state he’s in; his face is full of self-loathing.

“Choso.”

He’s kneeling down in front of your torso delicately working on the stain and tilts his head up longingly as soon as his name leaves your lips, “Yes?”

Tongue running over your bottom lip for a moment, you place your hand on his to stop his actions and get his full attention, your own mind still reeling.

“Why did you want to get me alone then?”

He blinks and looks back down at the fabric of your shirt gripping the folds slightly, “Oh.. that?” He looks dejectedly at the stain and frowns harder.

With a sigh of defeat he keeps his head down for a moment, “I thought I was being so obvious…

I offered to study at Suguru’s apartment because I thought maybe you’d be home, and always stayed sober with Yuji during his pledge phase just in case you called one night and needed a ride…” he releases your shirt and closes his eyes, “I always wanted to get a moment alone with you to tell you how I felt– but I fucked it all up didn’t I?”

His face is contorted in frustration and self-deprecation; nearly acting in a trance you gently lift your hands to cup his face and pull his attention back to you. He looks back up into your eyes longingly and full of vulnerability, he says nothing as you pull him to his feet and look between his eyes and then his lips.

Not wasting a single second you slide your hands from his cheeks to wrap around the base of his neck and pull his lips in to meet yours. Choso doesn’t waste a single second either, sighing lightly through his nose and bringing his hands to the plush of your waist. His fingers dig imprints into the flesh on the back of your hips while his thumbs press lightly into the bones of your pelvis.

His lips are nearly glued to yours, tilting his head to the right to allow the kiss to deepen and increase the force he pushes behind it. Your hands tangle in his hair, gently pulling at the raven strands and scratching his scalp while occasional gasps escape his mouth. Moans escape between the both of you, drowned out to the rest of the party from the music, but nearly deafening to the two of you.

With one more tug of his hair, his tongue gently swipes your bottom lip and without a moment of hesitation you part to allow access. The action has some lip gloss rub off on the flesh of his upper lip, though Choso takes no moment to stop, instead he lifts his left hand to tilt your head further to the side and push his tongue into your mouth.

The muscle is warm and tastes like a light beer; he takes his time to swipe it along the tip of your own tongue before pushing it deeper. You groan his name and try to pull him even closer to you if it were possible, sighing as he swaps between messy open mouth kisses and closed ones that allow your lips to mold into one.

With another push of his tongue in your mouth you taste the beer once again but also the sensation of something cold and metal. It takes you a minute to figure out what you’re feeling, the cool orb rolling against your tongue and occasionally clinking onto your teeth when he pulls back.

Taking a slight breath, he dips his head down in the crook of your neck and breathes deeply while whispering your name, enjoying the moment before he begins to bite and suck along the flesh. You sigh at the feeling and can feel your senses overloading, the heartbeat in your ribs and panties, the scent of his cologne, and the hot tongue running down your neck being cooled by the little piercing in the middle.

“You didn't.. Aahh,” you swallow lightly, “didn’t tell me you have… a tongue piercing…”

Choso groans a response but doesn’t pay attention, nipping at a particular spot just beneath your jaw where his nose tickles the flesh under your ear, “right.. Here?”

His lips suck onto the flesh and his teeth pinch the skin while you squirm beneath him in pleasure; his hand leaves your head and hips to now push you firmly against the counter to keep you still. Choso’s actions are relentless, running his tongue flat across the flesh and letting the metal piercing cool the spot before he continues bullying it.

“It’s gonna nnngh, leave a mark-”

“-Good.”

Choso remains buried in the corner of your neck but he lifts his lips from the angry purple bruise to speak, “I’m tired of the way everyone stares at you all the time– fuck even Maki and Shoko looked you up and down a few times tonight.”

You run a hand through his hair and pull at the scalp to lift his face to you. His pupils are blown wide with desire so dark it seems the iris is pure black and his shoulder sag with every pant he takes to catch his breath. Despite it, the timid and awkward demeanor remains hidden for a moment, “I want people to know who you’re here with.”

He leans down to kiss the purple hickey, “Not Suguru.” kiss.

His lips trail to the pulse point on the opposite side, “Not Satoru.” kiss.

Lips hover right above yours a moment before he connects them, “Me.”

You push him back gently and Choso’s facade nearly breaks when he thinks you’re trying to make distance and tell him he’s got the wrong idea. Instead, you spin to push him flush against the counter and drag his face back to meet yours in another kiss.

Instinctively his hands rest on your waist as if they were made for him and he attaches his lips against yours like second nature. Sighs escape him every time your nails gently scratch his scalp and tug at his hair and when you drop your arms lower there’s nearly a whine in disappointment.

Instead, you run your hands flat down the front of his chest, feeling the swell of his chest rise with each breath and trail down to gently feel the outline of his abdomen muscles with the pads of your fingers. Airy breaths escape more frequently, as Choso fights the urge to escalate things even further.

With a featherlight touch and without ever breaking contact from his lips, you skim the hem of his shirt and gently graze the flesh underneath. Choso feels like his body is on fire at every touch you make and his grip on your hips intensifies, the heartbeat in his ears louder than the music blaring from outside the bathroom.

His abs flex subconsciously with your touch, and you can’t help the arousal growing in between your thighs as he begins to grind into you. Back arched to keep the angle of his tongue exploring your mouth, your hands dip back down to his navel and run through the course happy trail leading into his jeans. With gentle precision, your fingers dip just the tiniest bit lower to skim the seam of the denim and lightly play with the brass buckle of his belt.

Choso pulls his mouth from yours before grabbing your hands in his own to pause your efforts, panting in between each word. “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you…”

His eyes are sincere and there’s never been a moment in your life you’ve been more sure of than this, “I’m sure Choso. I want to do this with you.”

He continues breathing until his lungs steady out again before running a hand through his hair with a frustrated look on his face, cheeks still red and puffed from the intimacy of the situation.

“Yea but… Look don’t get me wrong I want this to happen more than anything,” he pauses and scans your face before continuing, “and I know I’m gonna hate myself for stopping here but.. I don’t want something just casual or physical with you. I think… I think it would kill me if you only saw me as a one night stand when you’re so much more to me.”

His hands sweat as they hold yours, and his eyes search yours for any sign of reciprocity, and the whole situation is so sweet you could cry. After so many assholes and douchebags, his words are enough to make your knees weak from only kissing.

You remove your hands from his and before his eyes could portray the heartbreak about to happen from the action, you pull him back in to meet your lips, “I want the same thing Choso. I do.”

He pulls away to see your face, but you connect your lips again between each sentence, “I almost feel bad for all the times I invited Yuji out to things because it meant I could see you.”

Choso lets out a chuckle of relief and connects your mouths again with longing before you pull back to continue, “I want this.” Kiss.

“I want you, Choso.” Kiss.

“All of you… and not just for tonight.”

He swallows thickly and his Adam's apple bobs again, pupils still blown out as you kiss his lips one last time before sinking just a bit lower onto the plush bath mat. Your hands fiddle with his belt again, and this time he doesn’t stop you, letting you slide it out of the loops of his jeans and toss it onto the floor without care. Chaste kisses go down his navel, your nose tickling the hair that pokes out right about the seam of his boxers before sinking down just a bit further.

His hands grip the countertop with enough force his knuckles turn white from the pressure, “ohh fuck Y/N.”

Your fingers trail just a bit lower, spreading the fabric of the zipper fly open and letting his erection push out into the air, only restrained by the thin material of his boxers. He stares at you intently, watching the way you trace the outline of the small liquid patch of precum forming as his hips twitch in anticipation.

You meet his gaze and drink in his disheveled and eager appearance before facing his erection again. Placing a few chaste kisses to the tip of his cock that’s now pushing past the fly of his boxers, he sucks in a wince and jerks his hips forward subconsciously in search of some sort of friction.

After a few more kisses, you look back up to him with a nod and raise your fingers to the elastic of the band and seam of his jeans. Hooking your fingers under the fabric and pinching it with your thumbs, you tug it down maybe 3 inches before his hands stop yours one last time.

“Wait– I uhh..” his hands shake nervously, “I just haven’t shaved in a minute… I’ve not exactly been sleeping with anybody recently.”

You blink and grin up at him, kissing his knuckles gently and then shooing his hands away to tug the materials down juuuust a bit further. His happy trail dissolves into a bit more hair, but nothing unruly, and the ‘V’ line of his pelvis connects to several protruding veins that all lead down to the base of his cock.

Despite the steamy atmosphere, Choso winces at the change in temperature and jerks his hips forward again; this time the flushed red tip connects freely to the corner of your mouth and smudges any remainder of your lipgloss.

His dick is long with a few prominent veins tracing alongside the under border of the shaft that disappear behind a small tuft of dark hair at the base. Not necessarily thick, but heavy enough in your hand you can’t help but wonder how’d it’d feel inside you. Pearls of precum drip from the slit at his tip and the ghost of your breath against the skin is enough to have him nearly begging for something anything.

Opening your mouth, you guide his cock to your tongue laying flat and lick a few long stripes along the shaft before focusing on the tip. The action is enough for Choso’s hand to lose balance for a moment and send a few soap bottles on the counter scattering onto the floor in a string of curses.

You pay no mind, licking a few more strokes to lubricate his dick before sucking in your cheeks to build enough saliva to spit onto his cock. It’s messy and wet and when you finally inch him into your mouth and stroke the base you can’t reach, he’s buckling at the knees.

“Oh shittt…. Yea,” his hands run into your hair, pulling any loose strands away from your face and allowing him an unobstructed view, “J-Just like that… fuck baby”

Your thighs squirm at his praise, feeling yourself grow embarrassingly wet just from the way your name begins to slip from his lips like a prayer. Slight tugs on your hair earn grunts from your throat, and the vibration makes Choso twitch with each bob of your head.

A dull ache in your jaw, you alternate between taking him in your mouth with hollow cheeks and tight suction to using both your hands to jerk him off while your tongue laps at the tip of his cock. The skin is fresh and salty precum coats your taste buds while your nose is tickled by the strands of his pubic hair that linger at the base.

“S-Shit.. I’m gonna-”

Choso holds your head steady while he lightly thrusts into your mouth, not too deep to gag you, but enough to cause a few tears to prick at the corner of your eyes. You purse your lips to give him just a bit more contact, “Fuck.. Y/N.. I’m…”

“Choso? You in there?”

There’s a knock at the door followed by Yuji’s slurred voice, “You’ve been gone for while… everything ok?”

You pause for a moment and look up at Choso, who’s released his grip on your hair and resorted to covering his mouth with his palms. Taking the opportunity, you resume your actions, bobbing along his shaft, kisses and licks to his tip, and the occasional graze of his balls when you jerk his shaft to the same rhythm as your lips.

His hips jerk and his face shows the most worried and sex-drunk expression you’ve ever seen. Lips quivering and trying to remain silent while his body betrays him and grunts and flinches with immediate response to each of your touches.

“Hello..?”

The handle to the bathroom jerks slightly, now immediately known to the both of you how it wasn’t locked.

“Wait!”

The door stops and remains shut, Yuji hums in attentiveness at the response, “Ah so you are in there! Hurry up– I need a new pong partner bro!”

Choso watches the door in horror and resorts to biting the knuckle of his right index finger to avoid moaning out your name.

God he really was the worst brother huh? Here Choso was, getting the best head of his life from the girl of his dreams, aka his brother’s best friend, at a party which was THROWN FOR HIS BROTHER.

“I-I’m not…ughh… feeling too well..”

Choso shivers and hunches forward in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face while his eyebrows contort in pure ecstasy.

He was going to cum. He was going to cum in the mouth of the woman he’s been helplessly in love with, who is the one girl completely off limits, with his brother unknowingly listening to it on the other side of the door.

“Oh really? Hmmm, just pull trigger and meet me downstairs– ‘kay?”

Choso barely lasts the extra second of seeing Yuji’s shadow under the door disappear before his hips jerk from your grasp and cums. Hard. It’s messy, not quite in your mouth, but also not aiming for your face; insteads pools of it make it onto your tongue with others now clinging onto the apples of your cheeks and strands of your hair.

“Ohhh shit–”

He helps you pump him a few more times to ensure it’s all out while you swallow the load in your mouth and wipe at the remnants on your face. The stars eventually pass and his hips stop twitching in slight overstimulation as the weight of everything clarifies in front of him.

Immediately he takes your hands and raises you to your feet, helping to clean your hair with the forgotten washrag from the stain earlier. Gently, he wipes everything away, careful to not mess up any makeup, before sighing at the sight of your bruised and red knees.

“You didn’t have to swallow you know…” he blushes but keeps looking at you, “your knees-!”

You tilt his head back to face yours and connect your lips to his. Any flavor of lipgloss is replaced by the taste of his own cum when his tongue slides into your mouth again without any hesitation. Your tongue flicks against the metal orb a few times before pulling back and wiping a stray line of saliva from the corner of your mouth.

“That was… fuck Y/N,” he keeps panting before you nudge him slightly in the shoulder.

“Well, aren't you going to chase after Yuji now?”

“Why would I?”

You blink in a slight shock at his immediate reaction, never seeing him prioritize anything besides his brother’s happiness. He looks at you as if you had asked something ridiculous, though he doesn’t hold any ounce of condescension on his face.

“I just figured–”

“ –Figured I would walk away from the beautiful girl in front of me to go play beer pong?”

You shrug into a blush and dig your chin down slightly at the embarrassment of hearing the question out loud. Choso chuckles and lifts your chin to kiss you again, “No I think I’d like to stay by you if that’s alright. Though the thought of Yuji potentially hearing us will haunt my brain for years to come.”

You chuckle and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again while his hands find solace at their home on your hips.

“Let me reciprocate, okay? I wanna make you feel good too.”

A shiver runs down your spine and your back arches involuntarily at the anticipation; nipples hardening into the fabric of your bra from the thought. Choso’s hands wander further down to the swell of your ass and give a light squeeze before resting on the flesh under your thighs.

“Jump for me.”

Obeying the short command, you give a slight hop and allow him to rest his forearms under your thighs with the palm of his hands gripping onto each cheek of your ass. His biceps flex from the weight, though he holds you as if you were only as heavy as a housecat, shifting your weight in his arms but never struggling to maneuver. At eye level he nudges you with his chin for one more kiss before spinning and letting you open the door of the bathroom.

With a short peer down the hallway, he makes a quick break for one of the bedrooms and this time remembers to actually lock the door behind him. Gently, he places you on the edge of the queen size bed sitting on the left side of the room, kissing you once again before stepping back watching you kick off your doc mary-janes and unties the laces of his own boots.

Music is still blaring off in the distance, though noticeably quieter, and Choso flicks on a dim floor lamp in the corner for some light. He steps between your thighs and runs a hand through your hair with a slight tug before sinking to his own knees at the foot of the bed.

He plays with the hem of your skit absentmindedly and kneads the flesh of your thighs before looking up and swallowing, “Can I?”

A simple nod is all he needs to hoist up the edge of your skirt to pool around your waist and scoff in frustration at the opaque tights now in his way. Shifting his hands from your waist, he takes some of the tension from the fabric around your pussy in between his fingers and rips it open.

“Hey-!”

“It’s in the way..” he whines quietly with no ounce of actual remorse in his voice.

He takes the fabric and rips it further, exposing the dark purple lacy panties covering what he was so desperately searching for. A dark patch stains the fabric from your helpless desire and whimpers escape your lips above him when he drags a single finger up and down the material in awe.

“All this– for me?”

“Shut up..”

Your face burns in embarrassment but Choso doesn't care, gripping the fabric and pushing it to the left to expose half of your sopping cunt. He shudders at the sight and immediately places a few kisses to flesh, addicted to the way you squirm with each contact. Though he grows frustrated quickly and tugs at the rest of your tights, keeping your panties caged on.

“Stupid fucking–”

“Choso.”

He looks up, impatient, while you lean onto your back to shimmy the elastic band of the tights down to your thighs and lett Choso drag the material down your legs and throw them to the floor.

“See? You didn’t need to rip them.”

“Hah.. sorry baby.”

There isn’t a chance to react to the pet name he’s begun calling you before he takes a moment to admire the way his favorite color looked when it decorated your pussy, and drags it down your ankles to join your tights on the floor.

Instinctively your thighs move to shut, but his hand splay them back out to expose your cunt further. A shiver running down his back and a new erection growing in his half-worn boxers, he leans down to admire it further.

“Stop staring. It’s embarrassing…”

You’re mumbling with your attention turned anywhere else in the room as your cheeks burned.

Embarrassing? How could this be embarrassing?

Choso looks up at you and then back down, “How could this ever be…? This is the pussy I’ve been dreaming about for months, and you’re going to say it’s embarrassing?”

He takes a moment to let his tongue lay flat and lick a long stripe up the core of your cunt, “This is the only thing I can ever think about…”

The warmth of his tongue makes you wither from the sensation and the cold metal ball in the center causes your spine to arch from the contrast. Taking a few more licks he pushes your back onto the bed and makes space for him to now also lay on the comforter, hanging half off the mattress and humping against the box spring while he makes out with your pussy without shame.

His tongue drinks up your arousal without hesitation and his tongue dips into your core while his hands wrap around the underside of your thighs to keep them open for him. The piercing bumps into the spongy interior of your pussy while his nose grinds against your clit, his head rocking into your cunt at a steady rhythm.

You groan his name and grab a fistful of his hair and tug hard while he moans in response. After a few more licks he kisses your clit, “Alright.. That should be good…”

Wearily, you look up and watch as he sucks his index and middle fingers in his mouth before he spits down onto your cunt and sinks a finger inside. Throwing your head back from the slight stretch, he watches the way his finger disappears into your pussy, “Shit.. fucking tight as hell baby.”

Choso thrusts his finger in and out and in and out before returning his lips to your clit and sucking on it.

“Oh my.. Nnghh...”

His other hand holds your hip steady before increasing the pace of his finger and pulling back from your clit slightly. Choso watches your face as he sinks his middle finger into your cunt as well to ensure there’s no sign of pain before thrusting his hand harder.

“Fuck!”

That unexplainable feeling builds in your gut and your hips rock to meet his lips in more friction to chase that high even quicker. Choso notices and twists and bends his fingers from within you, eager to find that one spot while leaning back down to suck at your clit again.

With one more bend of his fingers he can feel it, the spongy rough patch that nearly feels like a citrus peel, and as soon his fingertips graze it, your back arches even more. Grinding down his fingers, his name leaves your lips like a mantra.

“Choso… FUCK.. yea, like that– haa.. Yea that..”

He grinds his hips along the mattress to get some sort of friction while his fingers increase the pace, committing to memory every single sound and taste. Your eyes are screwed shut in focus and shamelessly groaning out as you chase your high.

That knot in your gut forms and gets exponentially tighter before inevitably snapping. The feeling leaves you twitching against his lips and hand, riding out the pleasure and whimpering at the inevitable overstimulation when his mouth refuses to part from your cunt.

“God,” he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue instead, “taste so fucking good. What the hell.”

You claw his hair to part from your thighs but he makes no effort to move, the muscles bulging in his skin, refusing to move from their position as he drinks in every drop of your orgasm. The piercing tickles you as his tongue continues to flick inside you, only pulling back for air and to admire the fucked out face you’re now making.

Completely pussy-drunk he pulls himself back from your thighs and licks at the sheen of your cum still resting on his lips before climbing over you and connecting your mouths. The taste of your own orgasm would cause pause any other time, but Choso is kissing you with so much want and desire it makes your mind go fuzzy.

“Feeling ok? Sorry if I got carried away,” he nuzzles down into the crook of your neck on the side without the hickey, “just wanted to do that for a while now…”

Wearily, you pet the strands of his hair before Choso sits up and takes the hem of your shirt in his hands and pushes the fabric over your head and off the side of the bed. He admires the pretty lace of the matching purple bra and skims over your hard nipples with the pads of his fingers, the black nail polish glowing in the dim light as he pinches the nerves.

After a few open kisses to the swell of your breasts and leaving a few marks along the way, he shimmies your skirt off and tosses it to the ground. With a pout you sit up and wrap your fingers along the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, pausing when his chest is revealed.

Abs sculpted from stone and a variety of small scars along his ribs from stories you’d like to hear one day are enough to make you nearly drool while you stare. It’s the ultimate sleeper build that he’s kept hidden behind baggy t-shirts for way too long.

“Ok I think I get it now when you said it’s embarrassing.”

Choso looks to the side and gently smiles, his ears dusted pink before you lean up to run light kisses along the mark across his face and trail down to his cheek and navel.

“So pretty.”

“Don’t you mean handsome?”

“That too.”

He smiles and meets your lips again while your hands go back down to his jeans and attempt to push them down before reaching back and unclasping your own bra. Immediately, he dips down to wrap his tongue around your left nipple, running the piercing over the nub while his hand kneads the fatty flesh of your other breast in his fingers. After a few additional licks and bruises are added around the left tit for good measure, he swaps and pays equal attention to the other one.

He’s in heaven. Silently thanking the gods above for this opportunity and wondering if maybe in a past life he had been a hero of some sort to deserve this experience with you.

After a moment you push him back and tug his pants and boxers back down the rest of the way, giggling when his foot gets caught in the material and ‘interrupts the mood’ as he calls it.

“Ah wait.”

Choso pauses from his position of gently pushing you flat against the bed beneath him, wondering if this was too far for your first evening as a… couple? The idea is more than enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation. Fuck, even being called your ‘boyfriend’ could make him bust on the spot.

“Do you have a condom?”

Choso’s eyes meet yours and he looks back to his jeans, wondering if his wallet would have one or not but ultimately deciding there’s no chance he would actually carry one with him. To be fair, the goal of this party was to ask you on a date without the company of Yuji or Suguru, so to get this far is a miracle in his book.

“No.. I don’t”

You gnaw your lip and look between the both of you, his long hair tickling your cheeks from the proximity and the tip of his cock occasionally kissing the entrance to your cunt with every twitch. Fuck.

“We don’t have to–”

“Buy me the morning after pill?”

Choso sputters at your response, eyes nearly falling out of his skull, the first time he gets to sleep with you, he gets to hit it raw?

Ok he must’ve been a knight or a king to get this kind of treatment.

“Y-Yea, of course.”

You pull him down for another kiss and admire the way his hands now shake in anticipation and worry; nearly the same face he made before cumming earlier. It’s a fair assumption considering Choso is convinced he may bust after maybe three strokes.

The humiliation would kill him, so he swallows and glides the tip of his cock up and down the folds of your cunt a few times. Getting some of the lubrication from your earlier orgasm, he also spits into his hand and coats the shaft to make it smoother.

With a tap on your clit for good measure, he lines up with your entrance and slowly sinks inch by inch inside. The feeling is a stretching burn that doesn’t hurt but needs a moment of getting used to while Choso cages you underneath and whispers patient soft praises into your ears.

After a moment he finally bottoms out and the hair from his pubes tickles your clit as he fills you to the hilt. A breath of relief at the sensation while Choso releases a breath of focus, his hair sticking to his forehead in slight sweat.

His knee pushes up on the bed and opens your thighs wider before he begins to slide in and out, mumbling nonsense with each stroke. The missionary position befits his immediate possessive nature, giving him a perfect view of your face and a decent angle to watch the way his cock disappears into your cunt with each thrust.

You pull on his strands and kiss him, licking the metal orb on his tongue before admiring the way his abdomen flexes with each movement.

“Oh fuck-”

It’s hard to tell who’s talking in between both of your incoherent babbling, your mind growing fuzzy from the stretch of his cock and smack of his pelvis on your clit, and his brain going completely pussy-drunk and murmuring a string of sappy promises of how happy he is to finally have you to himself.

Tilting his head to the side, you dig your canines into his neck in an attempt to mark him in the same way he had done previously.

“Shit.. ahh”

His hips rock unevenly so you increase the suction and dig your teeth once more before a particularly rocky thrust has you biting down harder than you intend. A slight metallic taste of iron coats your tongue and you immediately pull back and apologize for breaking the skin.

“N-No… shit..ahhh baby.. Do it again…please”

Choso keeps his neck open for you to continue sucking on, stuttering with his words and hips at the sensation of his warm blood gently trickling down his flesh. Wordlessly, you move down to another spot and bite down, though not enough to tear the skin and Choso whimpers pathetically from above you.

“Wait actually–” he pulls back and gently pulls out, hissing at the lack of contact before sitting on the bed next to you and pulling you to straddle him, “I’m gonna cum too fast like that… haaa, you can just ride me, ok? Ride me however you want, baby.”

Sinking back down and sighing in relief when he’s finally kissing your cervix with his cock again, his hands lift to play with your tits while you grind against him. Hands on his shoulders and focused on achieving an orgasm, you rub down especially hard on his slight bush for the friction against your clit.

Choso admires the way your chest bounces with each movement and settles his hands on your hips, helping you fuck him senseless.

“Haaa.. you know it’s funny” Choso pants in between bounces, “I always wanted to give you a ride home…”

You laugh and shove his shoulder slightly, falling forward and grinding the tip of his cock against that spongy patch inside your pussy again. Immediately your hips falter and your shoulders slump forward while Choso wastes no time in sliding back down on the bed and planting his feet firmly. Grabbing your hips, he flexes his thighs to meet your thrusts and push further into that spot with his dick with more even force.

“Yea that’s it.. Just fucking use me okay?”

Your thrusts are uneven as your hips twitch with every thrust, feeling that familiar sensation building inside once again. Every thrust has your face contorting with pleasure and Choso can feel himself also ready to finally let go and cum; having been trying to think of anything else to make himself hold out just a little bit longer.

After a few more strokes, your face is warped in pleasure while he continues thrusting from underneath to drag out the orgasm. Twitching with spinal convulsions from the intensity, Choso watches in awe as he fucks you through the overstimulation and watches the creamy ring from your cum form around the base of his cock. He takes his fingers and pushes it back onto his shaft as more lubrication,taking any remainder on his fingertip to his lips and sucking it off.

You fall in a slump on his chest and he plants his feet firmly onto the mattress, fucking up a few more times before erratically grinding into your pussy and reciting your name over and over again while hot streams of cum fill your cunt.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N-”

The sensation is filling and warm while his hips jerk up a few more times to ride through his orgasm and ensure no drop of his cum is left. His arms are wrapped up and around your while both of your bodies stick to together from the sweat and fluids.

“Haaa,” Choso lets out a half laugh and pushes some hair out of your face before leaning up to kiss you again.”

“That was great.”

“Mmmm, yea,” he pecks your cheek again, the intimacy of the situation becoming not just sexually, but emotionally raw as well, “Let’s do it again?”

You look over at him with a fucked out expression, your hair a complete mess and makeup poorly smudged.

“I mean not now! Haha,” he slides out from your cunt and sighs from the loss of contact as his erection deflates back down to flaccidity. “I think I’m empty.”

You nod and roll off his body but stay intertwined with his limbs as you lay next to him, silently wondering what the fuck the plan was now. Tracing his jaw with your fingers absentmindedly and skimming the mark across his face, you notice the way his eyes never leave yours and his head leans into your every touch.

“Oh that’s right–” Choso looks at you with realization and an embarrassed smile on his face, “Can I take you out sometime?“

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yea…?”

You laugh and lean forward to kiss him and Choso immediately meets you in the middle as if he was constantly waiting for the next time your lips would meet his.

“I’d like that. Get breakfast tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

His voice is too excited and he instantly backtracks in a poor attempt to act casual, “Oh tomorrow? Yea… yea I should be free.”

“You’re such a dork, you know that?”

He kisses the hand you use to flick his forehead and smiles up at you before biting one of your fingers idly, “But aren’t I…. your dork now?”

You sit up in the bed and lean down to kiss him, “Yea, you are,” before shimmying off the bed and wobbling around to find the remnants of your clothes and shoes.

Choso watches from the edge of the mattress, an obvious pout on his face at the loss of contact from your body.

“I just need to pee ok? I am NOT about to get a UTI before exams.”

Choso huffs in defeat and stands up to sort his clothes from your own, wincing in weak remorse when you throw your ripped tights into the bedroom trash can.

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

You step out of the bedroom and wobble your way down the hallway, not bothering to relock the door, while Choso slides on his boxers and jeans in one pull. He moves around the floor in search of his shirt when footsteps quickly approach the bedroom and Yuji swings the door open.

“Oh there you are!”

Choso is frozen solid standing in a room torn apart that reeks of sex while being covered in sweat and remnants of cum.

“I just saw Y/N walking sooo funny to the bathroom and flipping me off,” he laughs and covers his abdomen, “She totally just got fucked-”

There’s a silence between the two men.

“Hey where are your clothes?”

“Uhhhh…”

Choso stands half-naked with his shirt not even around his neck as Yuji quickly begins putting dots together and stares at his brother in complete shock. Before another word can be issued between them Todo appears and smacks Yuji’s back.

“My best friend, why are you interrupting your brother at this moment?”

“He’s,” Yuji points out, still in complete shock at Choso, “He’s banging my friend!”

Choso winces but Todo just crosses his arms and sighs in disappointment, “Allow him to relish in the feeling of finally getting the person who he desires the most.”

“Yea but she’s my-”

“If I had the opportunity with Takada or YOU had the opportunity with Megan Thee Stallion or Megumi.. Would you want HIM to burst into the room?”

Choso has no idea how this idiotic comparison is somehow making Yuji ok with the idea of him sleeping and now dating you, but he isn’t about to ruin the opportunity.

“No… I wouldn’t”

“See? You’re growing up nicely. But!” Todo returns his hand to Yuji’s shoulders and guides him out of the room, “You still have training to do until then… you need to beat me at flip cup now!”

Choso waits half a moment before sighing in relief but knows when Yuji’s sober he’ll have to come clean in a better way; he slides his shirt back over his head and scurries out to the bathroom. A quick courtesy knock before he swings it open and shuts it, before standing behind your figure washing your hands. His hands wrap around your waist while he places small kisses on your shoulder.

“Choooosooo”

“Hmmm?”

“You left a million hickies!”

He giggles and laughs into your shoulder before mumbling ‘good’ and spinning you around to face him.

“Everyone will notice.”

“That’s the point.”

You roll your eyes playfully and then look back down at your shirt, still uncomfortable from the sensation of the now cold and sticky fabric.

“It’s kinda gross…”

“So wear mine.”

You look back up at him as he effortlessly slips his own shirt off and tugs at you to do the same, though his eyes linger on the swell of your tits long enough for you to swat him away playfully. It’s an oversized band t-shirt that nearly falls to the same length as your skirt and smells just like his cologne.

“I might never return it.”

“I’ll give you a million of them if you promise to always wear them,” he kisses your lips, “especially around Suguru and Satoru.“

“Hmm? Jealous?”

He chuckles and keeps his hands planted on your hips, “How could I not be? Those two get to see you all the time while I have to pretend to leave shit at your apartment as an excuse.”

Your heart tugs at his confession and you push the hair falling into his face back for a moment before it cascades back down to its original spot, “You know you can see me whenever you want to as well now?”

He smiles wide and plants a few more pecks onto your flesh, the awkward and emotional side of him creeping back in.

“Wait, you’re gonna be shirtless now?”

“Yea, I don’t really mind if it means you’re comfortable.”

“But everyone is gonna see the hickies I left on you.”

Choso smiles and pivots to admire his back in the mirror, “Hey don’t forget the scratches– ow!”

You shove him lightly and laugh before opening the bathroom door and making room for him to step out after you.

“Can I stay at your place tonight? I don’t really want the first thing I do when I wake up to be to explain to Yuji about all of this.”

“Yea, that’s fine.. Was there something else you were thinking of doing when you first wake up?”

He follows you to the edge of the stairs, the music getting louder and louder, “I have a few things in mind, but–” his eyes trail down to his own doc marten boots and your mary-jane ones, “I want the first thing Suguru and Satoru see when they get to the apartment to be my shoes next to yours.”

OMGGG a really long one shot and my first NSFW on this app hehehe

hope you liked it! I'm gonna make a list of holiday topics and try to grind them out despite it being halfway through the month already whoops -> Choso's would be a part 2 to this one :)

reblogs/likes/comments all appreciated <3

-oatmeal

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seeingivy · 8 months ago

Text

casual

suguru geto x f!reader

**loosely based on casual by my beloved chappell roan

—

in the three months that you spend with suguru geto, he leaves a sour taste in your mouth and it’s not only because he tastes like black coffee. and in the two months that follow, before your deeply unfortunate circumstantial reunion, the last five words that you uttered to him, the sentiment behind them, only seems to grow.

you can go to hell.

and it’s all you can think when he shows up to the emergency room – a pinkish sunburn across his nose, his hair messily tied back – and eyes dripping in a concern that fills you with a rage. and it’s a deep sigh that he gives you, before reaching for your hand.

“what happened to you, peach?”

the general education class that you choose to satisfy your values and ethics inquiry is the sociology of religion. counting all the stakes – a stellar review on rate my professors, a night class at the start of the week, and minimal homework – it makes for the most ideal choice.

“so what’s your major?”

the downside? the midterm and final project are group assignments. and on any other occasion, you would have appreciated it – getting to split the work, taking some of the load off and sharing the work with someone, except for the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the class – and for the most part, you were expecting some half-brained idiot that would make you do all the work.

you suppose it’s at least fair that he’s not horrible to look at. in the dimmed lights of your apartment, there’s something almost off putting about your partner, suguru geto. you count seven piercings across his ears – dangling silver pieces almost shining in the glint of the light – and the smallest rim of purple around his eyes. harsh cheekbones, a hard jaw, and wrinkles by his eyes.

“educational studies. what’s yours?” you state.

“computer science.”

you hum in response, filling the two glasses with water and snatching one of the peaches from its container before taking your seat across from him, noting that he has a dimple on the left side when he smiles in response to your gesture.

“did you want some?” you ask, holding the peach in between the two of you.

he shakes his head, slumping against the counter in what seems an almost unnatural pose – his long limbs spreading into the space underneath your chair. you wonder if he always had an unusual way of taking up space.

and it seems that as time goes on, he gets more and more unusual. quietly working through the portions that you split up, except for a few deep breaths here and there, though he would stop once in a while and would almost ask for approval of what he had written, waiting for some confirmation from you that it was okay with you.

“you’re comparing adam and eve to…orpheus? i’m not really familiar with that.” you state.

suguru nods, before turning towards you to explain. his eyes waver in the slightest as he turns over to you, his gaze flitting down to your lips, before looking back up at you.

“you don’t have to be polite. you really can have some if you want, it’s really sweet.” you state.

suguru smiles.

“maybe later.”

you shrug.

“so orpheus…”

“it’s a really old greek myth. orpheus and eurydice. to kind boil it down, eurydice is in the underworld with hades. and orpheus is trying to convince hades to let her return to the mortal world, with him.”

he scoots his chair a little bit closer to you and you’re able to note one thing – that there’s a resonance in his voice, that it hums in his chest when he talks.

“hades tells him that he’ll let him take eurydice with him, but on one condition. she has to walk behind him.”

“that’s not that hard.”

suguru grins.

“isn’t it?” he asks.

you pause.

“you’re being told by this big, all powerful god, that she’s walking behind you. but you can’t look. you wouldn’t even consider the fact that you were being fooled? that maybe she had decided not to follow?”

“i mean, i guess. i don’t think it would really cross my mind, i…i think i’d just follow out all the way til the end because i’d kind of have faith if that’s what i was promised. and that she’d want to come with me too.”

suguru pauses, like he’s almost taking in what you’ve said – like it’s the first time he’s heard it – and responds rather slowly.

“you’re rather trusting, aren’t you?”

you roll your eyes.

“is that such a bad thing? what do you think about it?”

suguru shrugs.

“it was a worthless pursuit in the first place. there was no way that he wouldn’t have turned around and looked back.”

“what do you mean?”

“it’s simple. he loves her. if he hears something that deceives him – like the sound of her tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back. if he thinks that she isn’t there, he won’t be able to get over it and he’ll turn around.”

you pause, mulling the thought over. and you suppose it’s true – that if you really did love something, it would be almost impossible not to check for the promise of their presence.

“i guess. so what? she goes back to the underworld?”

“yeah. it’s one of the most tragic love stories.”

“i guess it’s kind of romantic. that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

and in the split second that the two of you stare at each other, he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, with the strong taste of coffee lingering on his lips.

you’ve kissed three people before in your life – the boy you sat next to in the seventh grade, your date to the prom, and now suguru geto.

the first was overwhelming. a quick locking of the lips, that at the time, made you nearly erupt into a puddle of butterflies. the second was lackluster. waxy from too much chapstick, abrupt from the fact that he was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth.

and the third was indescribable. only because you could feel it – something lingering under his demeanor that you couldn’t exactly place. there wasn’t a word for the feeling it gave you – though there was one that was close enough.

curiosity. about what that feeling is, about who suguru geto was, and why he felt so inclined to kiss you upon your third meeting.

you wanted more of it.

“you’re right, you know?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips.

“about being trusting?”

he laughs.

“no. about the peach. it really is sweet.”

he leans back, eyes fixed on the reading in front of the two of you again, as you reach up to touch your lips, the sticky sweetness of the fruit gone from your skin.

suguru comes around often after the fact. always here and there, an almost abrupt and concise text testing the waters.

[suguru]: is your roommate home?

[you]: nope. she’s at the district.

[suguru]: can i keep you company?

[you]: okay!

and he always arrives promptly twenty minutes after the fact, to the point where you wondered if he lingered around just to get there as fast as he could. and never empty handed – with dinner, dessert, or a flower that he plucked out of the cement in his hands.

that was the thing that confused you about him.

after the very first time you kissed, he had made one thing very clear.

no attachments. you’re not together.

but yet, he’d show up sometimes and do nothing but kiss your forehead and sleep in your bed next to you. or make you do something entirely mundane – like watch toy story three with a sheet of cookies in your oven – or watch you study.

and in the two weeks you had known him, you knew better than to question. your curiosity never stopped you, but you found that you were always left with more questions than the vague answers that he gave you.

“hey peach?”

“yeah?”

“your mom is calling.”

you widen your eyes, immediately snatching the phone from him, and giving him a weary smile. and you side shuffle into the walkway between the laundry and your bedroom, pressing the phone to your ear and murmuring under your breath.

“hi mom.”

“hi doll. how are classes?”

you pick at the loose thread of your sweater, nearly breaking the seams of the sleeve, noting suguru’s curious eyes – that he’s very poignantly trying to hide – from the kitchen.

“they’re good, ma. what’s up?”

“right. i’m so sorry to do this to you, my sweet, but i won’t be home when you get back.”

“what?”

“we’re going on a trip to see sheila in new york. and well, her vacation is only during those dates and we want to spend as much time with her as we can.”

you sigh, the frustration tempering in yoru chest.

“i already paid for the tickets. i saved up for a month trying to buy a flight back.”

“darling, i know. i’m really sorry, but you know how it is. she just gets so stressed out that we just wanted to go out there and make her holiday nice.”

“and what about my holiday? you don’t want me to have a nice christmas with my family?”

you can feel it burning in your cheeks – that embarrassing feeling that’s been simmering in your chest since you were kid. a mix of an insurmountable amount of envy and dejection, from trying to vie for attention from the second that you realized you never had it.

“don’t try to make me feel guilty.” she scolds

“i’m not trying to make you feel guilty! i just wished you would have thought about me too.”

you hear an irritated sigh on the end of the line, which is your first sign that you had made a mistake. because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was push your mom’s buttons.

you wonder if it’s because she sees herself in you – and that utter hatred that she has for herself was now placed on you instead.

“do you always have to be so curt with me?”

“i’m not being curt, i just…”

“maybe when i die, you’ll think back and wished that you had appreciated me more. been more understanding that i’m not just your mother, i am someone’s friend too. that i have my own life. and that at the very least, my friends like to call me here and there. acknowledge me while you do god knows what wherever you are.”

“okay, well, i –”

“enjoy your christmas. we’ll see you in the spring.” she states.

there’s a static on the other end of the line and you drop your phone, staring at the dark screen in your hands for the few seconds that follow. and you must have been standing there for too long, because a few minutes later quiet footsteps accompany you in the dimly lit hallway, suguru’s head obscuring the light from the bulb.

“hi peach.”

“did you hear all of that?”

“no.” he responds.

you look up at him and glare. and he reaches forward, hands soft on your cheek wiping away the wetness that you hadn’t noticed. you’re not sure when you started crying.

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“you’re a liar. if you’re one thing, it’s nosy.” you respond.

he smiles.

“maybe when it comes to you. what happened, pretty girl?”

you shake your head, his grabby hands coming around your waist as he presses you closer to his chest. you can hear his heart thumping against your ear, the metal of his necklace cold on your cheek, as you heave a sigh.

“nothing.”

“oh, come on, peach.”

you look up at him, expectant and full brown eyes waiting for an answer, as you give in.

“i just thought i would be going home next week for break. but i think i’m just going to stay here.”

“because your parents are going to…”

“see their friends in new york.”

suguru frowns. you can’t tell if it’s pity in his eyes.

“it’s not a big deal. i just was expecting to go home, that’s all. and it’s not that big of a deal that i’m going to stay here, the weather is nice and it’s probably frigid cold there.”

suguru pauses.

“you’re going to be here alone?”

“yeah. my roommate is from the east coast.”

“you should come home with me, for break.”

you look up at him, eyes wide.

“what?”

“s’not that far from here, i usually just make the drive. there’s a nice coffee shop on the way that i always stop at for some energy. and my mom is really nice.”

you shake your head, almost too violently.

“i can’t just go home with you. i wouldn’t want to impose.”

suguru pulls back, his fingers fast on the screen, as he murmurs under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“you’re not an imposition to me, peach. i can’t leave my baby here alone.”

“sure. but to your parents, and…and staying rent free in your house.”

suguru grins, handing over the phone to you, as you read the texts on the screen.

[suguru]: can my friend come home with me for break? her name is y/n.

[mom]: YES!!!!!

[mom]: A GIRL!

[suguru]: not like that

[suguru]: but she’s sweet

[mom]: I’M GETTING EVERYTHING READY

you look down at the phone, noting the sweet heart emoji that he has near her contact name, the contact photo a picture of the two of them when he was considerably younger, hugging cheek to cheek.

“and i stay rent free in your apartment all the time.”

“suguru, this is…weird. i can’t just come home with you, that’s…that’s too much.”

he shakes his head.

“it’s casual. we’re just friends, you’re just coming home with me for break so you won’t be here alone.”

right. you’d almost be inclined to believe him – if it wasn’t for the fact that the time you spent around him, the more curious you got.

the more that feeling festered in you, wanting to know anything and everything about him, wanting to crawl deep into his skin and memorize everything and make sense of why he was the way he was.

“you promise?”

“for sure.”

“you’re a loser.”

mei mei is never one to mince her words. and you’re grateful for it – because it’s something that you need when you return from your two weeks stay in long beach with suguru over the break.

because despite the words that he told you, the ones that you didn’t really believe anyway, you come back in a worse state than you expected.

you think you love him.

because in the days of uninterrupted time that you spend together, you let your mind wander too far. because in the quiet moments that the two of you had – knee deep in the passenger seat outside the stupid coffee shop you stopped at, giggling in the bathroom when you went to dinner, and tangled in the bed sheets with him every night – you let yourself taste too much.

let your mind run a little too wild. thinking about meeting his friends at the pier he showed you, of living together in an apartment in the following year.

and the two of you teeter a dangerous line. putting each other as emergency contacts, swapping your wardrobe in between your flats, and showering together every morning – his soft hands massaging the shampoo into the roots of your hair.

“don’t be mean.” you state.

“i’m not being mean, i’m just saying that…”

mei mei sighs, cheeks in her hand, with an almost irritating look in her eyes – wholeheartedly judgemental. she just didn’t get it.

“look, he’s friends with todo. that guy i know from the finance club? and i asked around about him, apparently he loves to brag about how he gets girls off all the time. now either he’s talking about you – clearly not the way you talk about him – or he’s talking to someone else.”

you sigh. because you can’t even put it past him. because in the months you had known him, he was impossible to understand. a futile effort to read. impossible to touch.

“look, i’ll just ask him later.”

and when he comes around your apartment, well after mei mei has left, he brings a slice of peach cobbler that his coworker insisted that he take home with him.

“peach cobbler for my peach!”

you wince.

“that was corny. even for you.”

“i saw an opportunity and i took it.” suguru responds, shrugging as he loops his arms around your waist, chin resting against the top of your head as he eyes the pot of boiling ramen on your stove.

and you bite the bullet as fast as you can.

“do you see other girls?” you ask.

“huh?”

you swallow hard, dry patch in your throat, as you feel the sweat tickling the top of your forehead. it’s from the heat of the stove.

“do you see other girls? or guys?”

“no. do you?”

you shake your head. and you’re unsure how to word the next question – because there was something humiliating, too bare about having to admit that you want more to him – when things were so sweet as they were.

perhaps you should have known better. coffee was always bitter at the end.

“why do you ask?”

you shrug.

“dunno. was just thinking about us. and how we spent break together and all that.”

suguru presses a kiss to your hairline.

“yeah? did you have fun?”

you hum in response.

“yeah. i really liked the city. and your mom and your sister. it was really sweet of you to take me.”

you pause, wincing as you decide to be as blunt as possible.

“and i like you.”

he laughs.

“well, i like you too.”

“no, no, i like you. well, i more than like you, but i…i can’t say those words.”

there’s a silence. and his arms feel like loose limp noodles around you. and you realize now, that you made the wrong choice. you turn around, only to find hollow brown eyes staring at you, the makings of a frown on his face.

“suguru?”

he winces.

“i can’t.” he whispers.

“why not?”

and you’re not sure what it is, but it throws him into a panic. with his facial features scrunched up, eyes hollow, and nervous hands running through his hair.

“i just can’t.”

you cross your hands over your chest, the bitter contempt of rejection blooming in your chest, as you look down, picking at the scab on the inside of your palms as you ask again.

“i said i didn’t want any attachments.” he adds.

“i know. but can you blame me for being confused? you took me home to see your family.”

“as a friend.”

“you didn’t act like my friend while we were there.”

suguru groans.

“and that’s my fault, i know that but –”

that one stings. admitting that he regrets it.

“okay, well. that’s alright. maybe you should leave now, then.” you state.

“wait peach, no. i don’t want to leave, i just..”

you scoff.

“you don’t want to leave?”

“no?”

it comes out meek, almost timid when he utters it. a question. like he can’t even admit it fully – that he wants to stay. and it fills you with anger, searing red hot anger on the heels of being cast aside so nonchalantly, that it comes to a head then and there.

“do you really think so little of me?”

“what?

“i’m not good enough to be your girlfriend. but whatever else you want, that’s fine. i…i thought you thought of me better than some girl you just fuck around with.”

suguru sighs.

“you’re not some girl i just fuck around with.”

“am i not, though?”

suguru shuts his eyes, the look on his face is so pained – so miserable – that it irritates you.

“you’ve made it abundantly clear. that you like me a decent amount, but not enough to care about whether or not you’ll lose me.”

you bite down so hard on your lip that the taste of metallic blood fills your mouth, coupled with warm tears in your eyes.

“and for that, you can go to hell.”

“what happened to you, peach?”

you scoff, curling your nose at the old nickname, as he yanks the closest stool – his legs still too long to even be comfortable on the thing as he leans forward, noting the dried blood on your forehead.

“a car accident. you can leave now.”

suguru frowns, almost resembling a kicked dog, as he shakes his head. there’s something softer about his expressions now – something you’re sure is a byproduct of the time you spent apart or the fact that you have a broken rib – and you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“i can’t just leave.” he whispers.

“and why not?”

suguru shakes his head.

“you have a broken rib. and a deep cut on your forehead. forgive me if i’m concerned about you.”

“i can’t. knowing you, you’ll casually linger around here for a few days, and when you figure it’s appropriate to leave, you’ll be gone with the wind.”

the two of you sit there in silence, the harshness of the words hanging in the air between the two of you.

and yet again, suguru geto leaves you with a never ending pit of curiosity. about what he was doing here, to ask how he is – to make it a note to him that his cheeks look fuller, that his eyes aren’t rimmed red anymore, and that he looks good.

that you like the new hairstyle. that it killed you when he wasn’t around anymore. that you still want him to go to hell.

suguru twists the silver ring on his pointer finger a few times – a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth – before you break the silence, your curiosity getting the best of you another time.

“why are you here?”

“they called me. i’m your emergency contact still.”

“no, i gathered that. why are you here?”

suguru pauses, swallowing hard before responding.

“if orpheus hears something that deceives him – like the sound of eurydice tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back.” suguru states.

you scoff. vague again.

“right.”

“no, really. i got the call. and i didn’t think and just showed up. i just…just had to see you.” suguru states.

he pauses.

“it’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

you turn to glare at him, at the audacity of him repeating your own stupid words back to you.

“is it? because his carelessness left her in hell with hades.”

suguru scoffs.

“i never did tell you the end of the story, did i?”

you roll your eyes.

“orpheus becomes so distraught that he uses his lyre to charm death – just so that he can return to the underworld to be with her. and people debate how it happens, him being ripped apart by irate women or getting killed by the menades, but it does happen. he dies and goes to the underworld. and in some versions, people think that he reunites with her in the underworld. and she forgives him.”

“and why would she do that?” you ask.

“because he tried his best to do right by her. he was asked to do one thing – to stay away. and that’s what he did, because…because i know you’re right. because you do deserve better, i do think the world of you and think you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you, the way that you want.”

suguru pauses.

“it’s not my fault that i can’t help but look back. i can’t do anything about the fact that i love you.”

you swallow hard, an embarrassing amount of regret – mixed in with that deep longing that he left in your chest – searing through you.

“in the casual way, right?” you respond, sarcastically.

he groans.

“it’s not casual at all. it wasn’t casual when i leaned forward to taste the sweetness of the peach on your lips – especially when i fucking hate peaches. and it wasn’t casual when i took you home with me, it was…i just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. and it’s not fucking casual that i drove three hours when i was supposed to be home this weekend just because i the thought of you sitting in this room alone, in pain, was driving me crazy.”

you wince, turning to look at him. and it seems that in the mere acknowledgement of his presence by locking his eyes, it seems to fill him with something – something that puts the whisper of a smile on his face.

“what?”

“i turned around for you. i didn’t know i would, but now that i have, i…i realize that i probably always would have.”

“okay?” you whisper.

“are you going to forgive me for it? not doing it earlier, for…for not getting it right the first time?” he asks.

you pause, mulling the thought over. and the silence, he takes it as an invitation to plead his case.

“i’ll beg. i’ll get on my hands and knees if that’ll do something to make it better.”

you turn to look at him.

“you…you’re special. i haven’t forgotten about you and…and i know we had something. just let me fix it? i’ll get you a hundred gifts, i’ll tell you a hundred times and i’ll - oh!’

he reaches into his bag, shoving his arms into the depths of the pockets, before yanking out a little napkin and reaching forward, opening your hand and placing it in your palm.

“a tissue?”

“open it.”

and you oblige, unfolding the tissue to see four little gummy peach rings in the napkin, before turning back to him.

“peach rings?”

“for my peach! i eat them all the time now, even though i fucking hate peaches. i only had a few left so i grabbed what i had left when i ran out. and i ate some on the way on accident because i was nervous, worried about you and all..”

you look down, the sugary crystals on the candy almost sparking in the light, as you look back at him. and he's wholeheartedly different - not the cool, cold guy you left behind, but a weird mess of awkwardness and jitters, and maybe even the tiniest hint of desperation.

he seems wholeheartedly more touchable this way.

“you make no sense.” you state.

suguru frowns.

“i know. but i’m trying.” he responds.

and you sigh, wiping your hands at your side, before eating one of the candies. bitter at first, but sweet at the end.

“suppose that’s my problem then. i’ll have to figure you out.” you respond.

suguru’s face splits into a smile, his motions so eager as he leans over the railing of the bed, the angle entirely off as he leans forward to kiss you. and it’s entirely different from every other time you’ve kissed him – full and whole, a warm and tender promise behind it.

“you’re wrong, you know?” you whisper.

“about what?” he murmurs.

“the peaches. they taste good.”

he laughs.

“is that right?” he whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips, as he wavers his eyes up again, to the cut on your forehead.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the bandages, before pulling back, lips lingering over yours.

“i think i need one more to decide.”

an: idk.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Note

Hello cherry

This is the first time I have asked you something, I would like it to be something like Miguel being a teacher with a female student reader. With NSFW, I'm ovulating please

I know you will know how to do it very well

Have a nice day nena

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut with Slight Plot, Student/Teacher Relationship, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Fingering, Degradation, Praise, Spanking, Squirting

Summary: You needed extra help, right?

Word Count: 2K (Not Edited)

Both of you knew you didn’t need the extra help.

Miguel had been surprised when he had seen your name in the afterschool tutoring sign up sheet. He didn’t need to open up his gradebook to know you were one of the striving students in his class, getting high Bs to As on his assignments and exams. At first, he thought it was a mistake. That was quickly disproved the more he paid attention to you in class.

You always sat front and center, pushing your body up against the table so your breasts were on display. Your eyes tracked his every movement, either giving him innocent doe eyes or half-lidded beauties. Your hands are always playing with something, let it be your hair, a pencil, or your lip. God those lips. He was sure you had an oral fixation. How else would you explain the way you bit the end of your pens, fingers, your own lips whenever he talks? You’re naive if you think he misses the fleeting glances you make up and down his figure as he paces around the room. Stupid if you think he misses the extra seconds you spend on his crotch.

He definitely doesn’t miss the way you strut into his office, clothes skin tight and bordering on inappropriate. His eyes instantly zero in every time you try to tug your clothes down, revealing more of your cleavage or just shy of showing the band of your panties before the fabric rises up again. You let out small huffs, a pout on your glossy lips as if you didn’t do this to yourself. As if you didn’t plan this because you knew you were gonna have him all to yourself for an hour or two. Naughty, naughty girl.

But also oh-so-sweet, especially when your pretty cunt clamps so tightly onto his fingers. As much as he likes you sitting in the front of the class, he might just consider permanently moving your seat to his lap. You’re just so pretty, your back pressed against his front with your legs spread over his own. He almost misses your stuttering words over the sound of your squelching hole as you try to answer the questions he whispers into your ears. You never knew Miguel to be so impatient until now. Not until he gives harsh slaps to your throbbing clit when you get the answer wrong or take too long to respond. Every slap makes your hips jolt in pleasure and if he didn’t know any better, Miguel would have thought you were answering wrong on purpose.

“Come on, chica. It’s an easy one, you got it right on the past assignment. Don’t be an airhead, now.”

The words are said softly into your ear, but the condescending smile on his face makes you whimper in embarrassment. A deep flush covers your face and you try to recall the answer. But it’s just too hard. The words get more and more jumbled in your mind the more Miguel keeps pumping his thick fingers into you. His blunt nails scrape your gummy walls perfectly and you can’t escape the urge to throw your head back in pleasure. A pleased moan leaves your plump lips, slightly grinding against his hand.

The sound almost immediately turns into a sharp gasp when Miguel’s hand comes in contact with your cheek. Your head whips to the side from the force, only to have it yanked forward and pointed towards the review material on his desk. The hand that he used to slap you squishes your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker up and muffle your noises. Miguel leans forward and presses up against your back, his breath tickles your ear and his fingers slow the slightest bit.

“Pay attention. How am I supposed to help you if you don't cooperate, hm?” Miguel snarls, nipping at your earlobe.

You try to respond, trying to apologize, but all that comes out is a drawn out whine. Miguel simply chuckles, mumbling ‘stupid slut’ as his hand slides down to your face to your neck. Your moan is more audible this time, and Miguel hisses as you clench around his fingers the same time he applies the tiniest bit of pressure to your neck. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pumps his fingers faster, pressing right below the perfect spot. It’s enough to do you in, hips jerking up as clear liquid gushes out of you.

Miguel completely ignores it, pretending he doesn’t feel the wetness of his button-up sleeve or the splattering on his slacks. His fingers still work you through your orgasm, your protests falling onto deaf ears. “Go on, read the paragraph. What does it say, chica?”

You can’t even attempt to read it, the words an unfocused mess as your mind tries to come down from your orgasm. All you can do is whine, trying to squirm away from his hold and mumbling out ‘don’t know’ repeatedly. You barely register Miguel’s tsk of disappointment before his fingers disappear from inside you. His hand creeps into your hair, and a pleased sigh escapes you as your body gets the chance to relax. His hand is gentle, massaging your scalp until his hold suddenly tightens.

“Maybe you need a closer look then, yeah?”

A yelp leaves you as he sharply tugs at your hair, forcing the side of your face to press into the papers and workbooks on his desk. Some of the pages crinkle as he forces you to balance on your legs. You faintly hear the rolling of his chair as it hits the wall, Miguel standing behind you and working at his belt. A shiver runs down your body when you feel his head slide against your folds, hands bracing on the edge of the desk to stop yourself from falling to the floor.

“How about now? Can you read it?”

You don’t get the time to respond, a loud moan parting from your lips as he pushes into you. It burns slightly from his size, even with all the time he spent loosening your cunt. Your eyes and hands squeeze shut, trying to work through the intrusion. You can feel every inch he slides in, swearing you can feel the throb of a thick vein against your walls. Miguel hisses at your tightness, his hand wrapping around to play with your clit in an effort to relax you. It takes a moment, but your walls give away the slightest bit. It’s just enough for him to bottom out, both of your groaning as his head rubs against that spongy spot inside you. He slowly slides out before snapping his hips forward again, shifting you higher up onto the desk.

More whines and whimpers leave you as you try to push back into him. But after a few more thrusts, he pulls out so his tip is the only thing in you. His grip on your hips is tight, preventing you from moving. A frustrated noise leaves you, but it's quieted by the slap he lands onto your ass. He massages the red spot, humming to himself. “Let’s make a deal, yeah? If you can answer this last question correctly, I’ll reward you.”

Your eyes sluggishly follow his finger as it comes into view. He grabs one of the worksheets, repositioning you on the desk so you rest on your elbows. He slides the paper in front of you, tapping at the number in front of the problem he wants you to answer. You want to cry, seeing the length of the worded problem. You can barely make out the numbers written down, your luck of even remembering the equation you need to solve it is a big fat zero. But, you really, really want to cum. So, you hesitantly nod in response.

��Good girl.” Miguel praises, slowly pushing back into you again and continuing his thrusts.

You try to take deep breaths, trying to calm down your mind as you reach for the discarded pencil on his desk. You have to blink a few times, finding it difficult to get the words in focus between your distracted mind and the jolting of your body with each of Miguel’s thrust. Your hand tightens on the pencil so much you think you might break it. Your eyes scan the first few sentences three times, trying to comprehend what it's saying as you read on. Your handwriting is shaky as you try to solve the problem, the pencil sharply jerking upwards with some thrusts. When you try to steady yourself, the tip of the pencil breaks and you cry out.

Your head falls to the desk, body trembling with your upcoming orgasm, “I-I can’t. Mr. O’Hara I can’t.”

Your whines are absolutely pathetic, even to your own ears. Miguel leans over your shoulder, observing your shaky work before cooing in your ear. “Yes you can. You’re so close, just focus a bit harder, baby.”

You let a frustrated whine before picking your head up again. You look over your work again, trying to remember where you left off. With a few more stuttery strokes, you draw a wonky circle around your answer before letting the pencil roll away from you. You slide the paper to the slide so Miguel can check your answer, collapsing in the spot it used to be. Your head is turned to the side again, watching Miguel's finger trace over the work. A triumphed whimper leaves you when he hums in satisfaction.

“There you go, that’s my smart girl. Knew you could do it.”

A happy sigh leaves you at his praise, burying your head into your arms to hide the dorky smile that overcomes your face. The smile doesn’t last long when Miguel speeds up his thrusts, going harder and faster than he did before. Your head snaps up, moan after moan leaving you as your body begins to shake. When his finger flicks at your clit, your body falls lax as you finish. Miguel isn’t far behind, emptying himself into you. Both of you take a minute to calm down before he slides out with a hiss.

You take another minute to yourself before slowly standing up. Your legs are still wobbly, but they regain balance after a few minutes. You startle slightly when Miguel’s hand comes into your peripheral, your panties dangling from his fingers. You blush, letting out a quiet thank you before you slide them back on. You help Miguel clean off his desk quietly, glancing at his figure from time to time. When you’re done, you clear your throat to say the last of your thanks before leaving. Before you can go, Miguel calls out to you.

You turn hesitantly, watching as he slides one of his coats from the coat rack and motioning you forward. You walk hesitantly towards him, letting him move your limbs as he slides the coat over your small form. “Keep this on until you get back to your dorm. Don’t want anyone to see what’s mine.”

He doesn’t look at you as he says it, keeping his eyes focused on buttoning up the coat. A roaring blush spreads across your face and you nod, whispering a small agreement as you let the warmth of it snuggle against your skin. When his eyes meet yours, they’re soft and warm. His hand grabs a hold of your cheeks again, puckering them up perfectly for the kiss he lays on them. When he pulls away, your mind is still buzzing with delight as he looks at the clock over the door.

“Office hours are over. Get home safe, yeah? Don’t be late to class tomorrow.”

He ushers you out of his office shortly after, another fleeting kiss on your lips as the door shuts behind you. You stand there in a daze before a wide smile spreads on your face. You tug Miguel’s coat tighter around you and make your way back to your dorm.

Hopefully, your grade in performance was an A+.

THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I SCREAMED WRITING THIS!!

#cherry's requests🍒#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o hara #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #cherry's specials!🍒#marvel smut

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cheolism-archive · 4 months ago

Text

classroom etiquette

✰ — kim hongjoong x f!reader ✷ — summary: you and kim hongjoong are: members of the university english department; writing rivals; great enemies. and you meet in an abandoned classroom. ✰ — wc is approx. 2.5k ✷ — genre: rivals and lovers, smut ✰ — warnings: dom!hongjoong x sub!reader. degradation (brat, slut) and praise kinks, pet names (princess, good girl, etc.). slight exhibitionism. oral (m! receiving) and cum swallowing. dumbification of reader. ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: for @lovetaroandtaemin !! requested as part of my follower celebration! i hope this is what u wanted! ty for requesting <3 i can't wait to get to know you more <33

in short, yet again mr. kim has proved himself incapable of writing anything where a character has depth. he is so preoccupied with creating a story filled with dragons and intricate government systems that his characters fall remarkably behind. there is no substance to what he writes. he writes purely as an act of god: to create a world that inspires awe. he does not write for the art of it; for the humanity of it.

you grin to yourself, triumphant, as you publish the review to the lit magazine site. kim hongjoong's short story was littered with positive reviews, readers and fellow authors alike praising his elaborate world-building.

they weren't wrong to praise his world-building. you may not like the man and firmly believe he is a stain upon the university's english department, but you wouldn't lie and say he half-assed his world-building.

but, like you said: where he excelled in world-building building he failed in character-building.

each main character was like the next: brave and with a firm moral compass, a yearning to do the right thing. there was no depth. they felt as artificial as his nose ring, which you saw him pull off one time.

and yet, as you navigate to the home page of the literary magazine and look upon the monthly winners, as voted upon by fellow authors and readers, people just eat it up. they eager await everything kim hongjoong puts out.

as evidenced by the shining number one next to his story link.

with yours immediately beneath it.

well, you think to yourself, you did win last month.

still, you feel slighted; wronged. this month's work had been a masterpiece, in your opinion. a careful character study of a widow reminiscing of her life as she looks out the window, watching the sun rise and set and relating it to her life.

it was thoughtful. more importantly, it was human. it was everything kim hongjoong's story lacked.

your laptop chimes, breaking the near-silence of the lounge. you hurry to silence it, finger jamming on the mute button on your keyboard.

you got a new review on your story.

you click on it.

kim hongjoong (@no1likeme): another perfectly boring character study of someone the audience has no care for. every single word of this story reads as if someone was watching paint dry. no action. no plot. it's a poor imitation of a chekhov story, and a million times more boring. it's an insult to the genre. if i wanted to contemplate the meaning of life, i'd take a philosophy class. i wouldn't spend my precious time writing something as cheesy and trashy as this.

immediately, and predictably, you feel your temper rise.

who was he, you think, closing the screen of your laptop with a sharp movement, to judge your story?

just because he needed to fill his stories to the brim with gunfights and far-away dystopias didn't mean everyone else in the world was ignorant of the wisdom and humanity of character studies.

you shove your laptop into your bag, zipping it up angrily.

every story you put out, kim hongjoong leaves a comment on. it's like he's obsessed with you.

(nothing is to be said about the fact you wait for the moment he uploads a story to read it. you shimmer in your thoughts for a week, rereading and deciding the perfect way to weave your thoughts over his latest work. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a review immediately; wouldn't let him know that you were so eager to read what trash he put out.)

you stepped from the lounge, making your way down the metal staircase.

your work, you knew, was perfect. it was intricate and prompted thought.

just because he didn't understand --

you walked down two flights before stepping off of the staircase. hefting your backpack back onto your shoulder, from where it had been slipping, you make your way down the hall. the english building is nearly abandoned at this hour, a few students littering the hallways, cramming in assignments before they inevitably take the last bus back to their cramped apartment.

you go to the very last classroom on the third floor.

you switch on the lights for the front of the room, the section that is impossible to see by someone walking by and giving a cursory look through the door window.

you settle at the front of the room. the chairs are all on wheels for safety, and it slides gently as you recline into it. you pull out your laptop and boot it back up. kim hongjoong's review tauntingly stares at you.

you screenshot it and then add it to a folder labeled kim hongjoong reviews. there's 30 other reviews within, one for each story you've uploaded to the university literary magazine.

and kim hongjoong had to comment on each one of them.

he's obsessed.

the door to the classroom opens.

in steps kim hongjoong.

he is, naturally, fashionably dressed. black jeans and a black leather jacket, a striped cardigan udnerneath. hongjoong's wearing those stupid black-framed glasses of his, the ones that only seem to highlight the dark arches of his brows and show off his undercut. he's wearing his silver rings, of course, and when he lifts his hand to run his fingers through his black hair, you catch a glimpse of a brown leather watch.

hongjoong looks like he's walked out of a freshman student's fantasy concerning their literary teaching assistant.

you scoff at him. "if you gave your writing half as much attention as you did your clothes, you'd finally have something worth reading."

hongjoong scowls at you, eyes severe. "you really think you know everything, don't you?"

you smirk at him, looking back at your computer. hongjoong comes to the front of the room. he sets his leather back on the ground next to the leg of the table, beginning to pull at the sleeves of his leather jacket.

"leave it on," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. hongjoong continues to take off the leather jacket. beneath it is his striped cardigan, and it's horribly contrasting the undercut and overall sleek look he was going for.

you click your tongue. "shame. i would've said you looked hot had you left it on."

"you're such a fucking brat," hongjoong admonishes. he pulls at the armrests of the chair. it rolls easily in his grasp, and he twists it so you're craning your neck to look up at him.

hongjoong exudes power like this. staring down at you, eyes dark and serious. he's all dominance and imposing, and you can feel something twisting in your gut.

"am i?" you say, eyes glancing down at his mouth.

"you're fucking ridiculous," hongjoong scoffs. then he's swooping down and mashing his mouth against yours.

his hand finds the back of your neck, holding you firm. hongjoong's mouth is demanding, pressing against yours relentlessly, laying claim. he shoves his tongue in, dominant and not wasting a single moment.

hongjoong kisses passionately; he kisses like he's pressing forth all his anger and frustration with you.

you pull back, lips making a soft smacking noise as you separate. hongjoong's mouth is wet with spit from having stuck his tongue in your mouth, and you know your mouth isn't much better.

"seriously," you say, "you write like you're trying to fuck tolkien."

hongjoong gapes at you. and then, "get on your fucking knees, you chekhov-wannabe."

you pout for a moment, putting up a front.

then his hand is slipping up from your neck and into your hair. he guides you onto the floor, taking your spot on the chair.

the floor is cold as you kneel on it, the temperature seeping through the fabric of your jeans. you pay it no mind. instead you watch as hongjoong undoes his belt with a single hand, pushing down at his pants.

"you act like a little know-it-all," hongjoong murmurs. he pushes his jeans down to his ankles, sitting at the edge of the chair. his underwear, naturally, matches the rest of his outfit, black and tight around him.

"well," you say, looking at his bulge. you know hongjoong isn't particularly big, but you know how he fits so perfectly in your mouth. you've gotten wet more than a few times reading one of his stories, imagining him sitting down and writing, dick stuffed in your mouth. "i do know everything."

hongjoong takes out his dick. it's just — perfect. not too thick but still enough to stretch out your pussy deliciously, not too long to where it triggered your gag reflux when he kept it resting in your mouth. it isn't the prettiest dick you've sucked, but it's absolutely the best dick. it curves naturally towards him, ensuring he presses against your g-spot whenever he sticks it in your pussy.

it's just —

you never thought yourself particularly wanton; particularly vulgar or sexual. but fuck, hongjoong's dick —

he runs his hand over his dick. it's flushed from erection, and you watch, transfixed, as he delicately fingers his head and rubs his thumb against the slit, the angle of his hand showing off the watch on his wrist.

"what a little slut," hongjoong laughs. "running your mouth until you get a dick in your face. is that how i gotta shut you up? just get my dick out?"

you flick your eyes up at him. you can feel blood flush to your cheeks. it always feels demeaning to be on your knees in front of hongjoong, letting him bully you.

but you can't deny how drenched his bullying makes your cunt; how it always makes your pussy throb, desperate for him. and you just fucking love playing into it, especially when you know how fucking hard it makes him.

hongjoong slides his fist down his dick, settling it around the root of it. he presses his thumb against the head, pulling back his foreskin. "well? come on, princess. wanted a dick in your mouth so bad, didn't you?"

horribly obedient, you shuffle forward. you place your hands on his knees. hongjoong chuckles, raising his brows over the rim of his glasses. "should make you do it without your hands."

you pout up at him. "joong. . ."

"don't worry princess," he says. "not this time. but —"

you whine.

"don't be a baby," hongjoong admonishes you, though he's lost that severe look. instead he's grinning, pleased with how cock-stupid you are. "i know you just run your mouth and act out because you want my cock in your cunt. say it, baby. say you're sorry for acting out; that you want my dick."

you whine again, nails gently scraping against his thighs. it's always embarrassing how he makes you say such things. it's mortifying how they make your panties stick to your cunt with juices.

"what was it you said? 'no substance to what he writes?'"

"'m sorry," you whimper out. you settle, resting your chin on his knee. you peer up at him, pushing stray strands of hair from your face. "just wanted you, joong."

hongjoong hums, his hand once again delicately moving up his dick. "pretty shitty apology. but i guess it'll do for now."

hongjoong spread out his knees, tilting his dick towards you.

eagerly, like a puppy given the signal to pursue a treat, you lurch forward for his cock.

hongjoong held his dick still for you to press your lips to the tip. immediately you are met with the bitter taste of his precum, the taste of his skin. you slowly, gently, began to lower your mouth around the head of his dick.

"that's a good girl," hongjoong hisses out, hips lightly canting into your mouth. "such a good girl."

you can't help but preen under his praise. this part, where he rambles about how good you are, how you're a princess, you adore too. you love how the words make you heart and pussy flutter, how they smooth the sharp sting of his bullying tongue.

hongjoong glides his dick into your mouth slowly. he savors in the sweet glide of it, in his dick sliding along your tongue, your spit coating it.

you love the weight of his cock in your mouth. whenever his dick is in your mouth you can feel it dull down the sharp edges of your mind. your being becomes centered around his dick, how it feels against your tongue, how little pearls of precum mixes with your spit.

you're usually not crude, but fuck if hongjoong's dick in your mouth isn't the best part of your week.

hongjoong doesn't make you to take his entire dick. he isn't in a particularly mean mood, then. instead he slides his dick until the tip of it is on the back of your tongue, knowing just how much of it you can take after who knows how many sessions you've spent with his dick in your mouth.

"swallow," he commands. you swallow, mouth constricting around his cock. "good girl. good, princess."

one of his hands went to your hair. he guided your head back, his dick sliding around your tongue. drool fell from your mouth as hongjoong withdrew his dick, and you couldn't help but look down and watch his dick, how your spit glistens along his dick.

"good," he says, and then he's fucking back into your mouth.

hongjoong fucks your mouth slowly, his hips gently rolling into your mouth. he fucks your mouth like he's making love to it. endless praise pours from his mouth. "perfect," he sighs, "perfect fucking slutty little princess.

"gonna swallow?" he slows his thrusts even more, languid, biting down on his lip. his glasses have slid down his nose, bangs in his eyes. "gonna swallow my cum, princess?"

you nod, and he groans.

you shift forward. you move your hands up his thighs and slide them around the base of his dick, rising to your knees. hongjoong moves both his hands to your hair, fingernails scraping against your scalp.

you place your lips against the tip of his dick. slowly you take it back into your mouth. hongjoong's grip on your hair tightens as you take his dick further and further into your mouth. you go until the tip of it is hitting the back of your mouth, and then you still.

hongjoong's dick twitches in your mouth.

the need to please him endures, and so you begin fucking his dick with your mouth. you pull off of his dick until it's just your lips wrapped around his tip. then back down to the tip you go, swallowing once your lips are snug around his base. you begin to shallowly bob around his dick, hongjoong's pants, quiet and sweet, coupled with the slick sounds of your mouth around his dick.

when he cums, you can't help but choke. this part of giving head always catches you off guard, no matter how many times you swallow around his dick. you sputter around his cock, only pulling off once you begin to cough.

"good," he murmurs, voice tight. he cradles your face, his hand going to wipe at the cum that splattered on your chin. "good girl."

#ksmutsociety #cromernet #✏️ — writing #⏳ — jupiter's ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fic #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong fic #ateez oneshot #kim hongjoong oneshot #🪩 — 5k

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slasherscream · 11 months ago

Note

Can you do some more until dawn characters (yandere please) like you’re trying on clothes at the mall and ask their opinion?

YANDERE UNTIL DAWN CHARACTERS + READER IS TRYING ON CLOTHES

A/N: thank you for reading my until dawn content! it's such a small fandom these days, comments/reblogs/anon reviews/asks are appreciated as they let me know people are still reading these.

- Josh has an excellent eye for aesthetics. He may not know all the words/names for the types of clothes you look good in but he recognizes them right away. He’ll try and describe something you should get, give up, wander off, then come back with examples of what he meant while you’re in the dressing room. If the shopping trip is under four hours he can remain locked in the entire time. This is the strength of will and character that comes with being the big brother to two little sisters who got his driving license first. He’s spent entire lifetimes at the mall hyping up the twins. He knows what to do. Overall helpfulness: 8/10.

- Sam loves spending quality time with you. Quality time is one of her preferred love languages, in fact. She picks you up for your shopping day with your favorite coffee shop order in hand, from the best place in town. She’s good with little details like that. You can always count on her to give you her honest opinion on what you pick out. She’s gentle about it, but she’ll never let you wear something she thinks is unflattering. She’s also mindful of waste consumption. With Sam’s help you wind up picking things you love, are comfortable wearing, and that you’ll actually use. Not a penny wasted, no matter how much you spend. Overall helpfulness: 10/10.

- Chris could not possibly, in any version of reality, fix his mouth to give you a criticism about any of your choices. Let alone choices about how you will go about decorating your body. He’s lucky he gets to look at you. It’s an honor! Thank you for honoring him! Every time you step out of the dressing room you will get the exact same answer, very enthusiastically, in the same tone: “That looks GREAT, babe!” You’ll be ready to kill him thirty minutes in. Absolutely worthless feedback. You’ll have to get help from the salespeople who work there for opinions. If you want a ‘yes man’ this is your guy! Overall helpfulness: 3/10.

Hannah is another sap. She’s more helpful than Chris, but only by the slightest margin. If something doesn’t look good she’ll be able to stutter her way around to it…. eventually. She’s nearly petrified at the thought of upsetting you. Never-mind the fact that you’ve asked her how the top looks on you five times now. “Well…. I mean… how do YOU think it looks, Y/N?” As if you’d be asking if you could come up with an opinion yourself. You’ll wind up leaving with only a few items. You’ll have to come back with a friend in a few days. You may need a new wardrobe, but if you need help picking it out, you’ll need a different set of eyes. Overall helpfulness: 4/10.

- Emily is going to be honest to the point that, yes, it will hurt your feelings a little… if you’re lucky. Mileage may vary. If you’re particularly sensitive she’ll hurt your feelings a lot. But god forbid you start trying to take someone nicer shopping with you. She’ll throw the hissy fit of the century when she finds out. Yes, when, and not if. Emily manages to find out everything you try to keep from her. Everything. On one hand you’ll wind up looking the best you’ve ever looked. Your entire wardrobe suits you perfectly. She even buys/picks out things that you’ll like, in your style, even if she finds the style personally distasteful. That’s how much she loves you. It just has to suit you, or else she will say something, and the way she says it is never very nice. You’ll look incredible, but at what cost to your mental health? Overall helpfulness: 8/10.

- Mike isn't very enthusiastic about the activity, but likes the good boyfriend points it garners him. Thus, he will come along whenever you bid him to do so. He’s only got about two and a half hours of shopping in him though, so try and have an idea of what you want to get in your mind. Before you arrive at the stores, please. If you take a long lunch break he can go back for another two hours but this is his hard limit. Knows well enough what you already look good in. Or when something looks downright awful on you. He does struggle a little to help if you’re wanting to try a completely new style. He’s as lost as you. The more underground/alternative/particular the style you want to try is, the worse the advice gets. If you’re just doing a wardrobe refresher this is your man. Overall helpfulness: 6/10.

- Beth makes shopping relaxing. You’ll stay as long as you need in order to get everything you need. She probably had you make a Pinterest board before you guys went out so that you’d be able to refer back to it. She knows getting into the stores can wipe your mind clean of what you needed/wanted to get. She’ll have you guys stop for lunch as well, but then you’re right back at it! She likes seeing your style evolve and change. Her feedback is honest, but gentle. It won’t ever feel like a criticism of your body, just the clothing. You walk out satisfied and always happier than when you came in together. Overall helpfulness: 10/10.

- Jessica is in her element here. Honestly, Jessica drags you shopping with her more than you’ll ever drag her shopping. Spending time together means a lot to Jessica. She never takes it for granted. Thus, she always tries to make any activity, but especially repeat ones like shopping, fun. She probably has a shopping playlist she made for the two of you. You both wear one wireless earbud and get to movie montage with each other. Watch out if the Princess Diaries songs or something Hip-hop comes on, she’ll start dancing to make you laugh. Her feedback is upbeat and positive, but honest. She hypes you up like crazy when you come out wearing something that makes you look really hot! Wolf whistles and everything, your face will be burning up as you flee back into the safety of the dressing room. “Baby, come back! You look smoking!” Overall helpfulness: 9/10.

- Matt knows absolutely nothing about fashion. He tries his very best to help, but he’s at a loss. Only if something very obviously doesn’t suit you will he be able to veto it for you. “I dunno… maybe it’s a little awkward in the arms or…. something?” You’ll have to take a few breaths. However, if something looks good, he can absolutely be a hype man! His eyes light up, he takes your hand, makes you do a spin. All the attention is enough to make you kick your feet and giggle. He can compliment you all day long. To his credit, he can compliment you specifically enough on what looks good. Even if it’s still a little vague. “The color of this makes you look really… wow! You know?” You’ll be able to figure out he means jewel tones make your skin look glowy one of these days. For now, at least you know your boyfriend thinks you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. Overall helpfulness: 5/10.

#josh washington x reader #mike munroe x reader #sam giddings x reader #emily davis x reader #matt taylor x reader #chris hartley x reader #beth #hannah washington x reader #jessica riley x reader #yandere until dawn #until dawn #until dawn imagines #josh wasington imagine #black!reader

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elllisaaa · 6 months ago

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Seokmin bf thoughts!??!! Plzzzzz 🥺

BF!SEOKMIN who is so fucking whipped for you, and so cute and sweet, you don't know what you did to get so lucky.

i have to start by talking about his smile because he just has such a pretty smile, i would die for that smile. and even if he has that beautiful smile, seokmin's number one goal in life is to make you laugh and be happy. he's always ready to do some stupid things if it gets you to smile or giggle, and you never spend a day by his side without breaking down in laughter at least one time. seokmin is very caring and attentive to your every need. for example, he's always asking you about how your day went and he wants every little detail, even the ones you consider useless. he loves it when you share everything with him, and he gets so involved in every story or drama you tell him about - he remembers everything and he needs updates. seokmin will do the same though, telling you all about some dramas that happen behind the scenes. it's not rare for the both of you to gossip all night, and you're like two best friends who are talking about the same people over and over and finishing the session by "but who are we to judge them ?". seokmin is both your bestie and your boyfriend, and you love him for that.

"by the way babe, how did yooha's date go ?" - "it's a long story, sit down." - "oh my god, tell me all about it, i'm all ears !"

cuddles, cuddles and cuddles. so many cuddles because he needs to feel close to you all the time. he always seek your touch and your presence by his side. he especially loves it when you fall asleep when you're laying on his chest, and he might have some photos because you're just too cute. seokmin also loves to fall asleep on your chest sometimes - he gives a lot of love, but he needs to be loved too and just wants to be in your arms and feel your hands caress his back up and down to help him relax. his hugs are very soothing, and everytime you're not doing well, you know you just need to ask him to fall into his arms. seokmin takes pride into knowing that he's your safe place, and everytime you come to him, he feels like he did his job as your boyfriend. he texts you a lot throughout the day, to check in on you and update you on what happened to him. but the most important thing is the boyfriend material photos he sends you everyday. you lose your mind every time and when he finds out you keep a folder of these photos, he genuinely tears up. he lends you his clothes very often, his heart melting when he comes home to see you wearing his hoodie, all cozy on the couch. that only entices him into cuddling with you immediately, and you welcome him with open arms.

"it feels good to be home… i never want you to let me go, i'm too comfortable."

seokmin loves to try new places with you - be that cafés, restaurants, bakeries or even libraries. anything that the both of you love, you're going to go together and review it like you're professionals even if you're not. you both have a lot of fun during these hangouts. he also has gifted you a little box filled with tickets that you can give him anytime you want, and that means that he has to take you out on a date. seokmin literally has a list in his phone with everything he wants to do with you ready, and he always keeps the location you’re going to secret until the last minute. he never fails to tell you how pretty he thinks you are all the time, but when you dress up for a night out, he's even more extra. whenever you're stepping out of your bedroom in an outfit a little fancier than usual, he's the type to fake passing out because of how gorgeous you look. it never fails to make you laugh and it's seokmin's way of reminding you that he's not ashamed to show to the world how obsessed with you he is.

"wait, i need a second." - "seokmin, please, just tell me if it looks good or not." - "baby, i don't think good is strong enough, i need to create a new word to describe how beautiful you are."

BF!SEOKMIN who's whipped for you and your body and the way you make him feel, he just wants to make you feel as good as possible.

seokmin's only goal is to pleasure you as much as you want, and he does that perfectly. foreplay is on a whole different level with him - it's an art. sometimes he doesn't even need to push his cock into you for the both of you to feel satisfied. if he could die in between your thighs, he would, and once he gets a taste of you, he doesn't stop until you're a trembling mess and that his whole face is covered in your juices. seokmin also loves mutual masturbation, having his fingers deep inside of your cunt and your hand stroking his cock up and down while you're sitting on his thighs and making out with him is his definition of heaven. another form of foreplay that he likes is when you're riding his thigh, because let's be honest, he has such pretty thighs, it would be a crime not to use them. seeing you come undone on top of him is literally driving him crazy.

"that's so hot baby, you're so fucking hot, i could cum just looking at you…"

he's constantly complimenting you and your body, how sexy you are and how good you're making him feel. but seokmin also needs to hear that he's doing good for you too, it gets him going when you're calling him your good boy. you want to edge him even if he's so sensitive and that he doesn't think he can handle it ? he'll let you. you want him to keep fucking you after he's came already ? he'll do it. whatever it takes for you to tell him he's doing good, he will do it. seokmin actually loves how dominant you become whenever he asks you if he's doing well. suddenly, you become much more assertive and teasing, and it's so attractive for some reasons. the way you're telling him what to do and if he can cum or not is making him dizzy most days, and he craves your praise. even when he's the one on top, you're sometimes taking control and he lets you because he wants to please you.

"am i doing good ? please, tell me that i've been good…"

seokmin is obsessed with your whole body but your breast is something he can never get enough of. he encourages you to wear tops or dresses with deep cleavages only because it gives him a better view of your pretty tits. when you're wearing pretty lace bras that squish your boobs together just for him, he cannot resist the urge to bury his face in between them. your chest is constantly covered in bite marks and hickeys because seokmin just needs to have his mouth on them whenever he sees them. so naturally he would go crazy if you ever let him fuck your tits. the moment you push your boobs together to squeeze his dick in between them, he's going cross-eyed and he cannot stop moaning the whole time. the way you even let him cover your chest and face in his cum has him ready to go again even if he just orgasmed. generally, he prefers to cum on your chest anyway, pulling out just in time to let you stroke his dick and help him shoot his load onto your pretty tits.

"can i cum on your boobs pretty please ? fuck ! you look so beautiful like this, all mine."

#it was not good for my mental health #where can i get a seokmin please ?#eli answering your questions #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen hard hours #seventeen hard thoughts #dk seventeen #dk x reader #dk smut #dk hard hours #dk hard thoughts #lee seokmin #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #seokmin hard hours #seokmin hard thoughts

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kaija-rayne-author · 3 months ago

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The elves 'needed a win' in Dragon Age Veilguard, huh?

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

Grab a drink of preference, walk the dog, then find a comfy spot, this is gonna be a long one.

I'm referring to a quote of John Epler's. Creative Director for DAV at BioWare in this Polygon article.

"elven historian Bellara Lutare and Grey Warden Davrin, come from Dalish clans themselves and even though they’re a little shaken about confronting their gods, they’re not conflicted about doing so. In fact, among Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s lackeys and puppets, there’s not a single elf to be found. Epler said that it’s vindication for the Dalish — which is nice to see considering how they’ve been portrayed in past games."

Okay. Let’s think about this first part. Epler says it's vindication for the elves and how they've been treated in previous games. You know? Ever since I read that article, confusion has just run around in my head. How? How can absolutely anything that happened in DAV be considered as ‘vindication of the elves’?

Firstly, I'm not sure if vindication is the best word for the concept he's going for. Vindication means to Justify, Confirm, Substantiate, or Avenge. I can't honestly see how any of the events in DAV do even one of those things for the elves.

You know what it really is? It's not anything good, regardless of which transitive verb you use. It's just bad writing. Like absolutely awful, pretty deeply racist, terrible writing.

You’re trying to actually have me believe that within the entire race of elves, city elves, Dalish, veil-jumpers, enslaved elves (who we conveniently don’t see at all in DAV, even though we spend time in Tevinter… the capital of enslaved elves…) there aren’t some who would follow Elgar’nan and/or Ghilan’nain? At least for a little while? The enslaved elves wouldn’t follow their old gods if they promised to free them? Really?

More realistically, there would be a schism within the elves. Some would follow the returned gods, some would deny them, and some would be like fuck this, I have halla to feed or floors to scrub.

Having the gods return would be a world shaking event on every front. Not just in the Disney villain mustache twirling way, like in DAV. But also culturally, religiously, anthropologically.

Every single elf in the entire elven race is ‘good’? There aren’t any who are power hungry? (Raises an eyebrow at Zathrian DAO.) No power hungry, not exactly ‘good’ elves, huh? Riiiiiight.

Would some, maybe even most, change their minds once they realized what Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain really were? Of course, there would be some. But there would be just as many who might stick with their gods. For so many reasons. Revenge, greed, desire for power, unwavering fanatical faith... I could keep listing reasons for a while. That's just, realistically, how intellectual beings behave. There wouldn’t be any elves on that entire continent that wouldn’t throw their fists up in victory, and shout, ‘Yes! Finally! Let’s squash Tevinter first, then Orlais.’?

Really? Isn’t that kinda reducing the existence of elves to the same old fashioned child ‘not to be seen or heard’ thing? It’s infantalizing an entire race.

That’s both so naïve it’s sad and so disrespectful of the elves as intellectual beings with free will.

And how would most elves even know that the two returned gods were, y’know, returned? Much less that they’re actually mustache twirling bad guys a la Disney? (I could personally think of a few ways, but they weren’t shown or even mentioned that I saw in game.)

THEDAS is depicted as a fantasy medieval-esque world. Communication is depicted by courier and letters. The travel time alone would mean that most elves wouldn’t have a clue about even the return of the gods, much less their character. There’s nothing shown in the games that I can recall that covers this.

It’s unrealistic that even Bellara and Davrin know they’re evil until a few story quests in, leading to the second act. They just automatically know? How?

It’s already firmly established in Dragon Age Lore that the elves will willingly, some even happily, leave behind everything to serve an ancient Elvhen God. Even one with dirt, blood, mistrust, and disgust directed at him for millennia.

In the end pages of DAI, it’s clearly shown that elves leave their current circumstances to go serve Solas. Fen’harel, The Dread Wolf, The elven trickster god. The most utterly despised God of all of them has an extremely large following of elves. (Who we don’t see anything of in DAV, convenient, no?)

And we have a retcon from our dearly talented /s John Epler on that from /theplaydragonage reddit group. Paraphrased, Solas decided to work alone because he hated being a leader. He didn’t care about the elves. Somewhere between DAI and DAV the elves sworn to Solas sparkle glitter farted poof into the ether’

You know? That’s just so uneducated on how intellectual beings work that I’m not going to dignify it with a response.

And there are so many quotes from Solas about truly caring about the elves in Inquisition and supplementary materials that it's an utterly ridiculous Solas-hater thing to say.

So, why in all the worlds wouldn’t elves want to serve Elgar’nan, All-Father, the Eldest of the Sun, He Who Overthrew His Father, The Father of Retribution? He represents promise before acceptance. The power before the price. The moment of choice that precedes justice or vengeance, rise or fall.

Why wouldn’t they want to follow Ghilan’nain? Mother of the halla and Goddess of Navigation. The price and acceptance of purpose, and the becoming that allows no return. Betrayal and devotion are as equals to her.

Many, many elves throughout the history of the Dragon Age franchise have been depicted as extremely faithful to their gods, especially amongst the Dalish.

They stoned Solas and drove him away when Solas tried to tell the truth about them to at least one Dalish clan. It’s why Solas isn't particularly fond of the Dalish. If you stoned me for trying to tell you the truth of a thing, I doubt I'd like you very much either.

It really just feels like self-insertionism on Epler's part. Or poorly thought out ideas suitable to a first draft that any decent editor would've suggested get scrapped. Or maybe a bad case of CYA (cover your ass). I honestly have no idea whether Epler is faithful to any religion, agnostic, or atheist, nor do I care, it isn't anyone's business but his.

But the writing and actions surrounding both Bellara and Davrin, as well as the elves in general, feel like a modern atheist trying to self-insert their belief structure onto a fictional group of people it just would never fit for. Or that someone doesn’t actually know the Lore very well. (Yes, I’m aware how long Epler has been with BioWare. DAV, interviews, and AMAs absolutely prove he doesn’t know the Lore. And doesn’t seem to care? I’ll never understand that. Nor does he understand the people of THEDAS. Or maybe even people in general? Writing well demands at least some understanding of how people work.)

I can't for a second believe that absolutely none of the elves, a people who have been enslaved, abused, tortured, and used for thousands of years, wouldn't willingly and very even possibly happily, follow beings who are, in fact, their Legendary Gods. Beings that in elven cultures are still venerated. Beings whose bad actions have been forgotten. It just doesn't make sense to say there wouldn't be.

“Still, though, why haven’t any Dalish elves decided to join forces with their gods? As Epler put it, the gods simply don’t care about them.”

No. You know what saying there’s no elves in the entourages of either Elgar’nan or Ghilan’nain really does? It doesn’t provide vindication. Nor even surcease, which might be a better word. All it does is infantalize and remove agency from an entire race of people. From all elves.

And that somehow means the elves don’t care about the gods? That’s, uh, not how that works?

Agency, in writing, means that characters make decisions and it affects the plot (good!) or that the plot pushes your characters around, (bad).

Agency is whether the character happens to the plot, (good!). Or if the plot happens to the character (bad).

It’s honestly the essence, in some ways, of ‘choices matter’.

There is a severe dearth of good agency in DAV. Sad as that makes me.

So let’s talk about faith amongst the elves, generally, and the Dalish, in particular. Because following a god requires faith.

Saying 'there's no elves in the group of 'lackeys and puppets' following Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain is like saying that die-hard Catholics wouldn't follow a proven return of their savior, Jesus or even the father, god. Or insert any other cultures' living/dying gods return. Illogical, kinda offensive if you happen to be religious, and honestly? Foolish.

For many elves, their faith would be something they cling to. It would be hope in the darkness of abuse.

It’s kinda rude to say it’s a win for the elves to ignore their ancestral faith when it’s often, likely, the only thing they have left.

Honestly? It’s pretty offensive. THEDAS, elves, their rampaging elven gods, none of that is real. But there are plenty of abused minorities on Earth that they modelled the elves from. I didn’t grow up within the cultures, and I’m of Mohawk, Mikmaq, Irish Romani, mixed European, and (previously enslaved) African descent. Some things were passed down, regardless.

It's both my personal experience and proven in cultural anthropology that abused peoples will often cling to anything colonizers leave them that the people value. It’s the only way to maintain culture.

It’s why the residential schools took our hair first. Many native cultures don’t cut hair for numerous reasons. Then came the theft of language. My grandparents on both sides were kidnapped and taken to residential schools. The last one closed in 1996. I was a sophomore in university. This isn’t ancient history. And while, yes, Dragon Age is fake, people with similar experiences or backgrounds in the real world are hurt by crap we see in fiction every day. This is just a particularly egregious example of it.

History lives on in those still bleeding. No, if you’re of any abused minority, you’ll know what I’m talking about. We hang on to anything we can, because it’s all we have left.

So how and why would the Theodosian elves be any different? Because the gods don’t care? That’s some ridiculous authorium handwavium right there.

I could buy either Bellara or Davrin as being atheist or agnostic (more likely Bellara IMHO) but not both.

But as far as artistic depictions go? Regardless of anything anyone may say, they're shown as elves who are both pretty faithful. Here's why. They both wear Vallaslin.

It's pretty well laid out in the Lore (which we already know they ignored or retconned into insensibility in DAV and OMG in the interviews and recent AMA!) that the application of the Vallaslin (which translates to blood writing) is a sacred right of passage only offered to Dalish youths around the age of eighteen who will be staying with their people.

Regardless of the meaning of the Vallaslin in the past, they’re considered sacred by modern Theodosian elves.

They aren't just cool decorations. They're not make-up they can just wash off. They indicate which of the nine gods that particular elf has sworn themselves to in Dalish culture. (Technically eight, because Solas, The Dread Wolf, God of Rebellion and Trickery, never claimed or designed Vallaslin. Because he never owned slaves that is ever indicated anywhere.)

And only the Dalish use them. The specific design each Dalish elf wears is indicative of which elven god they both feel drawn to and wish to work to emmulate in their life. Making them even less likely to be worn casually.

The Lore is clear that application of the Vallaslin is ritual. It’s sacred. It would likely take multiple days to tattoo them into someone’s face. It would be excruciatingly painful. The face is one of the most painful places to get inked. I’ve got ink. It’s not comfortable even in ‘easy to tattoo’ places. On the face? Ouch!

Vallaslin would never have been given to Davrin. Davrin’s story shows some of his past, and in his heart, he always knew he wouldn’t be staying. His mentor Eldrin said something along the lines of ‘he knew/felt Davrin wouldn’t stay with the clan’. In the kind of social structure that’s been described for the Dalish, a youth’s mentor would absolutely be consulted on whether they were ready for Vallaslin. So why, for all the halla’s in THEDAS, would Davrin have Vallaslin? He wouldn’t. They’re marks of clan belonging, of pride, of faith in their gods and the Dalish way of life. Davrin just wouldn’t have them unless he deeply believed in serving Ghilan’nain. Which would mean being a Dalish wayfinder and halla keeper. Not a Grey Warden.

While it’s cute given his backstory that Davrin wears the Mother of Halla’s marks. He just wouldn’t have them, no matter how sexy he looks with them.

If we handwave all that though… oh, the missed opportunity to have any Dalish wearing Vallaslin as a traitor to Rook’s cause, by wearing the blood writing of the God/Goddess they’re fighting? I was just waiting for the Vallaslin to actually mean something. For the gods to control, puppet-like, those wearing their blood writing? The missed angst, character development opportunities, and just… gah.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop grieving what DAV could’ve been.

So if Bellara is more into science and questioning things, I could see her more as an atheist. So why does she wear Dirthaman’s Vallaslin? She’s not even technically Dalish that is ever truly shown in game. Dalish have a clan that is usually pretty important to them. Lore states there aren’t many, if any, Dalish who brave Arlathan because of slave-hunters. Where is Bellara’s clan? The veil-jumpers don’t count as a Dalish clan regardless of the window-dressing. They haven’t even been around that long according to some of Bellara’s lines. Okay, so if Bellara is actually Dalish from somewhere? I could see a scientist type having Dirthamen’s Vallaslin. But where in all the mysteries did she get them? Why would she have them? Given the why’s listed above, she just wouldn’t, no matter how beautiful she looks in them.

I mean, in a lot of ways, someone getting their Vallaslin would be sort of similar to anything sacred that is deemed ritual that dedicated a person to a faith/god-dess/religion.

So a quote from the Polygon article states, “instead of being accidentally (or purposely!) killed off by the player character, the Dalish elves in The Veilguard get to righteously rally against the mages that they once called gods and reclaim part of their history.”

Er… call me mistaken but wouldn’t that be sort of like destroying part of their history? Y’know, with destroying parts of Arlathan, banishing Anaris, and outright killing two of their venerated gods? Even if those gods weren’t as advertised? (A lot like this damned game tbh.)

Epler. “I love that the Dalish in this game, by and large, are saying, No, we were lied to. We were the first victims of these gods. We’re going to fight back,” Epler said. “And they really get a sense to kind of rise up in this game and start establishing themselves in this way that in the future I can’t wait to go back to, but in this game gives them a sense of a win. They get a victory in how they respond to the threat of the gods in this game.”

Future? What future? Given the events in DAV, there isn’t even a statistically relevant breeding population (in the scientific sense) of elves left!

In the Lore, the blight is a death sentence, one way or another. Between the Venatori’s favourite blood bags being enslaved elves, the gods using them as sacrifices, and the entirety of southern THEDAS being overwhelmed with blight, just how many elves does Epler think might possibly be left?

This is what I mean about DAV having bad planning, lack of Lore adhesion, poor attention to detail, and just crappy writing. Nothing. Makes. Sense.

Completely pushing aside pretty much everything I’ve just talked about… can someone please explain how most of the elves on the entire continent of THEDAS dying from the blight… y’know, the Dalish, named after the Dales, in southern THEDAS, which were quite clearly overrun by blight and not-fucking-darkspawn in the codices… y’know, the Dalish, on the wide open Dales, in land ships/Aravel, and with herds of Halla, children, and elders to care for… how is all of them being dead or blighted a win? The only potential ‘win’ for any of them is for Bellara/Davrin, who aren’t even technically Dalish by the ways of the Dalish in the Lore. And depending on player choice, its possibly a win only for one of them?

Bellara, in speaking about the gods, sounds like the worst sort of uneducated twit. And she's supposed to be smart? The thing with smart characters? You have to actually show them being smart.

I just can’t see how one or two ‘Dalish’ being kinda creepily uncaring of their venerated gods coming back to reality and being on the team to kill them… is in any way ‘a win’.

The racism in DAV is woven all throughout. And it seems it's baked right into the core of BioWare.

#dragon age #veilguard #dragon age veilguard #da veilguard #dragonage #bioware critical #Vallaslin #dalish elves #dalish #dalish and faith #elves didn’t get a win they had their agency stripped and were infantalized before being killed off.#datv spoilers #dav spoilers #datv critical #dav critical

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pixel7777 · 29 days ago

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Editorial Prerogative - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

🪶📜Astarion, making a whole meal of his trust issues, volunteers to beta-read Gale's in-progress historical chronicle of their adventures, intending to control his image and gather intelligence on his companions. Instead, their written exchanges through margin notes and editorial comments evolve into genuine intellectual discourse and unexpected intimacy.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Reader Beware: story features massive geeks perpetrating geekery until they finally manage to get it on. And then they are still geeks. ~14K words.

Work Content Tags: During Canon, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Snark to Spark, Happy Ending, POV Astarion

This fic about beta-reading had amazing beta readers! Any remaining errors are my own 'editorial prerogative' (did you see what I did there?) at play. Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Editorial Prerogative

The wizard had been at it for hours now, pausing only to reference other texts or mutter to himself about proper phrasing. Earlier, Astarion had overheard Gale telling Tav about his 'chronicle' of their adventures.

What was the wizard scribbling about him? That first day, with a knife at Tav’s throat and Gale ready to incinerate him at the first sign of treachery? His nature, his past, his… appetites? The mere thought made his stomach twist—was Gale immortalizing his every misstep for future generations to gawk at? Or, gods forbid, leaving him out entirely, a footnote overshadowed by Tav’s heroics and Gale’s arcane bravado?

Either possibility rankled.

He could nab Gale’s manuscript easily enough for a little peek—he never slept, after all, and the wizard did. A night or two of sly observation would reveal exactly where Gale tucked it away. But Gale insisted on scribbling new pages every evening, which meant Astarion would have to spend every evening sneaking off to steal the damned thing, then sneaking it back. He wrinkled his nose just imagining the tedium. Enough nights of cloak-and-dagger espionage, and Gale was bound to wake at an inconvenient moment. Much better to manage this legitimately—or at least with minimal risk of being blasted by a startled wizard.

Gale dipped his quill again, and moonlight caught the movement. The slight furrow in his brow, the way he mouthed words as he wrote them—all screamed scholarly perfectionism.

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. Of course. The wizard wouldn't be able to resist proper academic review, would he? Every writer needed a critical eye, especially one so devoted to accuracy and detail.

He shifted position, letting his gaze drift over the camp while his mind raced. What self-respecting scholar wouldn't jump at the chance for feedback? Especially someone who could offer such... unique perspectives on current events.

The more Astarion considered it, the more perfect it seemed. He could track exactly what Gale wrote about him, suggest helpful corrections where needed, and ensure the wizard's account painted him in an appropriate light. Astarion found it difficult to think past his current list of pressing and potentially disastrous emergencies, but there was a chance he would live a very long time. If Gale's narrative could be weaponized in his favor, this chronicle could make his long future more pleasant. All while appearing helpful and scholarly himself.

Astarion settled more deeply into his cushions, considering the angles. Tav had proven frustratingly immune to his usual charms—barely responding to his most practiced lines with more than a distracted smile before turning their attention back to Wyll. Always Wyll, with his tiresome heroics and his endless stories of saving orphans or whatever nonsense occupied would-be heroes these days.

Right on cue, Wyll's booming laugh carried across the camp. Tav had just handed him some sort of trinket—a child's doll rescued from gods-knew-where—and the warlock clutched it to his chest like it was made of solid gold. "This will mean everything to her," Wyll gushed, and Tav beamed at him with such nauseating earnestness that Astarion had to look away.

He'd chosen Tav deliberately. As the group's de facto leader, having them wrapped around his finger would have provided security when—if—Cazador found him. But perhaps he had been going about this all wrong.

His gaze drifted back to Gale. The wizard was still absorbed in his writing, absently running one hand through his already-disheveled hair. And really, this could work out even better. Gale was still thoroughly shattered by Mystra's rejection—he'd probably welcome any distraction that didn't involve discussing his romantic failures.

A scholarly partnership. Much more palatable than his usual methods—which, come to think of it, were really beneath him now—and likely more effective, more predictable, more interesting, more fun, with someone like Gale.

Astarion rose and crossed the camp with calculated nonchalance. "Still burning the midnight oil, I see."

Gale barely glanced up, quill still moving. "Mhm. Just trying to capture today's events while they're fresh."

"I couldn't help but overhear your plans for this little project." Astarion leaned against the desk, automatically positioning himself where the light caught his best angles. "A proper historical chronicle, you said?"

"Yes, exactly." Gale's quill paused mid-word as something in Astarion's tone finally caught his attention. He looked up, eyes brightening with interest. "Though I must admit, the scope is rather daunting."

"I imagine so. Particularly when it comes to the more... nuanced aspects of our adventures." Astarion examined his nails. "You know, I spent two centuries observing Baldur's Gate's political landscape. The sort of context that might prove invaluable to a historian."

Gale set down his quill. "Are you offering to contribute?"

"I thought perhaps I might review your drafts. During those long hours while you're sleeping—I only need four hours of trance, after all, and hunting doesn't occupy nearly that much time." Astarion gestured at the parchment. "I could note any inaccuracies, provide an independent perspective. That sort of thing."

"That would be..." Gale's whole face lit up. "Actually, that would be incredible. I really could use a fresh eye."

"Precisely." Astarion fought to keep the triumph from his smile. "I'd be happy to leave notes in the margins. For accuracy's sake."

"Yes, absolutely." Gale was already shuffling through papers, practically vibrating with scholarly excitement. "I can leave the latest sections here each night. Just... perhaps use red ink? To distinguish your comments from my original text?"

"Of course." The eagerness in Gale's expression sent an unexpected uneasiness through Astarion's gut. The wizard clearly took his offer at face value—pure academic collaboration, no ulterior motives.

He pushed the guilt aside. This was necessary. And really, he would be helping Gale create a better historical record. The fact that he'd be controlling his own narrative—and perhaps even the way Gale saw him now—was simply... a bonus. His consulting fee. It was a win-win, really.

"I should wrap this up soon anyway," Gale said, stifling a yawn. "The first few chapters are ready for review whenever you'd like to start."

"Wonderful." Astarion kept his tone light, casual, despite the triumph zinging up his spine. "I'll fetch them once you've retired."

He waited in his tent, listening as Gale shuffled papers and packed away his other materials. Only when the wizard's breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep did Astarion slip back to the desk.

The manuscript sat neatly stacked, exactly as promised. Beside it waited a bottle of red ink and a fresh quill—thoughtful of Gale, really. Astarion didn't have a desk at his own tent, and it felt generous of the man to share his… domain with Astarion, although it was obviously sensible given their circumstances. The desk itself was organized chaos, scattered with reference texts and marked maps, all meticulously labeled in Gale's flowing script.

Astarion settled into the chair, oddly aware of occupying the same space where Gale had sat earlier. The cushion was warm. Had Gale enchanted it? For himself or for Astarion? He supposed he could enjoy it either way. He shifted, trying to ignore how strangely intimate it felt to be surrounded by Gale's books and papers, breathing in the lingering scent of ink and parchment and whatever herb the wizard used in his hair oil.

The first page bore Gale's precise handwriting, complete with numbered sections and footnotes. Astarion snorted at the dramatic opening lines describing his capture by the mindflayers.

The mindflayers struck without warning, their nautiloid vessel descending from the night sky like some terrible leviathan of legend. As a scholar of the arcane, I had of course studied accounts of these fell creatures, but no dusty tome could have prepared me for the horror of their presence. The very air seemed to congeal around them, thick with psychic malevolence that pressed against one's thoughts like a physical weight.

Trust Gale to turn even that horror into something almost poetic. The nautiloid crash wrapped up the first chapter, fairing similarly with particular attention paid to copious speculation about the mechanics of the helm.

But the next chapter fully drew him in. Here was their first meeting, when paths had coincided in the aftermath. Astarion leaned forward, dipping the quill in red ink as his eyes flew across the page. Time to see exactly how the wizard had interpreted those early days, and where his perspective might lack a certain nuance. Where it needed... adjustment.

Our peculiar fellowship formed under circumstances that could only be described as extraordinary. The crash of the nautiloid—that impossible vessel of the mind flayers' astral voyage—scattered us like seeds, each bearing our own bitter secrets alongside the parasitic passengers in our minds.

Really, darling? "scattered us like seeds"? A bit precious, don't you think?

The vampire spawn hiding among us proved particularly intriguing—a being of refined tastes and careful mannerisms that spoke to centuries of rigid self-control, yet harboring an almost desperate hunger for freedom.

I do not harbor anything "desperately," thank you very much. Though I'll grant you the "refined tastes" observation.

Astarion continued reading, his quill hovering over particularly egregious passages.

His skills at stealth and subterfuge proved invaluable during our early encounters. The precision with which he dispatched threats—silent and lethal as shadow itself—spoke of training far beyond mere noble upbringing.

Finally, someone notices. Though you might have mentioned how that "precision" saved your life at least twice.

Yet these same abilities served to conceal his true nature from us, a deception that might have proved fatal had circumstances aligned differently.

Oh, that's rich coming from the man carrying a magical bomb in his chest. At least my secret wouldn't have obliterated half the Sword Coast.

Astarion skimmed past several pages of Gale's theories about the tadpoles—all premature speculation without proper data. The wizard had filled entire pages with arcane formulae and references to obscure texts—none of which would matter once they actually understood what they were dealing with—and he noted as much.

His attention caught on a new section about their mysterious camp guest.

Withers presents an enigma worthy of deeper study. His apparent mastery over death itself suggests connections to powers beyond our current understanding. While his services prove invaluable, one must question the price of such assistance.

The skeleton's ability to maintain our camp's location across vast distances implies either incredible magical prowess or access to ancient technologies we've yet to comprehend.

Or both. Have you noticed how he always appears precisely when needed, yet never seems to actually travel with us?

Astarion sat back, tapping the feathered quill against his lips. Gale's observations about Withers were surprisingly astute—he'd clearly been paying attention to details Astarion himself had noted but hadn't shared. Perhaps the wizard's chronicle might prove more valuable than expected, beyond mere image control.

He dipped his quill again, adding one final note before finishing:

We should compare notes. Over wine, perhaps? I promise not to bite.

Astarion stared at his last note, quill hovering as he considered the impulse to strike through the words. The flirtation had slipped out—an old habit, really. He'd spent centuries using charm as armor, wielding it like he now wielded his daggers. Even now, when he'd meant to keep things purely academic...

But scratching it out would only draw attention. Questions. And truly, the prospect of discussing their observations over wine didn't sound terrible. Gale's writing showed genuine insight, even if his prose needed work. Perhaps Gale wouldn't make much of it anyway.

He set the quill aside and stretched, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of Gale's workspace. The desk had become a familiar space over the past hours—comfortable, even. Strange how the wizard's scholarly clutter felt almost welcoming.

Astarion gathered the marked pages, sliding them carefully into the protective folio Gale used. He weighted them down exactly as he'd observed the wizard doing earlier, ensuring nothing would scatter in the night breeze.

His throat tightened—he'd need to hunt soon. But first, everything had to be perfect. No carelessness that might make Gale hesitate to share future drafts.

With one last glance at the desk, Astarion slipped away toward the forest.

* * *

Astarion leaned against a tree at the edge of camp, watching Gale scribble frantically. The wizard hadn't properly written in days—just hasty notes between battles, ink-stained fingers marking his urgency to capture details before they faded. Their promised wine and discussion never materialized, pushed aside by the constant demands of survival.

The past few days had been a blur of stealth, combat, and gathering intelligence. The ruins of a village crawled with goblins, their crude camps dotting the landscape like festering wounds. Each encounter brought them closer to finding Halsin, but left little time for scholarly pursuits.

He had caught glimpses of Gale's newest notes—rough sketches of goblin fortifications, hurried observations about their strange devotion to the Absolute, tactical assessments of their numbers and capabilities. All practical, nothing like the flowing prose and careful analysis of his earlier work.

The parchment Astarion had annotated sat untouched in its folio, carefully preserved despite their rushed camp relocations. He'd seen Gale glance at it occasionally, a slight smile touching his lips before duty called him away again. The wizard clearly wanted to respond to his comments—Astarion had caught him reaching for his quill more than once, only to be interrupted by some new crisis.

It was maddening, really. Here he'd crafted the perfect opening for deeper investigation into Gale's thoughts, and instead they were crawling through mud and blood, tracking a missing druid. Though he had to admit, watching Gale fling spells with precise fury was its own kind of fascinating. The wizard's academic nature masked a surprisingly vicious approach to combat. Astarion liked it.

Astarion watched Gale pull fresh parchment from his satchel, arranging his writing materials with practiced efficiency. The random goblins had been dispatched, the hag dealt with, and the blighted village seemed clear of immediate threats. Finally, a proper evening for chronicling. His fingers itched to see what observations the wizard would make about their recent skirmishes—and more importantly, about that business with the Necromancy of Thay.

He'd snatched that book right from under Gale's nose, hadn't he? The wizard's disappointment had been palpable, though he'd covered it with polite grace. No doubt that incident would warrant several footnotes and perhaps a biting observation or two about the distribution of magical artifacts within the party.

Best to give Gale space to write without hovering. The wizard composed more freely when he thought himself unobserved, and Astarion needed to feed anyway. The deer in this area were plentiful, if a bit gamey for his taste.

"Don't wait up," he called to no one in particular, though his eyes lingered on Gale's bent head. The wizard's quill was already flying across the page, completely absorbed in his work. Perfect.

Astarion slipped into the shadows beyond camp. A few hours of hunting would give Gale plenty of time to document their recent exploits. And perhaps, if he was lucky, to process his feelings about losing that book to a mere rogue with no formal magical training.

When Astarion returned to camp, he found fresh pages waiting on the desk. Gale had even left a bottle of wine. He recognized the vintage as one he'd mentioned enjoying during their last proper conversation.

Settling in the chair, he uncorked the wine and lifted the first page. Gale's familiar script flowed across the parchment, still carrying traces of sand from the hasty drying powder.

The diplomatic acumen of our leader continues to impress. When confronted with three ogres checking for brands of the Absolute, Tav opted for negotiation rather than combat. Their astute observation that the ogres were underpaid and underappreciated led to a remarkable employment negotiation.

Oh, is that what we're calling it? I distinctly recall Tav offering them "all the goblins they could eat" as a signing bonus.

The resulting arrangement has secured us formidable allies, though I confess some ethical concerns about the terms of their compensation.

Darling, they're ogres. They were going to eat someone anyway. At least now it's goblins instead of travelers, and the goblins are dead either way.

Astarion smirked at the next passage, which detailed their unfortunate timing near the windmill.

Our tactical infiltration of the ruins was somewhat compromised by an unexpected encounter with an amorous hobgoblin commander and his ogress paramour. While the resulting combat was brief, the psychological impact of interrupting such an intimate moment cannot be understated.

You've missed the best part—the look on Tav's face was priceless. Perhaps this scene could benefit from illustration?

In truth, Astarion had most enjoyed Gale's face during the hilarious encounter, and wondered if he could manage to observe Gale's expression when he read Astarion's commentary on this bit.

The rescue of Barcus Root earned several paragraphs of Gale's most precise prose, complete with footnotes about the historical significance of windmills in torture techniques.

Astarion paused, wine halfway to his lips. He was actually enjoying this—not just for the intelligence gathering, but for the genuine pleasure of adding his observations. How quaint.

Astarion turned the page, eager to see Gale's take on their exploration beneath the alchemist's shop. The account was unusually dry—just facts about the layout, details of the mechanisms they'd bypassed, and a catalog of items discovered.

The chamber contained several items of note, including a tome of necromantic magic originating from Thay. After discussion, the party determined the book's optimal allocation lay with our roguish companion rather than myself, despite my expertise in matters arcane.

The clinical tone set Astarion's teeth on edge. Where were Gale's usual meandering footnotes about Thayan magical theory? His typical asides about the historical significance of finding such a tome in a simple alchemist's shop? Most importantly, where was Gale's actual indignation at Tav's decision to give the book to Astarion? Astarion couldn't glean insights about Gale's state of mind if Gale were deliberately hiding it.

The rest of the passage continued in the same detached voice, lacking any of the wizard's usual flair for dramatic description or academic passion. No mention of the way Gale's fingers had lingered on the book's spine before passing it over, or how his scholarly mask had slipped for just a moment.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink, considering his words carefully.

My dear chronicler, your attempt at objectivity is painfully transparent. Where's that florid prose I've come to expect? The fascinating personal reactions which readers of a first-person account will expect? I do believe you're censoring yourself on my behalf.

He paused, then added:

Perhaps we should discuss this over that wine we keep postponing? Your tent or mine—I promise to bring the book.

The invitation felt dangerous somehow, more revealing than his previous notes. But he couldn't resist the opportunity to draw out Gale's true thoughts on the matter. After all, what good was reading an eyewitness historical account if the historian refused to include his actual perspective?

Astarion's invitation hung unanswered in the margins. Days passed, then weeks. Gale always had a reason—spell preparation, research, tactical planning with Tav. The excuses were perfectly reasonable, yet rang hollow.

The wizard's avoidance became a subtle dance. He'd duck into his tent whenever Astarion approached with the manuscript, leaving fresh pages or collected edits on his desk instead. Their paths crossed constantly in camp, yet somehow never quite aligned for that promised discussion.

Still, their written exchanges deepened. Astarion found himself spending hours crafting the perfect cutting remark or clever observation, just to see Gale's reaction. He'd position himself carefully in camp, pretending to sharpen his daggers while actually watching Gale read through his latest comments.

The varying sleep patterns of our group present both tactical advantages and social challenges. The distribution of watch duties must account for individual requirements and capabilities.

Your snoring presents a particularly fascinating tactical challenge. I've heard owlbears with quieter sleeping habits.

The wizard was expressive when he thought himself unobserved. His eyebrows would arch at particularly biting criticism, and sometimes he'd bite his lip to hold back laughter at Astarion's more outrageous suggestions. Once, Gale actually snorted aloud at Astarion's detailed critique of his purple prose regarding their encounter with the Myconid colony.

Our encounter with the Myconid colony presented a unique opportunity to observe a complex fungal society. Their method of communication—the release of specialized spores creating a shared consciousness—demonstrates remarkable evolutionary adaptation. The resulting telepathic rapport manifests as a symphony of thoughts, though the experience might be likened to an especially enthusiastic group hug for the mind.

A "group hug for the mind"? Darling, you were high as a cloud giant’s sky-castle on mushroom spores. The only "symphony" was your giggling while trying to pet Shadowheart's hair.

The sound of Gale's laughter had sent a rush of satisfaction through Astarion that lingered for hours.

Gale's responses appeared regularly—thoughtful rebuttals, acceptance of suggested edits, and even playful counter-arguments. But that section about the Thayan tome remained untouched, a conspicuous gap in their otherwise comprehensive collaboration. The clinical tone stood out even more now, contrasting ever so sharply with Gale's increasingly engaging writing style elsewhere.

Astarion found himself reading and re-reading their margin conversations, tracking the subtle shift from academic discourse to something more intimate. Gale's formal footnotes had evolved into personal asides, sharing opinions and observations he never voiced in camp. The wizard was far more candid on paper than in person—except about that damn book.

Astarion watched Gale set up his writing materials as they set up camp near the blighted village. Their final expedition had yielded surprising treasures—including that curious amethyst from the well. His fingers traced the spine of the Necromancy of Thay, anticipating Gale's written reaction to their discovery of its key.

The wizard had been particularly quiet during that encounter, his usual commentary conspicuously absent as Astarion declared his intention to unlock the book's secrets himself. Now that they were heading to Moonrise Towers, surely Gale would want to document this significant development in their journey—and perhaps finally address the tension around the tome.

Instead of settling into his usual writing routine at camp, though, Gale approached Astarion's tent directly. He carried a bottle of wine in one hand and wore an expression Astarion couldn't quite read.

"I believe we have an outstanding appointment to discuss certain editorial matters," Gale said, holding up the wine. "Unless you're otherwise occupied?"

Astarion's carefully prepared remarks about the amethyst scattered like startled birds. He'd imagined a dozen ways this conversation might finally happen, but none quite matched the reality of Gale standing there, waiting for his response.

"Well, this is unexpected," Astarion said, leaning against his tent post with studied carelessness. "I'd almost given up hope of collecting on that promise."

His fingers itched to reach for the book, to use it as a shield or bargaining chip—but something in Gale's direct gaze made him hesitate. Their written exchanges had shifted something between them, created a space where masks seemed less necessary.

"Your tent or mine?" Gale asked, echoing Astarion's long-ago invitation.

"Yours," Astarion said quickly. Too quickly. He covered it with a flourish toward Gale's tent. "You've the better furniture, after all."

Gale's tent welcomed them with its familiar scholarly clutter—stacks of books, scattered scrolls, and that ridiculously comfortable reading chair Astarion secretly coveted. The space smelled of ink and parchment, with undertones of arcane components.

Gale poured the wine, his movements measured yet somehow uncertain. He handed Astarion a glass, their fingers not quite touching in the exchange.

"I've been meaning to discuss—that is to say, I've observed—" Gale cleared his throat, started again. "The Necromancy of Thay."

"Ah." Astarion settled into the reading chair, feeling quite smug at the chance to try it out. "I was wondering when we'd address that rather clinical passage in your chronicle."

"Yes, well." Gale paced a tight circle, wine sloshing dangerously in his glass. "I've been researching similar texts, you see, and the contents are often... particularly unpleasant. Designed to inflict maximum suffering before giving up their knowledge. And given your previous experiences—"

Astarion's grip tightened on his glass. "My what?"

"I mean no offense," Gale said quickly. "But you've endured more than enough horror for several lifetimes. I worry that delving into such dark magic might... reopen old wounds."

The wine turned bitter on Astarion's tongue. He'd prepared arguments about his right to the book, about the tactical advantages of understanding such magic. He'd even rehearsed a few cutting remarks about Gale's obvious desire for the tome.

But concern? For him?

"I—" Astarion found himself without words, a rare and uncomfortable state. "That's why you've been avoiding this discussion? Not because you want the book?"

"Of course I want the book." Gale settled into the chair opposite, his expression earnest. "But I've had time to consider, and perhaps it would be best to set it aside. For now."

Astarion's jaw clenched. First Tav's rejection, then the others' constant suspicious glances, and now this? He'd thought at least Gale understood his need for advancement, for power. The wine glass creaked in his grip.

"How magnificently patronizing." He kept his voice light, though acid burned beneath the words. "Shall we lock it away with all the other dangerous toys? Keep the spawn from playing with sharp objects?"

"That's not—"

"No? Then what exactly are you suggesting? That I'm too fragile to handle a bit of dark magic?" The words tasted like ash. He'd worked so hard to appear strong, capable, worthy of trust. And here was Gale, trying to take away perhaps his only real advantage.

"I'm suggesting," Gale said carefully, "that I'd rather not see you suffer needlessly. These texts are notorious for extracting a terrible price from their readers. The knowledge they contain—"

"Is power. Power I need." Astarion caught himself, smoothed his voice back to silk. "Power that could benefit us all."

Gale leaned forward, his face so damnably sincere it made Astarion's teeth ache. "I wouldn't deny you power. Never that. I only..." He ran a hand through his hair, scattering loose strands. "I find myself concerned. For your wellbeing."

Astarion froze. The admission hung between them, heavy with implications he wasn't prepared to examine.

"That is to say," Gale added hastily, clearly reading something in Astarion's expression, "as my editor, naturally. Can't have my primary source of objective feedback suffering adverse magical effects. Think of the footnotes I'd miss."

The silence stretched too long. Astarion's grip on his wine glass loosened as he processed Gale's weak attempt at humor.

"I only meant—" Gale stumbled over his words. "If you're determined to unlock the book's secrets, that's your choice to make. But would you consider letting me be present? As a precaution? These texts can be... unpredictable."

Their eyes met across the cluttered space of the tent. Something unspoken passed between them—concern, understanding, perhaps more. Astarion's throat tightened with an unfamiliar sensation. He looked away first, unable to maintain contact under the weight of whatever this was becoming.

"Fine," he said, aiming for dismissive but landing closer to relieved. "If you insist on hovering."

"Now?" Gale asked.

Astarion retrieved the book and amethyst from his tent. The skin binding felt greasy against his fingers, hungry somehow. He and Gale sat on the bedroll in Gale's tent as Astarion inserted the amethyst into the cover and the book opened for him at last.

The process was excruciating. Each page fought him, magic lashing out with memories of pain and darkness. But Gale remained steady beside him, watching, occasionally steadying Astarion's hand when it shook too badly to turn a page.

The wizard's presence anchored him through the worst moments. No judgment, no criticism—just quiet support and the occasional murmured encouragement.

It was... nice. Different. Just someone watching out for him, with no agenda beyond keeping him safe.

When the third page yielded its secrets, Astarion closed the book with trembling fingers. "Well," he managed, "that was certainly an experience."

Gale's hand hovered near Astarion's shoulder. "Are you—"

"Perfectly fine." The lie came automatically, though his hands still shook and dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. Perhaps Gale had been right about the book's defenses. His back burned where phantom knives had traced familiar patterns, and his throat felt raw from screaming he hadn't actually done.

"You don't look fine." Gale's voice held no judgment, just that damnable concern again.

"Well, I am." Astarion forced his fingers to release their death grip on the tome. "And I've gained… well, something. I know how to speak with the dead now. I just know—isn't that strange? I think putting myself through that… whatever that was—I'll be stronger resisting similar attempts to overcome my will in the future."

He started to stand, but the tent tilted alarmingly. Gale's steady hand caught his elbow, keeping him from stumbling.

"At least finish your wine first." Gale pressed the forgotten glass into his hands.

Astarion accepted, using the moment to collect himself. The wine helped, washing away the taste of remembered terror. When he could trust his legs again, he rose more carefully.

"This was a gift," he said, meeting Gale's eyes. "I won't forget it."

He meant the support, not the wine, and from Gale's expression, the wizard understood. Before either of them could say something unfortunate, Astarion slipped out into the night air.

His own tent felt hollow after the warmth of Gale's. He sat the wooden plank that served as his bed, turning the necromantic tome over in his hands, unsure what to make of the evening—or the confused tangle of emotions it had stirred up.

* * *

Astarion traced his fingers over Gale's latest annotations, the wizard's precise script filling the margins of yet another chapter. Their written exchanges had grown more frequent as the landscape changed around them, the verdant wilderness giving way to twisted shadows and blighted earth.

The pages had become a refuge of sorts. Here, safely confined to ink and parchment, they could maintain their usual wit and banter without the awkward tension that now plagued their face-to-face interactions. Astarion lost himself while crafting the perfect cutting remarks about Gale's overwrought metaphors, and the wizard responded in kind with increasingly elaborate defenses of his prose style.

He shifted in Gale's chair adjusting the manuscript to catch the lamplight. A fresh comment caught his eye—Gale questioning his edits to the account of a particular skirmish with some shadow creatures. Astarion's lips curved despite himself. The wizard had a point about the improbability of that particular acrobatic maneuver, but he wasn't about to admit it.

A movement across camp drew his attention. Gale sat by the camp's central fire. The flames caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell forward as he put away the things from dinner. Astarion looked away quickly, focusing on the pages before him.

These... thoughts had been occurring more frequently lately. Intrusive little observations about Gale's hands, his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. In the past, Astarion would have known exactly how to proceed—a carefully calculated seduction, another conquest to be manipulated and discarded. The very idea turned his stomach now.

He had no other template for desire, no framework for whatever this unsettling attraction might be. Better to ignore it entirely. Focus on the safety of their written discourse, where physical proximity couldn't muddy the waters of their intellectual sparring.

Astarion dipped his quill in red ink and began composing a particularly scathing critique of Gale's latest philosophical tangent. This, at least, was familiar ground. He could lose himself in the comfortable rhythm of their literary fencing match and pretend the rest didn't exist.

Astarion flipped to the next section, where Gale's neat script filled the page:

The Last Light Inn stands as a testament to the power of Selûne's blessing, maintained through complex abjuration resonance. The metaphysical architecture of Isobel's protective wards demonstrates an intricate understanding of lunar phases and their correlation to planar barriers. Of particular note is the way the silvery radiance...

For someone who claims to write for posterity, you've managed to make sanctuary sound absolutely tedious. The contrast is what matters—a bastion of safety amid endless shadow. Save the technical treatise for your next symposium.

...The mathematical precision required to maintain such a barrier suggests years of careful study and preparation, likely drawing from ancient texts preserved by the Church of Selûne...

Oh yes, I'm certain future generations will be riveted by the arithmetic of salvation. Perhaps mention how it felt to step inside? The relief of finding light when all hope seemed lost? No? More equations then?

Astarion smirked as he turned the page, finding Gale's account of their encounter with the "surgeon" of Reithwin town:

Our investigation into the source of the Shadow Curse led us to confront one of Ketheric's agents, a deeply disturbed individual who had perverted the healing arts. While the exact nature of Ketheric's involvement remains uncertain, the evidence suggests...

Evidence suggests you've developed selective amnesia, my dear wizard. Have you forgotten how I avoided a battle for all of us by talking the man into slaying himself? Now that's the kind of detail readers want.

The theological implications of Ketheric's actions require careful consideration, particularly regarding the balance of divine power in the region...

Theological implications? The man turned an entire region into a nightmare, and you're pondering metaphysics? Sometimes I wonder if you actually experienced any of this or just read about it in one of your dusty tomes.

He dipped his quill again, adding:

Though I suppose I should be flattered that you've managed to make even my finest moment sound like a lecture at the College of Lore. Quite a gift you have there.

Astarion finished his notes on the newer pages, capping the ink with more force than necessary. He flipped back through the manuscript, searching for the section about their encounter with Elminster. Finding it, his jaw clenched.

The Sage of Shadowdale's appearance proved fortuitous, offering vital intelligence regarding the nature of our adversary. His message from Mystra herself provided clear direction for our efforts against the Absolute...

Astarion's fingers tightened on the page. Astarion had filled the margins of this section with vitriolic commentary about Mystra's manipulations, comparing her to Cazador in explicit detail. He'd outlined exactly how she groomed young wizards, used their devotion, and discarded them. He'd particularly emphasized how she'd cultivated Gale's obsession from childhood, only to send him on a suicide mission.

Yet Gale had addressed none of it. His newest draft remained unchanged—still that same reverent tone, still treating her "mission" as some grand destiny rather than the calculated disposal of an inconvenient ex-lover.

The red ink from his previous notes stood stark against the parchment, a furious indictment that Gale had simply ignored:

So the great Mystra collects pretty young mages, fills their heads with dreams of glory, beds them, then sends them off to die? And you are defending this?

Astarion's quill hovered over the page, tempted to write it all again, larger this time. But what was the point? Gale clearly preferred his delusions about divine purpose to facing the truth about his goddess's machinations.

He traced one finger over Gale's unchanged text, fighting down the urge to tear the page to shreds. The familiar rage at seeing someone else trapped in a Master's web of lies burned fiercely. But Gale couldn't—or wouldn't—see the parallel between Mystra's manipulation and Cazador's control. He'd rather die believing he'd chosen his fate than admit he'd been shaped into a willing sacrifice.

Astarion shoved the manuscript into its folio. What was he doing, getting invested in someone who'd already chosen their path to destruction? He'd spent two centuries under Cazador's thumb—he wasn't about to watch someone else march willingly toward their doom, no matter how fascinating their written exchanges had become.

Better to maintain distance. Keep things professional. Academic. After all, hadn't he originally approached this project to manage his image? When had it transformed into caring about Gale's welfare?

Across the camp, Gale finished with his tidying and stood, presumably heading to his tent to sleep. Astarion's fingers twitched with the urge shake some sense into him. To demand how someone so brilliant could be so wilfully blind about their own situation.

But Gale's tent meant privacy. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that made it harder to ignore the way Gale's presence affected him. No, that conversation would be dangerous—for multiple reasons.

Perhaps Tav could handle it instead. They'd already tried talking Gale out of his martyrdom once before. Maybe with the right leverage, the right arguments... Astarion could provide some choice phrases about divine manipulation, let Tav deliver them without the complicated baggage of whatever was developing—or not developing—between himself and Gale.

Astarion watched Gale disappear into his tent, the blue fabric swaying closed behind him. The lamp inside cast the wizard's shadow against the canvas—a dark silhouette bent over his trunk.

His throat burned. Usually, a good hunt helped clear his head of such distracting thoughts, but the Shadow-cursed lands offered no such relief. No rabbits darted between the twisted trees, no deer grazed in the blighted fields. Even the rats had abandoned this cursed place.

He checked his supplies, counting the bottles of blood tucked away in his pack. Three left. He could do without—had done so for most of his life—but it would be another irritant grating on his nerves. He would ration as best as he could while the party wasted time chasing down lost (almost certainly dead) parents and playing with creepy children.

Astarion settled onto the wooden plank that served as his bed, arranging the thin blanket around himself more from habit than necessity. The familiar discomfort of hunger gnawed at him as he closed his eyes, preparing for what would undoubtedly be another restless trance.

* * *

The party trudged back into camp, boots caked with the muck of Reithwin Town and depressed from the events of Moonrise Towers. Astarion's skin still crawled from their encounter with that insufferable drow. He needed a proper wash, fresh clothes, and most importantly, to forget the entire ordeal.

But Gale made straight for his writing desk, barely pausing to dump his pack.

"I'll take first watch," Wyll offered.

"Excellent. And dinner?" Shadowheart asked.

"Also Wyll," Gale called over his shoulder, already pulling out fresh parchment.

Wyll's protest died under Shadowheart's glare. "Fine. But tomorrow—"

"Yes, yes," Gale waved vaguely, ink already flowing.

Astarion settled on his usual perch, watching Gale's quill dance across the page with unusual urgency. Normally the wizard labored over each word, consulting references and muttering to himself. But now he wrote as if possessed, barely pausing for more ink.

Strange. Their routine typically involved Gale cooking dinner and then writing late into the night before retiring, leaving the pages for Astarion to review in privacy. This feverish pace was new. Intriguing.

Astarion had just resigned himself to wait when Gale suddenly stopped, gathered the fresh pages, and marched over.

"I need your input. Now. Before I continue."

"What, no beauty rest first? How irregular of you." Astarion tried to mask his annoyance with humor. Could the man not give him a few minutes of distance before making him relive the whole unsavory encounter?

"This can't wait." Gale thrust the pages forward. "I need to know if I've captured the, ah, nuances correctly."

"Nuances?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Of what, precisely?"

"The encounter with Araj. The political implications. The, um, historical context of drow-vampire relations in Baldur's Gate."

It was a terrible excuse. Gale knew perfectly well that Baldur's Gate's drow population was minimal, and Astarion's knowledge of them even more so.

"Historical context?" Astarion drawled. "How fascinating that you'd need that particular detail at this exact moment."

Gale shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. Well. Will you read it or not?"

Now this was interesting. Gale was many things, but abrupt usually wasn't one of them. Whatever drove this urgency, it wasn't academic accuracy.

"Oh, very well." Astarion plucked the pages from Gale's hands. "Since you're being so charmingly mysterious about it."

Astarion settled back against the log and began to read as Gale retreated. His eyebrows rose higher with each paragraph. This wasn't Gale's usual measured prose at all—no footnotes, no academic distance, not even proper punctuation in places. Just raw, unfiltered fury poured onto the page.

He'd completely skipped their confrontation with Ketheric. Nothing about finding Minthara again. Instead, Gale had filled pages with increasingly creative invectives about Araj Oblodra.

The absolute gall of this creature, Gale had written, to demand such intimacy from someone who had clearly refused. Her presumption that Tav could simply order Astarion to perform such an act speaks volumes about her own twisted relationship with consent.

The next paragraph contained several crossed-out words that looked suspiciously like swearing in the old Thorass language.

I cannot fathom why Tav didn't simply let us dispose of her after such a display. The way she kept pressing, kept trying to manipulate the situation—disgusting. Utterly revolting.

Astarion's throat tightened as he read on. Gale had captured every micro-expression, every subtle tension in his shoulders when Araj wouldn't take no for an answer. But rather than clinical observation, the writing blazed with protective rage.

Astarion's refusal was admirably firm, Gale had written, and I find myself quite proud of how he handled the situation, though I shouldn't have expected anything less.

Something warm bloomed in Astarion's chest. He'd been ready to deflect questions about his reaction, to laugh off the whole incident. But Gale had seen. Had understood.

Had been angry on his behalf.

The writing deteriorated further into personal commentary about Araj's parentage and probable relationship with various Underdark creatures. It was messy, emotional, and completely unlike Gale's usual work.

It was perfect.

Astarion looked up from the pages to find Gale had vanished from the campfire. A quick scan revealed lamplight flickering in his tent. After a moment's consideration, he slipped over to their stores and liberated a particularly nice Sembian red—the kind Gale favored when deep in his cups. The rest of the party watched him cross to Gale's tent, but he ignored their stares.

"Knock knock," he called softly, unable to actually rap on the canvas.

"Come—" Gale cleared his throat. "Come in."

Inside, Gale perched on his bedroll, having made an absolute disaster of his hair. His fingers twisted in the ends of his sleeves as he watched Astarion enter.

Astarion settled beside him, close enough to share the wine but not so near as to crowd. He uncorked the bottle and poured generously into their cups. Gale accepted his with visible relief, taking a long swallow.

"So," Astarion said, tapping the pages. "I can see why you might want feedback before adding these particular... observations to the official record."

Gale's shoulders hunched. "I shouldn't have shown you. It was unprofessional. I'll rewrite it properly—"

"Don't you dare." The words came out sharper than intended, and Astarion took a measured sip of wine before continuing. "It's refreshing to see you write without stuffing every sentence full of footnotes and qualifiers."

Astarion traced the edge of the parchment, weighing his next words. "Perhaps this particular passage isn't suited for your grand historical chronicle. But..." He folded the pages with careful precision. "If you've no objection, I'd like to keep these."

Gale's eyes widened slightly. "You would?"

"Mm." Astarion slipped the pages into his vest pocket, next to his heart. "It's rather remarkable, isn't it? How well we've come to know each other through ink and paper."

"I was just thinking the same." Gale's fingers drummed against his cup. "Though that makes it all the more frustrating that I still—that is to say—" He took another fortifying sip of wine. "There are still considerable gaps in my understanding of, well, certain matters. Particularly regarding how to... that is, what might be welcome or unwanted in terms of..."

Gale's usual eloquence abandoned him entirely as he rambled on, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "The last thing I'd want is to make you uncomfortable with any unwanted advances or assumptions about—not that I'm making assumptions! Or advances. Unless they'd be welcome. Which I have no way of knowing, hence my current..."

Astarion felt his smile growing wider as Gale continued to tie himself in verbal knots. The wizard who could lecture for hours about the minutiae of magical theory was completely undone trying to navigate this conversation. It was, against all odds, utterly charming.

Astarion indulged a wicked impulse to let Gale continue stumbling through increasingly convoluted sentences. This brilliant, powerful man who could probably level the camp with a thought was sitting here blushing and babbling like a schoolboy, all because he was worried about making Astarion uncomfortable.

Astarion watched Gale spiral deeper into his verbal maze, now fretting about consent and boundaries and "not wanting to be anything like that presumptuous drow." The wine in Astarion's cup caught the lamplight as he swirled it, considering.

He'd surprised himself today, hadn't he? That firm "no" to Araj had felt... right. Natural. After centuries of being unable to refuse anything, he'd found his voice. Found his limits.

But knowing what he didn't want was only half the equation, wasn't it? The other half sat right here, working himself into knots trying to be considerate of Astarion's feelings.

"—and I would never presume to—"

"Gale." Astarion set his cup aside. "I need you to choose me."

Gale's mouth snapped shut, eyes wide.

"Not as some temporary distraction while you wait for your goddess to take you back." The words spilled out, sharper than intended. "And certainly not if you're still planning to martyr yourself for her at the first opportunity."

Astarion's fingers clenched. "I won't… invest in someone who's already plotting to abandon me."

Astarion's throat tightened as Gale continued to stare, mouth working silently. The silence stretched painfully, and Astarion's carefully constructed walls began to rise again.

"Though if you're worried about how… this might affect my editorial contributions—" He forced a light tone, reaching for his familiar armor of wit. "I can assure you I'll be every bit as ruthless with your purple prose if we... if certain advances were made and accepted." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "I cannot make any promises beyond trying right now, but I would like to. Try."

Gale's surprised laugh broke the tension. He set his wine aside with deliberate care, and Astarion's couldn't pull his gaze from the serious look in Gale's eyes.

"Very well then." Gale's voice was soft but certain. "I choose you. Mystra can find someone else to blow up."

The words hit Astarion like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Everyone who'd ever shown interest in him had wanted something—his body, his skills, his submission. Even Araj's recent attempt to "offer him blood" had been about using him, treating him like a toy to be passed around at her whim, rented by her alchemical prowess.

But here was Gale, casually tossing aside his divine destiny, his life-long obsession with Mystra, all for... him. Just him. No conditions, no demands, no expectations beyond what Astarion was willing to give.

Joy bubbled up, wild and unfamiliar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything like it.

"Stay tonight?" Gale asked, voice soft. "Just to rest. Nothing more than you're comfortable with."

Astarion hesitated. The offer was tempting, but old habits died hard. "I don't sleep."

"I know. But you could trance here. If you wanted."

The earnest hope in Gale's expression melted Astarion's remaining resistance. "Well, I suppose your cushions are more comfortable than mine. Alright. After your dinner, then."

They emerged from the tent to find Wyll's attempt at dinner nearly ready. Shadowheart's knowing smirk made Astarion bristle, but Gale's steady presence at his side kept him from snapping at her.

"About time," Wyll called from the fire. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Astarion drawled, earning a quiet snort from Gale.

The stew was barely edible—Wyll had somehow managed to both burn and under-season it if the general consensus was to be believed—but Gale seemed oblivious and Astarion couldn't eat it anyway. He focused on the way Gale's knee pressed against his as they sat, the brief brushes of their hands as they reached for and passed wine and food among the party members.

Gale hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left the tent. It transformed his entire face, softening the worried lines around his eyes. Astarion caught himself staring more than once, but surprisingly didn't feel the need to hide it.

When the others began drifting toward their tents, Astarion followed Gale back to his. Inside, they faced each other awkwardly until Gale gestured around from the reading chair to his bedroll.

"Whereever you're most comfortable."

Astarion considered his options. He could maintain some distance. But Gale's warmth beckoned, and for once, Astarion allowed himself to want.

In the end, after a stupid amount of awkwardness, he settled against Gale's side, tension melting as strong arms wrapped around him. Gale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Good night, Astarion."

Astarion tilted his face up, catching Gale's lips in a soft kiss. "Good night, Gale."

The kiss lingered on Astarion's lips as Gale's breathing slowed and deepened beside him. Such a simple thing, really—just the brief press of mouths, no heat or urgency behind it. Yet his mind kept circling back to that moment, analyzing every detail. The slight roughness of Gale's beard. The way Gale's hand had cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. The soft sound of contentment Gale made when they parted.

Gale shifted in his sleep, arm tightening around Astarion's waist. The wizard radiated warmth like a furnace, his heartbeat steady against Astarion's chest. The sound should have made him thirsty—it frequently did, with others—but in this moment it felt... comforting. Like a lullaby.

Astarion nestled deeper into the embrace, savoring the novel sensation of being held without ulterior motives. No demands, no expectations, just the simple happiness of closeness. When was the last time anyone had touched him like this? Had anyone ever?

The thought should have been depressing, but somehow it wasn't. Not with Gale's steady breathing in his ear and strong arms around him. Not with the memory of that kiss still lingering on his lips.

His racing thoughts gradually settled as the night deepened. The familiar patterns of meditation beckoned, and for once Astarion didn't fight them. He let his consciousness drift, secure in the knowledge that he was, perhaps for the first time in centuries, truly safe.

His last coherent thought before slipping into trance was how perfectly they fit together, like pieces of a story neither had known was incomplete.

* * *

Astarion emerged from his trance hours before dawn, finding himself thoroughly entangled with Gale. The wizard had wrapped around him like a vine, one leg thrown over his hip, face buried in Astarion's neck. Their position left no room for modesty—or denial about the way Astarion's body had responded to the intimate contact.

His erection pressed insistently against the soft curve of Gale's hip. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through him with each tiny movement, making it difficult to think clearly. When was the last time he'd felt genuine desire, untainted by calculation or necessity? Even his attempted dalliance with Tav had been strategic rather than passionate.

This was... different. Dangerous, perhaps. There were no scripts to follow here, no carefully crafted personas to hide behind. Just raw want, as honest as it was unexpected.

Gale shifted in his sleep, unconsciously pressing closer. The movement dragged a quiet gasp from Astarion's throat. Gods, but it felt good. Too good. He should extract himself, retreat to safer territory. But Gale's warmth surrounded him, tempting him to stay, to wake the wizard with kisses and see where this newfound hunger might lead.

The choice was terrifying. Exhilarating.

Astarion impulsively traced his fingers along Gale's jaw, admiring how peaceful he looked in sleep. "Gale," he whispered, voice rougher than intended. "Wake up, darling."

Gale stirred, eyes fluttering open. Astarion watched as awareness dawned, followed by a sharp intake of breath as Gale registered their entwined state. A flush spread across Gale's cheeks, and Astarion felt a corresponding press of heat growing against his own hip.

"Astarion," Gale began, voice husky with sleep and something more. "You're... we're..."

"Quite the predicament, isn't it?" Astarion murmured, trying for his usual nonchalance. But his voice was too tight, too breathless.

Gale shifted slightly, enough to look into Astarion's eyes. "What do you want, Astarion? What do you need?"

The question caught him off guard. No one asked what he wanted. Not Cazador, not the countless pawns in his games of seduction. He was a tool, a plaything, not a participant with preferences.

But Gale was asking, waiting patiently for an answer. And gods help him, Astarion wanted... something. Anything. Everything.

Gale must have seen the confusion in his eyes. He reached up, cupping Astarion's cheek. "Would you like me to leave it alone? Or would you like to explore this further?" He pressed gently against Astarion, sending another jolt of pleasure through him. "I would very much like to make you feel good, Astarion. To focus on your pleasure."

Astarion swallowed hard. "I... I want..." He trailed off, unsure how to voice the desperate need building within him.

"Tell me," Gale coaxed softly, thumb brushing Astarion's cheekbone. "My hand, my mouth, my body—what do you want, Astarion?"

The words sent a shiver down Astarion's spine. No one had ever offered him such a choice before. And he found, to his surprise, that he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Your mouth," he whispered, barely able to believe he was asking. "I want your mouth on me, Gale."

Astarion's eyes widened at his own audacity. But Gale only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "As you wish."

Gale cast a hasty spell, and a dome of silence enveloped them. Then he leaned in, capturing Astarion's lips in a searing kiss. Any lingering hesitation dissolved under the onslaught of sensation. Gale's mouth was hot and demanding, his hands roaming boldly over Astarion's body.

Astarion moaned into the kiss, arching into Gale's touch. His sleep shirt was in the way, and he tugged at it impatiently, wanting skin-to-skin contact. Gale seemed to read his mind, breaking away just long enough to strip off his own shirt before attending to Astarion's. Soon, both shirts were discarded, forgotten on the ground as their mouths found each other again.

Astarion's hands wandered over Gale's bare back, relishing the feel of warm skin under his fingertips. He mapped the contours of Gale's spine, the subtle shifts of muscle as the wizard moved above him. Gale's lips trailed down Astarion's neck, sparking pleasure wherever they landed. He nipped gently at the juncture of Astarion's neck and shoulder, earning a sharp gasp.

Their hips rocked together, the friction sending sparks through Astarion. His control slipped, desire coiling tighter with each touch, each kiss. His breath came in ragged gasps as Gale's mouth worked its way down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on his nipples.

By the time Gale's mouth reached the waistband of his sleep pants, Astarion was already dripping with need. He could feel his desire slicking his belly. He bucked his hips involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Gale looked up, eyes dark with desire. Astarion had seen Gale's eyes narrowed in thought, sharp and fierce in the middle of combat, soft and cow-eyed when they had spoken of their feelings, but never like this. Knowing, wanting, undone with passion.

With gentle movements, Gale pushed Astarion's sleep pants down, baring him completely. Then Gale was settling between his legs, kissing Astarion's thighs and palming him gently before cupping his balls.

Gale stroked his thumb over Astarion's balls, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Astarion's breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation. Gale's hand was warm, his touch firm yet gentle. He pressed just behind Astarion's scrotum, applying a steady pressure that made Astarion's eyes roll back.

"Is this alright?" Gale asked softly, looking up at him with those dark, desire-filled eyes.

Astarion could only nod, words failing him. It was more than alright. It was overwhelming, consuming. He spread his legs wider, inviting more.

Gale smiled, a sweet, almost reverent expression. "You're incredible, Astarion," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Astarion's inner thigh. "Every part of you is perfect."

Astarion's head spun at the words. Perfect. He'd been called many things, but never that. Not like this.

Gale took his time, exploring Astarion's body with a thoroughness that left him gasping. He licked and kissed his way up Astarion's shaft, his tongue hot and wet. Astarion's hips bucked, seeking more, but Gale held him down, his hands strong and steady.

"Patience," Gale whispered against his skin.

He took Astarion into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Astarion's hands fisted in the bedroll, his body trembling with need. Gale's mouth was heaven, his touch divine.

All the while, Gale's thumb continued its steady strokes and his finger pressed rhythmically. Astarion panted, his body coiling tighter with each lick, each kiss, each sweet word murmured against his flesh.

Gale's eyes flicked up to meet Astarion's, and the raw hunger in them sent a thrill through him. This was real, raw, unscripted.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Please..."

Gale hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. He took him deeper, his head bobbing slowly, his tongue working magic.

"You taste so good," Gale murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. "Like sin and sweetness all at once."

Astarion's head fell back, his body writhing under Gale's ministrations. It was too much, too good. He could feel his control slipping, his body racing towards release.

Gale seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more focused, more intense. He took Astarion deep, his throat working around him. His finger pressed harder, the pleasure cresting.

Astarion's breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing. He was close, so close. And Gale was right there with him, his eyes locked on Astarion's, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony.

"Gale," Astarion gasped again, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm going to..."

Gale hummed in encouragement, his eyes never leaving Astarion's. And that was it—that undid him. With a cry, Astarion came undone, his body shaking with the force of his release.

Astarion shuddered through the aftershocks as Gale's mouth gentled, working him through the last waves of pleasure. Even as he softened, Gale continued to place delicate kisses along his length, each touch sending tiny sparks through his oversensitive flesh.

Finally, Gale pulled back. His expression was pure self-satisfaction—that particular brand of smugness he got when successfully casting a difficult spell. He settled between Astarion's thighs, resting his cheek against Astarion's belly and looking up at him with twinkling eyes.

"Well," Gale said, grinning. "That was rather spectacular, wasn't it?"

Astarion huffed a laugh, reaching down and running his fingers through Gale's disheveled hair. "Aren't we pleased with ourselves?"

"Mmm, shouldn't I be?" Gale pressed a kiss to Astarion's hip. "The sounds you made were quite encouraging."

"Insufferable." But Astarion couldn't keep the fondness from his voice. He traced his thumb along Gale's jaw, feeling the wizard's smile against his skin. Then he noticed Gale's obvious arousal still straining against his sleep pants. "What about you, darling? What would you like?"

"Oh, don't worry about—"

"Let me take care of you," Astarion purred, running his fingers through Gale's hair and then tugging gently. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Gale's face—or at least match it with one of his own.

Gale caught his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Actually, I had something else in mind." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he shifted the tilt of Astarion's hips. "If you're amenable?"

Astarion allowed himself to be repositioned, curiosity piqued. Then Gale's hands were on his ass, spreading him open, and—oh. The quick press of lips against his hole sent a jolt through him.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Only if you like that sort of thing." A wicked grin spread across Gale's face as he darted his tongue out, the quick, teasing flick against Astarion's sensitive rim sending electric shivers up his spine. The warmth of Gale's breath ghosted over his exposed flesh as the wizard pulled back just enough to catch his eye, one dark eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and the smugness radiating from him made Astarion want to both kiss and throttle him. Instead, he found himself caught in that questioning gaze, his own body trembling with anticipation for what might come next.

Heat pooled in Astarion's belly. He absolutely did like that sort of thing, when done well—and he was deeply convinced Gale knew how to do this well—though he couldn't resist teasing. "My, my. This seems rather focused on my pleasure again."

"Trust me," Gale chuckled, the sound rich with promise. "I'll get as good as I give, in the end." He reached for his nearby bag, rummaging until he produced a vial of oil. "But first—ground rules. If I tap twice anywhere on your body, I need verbal confirmation to continue. Three taps from either of us means stop immediately, no questions asked. Understood?"

Astarion nodded, already anticipating what was to come. "Crystal clear, darling."

Gale set the vial of oil nearby and pulled off his pants before settling back between Astarion's legs, his eyes locked on Astarion's.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice low and husky.

Astarion nodded, spreading his legs wider in invitation. Gale leaned in, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. He placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then another on his inner thigh, teasingly close to where Astarion wanted him most. Then, finally, Gale's mouth was on him, his tongue circling his rim, slick and hot and perfect.

Astarion gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. Gale's hands steadied him, holding him open as his tongue worked its magic. He licked and sucked, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out each sensation until Astarion thought he might scream from the pleasure of it.

Gale pulled back slightly. "Alright?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Gods, yes," Astarion panted, his body already craving more. "Don't stop, Gale. Please..."

Gale grinned, his eyes dark with lust. "As you wish."

He dove back in, his tongue pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's tongue slipped inside, the sensation overwhelming. He could feel his body opening, welcoming the intrusion. His cock twitched, already hardening again with need.

Gale's tongue fucked him slowly, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Astarion. Gale tapped twice against his thigh.

"More," Astarion gasped, his hands fisting in the bedroll. "Gale, I need more..."

He could feel his control slipping, his body coiling tighter with each movement. And yet, he loved this feeling of control—of directing Gale, of guiding his own pleasure.

"Like this?" Gale asked, his breath hot against Astarion's flesh. Before Astarion could respond, Gale's tongue was back, pressing deeper, pushing into him faster.

Astarion's breath hitched "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, like that."

Astarion sank back and rode the waves of pleasure for some time as Gale worked him, his body opening eagerly. Astarion's hips bucked upward, seeking more contact as a desperate whine escaped his throat. When Gale paused, tapping twice against his thigh in silent question, Astarion couldn't stop himself from begging.

"More," he pleaded, voice rough with need. He could feel himself flushing, the borrowed blood in his system rushing to color his pale skin. "I need... I need more inside of me."

Gale pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire and something softer, something Astarion couldn't quite name. Gale poured the oil over his fingers.

Gale's fingers circled his entrance, slick and smooth against his heated flesh. Astarion pushed back against the touch, craving more. While his fingers stroked, Gale put his mouth back to work, sucking one of Astarion's balls into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue.

Astarion cried out, his body jolting at the intense sensation. Gale's finger pressed into him, slow and steady, filling him perfectly. He could feel his body stretching, accommodating the intrusion. It was intense, overwhelming, and exactly what he needed.

Gale's mouth released him, moving to place soft kisses on his inner thighs. He nipped gently at the flesh, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through Astarion. All the while, his finger moved in and out, fucking him slowly.

"You're so tight," Gale murmured, his voice rough with desire. "So perfect, Astarion."

Astarion could only moan in response, his body coiling tighter with each thrust. Gale's mouth moved back to his balls, sucking the other one into his mouth. The sensation was intense, almost too much. But Astarion craved it, craved more.

Gale tapped twice against his thigh. Astarion nodded eagerly then gasped a yes, remembering their rule about confirmation. Gale's finger slipped out, leaving him feeling empty. But then, two fingers pressed against his entrance, circling, preparing.

"Ready?" Gale asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," Astarion panted. "Gods, yes, Gale. More."

Gale's fingers slid in, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed the sensation, his body opening to accommodate them. Gale's mouth moved up, kissing his hip, his stomach, his chest.

Finally, Gale was above him, his fingers still moving slowly. Astarion reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. He could taste himself on Gale's lips, and it sent a thrill through him.

Gale moaned into the kiss, his fingers picking up speed. Astarion's hands roamed over Gale's body, feeling the firm muscles under smooth skin. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Gale's cock.

Gale groaned, his hips bucking into the touch. Astarion stroked him slowly, matching the rhythm of Gale's fingers. The sensation of Gale's cock in his hand, hard and hot, sent a wave of desire through him.

Gale pulled back from the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "You feel so good to me. Does this feel good? Is it good for you?"

Astarion could only moan and nod in response, his body on fire with sensation. Gale's fingers curled inside him, hitting a spot that made him see stars. He cried out, his hand tightening around Gale's cock.

Gale's hips bucked, his breath hitching. "Astarion," he gasped. "If you keep doing that, I won't last long."

Astarion grinned, a wicked curve of his lips. But he didn't stop, didn't want to. He wanted to feel Gale come undone, wanted to know he was the cause.

"Isn't that the point, darling?" he purred, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of Gale's cock.

Gale paused, his breath hitching as Astarion's thumb dipped gently into the slit. His eyes locked onto Astarion's, a hesitant, almost vulnerable look in their depths.

"Astarion," he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. He tried again, his voice soft. "Can I... Would it be alright if I... came inside you instead? I want to be inside you."

Astarion's stomach flipped at the question, at the raw need in Gale's voice. He nodded, his own voice barely a whisper. "Yes, that would be… yes."

Gale's eyes fluttered closed briefly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. When he opened them again, they were dark with desire and something softer, something that made Astarion's chest ache.

Gale's fingers began to move again, scissoring and twisting to stretch him gently. Astarion stroked Gale lightly, matching his pace, drawing out soft gasps and whispered curses from the wizard. He could feel Gale's cock twitching in his hand, could feel the way Gale's body trembled with restraint.

A third finger joined the others, the stretch burning slightly. Astarion welcomed it, his body craving more. He rolled his hips, fucking himself on Gale's fingers, his own cock leaking onto his stomach.

Gale's eyes were locked onto the sight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gods, Astarion," he murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

Astarion preened under the praise, his body flushing with heat. He wanted more, needed more. He was about to beg, to demand that Gale fuck him properly, when Gale pulled his fingers out. Before Astarion could protest, Gale gently unwrapped Astarion's hand from Gale's cock, slicking Astarion's hand with oil and placing it instead on Astarion's own length.

Astarion stroked himself lightly, his eyes never leaving Gale's. Gale watched him while he poured out more oil and stroked himself to spread it. Astarion found himself smiling at Gale and Gale smiling back as they touched themselves and watched each other for several long moments. Then Gale leaned over him again and lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against Astarion's entrance. Astarion could feel his body tensing, anticipating the intrusion. He held Gale's eyes, seeing the reflection of his own need mirrored back at him.

Gale pushed in slowly, the stretch burning, the sensation overwhelming. Astarion's breath hitched, his hand stilling on his cock. Gale paused, his eyes searching Astarion's face. "Alright?" he asked softly.

Astarion nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. More, Gale. I need more."

Gale's hips flexed, pushing him deeper. Astarion could feel his body opening, accommodating Gale's length. It was intense, almost too much, but he craved it, craved more.

His hand began to move again, stroking himself as Gale sank into him fully and began to move, slowly. Their eyes were locked, their breaths coming in sync. It was intimate, raw, real. And it was terrifyingly beautiful.

Gale shifted, adjusting the angle of his hips. Astarion gasped as Gale's cock hit a spot inside him that sent sparks shooting through his nerves. "There," he panted, his hand tightening on his own cock. "Right there, Gale."

Gale smiled, a soft, intimate curve of his lips. He shifted again, settling into a rhythm that hit that spot perfectly with each thrust. Astarion could feel his body coiling tighter, the pleasure building with each movement.

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, all tongues and shared breath. Astarion stroked himself in time with Gale's thrusts, his body trembling with need. Gale's hips moved faster, his cock fucking Astarion deeply, while he whispered to Astarion tenderly.

Astarion moaned into Gale's mouth, his free hand grasping at Gale's shoulder, his back, any part of him he could reach. Gale's skin was slick with sweat, his muscles taut under Astarion's touch.

"Gale," Astarion gasped out between kisses. "It's good. You're so good."

Gale's breath hitched, his hips stuttering. "Astarion," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "You feel incredible. I'm close, love. I'm so close."

Astarion's heart—or the memory of it—swelled at the endearment. He tightened his grip on his cock, his body chasing release. "Me too," he panted. "Gale, I'm right there with you."

Gale's thrusts picked up speed, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside Astarion with each movement. Astarion's body tensed, his breath coming in short gasps.

Their mouths met again, their kiss sloppy and desperate. Astarion could taste the salt of Gale's sweat, could feel the wizard's heart pounding in his chest. He stroked himself faster, his body racing towards the edge.

"Come with me, Astarion," Gale whispered against his lips. "I want to feel you come around me."

Astarion moaned, Gale's words sending a shiver through him. His body tightened, his cock pulsing in his hand. He was right there, right on the edge. And Gale was there with him, his breath hitching, his body trembling.

"Gale," Astarion gasped, his voice barely a whisper. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Astarion felt connected, truly with someone, for the first time in centuries. And it was that look, that connection, that sent him tumbling over the edge.

His orgasm hit him like a storm, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came undone, his cum painting the space between their bodies. His body clenched around Gale, his muscles tightening as waves of pleasure crashed through him and zinged up his spine.

Gale groaned, his hips stuttering as Astarion's body gripped him tightly. "Astarion," he gasped, his voice rough with need. His hips moved faster, fucking Astarion deeply as he chased his own release.

Astarion could feel it, could feel Gale's cock swelling inside him, could feel the pulse as Gale came, filling him with hot, liquid warmth. Gale's hips jerked, his body trembling as he rode out his orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Astarion watched Gale's face as he came—eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack with pleasure, all that clever wit stripped away to raw need. Beautiful. His to witness. His to have.

"Say it," Astarion demanded, voice rough. "Tell me you're mine now."

"Yours," Gale gasped, still shuddering through the aftershocks. "Only yours, Astarion."

Astarion marveled at the words, spoken with such earnest abandon. He pulled Gale down for a messy kiss, tasting the salt of sweat on his lips. Gale slumped forward, his weight pressing Astarion into the bedroll, his cock still buried deep inside him. The wizard's skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his dark hair falling in his face as he scattered feather-light kisses across Astarion's chest. Each press of his lips felt like a benediction—reverent, tender, almost innocent compared to what they'd just done. Astarion's hands found their way to Gale's shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer, just holding on as if to anchor himself in the moment.

When Gale finally withdrew, they both gasped at the same instant—a shared, breathy "ah" of loss and sensitivity. Their eyes met, and Astarion couldn't help but smirk at their synchronized response, even as his body clenched around the sudden emptiness. Gale fumbled, managing a weak gesture. The sticky mess between them vanished with a shimmer of magic.

Astarion waited for the familiar crawl of shame to surface, that centuries-old reflex of self-loathing that always followed intimacy. The edges of it whispered at his consciousness—

"So," Gale murmured against his neck, "any editorial commentary on my performance? I do value your critical analysis."

A startled laugh escaped Astarion's throat. "Are you actually asking me to grade you?"

"Well, you've been quite thorough in your other assessments." Gale's hand splayed open on Astarion's chest, stroking softly. "I'd hate to miss an opportunity for academic discourse."

"Academic discourse?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Darling, if you want me to critique your technique, we should establish proper parameters for peer review."

"Ah yes, of course." Gale propped himself up on an elbow, eyes dancing. "Shall we start with methodology?"

The creeping darkness receded further as Astarion found himself grinning. "Your approach was..." He paused dramatically. "Adequate."

"Adequate?" Gale's mock offense was delightful. "I believe I heard rather more enthusiastic feedback in the moment."

"Perhaps a practical demonstration of improvements is in order?" Astarion stretched languidly before fixing Gale with an imperious look. "But first, hold me properly. I refuse to conduct this evaluation without appropriate accommodations."

Gale's smile softened as he gathered Astarion close, arranging them so Astarion's head rested on his chest. "Better?"

"Marginally." Astarion nestled closer, feeling unexpectedly safe in the circle of Gale's arms. "Though I may require extensive testing to be certain."

Gale's chest rumbled with laughter. "Extensive testing? Well, as a dedicated scholar, I could hardly refuse a request for thorough investigation."

Astarion hummed contentedly, tracing a finger along Gale's collarbone. The wizard's skin was warm against his cooler touch, and he could feel the steady thrum of Gale's heartbeat beneath his ear.

"Though I must point out," Gale continued, his fingers carding through Astarion's hair, "that proper research requires multiple trials under varying conditions."

"Does it now?" Astarion smirked against Gale's chest. "And I suppose you've already devised a testing schedule?"

"Naturally. Though we may need to adjust for... spontaneous variables."

Dawn's first light began filtering through the tent walls, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Astarion noticed but felt no burn, protected as he was by the tadpole's gift. Still, old habits died hard, and he pressed closer to Gale's warmth.

"Spontaneous variables?" Astarion affected an academic tone. "How very unscientific of you."

"Sometimes the best discoveries come from unexpected directions." Gale's voice was growing drowsy, but his arms tightened protectively around Astarion. "Like finding love in the margins of a manuscript."

Astarion's breath caught at the casual mention of love, but Gale just pressed a sleepy kiss to his temple and continued stroking his hair. They lay there as the morning light grew stronger, trading quiet murmurs and gentle touches, neither quite ready to face the day ahead.

* * *

Later that evening, Astarion watched Gale stir the pot over the campfire, the wizard's movements mechanical after a draining day. The day's revelations about Ketheric's past had left them all subdued. Another noble life twisted by circumstance—it felt sadder than Astarion cared to dwell on.

His fangs ached. These cursed lands offered nothing to hunt, and he was tired of rationing bottled blood. He uncorked another vial, grimacing at the stale taste. At least it took the edge off.

Gale served the others before retreating to his usual spot with his writing materials. The familiar scratch of quill on parchment filled the evening air. When Gale finally set aside his writing, he approached Astarion with an endearing mix of confidence and shyness. "I thought perhaps we might retire together first? The editing can wait until later."

"Eager to continue our other research project?" Astarion smirked, but his teasing tone couldn't quite mask his pleasure at the invitation. "And here I thought you were devoted to academic pursuits."

"I'd say this qualifies as field research." Gale held out his hand.

Astarion took it, but guilt suddenly twisted in his gut. He had to come clean. "I should tell you something. About why I originally offered to review your writing."

"Let me guess—you wanted to control how you were portrayed? Perhaps gather intelligence on the rest of us?"

Astarion stiffened. "You knew?"

"I suspected." Gale's thumb traced circles on Astarion's palm. "But your feedback was genuinely helpful, and I rather enjoyed where our collaboration led. Unless you regret—"

"No," Astarion cut in quickly. "No regrets. Though I'm beginning to think you're far more cunning than you let on."

Astarion allowed Gale to tug him back to Gale's tent, and they sat on the bedroll. Astarion noticed the wizard's hands fidgeting with the edges of his robes. Fascinating—Gale hadn't shown a trace of hesitation last night. Perhaps he was one of those who needed time to warm up each encounter? Astarion found himself holding back too, uncertain how to navigate this unfamiliar territory of a second night. He'd had more first nights with someone than he could count, but no second nights, none that he could remember anyway.

"I've been thinking," Gale started, then paused to adjust a stack of books that didn't need adjusting. "That is to say, I couldn't help but notice—well, observe really, in a purely academic sense of course—that the Shadow-Cursed lands have been particularly lacking in, shall we say, sustenance options for your specific dietary requirements."

Astarion blinked, trying to parse through Gale's nervous rambling. "Are you attempting to discuss my eating habits?"

"Yes! Well, sort of." Gale's hands stilled. "I've been remiss in my duties as camp cook, haven't I? Everyone else gets hot meals, while you make do with whatever you can find or brought with you."

The academic veneer cracked, revealing genuine concern underneath. Astarion's eyes flicked away at the care in Gale's voice.

"What I'm trying to say is—" Gale touched his own neck. "I think with the orb stabilized, well… I'm offering. If you'd like."

The words hit Astarion like ice water. Fresh blood. Willing blood. His fangs ached at the mere thought. He'd been denied the blood of thinking creatures so long, trained himself to reject even the possibility...

"You don't know what you're offering," he managed.

"I believe I do." Gale scooted closer. "I trust you."

Those three words scattered Astarion's thoughts completely. Trust. From someone who knew exactly what he was, who he had been. His gaze fixed on Gale's pulse point, watching it flutter beneath tanned skin.

Two firsts in one night. The thought drifted through his mind as he struggled to form words past the hunger suddenly roaring through him.

Astarion's attention snapped back to the present as Gale produced a scroll from his robes with a flourish.

"Lesser Restoration," Gale explained, setting it carefully on the cushions beside them. "Just in case. And I've been reading about proper recovery techniques—fascinating stuff really, though the texts are woefully lacking in practical application data. But the theory suggests that proper hydration and rest afterward are crucial. Not that this is any sort of transaction, mind you. The blood isn't payment for—well, for anything we've done or might do. Or for the editing either. Which has been invaluable, truly, but this is entirely separate from that arrangement—"

A smile tugged at Astarion's lips as he watched Gale's hands wave through increasingly elaborate gestures. The wizard's nervous rambling was oddly endearing, especially given how commanding he could be in other situations.

"—and I want you to know that while I'm certainly amenable to continuing our other activities, there's absolutely no expectation or obligation tied to this offer—"

Astarion moved before he could overthink it, sliding onto Gale's lap with practiced grace. The sudden motion cut off Gale's stream of words, his eyes widening slightly.

"Darling," Astarion purred, "you're talking too much." He caught Gale's mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing whatever response the wizard had been about to make.

Astarion broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Gale's. "Tell me again that you're mine."

"I'm yours." Gale's breath ghosted across his lips.

"Not Mystra's." Astarion's fingers curled into Gale's robes. "Mine."

"Yours." Gale's hands settled on his hips. "Only yours."

"And if anyone tries to take you from me?" The words slipped out before Astarion could stop them, vulnerability raw in his voice. "If Cazador—"

"I'll incinerate them to ash." Gale's tone hardened with an edge Astarion had rarely heard. "Sixth level fireball should do it, or—" He twisted, reaching for his scroll case. "I have a disintegrate spell in here somewhere that would work even better."

Astarion caught his hand, tiny sparks tickled his throat with something that felt dangerously like joy. "That's quite alright, darling. I believe you." He pressed his lips against Gale's mouth, delighting in how eagerly the wizard responded.

He found it all deeply gratifying. Following their many shared notes, his meticulous corrections and commentary, Gale had at last mastered the art of perfect responses. Maybe his role as a critic held more rewards than he'd initially thought.

Armed with red ink and centuries of snark, Astarion had set out to control his narrative—and lost control of his heart instead. He supposed if someone had to write his story, it might as well be Gale.

Though of course, he reserved editorial prerogative. Writing romance was tricky, and Gale's prose tended to be purple even when describing the most mundane activities. Astarion smiled into Gale's kiss as Gale pulled him closer. There was no need to worry. He was sure that between the two of them, they'd manage to get the ending right.

#bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #bloodweave #myfic #bg3 fanfic

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boyfhee · 2 years ago

Text

FAIR AND SQUARE › lhs

SYNOPSIS › one thing about life— it's unpredictable. for example, you made a note to yourself about not associating too much with heeseung for your own peace of mind, letting him stay as the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, except one thing leads to another and you find yourself face to face with the said man with your feelings all over the place. a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition, let the game begin.

WORD COUNT › 20.2k

GENRE › academic rivals / friends to lovers, mutual pinning because they're just competitive and oblivious ft in denial, fem reader, quite the 'he fell first but she fell harder' thing eye guess . . .

WARNINGS › mentions drinking, sheds light on family issues ( mostly on the reader's side ) bruise and injury, slightest of angst, arguments, suggestive ( fourth section, towards the end ) profanities, let me know if you spot more

PLAYLIST › tune in for a better experience

NOTE › i love this fic with all my heart and lungs, even more. anyway, i'm sorry to academic rivals fans, this doesn't have academic blood and gore, as quoted by my dear mai. SPEAKING OF MAI EVERYONE THANK @maiverie FOR BETAREADING THIS FIC!!!!!! im not lying when i say i wouldn't have finished writing this yesterday if it wasn't for her, like thank u for ur super helpful review that got my brain juices flowing :< luv u fr. ALSO both heeseung and reader are taking post grad course so of course, they're aged up ( no ages specified ) have fun reading.

I. BANE OF EXISTENCE

one thing about life— it’s unpredictable.

for example, you’re in the library writing and reading papers on the topic you love, the one that you’re supposed to enjoy and the one that will become the reason behind your earnings in the near future, but here you are, sitting with a headache and a cup of coffee on the side. who knew the subject you've liked since grade one will betray you and become the potential bane of your existence? not you, surely enough. wednesday noons are for basketball matches, which explains why the library and hallways are quieter and emptier than usual. even the teachers make time for the tournaments off their busy schedules, it’s understandable— your university is known for having one of the best sports teams in the league, and the basketball team being the defending champions does nothing but fuel the pride of students and staffs as if they’re the ones on the court, trying to get the ball in the basket.

you wouldn’t say you don’t like being a part of the crowd because you’ve been to the badminton tournaments and know that watching matches is as interesting as playing, if not more. you just don’t have the time to attend any. with assignments piling up and exams ‘round the corner, you’d rather spend your last two months of the semester studying instead of yelling at the bleachers. you can always get the recordings if you ever feel like watching one, as for the results, the word goes around faster in your department than anywhere else, all because of one of the students being on the team.

you try focusing, you really do, but your cup is just as empty as your brain and your phone is going up with notifications. you don’t see the point of miyeon spamming the gc with updates on the match when everyone in the group, except you, is with her, watching and cheering alongside. muting is a choice which you choose not to do, and the reason is between you and god, to be honest. long story short, it’s the lack of motivation clogging your thought process and the realisation that your friends are out there enjoying themselves unlike you is blocking any means of logical thinking. a day or two spent not studying wouldn’t make you fail the classes, and even if the guilt is pooling inside, you pack your stuff and walk out of the library, making your way to the indoor basketball court.

the screams grow louder as you approach, each step reminding you that you still can go back as you choose to ignore it. exams can wait, you tell yourself, a day to myself can’t. your mother would tell you to take breaks and go out instead of studying all day, but being on top is an addiction. it’s no good, you wish other students would believe you, it’s a struggle, on the top, at the bottom, everywhere. you expect to turn a few heads as soon as you walk inside, which doesn’t happen, but you expected it. you don’t watch matches, this could easily be your third or fourth one, and the first basketball match, to be more specific. once you realise that everyone is busy watching the plays instead of noticing who comes and goes from the court, you make your way up to the one friend you manage to spot amidst the crowd— sung hanbin. indoor bleachers feel more compact than the outdoor ones. you've been to the football match last semester, courtesy of miyeon, and everything being outdoors really helps with the crowd and noise.

“didn’t expect to see you here,” hanbin stands next to you, offering you a sip or two from his drink, which you politely refuse, eyes fixed on the court as if it was the home they’ve been searching for. “i thought you hate heeseung,” it isn’t until he takes his name that your gaze averts to heeseung. you don’t even know why hanbin would outright assume you’re here for heeseung. in fact, that man’s name didn’t even cross your mind until he was mentioned.

“hate is a big word, ‘bin,” your words are more of a whisper laced with hesitation, as if you aren’t sure of what you’re saying. hate, actually, is a very big and heavy word. despite its constant usage with your friends, you realise the weight it holds and the impact it has. hate and dislike— they’re different and yet similar enough to be used synonymously at times. not by you, of course, you have a clear distinction between the two, and as of now, you don’t know if what you feel for heeseung is a mere dislike or pure hatred. “i just don’t like him,”

when he successfully shoots a three-pointer, you come to the decision that you definitely don’t hate him. heeseung is, more or less, the typical all-rounder straight-A student, the jack of all trades and fortunately enough, the master of all as well. he's the student teachers use as an example, the son parents wish for, the boyfriend people wished they had. lee heeseung is many things, and one of those is being the reason why you have the second highest score in your department instead of the first position, unlike how it used to be two semesters ago.

heeseung transferred departments about thirty weeks ago, from chemistry to bioinformatics. it had been surprising on your side because not many opted for bioinformatics until they were certain of their goal. the course in itself is vast, like an ocean of several different fields and each and every one of them opens a door to a different outcome. bioinformatics isn’t something students picked overnight just because it had the vacancy and they didn’t like their initially chosen courses. as fun as the subject sounds, it demands consistency and time, something that heeseung lacks. you had seen him attend classes the first few weeks regularly, and then the ghost of him started sitting on the empty seat that belongs to him. skipping classes, arriving late, delayed submission of a couple of projects— you knew he wasn’t here to stay. it was to pass time, or whatever, you couldn’t care, didn’t care, not until he started acing the tests, practically dethroning you from your infamous ‘perfect all kill’ title that you had for getting nothing less than a perfect score, most of the time, give and take a few here and there.

you still get good scores, amazing even, full score in theory and the same in practicals. it’s going well in lab manuals and project works but heeseung seems to get a perfect score in those too, something you started missing ever since he came into the picture. perhaps, it was something in the way he phrased his essays— you hoped it was. rumour has it that heeseung used to be a literature student, which could explain his outstanding english skills and his eloquent way of speaking. you even looked up his debate videos on youtube only to find more evidence on how skilled he is in public speaking.

but above all, heeseung is, actually, just a really damn annoying student, quite literally the bane of your existence. he’s always set on stealing people’s spotlight during lessons, with you being the people, obviously, always answering questions with information that’s unrelated and probably even unnecessary. and for the shortest time, you even considered taking him off your ‘things i hate’ list because you were no different in highschool. when you’re the top student, it becomes a habit to talk about things as if you know them in your bones and impress teachers. hell, you even had rivals in highschool, although none of them got on your nerves the way heeseung does. basically, he has no reason to call you by weird names everytime you both pass each other in the hallways, or remind you that he’s the top student. ‘this is the vice-captain of the basketball team and the best student of the biotechnology department, lee heeseung, informing you on the up—’ seriously, no one wants to hear him introduce himself like that when you’re around. you’re pretty sure it’s engraved inside your brain with the amount of times he repeats it everyday. minjeong even says that heeseung is becoming more and more like sunghoon, and you would not know how or why because you didn’t attend highschool with sunghoon, unlike her.

the court flares up with cheers when heeseung goes for a dunk which ultimately leads to their team winning the match, and you reach the conclusion that maybe you don’t hate heeseung but actually want to bang his head against the walls. your eyes follow him around the court, analysing his conduct during the match, the way he communicates so effortlessly with teammates using hand signs or quick phrases, the way he holds the team together when the ball is with him, despite not being the captain. heeseung might be the most unbearable person you’ve met so far, he’s actually just fine when his target is not you. you’re sure any other player is doing just as good but nothing comes close to how you see heeseung. it’s different, the light he is in, it’s unique, incredible, and inexplicably addictive. heeseung juggles between classes and basketball, you remember sunghoon talking about his part-time job when you passed by their lockers the other day. he doesn’t have it easy, you don’t either, but you had those all perfect kills by spending hours in your study while heeseung does better than you while winning matches, making money.

it doesn’t take you long to realise that what you have for him could be dislike with a hint of jealousy, and you wonder if all the people would react the same way once they know who heeseung really is— a devil behind an angelic face, one who deliberately likes ruining things for you, as if his life depends on it. you still remember the day he personally texted you the wrong syllabus for a test, claiming that it had been updated and the professor had asked him to notify everyone. ‘and as you know, i have not been added in the group chat yet so i’m texting everyone personally,’ he had lied ever so smoothly as if his words consist of nothing but truth, as if lies are something he hasn’t even heard of. kudos to you for studying the original and correct syllabi beforehand, you still aced the test, if heeseung scoring the first rank is overlooked.

you’re dragged back from your thoughts to the reality when a boy bumps into you while hurrying down to the players, hoping to get noticed. half of the students act like the team is actually a boy-band, you can see them on the front page of every single edition of university magazine. usually, you prefer waiting for the crowd to disperse before taking your leave from wherever you are, but a sudden reminder about the tests over text from your professor gives you a reason to leave early, all to make sure you could catch up to heeseung. you rush your way out of the bleachers once the teams start leaving the court, eyes fixed on heeseung to take a note of the direction he leaves. hanbin gives you a confused look before the words find their way out of his mouth. “where are you going?”

“basketball shower room,” and your words could give him, and the other people who might’ve heard you, a wrong idea but you couldn’t care less. the goal was to see heeseung before he leaves the campus, which was highly likely because no one has it in them to attend four hours of classes after an exhausting match, not even heeseung, no matter how amazing he is.

you make your way through the ocean of people, bumping into a few in the process as you make your way to the club room. a silent profanity leaves your mouth once you realise that the club room entrance might be filled with fangirls and boys, left and right, and the thought of shuffling your way out of the crowd to meet heeseung makes you reconsider your actions. heeseung might be a star student but isn’t amazing enough for you to step out of your comfort zone and do things to see him.

“well, this is surprising,” your voice manages to turn his head towards the door. “thought you’d be busy with your fangirls, lee,” and it is surprising indeed because the hallways are unexpectedly empty with only a few people around. you would say they learnt to give the players their space after a game but that would be a lie considering the embarrassing history of students when it comes to people on the sports team.

“they’re probably busy with jake,” heeseung responds with a smile, and even though he turns to his locker just as quickly, you could see the smile dancing on the corner of his lips.

jake is rather a new player, a junior to be specific, and jay personally spent days waiting outside the physics department to get the guy on the basketball team. explains why he’s popular amidst students, he’s talented, good at studies— seriously, you wouldn’t understand how these people manage academics with sports. you couldn’t, and even if you managed to, you would end up passing out every few days. “does it suck to lose your fan-following to a newbie?”

“not really. i still have you here,” heeseung wouldn’t call it ‘losing’ his fan-following because he’s using jake as bait to escape the crowd of students as quickly as possible. a junior has to make sacrifices, in this case it’s to save heeseung by sacrificing himself to the public. although, saying that he still has you looking for him even though a hundred others aren’t makes him feel better about himself. “no but seriously, what did you come here for?”

“oh, it’s for the test on friday,” you pull out your phone, opening the group chat with the professor and the students who took the same course. it’s laughable how the universe put you in the exact same situation twice, although with the tables turned this time, and it takes everything in you to not tell him a made-up, wrong syllabi, and do what is rational. “the syllabi was extended up to chapter fourteen, till page three-ninety-seven. they sent it in the group chat this morning but i’m sure you hardly have time even to think about something else except basketball,”

you’ve known heeseung for two semesters but that’s for the people to say. the truth is, you don’t know him outside what he shows to everyone else. you see him come and go, spot him around the bar with his friends on weekends you pass by it. you know he skips classes and asks students for notes. it’s not necessarily from you, though you’d prefer if he would ask you since you’re the best student in the whole department, after him, as much as you hate to admit it. on some days, you see him in the library, earphones plugged in. if you manage to sneak a glance or two, you’d catch him watching the match recordings and taking notes, you wouldn’t know what notes someone could take from matches. in short, you don’t know heeseung more than how everyone knows him. coming to the shower rooms and notifying him about the test might just be a discreet attempt at striking up more conversations with him, but also, you’re just fine with him being the academic rival slash classmate that he is.

“yeah, semi-finals,” heeseung shuts his locker close, a sigh falling off his lips just like the water drops falling on his shoulder from the tips of his hair, after a shower. “doesn’t help that they’re at the same time as the quarterly assessments. thank you for telling me even though it means you’ll end up losing the first position to me once again,” and of course, the heeseung you know wouldn’t waste an opportunity to strike up a competition. it would be a lie if you claim to hate it because despite the sour look on your face, a part of you loves these little academic races with him. heeseung makes you strive to do better, he’s like the driving force you lacked which made college a whole lot better. after all, where’s the fun in getting a perfect score with the bare minimum effort, without some challenges knocking at your door?

“what can i do, i’m all about fair play,” there’s a subtle shade behind your words, reckoning to the multiple incidents of him ruining things for you. this could take a really nasty turn if you were to resort to his ways, except you won’t because you’re better than him. “good luck, and we’ll see who loses the first position to whom,”

heeseung wipes his hair before switching to texting on his phone, the smile still adorning his face like a jewel. you assume it’s the delight from winning a match, it’s obvious. his eyes couldn’t help but sparkle at every little achievement, always looking forward to something more, something challenging, that’s lee heeseung for you— someone who knows he has an easier way around things but would deliberately walk down another path and test his limits. shocking how it took you one basketball match to see the passion he has for things he’s interested in, that he’s more than a sport jock or a straight nerd, he’s more than someone who takes courses to pass time, more than someone who is just a show-off.

“heeseung,” the dislike, the hatred, the envy, it might all be a lie. “well played today,” because in the end, there’s a minimal possibility that you’re leaving the room with nothing but the slightest of admiration for the guy who is nothing but an obstacle between you and that first position in upcoming finals in two months.

and it would be a lie too to claim that your words didn’t catch heeseung by surprise.

II. RIVALRY, FEELINGS, ETCETERA.

it has been a little over one day since heeseung’s conversation with you outside the shower rooms, twenty-seven hours to be exact. twenty-seven hours of him hearing the same last words over and over again, twenty-seven hours of him failing all and any attempts at straight thinking and twenty-seven hours of him not thinking about anything except you. all of it ends up in three hours of practice and not one good shot from heeseung. the sighs and snickers from teammates fill the court every few seconds— truthfully, they never leave. heeseung is simply too lost to pay attention to them.

“heeseung, you good?” a pat on shoulder from jake and the words following soon after manage to pull him out of his spiral of thought, even if it’s for a brief second.

“he’s not, won’t be anytime soon,” sunghoon replies as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be revealed. “yn came to watch the last match, after all,” there’s a smirk on sunghoon’s face, heeseung can tell it in the intonation of his words.

jay pauses just seconds before going for a layup, joining the conversation. “wait, she did?”

“yep, saw her standing next to that hanbin guy or something,”

“mate, you cannot be acting like this over a girl and that too, four days before finals,” this conversation, as a whole, is beyond jake’s comprehension. a part of the reason could be because he joined the team late, thus missing out on a huge chunk of internal jokes and gossip and goes amidst the players. and no amount of reasons can convince him into thinking that it’s fine to act out-of-character before important matches just because your crush showed up at one of your matches.

“she’s not just some random girl. she never attends matches, but she came to watch my match,” heeseung clarifies as if the reasons behind his antics are valid and acceptable. “you wouldn’t know how i feel right now,”

“you’re on cloud nine, we know, your crush gave you the attention you’ve been lacking but trust me, she would ignore you just as efficiently if she sees you perform like this,”

“she’s not a crush,” and despite it being a well known fact amongst the basketball team that heeseung has a thing or two for you, he always refuses to accept it. one can say it’s the pride thing. you barely even talk to him unless it’s about studies, and your conversations are mostly along the lines of who outdoes whom in tests and assessments. moreover, everyone knows heeseung is the reason why you’re the second best student in the department— as much as you hate to admit it, again— because he transferred and flipped your world, probably even dribbled around with it like a basketball. a word goes around every few days about you glaring at him in class, which is not true, you’re instead focusing your eyes on something in an attempt to think. he just happens to sit right in front of you and be the object of focus. heeseung might as well believe that you hate him, even though yesterday’s conversation was far from how people talk when they hate each other, and his assumptions could account for the constant words of denial that fall off his lips.

jay snickers before landing a hook successfully. “yeah, and i’m a pigeon,”

“oh, shut it, jay,” heeseung turns to look at the other boy. “she’s just someone i admire. have you read her essays? her papers? god, we’re a year away from graduation but she’s already writing mind-blowing papers, one of them was even published in the monthly issue of some magazine. she’s already on her best performance and still tries to do better, always down to guide juniors with lab work and also is on the research team for the paediatrics department at asan medical centre. all this, and she studies all day. if i were her, i’d pass out. i can’t go a day without entering the court,”

“and he says he doesn’t have a crush oh her,” sunghoon rolls his eyes, it’s like if he heard another line of excuses from heeseung, he could see the back of his skull and have a look at hs big, fat brain.

“because i don’t? you guys never had someone you admired so much that they practically became your role model despite being in the same year?” unlike other things that heeseung does, calling you his role model has a reason. first, it can give him a reason to talk to you. heeseung is almost convinced that you hate him, and if this persists, it would get harder and harder for him to approach you, but with the lie— half lie— of you being his role model and so wonderful that he couldn’t help but admire you from afar while trying to overcome his social anxiety gives him a reason to talk to you. plus, it sounds plausible, he doesn’t understand why his brother says it’s bound to fail.

the second reason and more to do with his friend group. no one in his friend circle is capable of keeping a secret— jay ends up spilling tea unconsciously, jake tells one person who he trust and that person turns out to be the most untrustworthy person ever, beomgyu, well he’s on the team but telling him would be like standing on a stage and announcing to the whole campus, and sunghoon, he’s the mother, he cannot digest food without disclosing secrets. even if it’s common knowledge that heeseung has a tiny crush on you, denying it in front of the whole campus everytime one of them brings it up helps him with his reputation and fortunately, ends up keeping it a secret. besides, he’d rather have people tease him for calling you his role model than having a crush on you.

“i surely don’t have someone i admire to the point i read all their papers and know each and everything they’ve volunteered for,” jay argues back, set on proving his point. “tell me what am i gonna do knowing that she’s on the paediatrics research team?”

“i think this is the most i’ve known about yn ever since classes started and that too, because of heeseung,” beomgyu chuckles, earning a side eye from heeseung in the process.

“enough, let’s get back to practice,” heeseung intervenes in an attempt to change the topic. he does not want his closest friends making fun of him for liking someone— it’s supposed to be human nature to have a crush.

“you get back to practice because you’re the only one fucking up because of your silly little crush. i’m done, jay, call me when we’re having a practice match because i need to attend theology or my professor would write me up,” taehyun passes the ball to sunghoon, the latter yelping in surprise at the sudden yet successful catch.

“i don’t have a crush—”

“of course, let’s get you back to practice,” jake cuts heeseung off mid sentence, moving back to take his position as sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung, who, as expected, misses the catch due to lack of concentration.

it’s going to be a long day for the team.

“a little birdie told me you went to see heeseung in the shower rooms?” are the words you hear as soon as your classes are dismissed, miyeon walking up to you and hanbin discussing the set of questions your professor distributed just a few minutes ago.

“i didn’t go into the shower rooms, i was outside, near the lockers,” and there’s a difference. to be in the shower room implies you were there in the shower, which definitely gives rise to several wrong ideas of different levels. specifically, you didn’t even enter the locker room. you were outside, leaning against the door, watching heeseung as he walked freshly out of the shower, a towel around his neck, you both strike up a small talk. yeah, that was the scene, not with you in the shower and whatever miyeon’s imagination leads to after that.

“so you did go!” she claps her hands together as if it’s a celebratory occasion, turning her head to look at the boy next to you. “what were you saying about yn not having a crush, habin?”

“it’s not a crush, miyeon,” and it’s true— heeseung is not a crush. he’s a classmate, a rival, an over-qualified and impossibly competitive student, someone you would want to take your time to study. “what, i can’t even go to tell a classmate about the updated syllabus for a test now? i would’ve done that for anyone, not just heeseung,”

hanbin sighs, packing his bag. “sure, but he’s in the groupchat. he could’ve checked it himself,”

“um, i doubt that,” you’re preparing a powerpoint in your head, multiple slides on why you needed to do what you did. “he’s busy with basketball and i know how he gets when the matches are around the corner. don’t you remember how he skipped two weeks of classes straight because of matches last semester? and it’s the finals this time, i don’t think he even opens texts about anything that’s not basketball. i mean, he responded to my messages six days later because he was busy with practice,”

you say it like you’ve known heeseung for a decade and have been through the ups and downs with him. you wouldn’t care about who does what in the classes, if it’s a paper plane flying right over you, landing just second to the first row of seats or if it’s someone being brave enough and playing music during lectures. biology, in your opinion, is a subject for those who are serious about doing something unique while staying in the academic field. you don’t encounter troublemakers often, once a blue moon if the heavens make a mistake. on other days, it’s quieter than a library, emptier than cemeteries at night.

to think your life as a biotechnology major got interesting after heeseung switched majors is astonishing and equally debatable.

“i don’t see why i should remember all that about ‘just a classmate’ but thanks for telling,” and before you know it, hanbin and miyeon are out of the class, on their way to wherever their next stop is. seriously, they’re having it easier than you. they go to games, movies, drink on weekends— something you haven’t had a taste on ever since the year started. somewhere, you could be blamed for your hectic schedules. studies, lab work, and thesis, they suffice for all the stress a student in post graduation studies can handle. volunteering and writing papers is on you, things wouldn’t have been arduous if you had decided to move slowly, one step at a time. sometimes, the hunger for more leaves you starving— quite literally.

you spend an hour or so in the classroom along with a few other students, going through the same old routine of yours— watch videos, take notes, transfer them to your document in your own words and make it sound as innovative and convincing as possible. heeseung would be better at this than you. you’re exhausted to the point that accepting your defeat to him doesn’t even faze you anymore. he used to be a literature student, had english as a side course as an undergrad, he’s bound to be better than making essays sound they came right out of shakespeare's drafts, phrases and metaphors that would put fitzgerald to shame.

you didn’t care about what went down in your classes until heeseung came along. call it craziness or the weird impression you have of students in your field, heeseung is far from the typical biotechnology student aiming for a postgraduate degree. he skips classes, plays basketball as if studies are a side business, and yet still manages to ace every test like an all-rounder. he shouldn’t even be in classroom, he should be in the labs, being the most important subject of studies. there are days you think of him as a social experiment— how quickly can a robot piss off a straight-A student with its impeccable skills— of course, the subjects wouldn’t know it’s a robot but you do, you’re almost convinced he is one. there’s no way he’s the top student with the amount of effort he puts in. one would claim that he studies after classes, at home slash dorms, but you can bet your life he doesn’t. there have been numerous instances when you’ve spotted him in the background of someone’s picture at a bar. he’s always with people, he has a humongous friend group, god knows how someone can live like that. at first, you were convinced he isn’t real, as worrisome as it sounds, and if he is real then he needs to be studied.

which leads to what you’re doing right now— making your way to the basketball court. you don’t know how or why you’re doing it. you started with your studies, ended up thinking about heeseung, and now you’re on your way to the basketball court. although, it’s not half a bad idea, now that you think about it once again.

your mind goes all the way back to when you watched him play for the first time, which was just a day ago actually. you don’t know anything about basketball, you don’t know much about heeseung either, but there’s one thing you’re sure of— heeseung is class and heeseung on the court, they’re different. you’ve noticed the way he clicks his pen relentlessly out of nervousness when he can’t solve a question, the way his back tenses up for a fraction of a second as soon as he’s asked to explain something. you’ve seen the hints of fear in his eyes when he asked you for notes last semester just three days before exams, scared that he would fail. heeseung isn’t sure of a lot of things and basketball isn’t one of those.

“you’re not practising?” you ask him when you swim out of your thoughts, watching him climb up the bleachers and sit next to you. the court seems much better when it’s empty, free from the loud cheers of spectators, but that could be just you.

“i was, as you see, but i saw you up here and thought it was time for a break,” you could see his teammates shake heads at him in disappointment, proceeding to continue with their practice. “what’s up?”

you don’t respond to him and instead, take your time watching the others practise their shots. you watch the way one of them, who you think is taehyun, goes for a dunk, credits to hanbin for telling you names for a few shots. next to you, heeseung shouts out a tip or two for the boy for him to have an easier and effective approach at the said move. heeseung is good at dunks, you’ve heard it from students, you’ve seen it in the last match as well. just one shot was enough to tell you how good he is at it, it’s like basketball flows in his veins, like he can close his eyes and still manage to get a basket.

your eyes ghost up the court and shift to him— there’s a content smile on his face, a relaxed posture as if there’s nothing for him to worry about. he takes a sip from his energy drink, you wonder if he, or anyone from the team, even gets time to have their meals. the expression on his face, it’s something you’ve never seen on him during lessons. it takes you back to the match, how he looked on court a day before, certain of every move he made, every step, every breath, without doubts, no second thoughts. you’ve done enough lab projects with heeseung to know how his hands shake when he’s preparing a slide or extracting a sample from a centrifuge, afraid that one wrong move and he would mess up the efforts of everyone in the group. that hesitation is nowhere to be seen on the court, gone like it has never existed. as if lee heeseung, the star student and player, has never had an encounter with nervousness and hesitation in his life. there’s a thin line between studies and sport for him, you finally realise it after much consideration. maybe, you’re going beyond your boundaries and making assumptions about a guy you barely know, even if you would never voice all these thoughts to him, you think you know the reason why there’s a different him on the stage when the ball is in hands.

“how did you realise that you like basketball? you know, like it enough to devote so much of your time and have it alongside studies?” because even if biotech is something he’s studying and wants to make a career in, you guess that it’s just a source of satisfaction. in your eyes, through your perception, basketball is what makes him truly happy.

you don’t know why someone wouldn’t pick satisfaction over happiness, especially when it’s coming with its hands full of opportunities to grab that bag.

“eh, i don’t have a sob story about it, if that is what you’re hoping for,” he chugs down the contents of the can before crushing it to the slightest, eyes squinting at the opposite wall before they move back to meet yours. “i never had to sit and think about basketball and studies, you know, as in how am i going to manage both of them. it just happened. i started playing basketball in middle school and it has been with me ever since,”

heeseung’s side of the story is simple— a mediocre guy who was introduced to sports by his older brother and now, it’s one of the most important things in his life. middle school heeseung preferred staying in and playing video games instead of going out. in fact, middle school heeseung resembles you in all the ways that make him different from you right now. he has been good at learning and remembering things, he takes liking to things quicker than others do. basketball was like for him— easy, quick, fun, like a way to release all the stress after a long day at school. in heeseung’s story, there isn’t a main character who helped him choose the path he’s walking right now. instead, all he had was his family who introduced him to the various aspects and opportunities, and he simply ended up joining hands with the ones he liked, deciding to not let it go before the dead end.

“i want to have that passion for things,” a soft laughter falls off your lips, it’s an attempt to make your sob story look less pitiful. “i used to paint and play piano— but painting, mostly, was really good at it. i learnt how to draw before i learnt how to tie my shoelaces. i couldn’t go a day without painting, but then highschool happened, i had pressure to do well, expectations from friends and family, had a dream outside painting, and now, i haven’t painted in years,”

unlike heeseung, art started as more than just a side business to you. it’s not something you were introduced to in the middle of your life but rather is something you grew up with. you can blame or credit your mother for making paintings and having them in almost every corner of your house. it’s one of the reasons why at five years old you were beyond fascinated at all the patterns and colours. no one would’ve guessed that science would manage to sweep you off your feet right from the first grade, given the way your hands danced a duet to their own melody along with a paintbrush, as if each stroke has a conscious life of its own. no one would’ve guessed that your mother would tell you to stop painting and focus on studies, neither would they have known that she would become the reason why you no longer feel the same way about art. as stated before, life is unpredictable— because no one would’ve guessed that sitting here on the bleachers with heeseung and sharing a piece of your life would water the seeds of doubts in your heart, the ones that bloom at the sight of him.

he thinks your story is sad— with all due respect, without sarcasm, of course. it’s the best he can say. “i think it’s more of a ‘connection’ thing. you think you’ve lost the connection but you simply need to pickup a canvas and some colours to relink, if you get me,” because heeseung has had somewhat of a same experience, with music, and sitting front of a piano to play one of sibelius’ symphonies after senior year highschool finals was all it took him to find his lost interest in music. even though it’s nothing more than just a hobby, even if it's just something he considers as a way to pass time, heeseung knows how it feels to let go of something that is an integral part of one’s life.

“it has always been about timing, heeseung,” you shake your head, trying to prove him wrong using your own arguments. “you think i haven’t tried painting again? i still have art supplies stacked up in my cupboard. it’s all about timing. when you like something, you only get a few chances to make sure it stays with you for a lifetime. how many people do you know who have given up on their hobbies because they claim to have lost interest? the thing is, the interest is still there, it’s the inability and fear of not being able to do it again. if you timing is off, no matter how much you try, things won’t work, and what you love will end up becoming a closed chapter of your life,”

a pause. he sits still, eyes admiring your face while his mind is busy replaying your words in the back of his head. heeseung wonders how valid they are when it comes to people. he likes you, despite the constant denial which is only for show, by the way. it doesn’t take a scientist to read him. reading him isn’t even close to rocket science, he doesn’t understand how you haven’t caught up even after being incredibly smart. he has seen you hang out with hanbin— heeseung hates that guy, by the way. there’s no solid logic, it’s just that hanbin seems to be around you all the time and heeseung thinks of him as a leech sucking blood off its host. heeseung would never admit but it’s just his jealousy playing tricks on him, and even though it doesn’t look like you have any romantic feelings towards that guy, it would be fucking embarrassing for heeseung lose you to a guy who isn’t even half as qualified as him. ( yes, he is judging characters based on academic qualifications, no heeseung wouldn’t explain why )

“i like you,” and so, he lets his feelings win for once, deciding to let his heart take control instead, closing doors to any room for rational thinking like it never existed. “you said it was about timing, about trying hard enough and having only a few chances, perhaps, just one bullet, and i’m shooting my shot right now. i don’t want to remember you as a closed chapter of my life,”

it would be such a waste of chemistry if you end up becoming just a closed chapter of his life. heeseung has done his research, more like reading tons of books and watching hundreds of movies to understand the potential that two academic rivals have. no one knows this, not even his closest friends, but heeseung’s favourite genre might simply be enemies to lovers and living that trope doesn’t sound as bad when it’s with you. he has spent hours thinking about the number of productive library dates you could have, working on projects together and brainstorming about the next biggest revolution in the RDT world, changing the public’s outlook at genetics forever. it sounds stupid and makes him sound even stupider, even as a lost cause, but heeseung doesn’t care. in his mind, it’s the best date someone could have. to live and become successful together, it sounds like a perfect plan to him.

truthfully, you have always been a part of heeseung’s future, near or distant. he always always pictures you in his life, standing next to him during graduation, bidding goodbyes at farewell, exchanging shy greetings at reunions ten years later while reminiscing about everything he did to irritate you, that would sound embarrassing a decade later. your presence will always be significant to him, he just hopes to remember you as something more than just a rival, just a classmate he never really got to know, just a person he spent his two years hating upon, just a crush he didn’t get to confess to.

the catch— heeseung has already started picturing his future and you are not even sure of your present— and while he is looking at you for an answer, you’re lost inside your head, looking for words to articulate.

heeseung is someone you planned to stay away from for the rest of your university life. him stepping into your life already costs you a lot, namely: dropping in ranks and losing your infamous title. his actions cost you the time you could use to study, which is actually upon you because you can simply ignore him instead of spending hours on thinking about his hows, whens and whats. heeseung was supposed to be the academic rival slash classmate that he is, instead of allowing him to be something more, but beyond rivalry, feelings, etcetera. you knew the way you felt about him, even though you couldn’t be as certain as him, or even to claim you see him the same way he feels about you.

turns out, heeseung has always been sure of certain things in his life.

“heeseung, i’m—”

“not sure? busy? stressed? i know you have a lot of things going on right now. take your time, study for the finals, finish your papers, sort out your own issues and then come back to me. i’ll be waiting,” it’s like he’s not only good at studying but also at reading minds, because heeseung seems to have guessed a part of exactly what you’ve been thinking. call it timing, jay calls him to get back to practice just a few seconds later— a perfect excuse to leave. “looks like my break is over,”

you sit speechless, watching him walk away like an opportunity that just walked out of your hand. it feels like a slight defeat, like a test you failed when you could've scored better, if not a full score. it's funny because this wasn't a competition, you weren't rejected, more like you rejected him, but it still feels like he has the upper hand. it's funny and equally annoying because heeseung is supposed to be nothing more than just a nobody, somebody you aren't even supposed to spare two thoughts on, but here you are sitting with the guy with your feelings all over the place.

“heeseung,” you stand up, your voice making him turn to look at you, both of you ignoring the sight of his teammates standing motionless in their positions, too stunned at your voice reverberating in the almost empty court. “let’s do this: if you manage to stand first in the finals, i’ll date you,”

a lowkey confession leading to a mere competition. his lips morph into a smirk, the ones he'd pass you before tests, an open challenge offered directly to you. “and if i don’t?”

and you mirror the same smirk back at him, you weren't going to back off simply because it's about the person you possibly have a crush on. “i become just a closed chapter of your life,”

let the game begin.

III. LIAR AND THE LOVER

despite heeseung’s sudden confession, you’re doing quite well, taking it better than expected. you had your moment of confusion back when the words of proposal fell off his lips— anyone would. after all, it’s lee heeseung we’re talking about. you can only imagine the saddened faces of his fangirls once they hear about him confessing to you.

“jay told me you made a bet with heeseung?” hanbin’s question catches your attention as soon as he steps into the cafe, managing to turn a few heads towards you in the process.

“you know jay?”

he sits next to you, pulling out his laptop in a hurry. you can guess it’s because of his essay that’s due before six in the evening, one he could’ve written last night instead of getting wasted at his friend’s birthday gathering. “we share history, also, that’s not the answer to my question,”

“it’s not a bet, ‘bin,” your words aren’t half wrong. “just a silly game, y’know? i didn’t even expect him to agree,” frankly, even you don’t know why or how you came up with such a bizarre idea in broad daylight. usually, people get bouts of excitement or embarrassment while confessing or being confessed to, but in your case, you jumped over the fence and made a proposal that you have only seen in fiction.

“nah, no way you’re setting up your whole love life for failure and calling it a silly game,” the disappointment is evident in hanbin’s voice as his fingers danced over his keyboard, typing with a speed that could leave the trains behind. well, people tend to get like that when you have an assignment due and the deadline is just a few hours to go. you guess that he’s too busy to even listen to your reasoning, which is appreciated considering you have no reasoning as for why you did what you did.

“you made a bet with heeseung,” you turn your head around, making the boy next to you do the same in the process. it’s miyeon— you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. your actions have consequences, as always, and one of them is dealing with her non-stop interrogation as if you’re the prime suspect for some gruesome crime and every question answered wrong opens gates to capital punishment. sometimes, you wonder why she didn’t go with studying law instead.

“how do you know?”

“everyone knows, yn. it’s all they’ve been talking about,” she sighs, sitting opposite to you while taking a look at hanbin’s laptop. “even the football fanatics are talking about attending the game, god, hanbin we better hurry that day or we’re not getting a seat,” you should’ve seen it coming, honestly. miyeon might not be the most social person, but she definitely is the most updated. nothing escapes her, every tiny incident reaches her ears one way or another, and if not, then she just finds out about it using her sources, given you don’t know about her sources. it’s one of the reasons why you’re almost convinced that she runs a shady side business alongside her career in bioengineering.

you take a sharp breath, going through the bunch of papers arranged in your file. “it’s not that serious. he confessed to me and i said i’d date him if he manages to secure the first position in the finals as well,”

“you did that knowing he hasn’t been studying because of games while you’re studying like your life depends on it? there’s no way he’s going to be first, and everything aside, it was a wrong fucking move to play with his feelings,” play with his feelings— a pause, you don’t like how it sounds. you’re not playing with his feelings, that’s far from what you’re doing. it’s a game, a competition, new to your friends but you and heeseung have always been familiar with it. there’s an unspoken rule to test each other’s limits. the last time you and heeseung did something like this, it resulted with you writing ‘lee heeseung is smarter than ln yn,’ in bold on a sheet of paper and putting it on the notice board for the whole campus to see. in your eyes, it's history repeating itself yet again. sure, there is something else at stake, but the rules are the same, and you don’t know why your friends are acting like you’ve done something terribly unethical.

“no one’s playing with his feelings, miyeon, and i know for a fact he’s making time to study for finals,” you clarify your side, slight annoyance evident in your voice. “besides, it doesn’t matter. it’s not like this is serious, i only did this to buy time to figure out my feelings while the game gives me a reason to study and not get distracted. you know how i get when i lose focus,”

that could be the reasoning behind your actions, of course. even while sitting in a cafe with your friends and having a conversation that is about to make your blood boil, you’re thinking of heeseung in the back of your head. his words play over and over again like a broken record player, the image of him on court or studying pops up in your mind every now and then. obsession is a disease and you have it bad. it’s crazy to be thinking about someone so much without being absolutely floored for them.

“so you’ll date him despite the outcome?” hanbin drags you out of the well of your thoughts, a question that leaves miyeon flabbergasted.

“if i manage to figure out my feelings then of course,” a chuckle falls off your lips. “i’m telling you guys, it’s not that serious. i’m sure he knows it too,” and you’re really confident about this— it usually never ends on a good note.

“and if he doesn’t? what if it’s serious for him? yn, you never know how one thing might affect someone, and feelings are not something to gamble on. you should’ve told him you need some time to think instead of giving him a false hope or whatsoever,” it’s now that you start having second thoughts. the next two hours go by amidst silence, a few small talks blooming here and there, but dissolving just as quickly within the ticking clock of deadlines for assignments and exams.

it doesn’t take a scientist to know when miyeon is upset, for she isn’t the best at masking her emotions. through the sneaky glances at her that you’ve stolen over time, you can tell she’d rather spend the evening in silence than talk to you, which is a challenge with herself because she’s really talkative. it takes two to sing a duet, two to play and game, two people to make a relationship work. heeseung and you— the two of you are enough to make decisions for yourselves, decide what’s right and wrong and, something about miyeon questioning your choices doesn’t sit right with you.

too many cooks spoil the broth, it’s the principle of your life, the words you’ve been following to this date. it was your decision to have a few friends instead of a fifty— quality over quantity, as one might call it— and there has never been a moment when you regretted having a handful of people to call friends. instead of consulting too many people about your major in university, you simply went with what your parents and homeroom teacher suggested. life has been good so far. the more the better is something that isn’t applicable in your case. instead of telling everyone about your dilemma regarding heeseung, you decided to keep it to yourself, eventually opening up to heeseung when the time comes. you’re doing just fine on your own, it doesn’t make sense to you why a third person’s opinion is making you doubt your decision making abilities that you’ve been so proud of.

this is not a gamble, you tell yourself, it’s a fair play. you gave him options, he made the choice, it’s consensual. you didn’t force him into this game, he didn’t pressure you to respond, it’s a harmless competition that’s bound to have a positive outcome. you even spend a good fifteen minutes wondering if you should go back to heeseung and take it all back in case he finds it insensitive to put his feelings on the line. doing it in person seemed impossible so you resorted to texts, typing and deleting your message before giving up altogether. in your head, this was an okay decision. a sweet confession, a person with unsure feelings, a harmless competition.

you hope it doesn’t backfire ten times worse.

three days later, you find yourself on the way to basketball club rooms once again. you checked the court, it was empty, and your only option was to check the club slash locker rooms if you wanted to see heeseung. okay, first things first, you don’t miss him— maybe a little, but it’s because you miss hearing his weird ass answers in class even though they’re right. heeseung just has an unique approach to things, in other words he simply knows how to buy time and go in detail about things he’s an expert at to impress the professors. however, that doesn’t seem to be the case for him because he has approached you six times in the past three days, asking if you’re free to hangout.

you like to think he misses you or that his requests were because he wanted to make sure you don’t study and lose to him, either could be true. knowing heeseung, he’s capable of going both ways. whatever may be the reason, you turned him down all six times, and it’s not because you have something against him— of course, you don’t. that’s common knowledge by now— your reason for not hanging out with him is studies, as expected of you honestly. the bet aside, you had way too many chapters to learn before exams and all heeseung ever does is take up your headspace everytime you sit down with your books spread open. avoiding him in thoughts wasn’t possible so avoiding him in person was your last straw.

which leads to the present : you rushing to heeseung, again, not because you miss him but because you need his help, though one of the reasons could be that you feel bad for turning him down six times. you can hear muffled laughter from a distance as you approach the club rooms, a bang against one of the lockers, a loud profanity that follows afterwards. their humour is beyond your level of understanding.

“heese— oh, um—” you greet and turn away just as quickly when you realise that one of them is shirtless. it’s obviously heeseung, you can’t mistake his face for someone else. and you’re guessing he’s the last one to come out of shower because everyone else is dressed, maybe he’s someone who likes to take his time showering— you seriously need to stop thinking before your imagination goes bonkers. “sorry, can you come outside for a second when you’re ready?”

another round of laughter follows, more like teasing remarks because you can swear you heard a few of them refer to you as his girlfriend, and it gets you a little flustered, you won’t lie. you even hear one of them yell ‘ooh, get it, heeseung,’ as heeseung walks out, fixing his t-shirt, responding back with his middle finger up at whoever made the comment.

“hi,” his voice isn’t much louder than a whisper, eyes fluttering between you, the floor, and his teammates who pretend to not look when you peek inside. there’s a soft smile on his face— it’s cute, you think, and then rethink what you just thought. heeseung is, well, not cute— usually. he’s good-looking, handsome, hot, sexy, even, since you’re on the topic of finding adverbs that suit heeseung. cute is rarely one of them, you don’t think you’ve seen him as flustered as he is right now— rubbing his nape, a tint of pink on his cheeks, avoiding eye-contact— that’s far from the heeseung you’ve been seeing for past two semesters.

“hi, can you send me the pdf of the extra set of questions that prof sent last week? i think i accidentally deleted it while clearing up my storage,” you get straight to the point, trying not to waste much of your precious time. “i could’ve texted you but figured you’d be too busy with practice to check messages,” you remember what happened last time; he took six days to reply to your texts. you’re quite a patient person otherwise but in this case, you’re in dire need of questions to practise for tomorrow’s mock.

“ah, sure, give me a minute,” and he pulls out his phone, scrolling through an ocean of files and documents to look for the one you need. you do think he’s gorgeous though, it’s a well known fact that he’s stunning, but you think this look of heeseung surpasses the other ones quite easily— hairs wet after shower, partially covering his forehead, a white t-shirt that’s slightly wet near the shoulders because of the water dripping down— you wish he’d at least dry his hair before catching a cold. “actually, i would have replied to your texts if you had— oh, yes, there you go. do you want me to email it to you or…?”

“oh, just texts would be fine, thank you,”

“done,” a pause, you feel his eyes on you as you go through the pdf to take a brief look at the contents. “do you want to go for a walk? or are you getting back to studies?” at this point, you’re sure that question is a way to tease you about your obsession with studies. heeseung may think you’re overdoing it because you want to win, but it’s no more than the normal amount of hours you spend studying. he never paid you any attention to care about that.

“no, i’m done for today, actually,” and that’s a big fat lie considering you were planning to solve some questions and revise two chapters before leaving the campus, but it’s fine. you feel bad for rejecting him six times either way.

never in your life did you imagine that you’d be going on a walk with heeseung. it’s nothing serious, you just didn’t think there would be a day where you two would have normal people conversation while doing normal people activities instead of trying to disparage each other based on grades and academic performances. to think about it now, heeseung isn’t half bad, it was all in your head. it’s not like you had vile assumptions about him, you did find him annoying and way too prideful— anyone like him would be, actually, and heeseung is still quite humble about his achievements because if it was someone else, they sure would have made it everyone’s problem.

actually, heeseung is insufferable as well. you remember your first encounter with him, first and so far, the worst— in the laboratory. you and heeseung sat next to each other and when the professor asked him to briefly explain his experiment, you realised it’s oddly similar to yours. you had accused him of cheating, like any sane person would, which led to him getting two scores less than a perfect. he only lost one score because of you, actually, and that too because you were professor’s favourite and heeseung was new to the department. the other score, you don’t know where he missed, but that incident led to heeseung deleting your powerpoint thirty minutes before your presentation, which led you stealing his notes and selling it some junior through an undercover twitter account, which led to the professor asking you to help him with notes before exams, and everything ultimately led to the realisation that heeseung is actually quite decent if you behave with decency as well. the give and take is serious for him, because he gave you notes and so, you had to take his offer of going on a walk. even though it seemed like you had a choice, a part of you knew it was a mirage. you would’ve ended up on a walk with heeseung one way or another.

“i come here whenever i’m tired or just not feeling well,” he says and you wake up from your daydream of memories you shared with heeseung. the way he phrases his words makes it sound like he has brought you to one of his most secret locations, one that no one knows except taehyun, probably, considering they’re close friends, but in reality, it’s the playground you pass by every single day on your way from your apartment to university.

“oh, are you okay? are you nervous for tomorrow’s match?” you continue, deciding you shouldn’t ruin his favourite place for him. honestly, no one would’ve guessed that lee heeseung would come to a children’s park on bad days.

“actually, this walk was for you, you looked like you’d pass out if you spent another hour in front of books,” and you’re done, standing speechless with your eyes wide open at his words that he says with a victorious smile on his face. “you should start taking breaks, yn. it’s not a bad thing to go home earlier when you’re tired,”

he’s right, oh, you know he’s absolutely right about everything he just said, from passing out to going home. a part of him probably even feels glad to have you out on his little walk with him, you’re getting your well deserved rest, thanks to him. heeseung might even ask if he can walk you home considering you’re ‘done for today,’ which is very thoughtful of him— but what does this make you? a liar? miyeon was right, you’re gambling, even though it’s not that serious. so far, you’ve lied about being done with your studies and the bet you made with heeseung because at this point, it’s more like a prank, except it’s not funny and that it might end up with him getting upset with you because tomorrow is basketball tournament’s finals and you’re here wasting his time, all because you lied.

a liar and a lover, on a date at children’s park— match made in theatre club, you’d say.

“are you sure this is not your way to manipulate into not studying and losing to you, just so you can date me?” you try to play it cool, knowing very well that it can be one of his tricks or whatsoever. after all, it’s the same heeseung who made you trip in front of your class just three days after being transferred.

“i was being genuine but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” of course, it doesn’t. he gets to win, after all. “can i walk you home?” just as you had guessed.

“i would love to go home but my bag is still in the library,” you had considered taking it with you, actually, but dismissed the thought once you realised you had to come back to the library and continue with your studies. albeit, you’re not studying, that’s on you for lying into oblivion and giving into his requests.

once again, you two are back to walking, this time back to the university campus. it’s nice, having a walk with heeseung, it’s sweet, slow, comforting, like slow music flowing around and engulfing you in its arms. the unsaid words are weighing on your shoulders, you can feel the pressure, but it’s not awkward. above the busy hustle of the city and blaring horns, it’s a quiet world with heeseung, it’s nice, like a warm hug after a long day. you didn’t think you had it in yourself to spend a minute next to him without overthinking and possibly starting a banter. you didn’t think heeseung had it in him either, to make a walk feel so close to home.

“so, how are you coping knowing you’re going to lose once again?” and, it’s back again. everything is a hoax actually— his looks? a trap. his smile? a trap. it’s all a facade because once he opens his mouth, nothing but horseshit comes out of it.

“very well, in fact, because i know i’m the one getting that first spot this time,” call it overconfidence but you really do think you’ll get your title back this time. you’ve been studying well and hard enough, solving questions and going through every extra set of notes and exercises your professor sent. although, you would claim to beat heeseung had you been prepared or not because it’s fun messing with him.

“i’d rather have you show some mercy, in that case,” before you know it, you’re already standing in front of the library. “academic defeat and a heartbreak, it already sounds painful. i hope you go easy on me,” it’s sarcastic, of course, all these saccharine words of confessions made you forget how he is under the layers of smiles and winks that adorn his face. a session full of silence follows, the comforting tranquillity morphing into something tensed as he steps closer, your breath getting caught up in your throat as your mind dysfunctions— it’s the effect he has.

“heeseung,” you put a finger on his lips— the only thing between him and you, the only thing helping you stay sane and composed at the moment, because only you know the struggle of pulling yourself together while standing inches away from heeseung as he grabs your wrist and plants a soft kiss on your finger before removing it from his lips.

“why, that’s unfair. you get to see me anytime you want while i have to wait because you’re busy studying, you even get to see me shirtless, and i can’t even get a kiss?” and you hate the look in his eyes, you hate how close he is standing and how it makes your heart go crazy. this isn’t even the beginning and you hate how you feel like you’ve already lost, and you hate how confident he is with every breath he breathes against your lips. “just kidding, see you tomorrow,”

and you hate how this is where you realise that you’ve fallen deep, and you’ve fallen hard.

IV. PLANET TO A SUN

heeseung has been thinking about the walk for an hour and twenty-seven minutes— actually more, ever since the moment he got home last night, but that is how long he has been practising for, eyes on the ball but mind revolving around you like a planet to a sun. you had texted him about a rule this morning— no kissing before finals. actually no kissing before we start dating, lee— your exact words. they have been holding him back from thinking straight, even made him practise an apology while looking in the mirror if in case his actions offended you in any way. lost in thought, heeseung manages to get another shot in. that’s twenty-third in a row ever since he stepped on the court, which is unbelievable, even for him.

“is it just me or did heeseung’s performance improve overnight?” jake looks up at jay, fastening his shoelace, a chuckle escaping his lips that goes unnoticed.

the latter offers a hand to jake, helping him stand as they share a laugh before jay passes him the ball. “well, of course it will. he has to impress his girlfriend today at finals,”

“she’s not my girlfriend,” heeseung grunts almost as if hearing you and the word girlfriend in the same sentences cuts ten years from his lifespan. he knows it doesn’t, he’d kill to call you his’. the reason behind his edgy behaviour is your text and the weird rule you’ve inserted in an already weird bet— it’s not like he minds it, the bet, obviously. heeseung definitely minds not getting to kiss you for the next few weeks.

“yet,” jay clarifies, emphasising enough for the world to understand that his words are supposed to be in italics. “she will be if you score more than her in finals, which i don’t think is possible because unlike you, she has been studying all day everyday. i don’t know how she’s still alive,” and jay isn’t half bad student himself. juniors in business have his name residing on the tips of their tongues. he simply thinks you’re a freak for being in no clubs and not participating in anything that doesn’t involve studying.

“she’s the top student for a reason,” jake adds.

“i am the top student,” and hearing his friends call you the top students hurts heeseung’s ego a little bit. crushes aside, you’re his rival before his girlfriend, and you’re not even his girlfriend. you’re basically just a rival. “also, it’s not hard to study all day if you’re used to it,”

and jay scoffs in disbelief. “right, you would know something about it, lee i can’t go a day without playing basketball heeseung,”

“hey, everyone,” your voice reverberating in the court is what stops heeseung from responding to jay with a snarky remark. “just wanted to wish you all goodluck. i really hope you guys win the tournament or else, it’s going to be hard for heeseung to deal with two loses after i beat him in finals as well,”

heeseung rolls his eyes in disbelief, you hear taehyun exclaim that he has been team yn since the very first day, a claim that few others proceed to back up, especially sunghoon, with his own lore of how he prays everyday for you to win the bet with heeseung. you’re honoured to receive such support, to some extent. a part of you still wishes for the whole thing to be a secret restricted to just heeseung and you but again, it was your fault for placing bets in court, in front of the entirety of the basketball team to witness, even their coach.

“you’re a little too confident, don’t you think so?” he smirks, taking a few steps towards you with the ball supported between his arms and torso. “let me know where you’d like to go for our first date,” and it turns out heeseung is just as confident about winning the bet as you, perhaps even more. you are not surprised, being defending champions does that to people, or so you believe.

“mhm, let’s have you score a date first, lee,” you would have loved to talk more but decide to bid your goodbyes as soon as hanbin’s message pops up on your phone, the little scowl on heeseung’s face going unnoticed the moment he sees his name on your phone screen. heeseung would never in his wildest dream confess to being jealous— it doesn’t even make sense for him to be jealous of hanbin because he confessed to you, and you seem to like him back. his worries are pointless just like the useless art projects his art teacher used to assign in middle school.

your fingers dance on the keyboard of your phone as you reply to hanbin, the subtle taps synchronous with your steps with you rushing across the quadrangle, taking the nearest flight of stairs to the library. you wanted to spend the day at your apartment since classes are suspended for the rest of the day on account of the match. however, hanbin managed to convince you into coming to the library to help him with a few assignments here and there. you’re not opposed to studying on days-off, in fact you think it’s better since you get all twenty-four hours to yourself instead of investing any of it in classes. the match gave you an excuse to call in for a break, or an excuse to take your time choosing the outfits as if you’re the main character on such a big day.

the librarian gestures to you to slow down the moment you almost avoid slipping on the tiled floor, in the process of holding the door frame to stop yourself, an embarrassed apology makes its way from you to her as you spot hanbin in the further corner with his airpods plugged in. your first instinct is to scare him from behind but the thought leaves your mind as soon as you remember that you’re in a library, and getting kicked out on a day that has been treating you well so far doesn’t sound so smart.

so, you settle with approaching normal, instead of pulling random stunts, pulling out the chair opposite to him quietly to not make any sounds, mumbling a soft ‘hi’ as he takes out one of his airpods. “where’s miyeon?”

“sick, she’s skipping today’s match as well,” hanbin replies, eyes fixed on the notes he's copying from the laptop to loose sheets of paper, before looking up at you with another question on the tip of his tongue. “are you two still not talking?”

“we did, none of us brought up what happened that day, though,” you shrug as if it doesn't bother you anymore, as if you don't want it to bother you more than it already does.

miyeon and you have known each other since university, she was a senior in undergrad course who was forced by financial circumstances to skip one academic year, thus rejoining in third year along with you and hanbin. seeing her was less frequent while she was still a senior, although you're not sure if you've spent more than three days away from her ever since postgrad school started. a heavy tension masks all your conversations with her, over texts or in person, and even though you're trying to act like the small talks with her don't hurt you, a part of you is starting to miss the best friend you used to talk to all night, about wasted matters and sharing useless gossip.

silence fills in for the lack of words between you and hanbin and you allow it to do so, deciding not to disturb the decorum of the library anymore. you scroll through your phone mindlessly, there’s nothing to look at except people going crazy about the evening's match. you even manage to stumble upon a thread of arguments featuring students of your university and the one the team is going against. it’s all empty threats, seriously, ‘kys’ and ‘ur mom’s in my bed’ aren’t even insults at this point. they’re funny, sometimes, but you’ll never understand why or how they ended up being insults. ( honestly, you don’t see the potential )

“are you serious about heeseung?” a crack in the ice, hanbin's question catches you off guard, with a number of questions running back and forth in your mind before you settle with the one to respond with in return.

you blink in confusion. “i guess so, why?”

“nothing, it’s just i never expected it to be him, y’know, considering your history,” you think it's unavoidable, questions along these lines, they would've been asked sooner or later. truthfully, even you didn't expect yourself to fall for heeseung.

your history, what even is there to call history except blood and war? both you and heeseung have been up each other's neck from the moment your gazes collided. it sounds like a stupid beef between highschool students, almost embarrassing now that you both are nearing post graduation. with all the days that you’ve spent thinking about ways to get on his nerves, or worse— ruin his projects, it wasn’t just you who resorted to ruining each other’s hard work— no one would have known you and heeseung would ever end up on this note, with him chasing you and you pinning for him, all under the blankets of a silly bet.

“well, as i always say, hanbin, life is unpredictable,” there’s a smile dancing on your lips, a dazzling hint of factuality in your eyes. “besides, he’s a nice guy behind all the annoying things he does. i think he's pretty serious about me, or us, too,”

hanbin has noticed the way you smile at your phone. it doesn’t always happen, only when you’re talking with miyeon or a few friends from highschool, now heeseung ranks up on that list as well. he’d be lying if the uneasiness doesn’t bother him, it’s bound to surface when he remembers all the nights you spent complaining about heeseung. actually, the rant session included hanbin, you and miyeon, but she would rather go to sleep than listen to you complain like a child for hours on roll, leaving you and hanbin driving the conversation. he has lost count of the amount of times you’ve ended up crying in the process, or the amount of times he has hung up on you only to show up at your place late at night to make sure you’re doing okay, and the nights you two have spent watching movies and falling asleep on the couch, followed by the mornings gone by with miyeon being salty over the fact that none of you invited her to your impromptu nightover.

the thought of heeseung confessing to you still surprises hanbin, it’s one of the things he deemed as impossible since forever. and he can go, warn heeseung about hurting you, dropping all sorts of threats at the boy. hanbin can go on for hours about how he would make heeseung’s life a living hell if he ever broke your heart. he can prove the righteous friend that he is, but at the end of day, he would always be the third person between you and heeseung. hanbin can only assume so much about you two, not even sure if all of it is right. he can only wish so much for you to have eyes for someone else.

and so, all he does is shoot a smile at you. “i hope he is,”

the only time you step out of the library is exactly three hours and thirty three minutes later, to sprint towards the basketball knowing that you absolutely cannot afford losing seats in the first two rows. fortunately, or unfortunately enough, you’re not the only student going crazy about the game. you can swear at least a dozen came out of the library right after you, even though all of them may not attend the game.

you’re already running late— well, still twenty minutes early but that doesn’t give you much time to meet the team and secure the front row seats. and meeting the team is an excuse, let’s be honest. you want to meet heeseung, have a quick private talk, kiss him good luck, you don’t know; you wouldn’t. your head is in a mess, behind you hanbin is yelling for you to slow down as you run down the stairs. half of you is worrying about seats and the other half is wording her sentences out for you to say when you meet heeseung, and the team. you can wish them all the luck in the world, after all, it’s the university team and you would love to see them win. the whole craze about sports doesn’t feel real and worth the hype but things start coming full circle when you’re the one watching. slowly, as one would expect, but you are starting to understand why everyone goes bonkers during tournament season.

“damn, slow down,” hanbin huffs, grabbing your arm for you to slow down. “it’s not like they wouldn’t start without you,”

“that’s the problem. what if they start without me?” but your legs wouldn’t rest before arriving at the court. you know your words sound funny, painting you as if the result of today’s match depends on you. it feels crazy to be this excited about a mere basketball match, nonetheless you know it’s not the match you’re actually looking forward to. “besides, i’m more worried about seats,”

“i asked hao to save two for us. he’s friends with heeseung, i think he will do that much for his friend’s girlfriend or whatsoever,” you see him roll his eyes at his own words, proceeding to slide his hands into yours before continuing on your way to the venue, this time a little slower.

you have heard about hao from hanbin and miyeon a few times. he’s pursuing a masters in music, wants to teach violin professionally according to hanbin. miyeon has even attended one of his recitals last autumn, something from sibelius, if you remember correctly. he is popular, and you see the depths of his popularity as soon as you spot him on the bleachers, surrounded by people left and right, one of them trying to grab a seat next to him before he points at you and hanbin, and the crowd goes mild, ultimately dissolves as the players step in.

“i didn’t know heeseung had a girlfriend,” you don’t know what you were expecting, perhaps a few words of greetings, hi’s and hello’s since you two are meeting for the first time. anything, except that question.

“believe me, i didn’t either,” and why even is heeseung going around telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend?

the court breaks into cheers as soon as the game commences and yet, it feels a little quite. perhaps, it’s miyeon’s absence getting to you. had it been her next to you instead of hanbin and hao— who are busy amongst themselves by the way, talking about anything but the match— she would’ve been eating snacks non-stop, giving you a little talk on every player, like a resume. it’s take her fifteen minutes to give you summaries on players from each team, their achievements, girlfriends and probably even mothers, who knows. although, you haven’t attend many games with miyeon to pinpoint every good and bad thing about her impromptu presentation, her unofficial commentary helped you sit throughout the match. it feels incomplete without her, not just the game but days in general. it’s definitely her absence making your surroundings feel quieter.

so, long story short, you don’t have a clue of what’s happening. well, you do, a little. you know what a dunk and a three pointer is besides the names of players on your university team, but that basically sums up your knowledge about basketball. all sorts of voices are mingling in the air but you’re busy following the ball around the court with your gaze, occasionally cursing and clapping when the team misses a close basket or scores a comparatively difficult basket. the tension between the two teams keeps rising as the game continues. you notice sunghoon groan in disappointment as one of the players from the opposite team gets in a banked shot from the wings, scoring two points for the team. a part of the crowd goes quieter at jay’s failed attempt to save the score for his team, beomgyu patting on jay’s back while muttering something along the lines of ‘good job.’ involuntarily, your eyes travel to heeseung, whose expression stiffens at the sight of the scoreboard displaying a two-point lag.

a time out call follows as the players move back to their respective ends, and it physically hurts you to see the difference in atmosphere between the two teams, or the frowns on the faces of players on your university team. for a second, you even consider walking down to them as they gather around the coach, grabbing water bottles and towels while nodding at the coach’s words between heavy breaths. you catch jake looking in your direction for a brief second, a smile makes its way to your lips before he responds with one as well, proceeding to nudge heeseung’s arm and pointing in your direction. his actions are left with no response— it hurts a little, although you are aware that anything else falls after winning the match on his priority list— and they get back on the court as the game resumes.

“they need to catch up soon,” hanbin mutters, taking a look at the clock. and even if it’s just a two point difference, you’re starting to understand why it creates a huge gap. it’s almost like scores on a test. going from eighty-three to ninety then hundred is easier than going from ninety-eight to hundred. greater differences are easier to overcome; for you have so many rooms for improvisation and thus, so many chances at closing the gap. the closer you are to a perfect score, the narrower are the chances and it’s almost impossible to pin-point and work on every single weakness of yours within those two points. you’re pretty sure your words would hardly make sense to anyone else, but nonetheless you understand why everyone on the court looks more attentive, probably like meerkats on the lookout for preys and predators.

much to your disappointment, the play continues with the rivals dominating the court, giving low to zero chances for the opposition to get their hands on the balls. you even see a few of them trying to provoke heeseung, the latter trying his best to not react but you’re afraid he would start throwing punches if another one of the players passed by him with his middle finger up heeseung’s face. one of them, who you assume is the captain judging from the way he has been directing his team, goes in for a hook, immediately getting blocked by taehyun as the court bursts into loud cheers once again.

“that was a little too far for a hook,” hao comments, and you nod as if you understand his words and know exactly how a hook is supposed to be. you didn’t even know about a hook until now, and you’re still not sure what it is since all the shots look almost the same to you.

from that second onwards, it felt as if the control transferred to heeseung’s teams as they transition quickly from defence to offence, making quick passes and running the court, practically catching the opposite team off guard. jay passes the ball to jake, who takes a leap from half court, driving towards the unguarded basket. a quick layup using the backboard, as you hear hanbin name the shot, and basically everyone runs to jake for scoring two points for the team as the scoreboards displays a sour tie. it’s a seemingly easy match after that, especially when the players look like they’re back into the game. sunghoon passes the ball to heeseung who goes for another layup and fails, much to his despair, before going in for a dunk and scoring yet another basket for the team, leading it by two points. you see him passing a cocky smirk at the player from before as jake pats him in the back with heeseung almost stumbling in the process.

heeseung shoots you a wink before focusing on sunghoon’s words as they get back into position, and even amidst the butterflies you got by his recent actions, you don’t miss the way he stretches his fingers, ring-finger specifically, pointing something about the movements to jay before getting his focus back to the game; and you just hope it isn’t what you’re thinking it is.

it’s a slow game after that, no points scored, four fouls with two of them back to back, one by each team respectively. the frustration increases on the court, evident in each step taken by the players, groans and sighs fill the atmosphere and get louder than the cheers that have gone quieter once again. it isn’t until a few minutes later that all the players run to the front court as soon as they see an opportunity for a fast break with taehyun taking the lead, passing the ball to jay just a few seconds after, who passes it to heeseung— and call it the lack of efficiency or bad timing, heeseung bumps into one of the players from opposite team, an uneven balance, and falls directly on his right knee, as one of the opposite players throws the ball off-bounds to stop the play.

the medics take him to the benches, bringing ice packs and everything else before escorting him inside. you considered following him inside before hanbin tells you that the officials aren’t letting anyone meet him, probably until they receive updates of his situations. you bite the inside of your cheeks in nervousness, palms sweating as if you’re about to appear for an exam you weren’t informed about until five minutes ago, or maybe it’s even worse. the murmurs from the crowd or the group of girls behind you, to be more specific, do nothing but make you feel more anxious. zhang hao, being a sports medicine student, tries to give you an insight on heeseung’s injury, telling you that even if he fell directly on his knee and it could result in a patella fracture, or perhaps just dislocation— words that compel you to yell at him to shut up before he ensures that heeseung will be fine. hanbin does that for you, noticing your slightly panicked state, telling hao to talk about anything but anatomy of how badly a simple injury can affect a player, and when sunghoon and taehyun return to the officials with an update on heeseung and a pale face, you knew you had to run to your heeseung as if it’s the end of the world.

“heeseung,” you breathe out, stepping aside to let the nurse from the infirmary leave before you walk closer to him. the awkwardness between you and other players, namely jay, jake and beomgyu, besides the coach, rings all the bells to remind you that coming here was probably a bad idea. well, of course, you like heeseung and are worried for him, but the tension in the air makes you feel like you showed up uninvited. “are you okay?”

you ask nonetheless, voice close to a whisper, as you stand at a distance, looking at the bruise on his knee. the smell of antiseptic spray fills your lungs, nose scrunching at the way you could almost taste the diclofenac at the back of your mouth.

“not really,” he inhales sharply, exhaling a reply once everyone left, knowing they had a game to get back to. “look at you, are you worried for me?”

“i’m regretting coming here now,” liar. and then you let the silence carry the conversation with itself for the next few minutes. you don’t know what to say— what can you say? all you do is sit next to him, hands brushing against his as his winces at the slightest touch. heeseung opened his mouth to say something before dismissing his words with a heavy sigh the very next moment. you almost hold his hand— almost, thinking of holding it ever so carefully as if it’s glass with thousands of cracks, and then you’d kiss it ever so delicately, you did it— almost, but then, it’s just you getting upset over the fact that he played even after hurting his hand.

“so, they’re benching you,” you say in an attempt to strike a conversation, a little conflicted with your choice of words, wondering if he even wants to hear about something related to the match at the moment.

“of course,” he says it like a matter of fact, a fact whose impact doesn’t seem to touch him. “please tell me they have jeno substituting for me. i’ve barely been getting updates in the group chat,” the least he expected was for one of the substitute players to keep him updated about the game through texts, and heeseung planned to get back to the court until you showed up, taking a seat next to him on the benches in the locker room. you don’t understand why they didn’t take him to the infirmary, and decided to think it’s because locker rooms are closer and if there’s anything heeseung should not be doing right now, it’s moving his injured leg.

you shrug. “i don’t know, i’ll ask hanbin,”

“thanks,” and even though heeseung isn’t really fond of your friend for reasons that are widely known, at least amidst his friend group, he really hopes hanbin is of some use.

it’s quiet now. you can hear faint cheers buried in the layers of walls and rooms that stand between the court and the locker room, a few muffled footsteps filling up any spaces left in the air, here and there. you assume it’s his fans trying to check up on him, as annoying as it sounds to you for you’d rather have this moment with him all to yourself. you hear him sigh heavily once every few minutes, trying to ball his injured fingers up in a fist to allow the slightest of moments and ensure healthy circulation, a soft hiss leaving his lips at the sensation of striking pain shooting up his nerves. unlike heeseung, your attention shifts to his injured knee with a faint chill running down your spine as you look at his bruise, which now looks more bluish than it was when you had arrived, signifying the possibly alarming amount of blood that has now clotted in the tissues.

“you can cry,” nudge him with your shoulders and heeseung directs you to the most disgusted face in return. “what? it’s the finals and you’re injured so you won’t be able to play today. any normal person would sob their eyes out,”

“i’m not a kid, yn,” he nudges back, a chuckle slipping off his lips.

“trying to act all cool but you’re probably going to cry yourself to sleep for days, or even weeks,” he holds out his hand for you to hold it as you stand up, an action you give into without opposition, intertwining your fingers with his. there’s a smug smile on your face and he sees it as well, although only you know the way your heart is somersaulting at the way your hands fit his’ like pieces of a puzzle. “i know what you are, heeseung,”

he scoffs at your words, hands still entwined, a lovesick glow in his eyes— it’s your first time seeing this side of him, you’re glad to be one of the people to see it. silence has never felt so comfortable to you. the distant noise from court feels like it rushed on its way to you and heeseung, and stopped at the doors, as if you two are beyond its reach. you might never say it to him, but everything seemingly ceases to exist when you’re with him, and the world feels timeless. it’s embarrassing, cringe, and it’s making your heart beat faster with the way he looks at you. “you need to shut up,”

“make me?” a quick response, one that was supposed to be a joke, a joke which was supposed to be accompanied by laughter and brushed off as another baseless comment, but another second passes as you continue to look into his eyes, and you realise you’re actually considering it— leaning in towards him while giving his hand a light tug to pull him towards you the slightest, your other hand cupping his face as your gaze ghosts up his eyes and settles on his lips. when it comes to him, rationality is out of the window and your lips are on his’ planting the softest kiss at the corner of his mouth before pulling away like nothing ever happened.

a pause; you could hear the silence ringing in your years, eyes fixed over him as if you’re spilling all your secrets to him, waiting for him to take a hint. “what even happened to the ‘no kissing before finals’ rule?’”

and you realise you had actually forgotten about it, for better and never for the worse, because as you said and as he repeated, it’s all about timing. empty locker rooms, quiet hallways with not a soul around, your hand in his, his eyes on you— the timing couldn’t be better, and you know better than messing up and letting heeseung become just a closed chapter of your life. “yeah, i could care less about that,”

there are a lot of things you could care less about, like the cold metal that stings against your back as he pushes you against the lockers, or the fact that anyone could walk in, any minute; you don’t care, don’t know. his lips are on yours and his hands are on your waist, it feels euphoric the way his lips move in synchrony with yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. heeseung tugs you closer by your waist, a faint gasp escaping your mouth that dissolves immediately into your breaths mingling together. it’s intoxicating and is making you go insane, the way he manages to sweep you off your feet with the smallest of actions and simplest of words— from the very first day.

heeseung was right, and you as well, it’s all about timing. from the day you first looked at him in a seminar, to the day he switched to biotech— you plan on asking him why because so far, all your guesses seem implausible— down to the day he confessed, leading up to this moment with you pressing against the lockers and his lips against against yours. heeseung sighs softly, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips when you pull away just when it was about to get better, avoiding his lips when he leans in to chase yours barely a millisecond later. your eyes shift down to his hand, one that has been injured during the game, and you proceed to hold it carefully, brushing your lips over the bruise lightly before adorning it with feathery kisses as his other hand travels down to your waist once again, pulling you closer. “you should go easy on yourself,”

you whisper the exact same words he had told you a day ago, traversing your eyes back towards him while your gazes have a conversation so foreign, as if it’s only for the silence to understand. and it’s quite literally just the two of you basking in silence as he rests his head against the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses here and there before pulling you even closer, as if you were going to disappear any second. “i think, i’m in love with you,”

and timing be damned— because heeseung confesses to you once again, and then he’s kissing you once again, slowly, sweetly, in love, and timing doesn’t even matter because every second feels right with him. with the same air of delighted indifference he comes to know well in the gleam of your touch and the curl of your lips, you simply kiss him back as if to say, hate to admit, but i’m in love with you too. and timing really be damned because you hear loud rounds of cheers as you feel his shoulders stiffen. a slight disconnection between you and heeseung makes you wonder if he’s thinking about the results of the game, which is inevitable, but this is about you and him, and nothing else. you hear the notifications from his phone go off, hinting that the match is probably over, and you pull him into another kiss, another round of selfishness guised as an outlet for him to forget about the game, another round of messy make outs, tasting the freedom of ignorance.

and then you don’t hear from heeseung again.

V. OBJECT OF ALL DESIRES

days without heeseung feel like they’re forty-eight hours long.

you think it’s a disease or some sort of withdrawal syndrome. this isn’t your first time without him, in fact, you used to do just fine without him in your life until you let him in. at this point, it isn’t even about not being able to see him— heeseung has been absent for almost seven days. you even asked jay about him to see if he has been in contact with any of his teammates but much to your disappointment, he disappeared off the face of earth like he never existed. taehyun has constantly been reminding you to not fret too much, knowing that heeseung gets a little dramatic after losing matches. you can take his word, obviously, a friend from highschool would know heeseung better than a girl who started talking to him normally barely weeks ago, although you couldn’t help but worry about him as seconds passed like water dripping down the tap, disturbing the silence.

you know how losses feel— like a part of you has been taken out and you’re left to bleed. it’s worse when it’s about something you’ve loved all your life. you’ve walked next to losses, hand in hand. when you know you’ve lost something while having it in the palms of your hands the whole time, the feeling eats you inside. you wonder if heeseung is feeling the same way you think he is, even if he didn’t show it a week ago when you had met him in the clubroom, the feeling starts to sink in when you’re alone amidst the ghosts of nobodies. even though he was smiling and acting like the little shit he is, you felt anger and regret in the way he kissed you. there was a sense of numbness dripping down his fingertips in the way they brushed against your cheeks, cupping your face. you could’ve been a sweet escape— it hurts to admit that the emotions weren’t possibly real, but you couldn’t blame him.

losing a match, to put it in your words, meant failing in a test; and losing because of an injury, it’s like skipping a test you prepared for, because of fever. except tests can be rescheduled for students who missed— a luxury heeseung, as a basketball player, cannot enjoy. even you couldn’t believe your eyes when the students on the forum started talking about the lost match, all sorts of comments going around, though none targeted at heeseung, fortunately. yet, your first instinct was to dial his number— out of reach, the first thing you hear on the other side of the line, and all you’ve been hearing for days now.

you had considered cutting ties with him, not literally, but as in stopping to chase him as if he’s the oxygen you inspire. you could’ve showed up at miyeon’s place with apologies, her favourite snacks and a brief explanation of why you did what you did, and everything that has happened as the consequences of your own actions. with weekends approaching, you could’ve planned a two-day trip with her and hanbin before the winter snow made it hard to commute— just anything to get your mind off heeseung, since apparently, you weren’t on his mind either. albeit, you end up doing nothing, no trips, no plans to see miyeon, it’s just you and your bruised heart with soju on the side. your mind is way too cluttered with thoughts about heeseung to focus on studying and at the same time, it’s way too empty to try doing anything else.

so, you simply venture down the hallways, drowning in all kinds of thoughts, good and bad. you can use the time to study but concentration has been far out of your reach ever since the match, or ever since he went underground, to be more specific. the impromptu make out session was probably his last straw— it makes sense. you kissed someone who had been walked out of a match because of an injury instead of consoling them. you let your feelings get the best of you, making everything about yourself yet again. you won’t be surprised if heeseung decides to ghost you for the rest of his life after that; or maybe, that’s not possible since you see a familiar figure sitting in the outdoor basketball court, spinning the ball with it’s axis on the ground in a directionless manner.

“heeseung?” you notice his back tense at the sound of you calling his name, head down low as if he’s responding with an exasperated sigh. “where the hell have you been? i’ve been trying to reach you— heck, even your friends haven’t heard a word from you in days,”

“not now, yn, leave me alone,” and an exasperated sigh is what it was.

“look, i know—”

“just, what part of leaving me alone do you not understand?” you try to speak but heeseung cuts you off just as efficiently as he does other things, with annoyance heavily evident in his words. had it not been heeseung, you would’ve left already, for you have more important things to tend to, and you’re certainly not interested in matters you’re not supposed to be included in, if only it wasn’t heeseung, and if only you weren’t crazily worried for him.

“oh, i understand it clearly, every part, actually, and i also understand that you’re upset and leaving you alone would certainly not be the best move considering the way you went MIA for a week,” and you understand his impulses about disappearing into thin air, wishing the ground eats him up or for the walls to cave in till he’s entombed in them, but a person as smart as him should know taking out helps better than thinking about wanting to vanish. “we can sit and have a talk if you stop being such an asshole about it. i’m down to listen to—”

“fine, what do you want to hear about?” he cuts you off in annoyances, the ball rolls down to a distance like your heart when you see the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. “you were right. i went home and have been crying myself to sleep. i haven’t been eating well either. i skipped five out of nine mocks and barely passed the four i gave, let’s add that too. is that enough?”

you don’t like the way he puts it, as if it’s supposed to make you feel better. maybe about the bet, maybe, since he’s supposed to rank above you in finals to get around dating you, and maybe watching him lose is supposed to offer you some sort of relief— seriously, what you’re feeling right now is far from that. guilt, anger, shame, you’re not unfamiliar with those emotions. they eat you inside and it’s not because you’ve met with defeat, it’s because of falling off all the expectations people had, giving them another reason to point fingers and laugh. you could be really over-reacting, but if you didn’t have your parents telling you it’s going to be fine every time you didn’t do well on tests, you don’t know where you would’ve been right now. and you think you can play a part of the same for heeseung, if not all.

you sit next to him, nose scrunching at the sight of dust on the cement laid with cracks. that’s what you get with an outdoor court no longer in use. you can see little plantlets germinating from the soil, emerging through the cracks, the rusted ring catches your eye. heeseung huffs as you settle next to him, wondering exactly how long the court has been unused for, considering its lack of maintenance. “let’s date,”

and your words are not what you were planning to say or what should be said in this situation, but they still manage to extract a response from him. “don’t play with me,”

“i’m not, in fact, that is what i’ve been wanting to say to you for days. of course, this isn’t the best timing, but i don’t know what else to say,” you pause in what feels like embarrassment. too bad, his crush is not good at conversations. sometimes you end up nodding and blinking for five minutes straight before saying anything, after a person opens up to you with tears and blood. “and, i’m not going to tell you to stop acting like a child or whatever because the team lost such an important match and somewhere, you’re blaming yourself for it, which you shouldn’t, by the way. all i need to say is that you still have the next year to make up for what you’ve lost now,”

second chances come with higher expectations from people along with words that end up making one feel worse about their situation. you’ve already heard a few students talk about how heeseung should’ve been more ‘careful’— as if it was his choice to get injured and lose the match. you know it wasn’t going to be easy, especially with his injury that probably requires him out of the court for weeks, but you hope that amidst whatever he’s feeling, between self-loath and regret, heeseung manages to find himself once again.

“actually, i’m planning to drop out of the team next year and focus on studies. my parents were already against me playing basketball during postgrad, i’m finally starting to notice why,” basketball could’ve been his entire career if heeseung’s grandmother had not wished for him to go into the medical field. seeing the insides of a person makes him want to empty his bowel from the mouth so biotechnology was his next option. heeseung thought having two hands would give him the benefit of managing basketball and academics together, unlike how his parents had wished for, but his recent mock scores and lack of time devoted to studies is making him question his choices. “and what the hell were you on about dating, by the way?”

you’re half immersed in your own thoughts until heeseung directs the question at you— brows furrowed, confusion shadowing his face— you realise it’s your turn to do the talking. “oh, you know, dating. i think we should start dating already, it’s quite inevitable after that day in the clubroom,”

it is evitable, really, but you’re down bad— with all due respect.

you haven’t been okay ever since you realised that you like heeseung, and you’ve been trying to act normal about it, attempting to not lose your cool-hard-to-get-girl composure— miyeon’s words, and they make you cringe— while the thought of him is eating your brain slowly and gradually, making you go insane. if you were to narrate from where you opened and closed the door at, it would be a slippery slope, you don’t know how someone ends up falling for the person they despise. the yn from a month or two ago would be knowing, you can see her shrugging and getting back to her books, saying see saw it coming. ( it’s miyeon’s fault for making you even think about having a mind blowing chemistry with heeseung ) the you from two semesters ago, when he first transferred, would hate you and call you a traitor, might even write whore on a mirror while looking at it because you fold at the sight of hot, smart and sporty men who are perfect at everything, even at ruining someone’s life, like he’s ruining yours; and the yn from highschool, you see her squealing on the floor because oh, what a fan of enemies to lovers she was— heeseung wouldn’t even have been in the current picture if your highschool crush slash rival liked you back. the current you, well, she’s a goner, and in denial that she’s a goner. too much pride does something to a person, especially when you’re an over-scorer and an academic weapon. you’ve lost all your abilities of letting your guard down even once, refusing to give up and accept defeat, no matter how tortuous it is on the inside.

the current you is more like a victorian man looking at ankles for the very first time.

“and the bet? what happened to it?” he chuckles, of course, anyone would, considering the way you’ve lost after placing the bet with utmost confidence slash overconfidence. see, it never ends well, anything, with overconfidence, it doesn’t end well, never have and never will. and you, you don’t learn, sitting with the very well known fact that if you were given the chance, you would place the bet with him again.

“ah, i didn’t mean to do that, honestly. i was confused when you confessed, it was so sudden, i didn’t know how to respond. the bet was the best i could come up with,” miyeon was right, you could’ve used something along the lines of ‘i need some time,’ that day instead of pulling out a bet right out of your ass, and now you don’t know how to save face. at least the fact that heeseung confessed first makes you feel a little better about yourself. “c’mon, i know you love challenges. i was just trying to see if it gets you turned on or something,”

and heeseung scoffs in disbelief, eyeing you at your choice of words. “yeah, i feel very turned on knowing my crush dragged me into a bet that i’ve been working so hard for and she wasn’t even serious about it,”

“working hard? from what i saw, the only thing you worked hard for was basketball,” you raise your brows, a taunting intonation in your voice. a part of you regrets the choice of words, knowing that basketball is seemingly quite a sensitive topic to bring up at the moment. albeit, the slight fear evaporates off when he laughs and dismisses your words and nothings.

he leans a little closer, hands touching yours. “you never know what i’m up to at home,”

a pause; you look in his eyes and then at his lips, he mirrors your actions with a smirk on his face. you guess that there’s a second meaning to his words, not sure what, but the look in his eyes tells you something about it. “i think we should get back to when you were talking mental and i was talking you down,”

and you could grab his face and kiss him with no one around, on the unmaintained basketball court for the grey and cloudy skies to see. you could run your hands through his hairs and tell him how crazy he makes you while planting kisses down his neck. you can kiss him till both of your lungs are begging for oxygen, and that's when you'd tell him how he makes you feel— breathless and drowning, a little insane every time you see him flirting with someone that's not you. you can kiss him till the sun goes down and evening takes over, it doesn't matter if you're outside for the world to see. you would've kissed him if heeseung hadn't leaned back, looking at the ball lying stray at a distance.

“by the way, i’d love to date you,” he smiles at the infinite horizon before looking at you, as if waiting for a response already known.

“yeah, i figured that,” you try to play it cool as if you’re all knowing. it’s partially true, he did confess to you first. “let’s make another bet: no kissing before finals, and the one who ends up giving in first has to buy dinner,” you come up with yet another bet, your voice hinting the enthusiasm for no apparent reason.

heeseung squints at you, a little conflicted, quite unsure of your words. it sounds like a moment of deja vu, hopefully on a better note this time ‘round. “that’s not even valid, we made out not even a week ago,”

“let bygones be bygones, hee,” he likes the sound of the little nickname you've given him, unlike bygones, the word you use to refer to your very first kiss with him as if it's an unfortunate memory. “it’s decided then, no kissing before finals and the loser has to buy dinner, and i won’t be satisfied with anything less than a five star meal,”

you squint, index finger pointing at him, a challenging composure. another chuckle from him makes it’s way to you, lips curling into a faint smile. it takes you all the way back to the day you placed your first bet with him, with head empty and no logic, for the entirety of the basketball team to see, hear, and talk about it as if it’s supposed to be on the headlines of the national newspaper. your eyes spark up in anticipation, wondering if the two of you are down for another bet, one that doesn’t proceed towards failure, hopefully.

“the last time you did something like this, you ended up running back to me and asking me to date you,” he scoffs softly, side-eyeing you with a mocking gaze, quite ready to pull out the receipts if you ever deny his words. you hate how correct he is, all the time, actually, and you hate how you don’t have words to argue back.

lee heeseung, a nobody to you till he switched to your department, just some student who was there to pass time until he started ranking above you on tests and flipped your whole world upside down. you tried to not think about him and failed every time— still beats you why. you’ve never let distractions get the best of you, but heeseung, perhaps he’s more than just a distraction, or maybe he isn’t a distraction at all. he’s like a plant in your garden that you could care less about— should care less about, it’s growing without harming your plants, but it’s creeping against a wall with pretty flowers for show, and before you know it, it’s demanding for all your attention that you offer without second thoughts, unwillingly at first.

he’s the bane of your existence and object of all your desires, to put it simply and make it sound cliché. you’ve had your moments trying to run away from him, get him out of your head, annoy him to the point he’d prefer flying to the other side of the globe, or that could be you too, anywhere, far from him. but life, for the thousandth time, is unpredictable. when was the last time something worked out exactly how you had planned— can’t remember, obviously, just like the way you don’t remember when heeseung started occupying a corner of your brain, popping in and out at random times and disrupting your thought process. the more you tried to ignore him, the further he housed in your head, the deeper in your heart, closer, within your reach, as if for you to grab his hands and let him enter your side of the world.

and so, you kiss him again, pulling him towards you with the collars of his jacket. you feel him smile, a triumphant smile, as expected from someone who is used to winning. you don't think you can say you've lost, not at the way he cups your cheeks and tilts his head to deepen the kiss just moments before you pull away. “i always run back to you, don’t i?”

and you're a child infatuated with their favourite sport, a painter falling in love with strokes, a pianist dancing to the melody of rachmaninoff, a student addicted to getting a perfect score, a player addicted to winning. you trace back to things you like, you always run back to heeseung,

and you always would.

TEN MINUTES LATER :

heeseung plants a soft peck on your lips. “dinner’s on you,”

“fuck!”

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belladonnadawn · 2 months ago

Text

Where You Belong

When Isaac's need landed you on his lap. Isaac Rhoades x Reader Content Warning: sexual themes.

You were certain that the blush in your cheek would be permanent the more you spent time with him.

To describe being his was ineffable. He felt like the perfect balance of everything: protective and caring, sweet and stern, tough and gentle. All of it made you admire him more each day.

Every time spent with him was precious. Both of you could bathe in each other's presence without speaking and still feel as comfortable as before.

Just like every other day, you find yourself sitting on the sofa in his study, reading a book as he reviews the information he has on his client. It was a good way to kill time and spend the day with him. The soft sound of the pages turning, the clicks from the keyboard while he's typing, and the birds singing outside the window became your music.

"My love?"

You glanced at him with a small smile, ready to answer his requests.

"Can you come here?" He beckons you to his lap, tapping his thigh as if it's the place reserved for you and you only.

Without hesitation, you obeyed.

You settled on his lap, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest. "Are you tired?" A hand moved towards the back of his head to play with his hair, a gesture that he found soothing

Isaac sighed, a hint of relaxation now evident in his eyes, "Not as tired as I was before."

A smile showed on your face as you caressed the side of his neck with your thumb, "I'm glad I'm your stress reliever."

He let out a hearty chuckle, followed by a grin, "You're not just a stress reliever."

Deciding to focus on you, Isaac leaned towards you to shut his computer down, his hands snaking on your lower back to support you. As he moved, a faint smell hit your nose for a moment and you almost sighed on how pleasant his smell was. God, he's intoxicating.

He sat back on his chair, turning all his attention to you. You can still feel his hand placed on your back, the simple touch made your heart flutter a bit. Moving a strand away from your face, he observes you like an artist wanting to etch you in his mind forever.

"I missed you," He spoke softly.

"But we're together the whole day."

"Not in a way that I wanted," Isaac huffed in a petulant manner, pulling you closer to him. You got another whiff of his perfume and you felt yourself crumble a little.

"How did you want it then?" Words spilled quickly from your mouth. Before you knew it, Isaac was already wearing a boyish grin. A grin that you know too well.

"You know how I want it," His voice was low and sultry, giving your neck a quick kiss before pulling away to look at you again.

A familiar heat spreads on your cheeks once more. You cleared your throat, turning away from him. "What do you want for dinner?" You raised the question, wanting to divert the topic.

Isaac slowly shook his head, clicking the roof of his tongue. "Dinner already? Can't I seize this moment with you? Besides," He leaned, planting small kisses on your shoulder, "I have a craving that you can satisfy."

You sighed, hand massaging his scalp as you caved into his kisses. Soft sighs and whimpers escape your mouth before you can stop them. Isaac reveled in that.

He finally pulled away, tilting his head, "You're red. I wonder why." A smirk formed on his lips as he teased you further. He adjusted himself, making sure you were feeling him.

"You always wonder." You swallowed, finally feeling his arousal building up. Memories of your nights and days with him flashed in your mind at the simple touch of him.

Isaac only smirked, his hand caressing your cheek, "You always make me."

Without hesitation, he slammed his lips to yours. His arms pull you closer and closer, his hunger for you evident in his movements. Isaac groaned between your lips, his kisses deep and sloppy— filled with need.

You did not hesitate to reciprocate his hunger. Your hands unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt, earning a soft moan from him. Wanting to push him further, your hand caressed his chest, touching him where he wanted to be touched.

Your back hits the side of the table as he pushes deeper. His tongue slid on your bottom lip only to meet yours once again. The euphoria that you felt from his kisses and touches was enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Feeling a little braver, you decided to straddle him, hips moving in need as you continued to crave for him. Isaac groans, wrapping his arms around you and guiding your movements.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathless from what happened, "Yes, just like that. Don't stop," His eyes darkened, looking right into yours as he hardened.

You closed your eyes, feeling the familiar heat build in your stomach. Everything felt hot and heavy as you continued to grind on him. He leaned closer once more, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, making sure to leave a mark.

You'd tell yourself that he's as insatiable as you, but you'll have trouble believing that when his hands wander around your body. Everything screamed passion and lust as the room filled with the sounds of your moans and heavy breaths combined. But it's not enough— it never was once both of you crave for more.

All of a sudden, his hand stopped you. You opened your eyes at his abrupt movement, "Isaac?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed you by your rear, lifting you with little to no effort. Your arms immediately held him. The closeness gives him an opportunity to kiss your neck once more.

Isaac carried you to the sofa, realizing that there were still documents on the table. He sat down, making sure that you were still straddling him.

"Comfortable?"

You nodded, giving him a small smile. This time, you initiated the kiss. Compared to his, you were more gentle, making sure to take your time with him. It was something that he found endearing— something that made his heart flutter.

Isaac caressed your thighs, spreading them further and pulling them closer to where he needed you the most. It elicited a moan from both of you, feeling another layer of pleasure.

His hand on your chin as he gently paused the kiss. "If you're still wondering what I want for dinner," Isaac lays you down on the sofa, settling between your legs, "I'd be glad to give you my answer."

Divider: cafekitsune

#zsakuva #sakuverse #isaac rhoades

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neptuneiris · 1 year ago

Text

sparks (03/04)

Did i drive you away?

pairing: business-boyfriend!aemond x fem!reader

summary: at the beginning your relationship with aemond is perfect and there were no worries. until he becomes the Heir of his father's company, the most important in the whole country and certain events and certain people start to interfere in the relationship.

word count: 8.8k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

there will be an epilogue coming soon!

here it is finally! thank God!

I'm so sorry for the delay beautiful people, it's been heavy weeks where I was writing parts but I couldn't finish them, so my writing time was extended more because I didn't finish, plus I moved, my cat is lost and I've felt very sad about that, besides college, presentations and more, but seriously I love writing, it's my way to escape, so I didn't feel any pressure, don't worry about it :)

I hope you like this new chapter a lot, I'll be waiting for your comments, so enjoy and thank you so much for your patience and support!

In the midst of your relationship with Aemond, things between the two of you are charged with tension.

After the conversation with his grandsire, Aemond's suspicions could not have been more accurate because of the way he behaved. Despite everything he told him and left him thinking about the future of the company, he still tried to talk to you about it.

But you, again, did not let him.

Aemond had to go back to work, just as you also went back to taking care of your own responsibilities such as college.

Aemond's life was still immersed in a whirlwind of responsibilities and commitments. From the moment he woke up, got ready and set foot inside the company, he was already doomed to a busy day.

He had to attend meetings with his key executives, discuss financial analysis, take online conferences, answer emails, calls with partners and clients.

Every moment his desk was filled with reports, financial projections, documents and more that he had to review in detail. Not to mention that the partnership with Alys Rivers is still ongoing.

Still he would make the effort to get home early and spend time with you, every night making an attempt to talk to you about what happened that night, but you wouldn't let him, as you had things to do as well.

If not college, then work, besides having to clean the apartment, do laundry and make food, which Aemond offered to help you with, but the two of you feel completely distant from each other.

Because both he and you know that things between the two of you just aren't right.

They are not since that one night nor does it help you to read every moment in the magazines how Alys Rivers has been seen entering the Targaryen building, where Aemond is always mentioned as well and he assures you that they only had meetings even though you don't even question him about it anymore.

Each of you is immersed in your own thoughts, Aemond feeling helpless, frustrated and sad, his gaze reflected by a deep regret in his heart at not being right with you.

And although he wants to find a way to fix things, you don't want to create any more problems, more than anything else you don't want to interfere between his grandsire and him.

And as the days turn into weeks, communication is no longer paramount, the whole relationship feeling like emotional paralysis, with no clear path of how to reconnect where you hide in your to-do's and Aemond barely has time to spend time with you.

So you find it easier to forget about it and wait for him to do it too. But inside you are still just as hurt, humiliated and sad.

And that little free time he has left for you is simply not enough to try to talk to you, besides you won't let him.

Until that time of the year when Aemond has to travel to attend social events or board meetings, also to meet with his partners around the country to oversee the expansion of the company.

Until he tells you that the first trip will be to Storm's End with his brother Aegon, then to Highgarden and Winterfell with Helaena and at the end to Casterly Rock… with Alys Rivers.

And that you definitely don't like to hear.

"I'm not traveling with her, we're just meeting there for the event."

He lets you know as he starts packing his bags for this two-week trip and you help him out, because even though you're both going through a silent fight, you still care about him and have always helped him with this kind of thing.

But you do feel that discomfort all over you knowing that she is also going on a trip to the same place as him. And Aemond knows it as he watches you out of the corner of his eye, knowing your mannerisms very well.

"Eleanor and Cole will be with me the whole time," he tells you softly, "And I'm already preparing everything with my publicity team for when the press starts publishing pictures of her and me, I don't—

"It's okay," you tell him softly, placing his ties perfectly in the suitcase, "I understand."

He watches you for a few seconds without saying anything, as you continue to put his clothes away the right way, feeling his gaze on you but not watching him back, to which he lets out a long breath.

"I just want to make sure you'll be okay," he tells you just as softly as before, getting up to stand next to you, "I don't want you to be worried all the time. You know I would never do anything to hurt you."

You press your lips together, watching him for a few moments to refocus on the suitcase.

"Yes, I know," you tell him to cut the subject short, saying nothing more.

At this Aemond watches you with some sadness, concern and anguish, but at the same time with love and tenderness, desperately longing for you to share more of your thoughts and emotions with him without pressuring you.

But since he knows you won't, he chooses to hug you.

And he does it carefully, tactfully, knowing that at any moment you may push him away, but to his surprise, you feel your high barriers of defense crumble at that moment, his gesture catching you off guard.

And you with a little hesitation, in the end decide to hug him back, since of course you missed him just as much as he missed you, both of you sinking into a soft and comforting embrace, where finally just for that moment, everything feels right.

There is hope.

Aemond feels his whole body stop tensing the moment he feels your arms wrap around him to hug him back, he lets out a long breath and pulls you tighter against him, hiding his face in your neck.

And you hide your face in his chest too, inhaling his comforting scent, feeling at home again.

"You know you can come with me, right?"

He murmurs in your ear, making you smile softly against his chest.

"I'd love to but I can't. I have to work and attend my classes."

He lets out a resigned sigh.

"Then on your vacation we'll arrange a trip, I promise," he tells you then leaves a soft, tender kiss on your forehead.

You raise your gaze to him as he lowers his so he can watch you.

"Like when you took me to Winterfell?"

"Yes," he smiles softly, "Now where would you like to go?"

"I don't know," you shrug, "Maybe to the Iron Islands?"

"Perfect."

He tells you then leaves a soft kiss on your lips which you reciprocate, both of you pulling each other back into a tight embrace where neither of you want to let go.

And even though Aemond doesn't want to ruin the moment and the fact that possibly this invisible barrier between the two of you will no longer be there, he feels it's the perfect time for you both to talk about the topic you've been putting off that needs to be talked about.

"Y/N, about that ni—

"We need to keep packing."

You interrupt him instantly, gently pulling away from him and turning your gaze back to his suitcases, causing him to look at you sadly for a few moments.

"But—

"I'll go get your shoes."

You cut him off again, to start to move away from him and head towards the huge closet, leaving him with no choice since you definitely don't want to talk about it.

After that moment you both went through, that comforting moment, fortunately you don't feel that emotional distance anymore, since now you both sleep hugging each other, share breakfast and dinner together, also share about how the day went, like before.

Even on some nights there are movie nights, where finally Aemond finds that comfort in your arms, hugging and kissing you at almost every moment.

And you too after a stressful day at work or you are going through a lot of stress because of your classes, you hide from the world in his arms, feeling good and being that exactly what you need.

Until the day comes.

Aemond has to leave.

You drive him to the airport, where his private jet will be waiting for him along with Cole, Eleonor, you understand, his agent as well, and other security people.

The goodbye is hard, even though he's had to leave for business trips before, so neither of you know why. And by the time Aemond's jet flies, that discomfort returns throughout your body and so does that uneasiness.

At all times he lets you know of what he's doing, or at least the important things, like that he's already landed and also that he's already arrived at Aegon and Cassandra's penthouse where he'll be staying.

Before when he went on a trip he also did the same, letting you know where he is and what he will do, mostly to keep you informed, even now he sends you pictures of his breakfasts and also some views from Aegon's house.

You are more concerned that he is well and of course being miles away, it makes you feel safe that he talks to you about what he is doing and what he will do next, like attending those social events which is what he travels mainly for.

Until the day of the important event arrives.

Being at work, about to finish your shift, obviously you are not allowed to have your phone at hand, but when the time comes and now you have to go to class, when you look at your phone, you see severe messages from Aemond and also the notification of a link to a magazine.

This immediately tells you bad news.

And it definitely is when you read the title of what the magazine link is about.

Alys Rivers, co-owner of Riverlands Group seen at Storm's End… click for more.

You click on the link, curious, attentive and with a frown on your face.

The very famous businesswoman, soon to be partner of the important company Targaryen Inc, Alys Rivers has been spotted at Storm's End to attend an event attended by the most important businessmen from all over the country, among them, Aemond Targaryen. She has been spotted an early partnership between them but rumor has it that there may be more than just a partner relationship. We have also been informed that Rivers will be attending the same events as Targaryen in some parts of Westeros where Targaryen Incorporation has distributions of his company, so it is no coincidence.

After reading this, you read Aemond's messages, getting an idea of what they are about.

And you… you don't even know what to think anymore, let alone feel.

It makes sense that he didn't know anything, since at this point after what happened with his grandsire, it doesn't surprise you that he didn't tell him anything because he knew Aemond would do something to prevent it.

And how convenient that also Alys didn't report anything about her presence at all the other events since it was only known that she would travel to Casterly Rock.

Later that day you see how Alys does indeed show up at the Storm's End event and Aemond quickly sends you a picture of everything, of him with Aegon, Cole and Eleonor, wanting to make you feel at peace and safe.

Then later he sends you picture of him arriving to his hotel room, he even sends you a voice message telling you about everything that happened at the event, he tells you that Alys talked to him, that again she tried to cross physical boundaries but he wouldn't let her.

Also that they both had to take pictures together, but nothing else.

And the next morning there are a lot of videos and photos of the event where he is with his brother, his partner Borros Baratheon and more businessmen.

There are also the photos of him with Alys, even videos where the two of them talk and she again touches him on the shoulder and arm like that, smiling flirtatiously at him all the time, but Aemond turns away from her to go to some men.

It's as if she knows that at that moment there are many cameras around and they are recording, so you get the impression that she is doing it on purpose.

But all you can do is really nothing since Aemond is the one telling you everything to make you feel calm, so you just continue with your daily routine, focusing on work and your classes.

Although of course unconsciously your mind is on Aemond and his trip, also on her.

Fortunately what comes next is more… relaxing.

The next event is in Highgarden, where once Aemond lands, he sends you a picture of him with Helaena, where he tells you that she sends you greetings, both smiling at the camera, making you feel a comforting warmth all over your chest as you see the picture, smiling softly.

During the whole trip in Highgarden there is nowhere where Aemond is not with Hel, even in the event when he is around Rivers, Hel is always with them.

The same happens in Winterfell, as Hel must also attend as she is the one who made the partnership with the Starks possible.

Aemond sends you picture of her very comfortable on one of the jet couches, also of the two of them having dinner and watching a movie, even at the hotel they both ask for a room for the two of them with two beds.

At the event also the two of them are together, there is even a very professional photo of the two of them with their partner, Cregan Stark, where he with Hel give a welcome speech to all the guests and then Aemond with him make known the innovations in their companies thanks to the partnership.

It's simply all work, as it should be. You even see Rivers in some photos and videos, but compared to Storm's End, she doesn't look very pleased lately.

Until the moment comes when Hel will no longer be in Aemond's company. And from then on, you can't help but feel uneasy.

And apparently Aemond also feels the same restlessness as you do despite the miles of distance that separate you.

He sends you pictures of absolutely everything, from the moment he starts his day until it ends. He also tells you what he's going to do, even if it's taking a shower, yet he tells you to let you know that's why he won't write you back quickly.

He even sends you video of what he will eat, mostly to let you know that there is no one with him in the room if that is your concern, also at night, telling you that he will go to sleep.

Honestly, Aemond has never done this before on a trip and even though you didn't ask him to, as if wanting to see where he is and what exactly he is doing, wanting to check on him at all times, Aemond does it for your peace of mind.

And without wanting to, you already find yourself waiting for him to send you picture or video of what he will do next, feeling paranoid and to some extent a controller.

You know that this is wrong, that it is not necessary, that neither of you have ever acted this way before and that it is as if you want to know Aemond's movements every second in an unnecessary and… toxic way.

And it's not right, you know it's not.

But Aemond feels that need and so do you, even if you don't want it, you feel that need to know that Rivers is not taking advantage of your absence and worse…. That he is giving in to it by making the partnership possible.

But Aemond would never hurt you, he has told you that and you know that, but you also know as well as he does that he has the eyes of almost everyone on him and will have problems with his grandsire by the time he returns because of Rivers' disconformity.

So even in the event, Aemond feels more that need to let you know that she's not around Rivers, that he's not doing anything wrong or giving her and him anything to talk about.

And the worst part is that you are there, attentive, waiting and watching it all.

Even after the event is over, Aemond tells you that he's going back to his hotel room, telling you that he's going to take a shower. Then he sends you a picture of him brushing his teeth and then another one of him in bed and at an angle so that you can see that he is all alone.

And only at that moment, for two full weeks, just this very night you feel completely calm and at peace, knowing that he is coming back tomorrow and will be by your side again.

And you don't understand.

You just don't understand what happened to both of you.

You don't understand how you went from having the most beautiful and healthy relationship ever, to this, where both you and he acted in a toxic and completely unnecessary way.

And when you least expect it, tears begin to flow from your eyes as you stare at the dark ceiling of the room, alone in the huge bed, with frustration and sadness completely invading you and loneliness settling in your heart.

You are honestly afraid.

In the midst of your storm of emotions, you fear that the beautiful and healthy connection with your boyfriend will soon be gone. You're afraid that the relationship will become toxic.

You just don't want to lose the intimacy and complicity you both have to be replaced to this, the insecurities and these needs to look good and want to prove that neither of you, especially him, is failing in the relationship.

And with everything that's going on, the company, his grandsire, Rivers, you have no idea how to fix it.

Aemond's arms wrap around your body tightly, clinging completely to your figure, holding you tight against him as he hides his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling of your soft scent that drives him absolutely crazy.

And you reciprocate his embrace in kind by slipping your arms around his neck, hiding your face between his chest and neck, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek to cling to him again.

"I missed you," he murmurs lovingly and almost melancholy in your ear.

You hug him tighter, lovingly, as you place a small smile on your lips.

"Me too, babe."

He too leaves replete kisses on your cheek, tucking you back into his body, not wanting to let you go, while to you all his scent and the feeling of being in his arms is more than gratifying, being just what you needed.

He strokes your hair as he inhales deeply, not being able to get enough of it. And neither of you say anything else, as actions speak for themselves and what two need, is the touch of each other.

It was two weeks but for both you and him it felt like months.

You both look at each other and he leaves a soft kiss on your lips which you reciprocate as you both have a small smile on your lips. Then you both separate and start to head towards the car once Cole and the other men help Aemond to put his suitcases in the trunk.

All the way he keeps holding your hand, while you drive to the apartment and he talks to you about everything that happened on the trip.

"Our trip to the Iron Islands will now be easier," he tells you proudly and visibly excited.

You are glad to hear that the companies are doing well and that he has had friendly meetings with his partners, in fact you tell him so, as he smiles softly throughout and thanks you.

He also gives you the news that he will have a meeting with Rodrik Greyjoy very soon that involves talking about plans for an early partnership between Pike and Targaryen Inc.

You hum in agreement, smiling softly.

"I could tell," you look at him for a second to refocus on the road, "I'm sure your conversation with him will go well. But you want to go on a trip there too?"

"Sure," he tells you willingly, holding your hand against his lips, "They say it's a beautiful place. I've seen pictures too," he says then leaves a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

Once you both get home, you help him with his suitcases and unpacking, while now you tell him about your days at work, college and also here.

Fortunately for him and you, it's Friday, so you both stay home and rest. He tells you that he won't be going to work Saturday and Sunday, so you have the whole weekend for the two of you.

You still have to work Sunday afternoon but you don't mind, it still won't be long, so you enjoy and take advantage of these free moments with your boyfriend.

Later that same night you both resume your nights of intimacy, which is something Aemond had longed for since you both had that fight after the event, leaving after traveling not too soon after that was just awful for him.

First you both take a little nap where nothing feels better than sleeping in each other's arms again, both of you without being an inch apart from each other in the huge bed.

Then when you wake up you go together to the supermarket to do the week's shopping and at the end you stay in the living room watching movies.

And it was also something you craved.

Obviously you're not as insatiable as he is, as Aemond really can't get enough of you when it comes to sex and really takes all his time with you. This time is no exception.

But once that glorious weekend ends and a new week begins, you both resume your routines from before and in which he simply has no time for you.

Again Aemond tries to do everything in his power to come home early and spend more time with you, which is something you consider and are grateful for his effort, as you knew that sooner or later he would have to go back to his old busy routine.

Not being on good terms with his grandsire, having to attend meetings and phone calls from his partners, making and reviewing reports, delaying as much as he can the partnership with Rivers just so he doesn't have to see her, it's too much.

And little by little, although he doesn't want to, he returns to his exhaustive routine of before and in which unfortunately also affects you for seeing him only at night at a very late hour.

Although he still does everything he can to make sure that work doesn't take up more of his time than it should.

You continue as normal, going to work and attending your classes, but you find it again sad and annoying that you are again having less time with Aemond.

As well as what you didn't want to happen.

And of course Aemond would have to explain himself, having that need like on the trip so you wouldn't think other things, telling you all the time, either by message or in person, that nothing happened, they just talked about work and nothing else.

Sooner or later Alys Rivers would reach her breaking point, so if Aemond wasn't looking for her, then she would be looking for him.

So you had to go back to reading magazine articles online where they talk about how they've seen her in the Targaryen building and so on.

That's how things were going on for a few weeks, almost for a month, until again and unexpectedly, Aemond has to travel again.

Aemond is technically not yet the head of Targaryen Inc, his father is, but due to his health, he must attend for him.

Again to Casterly Rock to an important event and also to a conference where Aemond will meet with the board of directors and his partner Jason Lannister.

Other businessmen will also attend as it is a general event and heads of major companies all over the country are in attendance.

The news of having to travel again catches Aemond and you off guard, explaining that the board meetings normally take place in November, but that they are earlier this year.

So as soon as he gets the news, he starts preparing everything for his trip, even preparing work papers and other preparations for his presentation at the conference, while you again help him and make sure he misses nothing.

He can't miss his meeting with the board of directors, it is paramount and a really big commitment, so you understand but you are disappointed all the same.

Honestly you are disappointed that you have to be separated from your boyfriend again, as you were not expecting to have to stay home alone for a week again.

The event lasts two days and Aemond will have to travel there from before to ensure his presence and avoid any unforeseen events as it is an important event.

Until again when you least expect it, the day comes for Aemond to leave.

He paces back and forth, making sure nothing is missing, while you help him finish packing one of his two suitcases, while he talks on the phone to Criston and then to Eleonor to continue making sure he has the right information about what time he has to board his private jet.

You then head to the kitchen and make a quick breakfast for him and yourself, you also make him a cup of coffee and ask him to stop for a few moments to get some food in his stomach, to which he does while still busy on his phone.

"Which hotel?"

You hear him ask Eleonor as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Ah, yes, that's fine. But… about the documents, did I bring the folder with me?"

You at all times stand still, eating your breakfast and listening to what he says to Eleonor back.

"Okay, I'll go check," he says and quickly heads back to his office, still holding his phone to his ear.

You continue to stand still, as you watch him disappear down the hallway and let out a breath, not really being able to do anything since you know him too well and he always gets paranoid when he has to travel, making sure to get everything ready one last time.

A few minutes pass and finally Aemond stands still in the kitchen to finish his breakfast, though when he's done he heads to the bedroom to check his suitcases one last time and start placing them in the hallway for when Cole arrives and he has to take them down to put them in the car.

He paces back and forth, wasting no time, watching his wristwatch every second, counting down the time for when Cole arrives and he has to leave.

You meanwhile take his briefcase and place it on the island with you, waiting for the moment when he has to leave.

When they start calling him.

You look at the screen and see that it's about his grandsire, causing an unpleasant feeling all over your body as you remember the way he treated you last time, but you quickly let Aemond know.

"Your grandsire is calling you!"

Aemond comes out into the hallway with one of his suitcases.

"Please pick up, love."

You nod and accept the call, put it out loud and resume your breakfast.

"Aemond?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?" he exclaims from where he stands.

"How's it going, son? Are you ready?"

"Yes," he replies with a little force in his voice, securing his suitcase one last time, "Cole should be here any minute."

"You got all the conference details?"

"Yes, Eleonor mailed me everything," he says as he walks over to the island and pulls the phone towards him to take a sip of what's left of his coffee cup.

"Very well. Then you'll meet Alys and her uncle at the airport, I've offered them to travel with you, after all the three of you are going to the same place."

You immediately stop chewing, as well as your whole body stops moving, standing completely still and with tension all over your shoulders.

Aemond also immediately watches you, instantly realizing your reaction, but you look away from him trying to appear indifferent and with the lump in your throat you go back to chewing, bringing your cup to your lips.

You feel your heart start to beat wildly, feeling instantly how your tranquility disappears and suddenly you feel overwhelmed by all the mixture of emotions that invade you.

Meanwhile Aemond frowns and with a bewildered and also annoyed look, quickly turns back to his grandfather.

"What?" he snaps at him.

Otto Hightower lets out a long breath on the other end of the line.

"Aemond—

"I didn't even know she was going to the event too and why are you telling me this now?" he inquires her completely serious, in an annoyed and deadly tone.

"Because I knew you would do anything to avoid it and I wasn't going to allow it. We're so close to signing the contracts and I knew this was going to please Alys, so she'll see you at the airport and I expect… that you'll give her a good treat and please her for the entire trip."

A shiver of jealousy, insecurity and sadness runs through you, as you bite the inside of your cheek and try to act nonchalant about it all, but you know you're not good at hiding your true emotions and Aemond sees that, not liking his grandfather's words at all.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?"

He inquires him just as serious and annoyed as before and Otto sighs.

"I'm not having this conversation with you again, Aemond. Grow up and do what you're told if you want your company to survive."

"Maturity doesn't mean I have to do everything you say!" he exclaims angrily and exasperatedly at him.

"For the love of the Seven, it's only a flight, stop acting like a fucking little child!"

Aemond sighs and runs a hand over his face, wearily.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"Everything is already decided. You're going to have to deal with it, whether you like it or not, I honestly don't care. And I hope..." he begins to say in a threatening tone, "That by the time you get back, Rivers doesn't cause a scene for me again because of your lack of commitment and interest."

"That's your problem and hers, not mine. When I get back I want to have a serious conversation with you."

And finally Aemond hangs up annoyed with his visibly frustrated face, where in comparison to him, you hide your emotions, not wanting to frustrate him more with your behavior upon hearing this new travel plan, acting disinterested.

So you try to make yourself really look carefree by taking your dirty plate and cup to the dishwasher, starting to wash them, not observing Aemond at any moment, fearing that he will notice your true state.

While you at all times bite the inside of your cheek, resist the urge to cry and insecurity as well as a host of other frustrating emotions completely invade your body.

And Aemond immediately notices, because he knows you too well.

So feeling the weight of the situation, he stands up with an almost tired face and walks towards you, instantly slipping an arm around your waist to turn you towards him and leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

Something inside you snaps as you hear this.

"I know what you must be thinking, but you have nothing to worry about."

He says softly, hugging you tightly and lovingly, holding you close against his body.

"The only one I care about is you and I promise I will stay in touch with you for as long as I can."

And a realization comes over you, holding you completely still against him.

"No matter how busy I am, I will always find time to call or text you, just like last time," he promises you, wanting to comfort you, "I will do everything I can to keep you calm while I'm away."

You feel that realization hit you all at once again and with your gaze gone and your lips parted you just blink, because suddenly you don't have the strength anymore, for anything.

And because of your lack of response and movements, Aemond separates his head from your shoulder to watch you, still hugging you tightly and not wanting to let you go until he is sure you will be okay, watching you with concern.

"Hey, did you hear me? You will always be my priority, no matter where I am."

"Tell me you understand, please love," he pleads with slight anguish, completely attentive to you, holding your face with both hands gently in a desperate action.

He assures you firmly, wanting to make you understand and wanting you to say something back, anything. But you just watch him for a second, then stare at a spot in the kitchen and say nothing, your face without much expression.

With a lump in your throat, because you really can't speak, you feel like a fool even though it's part of all the emotions you're feeling at the moment, unable to help it.

"Good," he murmurs confidently, feeling a little calmer and leaves a soft kiss on your cheek, to pull away and continue to prepare everything for when he has to leave.

So the only thing you can do, is that nod in his direction, without uttering a word. And apparently, that's good enough for him.

Aemond continues to make sure he has everything ready in his suitcases and that nothing is missing, leaving them by the doorway.

While you watch him silently, still with all that overwhelming mix of emotions invading your mind. Again you feel your strength drain away and anxiety takes over, with an ache beginning to spread throughout your chest.

While he in comparison to you is calm, unconcerned, having no idea of everything that is going through your mind at that moment, making you feel bad to be thinking this now.

How cruel am I going to be?

You wonder with sadness, as you bite the inside of your cheek and try to hold back the tears that want to come out of your eyes. You don't want him to notice your agitation, at least not yet, but it's getting harder and harder to control it.

You love him.

You love him deeply.

You know that perfectly well. There is no doubt about it. And you know he loves you too.

But it all comes to your mind hitting you like a violent wave, drowning you, the magazines, his work, the association with Riverlands, the event, his grandfather, the press, his travels and Alys Rivers.

You watch as he ready waits for Cole with his phone in hand at the entrance, typing quickly, assuming he must be texting him, with the suitcases at his side and his face of concentration.

"Love, could you hand me a folder I left on my desk, please? It's black."

He asks you while at the kitchen island he hurriedly checks his briefcase, as you bite your lips and swallow hard.

"Sure," you say without much emotion and head for his office.

When you return you hand him the folder and he thanks you to arrange everything perfectly back into his briefcase.

"Cole won't be long, we're already late," he speaks to you also in a hurry, "If you need anything you know you can call me. But you can also call my mom if you need someone to come over, she's going to Oldtown for another two months," he lets you know, "Okay?" he watches you for a moment and you force a small smile, nodding in his direction, "Okay," he mumbles.

And he disappears back into the room, mumbling that he hasn't taken his jacket, while you watch him, standing still again with your hard face, wondering:

How cruel am I going to be?

Then Aemond stands still again at the entrance to the apartment, answering a call from Cole.

"Have you arrived yet?" he pauses slightly, "Fifteenth floor, C100. All right," he ends the call and looks a little more paranoid, turning to his suitcases, "Almost leaving, love."

You don't say anything back, you just watch him and feel that lump in your throat again, wanting to talk to him but the words get stuck, feeling more of your anxiety, agitation, sadness and anguish, with tears in the corners of your eyes, not being able to control it anymore.

How cruel am I going to be?

It repeats constantly in your mind until the tears fall down your cheeks and that pain in your chest gets stronger, watching it without being able to contain your emotions anymore.

"I can't do this anymore," you say in a shaky voice, getting his attention.

Aemond looks away from his phone and watches you, where your state slowly takes him by surprise and he watches you completely attentively, a little confused, not understanding, starting to worry.

"Love—

"I know it's not your fault," you make it clear to him, starting to cry loudly, shaking your head, "But I can't anymore."

Aemond surprised, quickly turns to you, trying to speak.

"Y/N—

"The first time you went to Casterly Rock with her, I wasn't at peace. I was scared and not for you, but for her," you confess to him, sad, "And you sending me pictures and videos of where you were and what you were doing, made me feel like we didn't trust each other."

"Y/N, I only did it so you would be calm and safe while I was away," he tells you in a soft, confused voice.

"You don't understand," you insist, "That made me feel like a controller, like you think I need to be constantly watching everything you do, and when had that ever happened on your previous trips?" you inquire, "It hadn't been like that since she—

You stop, not wanting to say more, as you sniffle and wipe your tears with your fingers, lowering your gaze, sorrowful, sad and disconsolate.

Instantly Aemond stops in front of you, trying again to hold your face in his hands, completely worried.

But before you can say anything, the doorbell rings at that moment and you both know who it is, Cole. But despite this, he continues to be attentive to you.

"My love, I understand," he says softly, wanting to comfort you, "I understand that you don't trust her, I understand your reasons, but—

"It's not just her, it's also what happened at that event, the press wanting you and her together, the magazines, your grandfather, and I-I…" you sniffle your nose, "I don't want our relationship to become a toxic one."

At that moment Aemond looks at you completely unsure, his heart beginning to pound, his gaze completely intent and anxious.

"What? Y/N, what are you saying?"

How cruel am I going to be?

"I can't anymore, Aemond," you tell him in your completely broken voice.

He watches you silently, his lips parted, fully inspecting your expression, beginning to feel his pulse quicken a little too much, understanding perfectly what you are implying.

When again you ring the doorbell, which catches your attention amidst your trail of tears but not him, he remains attentive to you, not caring, beginning to feel a huge void in his chest, incredulous, advancing towards you in a needy manner.

"Y/N, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice," you tell him in pain and he again tries to take you in his arms.

"But—

There's a knock on the door, interrupting him, as he feels a painful lump form in his throat and he looks at you in complete shock, disbelief and hurt.

"Listen, can we talk about this when I get back, please?" he asks pleadingly, holding you by the waist firmly, not wanting to let you go, "Just…" he shakes his head anguish, "Wait for me, okay? And when I get back, we'll talk about it."

You shake your head, pointing your gaze at the door for a second.

"You must leave now."

And Aemond becomes more concerned about this, seeing the determination and defeat in your whole look of sadness, giving this up now and not intending to wait for him, beginning to feel his eye begin to burn and despair along with anguish invade him more.

"Sir? Are you there?"

You hear Cole ask from the other side of the door, but Aemond pays him no attention, wanting to fix this, desperately.

"Yell at me," he implores you, "Get angry, reproach me, anything you want, anything but this, please, I beg you."

You close your eyes, swallowing hard.

"Sir? I'm sorry but we must leave now," Cole again speaks from the other side of the door, "Your flight departs in less than an hour."

And al Cole again knocks on the door in desperation, clearly because he has to do his job and you're taking advantage of it.

You open your eyes and both of you stare at each other without saying anything, where you just wait until he has to leave, your face completely devastated.

But he barely processes what's happening, his eye reddening and his heart rate racing, waiting for you to understand and say something back to him.

"Go now," you mutter sadly to him.

"No, I'm not leaving until I fix this," he tells you desperately, on the verge of losing patience, "Just…please don't do this, not now. I-I don't… I don't want to lose you."

"Your grandfather will be upset with you."

"I don't fucking care about my grandfather, Y/N! Right now I don't care about anything, just this, us!"

Cole again knocks on the door, insistent.

"Just fucking wait!"

He yells at Cole desperate, upset, distressed, his emotions running high, not being able to control himself anymore and you decide that enough is enough, because Aemond won't leave, then it's best that you leave.

"I'll be leaving too."

You know that this trip is very important to him and you still love him too much not to worry about his work.

And the last thing you want is for you to be the reason for not being on time, which could lead to him not doing well at his event and conference with the board and his partner.

You murmur to him with a broken heart and turn around, walking towards the room, instantly being followed by him.

"No, Y/N, please, just wait," he tells you more pleadingly than before, "I promise you this whole thing with Rivers will be over soon, I promise!" he insists, "Or not, I just won't make any association with her, I can find another way for the company, I don't care what my grandfather says or—

"You can't do that and you know it. The company depends on hers."

"But you can't do this! Not now, please!" he exclaims in frustration, starting to cry.

And just as you're about to go into the closet to grab your clothes, he stops you, turning you to him to hold you and make you look at him, make you see how devastated he is, definitely not expecting any of this at all, feeling completely helpless and powerless in the face of the situation.

"Please Y/N, please," he says to you with a broken voice, as he puts his forehead together with yours for a moment, starting to tremble and feel an unpleasant sensation all over his stomach.

And seeing him like this completely destroys you.

You've never seen him like this before, you know you're breaking his heart and more by breaking up with him now, like this, like you're taking advantage of the fact that he has to leave to get on a plane.

How cruel am I being?

And even though you didn't want to do it, at least not now as he is asking you to, you know this is necessary.

Because you know that if he gets on his jet with her and you and he are still together, you will not be calm at all, you will over think things, things that are not.

If the partnership with Rivers passes and you and Aemond are still together, you will feel the same insecurity as always because the two of them will be partners and will have to keep seeing each other for the report of both companies coming together.

You will feel controlling, he will have this need to want to be good to you in an unnecessary way and you will just feel bad about yourself. And it won't end there.

And you'll have to keep putting up with the press, the boundaries Rivers oversteps, what Otto asks Aemond to do with her and the necessary justifications from him to you.

"I'm so sorry," you tell him with tears streaming down your cheeks and your face completely broken.

And Aemond shakes his head in frustration, in hopelessness, closing his eyes tightly, not believing it, not accepting it.

"Wait until I come back so we can talk about it and work it out. Don't end things like this, please," he tells you in a broken voice, starting to cry, "I-I love you."

"I love you too," you tell him the same way he does.

"And if you love me then why are you leaving me?" he asks you in a painful voice, not understanding.

Your whole face transforms into anguish.

"Aemond—

"Please don't leave me," he begs you once more.

Silence envelops you, where you both cry, you completely broken and he in complete despair, in the room where you both have shared so many special moments throughout your relationship, in the apartment where you began to form a little life together.

The air is charged with so much tension and nostalgia, where you both suffer from an intense mix of emotions, where you both suffer equally, as everything feels unreal, so suddenly and without time to react.

And Aemond tries to find any hope of being able to hold on, to get you back. But in the depths of his broken heart, he feels and knows that he has lost the battle.

And you also feel and know that this has been necessary, as broken as it has made you feel and in which you know, you are probably not going to fully recover by doing this.

The last thing you see of Aemond is how with his completely devastated look he watches silently as you pack some of your clothes in a bag to leave, still not accepting it, completely broken inside and imploring you with his gaze not to do this.

But you knew that if you didn't leave, he wouldn't leave and it's important that he catch his flight to Casterly Rock.

So without even saying hello or giving Cole a glance, you leave the apartment quickly with tears streaming down your cheeks, walking away from there and him.

You arrive at Floris' house in search of temporary lodging where she opens the door and you burst into tears in her arms, without even being able to talk to her about what happened when you cried uncontrollably.

And after a few hours, the next thing you know from Eleonor, simply because you needed to know for the last time, is that Aemond managed to get on his jet at the estimated time to land promptly at Casterly Rock.

She tells you that it was difficult but that they managed to convince him. And that's the last you hear from him.

Despite your determination to move on, every day at all times you can't help but feel a deep sadness and a sense of loss that won't leave you alone.

Letting go of your relationship with Aemond is difficult, you just can't. And rightly so if it's only been weeks, because leaving him behind, feels like giving up a very important part of your life.

You tried to find comfort in your daily routine, classes and work, but everything reminded you of him, all the time you were thinking about him and when you least expected it, you were already crying again, without being able to help it.

At night it is more difficult, you feel completely alone, you cry until you fall asleep, you questioned what you had done and in the middle of everything, you miss him deeply.

Days after Floris accepts you in his house, you immediately request a room in your university's residence halls and fortunately there is one available near your Marketing department.

You asked Floris to please accompany you to the apartment to get the rest of your things, which she did not hesitate to do in order to support you and also help you, taking advantage of the fact that Aemond was still away.

You did everything as fast as possible, not wanting to remember and think too much, you just wanted to get out of there with your things, avoiding to feel and let all the memories consume you, because you couldn't stand it.

A few tears escaped you, but as soon as it happened, the two of you left the apartment, locking it and slipping the key under the door, so as not to return it to him in person.

After a while, exactly after the week in which Aemond would already be back in King's Landing, he started looking for you through messages and calls, begging you to please see each other and talk.

Feeling even more broken, you decided to block him from everywhere, which caused him to come looking for you at work, hoping to talk to you.

But as soon as you recognized his car parking on the street, you quickly hid in the small back rooms, begging Sophie to cover for you.

You later found out that Aemond had been texting your mutual friends, asking how he could find you, where you lived now, wanting to sort things out, unwilling to let the two of you end up like you did.

Hel messaged you, so did Daeron, even Baela, but you decided it was best not to respond, because if you did, you would agree to talk to Aemond. And it broke your heart not to reply to any of them, especially Hel, but you know yourself too well and you did it for your own good.

But you never let him find you, because you knew you'd go back to him the minute you both sat down to talk and that's not what you want.

Not with his grandfather and Rivers still behind him.

Until one day Aemond stopped.

He stopped trying to find you and stopped asking your friends where you might be, you also stopped reading about him in magazines and social media. You read about his family, but nothing about him.

And so it went for a while, for about two months, where you to this day do not heal and you keep thinking about him, finding it strange this new life without him.

When one morning, a magazine article and almost all the social media announce a news that makes you understand now a little more the disappearance of Aemond not only from your life, but also from the world, surprising you.

You read the news in complete disbelief, thinking of Alicent, Hel, Daeron, Rhaenyra, everyone, but most of all him.

You know what this means, the note itself says so, but even though you knew it was only a matter of time, as Aemond told you, you are still surprised to see this, surprised that it has already happened.

Suddenly you feel a need and urge to text or call him, but you know it's not a good idea, yet the urge is there, thinking about how he must be feeling and all that he and his family must be going through.

Fortunately you don't do anything, but this leaves you thinking.

After almost everyone reads this news, the whole Targaryen family is kept in hiding, there is no sighting of them, no statements and absolutely nothing, which is what the press wants.

That's what happens for a month, until finally sightings of Otto and Alicent Hightower are reported. Also of Aegon with Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Until you simply decide not to be aware of it anymore, having to continue your life without him, since these are matters that don't concern you, at least not anymore.

So a few weeks later, Floris' birthday arrives, who invites his closest friends to a pub to celebrate in a small group, wanting to have a good time, relax and nothing more, to which you agree to go.

What you definitely didn't expect, was to meet your ex, Aemond Targaryen after all that happened and after almost five months.

general taglist:

@melsunshine @n4forlife @iamavailablesstuff @ttkttt @elliaze @trshngyn @tsujifreya @imsoshygirl @watercolorskyy @kckt88 @zenka69 @yentroucnagol @crispmarshmallow @bellastwd @queenofshinigamis @strangersunghoon @happinessinthebeing @iloveallmyboys

taglist part 3:

@hoziersfairy @bananaminion678 @targaryenmoony @skzenhalove

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen angst

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antonsbf · 16 days ago

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The Scandal- jake x male reader

chapter 002

summary: Jake is caught in a scandal, and the group’s manager suggests a fake relationship with a mysterious boy to fix it

(previous chapter) (next chapter)

Jake was lost in his thoughts. Who is this boy? Why is he so okay with all this? I need to talk to him.

Jake was still lost in thought, and the manager spoke up again.

"Your guys' first public appearance will be at The MAMA Awards."

The room erupted.

“WHAT?!” “Oh my god, Boss, is that really okay?” “MAMA?! That’s huge!”

"Yes. I understand everyone's concerns and how this might break stereotypical Korean norms, but this might be our chance to recover from the damage Jake's scandal made to the group and company."

Ni-ki spoke up. "How will this help us recover? This all seems like a bigger disaster just waiting to create more of a mess."

"No, for real. Ni-ki is correct," Jay added. "We're going against everything the fans and Korean people will perceive as good."

The other members also agreed.

"This is why we have to do it! This will help divert attention from the scandal to our newfound relationship," the manager said, looking and pointing to Jake and Y/N.

"I guess if you say so, Sir," Niki said, still unsure of the manager's plan.

Y/N spoke up, his voice calm, almost carefree. "This seems like a great plan! Acting like a couple can’t be that hard, right, Jake?"

Jake had been so caught up trying to figure Y/N out that he hadn't been paying attention to the MAMA Awards talk.

"Wait… What?!" Jake said, snapping back to reality.

Y/N removed his mask, revealing his pretty plump lips. As he spoke, his sharp jawline became more apparent.

"I said, 'Acting as a couple can't be that hard!" Y/N said with a small smile creeping on his face.

"WHAT? WE’RE GOING TO MAMA AS... AS A— COUPLE?!" Jake exclaimed.

"Wow, Jake, you really are dumb!" Sunoo said, making everyone burst into laughter.

"W-Why is everyone so calm about this?" Jake stumbled over his words as the weight of his reality began to creep in.

The room went quiet when they realized Jake was serious.

"Bro, are you okay?" Sunghoon asked.

"Yeah, are you okay, Jake?" Heeseung added.

The members began to grow concerned. Y/N, however, just froze, looking at how his members truly cared for him.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm okay. Just caught me off guard. I wasn’t really paying attention to the manager," Jake spoke up, his voice calmer.

"Please pay more attention, Jake," the manager said with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Sir," Jake said quickly, bowing toward him.

The manager sighed again, a little frustrated. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, let’s review the next steps carefully." His gaze flickered between Jake and Y/N. "You two need to start spending time together publicly and privately. The chemistry has to feel real."

Jake tensed. "Privately?"

"Yes," the manager said firmly. "The MAMA Awards are in two weeks. If you two show up together and look awkward, no one’s going to believe it. The public needs to see some interactions before then small things like social media posts, casual hangouts, maybe even a ‘leaked’ sighting."

Jake felt his stomach drop. This was moving way too fast. He glanced at Y/N, expecting some kind of reaction, but nothing. No surprise, no frustration. Just that unreadable expression.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. "So basically, you guys need to start ‘dating’ now."

Jake groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is insane."

Y/N finally spoke, his voice calm, almost amused. "You’re overthinking it. Just act natural." He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Jake. "Unless pretending to like me is gonna be a problem?"

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms. "I just don’t like lying, that’s all."

Y/N let out a quiet chuckle. "Then don’t lie. Just pretend."

Jake clenched his jaw. The way Y/N said it, so effortlessly, made it seem easy. Like this wasn’t completely messing with his life.

The manager clapped his hands together, bringing the room’s focus back. "We’ll start simple. You two are going out tomorrow somewhere casual, somewhere public. Just get used to each other."

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the look on the manager’s face shut him down immediately. This was happening.

Y/N adjusted his hoodie, finally showing the smallest hint of a smirk. "Cool. Hope you’re a fun date, Jake."

Jake wanted to rip his hair out.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Once the meeting ends, Jake is left alone with his thoughts, processing everything that just happened.

That boy is so odd, Jake thinks, pacing around the quiet meeting room. Why is he so calm about everything? Why does he never go against the manager's word?

"THIS IS ALL SO FRUSTRATING!" Jake shouts, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty room.

Just as the shout bounces off the walls, Jake hears the door creak open behind him. He spins around, startled.

Y/N steps in, his expression still unreadable. He doesn't seem phased by Jake's outburst at all.

"Y/N?" Jake’s voice is almost demanding as he confronts him. "Why are you so okay with all of this? Don't you care about any of this?"

Y/N stands in the doorway for a moment, quiet. "I have my reasons," he says calmly, as if Jake’s frustration doesn’t faze him.

Jake clenches his jaw, frustrated. "What kind of reason is that? You're just going to go along with everything, no questions asked?"

Y/N shrugs. "It’s just business."

Jake feels a twinge of irritation. "This isn't just business," he mutters. "This is my life."

"It’s mine too," Y/N rebuttals.

"Huh..." Jake blinks, caught off guard by his response.

"Forget it," Y/N says, dismisses it

There’s a brief pause before Y/N suddenly shifts the conversation. "So, where are you taking me out tomorrow?" He quickly adds, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Jake stares at him for a moment. "You are so strange. You know that?"

Y/N just rolls his eyes. "Oh, who cares? Everyone’s a bit strange." He leans in, still grinning. "So, where are you taking me, hm?"

Jake groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Ugh, I don’t know," he mutters, still trying to process everything that's been thrown at him.

Y/N smirks, leaning casually against the wall. "Not very good at this, are you?" His voice is light, teasing, as if everything was just another joke to him.

Jake glares at him, his patience thinning. "Look, I didn’t sign up for any of this, okay? I didn’t expect... well, you." He gestures toward Y/N, his hands throwing up in exasperation.

Y/N just shrugs, unfazed. "Well, you got me. You’re stuck with me, so might as well make the best of it." He pauses for a beat, eyes glinting with amusement. "But seriously, not even a little coffee shop? You can’t do better than that?"

Jake grumbles, pacing back and forth, clearly irritated. "Fine. Coffee shop it is, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s just for the act. I don’t get why you’re making this such a big deal."

Y/N’s smile only widens as he crosses his arms, clearly loving every second of Jake’s frustration. "I’m not making a big deal. You are. But hey, I’ll take the coffee. Just don’t make it awkward."

Jake stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing. "Wait, you’re saying I’m the one making it awkward? You’ve been acting like it’s nothing this whole time!" He snaps, his tone sharper than intended.

Y/N chuckles, that mischievous spark in his eyes. "Well, it’s easy for me. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not."

Jake’s jaw tightens, frustration boiling over. "Great. So you're all calm about this because you don't care."

Y/N's smile flickers, just for a moment, before he masks it with a grin. "I care. Just not the way you think I should." His tone softens for an instant, but the grin quickly returns. "Now, let’s see if you can actually get this date right. Coffee’s on you, right?"

Jake stares at him, trying to make sense of everything, but all he manages is a sigh. "This is gonna be a nightmare."

Y/N laughs, leaving out the door and shaking his head. "You’re not the first to say that."

Jake slightly chuckles, but doubt creeps up on him again as he is left alone once more.

well i hope you enjoyed it and thank you for all the support. writing dialogue for multiple people is so challenging, but i hope you truly did enjoy this longer chapter and please give it a heart and leave your comments (i love them). stay tuned for the next chapter!!!- eli

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

Text

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—08. It's So Sweet —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... um... yeah. yeahhhh. sorry sorry sorry if you still read this fic. surprise I guess! its NOT as dead as you thought it was. See you guys again in four months. hopefully sooner if there is a God.

Charles, teeth dug into his tongue so hard he can taste copper, manages to keep from slipping up for the remainder of his time in Georgia. He swallows it down, chokes on an I love you everytime she looks at him for days that feel like an eternity.

The flight out to France that marks the end of his stay had spent weeks serving as a dreadful backmarker, but now it was one of solace, saving him from himself. He knows better than to spit out “I love you” two months in. He knows better, but he also knows. Simple as that. He just knows.

He’s good at keeping it down during phone calls and voice memos and FaceTimes because there’s no fucking way he’s stupid enough to say it over the phone. Whenever he does finally deem the time to be right, it’ll be inches from her face, with all the time in the world ahead of them. Her smile will be there, just waiting to be kissed.

It definitely will not be while she’s grading papers or reviewing a movie or putting purple refills in her pen, even though he finds himself thinking just how plain and simple he loves her when she’s doing those things.

– – –

Charles spends the holidays with his family in France, coming pretty much directly from his time with Chris and her family in Georgia.

They quiz him like there’s no tomorrow about all of it; on Chris, and her family and her city and her life. He thinks he does a half-decent job at keeping his cards close to his chest; hiding his tells and acting completely normal and regular and plain about it all.

Well. He can be coy and secretive to everyone but his mom. Mother’s always know when their sons are in love, and Pascale has always been particularly apt at seeing straight through her boys and the bullshit they try to feed her.

He’s helping with dinner dishes—working hard to get those extra points towards being the favorite son this weekend—when she confronts him about it. He knows he’s in trouble. He’s never been able to lie to her in a way that was even sort-of convincing.

“So, Chris…” she hums, drying three two forks at once with a damp towel. “Is this going to be something?” She asks. Charles shrugs, squeezing more blue dish soap onto the plate in his other hand. “That’s too much,” she remarks.

He ignores the comment, moves the scrubbing sponge over the plate in small circles. “It’s new, still.”

“But you like her?”

He chuckles. Of course he likes her. He wouldn’t be dating her, traveling to see her, introducing her to his family if he didn’t at least like her. That’d just be cruel. “I like her a lot,” he says. I like her the most, he bites his tongue. He rinses the soap from the plate.

Pascale nods, soft smile on her lips when she takes the plate from his hand, drying it carefully. “Just like, is that right, Charles?”

He knows what she means, what she’s implying. They both know she’s right, too, but he can’t stand to admit it. He feels like if he does, if he actually speaks the words out loud, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep it in anymore. It’ll be breaking the seal, and he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t have it in him yet. “Maman,” he says, and his tone is laced with her answer, soft and sweet and pleading in a desperate way.

She smiles, sets the plate down onto the counter gently. It still clatters against the marble. “I know,” she hums, hand finding his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Charles spends New Year’s Eve in London. He’s with his brothers and his friends and like, all of their girlfriends. He’s been pathetically texting her the entire trip going on about i’ll buy your ticket if you want to come and it would be so much more fun with you here.

What Charles doesn’t know is that Chris is on her way, and that she’d been planning the surprise with Joris for three weeks. After a red eye flight from Atlanta that lands a little before two in the afternoon in London, Joris manages to sneak off from the group to meet her at the hotel and give her a key to his room. She hides out there for most of the afternoon while Joris tries to convince the group to head back to the hotel for a few hours without spoiling the surprise of why they should go back to the hotel in the middle of the day.

When he finally gets them back to the hotel, he waits fifteen minutes to text her the all clear, to let her know that she can come and execute the surprise.

It takes her an almost comical amount of time to find his room, considering it’s in the same hallway as everyone else’ rooms, and only ends up being three or four doors down from where she’d started. When she finally finds it, she’s hit with a sudden wave of anxiety.

What if he doesn’t want me here? She worries. Her hands get clammy and she stands there in front of the door like a complete idiot just waiting for her body to do something, to do anything. Finally, she brings her fist to the door and knocks.

Voices are muffled and heavy feet shuffle on the other side of the door before finally, after what feels like an eternity of loud bickering from the boys about who’s going to open the door, Chris is face to face with Charles, stupid, toothy grin on her face. “Oh,” he says.

Behind him, the guys jeer in French, but neither of them are paying any attention. Chris can't stop laughing, standing there, staring at Charles in the doorway. He stares right back, his eyes a window into the gears that turn behind them, processing… processing… processing so incredibly slowly. “Are you gonna hug me, or just stare at me?” She finally asks, and he laughs, snapping into reality, pulling her into a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” He questions, pressing a hard kiss into her hair, and then he laughs even harder. “How did you get here?”

– – –

Chris isn’t there for more than a couple days—she has to be back at work as winter break winds to a close, and Charles has training camp in Italy at the end of the week. It’s a quick visit, but they make the most of it, and they do get their new year’s eve kiss.

It’s been, like, a month and a half since Chris was last in Monaco, but it’s been just two and a half weeks since someone posted a TikTok of Charles and her walking around Monte Carlo together. That means, it’s been two weeks of Chris stumbling upon, and falling down rabbit holes of, Charles’ fan accounts desperately trying to put a face to the back of the head of the girl in the video.

She’s less interested in are they going to figure out who I am and more interested in are they at least, like, close? The answer is no. No, they are not even kind-of close to connecting Chris with him. It’s all models and friends and people he follows on Instagram and even one ex-girlfriend, but definitely no American kindergarten teachers.

The fire is only fed, though, when on New Year’s Eve, drunk on Moscow Mules and equipped with the world’s most fashionable LED glasses, Charles is posted showing off the look. Under his arm, equally as drunk off espresso martinis, is Chris, engaged in conversation with Joris beside her.

It’s been two-thousand twenty-three for fifteen minutes, and Instagram explore pages across the world are already filled with pictures of the side of her head and Charles’ goofy heart-eyed glasses.

Chris is too drunk to know, much less care, but when she does find out about it, she won’t be bothered. She thinks that maybe she never will be a big deal—certainly not as big of one as he seems to think it is. Nothing is going to happen, she tells him so many times it doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore. Who cares if everyone figures out who I am?

January isn’t much but settling into a routine. They’re both busy with a million and one different things—just a little peek into any sort of future they hope to have together—and it’s the end of the month before they see each other in person again.

Every post he makes on social media—every video, photo, story, mention, and repost is run through a microscope, carefully dissected searching for a repeat like and commenter, for an unfamiliar woman’s voice or a hand or a coat or a head of hair. Names fly around in a tornado of guesses, and none of them are correct.

It’s an easy routine to fall into; scheduled phone calls, FaceTime dates twice a week, and sneakily sent texts in the middle of the workday. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t all that far apart, like he could walk out the front door and get into his car and drive for fifteen minutes and be at her house, eat dinner at the same table, fall asleep at the same time, in the same bed. Other times, they can feel every step of the four-thousand, six-hundred, ninety-five miles that separate them, when it’s all pictures of dinner and goodmorning texts seen three hours later and delayed, laggy FaceTime calls.

It’s on one of those calls, where her face is frozen mid-conversation, that she’s gushing about how excited she is for some school event at the end of the month, the Art show, she’d called it, and when—after sorting out the camera issue for the time being—he’d asked for clarification on what exactly an Art show is, she’d explained the whole event with a big, excited smile on her face.

“Oh my gosh!” She’d laughed, pulling her legs underneath her. “Okay, so, it’s the coolest thing. Basically, the art department displays all of the art the students have made so far this year all throughout the year, and the kids get to show it off to all their family. They set up a book fair in the library, and they serve ice-cream in the cafeteria,” she explains, “All the teachers go, and they bring their families, too,” she nods. “It’s really cool. I like to see how proud the kids are of their work.”

He decides then, in that very moment, that he doesn’t want to hear about this in text messages and photos and Facetime calls. He wants to be there—feel her energy, her pride, her smile. It just pours out of his mouth, what if I came? And then, before she can even come up with a response, If that’s okay, obviously. If you even would like, want that, you know.

She bites down on a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?” she chuckles, “be all protective of me and stuff?”

Charles shrugs. “I don’t think anyone would believe I’m at a primary school’s art-fair in the middle-of-nowhere America.”

“I mean, I don’t care,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “But you do. I’d love it if you could be there.”

He smiles. “You’d love it?”

“I would!” She laughs, leaning forward, closer to the camera. “You’d better come for more than just a day though,” she continues, slumping back against the couch behind her, picking at the cuticles on her thumb, raising her brows when she quietly adds: “I can think of lots of other things I’d love to do with you.”

He shakes his head, dimples digging into his cheeks. “You’re a tease, Christyn,” he taunts, and her head shoots up from her cuticle.

“You have such a dirty mind, Charlie!” she laughs, and his cheeks burn at the nickname, at the accusation.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, and she only laughs harder, smiles bigger.

“Why?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side playfully. “Because it makes you blush?”

– – –

There’s really only one of Chris’ students that Charles knows by name: Quinn. Or, as Chris usually refers to her, my sweet, sweet, little Quinnie. Quinnie is not at the art show. Chris goes on to explain that she and her family are never at any of the school events—no open houses, no field trips, no choir recitals or art shows or parent teacher conferences. If it’s not a free event that takes place during school hours, neither Quinn or her siblings will be there, and their Mother will never be there because she’s always at work.

So, no Quinn to win over. He does, however, meet what may be the cutest kid he’s ever been face-to-face with in Landry, a little girl with two long brown braids and a strawberry patterned dress on. Landry is the first of her students to find their teacher, and completely ignores him to tug Chris’ arm towards the little girl’s artwork hung in the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students.

When she finds him again, no Landry in tow, she links her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She told me I have a cute boyfriend,” she says.

“No, she did not,” He laughs, but his ears blush pink.

“She did,” she nods. “She said you were ‘oh my goodness he is soooooo cute,’” Chris repeats, in a sing-songy tone. “I said, ‘I know right! He’s the cutest.’”

“Whatever,” Charles mutters, running his other hand through his hair. “Where’s the ice-cream at, anyway?”

Two styrofoam bowls of vanilla ice-cream slices—one covered in rainbow sprinkles, the other with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry—later, and Chris and Charles are sitting at Chris’ desk in her classroom, him in the green spinning chair, her on the desk itself.

Two boys, who Chris refers to after they leave the room as Nash and Wyatt, are bouncing off the walls with excitement when they turn the corner into Chris’ classroom, their faces lighting up when they find her there. “Miss Elliott!” One of them shouts, half-out of breath. “The book fair has posters of your brother!” He explains.

“Yeah!” The other chimes in. “I see-ed it when my sister was getting a poster of,” he takes a big breath, “of, uh, a princess poster or something.”

“Yeah, and I get-ted this one!” The first kid adds, unrolling the paper in this hand to reveal a black and white Fortnite poster, demonstrating the dances from the game. “Cool right?” He asks, and Chris nods.

“So cool!” She says, “where are you going to hang it?”

Charles leans back in the chair, spinning slightly side to side, eating his ice-cream and just observing the interaction.

“Um, probably in my bedroom.”

Chris nods again, “perfect place for it,” she agrees.

– – –

He’s in Georgia for three days; Friday to Sunday, and spends all of it with Chris, almost entirely at her house. The art show is on Friday night, but he finds himself playing sleepover host with Chris on Saturday when Reid appears with a backpack, a pillow, and a baby blanket Chris tells him not to refer to as a baby blanket.

Chase is racing in Los Angeles this weekend, and left town on Tuesday, leaving Hannah alone on Mom duty. That would be all fine, if the weekend didn’t fall on the one weekend a month she works. Bill, Cindy, Chris, and Hannah’s mom have been helping to pick up the slack left in Chase’ absence.

It all comes together to result in him sitting in the middle of the living room, on the floor, surrounded by every blanket and pillow in the entire house on a Saturday night—a four-year-old boy sitting across from him, hanging on his every word, and his girlfriend in the other room making popcorn.

He’s been tasked with coming up with, and executing the plan for a super, super, cool boy-fort that Auntie Chris can come into, I guess.

A fort that fits into that description is a lot easier in theory. In Practice, however, he’s faced with the nephew he desperately needs the approval of, and a pile of purple and pink and sparkly and fluffy blankets and pillows.

It takes all four of the dining table chairs, a curtain rod from the screened-in porch, a fitted sheet, and a box fan, but the fort is quickly commissioned, and gets Reid’s stamp of approval when he moves his pillow, favorite blanket, and definitely not a baby-blanket, baby-blanket into the build.

Chris is behind them momentarily, knocking on the seat of one of the dining chairs before Reid permits her to enter. She crawls in, laptop and big bowl of popcorn in either hand. Reid is sandwiched between the two of them, Cars blanket covering his little frame, eyes glued to the screen while buttery fingers bury themselves in the popcorn bowl.

Reid is asleep about five minutes after the popcorn bowl is empty, Chris running her fingers through his short brown hair while soft little snores leave his lips. Her head rests on his pillow, just above his head, and she watches the movie. Charles watches her, arm propped up at the elbow, holding his head up. She’s so soft. So sweet. It ties him up in knots.

He feels like a child when she catches him staring, her eyes glancing over to him and making unexpected contact. His cheeks burn and his eyes dart away, back to the screen, to the movie. She giggles softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his sudden mortification. “Beautiful fort you’ve built here,” she says, and he looks back at her, meets her eyes properly this time.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’m thinking maybe I will make it my new career after racing.” Charles nods. Chris nods. A smile dances its way across her lips, turning the corners up gently. It makes him smile, too. “Charles Leclerc: Professional fort builder.”

“Oh,” She chuckles. “I can hear it now. You’ll be a household name.”When Charles wakes up, credits are rolling on the laptop screen and Chris’ hand is moving softly over his shoulder. He’s the bridge of his nose and picking the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings. All he’s sorted out so far is that Chris is here, he’s fucking boiling, and there’s a sleeping kid between them. He squints his eyes—like the dim light from the black credit screen is too bright for him—until she comes into focus. She points to the exit of the fort. “Bed,” she mouths.

“Well,” Chris shrugs, bringing a forkful of salad to her mouth. “I think you’ve won Reid over.”

Charles laughs on her phone screen. He’s in Italy… or Monaco… or… she’s not really sure, to be honest. It’s hard to keep track sometimes, when he’s always somewhere new. He’s in bed, wherever he is, the lamp from her kitchen casting the only light in his dark room. “Is that right?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods. “I had the pleasure of reminding him you weren’t here this afternoon. He wasn’t happy with me.” She remembers it well, his declaration that Charles and Me are going to play games today, and remembers better the little, defeated oh, right after she had to remind him Charles had left the day before.

Charles chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully. “I told him goodbye!”

“I know!” She says, taking another bite, her hand covering her mouth while she talks around the lettuce. “He thought you meant goodbye for the day,” she explains, swallowing. “Not goodbye for a while.”

Charles frowns. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Chris laughs, poking her fork around her bowl. “I love that he likes you so much, it’s adorable,” she hums. “He’s absolutely devastated you won’t be at his birthday party, though.”

Charles scoffs, his mouth dramatically falling open. “No way. You didn't tell me it was his birthday!”

“Because it’s not for like, two weeks!” She defense, laughing. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“When is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, already knowing what he’s about to say, and unscrews the top of her water bottle. “His birthday’s the sixteenth, but the party is the eighteenth.”

“I’ll be there.”

“No you won’t. You have testing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” she insists. “On Monday you have to be in Bahrain.”

“Monday is not Saturday.”

Chris doesn’t tell anyone outside of Chase and Hannah that Charles is flying in, and they definitely don’t tell Reid about it, just in case it falls through for any of the million reasons it could possibly fall through because of.

It was a last minute-trip, after all, and it seems like every second of Charles’ time is accounted for right now, so Chris is prepared at any moment to get a text or a call apologetically explaining that he got pulled into something else. That call never comes, and she picks him up from the airport late Friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine.

“Absolutely not, baby.” He says, shaking his head, a truly horrified look on his face.

“You don’t even drink wine!” She insists, holding a three-liter box of Franzia. “This is perfectly fine.”

His eyes go wide, brows raising like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “It’s in a box.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for a fifth birthday party.”

“It’s not for the five-year-old,” he argues, picking two bottles of overpriced chardonnay from the shelf. “We’ll get these.”

– – –

Much to the dismay of the other, they show up to the party the next afternoon with one box and one bottle.

Reid is upstairs playing with some kid that Chris is related to somehow, she’s sure, so their arrival goes unnoticed by the birthday boy. Instead, Chris is heaving the box of wine onto the kitchen island, greeting a visibly stressed Hannah with a hug. Charles follows closely behind, setting his bottle down next to her box, following the hug train to Hannah.

“Look great, as always, Hannah,” He says, and Hannah laughs.

“I’m a mess, the house is a mess. Reid,” she looks to Chris, “Lord have mercy on me, your nephew has dressed himself.”

Chris scowls, and then shrugs. Charles laughs. “He can be Chandler’s nephew, today,” she says.

“He’s still your godson, though,” Hannah reminds.

“Oh, don’t I know it!”

Charles takes Chris’ coat with his own, hands them both up in the mud room that’s just off the kitchen. He hears Hannah calling for Reid while he does it, telling him to come down and say hello to your auntie. Auntie Chris. He loves the way Reid says it—Annie Chris—or, when he really wants to stir some shit up, which Charles has come to learn is just about all of the time, Reid will call her Miss Elliott.

Everyone hears him before they see him, little feet making heavy noises as they hurry down the stairs so quickly he might as well have just jumped off the landing and tuck’n’rolled his way into the kitchen. He’s bouncing on his feet, talking to Chris animatedly with his back turned to Charles when he appears in the mud-room doorway. Immediately, Chris is glancing up to him and covering Reid’s eyes with her hands, turning him to face Charles. “I have a surprise for you, Reidy.”

“What?” He squirms. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?” Hannah says, and Reid gasps.

“Chucky?” He asks, and Chris is grinning at Charles, adjusting her hands over the boy’s eyes so one hand covers them both. With the other hand, she pokes Reid’s side right where he’s ticklish and makes him giggle.

“Who?” She asks, his belly laugh making her laugh, too.

“Sharles!” Reid exclaims, breathless from laughing so hard. “Sha-rle,” He laughs out, enunciating the poorly mocked accent.

“Wrong,” Chris says, and then takes her hand off his eyes to reveal Charles.

Reid is slamming into Charles’ legs before he can even squat down to give the kid a proper hug, settling for just hugging his legs. “You comed!” He cheers.

“Come on, Mate!” Charles says, ruffling the little boy’s hair. “You didn’t think I would miss such an important birthday?”

Chris watches the whole interaction with a giddy smile on her face. Hannah watches, too, while she stirs a crock pot full of nacho cheese. Reid fills Charles in on everything that’s happened to him since Charles left, and is already asking if Charles wants to go play catch outside with the football he’s gotten from his dad earlier that week, on his actual birthday. When Hannah slides behind Chris, between her body and the cabinets, muttering a quick behind you and grabbing a ladle from a drawer, she gives Chris’ shoulder a soft squeeze.

– – –

Chris is MIA when Bill and Cindy turn up, arms full of food and gifts for their only grandchild, but Charles is in the backyard, standing around a smoking fire pit with Chase and Reid and other people he remembers meeting from the wedding, but who’s names he wouldn’t be able to remember if there was a gun held to his temple.

Bill and Cindy wander out shortly after they arrive, looking for the birthday boy, and Charles handles the introductions all by himself—a handshake to Dad, a compliment to Mom, and hugs for both of them. He knows how to charm. Knows he’s going to be working at it for a while, probably. He’s more than willing to put in the hours.

“I didn’t know you were comin’, son,” Bill says, and Charles is nodding, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, it was a kind of… last minute choice.”

“Aw,” Cindy hums. “What a sweetheart. How long are you in town for?”

“Just a couple days,” he explains. “Chris is off work this week, but I have to get to Bahrain in a couple days. Get used to the timezone and everything.”

“Ah,” Bill nods. “Season’s starting up again, that right?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It never stops, it feels like,” and Bill nods.

“Don’t I know it, boy.”

“Is Chrissy planning on coming out to any of your races?” Cindy asks, linking her arm through Bill’s, leaning against him around the fire. “I know she told us that y’all are keeping it pretty hush-hush for now.”

“Eventually, I hope she can,” he says. “I don’t want to have her come if she doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Cindy nods, smiling to herself. “Smart answer, honey,” she says, and Bill laughs. “You’re a good egg.” Charles chuckles softly, if only because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one.

Just then, Chris is pushing open the sliding door on the back deck, stepping out with her coat on, the hood pulled up over her head, her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Well, speak of the Devil,” Bill says, greeting his daughter with a tight hug.

“Uh oh,” Chris laughs, following suit with a hug for her mom, too. “Y’all are talking about me?”

He’s come to learn that her accent is never anywhere as strong as it is when she's around family. He’s familiar with the pattern of it, and does the same thing after long breaks away from speaking English or Italian. It takes a while to settle back into translating your thoughts. He thinks it’s probably pretty similar, even if she’s not translating from another language. He thinks it’s cute, when the southern twang gets extra prominent. It’s cute, and it’s sweet, and she sounds like a movie character sometimes.

She slots into her comfortable position at Charles’ side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s habit, almost, to keep her close. “Always,” he says.

– – –

They’re cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night. He doesn’t care if she’s related to or friends with almost everyone here, he’s never not amazed at just how easily she can find home in any conversation. Sometimes he wonders if he looks as awestruck about it as he feels, watching her put on this masterclass with everyone she talks to—from passing, brief conversations about how good Hannah’s food is and how old Reid is getting, to the long, sit-down chats about work and her life and their lives. It’s so crystal clear that she makes everyone feel important—the most important person in the room—and he;s even starting to remember names.

There’s a lot of names to remember.

There’s nobody that feels quite as important to Chris as Charles does, though, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s not sure there’s another person on Earth that could manage to make a social event into something so… recharging for him. She just radiates energy, truly. It’s in the atmosphere, just being in her proximity, just having an arm around her or their fingers intertwined or the smell of her perfume on his clothes is enough.

He loves her so horribly that he’s almost sick with it. He’s biting his tongue all night. Hell, he’s even trying to talk himself out of the now months old revelation.

Like, she drinks wine from a fucking box. A box. Of wine. And she sees absolutely no problem with it. She wants to drag him around to every person, to engage in every conversation. She changed her perfume or her shampoo or her laundry detergent or something, because she smells different than the last time he was with her. She drives like an elderly woman—Jesus fucking Christ, she takes the speed limit so seriously it’s hard to sit in the passenger seat and let it happen. She cried three times on the way from Atlanta. Three times, because she saw some roadkill that wasn't even identifiable, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’s covered in glitter, like, all the time. And so is her stuff. It’s on her face and her hands and her clothes and every surface of her house. Glitter and spelling tests and like, six variations of the same travel coffee mug. She listens to country music as if it’s the only genre of music that exists, and she listens to it all the time. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to keep it in for so long.

He doesn’t love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh even when he doesn’t get the joke, even when he misses entirely what is making her so happy. He wants to laugh because she’s laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts.

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