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snail-day · 4 months ago

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You Can't Just Play God

SatoSugu x Reader Inspired by a comic on Webtoon: Never Ending Darling and that one anon asking about how things would go if you were dating Geto and Gojo entered the relationship instead.

TW: No Curse AU/Modern Au, Horror? Yandere Behaviors (Obsessive, Possessive, Manipulation, Etc.), SatoSugu, Dubcon, Implied Noncon, Murder, Disturbing deaths, Blood, Gun violence, Reader Dies Multiple Times, smut, spooky lab tech (not used for smut), academic theft. MDNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

WC: 7.5k

Enjoy! I'm going to touch grass now :)

The cycle repeats.

A new age, a new era—and you had a goddamn headache.

The chimes of your alarm dragged you out of sleep, their shrill notes cutting through the haze clouding your mind. A groan slipped through your lips as you sluggishly threw an arm over your face as the sun’s obnoxiously bright rays streamed through your curtains, making everything somehow worse. Judging by the pounding in your skull, you had to assume you were hungover. Not that you could confirm it—these days, your memories were more like fragmented snapshots, and last night was no exception.

Reaching for your side table, you fumbled to silence the grating K.K. Slider alarm jingle that seemed ten times louder than usual. The sudden quiet was a relief, but only for a moment. Your groan deepened as you noticed the sweet note left behind by your boyfriend—no, fiancé. That term still felt foreign, awkward on your tongue.

“For the love of my life, please stop with your antics, sweet girl.” —Sugu.

Beside the note sat a neatly placed hangover tonic and a couple of pills, his familiar thoughtfulness easing some of the tension in your chest. You popped the pills and chased them with the tonic, grateful for his foresight, though the nagging truth lingered: you didn’t remember going out last night. At all.

The sensation wasn’t new, but it never got less unsettling. A blank space where memories should be. A creeping sense of unease settled over you as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Your head throbbed with the effort, each beat of the headache a sharp reminder of how little control you seemed to have over your own life lately.

You padded downstairs in your pajamas, still half-asleep and half-questioning your existence. The familiar scent of breakfast wafted through the house, but it did little to clear the fog in your mind. Despite Suguru’s persistent efforts, you still lived at home with your parents. You’d insisted you weren’t ready to move in with him yet. He’d even offered to kick out his roommate and business partner—your college best friend, Gojo Satoru—to make space for you. You still said no.

“You’re so lucky to have a man like him, Y/N,” your mother chimed from the kitchen, her voice cutting through your haze. She stood by the stove, spatula in hand, her words laced with just enough mom judgment to make you wince. “He carried you home, helped you shower, and got you changed. You don’t find men like that anymore.”

You don't remember any of that however -

She wasn’t wrong. Somehow, you’d managed to score Geto Suguru, the golden boy of your university days and a literal campus heartthrob. Dreamy looks, a sharp mind, and a personality that could charm even the grumpiest professor. He was, by all accounts, perfect. A goddamn dreamboat. And all because you were friends—well, “friends”—with Gojo Satoru.

The term "friends" was generous. You’d been stuck with him for every group project and PhD research assignment imaginable, his sharp intellect rivaled only by his inability to take anything seriously. Yet, through some twist of fate, that irritating partnership had landed you Suguru.

And now, here you were: hungover, disoriented, and trying to piece together just how you’d gotten so lucky. Lucky wasn’t the right word—it was a miracle. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle.

As you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to last night than just drinks and laughter. Maybe you should stop drinking.

Because while you had a doctorate, had been part of some of the most groundbreaking research in the medical field, and somehow scored a partner who now co-owned one of the biggest medical organizations in the country…

You still didn’t have a real job.

Sure, you worked at a café on weekends, but that didn’t exactly scream “career success.” The smell of burnt espresso and sugary syrups clung to your clothes, and your paycheck barely covered your expenses and crippling student debt.

Suguru had been practically begging you to come work with him. He’d pitched every possible reason, his voice honey-smooth and infuriatingly persuasive. “We’d make a great team,” he’d say, always with that easy smile. Or, “You’d finally get to put that brilliant mind to use,” followed by a soft kiss on your forehead. And, of course, the practical approach: “You could stop getting burned by scalding coffee every other Saturday.”

But your answer never wavered. It was always a firm no.

Why should you take advantage of your boyfriend’s—fiancé’s—accomplishments? It wasn’t his fault you felt like a freeloader in your own life. But working with him would only cement that feeling, wouldn’t it? And let’s be honest: there was no way you could survive the smug, self-satisfied smirks Gojo Satoru would throw your way every. Single. Day.

The thought alone made your headache throb harder.

Your mother’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts—the kind of thoughts you really should’ve been saving for your therapist. “Did you hear me, Y/N? You’re lucky he even tolerates you living here at your age,” she quipped, half-joking, half-serious.

You sighed, forcing yourself back to the present as she set a plate of breakfast in front of you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if Suguru’s offer would ever stop looming over you.

“Can you bring Suguru his bento? Oh, and I made one for Satoru, too! You don’t bring him around anymore. I miss that cute smile of his,” your mother hummed, nodding toward the perfectly packed bento boxes lined up on the counter.

Dragging a hand down your face. At least running this errand was better than being stuck at home, drowning in wedding prep, and trying on half a million dresses your mom insisted on. “It’s the least you could do,” she always said, as if you weren’t already suffocating under the weight of your own existential dread.

“Sure,” you muttered, knowing resistance was futile. Besides, it wasn’t like you had any real plans today.

After a quick shower and throwing on something that looked presentable enough for public, you grabbed the bento boxes and headed out. The warm sunlight and cool breeze were a temporary reprieve, a small comfort as you made your way to their office—their office.

It was better than the alternative of staying at home and listening to your mother’s words about floral centerpieces and seating arrangements. Barely.

Their company was part of this “new era,” the one everyone couldn’t stop raving about—and you’d been a huge part of its foundation. Back in the day, you and Satoru had cracked the code to altering DNA, finding a way to cheat death. If you could afford the astronomical price tag, mortality was no longer your concern. People who were once riddled with cancer could now return home cancer-free, spared the agony of losing limbs or enduring endless rounds of chemo.

You’d only been part of solving the formula, though. The groundwork. Satoru had the funding, the connections, and the relentless drive to take it further. Once you stepped out of the picture, you hadn’t kept track of the system or its progress. You didn’t ask, and no one offered answers.

The alteration had been applied to most of the foundational jobs—political leaders, police officers, high-ranking officials. It was a standard requirement now, a guarantee of longevity and efficiency in roles deemed too crucial to risk mortality.

These days, people were willing to go into crippling debt to get the procedure done, their desperation outweighing the staggering price. After all, what was a lifetime of debt if you couldn’t die? No risk of death meant no fear of defaulting, and for many, that trade-off was worth it.

The procedure had shifted society’s balance, turning death into a choice rather than an inevitability—but at a cost few truly understood.

The business was beginning to have a cult following after being backed by the world's leaders.

And yet, not everyone shared the world’s admiration for the scientific marvel housed within that towering, double-helix-shaped skyscraper in the heart of Tokyo. Protestors were a constant presence outside the building, their chants about ethics blending with the dramatic videos they displayed of humanity spiraling into chaos. You’d seen their demonstrations so many times it had faded into background noise.

Still, as you approached the sleek, futuristic entrance, a pang of guilt crept in. What had once been your passion now felt like a story you’d abandoned—a story that no longer felt like yours.

Maybe there was a hint of resentment buried beneath the guilt. Maybe, deep down, you wished you’d taken Satoru’s offer back then, even if you knew it wouldn’t have made things easier. But that was a door you’d slammed shut long ago, and no amount of hindsight could undo it.

Shaking your head to clear the thought, you stepped through the automatic doors. The familiar hum of the lobby enveloped you, the pristine white interior and futuristic decor unchanged since the last time you’d been here. Security nodded as you passed, their recognition swift and unquestioning.

The private elevator awaited a sleek capsule of steel and glass that carried you straight to the top floor. The ascent was smooth and silent, yet the weight in your chest grew heavier with every passing second.

There, you were greeted by Suguru’s stunning, sharp-eyed assistant. Even after countless encounters, Manami gave you that same unreadable look—like she was quietly sizing you up, or maybe judging you in some understated, professional way. It wasn’t outright rude, but it was just enough to make your skin crawl.

The treacherous thought crept into your mind, uninvited: Maybe he should be dating her instead. No—marrying her. She fit into his world so effortlessly. Polished, composed, and clearly brilliant, Manami seemed like the perfect match for someone as successful and poised as Suguru. Meanwhile, you still felt like a guest who’d overstayed their welcome, fumbling to keep up in a world that wasn’t yours.

It was a ridiculous thought, and you knew it. Late-night Reddit doom-scrolling had reassured you that insecurities like this were perfectly normal, even if they were soul-crushingly embarrassing. Deep down, you understood that your so-called “little life” wasn’t the problem. The problem was you—stuck in your own head, drowning in doubts that never seemed to let up.

But no matter how loud the voice in your head got, one thing you couldn’t ignore: Suguru would never leave you. You were sure of that. If anything, he clung to you like his life depended on it—unfortunately. And for reasons you couldn’t quite put into words, that unwavering devotion only made it harder to believe you deserved him.

You shifted awkwardly in the too-fancy armchair across from Manami’s desk, clutching the bag of bentos like it might save you from drowning. “Nice weather we’re having,” you mumbled, trying to fill the heavy silence with small talk.

Manami barely glanced up, her manicured fingers pausing just long enough to adjust the nameplate on her desk before resuming their rhythmic clatter against her keyboard.

“Hm,” she hummed, a noncommittal response that somehow managed to sound both polite and dismissive at the same time.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at her. The room, much like the rest of the building, was sleek and pristine, designed to impress. But the air felt heavy, the quiet tension between you and Manami a constant reminder that this wasn’t your world. It was theirs.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever truly belong.

You sighed, muttering a quiet “Alright,” under your breath, and returned to fidgeting with the straps of the bag. Your eyes wandered down to the weight on your left hand—the engagement ring.

It was stunning. Too stunning. The kind of ring that screamed wealth and class, the kind that seemed like it should belong to someone like her. Another insecure thought, you supposed, but brushing it off was easier said than done. The gnawing doubt settled deep in the pit of your stomach, refusing to budge. Perhaps another conversation to save for your therapist.

The soft click of a door unlocking snapped you out of your spiral. You looked up to see Suguru stepping out, his familiar, easy smile lighting up his face as his dark eyes landed on you. The way his gaze swept over you still sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach. Even after all this time, he still had that effect on you.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he murmured warmly, his voice low and soothing as he extended a hand toward you.

You stepped forward, slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm yet tender, grounding in a way that made your chest tighten. He gave your hand a small squeeze before adding, “You could’ve waited with Satoru, you know. He misses you.”

The mention of Satoru made your skin crawl. Missed you? That was one way of putting it. You were marrying Suguru, yet Satoru still didn’t seem to grasp the concept of personal space. No matter how often you tried to address it, he always found a way to push the boundaries.

The casual hand lingering too long on your thigh. The hugs that felt tighter and lasted longer than they should. The kisses to your cheek that came far too often to be innocent.

You’d brought it up to Suguru so many times, and his response was always the same, a calm dismissal wrapped in a reassuring smile: “He’s harmless.”

But it didn’t feel harmless to you. Not even close.

Once inside Suguru’s office, you set the bag of bentos down on his desk, taking a step back to collect yourself. Before you could settle, he was already there. The door clicked shut behind him, his long, purposeful strides closing the space between you in seconds.

You barely had time to react before his lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into his arms. The force of the kiss left you breathless, his presence overwhelming as his fingers pressed against the fabric of your shirt.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his tone softer now, the affection in his voice sending a familiar heat blooming in your chest.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, into the comfort of his touch. He always felt safe. A fuel for comfort perhaps.

“You were such a mess last night,” he murmured against your lips, trailing kisses down to your neck as he pushed you to sit on the edge of his desk. His hands guided your legs around his waist, holding you close as he continued his slow assault of affection. You swallowed hard against the tightness in your throat.

“You’re lucky your friend called me,” he added softly, his words brushing against your skin like a tease.

Closing your eyes, you tilted your head back as his lips moved down the column of your neck. You’d learned not to push him away when he got like this—it always left you feeling guilty afterward.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Suguru’s fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, his hands warm and conscious as he hiked up your skirt. You shivered under his touch, the chill of the room clashing with the heat of his hands.

“Can we not do this with your assistant in the other room?” you managed to ask meekly, your voice wavering as his fingertips trailed over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I’m having a rough day, my love,” he murmured against your throat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t get much sleep after taking care of you last night. I need a little motivation to get through the rest of my day.”

Before you could respond, he gently eased you to lay back on his desk. It was then you realized it had been cleared—papers, files, and everything else neatly tucked away. Had he planned for this?

His lips continued their path down your body, leaving soft kisses and the occasional nip as he went. When he reached the space between your legs, he spread them carefully with his hands, his gaze lingering on you as if savoring every moment.

His tongue pressed against your clothed slit, sending a jolt of heat through your core.

“You’re not wearing the ones I bought you,” he noted, his voice low and teasing.

He was right. Instead of the delicate, expensive pieces he favored—like that itchy white G-string with the little gold charm bearing his initials “G.S”—you’d gone for the practical, cost-effective option: simple cotton underwear from a multipack.

“Wanted to be—” Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against you, light and teasing, pulling the words from your throat before you could even finish.

“Wanted to be what?” he repeated, his voice dripping with honeyed amusement. His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it—a quiet demand. “Weren’t you taught to finish your sentences?”

The vibrations of his words sent another wave of shivers through you, and your body betrayed you, squirming under his touch. He hummed in approval, the sound low and indulgent as his hand trailed up your inner thigh, his fingers left your skin tingling in their wake.

With practiced ease, he pulled your panties to the side, his lips trailing soft, feather-light kisses along your skin. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and began to devour you, his tongue hot and insistent, moving with volitional precision that made your back arch against the cool surface of his desk.

It was overwhelming—the way his long tongue slid inside you, the way his thumb circled your most sensitive spot with just the right amount of pressure. He moved as though he had all the time in the world, savoring every moment.

You couldn’t help the soft, pathetic moans that escaped your lips, your hands gripping the edge of the desk for some semblance of stability. Suguru had always been like this—relentless, thorough, and determined to reach every spot that made you unravel.

It wasn’t just physical. He had you memorized. Every shiver, every gasp, every sound you made only spurred him on, his movements calculated to draw out your pleasure until your mind was spinning.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

His words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface. Love, longing, and something you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to believe his devotion was just that—devotion. But there was a weight to his words, an intensity that sometimes felt... suffocating.

He didn’t stop until your body trembled beneath him, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. Suguru lifted his head, his lips glistening as he looked at you with a satisfied smirk. “See?” he whispered, his voice impossibly soft. “I know exactly what you need.”

And you believed him. How could you not, when he made you feel like this? Like you were the center of his world, the only thing that mattered.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “So, so good.”

In your haze, still trembling from your last orgasm, you felt the blunt, heated tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Gotta ease up for me, sweet girl,” he groaned, his voice thick with restraint as he pushed forward, sinking into you inch by girthy inch. The stretch made your breath hitch, your body fluttering around him, still sensitive and raw.

“It’s not gonna feel good if you don’t relax,” he cooed, though his tone carried a sense of control, a reminder that he wasn’t stopping until he had all of you. Whether it hurt or not.

You did your best to loosen the tension in your body, focusing on the soft kisses he pressed against your lips, your cheeks, and the corner of your jaw. They were meant to soothe, but the way he moved—rolling his hips upward, grinding deep—made it impossible to fully relax.

His cock filled you completely, brushing against every spot that left your mind spiraling. The slow, deliberate way he moved, the way he stretched you open, had your hands scrambling for purchase on his desk. Your nails clawed at the wood, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they left permanent marks. Something you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

“That’s it,” Suguru whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Taking me so well, sweet girl. Like you were made for this.”

Every thrust was deliberate, deep, and measured, as though he wanted to etch the feeling of him into every fiber of your being. He lifted his head to watch your face, his dark eyes locked on yours, taking in every gasp, every quiver, every plea that spilled from your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his voice dripping with affection as he cupped your cheek with one hand, the other still gripping your thigh, firm yet gentle as if he was afraid to leave a mark on you despite the harshness of his thrusts. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

Your mind was overwhelmed, the sensations blurring together as his movements became more insistent, relentless in their devotion to unraveling you. Yet, through the haze of pleasure, a small, unwelcome thought surfaced, bubbling up in the back of your mind.

When was the last time you took your pill?

The question lingered, sharp and intrusive, cutting through the heat pooling in your core. You’d been forgetting so much lately—little things, big things, all slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. But it had to be fine. It must be a safe day. Right?

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and low as his hips pressed flush against yours, burying himself to the hilt. “Don’t ever forget that.”

As the words sank in, a faint voice in the back of your mind tried to warn you, tried to remind you of the way Suguru sometimes felt too much. But it was drowned out by the overwhelming mix of his touch, his words, and the way he seemed to pour his entire being into you.

You couldn’t say it back. Whether it was the overwhelming heat, the way you could only let out these broken little whines and moans as your body trembled beneath him, or the way his hot, sticky release spilled deep inside you, filling you up until you couldn’t think straight—you just couldn’t utter those three little words. Some little voice in the back of your mind urged you not to.

After a moment’s rest, with him carefully cleaning you up, you noticed the delicate way he helped you into some fancy lingerie—pieces he apparently had stored just for moments like this. The charm with “G.S” engraved on it caught the sunlight, glinting mischievously as he slid the panties up your legs.

“Shall we eat with Satoru?” he asked, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just fucked you within an inch of your life. You could only nod mindlessly, clinging to his arm while he reached for the bag.

You didn’t miss the way Satoru hugged you when you walked into his office, Suguru trailing behind. The way his arms lingered around you just a little too long, his lips brushing your cheek in what felt like more than a friendly kiss. Suguru didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. It was Satoru, after all. His best friend. His business partner. The two were inseparable.

You also didn’t miss the way Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders while the three of you ate. Suguru and Satoru were caught up in their conversation, filling each other in on meetings and plans, while you picked at your food in silence. Your mind was elsewhere, lost in the strange mix of sensations you couldn’t shake. The cum soaking into the new underwear, the lingering fog in your head, the circles Satoru traced on your arm as he kept you close. Your gaze flickered to the photo on his desk—a snapshot of the three of you. Perfect smiles. Perfect lies.

“Did you hear me, sugar?” Satoru’s voice cut through the haze, his tone teasing. “I was asking how the job search was going. You know, we could always work together again—for old times’ sake.”

You shook your head, forcing a meek smile. “I haven’t heard anything back yet. And the answer’s still no. I’m not into... medical research anymore.”

That was a lie. You were more than capable, but you didn’t want to work with them. You didn’t want to stay stuck in their shadow, even though you’d helped lay the foundation they thrived on.

Satoru chuckled, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly confident grin. The way his bright blue eyes glimmered with a glint of mischief. “Still so stubborn. You know, you were the brains behind half of what we’ve built. You’d fit right back in.”

Suguru’s voice cut in smoothly as if to diffuse any tension. “Let her breathe, Satoru. Not everyone is as obsessed with work as you are.” Suguru’s dark eyes settled on you for a brief moment, there was warmth to them, unreadable as always.

You glanced between them, their banter as familiar as it was unsettling. They made it look so effortless, this balance of power and charm. But you knew better. You felt it in the way Satoru’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your arm, in the fleeting glance Suguru shot your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze, their conversation blending into the background. You couldn’t shake the unease curling in your stomach. It wasn’t just the situation—it was them. The way they moved around you like you were something precious and fragile, seamlessly passing control back and forth, a trophy they both claimed but never outright acknowledged.

When the meal ended, Satoru stood, stretching lazily before offering you his hand. “Why don’t you come with me for a bit? I’ve got something to show you.”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to Suguru, who had already risen and was watching you closely. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “I’ll clean up here.”

Caught between the two of them, you nodded and took Satoru’s hand. His grip was firm, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent an involuntary made your skin crawl. He led you out of the office and down a hallway you knew all too well. His space. His domain. His lab.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Satoru turned, his impossibly blue eyes locking onto yours, as sharp as ever. “You’ve been distant,” he said softly, his words gentle but edged with something sharper. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your gaze drifted over the room, landing on the metal tables scattered with sleek technology. Computer screens hummed with life, displaying endless rows of code, their glow casting faint shadows across the walls. This used to be your life—back in college, when the hum of processors and the thrill of breakthroughs consumed you. Now, it all felt foreign, like a distant memory you weren’t sure you wanted to revisit.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept a distance,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to betray your nerves. “I’m marrying Suguru, you know.”

The words hung in the air, a barrier you hoped he wouldn’t cross. But Satoru, being Satoru, ignored it entirely. You felt his warmth behind you before you even realized he’d moved, his tall frame enveloping yours in an embrace that felt far too intimate. His hands rested lightly on your stomach, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You stiffened as his breath fanned against your neck, raising goosebumps along your skin.

“Sharing is caring,” he hummed, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “Suguru doesn’t mind. In fact…” His fingers tightened slightly, grounding you in place. “He likes it when we get along.”

Before you could respond, you felt the wet warmth of his tongue trace along your jaw. The sensation jolted through you, a yelp escaping your lips before you could stop it. Satoru’s laugh followed, soft and boyish, a stark contrast to the tension suffocating the room.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “But you don’t need to fight it. We both know you don’t really want me to stop.”

His words left you frozen, the weight of his overwhelming presence pressing down on you, suffocating yet intoxicating. Do you want him to stop?

A fleeting memory surfaced as you stood there, frozen in Satoru’s embrace. It was from the early days of your relationship with Suguru when you’d first brought up Satoru’s antics. You’d been hesitant, unsure how to address the way his lingering touches or overly familiar words made you feel. Suguru had only smiled, his voice calm and reassuring as always.

Suguru’s calm voice had soothed you then, his words steady and reassuring. “He’s harmless,” he’d said, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as if amused by your concern. “He knows, at the end of the day, you’re mine. Plus, the guy is ridiculously lonely. You’re his friend. He’s just comfortable around you.”

The words had settled over you like a balm back then, quelling your unease. Suguru’s confidence, his sense of control, had made it easy to brush off the way Satoru’s presence lingered in your life—always just a little closer than necessary.

But now, as Satoru’s lips brushed against your ear, as his arms anchored you in place, that memory felt distant. Suguru’s reassurance no longer felt like a safety net; it felt like permission. Permission for Satoru to blur the lines, to push boundaries that had never been as firm as you thought.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Satoru’s voice pulled you back to the present, his tone soft but knowing. His hands tightened slightly around your waist, a subtle reminder of his control of the situation. “It’s sweet, really. You always look so soft when you’re thinking about Suguru.”

You tried to pull away, but he only held you closer, his chuckle vibrating against your back. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just keeping you warm. You’re the one who’s overthinking.”

Your heart pounded as you struggled to steady your breath. “This isn’t right, Satoru,” you managed, though your voice sounded weaker than you intended. “Suguru—”

“Suguru trusts me,” he interrupted, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “And you, too. That’s what makes this work, doesn’t it?” He shifted slightly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “He said it himself—you’re mine, too.”

You wanted to believe it was just another one of Satoru’s games, another way for him to twist the truth to suit his desires. But the memory of Suguru’s calm, reassuring voice lingered as if Suguru had already told you—subtly, indirectly—that Satoru had his permission.

though as of late it seemed like memories all seemed to blur together.

Your instincts screamed at you to leave. To get out of this room. To get away from him. From the person who used to be your friend, your lab partner. The one who would sit with you for hours in the library, pretending to study while sneaking glances at your coffee-stained notes. The guy who’d playfully nudged you into Suguru’s arms, making it all seem so easy. Was this all some kind of cruel fate?

“I have to pee,” you blurted out, the excuse too loud, too sudden, and too weak to be convincing.

Satoru didn’t seem to care. He eased back slightly, leaning casually against his desk, his ever-present smirk still in place. “Need me to walk you there?” he asked, his voice light, teasing—but his eyes betrayed him. That hungry look in his gaze lingered, stripping away any illusion of innocence.

“I’ll manage,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm.

You didn’t miss the look in his eyes—hungry, possessive. Like he didn’t care that Suguru had touched you first. The thought of Suguru’s “seconds” didn’t bother him at all. As if plunging his cock into the leftovers of Suguru's cum would be a delicacy. If anything, it seemed to excite him, and the realization made bile rise up to the back of your throat. Burning. Searing.

“Alright,” he said with a lovesick grin that might’ve been charming to anyone else. “I’ll have Suguru meet us here.”

For most girls, a man like Satoru was a dream��handsome, confident, untouchable. And he knew it. So did Suguru. Yet they both clung to you, always hovering just a little too close.

Satoru and Suguru had always clung to you, hadn’t they? From the beginning, you’d been their constant. Their focus. You wondered why that was—why they always had, and why they always would.

As soon as the lab door clicked shut behind you, the words hung heavy in your mind, echoing like a haunting refrain. It’s not assault if he didn’t do anything, right? That’s what you told yourself, over and over, as your breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts. You sprinted down the endless hallways, your heels clicking against the tile, your heart pounding in your chest. But no matter how fast you ran, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen, and nausea churned with every step.

You clutched at the memory of your friendship with Satoru, desperate for solace. He wasn’t always like this. He was your study partner, your confidant, the one who nudged you toward Suguru when you doubted yourself. But now? The person you once trusted felt like a stranger—no, worse, a threat.

Your head pounded, and the memories came.

At first, they were warm, and tender. Satoru laughed as he leaned over your desk, swiping your notes and teasing you about your messy handwriting before planting a kiss on your lips. Suguru sitting beside you on some date, drinking hot cocoa together while watching the rain. The three of you tangled together on a couch, their arms around you, holding you close as you drifted off to sleep in their warmth.

Suguru brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his eyes soft as he whispered, “You’re everything to me.” Satoru, his grin wide and mischievous, spinning you in circles during a rainstorm, both of you drenched and laughing.

The sweetness eventually curdled.

Satoru’s hand tightening around your throat, his blue eyes blazing with something unreadable. “You don’t get to leave me,” he murmured, his tone eerily calm as you clawed at his arms. Suguru holding a syringe, his voice soothing even as your body betrayed you, muscles seizing as the world faded to black.

You shook your head, gasping for air, but the images continued to assault you.

These memories can't belong to you.

Satoru pressing kisses to your temple as he whispered, “I’ll always protect you, sugar bear,” the warmth of his embrace lulling you into safety. Suguru kneeling in front of you, a ring in hand, his voice trembling as he said, “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

The images were overwhelming, suffocating even, like a weight pressing down on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you sprinted down the endless halls, your heels clicking against the cold tile.

Occasionally, your legs faltered, forcing you to clutch at the nearest wall for support. Every step felt heavier, every breath harder to draw, as the haunting echoes of laughter and whispered promises mixed with screams and soft, deadly apologies. They chased you, just as real as the walls closing in around you.

Suguru standing over you, a gun in his hand, his dark eyes filled with something that looked almost like regret. “You always fight me on this” he whispered, and the shot rang out. Satoru’s voice, lilting and light, as he said, “Let’s see if you fly,” before pushing you off the rooftop, the sensation weightless and brief until impact.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as if you could banish the images. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

You stumbled into a random room, your fingers trembling as you punched in the passcode—your birthday, of course. The door clicked open with a mechanical hiss, and you collapsed inside, your knees hitting the cold, tiled floor. The sterile air burned your nose, the faint scent of chemicals making the knot in your stomach twist tighter.

The dim blue light cast eerie shadows across the walls, the occasional beep of nearby machines the only sound besides your ragged breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face as you tried to push the memories away.

Were they real?

Could they be real?

The warmth of their love clashed with the cold edge of their possessiveness, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, blinking through the haze of tears. The room around you came into focus, and your breath hitched. Large test tubes lined the walls, filled with glowing blue and green liquids, their contents swirling lazily as if alive. The machines beeped rhythmically, lights flashing in a pattern you couldn’t decipher.

But the images were relentless. Suguru’s hands pinning you down, Satoru taking free use of your body, the weight of their combined presence crushing you until you could barely breathe.

Each memory was like some cruel nightmare, swinging wildly between moments too sweet to bear and others excruciatingly painful. The contrast made it all the worse, the warmth of one memory twisting into agony in the next, leaving you gasping for air as you stumbled forward. Broken sobs escaped your throat as you crumpled to the floor, grasping at the cold tiles, desperate for something—anything—real.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, blinking through the haze of tears. The room around you slowly came into focus, and your breath hitched. Large test tubes lined the walls, their glowing blue and green contents swirling lazily, almost hypnotically, as if alive. Machines beeped rhythmically in the background, their lights flashing in a pattern you couldn’t decipher.

You stared at the tubes, your mind racing. This wasn’t a random lab. It couldn’t be. The passcode, the eerie familiarity of the room—it all felt deliberate, intentional. Like you were meant to find this.

Your headache worsened, the pounding in your skull syncing eerily with the beeping machines. You pressed your palms to your temples, desperately trying to shut out the relentless wave of memories—real or imagined—that threatened to consume you.

But as you knelt there, shaking and breathless, one question clawed its way to the forefront of your mind, sharp and insistent, refusing to be silenced.

Why had they always clung to you?

And why did it feel like the answer was hidden somewhere in this room?

You had to be going crazy. That was the only explanation.

Shakily, you pushed yourself to your feet, the sterile air thick and heavy in your lungs. Sniffling, your fingers trailed along the cold, metallic surface of the tables as you moved closer to the strange test tubes. The faint hum of machinery filled the silence, the swirling contents inside the tubes illuminated by the dim, eerie glow of blue light.

Your breath hitched as you leaned in, squinting through the glass.

They weren’t just shapes or fragments. They weren’t abstractions of human life.

They were human.

They were you.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs as you stumbled back. Your gaze darted to the screen beside the tubes, its sterile, blinking message driving the truth deeper into your chest.

"Processing."

The word repeated in steady intervals, cold and mechanical, mocking you with its efficiency.

This wasn’t a lab for curing diseases or advancing medicine. This wasn’t about saving lives.

They were cloning people.

They were cloning you.

Your knees threatened to give out again, but you gripped the edge of the table, your mind spinning wildly. Fragments of memories, half-formed and blurry, clawed their way to the surface, demanding to be seen. This had been your research once. Cloning. You’d cracked the formula—found the key.

You remembered the argument with Satoru, his icy blue eyes flashing with a rare seriousness. You’d told him it was unethical. That it wasn’t righteous. That you can’t just play god. You told him you couldn’t live with what you’d discovered. That’s why you stopped. That’s why you stopped talking to him. That’s why you left research behind.

But what happened after that?

How had they gotten here—this point, with a cult-like following and resources beyond comprehension? And more importantly—where had you been?

The questions tore at you, each one heavier than the last. Pieces of your memory felt missing, like someone had reached into your mind and carved out chunks, leaving you with only jagged fragments.

Had they done this to you?

Had he done this to you?

And then, the darkest question of all clawed its way to the surface:

How many times have they done this to you?

Your gaze snapped back to the endless row of tubes, bile rising in your throat as the enormity of it hit you. Backed-up versions of you floated in a dreamless stasis, stripped of identity, reduced to nothing but a tool for their ambitions.

The room spun, the walls closing in, as the truth pressed down on you—suffocating, undeniable.

You weren’t just a researcher who’d stumbled too close to the edge.

You were the edge.

And somehow, they’d dragged you right back into it.

The realization shattered whatever fragile control you had left. Sobs erupted from your throat, raw and unrelenting, as the pounding headache in your skull grew louder, sharper, threatening to split you in two. The sterile hum of the lab faded beneath the weight of your anguish, until—

Crack.

The sharp, deafening sound of a gunshot shattered everything.

You didn’t even have time to react.

The world went dark.

“Guess we’ll have to start all over again tomorrow,” Suguru’s voice hummed, smooth and almost tender, as though he were speaking to a wayward child. “Satoru will be disappointed, but it looks like this version of you wasn’t going as well anyway.”

His footsteps echoed in the eerie stillness, unhurried and deliberate, as he approached the bloodied mess you’d become.

He crouched down beside you, his dark eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of pity and resolve. The gun fell from his hand with a hollow clatter, the sound reverberating through the cold room like an accusation.

“You should really stop with all your antics, sweet girl,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that felt almost cruel. “It’s really heartbreaking to do this every time your brilliant mind starts to turn.”

Suguru’s hand lingered, disturbingly gentle as he smoothed your hair back, his touch so intimate it made your skin crawl—if you’d still had the strength to feel anything.

“You always fight so hard,” he said softly, almost like a lament. His gaze drifted over your still form, dark and unreadable. “But you know how this ends. You always know.”

He straightened slowly, letting his words settle in the suffocating silence.

“And yet, you never stop trying.”

Straightening, Suguru cast a glance at the tubes glowing faintly in the dim light behind him. His lips curled into a faint, almost tender smile, one that never quite reached his dark eyes. “Don’t worry,” he murmured softly, his tone as much for himself as it was for you. “We’ll put you back together again. Just like always.”

He knelt down, unhurried, his movements precise. His fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully slid the ring from your finger, the gesture deliberate, almost reverent. For a moment, he stared at the ring in his palm, his thumb tracing the smooth band. Something flickered in his gaze—regret, perhaps, or something far more calculated. He tucked the ring into his pocket with a quiet sigh.

A quick call to the “clean-up” crew followed. His voice was calm, clinical, as if he were ordering mundane office supplies rather than orchestrating the erasure of a life. The conversation ended with a sharp click, his phone slipping back into his jacket pocket.

Suguru cast another glance at the bloodied mess on the floor, his lips tugging into a sad, almost bittersweet smile.

“I love you,” he whispered, his tone heartbreakingly sincere, as though the words could absolve the horror of what had just transpired. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned, his fingers playing with the ring in his pocket, twirling it absentmindedly as if it were a trinket rather than a symbol of promises now rendered hollow. The door hissed shut behind him, the sterile room sealing itself in silence.

The hum of the machines was the only sound that remained, indifferent to the gruesome tableau they overlooked.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere x reader #yandere gojo #yandere satosugu #yandere geto #yandere geto x reader #yandere suguru x reader #yandere suguru geto #yandere satoru gojo #yandere satoru x reader #yandere satosugu x reader #yandere gojo x reader smut #cw: murder #cw: blood #cw: death

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endless-ineffabilities · 8 months ago

Text

Say Yes To Heaven

chapter 1 of the National Anthem series

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis: a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

in this chapter: the President has a proposition for the reader, one which she finds almost impossible to refuse. Will she say yes to entering the enticing world that he so offers? Will she yes to him?

word count: 5.2k

themes/warnings: mild smut (18+), tension that can cut like a damn knife, language, mutual pining, use of power for the purposes of pursuing the reader (obviously, he IS the President)

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

best to read the intro chapter before this one!

President Aemond Targaryen is in the second half of his tenure, and his presidency has already left an indelible mark on the political and historical landscape of Westeros.

From the start, Aemond's detractors were convinced he couldn’t do it. At just 28, they saw him as too young and too much a product of the Targaryen political dynasty. His election, they claimed, was less about his abilities and more about his family’s influence. Who’s to say he wasn’t just a puppet, with the real power lying in the hands of his powerful relatives?

Now, two and a half years later, the country has seen what Aemond Targaryen can do. King’s Landing, once a cesspool of crime and poverty, has undergone a staggering transformation under his leadership. The capital’s streets now gleam with prosperity, lined with new businesses, cultural centres, and bustling markets. Even his detractors begrudgingly admit that his efficiency is something to marvel at.

You’re aware of all this, of course. It’s part of the reason you were chosen to report on his presidency, giving the public a closer look at the enigmatic leader steering the nation. But lately, you can’t help but feel that your perspective on him has shifted, especially after that night in his private suite.

Something lingers. You’ve started researching him more intensely, not because you have to, but because you want to. You pore over old interviews, articles, any scrap of information you can find. You’re supposed to be impartial, and you try to be. But you can’t deny that he fascinates you.

Whatever it is, you’re determined to ignore it. You enjoy your work as a journalist, and you know you were extremely lucky to have landed a position at Highgarden News. Sure, you are still assigned to the team that reports on governmental affairs, but who’s to say that you can’t do your job from a distance? There is no need to get in deep into the thick of it all. The next time you see him, it can be as if that night in his suite at the Highgarden Hotel never happened.

You are a professional.

You know you are also a fool for thinking you can ever resist the attraction, but that does not matter.

Aemond, he asked you to call him, but that must only be reserved for his friends. Those close to him. As far as you’re concerned, you’re just a field reporter doing her job while he is the most powerful man in the country. He must remain President Aemond Targaryen to you. Mister President.

Never mind that he calls you angel, and that it might be the most beautiful name anyone has ever given you.

Angel – it had sounded like prayer on his lips.

What must his wife call him behind closed doors? My dear? My love?

Sitting in the fluorescent-lit office of Highgarden News, the weight of your attraction feels overwhelming. Your eyes linger too long on articles about Aemond, replaying clips of his speeches, watching the way his mouth moves when he talks. It’s pathetic. You close all the tabs, scolding yourself for letting it get this far.

“Still obsessing over him, huh?”

Theon’s voice snaps you back to reality. He’s leaning over your cubicle wall, grinning ear to ear.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “I’m not obsessing,” you mutter, though you can tell from the smirk on Theon’s face that he isn’t buying it.

“Sure,” he teases, nodding mockingly. “You’ve had tabs on Mister President open all morning. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“I’m doing research. It’s my job, you know. Presidential affairs, national policy, all that fun stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Theon crosses his arms, his grin widening. “Because staring at his pictures is totally related to national policy.”

You throw a pen at him, laughing despite yourself. “I’m not staring at him! He’s the President of Westeros, and I’m just doing my job.”

Theon raises a brow and leans in, lowering his voice. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve got this crush on him. I won’t tell anyone. Well… not a lot of anyones, at least.”

“He’s married, Theon,” you groan. "That means I can’t be interested.”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s half the appeal,” Theon says, unfazed. “Forbidden fruit, baby. Besides, have you seen the guy? If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I won’t even think twice.”

You bury your face in your hands. The worst part is that he’s not entirely wrong. “Theon, please. I’m trying to work here.”

“You’re trying not to think about how good he probably looks out of that suit.” He winks at you, not missing a beat.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and it’s my job to remind you that you need to get laid.” He taps your desk, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Seriously, though. Be careful. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in those press conferences. That man is starved.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding in your chest. If only he knew the truth of what happened that night. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you lie, trying to sound casual.

Theon raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “Whatever you say. By the way, Loras is looking for you.”

You freeze, the mention of your supervisor snapping you back into focus. “Loras? What for?”

Theon shrugs. “No idea. But he’s in his office, waiting for you. Sounds urgent.”

Your stomach flips. Anxiety builds up in your chest as you make your way down the hall to Loras’s office.

Please don’t let this be about Aemond.

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Loras is seated behind his desk when you walk in, flipping through a stack of papers. His sharp eyes flick up to meet yours as he gestures for you to sit.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, getting straight to the point. “I’ve got a pretty major opportunity for you.”

You nod, trying to keep your nerves in check. “What’s the assignment?”

“As you know, President Targaryen’s re-election campaign is kicking off soon,” Loras begins, his tone brisk and no-nonsense. “It’s one of the biggest political stories of the year. We need someone embedded with his team – full access to the President, travelling with him, covering every move.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. Oh no.

“And I want you to be that reporter,” Loras says, folding his hands as he looks at you expectantly. “You’re one of the few reporters we’ve got that are already pre-approved, and the best one for the task.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Loras leans back in his chair, his gaze sharp. “You’ve been covering his administration ever since he got elected. You know him better than anyone else here.”

You swallow hard, trying to process what he’s saying. “That’s… a lot of responsibility.”

“It is,” Loras agrees. “But it’s also the kind of assignment that can make a career. Think of the exposure, the access. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Your thoughts are spiralling. Travelling with Aemond? Watching him up close, day in and day out? You can barely keep it together after one night in his suite – how are you supposed to maintain professionalism while being that close to him for months?

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for this,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loras raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your hesitation. "Why not? You’ve handled plenty of high-pressure situations before."

“It’s just… surely someone else is better qualified. What about Theon? He did a great job at covering the Lannister scandal last year,” you say, searching for the right words. How do you explain that the mere sight of Aemond makes your pulse race?

“That was gossip fodder. The President’s affairs are a completely different territory than what you’re going to cover here. This is serious news. A definitive political profile if you do it well, and I know you will.” Loras watches you for a moment, then leans forward, his voice lowering. “And I’ll be honest with you. The President specifically asked for you to cover the campaign.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“He requested you by name,” Loras says, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But if the President wants you on this assignment, I suggest you take it. For your sake – and for the sake of the agency.”

He asked for me? The words send a thrill through you, even as you try to tamp it down.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Don’t take too long,” Loras says. “The campaign starts next week. I need your answer as soon as possible.”

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Hours later, you sit alone at your kitchen table, the contract in front of you. The paper feels heavy, like it’s mocking you. The more you think about it, the more your resolve weakens. This is an opportunity like no other. The benefits are staggering – the access, the prestige, the career-defining stories you could write. But then there’s him.

You know you should sign it and get it over with, but something inside you hesitates. A voice, small but insistent, telling you this is a bad idea. That if you do this, you’ll fall deeper into the pull of him, into something you can’t control.

But then your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see a message that sends your heart into overdrive.

Dinner tomorrow. 8 PM. I’ll have someone pick you up. - Aemond

You swallow hard, a mix of surprise and dread washing over you. How does he even have my number? But then again, he’s the President – of course he has access to everything. This isn’t a question; it’s a command, and he knows exactly how to get you. He must sense your wavering resolve.

Your fingers tremble as you type out a reply.

- Why? What for?

His response is immediate. I just want to discuss something with you, angel.

- The assignment. Did you really ask for me?

Yes. I did.

You hesitate, your mind racing through the implications.

- I’m considering it.

Allow me to convince you. Come see me tomorrow.

- Nothing can happen between us.

Understood.

But I can’t pretend that I’m not curious about what could.

- You know what they say about curiosity.

So, what do you say? You take a moment, biting your lip, the playful banter igniting something inside you.

- Fine, I can agree to dinner. But we’ll keep it completely professional.

Deal. Looking forward to it, angel.

Good night.

- Good night to you too, Mister President.

Don’t test me, angel.

A shiver runs down your spine the moment you read those words. His response feels like both a promise and a threat – the kind that ignites something deep inside you. The kind that sends images flashing through your mind, unbidden, making your legs clench together despite your hesitation.

The three little dots disappear as you lock your phone and drop it onto the cushion beside you, as if cutting off the connection to Aemond will somehow help you regain control over your own thoughts.

Tomorrow, you swear to use every ounce of willpower you have to keep things professional. You just hope it’s enough.

A fool, indeed.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The next night, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your blouse for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s appropriate – a crisp white blouse tucked into a knee-length skirt, modest enough for any work setting, but there’s something about the way you’ve put it together tonight. The way the blouse hugs your figure just right, the slight sheen of the fabric catching the light, the way the skirt fits snugly at your waist.

It’s nothing special, you tell yourself. Perfect for the occasion, suited for the upscale location you’ll likely be heading to. But deep down, you know better. You want to look good for him. And that very thought makes your stomach twist.

You adjust your hair one more time, glancing at the clock. It's almost time. You can handle this, you remind yourself. It’s just dinner. Just a business conversation. You’ve done this a hundred times before.

But you’ve never done this with him. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the anticipation buzzing through your veins is impossible to shake.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You smooth your skirt one more time and walk over, taking a deep breath before opening it.

You’re greeted by the sight of two familiar faces: the same two members of Aemond’s security detail who escorted you to his penthouse that night.

They’re as imposing as you remember – tall, sharp in their tailored suits, one blonde and one brunette, with eyes that give nothing away. The only difference tonight is the extravagant bouquet of flowers in the hands of one of them.

The flowers are breathtaking, an arrangement of deep red roses intertwined with white lilies that feel far too intimate for something as innocent as dinner. But then again, they could very well be a reflection of Aemond’s intentions.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the blonde says, his voice low and composed. “These are for you. From the President.”

Your heart skips a beat. Of course they are. You swallow, glancing at the flowers as if they could explain everything.

The fragrance wafts up to you, rich and intoxicating. You can’t help but wonder if this is just the beginning of the night’s games. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, its weight heavy in your arms, both literally and metaphorically.

“For me?” you murmur, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man confirms. “The car is ready when you are.”

You leave the flowers on the kitchen counter, stealing one last glance at them before closing the door to your apartment. They feel like a message – a reminder of who you’re dealing with tonight. Aemond Targaryen does not do things subtly.

Soon enough, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek black car, your hands nervously twisting in your lap. The city lights blur past the window, but all you can think about is the man waiting for you inside the restaurant.

After a few moments of silence, curiosity nudges at you. “I suppose you both already know who I am,” you say lightly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. “Probably more than I’d wish for you to know. So, would you care to tell me your names?”

The man in the passenger seat – the blonde – turns slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’m Steve, ma’am,” he says, his tone friendly and warm, a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere.

“James,” the other one says from behind the wheel, his voice low and gruff, eyes fixed on the road ahead. There’s a certain sternness about him, like he’s perpetually on duty.

“Steve and James,” you repeat, letting the names settle into your mind, humanising them. You glance at Steve. “So, James doesn't talk much?”

Steve chuckles, casting a quick glance at his partner. “That's just how he is,” he says. “You’ll get used to him. We all have.”

James doesn’t react, his focus still entirely on driving. You smirk softly to yourself, feeling some of the tension in the car ease with Steve’s casual demeanour.

But the thought of their boss – the boss of the entire damn country, one could say – lingers heavy in the back of your mind.

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The car pulls up to the restaurant, a lavish affair located on the grounds of an exclusive country club just outside the city. As you step out, you recognize the place instantly – The Old Valyria, a restaurant housed in a grand, ornate building that looks more like a palace than a dining establishment. The stone facade is intricately carved, its old-world charm unmistakable.

You’d covered an event here earlier in the year, reporting on one of the prestigious galas held by the Highgarden elite. But tonight, even as a familiar face in the city, you feel like an outsider in this world. The guests you spot entering and leaving are dressed in the finest attire, their movements confident, as if they were born into this luxury.

But then you see him.

Aemond stands just outside the grand entrance, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, but what catches you off guard is how casual it seems on him, especially with the black shirt underneath, its top buttons undone. It’s a departure from the rigid, formal image you’re used to seeing in the media. His silver hair is tousled, looser tonight, giving him a youthful, almost rebellious edge.

Your breath catches in your throat as he spots you and strides forward with purpose. His presence, as always, commands attention, but tonight you notice something softer in his expression.

He reaches for you the moment you’re close enough, his fingers brushing over yours before lifting your hand to his lips. The kiss on the back of your hand is slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, and you can’t control the heat that flushes through your body.

“That gesture doesn’t seem very professional,” you manage, your voice a bit shakier than you intended.

Aemond smirks, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes. He straightens but doesn’t let go of your hand right away. “Sometimes certain gestures are worth bending the rules for, angel.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. He’s already playing with boundaries, the charming bastard, making it harder for you to maintain your resolve. And you haven’t even made it to the table yet.

“Shall we?” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the entrance.

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The restaurant is even more breathtaking from within. Crystal chandeliers hang from a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate frescoes, and the soft glow of candlelight reflects off the polished marble floors.

You’re guided to a secluded table near the back, tucked away from prying eyes. Aemond holds your seat out for you, and you thank him, smoothing your skirt as you settle in and try to compose yourself.

He sits across from you, his gaze never leaving yours. He appears at ease, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a sense that he’s in control of every detail – of the night, of the atmosphere. Of you.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“It was kind of hard to refuse the President,” you reply, trying to sound casual.

He chuckles softly. “Be that as it may, you could have, and yet here you are.”

The waiter appears, setting down wine glasses and pouring a deep, red vintage. You take a sip, hoping it’ll steady your nerves. Aemond watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze glinting with something that you desperately wish to ignore.

“I know you’ve been thinking about that night,” Aemond says, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You almost choke on your wine. Leave it to him to cut to the chase. “I… I don’t –” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “It’s not something I think I can ever forget, angel.”

Your throat feels dry, and you struggle to keep your composure. “It was a mistake.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A mistake?” He leans back, swirling the wine in his glass. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I came here because you said you have something you want to discuss, sir,” you say, more firmly this time. “My supervisor informed me that – ”

“Sir.” Aemond clicks his tongue, the word dripping with distaste as his expression shifts into something darker. His brow furrows briefly, and you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then his lips twitch into a smirk, his amusement unmistakable.

His posture is relaxed yet deliberate, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have to admit, I was about to protest. To tell you I never want you to call me something so impersonal as that.” His smirk widens, and there’s a spark of playful danger in his gaze. “But then… a scenario came to mind.”

“What scenario?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His smile turns devilish as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his fingers lacing together. “One where you do call me sir,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate now. “But not in the way you just did. Not with that sharp, cold professionalism. No…” He lets the sentence hang in the air for a moment, drawing it out, savouring it. “In a different setting. One where it’s… earned.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as the meaning behind his words sinks in. Heat blooms in your cheeks, and you quickly break eye contact, staring down at the table as you try to collect yourself.

“That’s… not what I meant,” you say, your voice unsteady, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. But it’s too late.

Aemond doesn’t seem fazed by your attempt to regain control. If anything, the flicker of a grin on his lips tells you he’s pleased with how easily you’ve been disarmed.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “You’re here for a discussion.”

“I’m here for the assignment,” you manage to say. “To discuss my role. Professionally.”

His smirk fades into something more thoughtful, though the tension between you continues to coil tighter with every second that passes. “Is that how you really want to play this?”

“It’s the only way to play this,” you reply.

“Oh, is it?” Aemond’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “You always have a choice. You could walk out of here right now, tell your supervisor you’ve changed your mind, that you’re not up for the assignment.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “But you won’t.”

You swallow hard, his words hitting you squarely. He’s right, isn’t he?

“You need this job,” Aemond continues, his voice smooth as silk. “But I think it’s more than that. I think you want to be here. In my orbit.”

Of course he’s right, but admitting that would be walking into a trap. One that you might not be able to escape.

“You’re wrong,” you say quietly, though the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

“Angel… I don’t think I am.”

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, the tension thrumming in the air. It would be so easy to let go. To give in to whatever this is. But you can’t. Not yet.

You sit up straighter, forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “As I mentioned, I came here for the assignment,” you say, more firmly this time, regaining some of your composure. “So, if there’s something you need to discuss, let’s talk about that.”

Aemond watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something. Then, finally, he sits back, exhaling softly as if deciding to play along – for now.

“Very well,” he says, his tone shifting back to something more neutral, though you can tell he’s not finished with you yet. “We’ll have dinner, and then discuss.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The dinner goes better than you expected. Aemond is calm, composed, and – surprisingly – reigning himself in. He makes casual conversation, steering the discussion toward neutral topics. Politics, the upcoming campaign, even light-hearted comments about the restaurant. Every word is measured, delivered with that cool confidence you know so well.

But no matter how carefully he plays it, the tension simmers just beneath the surface, a constant pulse between you. Every glance he steals in your direction, every time his hand brushes yours as he reaches for his glass, it sends a jolt through your body. You feel it, deep in your core, the magnetic energy that makes it impossible to stay unaffected. Like the way his eyes linger on your lips when you smile… it’s all so subtle, but dripping with intention.

By the time dessert arrives, your heart is racing, and you’re almost grateful when the dinner ends. Because while Aemond has kept it together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The ride back is a different story.

You sit on one side of the sleek, leather seat, your body tense, trying to create as much distance between you and Aemond as possible. He’s stoic, seemingly focused on something else entirely, his eyes fixed on the window as the city lights flash by. But the air inside the car is practically electric.

It’s only when you glance forward that you notice the screen divider has been put up. Steve, or maybe James – you’re not sure who did it – must have done it without you noticing. The realisation sinks in, laden with meaning. What did they think would happen? What did they expect?

Your pulse quickens. You cross your legs, a nervous habit, but when you do, your skirt rides up just a little too high, exposing more of your thigh than you intended.

That’s when you notice Aemond’s gaze shift. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your leg. The moment hangs in the air, thick and heavy. His face, calm and controlled just a second ago, hardens with something primal. And that look – it’s all it takes to flick a switch inside you.

In a flash, he’s on you.

The restraint he held so carefully through dinner shatters. His hands are on you, gripping your thighs, pulling you toward him, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry, desperate, ravaging. You let out a gasp, but it’s swallowed by the intensity of his kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a raw urgency that leaves you breathless.

You meet him in the middle of the seat, your bodies colliding with a heat you’ve tried so hard to ignore. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your now untucked blouse, searching, gripping, pulling you closer. The feel of him against you, the strength in his hands, the way he kisses you like he’s starving – it sends a rush of warmth straight through your core.

Your head spins, your breath coming in shallow gasps between kisses as you manage to push back, if only for a second. “We can’t,” you whisper, your voice shaky, weak. But you’re not pulling away. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, your body still pressed against his.

“Fuck, I know, angel,” Aemond growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “But I want you…” His words trail off, full of frustration.

You should stop this. Every logical part of your mind screams at you to pull away, to remember who he is, who you are. This can’t happen. Not with him. Not like this. But the other part of you – the part that’s burning, aching for him – doesn’t care. That part wants him more than anything.

His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s slower. His hand pushes your skirt higher, his fingers grazing your bare skin. You kiss him back, your hands sliding down his chest, gripping his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Between kisses, you manage to pull back, your lips barely an inch from his. “We can't do this... sir,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the word sir meant to ground you, to remind yourself that he’s your superior, that this is wrong. But even as you say it, the way your body reacts to him betrays the word’s other meaning.

It shifts something inside him. You see it. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens, and for a moment, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

Aemond growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating between your bodies as his hand grips your thigh even harder, pulling you flush against him. “Say that again,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your jaw as he speaks. “Call me that again.”

Your breath hitches, a dizzying mixture of fear and desire coursing through you. “Sir,” you whisper, and the way his body responds – the way his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs – it’s overwhelming.

He kisses you, sucking on your bottom lip. He moves his hand higher, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing the heat pooling between your legs, and you let out a gasp, your body trembling against him.

“This is wrong,” you whisper, but your legs clench around his hand, trapping it within, pressed against the material of your panties.

“We can’t… sir,” you repeat, but the word sir falls from your lips like a plea, and it’s the final straw.

“Fuck,” he growls, his mouth hot against your neck, his words slurred with need. “You keep saying that we can’t, but I don’t think you mean it.”

He’s right. You don’t.

But just as his fingers nudge the material of your panties to the side, his thumb teasing your clit, the car slows, the outside lights shifting. Reality crashes back in – suddenly, you’re aware of the sound of the tires on gravel, of the car pulling up to the curb. You blink, the haze of heat between you shattering as the car stops.

“We’re here,” you whisper, breathless, your body still pressed against his.

For a moment, Aemond’s hand freezes on your thigh, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls away just slightly. He looks at you, his gaze still dark, filled with that same intensity, but there’s a flicker of something else now. Frustration.

You take a deep, shaky breath and pull yourself back, your lips swollen, your body still burning. “This can’t happen again,” you say, your voice unsteady, though you don’t even believe your own words.

Aemond doesn’t respond at first. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to drag you back into him, consequences be damned. But then, slowly, torturously, his hand slides higher again, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties.

Your breath catches in your throat, the world narrowing to the sensation of his touch. Then, with steady precision, he pulls the delicate fabric down, his fingertips grazing over the slick, sensitive lips of your cunt. The touch sends a shockwave through your body, a shiver of need that leaves you breathless.

Aemond slips your panties off in one smooth motion, and with a smirk that’s maddening, tucks them into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is possessive, unhinged, filled with a promise that you know you can’t outrun.

“See you soon,” he murmurs, his voice low. His lips curl into that same wicked smirk, but this time it’s softer, almost reverent as he adds, "Angel."

The word hangs in the air as you step out of the car.

You’re his angel, and there is no turning back now.

Series only taglist (comment to be added) - @aemond-lover98 @pinkpeachbloom @whencokewascasual @salinaiacono6 @mycheersricochet @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @chattylurker

General HotD taglists (refer here)

Vhagar taglist 1 - @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee (continued...)

Some notes in the margins...

Well... that sure escalated quickly. How could you have ever resisted? Good luck keeping it professional on the campaign trail, angel. 😇

Some new characters are introduced: Loras and Theon. Steve and James (*wink*). Soon we'll meet the Vice President, the campaign manager. etc. etc.... the wife (!!!)

Let me know how you're faring! It's only just begun 🤍

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #national anthem #president!aemond

503 notes · View notes

thecuriousbeauty · 3 days ago

Text

Different Frequencies- Part I (Harry Styles! au x autistic!reader)

A/N:- Hey guys, know it's been a while but I'm back with a short series for you all! This is my first time writing about autism, and I've done quite some research before writing about a particular scene. Just wanted to try something different and push my own personal boundaries and style of writing. Hope you love this, do let me know what you think!

Word count: 6,068

Synopsis- College heartthrob and football captain Harry Styles needs extra credit to survive the year. His only shot? Mentoring Y/N, a brilliant but blunt autistic student who couldn’t care less about his charm. What starts as an obligation soon sparks something neither of them expected. ________________________________

Harry Styles slumped further into the chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hated meetings like this. Academic probation. Extra credit. Assigned tutoring. It all sounded like a punishment for being a guy who just wanted to play ball and mind his own business.

Professor Langley adjusted her glasses and gave him a look that made him feel twelve again. "Harry, you're two percentage points from failing this course. I’m giving you a chance. This assignment could save your season."

"What kind of assignment?" Harry asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

She slid a form across the desk. "Communication mentorship. You’ll be helping a student with presentation skills. One-on-one. Weekly sessions."

Harry stared at the paper like it might bite. "You’re kidding. That’s not extra credit, that’s babysitting."

Professor Langley raised an eyebrow. “It’s mentoring. And it counts toward your final grade. Besides, she could use someone with confidence. You’ve got that in spades, Mr. Styles.”

He stood, shoving the chair back with a screech. “This is bullsh—” He stopped himself. "Whatever. Fine."

“Her name is y/n y/l/n.” Langley called as he grabbed the door handle. “She’s in your sociology class. You’ll start tomorrow. Try not to scare her off.”

Harry didn't answer. He was already gone.

The locker room was a sanctuary of noise and sweat. The scent of muscle rub and cheap deodorant hit him the second he walked in. His teammates were already tossing towels and talking trash when he dropped his bag by his locker and dropped himself onto the bench with a groan.

“Yo, Styles,” called Jamal, grinning. “You look like someone just told you no more carbs.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, still annoyed. “I just got assigned to tutor someone for extra credit.”

“Pfft, easy points,” said Nate, slapping on his studs. “Who is it? Hot and dumb? Or just dumb?”

“Neither,” Harry muttered. “Some girl named y/n.. She can’t do presentations or something.”

Jamal leaned around the row of lockers. “Wait. y/n y/l/n? The one who sits in the front row and never talks?”

“I don’t know, man. I guess?” Harry sighed. “Langley said she needs help communicating.’ I don’t even know what that means. I'm not a damn therapist.”

“Dude,” Nate snorted. “Maybe she’s just shy. Help her say a few words, get your credit, move on. Could be worse.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stared at the floor, jaw working. This wasn’t part of the plan. He had enough to worry about with playoffs, scouts, and barely passing classes as it was.

“Come on, let’s hit the field. You can worry about your little assignment later.”, Nate brings him out of his thoughts. The boys hit the field for their practice drills. Harry kicked the ball into goals like it didn’t take any effort. The crowd of students lounging on the bleachers erupted into cheers, mostly girls, mostly there for him.

“Harry!” someone shrieked. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, or at least what type. Makeup thick, smiles plastic, phones pointed at him like he was a zoo animal doing tricks.

He gave a wink, then jogged backward with a smirk, tossing the ball lazily to the sideline.

“Styles!” Coach barked. “Focus up. We’re not out here to show off for your little fan club.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, though the grin never left his face. He didn’t need to try. The attention just happened, always had. He’d always been the guy. Campus darling. Locker room legend.

The girls in the stands giggled again when he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt during water break. He flexed without meaning to, or maybe he did.

Nate bumped his shoulder. “You ever get tired of being the main character?”

Harry chuckled, wiping his face with his shirt. “Not even a little.”

But the thought of that meeting with Professor Langley poked at the edge of his mind again. Extra credit. y/n. Some awkward girl who probably hated crowds and wouldn’t survive a minute on this field.

He glanced back toward the stands. The noise. The attention. The weight of always being watched. It was exhausting, sometimes. But it was all he knew.

A nerdy girl who didn’t speak much? Probably afraid of her own shadow?

No way she’d survive a day in his world. And no way she belonged in it.Still... if it kept him on the field, he’d do it. How hard could it be?

__________________________________________

The art room smelled like pencil shavings, old paper, and something faintly metallic, maybe the broken sink in the back again. It was quiet, except for the scratch of graphite against textured paper and the distant hum of a fan that had been dying for weeks.

Y/N sat curled over her sketchpad, fingers steady, her pencil dancing in clean, deliberate lines. She had been working on the shading for twenty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds. Her reference photo, a raven mid-flight, was clipped to the corner of her clipboard, but she didn’t need it anymore. The image lived behind her eyes now. What mattered was getting the wings just right.

Light on the top edge. Darker where the feathers tucked under.

One line. Then a pause to smudge with the side of her thumb.

She didn’t blink much when she was like this, didn't notice the fluorescent light flickering above or the scrape of a chair leg from across the room.

Zayn was talking again.

“…and then she said it’s not a date if we’re just studying, but like, we both know she brought two iced coffees, so that is a date, right? I mean, who brings someone iced coffee unless they’re into them?”

Y/N blinked once, just enough to wet her eyes, then continued shading.

He was sitting on the table next to hers, legs swinging, half-laughing at his own ramble. She didn’t need to respond. He didn’t expect her to. That was why he was safe.

The smudge on the raven’s wing was too sharp. She reached for the kneaded eraser and pressed gently to lift the graphite, shaping the light.

Zayn leaned sideways to peek at her drawing. “Yo, that’s creepy good. Like, museum-level bird vibes. You sure you’re not secretly famous on Instagram?”

“Instagram compresses resolution,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving the paper.

Zayn snorted. “Okay, nerd. Still though, you should post it. People like birds. Birds are, like, emotionally safe or whatever.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about people looking at her art. Looking at her, period. In here, it was just the bird. The sweep of the wing. The pressure of the pencil. She knew how hard to press for light, medium, or dark. It made sense. Unlike faces. Or voices. Or—

“Did you hear me?” Zayn asked, nudging her arm lightly.

“Mm.” She blinked again, and the bird’s eye looked back at her, perfectly round, perfectly sharp. Alive.

“I asked if you’re gonna go to the art show next month. You know, the show? The one you always skip?”

“No.” She moved to the feathers on the tail. “I don’t know how to answer..questions that people ask. They will ask questions, right? Cannot..cannot explain art.”

Zayn stretched out on the table like a cat. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be your bodyguard. Scowl at anyone who talks too loud or smells like Axe.”

Y/N’s lip twitched. Barely a smile, but close.

The bird was almost done. She reached for her thin mechanical pencil, the one with the perfect .3mm tip, and started adding the linework on the beak.

Every line she drew quieted the rest of the world.

______________________________________________

y/n was called to Professor’s Langley’s cabin. She very well knew what for and it was already making her mind spiral. The hallway outside Professor Langley’s cabin-style office was always too bright. The glass walls caught the noon sun and bounced it everywhere, on the floor, on her face, into her eyes. Y/N kept her gaze low, counting her steps, feeling the seams of her jeans scratch against her skin in that way she hated but tolerated.

Her sketchbook was clutched to her chest. Inside: her latest unfinished work, a fox curled in tall grass. Next to it, a small pouch of pencils, a folded note from Zayn, and a lined index card with questions she’d prepared in case she forgot what to say.

Just a few more steps. Just make it to the door.

She didn’t see the trio of girls until it was too late.

“Watch it, weirdo,” one of them said as she bumped into Y/N’s shoulder, not by accident.

The sketchbook slipped. The pouch hit the floor and exploded. Pencils scattering in every direction.

Y/N froze.

The hallway felt louder all of a sudden. Too loud. Laughter spiked behind her, sharp and bright and jagged.

“Oh my God, is that like, art?” one of the girls snickered, nudging the open sketchbook with the toe of her boot.

Y/N dropped to her knees, not speaking. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Her hands trembled as she reached for her pencils, fingertips fumbling as she tried to sort them by hardness: 4B, HB, 2H, mechanical...

Breathe. Count. Don’t cry here. Don’t.

From the far end of the hall, Harry leaned against the wall, sipping from a sports drink and half-watching the scene. He hadn’t really noticed Y/N before. Just a quiet girl from sociology. But now, with her on the ground, clutching pencils like lifelines while three smug girls mocked her, he felt... something off.

“She’s not bothering anyone,” he muttered under his breath.

Nate was beside him, chewing gum, unimpressed. “That’s y/n y/l/n.” he said, popping a bubble. “Girl you’re paired with.”

Harry blinked. “That’s her?”

“Yep. She’s kind of… different. Smart, though. Professor Langley’s, like, protective of her or whatever.”

Harry watched her gather the last of her things. She didn’t yell. Didn’t snap back. Just moved with quiet, practiced urgency, like she’d done this before. Been knocked down, cleaned it up, said nothing.

He felt a twist in his stomach. Guilt, maybe. Or just the unsettling realization that not everyone was built to survive this place the way he was.

Y/N pressed the sketchbook tightly to her chest again and stood, her breath catching. The lights were buzzing. Her palms were sweaty. Her pencil pouch didn’t zip right anymore.

But she made it to the office door and hurried inside.

Inside, the lights were softer, the air still. Langley sat behind her desk, glasses low on her nose.

“Y/N, I’m glad you came.”

Y/N nodded once, lips pressed into a line.

Langley gestured to the chair. “I won’t keep you long. I wanted to let you know that your communication mentorship is starting this week.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“I already heard,” she said, voice barely audible.

Langley folded her hands. “Then you know it’s Harry Styles.”

Y/N looked at her hands in her lap. They were still shaking.

“I don’t..I don’t think he’ll take it seriously.”

Langley’s expression softened. “I think you might be surprised. And I think he might be, too.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her brain was still back in the hallway, on the sound of mocking voices and pencils hitting tile.

Langley didn’t push. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. And you don’t have to change who you are. Just try. That’s all I’m asking.”

Y/N nodded again. She wasn’t sure if it meant “yes” or “I don’t know what else to do.”

Outside, Harry was still leaning against the wall, watching the closed door.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about himself.

_____________________________________________

The classroom was too quiet, too echoey, too wrong. Y/N sat in the far-left corner of the room, her usual spot, back against the wall, nearest the window, away from the center of things. Zayn was beside her, sprawled out in the neighboring chair, legs stretched under the table, chewing the edge of his hoodie sleeve like he always did when he was tense.

Y/N’s fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh. one-two-three, one-two-three. matching the pattern of her heartbeat. Her brain wouldn’t stop.

He’s late. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Eleven now. Twelve.

“Still no show,” Zayn muttered, glancing at the clock. “Big surprise.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her thoughts were looping. She had rehearsed the opening of their session, written it down three times in case she forgot. But now she couldn’t even remember the first line.

He won’t take this seriously. What if he makes fun of me? What if he laughs when I try to speak? What if I shut down? What if I say nothing and he tells the professor I’m wasting his time?

“Hey.” Zayn nudged her ankle lightly under the table. “You’re not a problem. You hear me?”

She nodded, eyes locked on the blank page of the notebook in front of her. She’d brought a few prompts, safe topics, simple answers. All neatly organized in a pocket folder. Just in case she couldn't find her words.

Zayn sighed. “Honestly, I don’t even know why Langley thought he was the right person for this. The guy’s a walking ego in cleats.”

The door opened mid-sentence.

Harry Styles stepped in like he’d just rolled off a magazine cover. Wind in his curly brown hair, athletic jacket slung over his shoulder, like he hadn’t kept them waiting fifteen whole minutes.

“Hey,” he said casually, dropping his bag near the door. “Sorry, had practice.”

Zayn stood, instantly.

“So you couldn’t text?” he asked, tone sharp. “You just let her sit here and spiral for a quarter of an hour?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, who are you, exactly?”

“I’m the guy who gives a damn when she’s treated like she doesn’t matter,” Zayn shot back. “You’re just some jock who probably thinks this is a charity project.”

Harry’s posture shifted, eyebrows pulling together. “You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.”

Zayn took a step forward. “I know enough.”

Y/N stood up too fast.

“Zayn, it’s okay,” she said, voice thinner than usual, like it had been folded too many times. “Please. You don’t have to stay.”

He looked at her, jaw tight, clearly unhappy. But her eyes weren’t angry, just overwhelmed. That look he’d seen a thousand times since they were kids. The one that meant: If you stay, I’ll break.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded.

Zayn gave Harry one last look. Not threatening, but not friendly, then walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt like a dropped plate.

Harry glanced around, then scratched the back of his neck. “That your boyfriend or something?”

Y/N didn’t look at him. “No. Friend.”

Harry sat down in Zayn’s empty chair and leaned back like this was just another lecture. “He’s got a hell of a chip on his shoulder.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She was reading the first line that she wrote. Hello. My name is Y/N. Thank you for helping me. I am autistic. I do not communicate the same way as everyone else, but I want to try.

Harry sighed and checked the time, mentally preparing himself to sit through an hour. “Right. I’m Harry. I guess Langley’s already told you things?”

She nodded, still not bringing her eyes up to meet his. “y-y/n.”, she says.

“y/n,look, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do. I just need to do this so I can continue playing football, okay? I won’t get in your hair, you don’t get in mine, and we both can go back happy-”

“-Get in my hair?”, she wonders out loud. How could someone get in someone’s hair?

Harry blinks, then thinks she didn’t hear him well so he leans closer and explains. “Yes. You can do your thing during our sessions, I won’t bother you. When all our sessions are over, you can tell Langley I did a good job, yeah?”

“No, nope.” She shakes her head and lets out a chuckle.

“Um, no? And what’s funny about this?”, Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“I need this, um, these sessions. Cannot lie for Harry.”

Harry groans. He thought he could just convince her to get through this somehow but it seems like she actually cares about the session.

“I really thought you’d agree, y/n. Why make it harder for both of us?”

“I told you, I need this. And you need to work for extra credit.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk at her disapproving tone. “Alright. Then tell me what you want from me.”

Harry’s voice hit her like warm static, low, rough around the edges, too loud even when he wasn’t trying to be. It had that casual, careless rhythm people used when they expected to be listened to. Confident. Unfiltered. Like he’d never once worried about saying the wrong thing.

To Y/N, it wasn’t just a voice. It was texture.

Every syllable scraped against her thoughts like gravel under bare feet. Not painful, exactly but jarring. Distracting. Unpredictable

“Communication. It’s..it’s not easy for me. I’m autistic.”, she tells him, staring at her desk.

Harry sits quietly, then nods because it makes sense how she has not made eye contact with him all this while and how she’s always quiet and in her own world.

“I want to change, come out of my..my comfort uh box?”

“Your comfort zone.”, Harry corrects, a slight smile forming on his face. This was going to be interesting.

“Oh! This is for you, please..please read.” She pushes a neatly folded piece of paper towards him. He unfolds it and reads through it.

How You Can Help Me:

Please don’t raise your voice, even if you’re not angry.

I need extra time to think before I talk.

If I go quiet, I’m not ignoring you.

Don’t interrupt when I’m speaking. Let me finish.

I use written words when I can’t speak. That’s okay.

Please tell me what we’re doing before we do it.

Ask direct questions. Not vague ones.

Eye contact is hard. I’m still listening.

Harry read it all without saying anything, and that was good. Y/N couldn’t handle talking and being watched at the same time.

When he finally looked up, something in his face had changed. Just slightly.

“Okay,” he said, voice low again. “I can do that.”

He looked like he meant it.

y/n gives him a small nod.

“So? You like sketching?”

y/n looks up at him for the first time, eyes briefly meeting his. His eyes were green. Not the flat, predictable green of a leaf or a chalkboard, but layered. They reminded her of moss under water, or the kind of glass that looked cracked without actually breaking. There were flecks of gold near the center, like someone had spilled sunlight there and it never quite dried.

She looked away quickly. “How..how do you know?”

“I know a lot of things.”, he replies, smiling wider, happy with the small moment of eye contact. He couldn’t figure out the color.They had that curious look. Wide, but not naïve. Clear, but not soft. Like she was seeing everything at once.

This was already different from conversations he’s had with other people. He suddenly wanted to know more about her. He couldn’t deny the fact that she was beautiful.

She had her hair in a braid, not the messy, flirty kind he was used to seeing at parties, but a neat, practical one, the kind someone did because they needed their hair out of the way. No nonsense. No drama. But something about it pulled his eyes.

Maybe it was the way the braid curved over her shoulder like it belonged there, dark against the pale green of her sweater. Maybe it was how a few strands had slipped free near her temple and caught the light like silk thread.

“Cocky. Zayn thinks Harry’s cocky.”, she blurts out, nodding in agreement to herself and Harry laughs. “Does he now? What else did he tell you about me?”

y/n smiles slyly, and shakes her head. She isn’t supposed to tell him, is she? Instead, she slides her laptop towards him. “My presentation.”

“Okay..and what do you want me to do with it?” He obviously knew what to do, he had to help her speak about it. He starts going through the slides as she frowns. “Uh, help? Help, duh?”

“I got that, but I don’t have the patience to go through all this content, so I need you to brief me.”

y/n’s eyes widen. “B-Brief you? Not prepared, I’m not prepared. Just..just read!”

Harry raises his eyebrows, looking at her. “And I don’t like reading! You don’t have to be prepared for this, cherry, I’m asking you to tell me a summary of the content you already know about. Less of reading, more of talking, that’s what we’ll do, alright?”

y/n fiddles with her fingers uneasily, the Harry boy already getting on her nerves, but something else grabs her attention. “Cherry?” Did he call her Cherry?

“Yeah, cherry. Your top. And your cheeks, they’re red.”, he explains so casually. She doesn’t understand if he has a flirty tone or if he is just teasing her. She did wear a white top with cherries printed on them.

“You said you wanted to get out of your comfort zone. This is how we’re gonna do that, okay?”, he feels like he’s speaking to a small child. He remembers the helpless look she had on her face when those girls made her fall that day, and he feels a little sorry for her now, knowing her condition. “Take your time, and tell me about your slides. Then we’ll make a speech, sounds good?”

It didn’t sound good. She was sure she would stutter a million times and test his patience. But like he said, if this was going to help her get out of her comfort zone, she would try.

“I can try.”, she tells him, not promising anything, and he brings up a fist, wanting a fist bump. Zayn sometimes does it with her. She slowly makes a fist, looking at her palm while doing so quickly touches it to Harry’s.

“That has to be the softest fist bump in history. Anyway..”

Harry didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to take this seriously. He didn’t want to push it away like another project. He didn’t understand, or get her, yet. But he wanted to.

____________________________________________________

Y/N was vibrating with energy.

“I didn’t freeze,” she said, eyes wide, hands moving fast as she spoke. “Not once. He read the note and..and actually listened! I thought he’d make fun of it,you know, the list,but he didn’t. He just said ‘Okay’ and didn’t even talk over me.”

Zayn glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She was smiling,a real one. Not the polite, uncertain kind she gave in class. Her fingers were fluttering in her lap, tapping her jeans in a rhythmic pattern he knew well: processing, but happy.

“Oh! And he called me Cherry.”

“Cherry?” Zayn repeated, blinking.

“Because of my top.” She left out the part where he mentioned her cheeks were as red as cherries.

Y/N stared out the window for a second, biting her lip to hold back a grin.

That should have made him smile too.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I’m glad it went okay,” he said carefully. “You were really anxious this morning.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But it wasn’t bad. He didn’t talk down to me.”

Zayn exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the red light ahead blink to yellow.

He wanted to believe it. He really did.

But he also knew Harry Styles.

Knew how he flirted with anyone who looked in his direction. Knew the trail of rumors. Hookups, half-truths, one-time girls left on read by morning. And Y/N, with her quiet brilliance and straightforward honesty, wasn’t built to play games.

She didn’t see the signs. And if she did, she wouldn’t understand why someone would flirt just to pass the time.

Zayn glanced at her again, her eyes wide, braid a little messy now, cheeks flushed from excitement.

Innocent.

And way too trusting.

“Just…” he said slowly, “be careful, okay?”

Y/N frowned, not understanding. “Careful of what?”

Zayn didn’t answer right away. The light turned green, and he pressed the gas, more gently than usual.

“Just don’t let him make you think he’s something he’s not.”

She looked down at her hands, smile fading just a little. “You think..you think he’s lying?”

“I think he’s used to getting what he wants,” Zayn said quietly. “And I think you deserve better than someone who’s just looking for extra credit.”

Y/N didn’t argue.

But she also didn’t agree.

__________________________________________________

Y/N was already in her usual seat, second row, third from the left, close enough to hear the professor clearly but not so close that she’d be called on. Her notebook was open, her pen uncapped, and her highlighters laid out in a neat line. The class buzzed around her: idle chatter, squeaking chairs, someone’s pen tapping too fast behind her.

She didn’t look up when the door slammed open. She hated the noise.

Late.

Again.

She knew it was him without having to glance. Harry Styles had a specific kind of presence: loud without trying, confident without needing permission. Normally, he sat in the back with his usual crew, too cool to pretend he cared about lectures.

But then-

He was walking toward her row.

He was in her row.

And-

“Hey,” Harry said, casual as ever, standing right beside her. “Can I sit here?”

Y/N blinked.

He was pointing to the empty chair next to her. Her bag was on it. Her sketchbook was resting half-open on top. No one ever sat next to her in this class.

She stared at him, then at the chair, then back at him, fingers hovering mid-air above her notebook.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Cherry. Your stuff.”

Oh.

Right.

She moved slowly, startled. Her fingers weren’t working right. She fumbled the bag as she pulled it into her lap, closed the sketchbook too quickly and creased the corner. Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

He dropped into the chair beside her with that same easy energy, one arm flung across the back of it, like he’d sat there a thousand times.

People were watching. She could feel them watching.

Y/N stared straight ahead, trying to ground herself. One-two-three, one-two-three, deep breath.

Harry leaned slightly closer. Not enough to touch her but just enough so she could hear him.

“I figured if I’m your partner, I should probably sit like it.”

She didn’t answer, but she could feel the heat crawling up her neck. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking her. Just… sitting.

It didn’t make sense.

Harry Styles never sat at the front. He never sat with her.

But today, he did.

And even though her routine was disrupted, and her chest felt too tight, and everyone was probably looking at her. She could feel it.

Eyes.

All around her.

A few turned heads. A few not-so-subtle whispers. The girl who usually chewed gum too loudly two rows over had stopped chewing, which was somehow worse. One of Harry’s football friends sitting in the back nudged the guy beside him with a grin that wasn’t friendly. Someone near the door actually took a photo. She heard the soft click.

Her fingers clenched around her pen.

Harry didn’t seem to notice or he did and didn’t care. He slouched in the chair like it was his personal throne, one leg stretched out, arms relaxed, like none of it meant anything.

But to Y/N, it meant everything.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this class. Not in this seat.

She didn’t do unannounced changes. She didn’t do people this close. She didn’t do rumors, or eyes, or questions she couldn’t answer.

She flinched slightly when he leaned in.

“Are they always like this?” he whispered, eyes flicking to the side.

Y/N kept her eyes forward, voice barely audible. “No one’s ever sat here before.”

Harry paused.

“Well… they’ll get used to it.”

She looked at him then, just briefly and he was already facing the front, smirking faintly, like this was just another game to him.

But it didn’t feel like a game.It felt like he chose to sit beside her.

And that was scarier than the stares.

_______________________________________________

A week went by quickly and it was time for their session again. Harry, surprisingly, wasn’t late this time. He had snatched a paper y/n was reading from, about conversational tone.

“So, according to this, I’m apparently a communication expert now. Might as well open a clinic. Dr. Styles, speech therapist extraordinaire.”

y/n was still pretty displeased about the fact that he had snatched the sheet from her, but she mumbles, “You can’t open a clinic..no. You don’t have a license.”

“Right. I was being sarcastic, Cherry.”, Harry smirks, putting the paper away so he can look at her. He liked observing her facial expressions and reactions.

y/n’s confused now. “So..you don’t want to open a clinic?”

Harry laughs lightly. “No, I can barely keep a plant alive, let alone run a clinic.”

She blinks, then says earnestly. “Plantopedia, page number 436. Cactus requires the least emotional labor. You should start with that, yeah.” She smiles, pleased with herself for giving him the right information.

Harry’s jaw drops open and he stares at her for a second before he laughs, uncontrollably. y/n looks at him strangely, wondering what she said wrong. Even the page number was surely right.

“God, you’re brilliant. That was gold, seriously.”, Harry says, leaning forward, now chuckling.

“I wasn’t joking. I don’t know how to crack jokes. Don’t get them either.”, she tells him.

“Even better.”, he said quietly, and for a minute they were both silent.

“B-But..cacti do need a little emotional labor. Just..not often.”

Harry grins. “Noted. I’ll talk to them once a week.”

She looks at him, then closes her mouth slowly as he continues to laugh. “Right. Harry’s not actually going to talk to it. That’s funny.”

“See? You get it!”

y/n lets out a small giggle, before going back to her task. She had to tell Harry the first few lines of her speech by the end of this session. Mid way between her speech, she got distracted.

Her gaze drifted to the window beside their study table. A butterfly had landed on the sill, its wings a fragile kaleidoscope of blues and black, gently pulsing in the golden afternoon light.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just watched.

Her hands, which had been fiddling, stilled completely. Even her breathing seemed to slow, as if matching the rhythm of the butterfly’s wings. Harry followed her gaze wondering what made her stop talking, then looked back at her. And stayed there.

He meant to say something. A joke, maybe. Something to pull her attention back to him. But the words caught in his throat.

She looked... peaceful. Not the kind of calm people fake when they’re trying to seem composed, but the genuine sort that came from being fully present. Like she wasn’t thinking about how she looked or what he might be thinking. The light made her skin glow soft at the edges, and the faint furrow in her brow, curiosity, not worry, gave her a kind of depth that made Harry feel like everything else in the room had faded away.

He’d always been drawn to noise, to people who sparkled loud and fast.

But this… this was different.

“y/n?” he said softly.

She didn’t answer, still watching the butterfly like it was telling her a secret.

Harry leaned his arms on the table, his gaze not on the window, but on her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint press of her lips, the quiet steadiness in her posture. She wasn’t trying to charm him. Wasn’t even aware of him in that moment. And for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he liked that even more.

Finally, the butterfly flickered its wings once more and took off. Y/N blinked like she was coming back from somewhere far away.

She turned to him. “Sorry. I was watching it.”

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. “Yeah. No, don’t apologize.”

She smiled, brief but genuine. “I like butterflies. Easy to understand.”

He found himself smiling too. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

She didn’t catch the flirtation in his tone. Harry tapped her hand softly, which made her look up at him with a start. She usually didn’t even like small touches like that, but strangely, she didn’t pull her hand back immediately.

“Do I have your attention now, Cherry? We have got just 10 minutes more.”

She blinks, still getting used to the nickname. “Over? Speech is over right?”

“Nope, you only said the first two lines. Just two more. Start from the beginning, please.”

She groaned and he laughed, “Hey, no complaining.”

They wrapped up in another ten minutes. Y/N closed her notebook with a sharp snap and began organizing her pens into color-coded rows, her signal that their session was done. Predictable, precise. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard.

“You heading out?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded without looking up. “Zayn is waiting for me.”

Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah, makes sense.”

He almost didn’t say it, but something nudged him forward.

“You know, if you ever wanted to, uh… watch football practice or something, you could. I mean, I’d wait with you after, or Zayn could meet you later or-”

“I don’t like watching sports,” Y/N said bluntly, slipping her planner into her bag. “And if there is a change in my routine, it makes me anxious. Uh..thank you, though.”

She said it kindly, earnestly.

Still, Harry nodded a little too quickly, swallowing the unexpected pang in his chest. “Cool. Yeah. No worries.”

Before she leaves, she turns back. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh..thank you, for helping me..this actually helps, I think.”

Harry beams. “Not a problem, love, I need the extra credit, might as well do it seriously.”

She nods, her watch telling her it’s time to leave. “Okay. Bye Harry.”

“See you, Cherry.”

________________________________

Harry tossed his duffel bag onto the bench beside the practice field, but his heart wasn’t in the drills. Coach had already yelled at him twice for missing passes. He kept thinking about the way she’d looked at him, like she saw right through the sarcasm and flash, straight into the bare, unpolished bits he didn’t usually let anyone see.

“She’s got you in a chokehold already, huh?”

Harry turned to find Nate grinning, water bottle in hand, eyes sharp.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, kicking a stray ball toward the sideline.

“I’m just saying,” Nate continued, unfazed. “You’ve been weird lately. You, skipping post-practice hangs? You live for an audience.”

Harry shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s nothing. She’s just… different.”

“Different how?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He flopped onto the grass, staring up at the sky, the clouds too still for how fast his thoughts were spinning.

“She doesn’t pretend,” he said finally. “She’s not trying to impress anyone. Doesn’t care that I’m… me.”

“That sounds kind of great, actually.”

Harry looked over. “It’s not like that. She’s just a project.”

Nate raised a brow. “Right. And that’s why you’ve brought her up every day this week?”

Harry didn’t respond. Because maybe it had started as extra credit. Just a requirement. But the disappointment when she left today? The stupid hope that she might’ve said yes? That hadn’t felt like schoolwork.

Not even close.

_________________________________________

Like it up and reblog so I can get Part 2 out sooner! Please let me know if there are any changes to be made to the tag list.

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher

162 notes · View notes

erenjaegerwifee · 8 months ago

Text

Your Excuse To See Me

Request by: @twilightlover2007

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deacon's case takes him to your bookshop.

Warnings: none, fluff,

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable please do not interact with my account or any of my notes.

Main M.List | Deacon M.List

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.”

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in”

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something.

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up.

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.”

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him.

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.

“So, Sergeant Kay-”

“Deacon, call me Deacon”

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.”

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention.

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again.

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk.

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type” you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.

“I see you asked her out” Chris said.

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

Taglist:

@twilightlover2007 @fluentmoviequoter @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @spnshortcake

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idontmindifuforgetme · 1 month ago

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hi cianna sorry for the really broad question but it really smart and ur soul is beautiful and i think lowkey if i asked this irl people would get very worried so i’m asking u. any advice 4 a girl in her late teens who’s just now coming out of a 4-5 year long slump of wanting to kill herself real bad and now needs to be a functioning person and pass exams and go to university next year ect. ?

Hi this literally happened to me in my teen years!! I was not suicidal, but I def had a major slump I had to pull myself out of by uni. Here are some things I think could’ve worked better for me - feel free to disregard at your discretion/based on your circumstances :)

Get therapy!! Teenage me would’ve benefited from it so much. There are therapists who’d be happy to give you student discounts. You’ll be going through a lot of change - re learning how to take care of yourself, discovering your boundaries, battling regret for wasting time etc etc… it’s just better to go through it w a professional who would show you compassion but also push you to improve. It’s not a substitute for real friendships, but it absolutely helps

Ignore people who will tell you they peaked in hs (lol). This will be a lot of people btw. You’ll get major fomo bc you’ll be like?? I didn’t do any of that. I was too busy surviving. I won’t have things to look back at the way they do. But that’s where the uphill battle of saying no to fomo comes in - you have to remind yourself that you’re at the beginning of your life, that you could completely turn it around in college, and peaking in hs is like actually sad and that what matters is the life you make for yourself moving forward

People (family and teachers) want to help. So let them

Push yourself but don’t overcorrect. The antidote to not having friends is not overextending yourself and saying yes to everything and having no boundaries and burning out. Pace yourself. Trying to become someone completely different is also a sign you don’t like yourself very much

You have to aggressively combat the self hatred and re affirm to yourself day by day that you deserve good things and that you are enough and that you don’t need other people to imbue your life and give it dimension. They are a nice bonus but it’s all in you

Hot take but be careful w self help content. It preys on people in vulnerable stages (like you) and is easy to get addicted to

I don’t know where you stand w your phone, but decrease phone time. It’s very personal to everyone how they can accomplish this, so research all the different methods and apply what best fits you / what you think you can stick by best!

Cliche advice is true - getting out of the slump starts w things like a simple skincare routine and an outfit you feel good in

Say yes to things more often. Try to approach people more often, even if it gives you rejection sensitivity. I wish I did this more tbh - I think I did put myself out there but was inconsistent. No “social fuck ups” will matter at your age so just try to learn as much as you can

You have to contextualize this hard time period of your life as a learning experience that gave you a sort of depth that is rarely seen in most people. It wasn’t all for nothing — it shaped you into you

You’re defined by who you are and the values you have — not the person you used to be. The imposter syndrome in you might be like “everyone knows I was xyz girl who didn’t talk to anyone and could not even turn an assignment in on time,” but what are you now? Are you trying to befriend people now? Getting a lot better at managing your time now? Doing really good in school now? That’s who you are.

Unconventional advice but get a cute job at a library or a cafe or something. It will re introduce discipline into your system and acquaint you w people your age

Exercise really really really really really helps. It can start simple but it has to be started

Research programs you want to get into. Make a game plan in accordance to that. Talk to your advisor about it

Join clubs in college :) talk to people but don’t overextend yourself if they don’t reciprocate - you have plenty of time to make friends :)

Journal more. It helps!!!!

The world is not out to get you

Cliche but true - reading helps so much. Even just one book at a time at your own pace. Luckily I was reading so much in my teen years but I’m telling u this in case it’s not really part of ur palette

What’s the hobby that really speaks to your soul?? Aggressively pursue it

Romanticizing simple things helps tbh

Do not hate yourself into getting better!! You were just a child who did the best they can w the cards they were dealt. Now you’re saying enough to passive living and making active effort to get out of your slump — and that matters more than anything. You will experience the FOMO and the regret and the “why didn’t I do xyz when I was younger.” Everyone does, but for you it will be exacerbated bc you’ll feel like you wasted an epoch of your life everyone else romanticizes. This is where therapy and radical acceptance come in — and also just brutally reminding yourself of the facts, including how you’re so very incredibly young. Time is on your side and you can do anything you want

I’m so proud of you for taking the first step — which is understanding the problem!! I know I wasn’t that brave at your age. Good luck with everything xx

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callmeagardengnome · 11 months ago

Text

˚ʚ colour me rainbow ɞ˚ | KIM HONGJOONG

pairings ᯓ idol!hongjoong x fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ you never really paid attention to soulmarks or soulmates. yet, you find yourself sitting in class with a hair colour your soulmate cursed you with.

w.c ᯓ 2.5k

author’s note: im not that familiar with the ‘timeline’ of hongjoong’s hair colour so i apologise for any mistakes 😭 either way enjoy and make sure to like + repost!

not proofread!

masterlist

growing up, the idea of soulmates slipped from your mind. while your friends found out about their soulmarks early in life, yours never seemed to appear. not that you were complaining. with soulmates out of the way, you could focus on your studies for most of your school life.

that was until the first day of your final school year. the day started like any other, you did your usual routine of lectures and assignments. as you were in a chemistry class, you felt something.. weird.

you felt a tingling sensation on your scalp, getting more overbearing by the second. at first, you thought it was the new hair oil you used that morning. but then, your best friend who was sitting behind you tapped on your shoulder violently.

“‘____’, your hair..” your best friend said in disbelief.

you hurriedly took out your phone, opening the camera app to look at yourself. you watched in horror, seeing your hair shifting to a dirty blonde colour. “what the fuck?” you muttered under your breath.

you quickly put your phone away and asked your teacher for permission to go to the bathroom. your teacher noticed how panicked you looked (and your brand new hair colour) and she immediately nodded. “yes, go ahead. take your time.” she said, her eyes filled with concern.

the colour was obvious, earning a few gasps from the people you were passing by. dyeing your hair wasn’t allowed in your school, which attracted way more attention than you wanted to.

in the bathroom, you stared at your reflection, feeling your pulse racing. the dirty blonde was completely different from your natural hair colour. you ran your fingers through your hair, hoping that the colour was temporary, but it remained.

after school, you and your best friend started researching on what the sudden change could mean. you went onto the official ‘SOULMARKS’ website that the government set up, documenting the different types of soulmarks that have been discovered so far.

that’s when you found a soulmark called: ‘COLOUR-MATCH’. it was a soulmark that caused the colour of your hair to match whatever hair colour your soulmate had.

the realisation hit you, you actually had a soulmate out there. finding out your soulmark at the age of 17 was considered ‘late’ but considering the nature of your soulmark, you didn’t mind - you felt excited and happy. however, the embarrassment sank in. you still had to go to school with your brand new coloured hair. annoyed, you tried to find other ways to style your hair that would help you blend in but no matter what, you still stood out.

meanwhile, hongjoong was completely oblivious to the panic and embarrassment he caused you. he had just debuted with ATEEZ, which led him to dye his hair a dirty blonde colour for their EP. unfortunately for you, him and his company had more plans to dye his hair different colours for the upcoming songs.

when he was younger, hongjoong would get upset and impatient that his soulmark wasn’t appearing. the absence of it made him feel jealous of his school friends that found their soulmates easily. but now, he had a lot of things on his plate. from training to producing songs to performing, soulmarks seemed like a thing of the past.

despite his busy schedule, there would be times where he would wonder whether he even had a soulmate. little did he know, his hair colour had more of an impact that he would think.

as the months went by, your hair transformed to a navy blue. this didn’t last long as your hair changed again to a muted purple. while you did like the hair colours your soulmate picked out, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how often he changed his hair. is his hair not damaged? what does he do that requires so many colour changes? your soulmark left you with more questions than answers. isn’t a soulmark supposed to make your search easier?

once you graduated, the hair colours seemed to get more bolder.

you woke up one day with bright blue hair. it became a hassle to match your wardrobe to your ever-changing hair. even your friends tried to guess what your new hair colour would be, turning it into a game. your best friend won, with your soulmate deciding to dye his hair a platinum blonde afterwards. as fun as it was, the constant changes were a reminder of how your soulmate was living a life you knew nothing about.

you decided to apply for a hairstylist position at a nearby salon. it was almost fitting that your soulmark was related to the job you wanted - it even helped you during your interview. you suddenly felt your scalp tingling as the interviewer was talking. “so what can we expe- oh your hair..?”

“yeah, it’s my soulmark.” you responded. you were pleased to see a light brown colour when you checked yourself out in the mirror after the interview.

you got the job and over the next few months, your skills as a hair stylist improved drastically. then, your hair colour changed to black as you were cutting a clients hair.

it was almost.. boring. your soulmate had never done such a dark colour before. feeling strange in the new hair colour, you decided to bleach the front few strands of your hair. you felt happy with the result, forgetting that your hair colour also affected your soulmate’s.

hongjoong on the other hand, was screaming. he was in the middle of eating dinner with his group members when he felt a prickly and itchy feeling at the front of his scalp. he instinctively reached up to touch his hair and his eyes widened in shock as he saw strands of hair turning blonde.

hongjoong jumped from his seat, causing the rest of his members to look at him with concern. “guys.. my hair- it’s changing..”

the room fell silent as everyone look at their leader’s new hair, which now had bleach blonde strands at the front. san was the first one to break the silence with a laugh. “wah, hyung. you’re soulmark is so cool.”

hongjoong tilted his head. “huh? this is a soulmark?”

wooyoung suddenly clapped loudly, realising something. “yeah i saw it online once! some people’s soulmarks are linked to their hair. this means that your soulmate just changed their hair colour- i’ve never seen it happen in real life..”

hongjoong ran his fingers through his hair. “wait- so i have a soulmate out there right now that has the same hair colour as me?”

“mhm,” seonghwa nodded, turning back to his food. “you’ve been torturing some poor girl with your hair colours.”

hongjoong chuckled nervously, still processing the entire situation. “shit- yeah i’ve been experimenting with my hair a lot. i wonder what she thinks about all the changes..”

“she’s probably confused,” jongho shrugged, before wooyoung added on. “or she hates you,” which earned him a smack from one of the members.

wooyoung laughed. “what? i’m just saying, if my soulmate changed their hair every three seconds i would be pissed off.”

hongjoong sat back down and leaned back into the couch. “i need to find them..” he muttered to himself. yunho patted him on the back. “you’ll find her soon.”

mingi joked. “yeah, maybe you should dye your hair a brighter colour next time.”

days passed and hongjoong couldn’t stop thinking about his soulmate. every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the connection that the both of you shared. he wanted to keep his new hair colour for as long as possible, until his company made him dye his hair a bright red.

back at the salon, you were unaware of the way your hair affected your soulmate. for the record, you knew that the both of you were linked through hair colour. but with hongjoong being the only one to dye his hair for the most part, you forgot that your own hair colour played a part too.

either way, you went on with your life. you were hanging out with your best friend when your hair shifted to a bright red.

your best friend chuckled. “damn, your soulmate must be really handsome if he’s able to pull off all these hair colours. “

“yeah, lucky me,” you laughed along, rolling your eyes.

later that evening, you were scrolling through social media when a job offering caught your eye. a small company called, ‘KQ Entertainment,’ had posted about an opening for a hairstylist position.

you read through the details, realising that the offer was ideal. KQ had a pretty famous k-pop group under their label. even though you weren’t too familiar with them, you did know of their existence. the job also paid a lot - way better than the job that you were working for right now. not only that, KQ wasn’t too far away from where you were living. working there meant that you could work with idols and get good pay - who wouldn’t want that? without hesitation, you decided to apply for the position and hoped for the best.

a few weeks go by and you find yourself working at KQ Entertainment. you were introduced to the staff and shown around the studio, which was way larger than the one you were working at before. feeling welcomed, you settled into your new role easily.

your boss told you that you were finally going to work with ATEEZ, which made you feel excited and anxious. you’ve never worked with an idol before and the thought of styling the hair of a famous group filled you with nervousness. you were informed about the concept of their upcoming comeback and their plans of what the members hair should be, making you feel slightly relieved that you had an idea of the different styles you had to do.

the day finally arrived and you quickly prepared the studio. you decided to study the names and faces of ATEEZ - not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of them.

the doors swung open, with each member walking in. as they settled down, you couldn’t help but notice that one of the members, hongjoong, had the same shade of bright red on his head - identical to the one you had right now.

“are we twins?” you blurted out, unable to contain your surprise.

hongjoong looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw your hair. “looks like it,” he replied with a chuckle.

the other members joined in, teasing hongjoong about his newfound ‘twin’. you introduced yourself properly, which was met with them introducing themselves too. even though you were nervous at first, their warm personalities calmed you down.

you started to work on hongjoong’s hair first. “your company told me that you wanted a split-dye look for your comeback?”

hongjoong nodded. “yep, half-black and half-white if it’s possible.”

you sifted your fingers through his hair, trying to gauge on how well his hair would hold the colour. “it’s a bold choice,” you commented. “but i think it’ll suit you and the concept really well.”

“thanks,” he replied, smiling. “we’re going for something that stands out.”

as you began to section his hair, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how easygoing he was. the conversation flowed so smoothly with the both of you engaged in talking to each other. it was almost like you.. clicked.

you carefully applied the black dye, making sure that it wouldn’t hit the bleached portion of his head. as you were doing so, you felt the familiar tingle on your scalp. confused, you looked up ahead at the mirror, but nothing seemed to change.

hongjoong glanced at you, noticing your pause. “everything alright?”

“yeah,” you replied, brushing off the sensation in your scalp. “just a weird feeling.”

hongjoong nodded understandingly - in fact, he was going through something similar. as you applied the dye, he felt the odd prickly feeling on his scalp, the very one he felt when he had his first soulmark appearance.

initially, he thought that it was the hair dye you were using but then he saw that it was the same brand that he had been using all this time. was his soulmate changing their hair colour too?

it was very puzzling. usually when you felt the weird sensation, your hair would change almost immediately. yet, there were still no changes to your hair.

the tingling feeling grew stronger and stronger as you washed and blow dried his hair. it was the same for him, his head feeling more prickly by the second. by the time you were done, the tingling in your scalp was overwhelming, making you sit down on a nearby chair.

hongjoong, who was admiring his hair, quickly went to you. “woah- are you okay?” he asked hurriedly, his own discomfort obvious as you clutched your scalp tightly.

you shook your head. “my head hurts- what the hell is my soulmate doing?”

hongjoong asked himself the same thing, his head feeling like it was being hammered constantly. the both of you sat in silence, trying your hardest to cope with the pain you guys were feeling.

he was about to say something when he saw your hair transforming into the split-dye hair colour that he had. “‘____’…” he trailed off, watching in amazement.

you turned to a mirror, looking at your reflection. there it was - your hair mirroring hongjoong’s split-dye hair perfectly, black on one side and white on the other.

you reached up to your head in disbelief. hongjoong remained speechless next to you, unsure of what to say.

“i.. i don’t understand-“ you said, still shocked. “how is this happening?”

“‘____’,” hongjoong spoke up, finally finding his voice. “i think we’re soulmates..”

you couldn’t even process his words as at that very moment, wooyoung barged into the room. “hyung, what’s taking so lo-“

he stopped abruptly, cutting his sentence short. his glanced between the two of you, looking at your matching hair colours. “guys come in quick!” he shouted to the rest of of the members.

one by one, the other members came in, their faces shifting from concern to surprise as they took in the scene before them. “are you guys soulmates?” san’s eyes widened in shock. you couldn’t even reply as you were still taken aback.

“‘____’, what’s your soulmark?” yunho asked calmly, turning his attention to you.

trying to keep you voice as steady as possible, you replied, “it’s the colour-match one..”

the room fell into a stunned silence, each member realising that you and hongjoong were indeed soulmates.

“wah, now you guys are really twins,” mingi remarked.

as all of you calmed yourself down, the members bombarded you with questions about you and hongjoong’s connection. this led you to show them photos of the different hair colour phases you went through.

“apologise to her, you made her go through all that,” seonghwa said jokingly

the following day, you and hongjoong had to tell the company that the both of you were soulmates. the company allowed you to continue to work at the company as long as you kept your soulmate status a secret. hongjoong looked slightly disappointed when he heard that your relationship had to be unknown to the world.

“are you upset?” you asked.

“a little,” he responded, pulling you into a small kiss. “but at least i get to keep you to myself a little longer.”

any and all feedback appreciated <3

other fics

#gnomeo 🥫#gnomeo🥫writes #ateez #atz #ateez fan fic #ateez fic #atz fic #atz fan fic #ateez x reader #atz x reader #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #soulmate au #soulmate #ateez fanfic #ateez soulmate au

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stellar-constellations · 1 year ago

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i see u pleading for an andrew request so IM GONNA DELIVER 😼 what if. academic to lovers college au where y/n and andrew get assigned to a group project or smth (ion get how college works YET) and it’s actually really fluffy?? like maybe slightly yandere andrew where’s he’s a lil possessive but nothing too toxic that would scare a girl away irl.,.. okay that’s my idea good luck 🤧

Yandere! Andrew Graves x Reader (College AU)

Wordcount: 1,500+ words

Andrew and you had the same history class and your professor paired the two of you up to research about WWI and create a presentation for class. You couldn’t use the internet for research, so you had to resort to digging around the city's library.

Andrew was a bit annoyed at first for this project. He preferred working alone, it made it so others wouldn’t get in his way while working and so he could have all his work credited for.

Andrew quickly grew to respect you when you actually took the project serious instead of placing the work on him because he was smart, or just goofing off and not contributing. He respected that you could work efficiently at a decent-pace, but also you could have fun too. You could crack harmless jokes, and you could make something as boring as studying entertaining and fun while still taking your deadline and work seriously.

Andrew quickly breaks out of his shell with you. You just have some sort of aura that draws him to you, he can't help but laugh at your jokes or guide you through the books with him.

By the end of the first study session, Andrew leaves feeling happy to spend his time researching with you, and a bit sad that he has to wait until tomorrow to see you again.

The next day, you both go back to the library to research some more material for your project. You gather up what books you want to dissect today, sitting down at a table with Andrew to study, but he seems a bit distracted now.

Andrew's eyes drift from the pages to you repeatedly, he couldn't read a full page without looking at you twice, which made your work less efficient.

"Are you okay?" you finally questioned. Andrew seemed surprised that you caught him, his green eyes flickering in surprise, before he cleared his throat. "Um... yeah. I'm just thirsty." He lied. "Hey, do you want a drink? There's a coffee shop not too far from the here. We can continue studying there?" he suggested. "Sure." You smiled, seeing no harm in it.

Andrew looked relieved that you accepted his proposal. You both gathered your materials and books, walking together to the library. Andrew stayed walking on the side of the road, a silent act of chivalry that you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't observing him to see if he was alright.

When you got to the coffee shop and ordered your drinks, Andrew sat next to you in the same booth, your shoulders as he claimed it would be easier to point out what one another is talking about and to hear each other better in this crowded place.

Even though you both had gotten your drinks, Andrew's mind was still somewhere else. He was too busy staring at you, thinking of how pretty you looked with how your hair was done, or how your eyes looked in this coffee shop's lighting, or how you bit your lip slightly when you started to daydream while reading about the boring events going on for your project.

By the end of your second day together, you both had to leave the coffee shop because of how late it got. Andrew was disappointed he had to leave you, but he knew he'd see you tomorrow.

On day three, Andrew woke up early and stopped at the library to check out some books for today's study session. He dropped them off at his apartment, cleaning up his apartment some before walking to class. He sees you and sits next to you during the lecture, making small talk with you before class started.

Andrew and you goofed off a bit during class, but were still pretty productive helping each other out and not being too distracting to your other peers, so your professor allowed you two to stay seated together.

When class was over, Andrew mentioned how he picked up books earlier this morning during a grocery run since the library was just around the corner from him (liar). He said the books were at his apartment and that you both can study at his place.

You agreed. It'd be easier to study someplace where you wouldn't get kicked out for staying too long or for being too loud, and it's also helpful for if you get thirsty or hungry. You and Andrew walked to his apartment together as he walked on the side traffic was.

Andrew almost wrapped his arm around your waist, but felt that it would be too intimate for now (he didn't want to scare you after all!) He instead placed his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side.

When you questioned what he was doing, Andrew leaned down into your ear and spoke: "it's loud out here with the traffic and all, this just makes it easier to hear you."

You ignored it, following him back to his apartment. He unlocked the door and allowed you to step inside, before closing it behind you and locking it. Andrew took you to his bedroom, saying the books were in there.

The books were on his bed as Andrew sat down on it, looking up at you, as if telling you to join him in bed. You did, sitting down next to him and picking up a book to start analyzing. Andrew had a bit of a hard time focusing with you in his room, on his bed, alone with his company. He was able to manage, reading and going over the topics with you.

Andrew played soft jazz music in the background, claiming that the music was around the same time period as the project, so perhaps it'd get them in the mood to keep studying or maybe the lyrics could have something mentioning the project. Either way, the music and all this reading was starting to make you sleepy.

Andrew noticed how your eyes drooped, and how your head started to bounce up and down as you tried to keep yourself away. He hid his smile by hiding his face with his book. Before you could try leaving, you fell asleep on his bed next to him. Andrew noticed, and after a few minutes of making sure you were completely asleep, he placed both of your books down on his dresser, writing today's research papers for the two of you since you were asleep.

Andrew curled up next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he admired your sleeping figure. He kept the jazz music playing in the background, just in case you woke up from him turning it off and so it looked like he fell asleep too when you would eventually wake up.

When you woke up, you were fairly confused and flustered that you had fallen asleep in Andrew's room, and even more flustered once you realized you not only fell asleep in his bed, but his arms too. Andrew stirred awake when you tried to move out of his grasp, realizing you woke up. He apologized (fake, of course) and said that when he sleeps he usually hugs a pillow, so he must've thought you were his pillow when he fell asleep.

It was a reasonable answer, so you accepted the apology and moved on, getting ready for class. In the next few days, you and Andrew were able to finish your project and presentation together, getting a perfect score with each other's help.

Andrew was disappointed that you two couldn't work together on the project together, so he proposed that you two become study buddies and help each other study. You accepted, making Andrew happy that he still got to see you and hang out with you after school alone.

When Andrew left to go back to his parent's apartment, he made sure to call you about the situation at home, the contaminated water and the quarantine and all. He called you everyday, for hours at a time as you both fell asleep on the phone lines.

When Andrew's calls faded all of a sudden, you were pretty concerned for him. He still wasn't in class, and he hadn't called you in almost a week despite your phone calls every day.

It wasn't until you got a knock on your apartment that you saw him. When you opened the door, Andrew rushed in and immediately picked you up, spinning you around in the air as he smiled.

"(Y/N)!" he smiled brightly, his hands on your hips as he spun you in the air happily. "Andrew!" you gasped, a smile making way on your face as you couldn't help but laugh as his actions. "Where have you been? Why haven't you been calling me?" you questioned, your face turning in confusion when you caught the whiff of something metallic on his clothing. "That doesn't matter." He smiled, setting you down on the ground as he looked at you adoringly. You noticed something on his cheek and used your thumb to wipe it off. It was a small blotch of red. Strange... "That doesn't matter anymore. She tried to keep us apart, but I wouldn't let that happen." He spoke, his eyes half-lidded as he stared into your pretty ones. "Nothing matters anymore. I'm here with you now."

Thank you for the request! I'm a huge simp for Andrew (especially yandere) so I had such fun writing this!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is open for plotlines and series ideas, not requests anymore!

#stellar constellations #andy graves #andrew graves x reader #andy graves x reader #x reader #x you #x y/n #x yn #fem reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #x female reader #the coffin of andy and leyley #andy and leyley #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x yandere #yandere x willing reader #yandere

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daveth-isnt-dead · 5 months ago

Text

Coalescence part 1/3

Part Two

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, me pretending to know what science is

Word Count: 7,722

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What are we? She wonders, sitting across the room from the two brilliant minds behind Hextech. Not friends, certainly; colleagues barely. Strangers, probably. She hadn't exactly been looking for assistant work, but after years of flitting between different fields of study but never finding anything that really stuck, an assistant position offered her the freedom to study whatever she pleased without the looming threat of expulsion should she continue skirting the requirement of choosing a major. Heimerdinger had a hand in this, of course. She’s noticed recently, he’s had a hand in a great many things. Didn’t want to forsake a bright mind over some simple indecision, he’d argued, and then tossed her headfirst into the very new Hextech lab without much of a warning.

She mostly sits in the corner, brings coffee even though neither of them ever actually asks for it, and works on her own research well out of the way of whatever potential explosion brews on the other side of the room. They had a lengthy discussion the day she first joined, both of them up in arms as if Heimerdinger had just assigned her to keep an eye on them. He had, but she had very little interest in doing so and told them as much.

“I keep to myself.” She’d said, “You’ll forget I’m even there.” Then, remembering that she was supposed to be an assistant, added, “Unless you need something, of course.”

They rarely ever need something, at least not something that they can’t already work out between the two of them. She feels a bit like a hanger-on, and an unwanted presence, but it’s better than expulsion. So she ignores the other side of the room as best she can and quietly flips through a textbook about whatever has her attention that month. Most recently it’s pottery, and she hopes that she might be able to sneak out of the room and try her hand at the wheel in the fine arts wing of the academy before it’s locked for the evening.

She peers up from her textbook to look at the clock on the wall. It’s just an hour until then and from what she can hear behind her it seems they are still very much in the middle of something. They probably wouldn't even notice if she were to go missing.

So she closes the cover on her book and tucks it under her arm, spinning around in her chair to announce that unless they need anything, she’s headed to another department for the end of the day, only to stop in place when she realises that Jayce is missing. “How long has he been gone?” She asks, more to herself than anyone else.

Viktor, who’s hunched over a pile of notes on the other side of the room gives her a dismissive gesture over his shoulder and doesn't even bother turning around. “Only fifteen minutes, he’s getting dinner.”

“I could have done that.”

He shrugs, “He thought you seemed busy.” and then, peering at her over his shoulder, “He also thought the walk might help clear his head.” She clutches tightly at the book under her arm, suddenly feeling a bit guilty about her plan to leave early, especially with the sun already setting and Viktor now alone in the room. She bristles, almost defensively, “He really should have asked me to do it, that’s the only thing I ever do around here.”

Viktor hums, “Indeed.” She wants to get angry at first, to snap at him. It wouldn't help any though, it’s not like the two of them really wanted an assistant. How infrequently they ever ask for her help is proof enough. They wanted her here as much as she wanted to be here: very little. Even still, they’re stuck together and letting Viktor have it over something that wasn’t his fault would only make things worse. So she bites her tongue.

“What did he need to clear his head of?” She asks, trying to wrench something from him that might result in at least a shred of goodwill, “Are you having trouble?”

In the month or so that she’s been sequestered in the back corner of the lab, she hasn't overheard anything more than a minor setback, the occasional explosion. Though in her mind, an explosion is still at least a lesson in what not to do. Progress is progress. This is the first time she’s seen either of them truly stumped.

“We’re at the edge of a breakthrough.” Viktor replies, “But we cannot seem to get over it.”

Decision made, she places her book back down on the desk and starts walking over to the other side of the room, “Hard spot to be in, are you just going through your notes?” He sighs, “For now, yes. Though it hasn’t helped any.”

His desk is large enough that there’s space for her to lean up beside him. He looks tired when he peers up at her, though from what she’s seen of him, that’s pretty normal. Positioned where she is, she covers up most of the setting sun as it streams in through the window, all but for one perfect beam of it that slices down the right side of Viktor’s face, straight across his eye. Her head tilts, had they always been so golden?

“Do you want to talk through it? I’m a good listener, and saying it out loud is probably more helpful than just re-reading your notes for the hundredth time.” His brow creases, and he leans back a little further in the chair. The beam of light hits his hair now, making it shine almost orange, “Eh, I suppose it couldn’t hurt, at least until Jayce comes back.” he tilts his head in the direction of Jayce’s desk, “Go get his chair, he won’t mind.”

She does as he says, wheeling the chair over and parking herself beside Viktor, resting her elbows on the desk. He shoots her a look out the corner of his eye, and she quickly removes her elbows. “Sorry.”

“Be careful with the things on my desk, I’d prefer it didn't become more disorganised than it already is.”

“Duly noted.” She replies, instead resting her hands in her lap and rotating her chair to face him a little more directly, “Ready when you are.”

She doesn't understand all that much about his explanation, though there are little moments here and there that resonate with her, or that sound familiar enough that she can grasp the concept. Some parts she recognises from hearing the two of them talking about it behind her, but overall she’s just stunned at his retention and how quickly he elaborates on such complex topics. She leans forward in her chair, watching intently at his sharp gesticulation and the way his brow creases when he struggles to find the right word. She nods along even though she doesn't completely understand because the important thing is to get him thinking about it, whether she understands doesn't matter one bit.

“-but we’ve already established that it cannot be done that way, so all of that work just needs to be thrown away and-” “Why not?” He stops mid-thought, eyes darting to hers, stunned to hear her speak after so long. He laughs, incredulous, “Why not ? We’ve already tried it and imploded.” She still doesn't quite understand the difference between imploding and exploding, but it's irrelevant, “Did you figure out why?”

“It was too hot. We couldn’t produce enough power inside of the casing without it imploding. We did try reducing the power and adjusting the-” He cuts himself off, suddenly turning back to the desk and resting his chin in his palm. His eyes dart across the various notes and blueprints sprawled there and then after a few agonising moments he lets out a breathless chuckle, “We never tried adjusting the casing for airflow.” She smiles, the feeling of it on her lips aching with an unfamiliar fondness, “There you go.” she stands from the chair and heads back over to her desk, “I suspect you’ll be busy until Jayce gets back, then. So I might head home.” a glance at the clock confirms that the fine art wing will be well closed by now, but she finds herself not minding all that much, “Enjoy your dinner.” At first, she thinks that he isn't going to answer, the room filled with the sound of a desperate pen scraping on paper, but just as she reaches the door, he whirls around in his chair and says, “Thank you, for permitting me to talk at you for almost an hour. It helped.” What are we now? She wonders.

“I’m glad.” She says.

___

What are we? She can’t help but ask herself, giggling at Jayce’s face when his finger is met with a strong zap from a prototype that Viktor had just told him not to touch.

She still sits on the other side of the room, still makes her way through a growing pile of assorted textbooks (philosophy, currently, operatic theory last month). But now it’s different. Now Jayce calls her name with an excited wave whenever they make a new development, and Viktor regularly uses her as a springboard when he can’t get his own thoughts straight. Her favorite thing though, is when she and Jayce sit cross-legged on the floor to eat lunch, unwilling to move any of the notes and prototypes strewn across the desks to create space for eating. Viktor is hard to pull from his desk, even at lunch, but with enough prodding from Jayce, he will at least spin his chair around to face the two of them while he eats instead of remaining hunched over his work.

“Okay! Okay!” Jayce says, instinctively shaking his injured hand as if to dissipate the last of the electricity, “Don’t touch, I get it.”

Viktor huffs, but she can tell he doesn’t really mean it, “All this time and he still doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.” his head inclines in her direction, his expression of false irritation shattered by the crooked curl at the corner of his lips, “Can you believe this? Even after my warning.” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, “Wouldn’t be the first time he’s touched something he shouldn't.” Jayce points an accusatory finger in her direction, “Hey! You know I didn’t realise that pastry was yours, you can’t keep holding this over my head.”

Viktor quips back with something that she doesn't quite hear, and she just laughs before spinning her chair back around and returning to her textbook. The three of them must be friends now, she thinks, peering over her shoulder to see that Jayce and Viktor have returned to working on the prototype. At the very least, they like her well enough to tell her what they are working on, even though that information is still strictly confidential outside of the lab. She has their coffee orders memorised, which must mean something. It's been over six months now and while she doesn't have much to offer scientifically, she likes knowing she's there to bounce ideas off when nothing seems to stick. She smiles to herself, flipping through her newest textbook, but retaining very little of it. The new prototype behind her is loud , it's the sort of sound she could easily tune out if it wasn't constantly stop-starting and fluctuating in pitch.

From behind her, she hears a sudden panicked stream of consonants leave Viktor’s mouth and then the aching pitch of the prototype’s whirring begins to climb and climb until there’s a loud thunk when Jayce shuts off the power. Though her shoulders tense up beside her ears, she doesn’t feel the need to turn around, “Everyone alive back there?”

Jayce lets out a breathless, nervous laugh, “Yep!”

She hears the rhythmic click of Viktor’s cane as he crosses the room and then after a moment he says, “Just having trouble getting the new prototype to resonate the way the older one did.” “Hah.” She replies, “Just be careful, another interval up and we will have lost our windows.” Silence for a moment, and then Viktor asks, “ Why? ” She spins around in her chair, the two of them are standing by the prototype, both blinking at her owlishly. Her brow furrows, “The sound.” she says, gesturing in the direction of the machine, “It’s hitting just an interval down from a high C. It’s the resonate frequency of glass, a loud enough noise matching the pitch will-”

“Yes!” Jayce exclaims, beaming wide, “The glass would begin to vibrate and then shatter.” Viktor hooks his cane over his arm and leans backward against the desk, “And this is good news, how?” She stands from her desk, buzzing with excitement, “Your resonance problem. Maybe it isn’t just about the power being produced by the crystal, maybe it’s also about the sound .”

His eyebrows jump, and then settle into a thoughtful crease as he cups his chin with his palm. “If organic magic is cast by humans, it wouldn’t be a far reach to assume that there is also a vocal component.” he hums, “If we could find a way to adjust pitch without reducing power then…” he smiles and his eyes meet hers, “You spend a good deal of time in the music wing, yes?”

She nods, “Tuning forks?”

Viktor’s smile grows wider, “Ah, like you’ve read my mind.”

She isn’t used to walking around the halls of the academy with another person beside her. Though she’s pretty comfortable with Viktor and Jayce inside of the lab these days, they rarely, if ever, spend any time together outside of it. She arrives later than they do in the mornings and leaves earlier than they do in the evenings. These days she also goes out for lunch on her own and brings the food back with her. So she keeps peering over at Viktor to make sure she is matching pace with him, clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides because she doesn’t know what she should be doing with them.

“You study music, then?” Viktor asks after several minutes of walking in complete silence.

She startles at his voice, not expecting to hear it, “On and off.” He hums, “You keep busy.” “I usually lose interest if I stay with one subject too long.” She admits, tucking her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

The silence returns, thicker than before. Viktor’s cane clicks on the tiles, the sound at least keeps her in tempo with him, so she doesn’t need to focus as hard on how quickly she’s walking. She takes a quick peek at him and sees that he’s just staring forward. The two of them are passing by a set of windows and his profile looks very sharp when backlit by the afternoon sun. It isn't often that she sees him outside the dim lighting of the lab. His eyes turn to meet hers and she quickly busies herself with picking the already cracked nail polish on one of her fingers.

“Have we been of interest to you, then?” He says, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile, “Enough that you haven’t lost it?” She hadn’t really thought about it, for the most part, she still considered her time in the lab a requirement from higher-ups at the academy, but was that all it was anymore? She shrugs a shoulder, “For now.” she smirks, “Hard to lose my attention when you continually blow things up.” Viktor tuts, “There hasn’t been a single explosion this past month, besides, it’s all part of the scientific progress, yes?”

“If you say so, I’m not exactly an authority on the subject.” The two of them turn a corner and the angle of the sun changes, Viktor squints a little when the light hits his eyes, he sighs, “To think I was about to say that it’s nice to be out in the sun.” He lifts his free arm to cover his face from the light.

She laughs, ducking her head to hide her smile, “It’s just upset with you for spurning its advances for so long.”

His brows settle in a scowl, but she can’t help smiling wider when she realises that it doesn’t reach his eyes which instead shine with a playful warmth, “Very funny.”

“I try to be.” She increases her pace a little, turning around to face him. Her backward steps slow at the sight of Viktor awash in the bright light of the afternoon sun, squinting his eyes to keep her in focus. Her continued smile is almost involuntary as she beckons him closer, “C’mon, just down the hall. If we’re quick we can get you some more sun exposure on the way back.”

The older version of the prototype hums on the bench before her, crystal spinning in a consistent whirl. It’s far less refined than their newer attempt, still assembled with whatever pieces they could find around the lab and the metal casing jitters and quakes a little under the strain. She still likes the older prototype better, all its rough edges and shaky frame, it’s a whole lot less commercial than that new chrome casing they’ve been working to perfect, but progress is progress, she supposes. As she lays three of the tuning forks out in front of her, Viktor and Jayce peer down at her expectantly and she isn’t used to feeling intimidated, so she doesn’t like it all that much.

“I’m pretty good at picking notes by ear.” she begins, “But it’s more uh…mechanical sounding than I’m used to, zippy-” her brow creases, “or zappy? Maybe?” she gestures to the forks, “it’s somewhere within this range though.”

“Go on then!” Jayce says enthusiastically, “Give it a try!” She sucks a breath in through her teeth and grabs the fork that’s tuned to a G4, lightly tapping the prongs on the corner of the bench. The vibrations run up from her fingertips all the way to her elbow and the sound is inconsistent at first, until she raises the fork up vertically and holds her hand still. From behind her, she hears a sharp exhale of breath and then Viktor’s voice much closer than she was expecting.

“Got it in one.” He says, and she peers over her shoulder to find that he’s leaned in closer to observe. He smiles, “You do have a good ear.”

He’s right, the sound emanating from the fork matches the ethereal pitch coming from the Hextech prototype so exactly that the two sounds begin to merge. She can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips, “Well, I guess the two of you need to figure out how to get your new prototype to hit a G4.” She spins her chair around and passes the tuning fork to Viktor, the sound comes to an abrupt stop when the prongs make contact with his palm, “My work here is done, I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

She has the weekend off, and the day she comes back Jayce immediately grabs her hand and tugs her over to the other side of the lab with such enthusiasm that she almost topples over. She doesn't even have time to put down her bag. He beams from ear to ear as he positions her in front of the bench the prototype has taken up full-time residence on. Viktor is sitting at the bench, finishing up some last-minute wire connections when she arrives. He spins his chair to face her, and removes his goggles (leaving red rings around his eyes that she resists the urge to tease him about later) before rolling himself out of the way.

“Watch!” Jayce says enthusiastically, stepping towards the device and turning it on. As before, the crystal begins to spin, faster and faster, the casing whining under the pressure as the power builds but fails to resonate. Then from the other end of the desk, Viktor picks up a small remote connected by a set of wires and as he adjusts the knobs, the sound that the crystal creates adjusts in pitch, warbling and quivering until it settles confidently on a perfect clear G4.

A laugh escapes her, unbidden and she oddly feels like she might start crying. Jayce grabs both her hands and exclaims, “We did it!” “You did it!” She returns excitedly.

“ We did it.” Viktor corrects, and she suddenly realises that we now includes her.

Friends. She confirms to herself, standing up on her toes so she can wrap her arms around Jayce, she gazes at Viktor from over his shoulder and is pleased to find his eyes look especially warm when he smiles. Friends, she reiterates.

___

The next six months pass quickly. With the resonance problem fixed, the rest of the research and prototype building seemed to come easily, with only a few notable explosions. Most of the work was still theoretical and Viktor spent hours glowering at the blackboard while Jayce put things together and then pulled them apart. Lots of the original prototypes were cannibalised for parts and she hates to see them go. Jayce was a good sport when the first prototype they ever made had to be put in storage to clear up space, laughing with her as they wrote a terrible farewell poem for it. Viktor did rest a comforting hand on her shoulder as she acted out an exaggerated goodbye to the project because even though the faux waterworks were in jest, it was as if he could somehow tell that her insides ached at the ever-persistent march of change.

Much of the stress in the lab was around the looming threat of presenting their ideas to the council for more funding, diagrams needed to be drawn and chicken scratch notes needed to be copied into a much more legible format. That was her job for a while, hunching over her desk and transcribing notes, yelling at Jayce over her shoulder for his miserable handwriting and calling Viktor over for translations on what she started affectionately calling ‘Viktor-isms’

“You can’t keep giving new concepts names without explaining what they relate to.”

He scoffed, “I think it’s fairly obvious what an AOE Expansion Stabalisor is.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, incredulous, “Will it be obvious to Councilor Hoskel?”

Viktor cringed, “Ehh…allow me to draw up a diagram.”

Her best asset these days is her ability to boil down complicated concepts to their most simple forms. To essentially translate the inner workings of geniuses to something comprehensible by the layman. She has a large bound book that she is compiling all of the most essential notes into and a presentation that she is helping Jayce to draft.

“Oh, I’ll help you write it, but I’m not speaking.” Jayce huffed, “But Viktor says he doesn’t want to speak either! It’ll just be me up there.” She laughed and gently punched him in the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll knock ‘em dead, big guy.”

They aren’t just friends anymore. They’re something else. Something closer to family. She spends more time in the lab than she used to, abandoning her textbooks to instead work on the presentation, to sit and listen as Viktor goes on one of his hour-long rambles that slowly starts to become more comprehensible the more she listens to them. She likes listening to them. The smiles on their faces when she first decided to come in on a weekend even though she didn’t have to are still burned into her brain. Jayce’s smile was as bright as it always is, while Viktor’s was subtler, quieter; but to her, it was utterly incandescent and she couldn’t shake it from the corners of her mind for the next few hours.

“Miss?” A voice says, ripping her from her musings and back into the present.

She blinks a few times, remembering where she is and then replies, “Sorry, Professor Heimerdinger, what did you ask?”

“No worries at all, dear girl.” He says, adjusting himself in his seat, “It’s been over a year now since I first asked you to work in the Hextech lab and I just wanted to make sure the three of you were getting along.”

“We are.” She replies sincerely, “Very well.” Viktor falls asleep in the lab sometimes. One winter afternoon she found him asleep at his desk and couldn’t bear to wake him up, so quickly and quietly, she left the lab and hurried across campus to her dorm room to grab one of her spare blankets. He hadn’t stirred while she was gone, so she took the time to tuck it around his shoulders before returning to her desk. Jayce cames in an hour later and she gestured furiously to Viktor’s sleeping form before he could let out one of his usual, very loud greetings. Holding a finger to his lips, Jayce nodded and they both silently returned to work. The blanket lives in the lab now.

“That’s good, very good,” Heimerdinger says with a nod. His white eyebrows curve in a sympathetic arch and he leans forward in his chair, “I know that it was a shock to find that your patron had withdrawn their support last year, and while this likely wasn’t what you wanted I hope that it was of some value to you.” He laughs, “Though I do also think those boys need someone keeping an eye on them.”

She laughs, “Even now? They’re making steady progress, I’m not certain they need much monitoring.” “I know from experience that a scientist can so easily become trapped in a box of his own making, but with all your studying and your knowledge across such a wide breadth of subjects, I’m not sure those boys could keep you in a box if they tried.” He smiles softly, “They need that, or they won’t get anywhere.”

“Oh… thank you.” She mutters, pretending to be very interested in whatever is going on outside the window to avoid having to reconcile what sounded like a very genuine compliment.

“You don’t have to stay in the lab with them if you no longer want to.” Heimerdinger says quietly, “I’m essentially your patron now and I can easily assign you to another department if-” “No!” She says sharply, then shakes her head, “Sorry, that was rude. Um, I mean, no thank you. I’m happy where I am.” Heimerdinger chuckles to himself, “Well then, are you majoring in the sciences after all?” She snorts, “ No , I don’t have the brains for it.”

Two weeks ago she caught a miscalculation in Jayce’s notes, prevented the destruction of yet another prototype. It was just pattern recognition though, she’d become so familiar with the strings of numbers and formulas in their notes that the anomaly practically screamed out to her in bleeding red writing. She was better at understanding what they spoke about now, and able to help with wiring when either of them needed extra hands, but that’s just retention, muscle memory.

Despite her depreciation, Heimerdinger smiles knowingly, “That, I find hard to believe.”

Just a week later she sits next to Viktor in the council room, eyes darting across the expressions of the council members trying to gauge any sort of reaction. She knew they had Councillor Medarda’s vote at the very least, but she’d never even been in the council room before now and had absolutely no way of knowing what direction each of them swayed.

He must see the look on her face, because, in hushed tones, Viktor starts giving her the limited information he has, “Hoskel will vote the same direction as Medarda” he begins, leaning close to her ear, “Kiramman has a soft spot for Jayce, Heimerdinger has hopefully swung in our direction but other than that, I have no idea.”

She swallows and turns to look at him, “No, thank you, that helps.” she heaves an uneasy breath in her throat, “I don’t like it in here.” Viktor chuckles, “Me either, but look at Jayce go, there’s a reason he’s the face of this operation.”

It’s true, he’s a natural. While she sits completely tense in the shadows, he gesticulates just enough and speaks at just the right volume. She spent so long helping him to perfect the script for the presentation that she can practically follow it along with him.

Then it comes time for him to show the new prototype, the final version, the one that sings a perfect G4 and resides in a casing that doesn’t rattle or whine even when the gemstone is generating full power. She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter and they both hold their breath as Jayce activates the prototype.

A clear and beautiful G4 fills the room, an angelic hum that sounds like magic in and of itself. When all the tensed muscles in her body release, it takes all her willpower not to burst into tears or laughter of utter relief and when she turns to Viktor he looks exactly the way she feels; exhilarated, soft and warm after months of anxiety just melted from him. He smiles and oh god.

The question becomes more singular, we now refers to two people instead of three and oh god , what are we?

___

What are we? She wonders one year later, frozen in the doorway of her childhood bedroom, holding her breath as if it will prevent him from noticing she’s there. Viktor stands beside her single bed, weight resting on his cane as he leans forward to peek at the old doodles she pinned to the corkboard years ago. He’s smiling.

Bringing both Jayce and Viktor to her father’s house had not been on the docket earlier in the day, but sometimes fate has its own ideas. The next and hopefully last presentation to the council is coming up tomorrow morning and they have spent the last few months working on a 1:250 scale recreation of the final idea. It took a long time, but it’s finally gotten to the point that they can reliably transport a medium-sized object from one side of the room to the other and if they push the power, they can even manage to move something halfway across campus.

It was her idea to provide a more accurate visual aid, that if they were planning to push the project as a vessel for trade routes, the council would likely grasp the idea better if the object they were transporting actually looked like a dirigible, instead of the old metal crate they had been using during tests. While Jayce agreed with the idea, it had come pretty late during preparation and he was worried that there wouldn’t been time to get it finished while they also worked together on drafting the presentation. It was Viktor who insisted on building it.

“I used to assemble these sorts of contraptions for fun .” He’d said, already arranging a collection of metal pieces on his workbench, “Besides, I’m going to be far more useful working on this than I am working on your script.” He peered at her from over his shoulder, “I don’t share your gift for linguistics.”

So while she and Jayce poured over notes and collected the most legible blueprints they had available, Viktor tinkered at his desk, welding and folding metal. It didn’t take him long at all to finish it, two whole days in the lab with very brief breaks for meals when she or Jayce forced him to eat something and a trip or two to the textile department for the fabric components. She had a great deal of fun inflating the miniature airship and shooting it back and forth through the miniature Hexgate, but the night before the presentation they were overcome with concern at just how long it took for the dirigible to appear on the other side of the room.

Viktor huffed and pushed his hair out of his face as he stared at it, “It should only take a second for it to make the journey, but now it’s taking four .” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “It must be something to do with the shape? Previously we were using a square object, far less complex.”

So he and Jayce set to adjusting the prototype while she made a few last-minute changes to Jayce’s speech. The problem came when they tested the Hexgate one last time, they had overcorrected and the dirigible emerged on the other side of the room at a greater forward velocity than they had been expecting and collided directly with a pile of discarded scrap metal. Her head shot up from her desk just in time to watch as it started falling to the ground, kicking her chair out from behind her and diving for the airship, letting out a grunt as the heavy object landed in her arms.

Luckily she had been quick enough on her feet to prevent any structural damage, but the collision had torn a hole in the fabric and unless they managed to get that fixed before the sun came up, it wasn’t going to fly during the presentation.

“It’s okay!” She said quickly, the moment she caught the look of quiet horror on the inventors’ faces, “The textile wing will be closed, but I have a sewing machine.” “In your dorm?” Jayce asked, expression quickly losing the air of misery it had just a moment ago.

She grimaced, “No. not in my dorm and you’ll both have to come, I can’t carry this thing on my own and I probably need to disconnect the fabric so I can put it through the machine.”

Presently, her hand grips tightly to the open doorway, still holding her breath as she watches Viktor rest his cane against the bedside table and take a seat on her childhood bed, leaning down quickly to rub at the muscles in his bad leg. When his eyes dart up and he sees her, he freezes, “Oh, hello.” he clears his throat, “I got lost.” She snorts, “How could you get lost in a two-bedroom house?” she leans against the doorframe, unable to stop her smile, “You’re a terrible liar.” “I wasn’t lying.” “If you say so.” She replies, looking down at her toes just to avoid the broiling gold of his eyes, “I’ve got the machine set up on the kitchen table, so if you’re done snooping -” “I wasn’t snooping .” He interrupts.

She crosses her arms, finding that she likes the incredulous expression he’s making, almost as much as she likes seeing the sharp lines of him juxtaposed with her soft floral bedsheets, “Then what were you doing?”

He sits up straight, loosely gesturing to her corkboard, “Admiring your work.” His expression settles into a soft smile, “Were you looking to study textiles when you joined the academy?” It’s been a long time since she’s been in this room. She visits when she gets the chance, but always heads back to her dorm instead of staying the night. The corkboard is covered with old clothing designs, swatches of fabric, and a button here and there. She shakes her head, “No, not really. It’s uh, it’s the family business. I haven’t thought about it all that much since taking up studying.”

“You said that your father wouldn't be here.” She nods, “He’s at the workshop, tomorrow is the busiest day of the week. He usually stays there the night before so he can get a head start in the morning.” a sigh escapes her, “My mother used to force him to come home every night, but, well…” Viktor doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

“My patron was one of my father’s customers. He offered to do his alterations free so long as he took care of my patronage at the academy.” She chews on her lower lip, not really sure why she is telling him all of this, “I think he expected to make some money from me, that I was some sort of genius, but I was indecisive and refused to major in anything, so he withdrew support.” Viktor laughs, “Bad luck for him then.” he says, wincing a little as he pulls himself back up from the bed, “You’re one-third of Hextech now.” She hums aloud as he crosses the room, shifting in the doorway to give him space to slip past. “Yeah,” she replies and the hand not on his cane rests briefly on her upper arm as he passes, lingering maybe a little longer than it needed to, “I guess I am.”

Her body goes slack against the doorframe, her chest expanding with a warm sigh as she watches him turn the corner to the kitchen, clearly not lost. Their relationship hasn’t changed all that much in the past year, they joke around a lot more and physical contact is more common, though it’s little more than a hand on a shoulder or the usual tight handholding at any and all presentations they give to the council. They’re friends, she reasons and whatever in her heart is telling her that it’s something else is just causing problems, an unnecessary ache. She sighs again, peering into her bedroom and imagining him still sitting there, smiling at her. It’s only when Jayce calls her name that she manages to recollect herself, calling out a quick, “I’m coming!” before they start wondering why she’s lagging behind.

___

Has something changed? She wonders. Even with the tall ceilings and open windows, the ballroom she’s trapped in feels suffocating. She sucks a shaky breath in through her teeth and continues clutching the stem of a champagne glass she’s been holding for over an hour now without actually drinking it. Jayce is planning to give an address shortly, about the success of the recently completed Hexgates, but he rightly refuses to start until Viktor arrives and it’s been long enough that she’s starting to worry he may have decided not to come altogether.

The last two and a half years were the most difficult for the three of them. A project of such an enormous scale takes up a lot of time and a great deal more hands than the team alone could provide. Viktor quickly learned that he hated working with other people, and most nights at the lab were spent making changes to blueprints, running tests and complaining about the construction team.

“I swear-” Viktor began one day, furiously scribbling notes on a blueprint, “-I wouldn’t be surprised to find that one of those people ate all of our crystals just because I didn’t specially label them inedible .” She’d laughed, sitting at the desk next to him and updating the construction resources with less technical language, “Be nice. If I hadn’t been eavesdropping on you for three years I probably wouldn’t know what any of this stuff means either.” Viktor sighed, “You’ve done much more than eavesdrop .” his pen stilled for a moment and his golden eyes met hers, “I can be nice, I promise.” Without thinking, she’d let her head drop to rest on his shoulder, “I know you can.” He made no move to shift her off of him, even though the weight of her head was surely going to affect the use of his dominant hand. After a lapse of comfortable silence, he let out a chuckle and inclined his head in her direction, “That cannot be comfortable.” “It’s not.” She admitted, “Your shoulder’s pointy.” “and yet you are not moving.” “That’s right.”

“Suit yourself.” He replied, his voice barely a whisper. Before quietly returning to his writing.

Jayce grabs her attention from across the room, gesticulating wildly. She knows him well enough to immediately recognise that he is asking if she has any idea where Viktor is. All she can respond with is a concerned shrug before pointing to the nearest door, implying that she will go look for him. Jayce smiles in thanks and then returns to the gaggle of investors surrounding him. The champagne finally gets drunk, it probably would have been nicer an hour ago when it was still cold, but she needs two hands to maneuver her dress. The glass clinks when she leaves it on the nearest flat surface and starts heading to the doors, half considering never coming back, whether she finds Viktor or not.

Not that she ever makes it through the door, because she almost bumps headlong into him as he makes his way inside.

“Viktor!” She exclaims, half shocked and half relieved to see him.

His mouth twitches up in a smile, “Sorry I’m late, outfit problems.” Her eyes dart down involuntarily. His suit is mossy green and the colour brings out the gold in his eyes. He looks good and she is about to say so when she notices the rudimentary steel and leather brace on his leg. Her chest cavity fills with the ice-cold chill of dread and Viktor must see it on her face because he quickly supplies an explanation.

“Never many chairs at these things.” he says, gesturing to the brace, “A precautionary measure.”

She wants to believe him, wants so badly to believe him. The calculations all match up in her head though, him an hour late, the brace clearly made and not purchased. Four and a half years is a long time to watch someone, especially when watching as intently as she has been for at least the last two. He places more weight on his cane than he used to, and struggles to do anything that involves both hands while standing up. Even from across the lab, she can hear the way he hisses each time he has to rise from his chair and when the setting sun streams in through the window the same way it did that first month in the lab, the shadows settle deep in the hollow of his cheeks.

“Good idea.” She forces herself to say, ignoring all of the evidence because any other explanation would be preferable. Instead, she returns to what she had intended to say from the beginning, a truth far less daunting, “You look very nice, by the way. Can’t even tell you had outfit problems.” He laughs, though it sounds a little too much like a wheeze, “You’re too kind. Anyway, let’s go find Jayce before he starts worrying.” They’ve already missed the boat on that one, Jayce is in the midst of a nervous sweat when they make their way over. His eyes also dart down to the brace on Viktor’s leg, but she watches in real-time as he dismisses the thought, gives the both of them a quick hug and shakes the nerves off before his address.

“I’m surprised you survived so long without me,” Viktor says cheekily as Jayce heads over to grab Councillor Medarda’s attention.

“So am I.” She replies, peering up at him with a smile, “You know I hate these big events.” Viktor returns her smile and his face melts into such a warmth that all the signs of deterioration seem imaginary for just a moment. Somewhere across the room, Councillor Medarda clinks her glass to grab the attention of the room, but right before Jayce begins his address, Viktor leans down to her ear and whispers, “You look very nice too, sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”

The feeling of those words resonates so warmly in her chest that she can’t resist holding onto them and just as Jayce steps forward, just as the usual nerves begin to set in, Viktor’s hand reaches out and grabs hers tight. The way it always does. She smiles softly to herself and rubs her thumb across the protrusion of his knuckles in thanks. Maybe nothing has changed, not really, she might just be imagining it. Even if the bones in his fingers feel more pronounced.

Applause fills the room when Jayce finishes, at one point he even has the good grace to point out where she and Viktor are standing in the crowd, which she hates , but knows she should appreciate. He’s his usual ball of sunshine self when he comes over, beaming wide and wrapping his arms around the two of them.

“That went great !” He exclaims, hands still shaking with the usual adrenaline associated with speech giving, “I can’t believe that we’re closing the chapter on Hexgates, whoo!” Viktor chuckles and pats Jayce on the arm, “It’s still early days yet, lots of time for things to go wrong and lots of modification on the horizon.” “I know, I know . It still feels good though, doesn’t it? To have finished something?”

She laughs, “This is probably the first thing I’ve ever finished in my life, so thank you.” her eyes drift to Viktor and then quickly back to Jayce, “Both of you.”

“To finishing things!” Jayce exclaims suddenly, and follows up with, “Wait, we need drinks, one second!” “A veritable font of energy as always,” Viktor says a few seconds after Jayce disappears.

“Pretty sure he’s already had a few drinks.” Viktor looks at her cheekily, “For the nerves, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely just for the nerves.” She replies, watching as Jayce gets caught by another throng of investors on his way over to the bar. She sighs, “Poor guy, I’m glad I don't have his charisma.” Viktor hums aloud, “Do you think he’ll know to check the balcony when he comes back?”

“It’s only the place we always frequent at these events.” His eyes light up, “That’s a yes, then?”

“Always will be.” She replies, trying not to get lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. She clears her throat, “Let’s hurry, it’s too hot in here.”

It’s like a shock of electricity when his free hand presses against the small of her back and when she peers up at him to find he is already looking down at her, the question rises once again, unbidden. What are we?

#bree writes occasionally #viktor/reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor arcane

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