#asks about grand academy

[gyuuberryy]

prince charming's mismatch

pairing: prince!heeseung x princess!reader

synopsis: you and prince heeseung have been rivals for as long as you can remember. what began as childhood clashes has grown into a deep-seated animosity over the years. but when your sister runs away on her wedding day, you're forced to take her place and marry heeseung—the last person you ever wanted to call your husband.

now bound in an unwanted marriage, you’re faced with navigating the tension between your unresolved hatred and an unexpected attraction. as palace intrigue and looming threats surround you both, you must confront the truth of your feelings. will the bitterness between you tear you apart, or will it ignite something far more powerful?

genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriage au

warnings: highly suggestive content!!! kissing, hee and reader are mean at first, insecurities, jealous!hee

note: i've been meaning to write this plot for an year now, im happy with how it turned out! e2l with hee is always soo fun to write. enjoyy

word count: 11.5k

royally yours masterlist | next: jay

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the first time you met prince heeseung, it was at a grand summer garden party hosted by your parents in the palace’s sprawling grounds. you were barely six years old, and he wasn’t much older, yet even then, the air between you crackled with something akin to competition. your governess had dressed you in your finest lace frock, with your hair tied in perfect ribbons, but none of that mattered. you were too busy building a grand sandcastle near the fountain, your little fingers carefully patting the turrets into shape.

that was when heeseung appeared, his shadow falling over your castle like a storm cloud. he crouched beside you without so much as a polite greeting, his royal title apparently excusing his lack of manners. his eyes, sharp for a child, surveyed your handiwork critically.

“that’s not right,” he declared, reaching out to touch one of your towers. “the walls need to be thicker, or it’ll fall.”

you frowned, already bristling at the unsolicited advice. “it’s my castle. i know what i’m doing.”

he smirked, a small, superior thing that made your blood simmer even at that tender age. without asking, he began "fixing" it, his hands too rough as he demolished what you had so carefully crafted.

“stop!” you cried, shoving him back with all the strength your little body could muster. heeseung stumbled, landing awkwardly on the grass, but instead of being chastened, he merely laughed.

“see?” he said, gesturing at the collapsed sandcastle. “i told you it would fall.”

tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you glared at him. “you ruined it! i didn’t ask for your help!”

heeseung stood, dusting off his fine clothes, a boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “you should thank me. i was doing you a favour.”

from that day forward, any time your families met, it was as if an unspoken rule had been established—whenever you were in the same room, you and heeseung would find something to argue about. it didn’t matter if it was who deserved the biggest slice of cake or who could recite their latin conjugations faster; the two of you were constantly at odds.

as the years passed, your mutual disdain only deepened. by the time you were ten, heeseung had already earned a reputation as the golden boy of his kingdom, a future king who excelled in everything he touched. your own accomplishments were always impressive—your parents had ensured you were well-versed in languages, history, and the fine arts—but whenever heeseung was around, it felt as though all your achievements paled in comparison.

“did you hear?” one of your tutors asked one morning as you sat in the drawing room, diligently practising your embroidery. “prince heeseung has been awarded top marks in his studies again. he’s to receive a commendation from the royal academy.”

you didn’t look up, but your needle paused for the briefest of moments. “how wonderful for him,” you muttered, the words heavy with sarcasm.

that evening, at another royal banquet, you couldn’t help but bring up your own accomplishments, eager for even a crumb of recognition.

“i’ve been practising my archery,” you said proudly to the gathered guests, though your eyes couldn’t help but flick toward heeseung, who lounged nearby, looking as regal and aloof as ever. “i managed to hit the bullseye several times this week.”

heeseung glanced up lazily, catching your eye with that familiar, insufferable smirk. “impressive,” he said in a bored tone, “though archery isn’t quite the same as, say, fencing. that requires real skill.”

your fists clenched under the table, your pride wounded by his casual dismissal. but this was the way it always went. no matter what you did, heeseung always found a way to make it seem insignificant, as though he were the sun and you were merely a star dimmed by his brilliance.

by the time you were both teenagers, the animosity between you had grown more complicated, though no less intense. you found yourselves at the same royal gatherings, balls, and court functions, and each time, it was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting to see what you and heeseung would clash over next.

at one particularly grand ball, you had been feeling proud of your debut. you wore a gown of the finest silk, and you’d received more than a few admiring glances from the eligible noblemen in attendance. you were certain this was your night to shine—until heeseung approached.

“you look well enough,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that set your teeth on edge. “though i hope you don’t trip during the quadrille like last time.”

your cheeks flushed, remembering all too well the minor misstep you’d taken at a previous ball. “i won’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “and even if i did, it’s better than fencing yourself into a corner like you did at the tournament last month.”

his smile faltered for just a second, but that was enough to make you feel victorious.

yet, despite the constant barbs, there was something else simmering beneath the surface now—a tension you refused to name. you hated the way your heart raced whenever heeseung was near, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of a room. and, though you’d never admit it, you hated even more that part of you missed the old days when your squabbles were simple, childish things.

it all changed the day your sister’s engagement to heeseung was announced. the prince who had been your lifelong nemesis was now to become your sister’s husband, the future king of your kingdom. it was a match made for political alliance, but it felt like a betrayal. you had expected more from him—well, not more kindness, but certainly more rebellion. yet, heeseung accepted the engagement with the same cool composure he did everything else.

for the first time in years, he stopped seeking you out, stopped picking those fights you had come to expect. he no longer bothered with sharp remarks or smug smiles. instead, he kept his distance, as though you were beneath his notice.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, what did you care if heeseung ignored you now? he was going to be your brother-in-law, and that was enough reason to keep things civil. and yet, a strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest whenever you saw him and your sister together. he was colder now, more mature, but somehow more distant than ever.

little did you know, your rivalry with prince heeseung was far from over. if anything, it was only just beginning.

the night your world fell apart, it started with a simple knock on your chamber door. the palace had been abuzz with preparations—florists arranging garlands, tailors hemming gowns, and courtiers whispering about the grand union that would strengthen two kingdoms. you had spent the evening rehearsing your duties as maid of honour, biting back any remnants of bitterness that still clung to your feelings about the match. it didn’t matter that you had spent your entire life despising heeseung; your sister loved him, or at least, she was supposed to.

you were preparing to retire, brushing your hair by the dim glow of candlelight, when your sister slipped into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. you’d never seen her look so frantic. your heart sank before she even said a word.

“i’m not going to marry him,” she whispered, wringing her hands in the folds of her silk nightgown. her voice trembled, but it was steady enough for you to know she wasn’t joking.

your heart lurched. “what are you talking about? the wedding is tomorrow!”

her wide eyes darted to the door as if she feared someone might overhear. she leaned in closer, gripping your wrist with trembling fingers. “i can’t marry heeseung,” she said urgently. “i don’t love him. i’m leaving tonight.”

the words hit you like a physical blow. “you’re what?”

“i’m eloping,” she said, her voice firmer now, as if saying it out loud gave her courage. “with lucien.”

lucien. you barely knew the man, a minor noble from another court, but he had charmed your sister quickly. he was handsome and witty, but far beneath her station. you stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury.

“lucien? are you mad? you can’t just abandon your duty for—”

“for love?” she interrupted, her voice rising in defiance. “yes, i can. i won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who cares nothing for me.”

you swallowed hard, your mind racing. heeseung, distant and cold as he had been with you, had shown no signs of affection for your sister either, but this was bigger than personal feelings. the marriage was political, a union meant to secure alliances, peace, and power. your sister fleeing would bring nothing but chaos.

“you’ll ruin everything,” you whispered, your voice thick with the weight of the consequences. “our families, the kingdoms—this is bigger than you.”

her eyes softened with a mix of guilt and determination. “i know. but i can’t live my life for duty, not like this.” she stood, gathering a small satchel you hadn’t noticed before, already packed and ready for her escape.

“you won’t stop me, will you?” she asked, her gaze pleading.

you wanted to scream, to shake her out of this madness, but your throat tightened. she was your sister. you loved her. and you knew, deep down, that nothing you said would change her mind.

“i should,” you said, your voice quiet, brittle. “but no. i won’t.”

your sister smiled, a fragile, relieved thing, before pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug felt final, like the end of something neither of you could come back from. when she finally let go, you stood frozen in the middle of her room as she slipped out the window and into the night, her footsteps fading into the shadows.

the palace remained blissfully unaware of the catastrophe until morning, when your mother’s scream shattered the early dawn peace.

the palace was in chaos the next morning. servants rushed through the halls, panic etched on their faces as whispers spread like wildfire—the bride had run away. you stayed in your chambers as long as possible, trying to gather your thoughts, your emotions, trying to prepare for the inevitable fallout.

when the summons came from your father, it felt like a death knell. the walk to the throne room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. the moment you stepped through the grand doors, you saw heeseung standing beside your parents. his face was a mask of icy calm, but his eyes…his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, cold and unforgiving.

he didn’t even glance at you as your father spoke.

“your sister has disgraced this family,” your father’s voice boomed, his tone laced with anger and disappointment. “but the marriage cannot be abandoned. the alliance with heeseung’s kingdom is too important.”

you stood still, your stomach churning as you braced for what was coming.

“therefore,” your father continued, his gaze hard as stone, “you will take her place.”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you? marry heeseung? no, it wasn’t possible. you had spent your entire life in a silent war with him. the idea of marrying the man who had been your nemesis since childhood was unthinkable.

your mother’s voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. “the arrangements have already been made. the wedding will proceed as planned. you will become heeseung’s bride.”

“no.” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your heart racing. “i can’t.”

your father’s eyes narrowed, and your mother’s expression hardened with disappointment. “you will do your duty,” your father said coldly. “this is not up for discussion.”

duty. it always came down to that. your entire life, you had been prepared for moments like this, but not this moment. not like this.

finally, you turned to heeseung, desperate for any sign of protest, for him to say something—anything—that would stop this madness. but he was silent. his face remained expressionless, as though none of this affected him. he looked at you as if you were just a piece of the puzzle, another part of the kingdom’s grand design.

“is that all i am to you?” you asked, your voice shaking. “just a replacement? a stand-in for the bride who ran away?”

for the first time, heeseung’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, buried deep beneath the coldness. but his words cut through you like ice.

“you’re a princess,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “your role is to serve your kingdom. that’s all that matters.”

a bitter laugh escaped your throat. “you’ve hated me for years, heeseung. and now you expect me to just—what? pretend none of that matters?”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. instead, he turned away, his indifference stinging more than any of the insults you had traded over the years.

your father spoke again, his tone final. “the marriage will happen. prepare yourself.”

the grand hall was suffused with the glow of flickering candles and soft sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. the scent of fresh roses—your sister’s favourite, not yours—hung heavily in the air, mocking the gravity of the moment. you stood at the entrance of the hall, your hands clenched so tightly around the bouquet that your knuckles were white. the murmurs of the courtiers echoed around you, a constant hum of speculation and judgement. no matter how well you carried yourself today, the whispers wouldn’t stop.

the switch of the bride was the scandal of the century, and you were at the centre of it.

ahead of you, heeseung stood tall, his face as unreadable as stone. the same detachment was in his eyes, his expression cool and composed as if this marriage was merely another political manoeuvre for him, another step toward the throne. he didn’t look at you with warmth, or even a hint of care. to him, you weren’t his wife—you were the replacement for the woman who had run away.

you walked down the aisle, every step heavier than the last, the reality of your situation crushing you. heeseung’s gaze was steady as you approached, but it wasn’t the gaze of a man looking at his bride. it was a look of cold calculation, a man who had resigned himself to duty.

when you finally reached him, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, you barely registered the priest's words. the vows—sacred, binding—felt hollow, like a cruel twist of fate. how could you stand here, repeating the words meant for your sister? they weren't meant for you. you were never supposed to be the bride.

heeseung took your hand, and the warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the chill that ran down your spine. his grip was firm, not gentle, but not cruel either—just dutiful. he spoke his vows with a steady voice, each word sounding rehearsed, as though they meant nothing to him beyond their formality.

and then it was your turn. you hesitated, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, your pulse quickening. your voice trembled slightly as you repeated the vows, feeling the eyes of everyone in the hall on you—expecting you to fulfil your role, to be the perfect princess. you could barely choke out the words, but somehow, you managed. and with every word, you felt the invisible chains of your new life tightening around you.

when the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, heeseung’s lips brushed yours in the briefest of kisses—so cold and devoid of feeling that it felt more like a business transaction than the union of two people. the cheers of the court erupted around you, but in that moment, the applause sounded like the closing of a cage. you were trapped, bound to him, to this life.

as you turned to leave the altar, heeseung offered his arm, the tension between you palpable. his eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, but there was no warmth there. just that cold, resigned look you had grown accustomed to. you were both playing your roles, just as you had been trained to do your whole lives.

but this wasn’t a game. this was your future, and it felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

the wedding feast had been a blur—a cacophony of forced smiles, hollow congratulations, and polite toasts that masked the underlying tension. you had barely spoken a word to heeseung throughout the entire affair. he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to you either, remaining as distant and composed as ever.

now, as you stood alone in the chambers that were to be yours and heeseung’s, the reality of your new life settled heavily on your chest. the palace chambers were far too quiet, the air thick with the tension that had been building between you and heeseung for years. as you stood in the centre of the room, staring at the enormous bed draped in rich fabrics, it felt like the walls were closing in. the room was elegantly decorated—ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and the grand four-poster bed was fit for a queen. but none of it mattered. the splendour felt like a mockery of the situation you found yourself in. tonight, this room was not a sanctuary but a gilded cage.

your breath caught in your throat as the door creaked open. heeseung entered, his presence commanding even in the subdued candlelight. the tension between you was palpable, stretching like a thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment. his gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he didn’t speak, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

heeseung moved with practised grace, his movements calm and deliberate. he began undoing the buttons on his ceremonial jacket, the fine fabric sliding off his shoulders and landing in a careless heap on the chair by the vanity. you stood frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. this wasn’t how you had imagined a wedding night would feel—though you had never dreamed this night would be with heeseung, of all people.

his back was to you now, his broad shoulders tense, though he did nothing to betray any emotion. you could feel the distance between you both, even though he was just across the room. heeseung had always been composed, guarded, but tonight, his coldness cut even deeper than usual.

he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “it’s late. you should rest.” there was no affection in his tone, just the same sense of duty that had hung over the entire day. you weren’t his bride by choice, and he wasn’t your husband by desire.

you bit back a bitter laugh. rest? as if you could simply close your eyes and pretend this was normal. pretend that this marriage was something other than a trap. “is that it, then?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “we go to bed and pretend everything is fine?”

heeseung turned to face you, his expression as unreadable as ever. he didn’t answer right away, as if weighing his response carefully. “what do you want me to say?” his tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration that matched your own.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to marry you.”

something flickered in heeseung’s eyes, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. he regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he spoke again. “do you think i wanted this?” his words were quiet but laced with a bitterness that surprised you. “i didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”

you swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. you hadn’t expected this admission from him, hadn’t expected him to show any vulnerability. “then what are we supposed to do?” your voice was softer now, the anger ebbing away, replaced by uncertainty. “how are we supposed to live like this?”

heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare moment of frustration breaking through his calm facade. “we do what’s expected of us,” he said, though there was a heaviness to his words, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “we fulfill our duties. that’s all we can do.”

“duties.” the word tasted bitter on your tongue. it had always come down to that, hadn’t it? duty to the crown, to the kingdom, to your family. and now, duty to heeseung.

the silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. heeseung turned away, moving toward the window where the heavy drapes framed the view of the darkened palace gardens. his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of moonlight, his posture stiff, almost defensive.

after a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “i’ll sleep over there.” he gestured to the chaise near the window, a fine piece of furniture that now seemed woefully out of place in this awkward, tension-filled room. “you can have the bed.”

you blinked, surprised by his offer. it was the last thing you expected from him, but it was a relief nonetheless. “you don’t have to—”

“i’m not doing this for you,” he interrupted, his voice firm, but not unkind. “i just don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is.”

with that, he moved toward the chaise, gathering a pillow and blanket from the wardrobe. his actions were efficient, almost mechanical, as if he had already resigned himself to this fate. he didn’t look at you as he arranged the blanket over the chaise.

you stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, awkwardness, and something else, something heavier that you couldn’t quite place. this was your wedding night, but it was nothing like you had ever imagined. there was no closeness, no warmth—just two people bound together by obligation and circumstance.

finally, you moved toward the bed, the thick carpets muffling your steps. the soft fabric of your gown felt heavy as you climbed beneath the covers, though they provided no comfort. you lay there, staring up at the intricate canopy above, your mind racing. this bed, this room—none of it felt like yours.

heeseung settled on the chaise, his back to you, the distance between you both feeling vast despite the small room. the silence was oppressive, each second dragging on longer than the last. you wondered if he was as uneasy as you were, or if he had already steeled himself to this new reality.

for a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted beneath the covers. the weight of the day, of the vows, of your new title, pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

finally, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “heeseung,” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted him to respond.

he didn’t turn, but his voice was low and steady when he answered. “what?”

you hesitated, searching for the right words. “do you think... do you think this will ever get easier?”

there was a long pause before he responded, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “i don’t know.”

and with that, the conversation ended. heeseung remained silent, his back still turned to you, and you knew there was nothing more to say. you turned onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though they offered little warmth. the room felt too big, too empty, despite his presence.

eventually, exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. but even as sleep began to claim you, a cold, sinking feeling settled in your chest. this was your life now—bound to a man you barely knew, a man who had been your enemy for years, and yet, somehow, your husband.

and as you drifted off into uneasy sleep, the last thought that crossed your mind was how strange it felt to be lying just feet away from heeseung, yet feeling as though he was a world away.

the morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, mirroring the lingering tension between you and heeseung. you woke up in the large, empty bed, the space next to you untouched, a stark reminder of the distance that had been established on your wedding night. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on you, reminding you of your new reality.

as you sat up, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings only worsened the tightness in your chest. this was your new life. not just this bed, but this room, this palace—heeseung’s palace—and you would share it with a man who barely spoke to you, who looked at you with that same cold distance he had always shown.

you dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, trying not to think too much. the maids moved around you silently, well-trained and efficient, but you could feel their eyes on you. it was impossible to escape the fact that everyone knew. the entire kingdom knew the story—the princess who had run away, and her sister forced to take her place. the whispers would never stop.

when you finally made your way downstairs to the grand dining room, heeseung was already seated at the long table, a plate of food in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, simply continued cutting into his meal with precise, practised movements. you hesitated for a moment, then took your seat across from him.

the silence was unbearable.

you picked at your food, barely tasting it, glancing at heeseung from time to time. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his attention focused on the papers beside his plate—likely matters of the kingdom that required his attention. he was already immersed in his duties, the weight of his impending kingship pressing down on him just as heavily as your new role as his wife weighed on you.

finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “do you plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

heeseung didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish his bite and set down his utensils with deliberate care. when he finally met your gaze, his expression was cool, detached. “i’m not ignoring you.”

you scoffed, unable to hide your frustration. “you’ve barely spoken to me since the wedding.”

he raised an eyebrow, his tone as calm as ever. “what would you like me to say?”

the question took you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. you opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. what did you want him to say? that he regretted everything as much as you did? that he hated this arrangement, too? or perhaps you wanted him to acknowledge the years of bitterness between you, to admit that this marriage was a farce.

instead, you said, “we’re married now, heeseung. we have to live together. we can’t keep pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

his jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i’m aware of that.”

you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. the silence stretched on once again, thicker than before, suffocating in its awkwardness. you pushed your plate away, no longer interested in eating. “fine,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. “i suppose i’ll just get used to it, then.”

you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “you don’t have to like this any more than i do, but we have responsibilities now.”

you paused, your back to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “responsibilities,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. it seemed like that was all your life had ever been reduced to—duty, obligation, and responsibilities.

without another word, you left the dining room, the heavy doors closing behind you with a soft thud. you could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you even more as you walked through the halls of the palace, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. you weren’t just trapped in this marriage—you were trapped in this life.

days passed, and though you and heeseung were forced to share the same space, your interactions remained minimal, stilted. in the mornings, you would find him already at the breakfast table, poring over documents and barely acknowledging your presence. he would spend his days attending council meetings and handling matters of state, leaving you to navigate the palace on your own, feeling more like a guest in your own home than its mistress.

at night, he would retire to the chambers late, often when you were already lying in bed, pretending to sleep. he would quietly take his place on the chaise near the window, far enough away to avoid any awkwardness, but close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of the divide between you.

it was during these nights that the loneliness settled in most heavily. the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric or the soft crackle of the fireplace, was suffocating. you had grown accustomed to sleeping alone, but now, knowing heeseung was just a few feet away, the distance between you felt almost unbearable. there was an unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to bridge the gap.

one evening, after yet another day of awkward meals and tense silences, you found yourself in the library, one of the few places in the palace where you felt at peace. the vast room was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, their spines worn and familiar. you had always loved to read, finding solace in the stories and histories of others when your own life felt too overwhelming.

you were seated by the window, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the pages of your book, when the door creaked open. you looked up, surprised to see heeseung standing in the doorway. he paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to enter or leave, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you.

“may i join you?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

you blinked, caught off guard by his request. this was the first time he had sought you out since the wedding, and the suddenness of it left you momentarily speechless. you nodded, unsure of what else to do. “of course.”

heeseung crossed the room, moving with his usual grace, and took a seat in the armchair opposite you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the library enveloping you both. he seemed content to sit in silence, his gaze wandering to the bookshelves that lined the walls.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “this is... one of the quieter rooms.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s a library, heeseung. of course it’s quiet.”

to your surprise, he chuckled softly, though it was a dry, humourless sound. “fair enough.”

silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t as suffocating. there was something almost... peaceful about it, the weight of your shared presence not as unbearable as it had been before. you watched him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how tired he looked. the weight of his responsibilities was evident in the slight furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

after a while, you set your book down on your lap, deciding to break the silence. “it must be difficult,” you said quietly. “taking on so much.”

heeseung didn’t answer right away, his gaze still focused on the shelves, but eventually, he nodded. “it is.”

you hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”

he turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something softer than the cold indifference you had grown accustomed to.

“and what would you suggest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”

heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. it wasn’t much, but it was the first step—however small—toward something more than just forced cohabitation.

the shift in your relationship came faster than you expected. it started with a challenge—a reckless, unspoken dare that neither of you could resist.

it had been a clear, crisp day, the first after several weeks of rain. you were restless, tired of the palace walls and the constant burden of your new role. you had gone to the stables, hoping to take one of the horses out for a ride, needing to feel the wind in your hair and the ground beneath you. but when you arrived, heeseung was already there, adjusting the reins of his own horse.

you paused in the doorway, surprised to see him. “you ride?”

he glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “you sound surprised.”

“i am,” you admitted. “i’ve never seen you ride before.”

he chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn’t resist rising to it. “care to prove it?” you asked, moving toward your own horse.

heeseung’s smirk widened. “what do you have in mind?”

you mounted your horse swiftly, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through your veins. “a race.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “you think you can beat me?”

“i know i can,” you shot back, turning your horse toward the open field beyond the stables.

without another word, you spurred your horse into motion, not waiting for his response. behind you, you heard heeseung’s laughter, low and rich, before the sound of hooves thundering against the ground told you he had accepted the challenge.

you raced through the fields, the wind whipping through your hair, the thrill of the chase making your heart race. heeseung was right behind you, and you could feel the tension building, the competitive edge between you sparking like fire. it was like being children again, challenging each other at every turn, pushing each other to the limit.

but this time, it was different. the stakes were higher, the tension thicker, and the way heeseung looked at you when he finally caught up to you sent a shiver down your spine.

when he finally pulled his horse beside yours, you were both breathless, your faces flushed with adrenaline. you glanced over at him, and the look in his eyes—intense, dark, heated—made your pulse quicken.

“not bad,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.

you smirked, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “you almost kept up.”

heeseung leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “almost?” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt through you.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. the space between you was too close, the air charged with something you weren’t quite ready to name. his eyes lingered on your lips for just a moment too long, and you could feel the heat of his presence, the tension that had always existed between you now manifesting in a way that was far more dangerous.

before either of you could say anything, heeseung pulled back, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “we’ll call it a draw,” he said, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, shaking your head with a laugh. “you wish.”

but as you rode back to the palace, the tension between you remained, simmering beneath the surface. it was no longer the resentment of old enemies, but something far more complex, far more dangerous. and for the first time, you found yourself wondering what would happen if that tension ever boiled over.

later that night, the air was thick with the remnants of the day’s energy. you couldn’t sleep, your mind still racing from the ride and the way heeseung had looked at you—how close he had come, how your heart had nearly betrayed you in that moment of suspended anticipation.

you wandered the halls of the palace aimlessly, your footsteps soft against the marble floors. the palace at night was a different place, quiet and still, the shadows long and heavy. it felt like a place where secrets lingered in every corner, where the walls whispered of things that could never be said aloud.

as you passed by the study, you noticed the faint glow of light beneath the door. curiosity piqued, you pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. heeseung was there, seated at the desk, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. he was reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he focused on the page in front of him.

you hesitated, but before you could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. then, without breaking eye contact, heeseung set the book aside.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, intimate in the quiet of the room.

you shook your head, stepping into the room. “no. you?”

heeseung’s gaze flicked over you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin heat under his scrutiny. “i’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone soft but laced with that same dangerous tension that had been building all day.

“about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved closer, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. “about you,” he said quietly. “about us.”

the weight of his words settled in the space between you, thick and intoxicating. about you. about us. it echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you had tried to ignore for far too long. you weren’t sure if it was the late hour, the dim candlelight, or the fact that you had been dancing around each other for weeks now, but something inside you snapped.

your breath hitched as you looked at him, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. but it was there—undeniable, pulsing in the space between you. and now that it had been spoken into existence, you couldn’t unsee it.

“what about us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was a challenge.

heeseung’s gaze flicked to your lips, and the tension in the room intensified, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like the air itself might shatter from the pressure. he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and took a step toward you, closing the already-small distance between you.

“there’s always been something between us,” he said, his voice low, rough. his eyes never left yours, burning with intensity. “even when we hated each other.”

your heart was pounding now, so loud you were sure he could hear it. you wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was wrong, that it had always been pure hatred. but that would’ve been a lie. you knew it as well as he did—whatever had always been there between you, it had never been simple.

“and what is it now?” you asked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though every instinct told you to look away. to run.

heeseung took another step closer, his hand reaching up slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“maybe we’ve been fighting the wrong battle,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you felt your pulse quicken.

your throat tightened. every word he said felt like a dangerous line, one that you were teetering on the edge of crossing. the tension between you had always been a fire—burning too hot, too fast. and now, it felt like it was about to consume you both.

heeseung’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and your breath caught in your throat. his touch was tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was real or if you would pull away at any moment.

but you didn’t.

instead, you took a step closer, closing the gap completely. the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken desire and the weight of all the years you had spent fighting against each other. your body was betraying you, leaning into him, drawn by a force you had denied for too long.

heeseung’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, the heat between you almost unbearable now. you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek, the way your own body was responding without your permission.

then, in a breathless moment that felt like it stretched on forever, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours—soft at first, testing, as though he wasn’t sure you would let him. but the moment your lips met his, something ignited between you. the kiss deepened, filled with all the pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for so long. it was a clash of emotions—anger, desire, need—all colliding in that single moment.

you responded instantly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as though you were both trying to make up for years of missed chances in that single moment.

his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his lips at the feeling of his body pressed so close to yours. the intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. you didn’t want to think. you just wanted to feel.

but then, as quickly as it started, heeseung pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. his hands still gripped your waist, holding you in place as though he couldn’t quite let go yet.

“this isn’t... what i expected,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. his breath was warm against your skin, and his eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for an answer in your gaze.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “what did you expect?” you asked softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his eyes darkening once again. “i didn’t expect you to feel this way.” his voice was low, almost a growl, filled with the same intensity that had been building between you all night.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. you had no idea what to say, no idea how to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. all you knew was that everything had changed in that kiss.

“i don’t know what i feel,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.

heeseung’s lips twitched into a small, almost sad smile. “neither do i.” he stepped back, finally breaking the physical contact between you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours.

“but whatever this is... it’s dangerous,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours, as though warning you. “we’ve always been enemies. we don’t know how to be anything else.”

you felt a lump form in your throat at his words, because deep down, you knew he was right. but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the desire for something more—for the possibility of what could be.

“i don’t want to be your enemy anymore,” you said softly, the confession surprising even you.

heeseung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you thought he might say something—might admit that he didn’t want to be your enemy either. but then, he shook his head, the walls between you coming back up, brick by brick.

“this doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

and with that, he turned and left the room, leaving you standing there in the soft glow of candlelight, your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the kiss that had shifted the entire balance between you.

as the door closed softly behind him, you exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers brushing your lips where his had been moments before.

everything had changed.

the royal court was buzzing with tension, and for once, the tension wasn’t between you and heeseung. the kingdom was on edge, not from war or rebellion, but from something far more insidious—political manoeuvring. rival noble houses were plotting against heeseung’s rule, questioning his right to ascend to the throne, especially after the sudden marriage to you. the whispers had grown louder over the past few weeks, the courtiers’ gazes sharper, waiting for the first misstep.

you had known court life would be full of power plays and alliances, but this was different. it was personal. every snide comment, every hushed conversation behind closed doors, felt like an attack on your marriage, on your family’s legacy. and worst of all, it felt like an attack on you.

one afternoon, as you made your way through the palace corridors, you overheard a group of nobles—close to your family—voicing their displeasure over your sudden marriage to heeseung. it was the same old song—how your sister should have been the bride, how you were never meant for this role, how heeseung marrying you was a strategic disaster.

you felt your blood run cold, but you kept walking, your head held high. you had grown used to these remarks, but today, they stung deeper. not because they questioned your worth, but because they reflected the deep-seated insecurity you had always carried.

that night, you found yourself alone in the study, staring out the window at the darkening sky. the weight of the court’s judgement, the impossible standards, the constant comparisons to your sister—they were suffocating. and then there was heeseung, whose coldness had thawed just enough to show you glimpses of something deeper, something real. but he was still heeseung—your husband, your childhood rival, and now the man who held your future in his hands.

the door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. you had grown attuned to his presence, the way the air shifted whenever he entered a room.

“what’s wrong?” his voice was quieter than usual, but still carrying that edge of command. he always knew when something was off, as if he could sense the turmoil swirling inside you.

you didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the stars outside. “they’re saying we’re not suited for each other,” you murmured, finally turning to face him. “that i’m not fit to be queen. that you made a mistake.”

heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you.

“let them talk,” he said flatly. “they’re just waiting for us to fail.”

“and what if they’re right?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, the fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. “i was never meant to marry you. this isn’t the life i was prepared for.”

heeseung stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“i didn’t choose you because you were an easy choice,” he said, his voice low but intense. “i chose you because you’re stronger than you realise.”

you blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his words. heeseung wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and hearing it now, in this moment, felt more intimate than anything he had ever said to you before.

“there are plenty of people who want to see us fail,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly. “but they don’t matter. what matters is that we don’t give them the satisfaction. we fight together.”

the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you saw beyond the cold exterior he had always shown you. there was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. a partnership.

but the closeness also brought something else—a heat that had always been there between you, simmering beneath the surface. his hands lingered on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your collarbone, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.

“you think i’m strong?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with something more vulnerable. something real.

heeseung’s gaze flicked down to your lips, just for a moment, before returning to your eyes. his voice was rough when he spoke, low and filled with an unspoken promise. “i’ve always known.”

the charged air between you was impossible to ignore now. his fingers slid from your shoulders to your arms, the touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. it wasn’t just the weight of responsibility pressing down on you—it was him, his closeness, the undeniable pull you had both been dancing around for weeks.

you could feel the tension in every inch of your body, your heart racing as heeseung’s hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer, but still leaving just enough space for doubt. he hesitated, as if waiting for you to push him away, to remind him of the enmity that had defined your relationship for so long.

but you didn’t. instead, you leaned into him, your hands tentatively reaching up to rest on his chest. the fabric of his shirt was soft under your fingers, but beneath it, you could feel the steady beat of his heart, as rapid as your own.

“maybe i’ve been wrong about you,” you whispered, your breath hitching as the tension between you reached a breaking point.

heeseung’s eyes darkened at your words, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “maybe you have,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. but there was something softer there too, something almost tender.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.

the kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced—fierce, desperate, and full of the years of unresolved tension between you. it was as if all the walls you had built around yourselves were crumbling in an instant, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface.

heeseung responded instantly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

it was overwhelming, the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, the way every touch sent a shockwave of desire coursing through you. you had spent so long fighting him, fighting this, and now, as his hands slid up your back, holding you close, you wondered why you had ever resisted.

when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. heeseung’s grip on your waist didn’t loosen, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat as wild as your own.

“we can’t keep pretending,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, the vulnerability and uncertainty in his gaze mirroring your own. “no, we can’t,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.

for a moment, the world hung in the balance. you had crossed a line, and there was no going back. everything between you had shifted, and the question now wasn’t whether you would move forward—it was how.

heeseung’s thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke you. “we’re in this together,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy with meaning.

this time, there was no need to say anything more. you both understood what had changed between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully admit it. and though the path ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t facing it alone anymore.

weeks passed, and with each passing day, things between you and heeseung slowly shifted. the cold, sharp walls that had once kept you apart were crumbling, revealing a warmth and understanding that neither of you had anticipated. where there had once been biting words and icy glares, there was now laughter, quiet conversations, and small gestures of affection.

the palace felt different. it was lighter now, with the growing sense of partnership between you and heeseung. your bickering had been replaced with genuine care, and though the wounds of the past hadn't fully healed, you were both learning to forgive. but it wasn’t just the emotional connection that was shifting—there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface. unspoken feelings, simmering tension.

it wasn’t until a grand banquet in honour of a visiting prince from a neighbouring kingdom that these feelings came to a head. you stood at the centre of the ballroom, dressed in a gown that glimmered under the candlelight. it hugged your figure perfectly, catching the attention of more than just heeseung. the prince—prince seojun—had been particularly charming throughout the evening, his eyes lingering on you a little too long, his compliments a little too bold.

“you are by far the most captivating presence in this room, your highness,” seojun murmured, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “if i had known such beauty awaited me here, i would have visited sooner.”

you laughed politely, glancing over your shoulder, searching for heeseung in the crowd. he was across the room, deep in conversation with some nobles, but even from the distance, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and intense.

seojun continued, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned closer. “perhaps we could steal a moment away from the crowd? i would love to know more about the woman behind such an enchanting smile.”

before you could respond, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention. heeseung appeared at your side, his posture tense, his expression a mix of barely contained irritation and something else—something more possessive.

“princess,” heeseung’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it. his hand slid around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. the claim was unmistakable. “i believe your dance card is full for the evening.”

seojun’s smirk faltered slightly as he glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. heeseung’s eyes never left the prince, cold and unyielding.

“of course,” seojun replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t dream of overstepping. after all,” his gaze flickered to you, then back to heeseung, “she’s your wife.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, charged with unspoken meaning. seojun bowed slightly, a smirk still playing on his lips, before taking his leave. but even as he walked away, you could feel the lingering weight of his gaze.

you turned to heeseung, about to make a light-hearted remark about the interaction, but the look on his face stopped you. his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his grip on your waist was firm—almost possessive.

“did he touch you?” heeseung asked, his voice low and tight.

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his tone. “barely,” you replied, trying to play it off with a soft laugh. “why? are you jealous?”

his eyes flickered with something dangerous as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re my wife. i don’t like other men thinking they can take what’s mine.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words. the possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed protectively against yours—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with heeseung. you had always seen him as cold, distant, but this... this was different. there was fire in his eyes, and you could feel it burning between you, a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“and what if i enjoy a little attention now and then?” you teased, testing the boundaries, wanting to see how far he would go.

heeseung’s eyes darkened even more, and in one swift motion, he pulled you even closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “i don’t care how many men look at you, but remember this—” his voice dropped, sending shivers down your spine, “you belong to me and i belong to you.”

a thrill ran through you at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind spinning from the intensity of his claim. the ballroom, the crowd, even prince seojun—all of it faded away as heeseung’s gaze held you captive. you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the possessiveness in his touch, and for the first time, you realised that this wasn’t just some marriage of convenience anymore.

heeseung cared—more than he was willing to admit.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the emotions flickering behind them. “and what about you, heeseung?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you want me to be yours?”

his eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “you already are,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the banquet had left the air between you and heeseung charged with an intensity that neither of you could ignore. his possessiveness, the fierce look in his eyes when he claimed you as his wife in front of prince seojun, had stirred something inside you—something that had been simmering for far too long.

as the last of the guests departed and the palace quieted down for the night, the tension remained, lingering like an unspoken promise. heeseung walked beside you in silence as you both made your way through the dimly lit corridors toward your chambers. though no words passed between you, the air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken pull between you stronger than ever.

when you reached your shared chambers, heeseung opened the door for you, his gaze never leaving you as you stepped inside. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a need that matched your own. the soft glow of the candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the man standing behind you, his presence overwhelming.

you moved toward the vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you began to remove your jewellery. you were acutely aware of heeseung standing behind you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible as he watched your every movement. his silence spoke volumes, filled with desire and unspoken emotions that neither of you had fully confronted until now.

the tension was unbearable. finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, you glanced at him through the reflection in the mirror, your voice soft but steady. “you’ve been quiet,” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze. “what’s on your mind?”

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the bare skin of your shoulder. the touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine. his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder before he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

“i didn’t like how he looked at you,” heeseung finally admitted, his voice low and rough with suppressed emotion. his eyes met yours in the mirror, dark with jealousy and something more—something deeper. “or the way he made you laugh.”

your heart raced at the possessiveness in his tone. you turned to face him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes blazed with something primal. his emotions were raw, laid bare before you in a way that heeseung had never allowed himself to show before.

“it was harmless,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “but i can’t say i minded the way you stepped in.”

his gaze darkened, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the hard lines of his frame pressing against your softness. his eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken desire, but also with something more—something tender.

“i’m not the kind of man who likes to share,” he said, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “especially not when it comes to you.”

your breath hitched at his words, your pulse quickening as the fire between you flared even hotter. you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessive tone, the way his hands gripped you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“and what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, your voice daring, testing the boundaries as your lips brushed his, teasingly close but not quite touching.

heeseung’s response was immediate. his lips crashed against yours, fierce and hungry, as if he had been holding back for far too long. the kiss was searing, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden. his hands roamed over your body, possessive yet tender, as though he was staking his claim but also worshipping every inch of you.

you responded just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. the tension between you, the unspoken desire, it all poured out in that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.

heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the bed. the air between you was electric, charged with desire and the intensity of emotions that neither of you had allowed to surface until now. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

for a moment, he paused, his fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of what had just passed between you. his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind them—the raw emotion that he had been hiding behind his cold exterior for so long.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but laced with care, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far.

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. heeseung, the man you had once considered your rival, your enemy, was now looking at you with a tenderness that took your breath away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek.

“i’m sure,” you whispered, pulling him down into another kiss, softer this time, but no less filled with the emotions swirling between you.

what followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that you had never expected from heeseung. his hands moved over your body with care, as though he was savouring every touch, every breath. the fierceness from earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as he explored you with reverence, his lips following the path of his hands.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer, whispered against your skin in the quiet moments between kisses. heeseung’s touch was both possessive and gentle, as though he was claiming you but also offering himself to you in return. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, but it was the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his touch, that made your heart ache with something deeper than mere desire.

and as the night stretched on, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you realised that this wasn’t just about passion—it was about the connection you had been fighting against for so long. the rivalry, the bickering, the walls you had both built between you—it all crumbled away, leaving only the raw truth of what you felt for one another.

when it was over, you lay beside each other, your breathing heavy, your bodies tangled in the sheets. the room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

heeseung turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his eyes, once so cold and guarded, were warm now, filled with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was comforting, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just passed between you. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

neither of you spoke, but words weren’t necessary. the silence was filled with a sense of peace, of contentment that neither of you had known before. heeseung’s touch was soft now, filled with care as he held you close, his body warm and protective against yours.

and in that quiet, intimate moment, you realised something: this was more than just passion, more than just desire. it was something real, something lasting.

heeseung’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your back, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered softly, “are you alright?”

you smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with warmth at the tenderness in his voice. “more than alright,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him.

heeseung let out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the weight of the past finally lifted, leaving only the warmth of the present and the promise of a future you were both ready to embrace.

the next morning, you woke to find heeseung already up, standing by the window of your shared chambers, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the early morning light. he looked deep in thought, his expression pensive as he gazed out over the kingdom.

quietly, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. he stiffened for a moment at the contact but quickly relaxed, his hands covering yours as he let out a soft sigh.

“you’re up early,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “i was thinking about everything that’s changed.”

you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “a lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

heeseung turned in your arms, his expression soft as he looked down at you. “i never thought this would work,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “but i’m glad i was wrong.”

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with warmth. the man standing before you was the same heeseung you had known all your life, but now, you saw him for who he truly was—not your enemy, not your rival, but your partner. your husband.

“i’m glad too,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips.

and in that moment, you knew that this was your new beginning. the past, with all its bitterness and tension, was behind you. what lay ahead was a future you hadn’t expected but one you were ready to embrace—together.

as heeseung pulled you into a gentle kiss, the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. your marriage, once forged out of obligation and resentment, had grown into something real, something lasting.

and as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realised that sometimes, the best love stories were the ones you never saw coming.

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[eloves-writes]

careful who you’re talking to

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: snow hears a conversation with the academy boys about the girl he is secretly seeing and wants them to know who you belong to warnings: snow being snow like fr (toxic, controlling, insane, blah blah blah), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, unwarranted sexual comments about reader behind her back, she/her pronouns used, reader is wearing a dress, if i need to add any other warnings please lmk a/n: hiiiii! i'm back again. this is slightly unhinged and i didn't mean for it to be this unhinged but anyway hope u enjoy, send any and all coriolanus requests my way! mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

it was a cold night in the capitol, and you were steadily sipping a glass of posca to keep warm in your blood-red dress. the silky material was slit up your leg and cut down to reveal just the right amount of cleavage; you might feel a chill but you looked damn good and everybody knew it.

especially coriolanus snow. the two of you had been spending a lot of time together recently- behind bookshelves in the library, in dark corners of the academy halls, bend over desks in empty classrooms. it had begun as purely physical. stress relief. but after a month or so, you had each caught feelings for the other and were struggling with whether or not to admit it. and in that moment, he was also struggling tremendously to take his eyes off of you.

you stood talking across the room with arachne and livia, unable to concentrate on whatever meaningless gossip they were discussing with the feeling of coriolanus’ ice blue eyes on you; there was an electric thrill passing between you like you were connected with a live wire. to say your relationship so far had been hot and heavy would be an extremely severe understatement, and you found your mind constantly occupied with the thought of him touching you and the need to have him touch you again.

-

“i think y/n is checking me out,” festus creed smirked to the group of boys around him.

coriolanus almost snorted in amusement. you were obviously looking at him, and only him.

“something funny, snow?” gaius asked sharply. “jealous, perhaps?”

snow reserved his irritation. “not at all, breen.”

“whoever she is looking at,” felix stated earnestly, “i’m certainly jealous of them. i mean, just look at her. she looks fucking hot.”

festus nodded in agreement. “i’d love to rip that dress off of her. she acts so innocent, but you just know she likes it rough.”

coriolanus felt his blood boil. you were his. how dare they talk about you like you were a common whore? perhaps you did like it rough. he would know, he was the one fucking you. not these basic capitol losers. none of them could make you scream the way he did. none of them had scratches down their backs beneath their shirts from your nails. only he did. only he ever would, and he would make sure it stayed that way.

the other boys laughed, agreeing with festus. adding on their own ideas. detailing the ways they’d make you fuck them. describing the times you had supposedly sent them signals. assuming that you did not already belong to snow, that you would even think about going near them. that you would get on your knees for them like you always did for coriolanus.

he couldn’t listen to them any longer. “she’s seeing somebody,” he jeered, fixing the cuffs of his jacket and making definitive, unquestionable eye contact with you and subtly tilting his head towards the exit.

festus laughed incredulously. “is she now? i think we’d have heard.”

oh you’ll hear it alright.

“yes,” coriolanus replied with a chilling calm, watching you make your way to the door. “if you’ll excuse me.”

-

on the steps outside the ridiculously grand building, you waited patiently for snow to follow you out. it was only a few minutes before you heard the door open again, turning to face corio and immediately sensing anger. you worried, sometimes, about his anger. you knew he wouldn’t seriously harm you, but the same could most certainly not be said for any others who dared cross his path. the future president of panem could only afford so much blood on his hands.

“what’s wrong, coriolanus?” you asked gently.

he inhaled deeply and stared into your eyes in a way that strongly suggested you would be unable to walk the next morning. you waited for him to answer.

“you shouldn’t have worn that dress," he warned.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

either the cold or a fucked up part of you sent shivers down your spine, hairs standing up on your neck. your underwear dampened at his fury.

“i thought you would like it, corio,” you flirted, stepping closer to him. he placed a large, firm hand on your waist.

“i do like it, y/n,” he said before speaking in a low voice. “i would like it better if you took it off.”

you smiled and leaned up to kiss him, but he turned his head. you pulled a face in protest.

“behave,” he spat. “so desperate. do you not want to know why you shouldn’t have worn this?”

“yes, corio,” you replied, doing your best impression of somebody who wasn’t about to throw yourself on top of him. he liked when you were patient.

“because every man in that room wants to see it on their bedroom floor," he attested lowly.

“and you’re jealous,” you smirked.

coriolanus suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair and roughly pulled your head backwards so that your face was tilted towards his. “and nobody else should be looking at you like that.”

a jolt of excitement ran through you. “corio-”

he gave your hair another tug. “say you’re mine.”

“am i yours?”

he realised instantly the meaning of your question. he didn’t have to think about his reply; he had thought about it every waking moment since the day you met. “you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours.”

“good girl,” snow spoke deeply before kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. without breaking apart from your lips, coriolanus guided you around to the side of the building. he counted the windows you passed until finally stopping by one that was cracked open and pushing you against the cold wall. as he removed his jacket and unfastened his belt, he looked inside the hall and you assumed he was checking no one was looking. he wasn’t. he was making sure that festus creed and the other boys were still stood in the same spot; directly in front of this particular window, and far enough from the rest of the partygoers that only the boys would hear you.

you gathered the skirt of your dress at your waist and wrapped your legs around corio’s sturdy form as he reached to move your underwear to the side. he circled your clit until you were practically whimpering, then slid two fingers inside of you.

“corio, feels so good,” you moaned softly.

he kept his same pace with his fingers, fucking you into a state of bliss where he knew you would be uninhibited and so drunk with his stimulation that people would think you’d finished every glass of posca in this stupid party. coriolanus was too good at what he was doing, you were on the edge of release within minutes and still desperately trying to quiet yourself in the name of dignity.

“corio, please, corio, i’m so close,” you whimpered into his neck.

he pulled away his hand, making you whine in displeasure. he liked to do that. liked to know he was in complete control of you, you would only cum when he willed it.

corio looked through the window again, but the boys had yet to hear anything out of the ordinary. they were still laughing amongst themselves. he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, using the slick on from your pussy to stroke himself before he pushed inside of you.

you tried again to stay quiet, but coriolanus began to coax you. “look at you, taking me so well. you wouldn’t let anybody else fuck you like this, would you? who makes you feel this good, huh?”

you couldn’t hold back anymore, his beautiful face spewing such foul things whilst fucking you raw and digging his fingertips into your flushed skin. “you do, corio. fuck,” you moaned, loudly enough that festus turned to look outside.

coriolanus smirked as they made eye contact. the initial confusion about the sounds coming from outside, the look of shock as he realised his classmate was balls deep in a girl he had pushed against the exterior of a building in the damn capitol, his face finally dropping as he realised who corio was fucking by the colour of your messed up hair and the visible strap of your dress, his eyes widening as he heard the things snow was saying to you.

your moans were getting louder too as you got even closer to your orgasm, whimpering corio’s name and repeating “i’m yours,” like a mantra.

snow took his gaze from the boys to you, feeling satisfied that he’d proved his point and starting to performatively enjoy himself, knowing yours weren't the only eyes on him. his pace quickened, driving you over the edge and making you clench around him as you came. he moaned aloud himself as continued to fuck you through your high and the overstimulation that came after until he finished inside of you.

you were completely fucked out, relishing the feeling of snow’s cum beginning to drip down your thighs after he swiftly removed your underwear to fold into his back pocket. he picked his discarded jacket up from the floor and placed it over your shoulders, kissing your head and leading you to the front of the building and helping you into a car which would take you both home. before you walked away from the window though, coriolanus smoothly pulled your lace panties from his pocket and waved them nonchalantly in the night air, catching the attention of the rest of the group. you would never have to know why he fucked you, only that the boys would stop bothering you now they knew who you belonged to.

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

[sebnameyourcar]

wait would you u want to explain the context of multi 21?

MULTI-21: A HISTORY LESSON

MODERN ASSUMPTIONS:

it has been over a decade since the 2013 malaysian grand prix. as the years have gone on, people have forgotten, or smoothed out, the minutiae of it.

when people talk about multi-21 nowadays, it tends to fall under three headings:

• evil supervillain seb was addicted to winning and didn’t care about his team. selfish emotionless robot. got booed for a year and deserved it

• cunty brat seb was a disobedient child and refused to listen to his team and faced no consequences ever because he was red bulls special little boytoy

• poor mark webber was betrayed by his team as he had been for five years. the win was his and seb stole it

but of course, nothing is ever so simple

BACKGROUND

by 2013, sebastian and mark had been teammates for 5 years, and part of the extended red bull “family” for 7.

when they became teammates in 2009, mark was the older, more experienced head. seb was the young wunderkind who already had a race win under his belt, more than mark had.

(ironically, mark won his first race in germany in 2009. seb wouldn’t win his home GP until 2013. seb has since called mark’s 2009 german gp win as one of the most impressive drives he’s ever seen.)

anyway. let’s go back in time. it’s japan. it’s 2007. and it is raining. it’s lap 45, under the safety car after alonso crashed out. the rain is TORRENTIAL, and mark (red bull) is running in 2nd. he’s so sick that he’s vomiting in his helmet. seb (toro rosso baby. 20 years old) was 3rd. hamilton was leading, and braked quite dangerously. seb was caught out by this, and crashed into the back of mark. both of them had been running in the podium places, and both had to retire. mark called seb a kid without experience fucking it up. seb cried in his garage. this is the first time they crash. mark later referred to it as the first time they made love on track because he’s a freak

fast forward to turkey 2010. they are teammates now, and have been for over a year. fuji 2007 had largely been forgotten. water under the bridge. they are fighting for the championship against ferrari and mclaren. mark got pole, but around lap 40 seb had caught up to him as mark had to save fuel. they “merged towards each other” (generous). mark didn’t give seb enough space, seb was too over-eager. people will have different opinions. unless you’re helmut marko, who will always back seb, since seb is a product of the red bull academy whereas mark wasn’t. mark went on to finish on the podium, seb had to retire. seb was PISSED! (sexy). this is seen as the start of the “rivalry” by many.

britain 2010. aka the mark-webber-slams-water-on-desk moment. seb was given the new front wing from marks car for qualifying because he was a better qualifier because his had broken in fp3. he would ultimately get a puncture in the race, whilst webber with the old wing came first, and graced us with the “not bad for a no.2 driver” radio message.

so, where are we by summer 2010 and spring 2011? fuji was no one’s fault really, turkey was six of one half a dozen of the other, but mark felt the team favoured seb. britain made that feeling CONCRETE in marks mind. then seb won the title in 2010 after not leading until the final race of the season. in the press conference before abu dhabi 2010, seb kept getting asked if he’d let mark past it if would win mark the championship, and he kept evading the answer. see, mark had been ahead in the championship, but he qualified 7th while seb got pole and won. so, come 2011, webber was convinced the team favoured seb. however, seb was by far and away the better driver.

so. britain 2011. an underrated moment of the vettel webber rivalry. mark qualified on pole, with seb p2. seb quickly took the lead in the race. later on in the race after some botched pit stops and drama, mark was close to seb. red bull told mark NOT to pass seb.

mark ignored this team order. he tried to pass his teammate, but ultimately failed to do so. it’s often forgetting in vettel/webber rivalry lore that mark was the first of them to ignore a direct team order. the difference was he just wasn’t able to make the overtake. here are two interesting quotes from just after the race:

and now. brazil 2012. another forgotten multi-21 backstory. it was the last race of the season, and seb was fighting for his third straight championship, only alonso could possibly beat him. mark qualified 3rd, seb 4th, and alonso 8th. seb had a rocky start to the race, which resulted in him being hit from the back & spun around. he pulled off the mother of all recovery drives to win the championship. alls well that ends well right? wrong. horner admitted a few years ago that seb felt that mark was to blame for the rocky start by forcing seb into the wall. horner even went as far as to say that this lack of teamwork was directly in sebs mind when malaysia 2013 came around. that that was seb’s revenge.

conspiracy theorists will say that mark forced seb towards the wall because he wanted his mate alonso to win the championship over his teammate. definitely possible but not confirmed.

so. here we are. malaysia 2013. it’s been 5 years of crashes, ignored team orders (mark), favouritism (seb) and finally an almost championship-ruining shove towards a wall.

seb qualified on pole, mark 5th. but mark took the lead after the first round of pitstops. around lap 46, seb was gaining on mark, who was on old hard tyres. team orders came through for seb not to fight mark. multi 21 literally means that car no 2 should stay in position ahead of car no 1. just as mark ignored team orders in britain 2011, seb ignored them here. the only difference was seb actually got past. mark was furious (“yep that’s good teamwork!”) seb, a bad liar, was hilarious (“i was really scared… all of a sudden he was moving… i had to…”) horner was regretting most of his life choices (“this is silly seb come on.”)

seb won the race. the most awkward of all cool down rooms ensued (“multi 21 seb. yeah? multi 21”) seb chugged an entire bottle of water. poor lewis hamilton just trying to disappear into thin air. underrated moment is you can see a clip of seb trying to explain something to mark and neither of them are having a good time. on the podium interviews after mark said “seb will have protection from the team as always” - harkening back to his long-felt belief that the team favoured seb, yet ignoring his own history of ignoring team orders, and ignoring brazil 2012.

seb would later apologise.

…

three days later seb would rescind that apology.

(“i was racing i was faster i passed him i won.”)

at this stage, seb had been the dominant driver for four years running and some crowds had grown annoyed at him, so used this as an excuse to boo him at basically every race for the summer swing of the season. seb spoke at the end of 2013 about how hard this was for him, and how he was thankful for the support of his family and girlfriend during the hard times. it’s important to remember that seb was only in his mid 20s when all this booing and controversy was happening. it’s a lot to shoulder, especially when you’re only doing what you’ve always done, what you’re being paid to do: winning.

mark would retire at the end of the 2013 season, though apparently he had already made up his mind before malaysia.

seb would stay at red bull for one more year before moving to ferrari.

when asked in 2022, seb said he wouldn’t change what he did in malaysia 2013. and in my opinion, he’s right.

unlike the mclaren clusterfuck of hungary 24, there was YEARS of history between vettel and webber before multi-21. grudges, crashes, hurts, pride, friendship, rivalry, championships lost and won. this was the cumulation of their entire careers to date, all of their mistakes and their motivations for better or for worse.

basically, it was never so simple as “seb ignored team orders because he was an arrogant brat” or “poor mark the team never liked him” it’s… well it’s all of the above. cheers for reading. fuck me i went on a bit

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[dragonbarbie]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Part 1

aegon x best friend!reader ; modern!au

summary: this fic is snippets of aegon and reader's relationship as they grow up and discover new feelings. but to let himself be loved, aegon has to first do some growing up.

rating: 18+, minors dni.

tags: alcohol, substance abuse.

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

next part

A/N: i'm so excited to share my first full fic! this series is very very lowkey inspired by one day and highkey inspired by peter by taylor swift. comment if you'd like to be on the taglist for this! hope you guys like it :)

divider credit @ cafekitsune!

Age 10

“I still don't see why we had to move here." a sullen, 10 year old Y/N replied, pouting as she stared out the window from the backseat. her father couldn't help an amused smile at the little girl as he drove towards her new school. "i told you darling, daddy’s got a very important new job here in king’s landing." "yes but why did I have to move here." the older man let out a patient sigh. this had been going on weeks leading to their move. "you haven't even given the city a chance yet, kiddo. why do you hate it already?" "because..." the little girl started with an exasperated whine. ".... i don't have any friends here!" "you have me." her father offered with an assuring grin. the unamused look he got in return was not grateful in the least. "you're dad. i want friends." the seriousness with which Y/N declared her dilemma earned her a laugh from the front seat.

her father pulled into the curb by the grand iron gates of Red Keep Academy, the best private school in the city. as Y/N hopped out the backseat, looking deflated, he lowered the car window, "hey c'mon now, you can't start your first day all sad. who knows, maybe you'll come back with a hoard of friends, even more than you had back home." Y/N only looked ahead at him, unconvinced. "bye, dad."

as she made her way towards the main archway to the school, she thought of all the things she was missing about home. not the new townhouse they had in the city, her real home, back in the reach. she thought of the swing behind her house, the smell from the bakery next door, the big oak tree she saw on the way to school every morning, the fountain in the park – when suddenly someone ran past her, fast enough to knock her down.

"ouch!" she cried out from the floor, rubbing her shoulder where she had been hit. "aegon!" a woman suddenly rushed to her side, glowering at the little boy who had pushed past her. "are you okay, honey? were you hurt?" the first thing Y/N noticed was how kind the woman looked with her big brown eyes, and so very pretty. "i'm okay." she reassured in a small voice, before turning to give this 'Aegon', the dirtiest look she could muster.

the boy had to be her age, pale blonde hair that looked like someone had tried to comb it but had not been given enough time to finish the job. he wore a matching school uniform to Y/N, navy blue blazer, white shirt and dark green pants. his shirt though was untucked and seemed to already have mud stains.

she thought he seemed mostly unbothered by his own actions, but stood there attempting to look sheepish nonetheless for his mother.

"apologise to this young lady." his mother demanded. "sorry..." he mumbled almost incomprehensibly. already upset and now physically hurt, Y/N wordlessly got up and hurried away, trying to stop hot tears from spilling out.

as she walked away she heard the boy's mother scold him, "that was not an apology, Aegon. go say sorry, properly this time." she heard a childish groan in response, "do I have to?".  his mother must have given him one hell of a look, Y/N thought because she heard her say nothing else but small footsteps came jogging up to her.

as the blonde boy walked next to her, she waited for him to say something while she kept walking ahead, but he seemed to just wordlessly fall in stride with her. After a minute he suddenly asked, “do you even know where you’re going?”

now that he mentioned it, she didn’t.

she suddenly stopped and looked around herself, confused. He stopped with her and studied her for a second. “I don’t know you.” He observed. “are you new?”. She decided to stay silent, hoping he would go away if she ignored him but she was wrong. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “you’re going in the wrong direction, new girl. That way –” he pointed to where she had been headed “—is the middle school building. Primary school is this way.” He started walking down a hallway, and Y/N took hurried steps to follow him.

He gave her a sideway glance, “what grade are you in anyway? Third?” he smugly asked, proudly looking down at her as a mature fifth-grader. “fifth.” She snapped at him. “oh”, he responded, surprised. “who’s class?” “Miss Reyne.” “no kidding!” he gave her a toothy grin. “so am I.”

Y/N didn’t like this Aegon, she decided. As he kept chatting away about how boring Miss Reyne was, she gave him no replies and generally walked as if she were alone and had no association with the silver haired boy beside her. As they settled into class, she was determined to avoid him for the rest of her day. Aegon though, was determined for quiet the opposite.

He took a seat next to hers, kept making comments, providing her a running, private commentary about each teacher and student. He wasn’t affected by Y/N’s lack of a response, or if he was, he didn’t let it show. Y/N had to admit though, he was funny. she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he told her about the time Jason Lannister got gum stuck in his hair, and had to suppress a giggle when Aegon impersonated Mr. Bolton falling asleep mid-way through teaching a class. At these small instances of Y/N’s guard breaking, he flashed her a bright smile, pleased with himself.

Y/N though, didn’t utter a word to him. Until Art class that was.

They had been asked to paint an animal, and when Y/N looked up from the goldfish she had been painting, she saw Aegon’s work. “a dragon isn’t a real animal.” She disproved. The boy merely shrugged, “that’s not an animal either, it’s a fish.”

“a fish is an animal.” She frowned at her work. “it’s just an animal under water.”

“oh well, let’s add some of its natural habitat then.” He smirked, grabbing the bowl of water they’d been sharing to clean their brushes. “NO! stop!” in an attempt to block him from pouring water on her work, the brush in her hand smeared some of the yellow paint on his face.

He froze in his action immediately, bringing up his fingers to feel the paint streak running down from his brow to across his nose. This time Y/N couldn’t suppress her laughter at the sight, his blinking expression making it all the more funnier. “well, if that’s how you want to do this!” he declared as he scooped some of the red paint on his two fingers before smearing it on her cheek.

Within five minutes, their respective art works had been abandoned and both sets of uniform utterly ruined. The two had to be separated by their teacher, then ordered to walk down to the washrooms and clean themselves right up.

The second she left the girls washroom though, Y/N found the silver haired boy waiting for her by the door, some green paint still visibly stuck in his pale locks. “race you to class?” he mischievously suggested. “Hmm” Y/N pretended to think about the challenge for a second, before saying “okay” and dashing towards their class.

With a self-satisfied smile at having beaten Aegon, she took her seat. Sulking at his defeat, Aegon slinked back in his chair, “you cheated, didn’t wait for the ‘go’…”

“win’s a win.” Y/N declared, grabbing golden glitter for her fish. 

He didn’t stay grumpy for long though, before she knew it he was back to his talkative self, this time with Y/N chiming in with her own comments. The hours flew by with Aegon by her side, and as the day came to an end Y/N realised she’d enjoyed herself after all.

As they walked towards the school gate to leave, Aegon suddenly changed the topic. “you like video games?” “yeah…?” she hesitantly replied. “great, you’re coming over tomorrow to play some.” He beamed. At the end of the sentence Y/N observed he hadn’t actually asked her a question. “okay.” She found herself agreeing.

“cool, see you tomorrow.” Aegon had started running in the direction of one of the cars, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “never asked your name.” he sheepishly realised.

 “Y/N!” she distractedly answered as she sped up, having found her mom’s car in the parking lot.

“Y/N…” Aegon muttered to himself as he walked away, liking the way the name rolled of his tongue.

Age 15

“You’re late.” Y/N didn’t even bother to look up when she heard the window to her bedroom open, but did glance at the subsequent sound of someone falling face first onto her carpet. “have you been drinking? Its 2pm.”

Down on the ground laid her best friend of five years, with his messy platinum hair and stick-thin lanky limbs, carrying in the distinct smell of smoke when he entered her room. Though they were the same age, aegon looked more boyish still even as he had started to race towards every vice of the adult world he could get his hands on.

Aegon merely rubbed his now injured nose, as he lifted his head off the ground. “No I haven’t been drinking… still drunk from last night. Big difference.” Y/N sighed and shook her head in vexation before returning to her homework.  Aegon had recently taken up drinking and despite Y/N’s repeated rebukes, he seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much to stop. He continued to wave off her concern and she was starting to tire of voicing it.

“Let’s say I believed you… you wanna tell me what made you so late, then? I do have other things to do with my day than wait around to teach you biology, y’know.” Aegon grabbed a chair and dragged it to sit next to her at her desk. “I was actually busy being taught biology as it happens… albeit of a different kind.” His smug, self-satisfied grin as he pulled a cigarette from his front pocket  and placed it between his teeth, told Y/N all she needed to know. “Elinda Massey was the most enthusiastic of teachers.” Y/N couldn’t help but grit her teeth at the mention of Aegon’s latest distraction.

With a swift motion she grabbed the cigarette and threw it in the bin, ignoring his protests. “you know you’re not allowed to smoke in here, my parents would kill me if they smelled it.” Aegon snorted at the statement, “yeah but, that’s never stopped me before.” The casualness with which Aegon dismissed her, pinched Y/N. It was certainly true that Y/N usually found it hard to say no to Aegon, no matter how the consequences might harm her; but she didn’t like how he took the same for granted, as if it was a given.

“What’s got you all prissy today?”

“you. You wanna pass biology this year or not?” Y/N replied, visibly irritated. “yeah like there’s a chance in hell they’ll actually fail me. Grandfather would have the place shut within the week.” “then why do you even need a tutor? Go off with Elinda or whoever.” Y/N huffed, her eyes remaining trained so hard on her textbook that she was half certain she was going to burn holes into it, her hand clutching around the pencil in her hand.

“Elinda? That’s what you’re so annoyed about?” aegon snickered. Y/N turned to now glare directly into his blue eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks and her nostrils flaring. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to push aegon right out the window he came from so she could be alone instead of having to deal with this. “No, I just think you’re wasting your time here right now, when you could be doing…. Biology with Elinda instead.” Aegon brow furrowed at her reaction, but instead of another retort his hand reached out to gently grab her arm. “hey…” his features softened from their usual impish nature to highlight his concern “…what’s actually up with you?” in the face of such kindliness from him, she couldn’t muster any more scathing replies.

He’d seen right through her, like only he could. For weeks now she’d been stressed, but found the topic too awkward to discuss with Aegon. But she knew she’d have to open up to him sooner or later about her problem. Keeping secrets from Aegon was simply not something she did. Or even possibly could if she tried, she thought.

“promise you won’t laugh.” She first demanded in a nervous tone. Raising his three fingers, her best friend solemnly confirmed, “scouts honour.” She swallowed, her eyes looking beyond Aegon’s shoulder rather than at him as she slowly admitted. “I’ve not had my first kiss.”

Aegon merely blinked back at her, “what, is there supposed to be more to that or…?” “I’ve not had my first kiss.” She repeated as if those words were supposed to be self-explanatory. “yeah and I’ve never been to the Summer Isles, what’re you on about?” Y/N couldn’t help a groan as she momentarily hid her face behind her hands, thinking the more she would explain herself the more embarrassed she would get.

“It’s just, I’m 15, and I should have had it by now, I’ve never even been on a date.. and… and… and you’ve got Elinda and Maria before that, and Jeyne and, and…. I just can’t believe you’ve gone to third base before I’ve even had my first kiss!” her words came out rushed in the end, out of frustration and a need to just get the shameful confession over with.

She had expected Aegon to laugh it off, or worse, agree that her situation was absolutely the height of shame. Instead, he looked confused that such a thing was bothering her in the first place “what, that’s it? why didn’t you just say so before?”

nonchalantly, aegon put an arm behind Y/N’s chair. Eyes closed, he suddenly leaned in towards her, lips puckered, causing her eyes to go wide. “what the –” as a reflex response she pushed back at his shoulders, making him fall of the chair.

“the fuck was that for!” he shouted from the floor, his ego and back bruised.  “why did you try to kiss me?” Y/N was shocked, horrified even, at the prospect. Aegon was her best friend, she couldn’t even imagine looking at him in that light. it was Aegon, he was simply too familiar for her.

Aegon raised his hands out as if the answer was obvious. “you said it yourself you wanted to have your first kiss!”. Y/N’s nose scrunched up, “not with you!”.

“well how was I supposed to get that! Fuck me, I’ll never understand you women”

“‘you women?’” at that, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. This scene before her, this response by her best friend was too ridiculous. Yet, she noted as she offered a hand to help him back up which he grumblingly took, this was very much in character for Aegon. She knew he always wanted to help her, he might not have always understood how to go about it, but his heart was in the right place.

“I don’t need you to fix it, aegon.” She affably told him, a faint grateful smile on her face for her friend’s valiant effort nonetheless. “yeah, no-shit, because there’s nothing to fix. You’re not broken, Y/N.” Y/N didn’t know that she needed to hear those words until Aegon said it and it felt as if a burden was lifted off her shoulders.

“Don’t get me wrong. Doing all this, the kissing and the more-than-kissing, it’s fun. Honestly it’s so, so much fun, like I can’t even—” “you wanna get to your point?” “–so it’s great and all but, not doing it doesn’t mean you’re any less for it. You’re still Y/N, you’ll always still be Y/N to me.”

The anxiety she had been feeling, the fear of being left behind and the worry about other’s judgement, even her own – it all started to look so small and insignificant when Aegon told her she was still the same to him. This was her only constant in life, this bond between her and Aegon, the one person she couldn’t hide who she was from. In that moment, she felt glad to have him by her side.

“Besides if you were ever truly that desperate, you could always just try Jace. he’s had a thing for you like forever” Aegon revealed, rolling his eyes in apparent annoyance of the fact. Y/N though, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Jace… has a thing for me?” The thought of it seemed to please her, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as a red blush started to creep onto her cheeks once more.

Aegon looked disgusted at her response, and grimaced, “yeah okay, no need to flatter yourself too much …. It’s Jace.” He stuck his tongue out at the distaste of the thought of his best friend with his nephew. Y/N didn’t pay him any attention, having taken to doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook while engrossed in thought. Aegon immediately regretted having said anything, snatching the notebook from under her hand, “alright are we going to do some biology or what?”

Age 17

Y/N had been fast asleep when the familiar sound of pebbles against her window awoke her. she looked at the time on the watch as it read 2:17 am, quickly rising from her bed. there was only one person who had to be out there, and she knew why too. her heart sank, knowing already that aegon must have had another fight with his father. she opened the window and as expected, aegon targaryen precariously balanced his steps on the tree branch just outside.

"aegon, what are you doing? It's late," she whispered-shouted, trying not to wake her parents but already held out a hand to help him in. "Needed to see you," he slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. She wanted to chide him for endangering himself by climbing up so high when he’d drunk so much, but looking at his condition she decided to stay quiet. He climbed into her room, stumbling slightly as he landed. Y/N caught his arm, steadying him. "You've been drinking again," she said, more as a statement than a question.

aegon’s normally sparkling blue eyes were unfocused, his silver hair dishevelled. He'd grown taller of late, she missed the days when she could stand shoulder to shoulder with him. she now had to look up at him, as she put one of his arms around her shoulder to guide him towards the bed as his own steps fumbled.

“He doesn’t get it, Y/N. None of them do. To him, nothing i've done or will do matters for shit. i'm just not the son he wanted. he regrets me, i can see it in his eyes, I—”  a sob escaped his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence.

She gently sat him down on the edge of her bed, his weight pressing down on the soft mattress.  As she looked into his sad, bloodshot eyes, she harboured such hatred for Viserys as she thought impossible for anyone else to hold. she kneeled down in front of him, her heart breaking to see him so.

"I know, i know. But you can’t keep doing this, aegon. If you keep drinking like this, you could seriously hurt yourself one of these days." and she didn't think she could survive that.

she reached out to hold his hands in her own. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you. Always." if aegon heard her, he gave no indication, instead staring at their intertwined hands.

"can I crash here tonight?" he suddenly asked, looking more innocent than she'd ever seen him as he lifted his eyes to look up at her. Gone was the bravado and arrogance that was usual of him, even expected. In that moment he looked more lost than ever, and was looking to her as if she was his only hope for shelter.

she knew her parents wouldn't be thrilled about this impromptu sleepover, but then again she'd never had the ability to deny him anything. "of course," she tenderly smiled.

he kicked off his shoes and moved back up the bed, still holding onto her hand, pulling her with him. he lied down on her pillow, refusing to let go of her hand as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. he looked so peaceful, Y/N couldn’t help but reach out her free hand to run it through his hair in admiration. She wasn’t blind, she knew how handsome he looked, causing the girls to flock to him like moths to a flame. But his looks were just an objective fact to her, she never found herself attracted to him in the same way as the girl at school. But somehow in the pale moonlight, he looked more beautiful than she’d ever seen him, and it caused her chest to swell overwhelmingly.

she looked down to notice he'd opened his eyes again. "Don't leave," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"I won't" she promised, pulling the blanket over them both. he nodded in satisfaction of her reply, nestling against the crook of her neck, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Sleep evaded Y/N though, on the one hand she was wracked with worry over Aegon and his drinking habits, on the other.... she could feel his breath tickling her neck, as his one hand held her own while his other wrapped around her waist, his feet entangled with hers. his body pressed to her own under the covers, making the cramped space on her single bed too hot. Aegon had never been this physically close to her, this vulnerable. she thought how his safe space, the place he ran to when he wanted an escape was her, same as he was for her. it had always been this way, yet, in the darkness of the night she sensed something had shifted between them. she couldn't name it yet, though.

The next morning, when the first light of dawn seeped through the curtains, aegon stirred. He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes at his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the familiar face inches from his own "Y/N?" Y/N merely hummed in response, only now starting to stir awake. "what... how did i get here?" he asked looking around the room, startled. He lifted his head as he realised he was all but laid out on top of her, before moving away to lay on his back. He looked down to find his hand had cramped from holding onto hers all night, immediately releasing it. Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she responded, "what d'you mean?"

"i mean what am i doing in your bed at the crack of dawn." aegon looked earnestly confused, Y/N realised, which worried her.  "You came here last night," she slowly replied, watching his face carefully. "You were drunk. Do you remember?"

aegon frowned, rubbing his temples. "No... I don't." he suddenly looked at Y/N, "Did I do something... did we...?" he motioned to the space between them, his brow raised. Y/N sat up from her bed in alarm, "oh, no, nothing. of course not." she reassured him. she tried not to look too wounded at his relieved expression "good, good." he nodded, staring up at the ceiling.

"you had a fight with your dad and wanted to crash here. do you not remember coming up here last night?" "I don't remember anything really. last thing I do remember is opening one of the bottles from the wine cellar and then" he shrugged. Y/N frowned at his response, "Aegon, have you started blacking out?” her stomach tied itself in knots, feeling anxiety over this new development. But she felt as if she was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation.

she searched for any fear in aegon’s eyes, but only found apathy and disinterest. he seemed unconcerned, merely rolling onto his side and closing his eyes, lazily stretching himself out to get comfortable to fall back asleep.

“do you understand what that means? it means this is getting dangerous. This is no longer all for a good time, Egg.” She attempted again, this time raising her voice to catch his attention. It seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"wake me up for lunch, yeah?" he yawned, drifting back to slumber within minutes.

A wave of anger washed over her, she wanted to knock him off her bed or  hit him with a pillow in frustration over his own self-destructive ways. Did he not understand the ending he was currently headed towards? Did he not care how this going to affect him, affect her? She was tired of being the only safety harness keeping him held back when all he seemed to want to do was jump into the abyss.

“fucking… suit yourself.” She stormed off the bed to head out of her room, shutting the door behind her loudly.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Soft!Dom!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole. Smut (p in v), Stepcest, Cuckold, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, mommy kink, breeding kink, Sub!Coryo, Soft!Dom!Reader, pregnancy

Part 1:

You were absolutely livid when your mother brokered a marriage contract for you. A marriage between you and General Crassus Snow. Oh gods, how you wanted to puke. He was so much older than you. Like he's a man that's at least 50 if not 60. He's at least a good 30 years older than you.

Just the thought makes you want to cringe. And when you called your brother, Rein, to plead for his help he refused. He's an officer in the peacekeepers based in 12 and he didn't want to ruin his future by getting on the bad side of General Snow. Especially since Commander Hoff highly respected General Snow, who had been the commander in District 12 before he took it over.

So without a way out of your marriage, you're stuck with General Snow. Or Crassus as the cold, sinister old fuck insists you call him once you're moved into the grand penthouse he shares with his mother, Grandma'am, and his son, Coriolanus.

The name sounded familiar to you, but you just shoved the notion away. It's not like his son, who was in his last year at the University, was home much to worry about him. Or at least that's what Crassus said.

So one night while sitting in the main room with Grandma'am and Crassus, who was so cold and hard-hearted that it scared you, you're surprised to see Coriolanus Snow, your soon to be step-son, walk into the room. You also weren't expecting him to be so handsome. Coriolanus was a younger and more attractive version of his father, Crassus. Also, his eyes weren't dead and hateful. Yes, Coriolanus had the shame icy blue eyes that his father had, but his still had a soul shining in them. That much you could see.

Coriolanus' brow rose as he saw you sitting with his Grandma'am and across from his father, who’s nursing a Scotch on the rocks while waiting for dinner to be served, whenever he enters the main room of the penthouse he's been avoiding ever since Tigris moved out into her own place a few months earlier. Coriolanus doesn't remember your name, but he remembers your face from the Academy. You're his age, maybe even a year or so younger, if he remembers correctly.

“Father, you seriously can't be marrying her. She's too young for you.”

“She is a tad bit young, isn't she?” Crassus mockingly asked his son. Looking between you and his spitting image, the cruel General sickly smirks, “But Y/N reminds me so much of your mother at that age. And I’d be a fool to turn down a young, beautiful, wet, tight cunt to give me the heir I deserve.”

“Crassus…” Grandma'am chastised her soulless son, earning her a sharp glare from him.

“Mother, I advise you to stop taking up for the useless boy. My son's weak, always was and always will be.”

But from your point of view there wasn't anything weak about Coriolanus. Nope. Not one bit. He was tall with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, a chiseled jawline, a prominent nose, and large hands that looked both strong and gentle at the same time. He looked like he was carved from the images of the ancient gods themselves

Your wedding wasn't a high end affair. It was modest, but classy. Only the elite were invited. Even your older brother, Rein, was able to get leave to attend your wedding. His girl from District 12 wasn't allowed to come. You thought your brother was a piece of shit for not fighting harder to bring her or for coming without her, but he snapped right back that he couldn't risk his future for some coal dust covered pussy. That your new husband could open doors for him and his career.

And when your reception got to be too much, you found yourself on the terrace of the fancy hotel/ballroom your wedding was being held at. Your life was over before it truly begun.

“You're going to get that dress of yours dirty sitting on the patio like that.” Coriolanus’ deep, elegant timbre sounded out from right behind you.

Looking over your shoulder at the tall young man with striking blue eyes, which held concern in them, and platinum blonde curls, you sigh, “I don't care, Coriolanus.”

“Well, you should care. Tigris worked hard on your dress.” He retorted, coming up to your side and taking a seat next to you. Pulling silver cigarette case and matching lighter out of his blazer pocket, Coriolanus stated, “You feel like your life's over being ball and chained to the hateful old goat, huh?”

“He's your father, Coriolanus. You shouldn't call him a hateful old goat.” You chastised your new, but handsome, stepson with a melancholic tone in your voice.

Oh, why couldn't your mother have brokered an arranged marriage with the Snow son. You'd much rather be married to Coriolanus than Crassus.

“He's my father, so I can call him a hateful old goat.” Coriolanus replied, cigarette dangling between his lips, as he lit up his smoke. Putting his case and lighter back into his pocket, only to take his first drag of his smoke, he sincerely told you, “You don't deserve to be married to such a cruel man. You're too young and beautiful to be wasted on the likes of him.”

You didn't say a word, just gave him a curious look. A look which caused him to give you a thin line of a smile before offering to share his smoke with you- to help calm nerves.

And that was the beginning of something for forbidden between you and Coriolanus.

For all his big talk, Crassus was useless in bed. He, for a lack of a better word, couldn't get his dick up. He even chewed on the special blue pill, but sometimes that didn't even work. And all you were was a warm, tight hole- a fleshlight for him to fuck and rut into. You got no pleasure out of fucking him.

Before or after you said I do.

But you did find pleasure somewhere else. In the arms of your stepson, in fact. As sick and twisted as it sounds, you found solace in fucking Coriolanus. Coryo, as he insisted you call him once you started fucking around behind his father's back.

Although it's taboo in the eyes of society, hell the nation of Panem, it feels right. You and Coryo are of similar age, find each other very attractive, and get along well. Despite what you two have being considered wrong, being stepcest, neither one of you’s going to end your affair.

An affair that's happening in the Snow family penthouse right underneath General Snow's nose. But he's not bright enough to figure it out.

No…

“Fuck…” Coryo groaned, his long fingers digging into your hip bone as you rode his cock. “Mommy, your pussy feels so good…” He nearly pants, kneading your breast with his large hand as he felt your cunt squeeze his cock.

“Your big cock feels so good too, baby.” You whine, bringing your hand to rest on top of Coryo's large one that's on your hip while using your other one to balance yourself by resting your palm on your stepson’s firm chest. “So good.” You sigh, lifting yourself up and quickly sinking down onto the girthy 8 inches that's deliciously stretching out your cunt.

The platinum blonde, whose curls are like a halo around his head, gives you a lustful look with his cerulean eyes. “Mommy, I wanna suck your titties.” He whines, baritone husky, but submissive.

Yes, Coriolanus Snow, the son of the almighty General Crassus Snow, was a sub in bed. A sub with a mommy kink. It was something you discovered the first time he fucked you and, although it stunned you to discover that someone so tall, large, and manly in every sense of the word was not dominant at all between the sheets and wanted ‘mommy’ to boss him around, you didn't shame him for it. Instead, you embraced his kink. Your situation’s already twisted, might as well add in the Dom/Sub mommy kink element to it too.

Coryo felt safe enough with you to share his desires, kinks, and fantasies. Unknown to everyone, his confidence and bravado was a well worn mask and underneath it he's just an insecure boy. But with you, well, he's able to feel needed and like he matters.

And him sharing his mommy kink with you gives you a sense of control in your otherwise uncontrollable life. Being dominant in bed helps you deal with your life as much as it helps Coriolanus deal with his.

You and Coryo have a safe word in play in case he can't handle something, but so far he's never used it. Truth be told, you're a bit of a soft dom to him. But he enjoys it. He enjoys anything you give him.

Grabbing his platinum blonde curls in your hands, you roughly pulled Coryo up towards your breasts. “Then suck on mommy’s titties, baby.” You order, causing him to latch his lips onto your nipple.

Your back arched from the feelings Coryo was coaxing from your body. The feeling of his large cock hitting the special spongy spot deep inside of you every time you spear yourself down onto him paired with the feeling of his wet tongue swirling around your nipple had you feeling euphoric. Coryo was blessed with a magical tongue. Whether it was kissing, eating your cunt, or sucking your nipples, his wet muscle always made you pant and quiver.

You literally begin to quickly bounce up and down of Coryo's cock, causing the mattress springs to loudly creak in the dead of the night, as you desperately chase your high. Coryo bites your nipples, only to soothingly run his tongue over the stinging rose bud. Your nipple falls from his mouth with a loud, wet pop.

“Mommy, please, I wanna cum…” The platinum haired angelish devil of a boy beneath you begs as his hips desperately buck up. He's beginning to feel his release build up and he wants permission to cum.

Permission you won't give him, because you have to cum first.

“Not yet, Coryo. Mommy has to cum first.”

“But, please Mommy. I need to cum so bad.” He whinily begs, eyes pathetically looking up at you while his chin's perched in your cleavage, causing his head to bounce up and down with every movement you make.

“I said no, Coryo. Now be a good boy and stop begging; take what you're getting.” You sharply snap, all the while rocking your hips as you straddle his dick.

“But mommy-” Coryo began to whine, once again, only for you to shut him up by wrapping your hand around his throat and roughly pushing him back down into the mattress.

His icy blue eyes were blown as dark as midnight with lust as you choked his neck, not hard enough to cut off his breathing, but just enough to punish his bratty behavior as a sub.

“Don't be a selfish brat, Coryo. You know mommy cums first.” You tell him in a tight tone, that's a bit rougher than usual, as you continue to fuck yourself on his large cock as he lays on the bed- a look of pure pleasure spread across his face.

You continue to hold him down by the neck as your tight, wet cunt clenched around his large, veiny cock, causing Coryo's to whimper and whine with the desperation to cum. Oh, the feeling of your warm, wet, pussy around his aching cock’s too much. Too much to handle and he just has to cum.

Coryo feels like your motions and movements have been nothing but teasing; have done nothing, but rile him up and make him feel like he's going to explode any minute with both madness and pleasure.

“Please, mommy, I need to cum. Don't make me hold back anymore.” The almighty Coriolanus began to cry as he struggled to hold back his orgasm as you rode his cock harder and faster than before.

Your hand was still wrapped around his throat and that didn't help matters out, since it was a turn on for him- seeing your blood red nails wrapped around his pale throat and lightly resting on his windpipe. His hips bucked up frantically and he panted as he attempted to rebel and chasing his high. But you needed to cum first, it was one of the rules established between you and Coryo for the Dom/Sub play. Despite how desperate Coryo seemed, you had to cum first and you had to give him orders to help you get there.

“Rub mommy’s clit, baby boy. If you really want to cum, rub mommy's clit just the way you know she likes it.” You order your lover, holding back a moan as you feel his tip hit your cervix just right.”

Coriolanus quickly nodded his head, causing his sweaty platinum curls to rustle against his pillow, before bringing his hand to where the two of you’re connected, only to run fast and hard circles into your clit.

“Let me cum in your cunt, tonight. Please, mommy, let me knock you up.” Coryo told you, his voice thick with lust a bit softer than usual.

Your breath hitched as you felt both the weight of his words and the intense pressure of your upcoming release hit you. All you could do was shake your head and half-moan, “You can't, Coryo. I’m married…” Even tho you didn't say the words to your father, they hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

“But don't you want a baby, mommy?” Coryo asks, the hand that was on your hip gliding over to your lower stomach. Slowly stroking your lower belly while pressing quick and sloppy circles into your swollen clit, the platinum blonde below you says, “Let me give you a baby. Please, mommy, nobody has to know it's mine.”

“Coryo…” You gasp, feeling the right know of pleasure inside of you getting ready to unravel.

“You'll look so beautiful, full of my seed. Oh, mommy, please, let me knock you up tonight.” Coryo pleaded his case once more as he lay beneath you, at your mercy since he's your sub.

If you say no and got off of him after you cum then he'll have no choice, but to cum on his stomach (which is what the agreement’s been between you two since your affair started). But if you take pity on him and agree to letting him cum inside of your pussy, to fill your womb with his seed, then he'll be the happiest man in the world.

Coryo feels your cunt clamp around his cock and he knows you're about to cum. He's getting his teeth, holding back his own release, as your movements above him grow more frantic. “Please, mommy, let me give you the one thing that hateful old goat can't. Let me give you a baby.”

You're too far gone down the rabbit hole by this point in your life to say no. You're already fucking your stepson in an illicit affair, might has well have a baby too. Nobody’ll know. It'll be a dirty little secret between you and Coryo.

“Yes, yes, Coryo.” You moan out as you cum hard around Coriolanus’ dick. “Cum in mommy’s cunt; knock me up.” You breathlessly order as your juices messily run down your thighs and onto his.

Your hand that's wrapped around Coryo's remains there as he thrusts his hips up one, two, three times. You gently run your thumb over his Adam's apple as you feel him shoot ropes of his thick, hot seed deep into your womb.

Leaning your face down, you whisper against Coryo's lush lips, “You're mommy’s good baby boy, Coryo.”, before kissing him.

Coryo whimpered into the kiss before needily pressing his lips against yours. He could never get enough of your lips on his. He craves your kisses like a parched man craves water.

“I do love being your good baby boy.” Coryo tells you, his breath a mere whisper against your lips, as he breaks off your kiss to let you catch your breath.

Coryo's softness in your sex life is something that you greatly appreciate. Especially since your husband's so rough when he does manage to get his dick up long enough to do something. Coriolanus being soft in bed, but cunning and calculating out in the world with his studies at the University and his social affairs just shows you how versatile your lover is.

Oh, why couldn't he be your husband?

“Will you stay with me tonight, darling?” Coriolanus asks as you gingerly get off of him and take the empty spot on the mattress next to him.

Shaking your head, you sadly sigh, “You know I can't, even tho I want to.”

“One day we'll be able to be together, my love. You'll see.” He sadly smiles, pulling you to cuddle with him for just a few moments.

Moments that are very precious to both of you.

A month later when you miss your period, you just know that you're pregnant. And when you go to the doctor to confirm your suspicions, you're given both a blood and urinary test. And the results for both are positive.

It's easy to make your husband, Crassus, believe that the baby's his since you drug him with sleeping pills whenever you fuck your lover, Coriolanus. And you know without a doubt that the baby belongs to Coriolanus since when you're stuck fucking Crassus it ends as soon as it begins due to his little blue pill problem.

Grandma'am’s shocked to hear that she's going to have another grandbaby. In fact, she made a remark about how she always thought she'd become a great-grandmother instead of a grandmother again. That remark had Coriolanus' smirking.

Tigris, your neice-in-law, congratulated you when she heard the news, but the look on her face was anything but happy. In fact, she looked a bit worried for you.

Crassus didn't seem overjoyed about your pregnancy. No, he just acted like it was your duty to give him a child. He even made a remark about how the baby better be a son or else he’ll hide it away somewhere- give it up. That remark made Coriolanus mad. He literally got into a fight with his father over it.

Thank the gods, the doctor told you that the baby's a boy. So you don't have to worry about Crassus taking the baby away from you. But you know deep down in your heart of hearts that Coryo would never let his evil old bastard of a father do that to your baby.

To Coriolanus’ baby.

Grandma'am seemed happy to be having another grandson and told you all about how she named her sons, Crassus Xanthos and Cadmus Xanthos, and how the traditional of the male Snow heirs having the initials CXS has been implemented by your husband, Crassus, whenever he named his own son Coriolanus Xerxes Snow. Of course, you assured your mother-in-law that your baby would have a name worthy of a Snow.

Crassus didn't seem to care about the pregnancy or discussing baby names. He just told you that you better fulfill your duty of birthing him a healthy son. He also told you to figure out a name for the baby; that he's too busy as the Minister of National Security to worry about such things.

And since it's your job to figure out a name, you decided to enlist some help from Coryo.

“Do you want me to name the baby? I know he doesn't care about you or what you name our son, but I care.” Coryo tells you one night as you cuddle with him in bed. He's got a protective hand over your belly, always taking his role in it's life very seriously.

The ‘he’ Coriolanus refers to is his father; your husband, Crassus. Neither one of you use his name anymore. It's easier to talk about him, deal with him and his communist rule over the Snow family that way. And right now he's out stone cold in the bed your suppose to share with him since you spiked his nightcap with sleeping pills. It's something you've been doing a lot lately in order to spend more time with Coryo.

“You want to name the baby?” You ask, tears of joy welling up in your eyes.

Coryo smiles, only to say, “He's my son, of course I want to name him.”

“Then you can name him.” You tell the platinum blonde with the halo of curls, giving him a soft smile before resting your head on his shoulder.

“I have the perfect name in mind, mommy.” Coryo kisses your head, his timbre a soft rasp, as he gently strokes your belly. He flinches slightly as he feels the baby kick against his hand. “He kicked me, Y/N.” Coryo smiled in awe, his baby blues shining with pride.

“He’s saying ‘hello daddy’.” You tell your lover, causing him to smile and tell you the name he wants to give your son.

Crassus was too busy working to be bothered by the birth of the newest Snow heir. Coryo on the other hand missed his University classes to be by your side while you gave birth. He held your hand and whispered reassuring words to you through your entire labor.

Since your husband wasn't around, your stepson was given the honor of cutting the cord. The doctor and the nurses didn't say a word, but they did share some looks that implied they thought something fishy was going on between you and Coriolanus.

After everything’s said and done, Crassus comes to visit you and the baby in your hospital room. You're resting in your bed and Coryo's sitting by your bedside with your newborn son in his arms.

“I see you're still alive.” Is how Crassus greets you. A greeting that earned him a cold, narrow eyes look from Coriolanus.

“Yes, Crassus.” You nod. “I'm still alive.”

Looking at his son's, one nearing the end of his University career and the other a few hours old, Crassus makes the observation of, “Coriolanus, I see your bonding with your baby brother.”

A smirk appears on Coryo's otherwise stoic face as he tells his hateful father, “I love him as if he was my own.” Looking between you and Crassus, Coryo adds in, “Mommy let me help her name him.”

Crassus raised a brow, giving his eldest an odd look. The old man couldn't help, but wonder when Coriolanus started to call you mommy. Maybe he'll ask his mother, Grandma'am, about it. Surely she'd know more about the milestones you and his son are making them he does. He is, after all, working to make the nation of Panem a place of order, a place where the Capitol shines and the Districts are kept under an iron thumb.

Looking down at the bundle of joy held lovingly and protectively in his arms, a baby boy with wisps of whitish blonde hair and big bright icy blue eyes, Coriolanus reveals the name of the newest Snow heir to his father.

“Cassian Xandros.”

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[holllandtrash]

now that we don't talk | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader part 2 to say don't go

so i pay the price of what i lost and what it cost now that we don't talk

word count: 5.6k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is sad, pato o'ward makes a guest appearance had to rewind a bit because because this is charles' pov during and after the relationship - i promise we'll find the ending eventually

Charles was late to the welcome party in Vegas and maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

He showed up a little after 11pm as he really wasn’t in any sort of rush to make an appearance. This week was going to be a long one already and with the obligations piling on top of each other, he tried to spend the minimum amount of time doing what was required of him.

So on that Wednesday evening, he showed up over three hours after the recommended time of 8pm. Alexandra was with him, Alex as she preferred to be called. The coordinated outfits were her idea and Charles didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t an outfit he would have chosen himself. 

But they showed up, hand in hand and Charles found a few members of his team - or rather, Mark found him. 

“Did you know Damon Hill and his family are here?” Mark didn’t even start with a greeting. He did smile at Alex, out of politeness, but his interest lied with Charles knowing that the Monegasque driver hadn’t spoken to you in a few months.

“The whole family?” Charles asked with a breath, feeling the tense glance from his girlfriend. 

Mark nodded, “Yeah. Yeah they’re all around here somewhere.”

Here being the very large venue dedicated to tonight, to the inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix. Members from each team, the drivers, invited guests and sponsors, everyone was here tonight. 

And apparently, so were you.

Mark was not the only person to mention to Charles that you were there, in fact Mark was the first of about eight people who felt the need to tell Charles that the girl he once spoke to was somewhere around.

Of course, no one could tell Charles exactly where you were, but it didn’t surprise him to hear you were leaving good impressions on everyone you had spoken to. You, someone who could part the red sea with ease, took a more delicate approach tonight. 

You were fully aware Charles was going to be there, but he was of no concern to you. You were polite to absolutely everyone you spoke to and if by chance someone mentioned that, ‘oh, Charles will be here eventually’ you simply smiled and nodded because you weren’t about to make any more waves in the motorsport industry. You preferred your name stayed out of the tabloids and what good would it be going around telling people how Charles broke your heart? 

There was speculation, of course. People knew you spent time together. Those online shared their opinions, right or wrong, thinking they could put the pieces together just based on the fact that he was seen in Paris with you one day and then in Monaco with Alex the next.

It didn’t help that you left England soon after, making only one more appearance in Formula 1 when you went to Spain. 

Charles still thought about that conversation, how calm you were throughout, not allowing him to take any piece of your dignity despite what he did, how he made you feel. 

Charles thought he was better off this way, with Alex. 

You were certainly better off. 

He didn’t like admitting it, in fact he probably never would, but he kept up to date with you, with your life. He saw on Instagram when you dyed your hair and then dyed it again and then chopped it to your shoulders. He saw when you spent time with the F1 Academy drivers, when you attended Nascar races, when you started spending more and more time with the Arrow McLaren team.

You had told him that you wanted to watch a few races, check out a few teams before deciding whether or not you wanted to pursue a career in the motorsports field.

And you had done just that. From the outside looking in, Charles couldn’t help but think that this was you just trying on different lives. Indecisive, certainly. But you looked happy, so who was he to have a say?

It shouldn’t have come as a shock when the news dropped of you being brought on as a Performance Engineer for the US based papaya team starting in 2024. The photo that accompanied the headline was you sitting at the pit wall in Portland, already with the orange headset on as you watched the race.

Charles was in Italy when he read the article. Just over three months after your relationship ended...but who's counting?

He had finished fourth that Sunday, not his worst race but his best one either. He was just on his way to his car, wanting to head to the airport when he came across the news on Instagram.

He wanted to congratulate you. He wanted to call you and tell you he was excited for this move, for this career you landed on. He wanted to joke that he could have gotten you a job at Ferrari if you had just asked. 

But you didn’t talk anymore so he couldn’t say anything. This was the cost of losing you. Charles couldn’t stay your friend, not after what he did, and in return, you were out of his life. 

It wasn't that he was looking for you that night in Vegas but he wasn't not looking for you. It was quite a large crowd that even he had trouble navigating his way around. Alex walked behind him, following Charles at a close distance. 

And truthfully, Charles tried not to compare you and Alex, but something about knowing you were in the vicinity had him thinking of what would be different if you had accompanied him tonight. 

You wouldn’t reach for his hand, but you would have lightly grabbed the back of his shirt if the crowd started getting a little suffocating. Just a slight tug on the material and Charles would turn around and assure you with a smile that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

The first time you did that, you were in Monaco. Those weeks he flew you out to spend time with him after only meeting once in the Ferrari garage. 

After leaving a nightclub, the crowd got a little rowdy- they all wanted a piece of him. You stood behind him as he walked to the car that was waiting but when people started moving closer you felt as though you were suffocating. Heart racing as anxiety crept up, a new feeling because you didn’t think you were claustrophobic but you had also never been in this situation before. 

You reached for the back of Charles’ shirt, hand brushing over the thin material before taking it between your forefinger and thumb. It was helpful for you, knowing that you could still touch him, feel him. It grounded you. A little bit of comfort amidst the chaos.

Charles turned when he felt the faint tug. He recognized the wide eyes, the fear that you tried to play off because this was normal for him. But it wasn’t normal for you so he raised his hand, sliding his fingers into yours to give you that gentle squeeze before finally making it to the car.

The anxiety faded the second Charles closed the door for you. He walked around to the drivers side and slid in, hand automatically finding your leg. 

He didn’t ask about it, the sudden panic. He knew you had been around large crowds a handful of times before. You weren’t in the public eye per say, but your father was and growing up you became used to it. 

But this was just different. Charles recognised it, and he knew moving forward he’d have to be mindful of it, of you, of how you were feeling. 

He wondered how you were doing tonight in Vegas, if there was someone else's shirt you were clinging onto this time. Or maybe that was something you saved just for Charles. He couldn’t ask, though. He wouldn’t know the answer to how you were feeling because you didn’t talk anymore.

He also had absolutely no idea where you were. 

Maybe you had left by now. It was getting late. If you showed up on time, which you probably did, you’d have been ready to call it a night thirty minutes ago. You’d have gone back to your hotel room and scrubbed your makeup off, changing into one of those matching jumper and sweats sets you always had. 

You craved comfort over anything else.

Charles remembered Paris. The first night. Not the night where everything fell apart right in front of him all because he couldn’t say those three little words back to you.

No, the first night was good. It was great, magical even. Charles had taken you out to dinner. The skin tight black dress you wore, the one with the low cut neckline - Charles still thought about it. He’d love to know if you still had it, if you wore it for anyone else but those were questions he kept to himself. 

He remembered at the end of the evening you were at your second wine bar, having come across this one completely by accident on your way back to your place. Charles remembered pulling you inside, suggesting that one more glass wouldn’t hurt anyone and you hesitated because it was getting late, but nevertheless, you followed. 

One glass turned into splitting an entire bottle at one of the high tables in the very back. This place was old-school chic with the decor and the 80’s records playing on low volume. It was nothing like the modern and elegant bar you had just spent the last hour in. No, this place was intimate, cozy and surprisingly you didn’t want to leave, even as the night went on. 

And that surprised Charles because you had joked at the beginning of the night that you wanted to be in bed by at least eleven. It was half 12 now and you showed no signs of trying to get back to your flat. 

“So do you or do you not like staying out late?” Charles asked, trying to get the proper read. His hand was resting on your leg, fingers daringly close to the hem of your dress. You were both way too overdressed for this establishment but no one seemed to mind. No one paid you two any attention.

You smiled and glanced around, wanting to bring light to the fact that no one had approached you since you stepped inside, but you didn’t want to jinx it.

“After a certain hour I like to be comfortable,” you answered. “There’s nothing comforting about a stuffy bar and loud music and people in your space who think they know you but they really don’t. And I like going out, I do, but I don’t like staying out longer than I need to.”

Charles nodded, understanding the point you were getting at. This wine bar was a hole in the wall, a hidden gem that provided you the comfort you desired. While you weren’t entirely alone, it certainly felt like it. You could laugh freely without worrying about being too loud or embarrassing. You could sit as close as you wanted to Charles without being cautious of who was nearby. It was just you and him. 

And you could have gone back home, but home would always be there. This moment, this bar, this was just as comforting and in the back of both of your minds, you knew it wouldn’t come again. 

You were right.

Charles would have rather been back in that corner of the wine bar with you now, back in Paris without the impending end of your relationship weighing over his shoulders. 

He wished he could relive that night over and over because for a moment, he thought that maybe, possibly, he could love you.

Charles blamed it on the wine. The way the dim light hit your delicate features was only accentuated because he was drunk. Your laughter was soothing, heartwarming even, but he reminded himself he had heard it hundreds of times before. You looked at him that night, a naive glow to you and it terrified Charles. 

He pushed that four letter word aside. He couldn’t love you. He couldn’t love anyone, he couldn’t have that commitment, not with his lifestyle- his career. If he loved you, you’d become a distraction. You’d want more from him and he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give you more.

So when you told him you loved him only a few days later, he ran.

He ran back to Alex because she would never tell him she loved him. She wouldn’t put that on his shoulders, she wouldn’t carelessly hand over her heart that way you had. Because that’s what you did. You gave Charles everything, all of you and he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t ready to give you everything in return.

He was left with a tainted memory of Paris.

So yes, he tried to think of that first night more than any other one. At least that memory was pure, wholesome. 

It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out you left this Vegas party already. Probably found the quietest bar on the outskirts of the strip. Or you might have even gone back to the hotel because what comfort could a bar bring you? 

Did you still think about that night in Paris too? Or had you tried to completely forget about your time together there? Again, Charles couldn’t just ask you that. You didn’t talk. 

But there were people here that you did talk to.

Charles spotted Pato O’Ward, the well adored driver in the IndyCar series. You may not have been hired as a performance engineer for his car, but you were going to be a crucial part of the Arrow McLaren team. Plus you had spent a handful of races with them already, sometimes in his pit lane box. 

They had met before, briefly but it was a long enough interaction that Charles didn’t feel uncomfortable approaching the Mexican driver. 

They chatted about the race happening this weekend, about Pato’s upcoming practice session he’ll be participating in in Abu Dhabi. Charles was friendly, he knew how to carry a conversation.

He also knew how to find out the information he couldn’t get first hand from you. Of course, waiting until Alex walked off to get another drink.

“I heard about Y/N joining the team,” Charles casually mentioned. “That’s exciting, she’ll be a good addition.”

“Oh for sure,” Pato nodded in agreement. He glanced around, as if trying to find you but he didn’t spend too long looking. “She’s a genius. We’re happy to have her. I’m surprised that she didn’t find a job in Formula 1, though. With her father and all and-”

Pato cut himself off, unsure if this was a line he wanted to cross.

But Charles chuckled, making light of the history he had with the new Arrow McLaren employee. The more at ease Pato felt, the more likely he’d be willing to talk about you.

“Honestly I could have gotten her a job at Ferrari if she showed interest,” Charles told him. He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but Pato wasn’t going to talk if Charles was quick to shut down the topic of you. So he continued, “But she always talked about IndyCar. She only ever spent time at Formula 1 because of the history, because of her dad but her interests lied with your series. I think it’s because she grew up with Formula 1, you know, there was no more fascination. IndyCar is almost like a challenge for her…she did always like to challenge herself. I hope this career is good for her- I think it will be, I think it’s what she needs. I mean, I guess I don't really know what she needs but I hope she finds it at Arrow McLaren.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Even Pato was a little taken aback. He didn’t show it on his face, but he certainly hadn’t expected Charles to say any of those words about you. There was a longing in Charles’ tone. He wasn’t just speaking highly of you, he was pulling from his heaviest memories, his cherished moments. He wasn’t just telling Pato everything that Pato probably already knew. Charles was reminding himself of the person you were, the person you still are. 

The person he didn’t know anymore.

Charles cleared his throat, “Do you talk to her? Or not so much in the off season?”

Pato moved on along with Charles, as best as he could, offering him a faint shrug, “I chatted with her earlier tonight. She’s in the middle of a move, actually.”

“To the states?” Charles asked.

“Bristol, I think,” Pato racked his memory but was confident with his answer. “She lived in Paris for a bit but is going to spend the next few months in Bristol before heading to the states at the end of February.”

Bristol did not come as a surprise to Charles. 

“If you could move anywhere, where would you go?” You had once asked him. Although, your timing was poor as you were both currently lounging on the front of his yacht in the French Riviera. Why would he want to move anywhere else when everything he needed, for the most part, was right here?

“I don’t want to move,” Charles gave you the answer you had expected. He turned his head to face you, arm resting on the back of the chair. He had sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose but he took them off his face and handed them to you when he realised you were squinting as you looked at him.

“I’d move to Bristol,” you told him, unprompted. His sunglasses were a little big for your face, but the gesture was sweet. 

“Bristol,” he repeated. “Why Bristol?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “Rich in history and culture. I’d live on the seaside. I’d spend my days in the market. There’s still a bit of a nightlife if I feel like going out. But It’s serene there. I’d be happy there.”

Charles sat up a bit, “Monaco has all that. Why don’t you just move here?”

You laughed. As if moving to Monaco was that easy. 

Regardless, Monaco was missing something you cherished.

“I enjoy the cold weather, Charles.” You said as if this wasn’t something he already knew. “Bristol’s like the perfect place. It doesn’t snow often but it still drops in temperature during the winter and if I wanted a white Christmas I could just drive a few hours inland. I can’t thrive in 365 days of heat. Sometimes I just want to make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a blanket.”

Charles admired a lot of things about you, but near the top of that list was how much you appreciated the little things in your life. You were raised in wealth, with a name that everyone was familiar with, but you were simple. You worked hard for what you wanted and you cherished what you had. You never asked for anything more and you were always content, never one to complain. You were probably the most down to earth person he’d ever met.

So no, it wasn’t shocking to hear that you had moved out of your flat in Paris to spend a few months in Bristol. To get that British winter one more time before moving for your career. 

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere if you-” Pato stopped mid sentence, his eyes landing on something, someone, behind Charles. 

Naturally, Charles turned over his shoulder to look.

There you were. 

Part of your hair was pinned back with a pearl hair clip. You opted out of a dress, going for a matching skirt and cropped blazer instead, pairing it with a pair of heels only a shade darker. You were chatting with someone that Charles didn’t recognise, a champagne glass held delicately between your fingers. You were so into your conversation that you had no idea that you had gained the attention of not just one driver, but two.

Charles wasn’t the only one who was dying to spend some time with you tonight. 

He turned back at Pato and Charles would be lying to himself if he said his blood didn’t boil over at the way Pato was looking at you. He was envious in this moment. He knew you were larger than life, but you were such a well kept secret, his secret, and you were the farthest thing from that now.

Pato muttered something about catching up with Charles later and all Charles could do was watch as the IndyCar driver made his way over to you. You greeted him with a warm smile. His hand found your lower back with ease, like he had placed it there before. You handed him the champagne glass in your hand and Pato took a sip, holding it onto it, like that was normal. Like you shared drinks with him before.

And Charles knew he didn’t have any sort of right to care, to question, to even wonder what you were doing now but god it pained him to think that you were possibly, probably, sleeping with Pato O’Ward.

When did that start? Before you signed your contract or after? Did that matter? No of course it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because Charles was with Alex. He made that choice, he let you go. He foolishly, stupidly, regrettably, let you go and now he had to watch from the sidelines as you lived your life without him. You found the career you wanted, not in Formula 1.

If you were with Pato, there was no doubt in Charles’ mind that Pato treated you better than he did. He was a stand up guy, he was charming, he leaned in and whispered something in your ear that had you blushing in seconds.

How Charles was feeling wasn’t fair and he knew it. He knew he was in the wrong. He knew he couldn’t be jealous seeing you with someone else. You had moved on, you had every right to move on. 

He knew that it shouldn’t have taken seeing you with Pato to realise he had made a mistake. This was a conclusion he should have come to a while ago, honestly he should have never even let you go in the first place. And maybe he did know it and just didn’t want to admit it until it was screaming at him, a brutal hit to the face over and over until he just couldn’t ignore the bruises anymore.

He shouldn’t have let you go. 

But he did and this was the price he had to pay. He watched from the outside, watched you change and grow through the stories he overheard and pictures you shared. He was a mere crumb in your life now compared to when you handed him your heart on a silver platter. 

Charles regretted everything. He regretted that he left you waiting for him to say ‘I love you’ and at the very least, hoping he would say ‘don’t go’ and instead gave you nothing. Now he couldn’t say any of those words. Now you didn’t talk. 

He left the party early. Alex didn’t say anything on the ride back to the hotel. Neither did he. What was there left to say anyway?

But the silence from her left less of a hole than the silence he got from you. 

He sat in the hotel bar while Alex packed up her suitcase and asked the front desk for a new room. She wasn’t going to leave. Not yet, at least. Just give Charles the space he needed and honestly, Charles knew she was waiting for him to return to her once he came to his senses, like he did last time.

Because Alex gave him what he wanted. Comfort, but she didn’t ask for it in return. Adoration, but didn’t expect the love to be reciprocated. She played the part of the girlfriend and she played it well, accompanying Charles wherever, whenever. Alex thought that if she played the long game, Charles would love her. Charles would see a future with her.

You, though, you didn’t have time to wait. You weren’t going to sit ideally and beg for him to love you back. You weren’t going to tell him that you’d wait for him, that you’d be there if things with Alex didn’t work out. 

You moved on. 

Charles tried to accept that, really. He tried to just focus on the last two races and not about what you were doing. If Bristol was everything you dreamt it was. If Pato and you were together. He tried not to think about anything that revolved around you. 

He thought he could at least make it to the New Year, and maybe he would have. He might have reconnected with Alex on the 31st if he successfully went the entire month of December without his mind trailing back to you.

But the second his friend who resided in London called him up and asked if he wanted to attend a fashion show he was part of...well, it was embarrassing how fast Charles agreed to go. Because London was certainly closer to Bristol than Monaco was. And if he was in London, it was hard to find a reason why he shouldn’t just…go to Bristol.

Actually it was very easy to find dozens of reasons. Charles simply ignored all of them. 

He didn’t think this plan through at all, which was why he stood outside your door for nearly five minutes before knocking. What was he going to say?

For starters, he was really hoping you wouldn’t ask how he knew where you lived. Charles didn’t feel like explaining the hoops he had to jump through that may or may not have involved Joris at one point pretending to be your brother and calling your place of employment. 

It was fucked up. Charles could admit that. But if he could admit that, he could admit it wasn’t the only fucked up thing he did. Letting you walk away from him was at the top of that list.

When you opened the door, you weren’t upset to see him, but you weren’t happy either. Charles carried that vibe the entire time he was inside, starting from when you reluctantly let him in to the way you handed him his cup of tea without so much as a word. 

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked him. Charles could tell you were only trying to be polite. 

“Do you care?” He asked in return. 

No hesitation from you as you shook your head, “I do not.”

He always admired your honesty. He was still scared shitless at the way you could quite literally kill someone with kindness, but he also respected it. You were the only person he knew who’s gentle smile had the ability to send someone cowering. It was a skill, truly. 

“So let’s not talk about her,” he suggested and you nodded, but you also weren’t about to let the conversation carry on if it was pointless. 

“Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He had an entire drive to figure out how he wanted to word this. He had a whole plane ride to put together the perfect sentence, the perfect mix of apologies and admittance and instead his mind was blank. He didn’t know the words to say to you, not after going so long without saying anything. 

But he lifted his head and met your eyes. He thought about reaching for your hand only to decide against it because your hand wasn’t his to hold anymore. 

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said, voice low, breaking almost. He shook his head, repeating it. “I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have let you go. I don’t want to be someone who’s not in your life. I don’t want to be someone who means nothing to you anymore. I-”

I love you, he wanted to say. 

Because he did. 

At least, he thought he did. At one point, he knew he could. If he could then, he could now, right? He could still love you. If you took him back, if you found a way to still love him, Charles wanted to love you back in the same way.

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to love anyone else.

“Charles you don’t know how to love anyone,” you knew exactly what he was going to say. And at one point, you wanted to hear it. Now, though? This was the one time you were hoping he didn’t say it.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you stated, like you knew him better than he knew himself. Maybe you did. “You don’t want to love someone, you just want to be loved.”

“I want to be in love with you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” your words could have cut through him like glass if your tone wasn’t so soft. 

Charles shifted uncomfortably. This conversation hadn’t gone as planned, but what was he truly expecting? You’d take him back? You were better off without him. Anyone could see that.

“Listen, I had to get over you and you weren’t even mine, Charles. Do you know how twisted that is? The only person to blame for my broken heart was myself because I knew, all along, you weren’t mine. I knew it and I went along anyway and I’m not doing that again. I will not love you again. I don’t need another wave of self destruction and false hope and unrequited love. I am happy, okay? I didn’t need you to come here with some sort of declaration that you can’t even say with your chest. I don’t- I don’t need that. I don’t need you.”

He still tried, still attempted to win you back with the what if’s but you saw through it. You cut him off before he could finish his question. What if I do need you?

You shook your head, staying firm with your decision. “It’s over now, Charles. It was over then and it’s over now.”

Charles believed that. He repeated your words the entire way home. He could never give you the closure you needed so you gave it to yourself and you seemed adamant that your past with Charles was going to stay there, in the past. 

He didn’t get back together with Alex. He couldn’t. He ended things the second he returned to Monaco. She asked if you were the reason and Charles didn’t really have an answer. You weren’t dating, but you were still there. In the back of his mind, in his dreams, everywhere he looked he saw you.

He didn’t think he’d actually see you again. He knew you were moving in the New Year. That you had officially gone on with your life. 

So imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door on New Years Eve. 

Smudged mascara under your eyes, an unopened bottle of wine in your hands and a dress that left very little to the imagination. Charles had hundreds of questions, for you, for himself, like was he just imagining this? 

And then you stepped past him, sliding your heels off and immediately going to his cupboard to pull out two empty wine glasses. It was a screw top, the bottle in your hands, Charles wondered where you got it but he didn’t ask. He just let you pour a very healthy amount into each of the glasses. He didn’t say anything when you handed one to him, you both just took a sip in peace.

Charles wasn’t sure where he found his voice, but he somehow managed to. And he said the stupidest fucking thing ever.

“I thought we were over.”

“We are,” you stated, taking another sip. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind him and you tried to wipe your undereyes but the dry pads of your fingers did little to help.

Charles stepped into the bathroom to grab one of those white hand towels that he hung on the rack. He ran it under some warm water before making his way back to you. He was hesitant to step close, but you didn’t flinch away.

So he raised his hand to your cheek, holding you still as he wiped away the stains of mascara, the remains of whatever you were crying over. His touch was gentle. You could feel his breath hit your face and you couldn’t help but glance at his lips. You hadn’t been this close since Paris.

“Thank you,” you whispered when he dropped the cloth to the sink.

Charles didn’t back up after. He stayed with his hand on the side of your face, even sliding his fingers against your scalp to get tangled in your hair. Something he knew you loved. You hummed at the feeling, how normal this seemed, like you weren’t the one to end things that last time around.

Unlike last time, Charles was the one to ask, “Why are you here, Y/N?”

You shook your head, wishing he could just accept this for what it was. You didn’t want to have a conversation.

So you reached for the front of his shirt, dragging your hand up to the collar as you brought your lips closer to his. The little twitch in the corner of your mouth, that faint smirk, it ruined Charles. His hand found your waist, he was only human.

“Please, Charles,” you breathed out. Not a beg, a request if anything. “Now is not the time to talk.”

[lecsainz]

paddock encounters

pairings: toto wolff x daughter!reader / ollie bearman x wolff!reader / lewis hamilton x wolff!reader / george russell x wolff!reader / paul aron x wolff!reader

warnings: bumps in the paddock, lewis and george being like older brothers to Y/N and paul being the friend everyone has.

authors note: i just wanted to write something about ollie so that's it.

word count: 986

Y/N Wolff was sitting in the back seat of the car, on her way to the British Grand Prix at Silverstone with her dad, Toto Wolff, her stepmom, Susie, and her little brother Jack. As they drove through the English countryside, they chatted excitedly about the race ahead.

"So, Y/N, who are you rooting for today?" asked Toto, glancing back at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

"I don't know," replied Y/N with a shrug. "I guess I'll be happy as long as a Mercedes driver wins."

Susie chuckled. "You're biased, Y/N. But I can't blame you for that. It's in the family DNA."

Jack piped up from his car seat. "I want Lewis to win! He's my favorite!"

Y/N smiled indulgently at her little brother. "Lewis is pretty awesome, isn't he?"

Just then, the car pulled into the parking lot at Silverstone. As they got out of the car and made their way towards the paddock, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This was her world, the world of formula 1.

As they walked through the paddock, Y/N spotted George Russell and Lewis Hamilton, the two Mercedes drivers, chatting with some fans. She grinned and waved at them, and they waved back.

"Hey, guys!" called Y/N, running over to them. "How's it going?"

"Good, good," replied Lewis with a smile. "Excited for the race?"

"You know it," said Y/N, grinning. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

George Russell chuckled. "You're a true petrolhead, Y/N. You're going to end up working in this sport someday."

Y/N blushed slightly at the compliment. "Maybe I will. It's always been my dream."

As they chatted, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. These were her people, the drivers, the fans, the mechanics, the journalists. She had grown up in this world, and it felt like home.

She wandered around the paddock, taking in the sights and sounds of the British Grand Prix. As Y/N turned a corner, she bumped into someone and stumbled back.

"Oh, sorry about that." said Y/N, looking up to see a tall, lanky guy with curly hair.

"No problem," said the guy, smiling. "I'm Ollie."

"I'm Y/N," said Y/N, returning the smile. "Nice to meet you."

They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"So, are you a fan of the sport?" asked Ollie, gesturing towards the track.

Y/N nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I grew up in the world of f1. My dad's the boss of the Mercedes team."

"Wow, that's cool." said Ollie, looking impressed. "I'm actually a driver myself. I race in formula 2 for Prema and the Ferrari Academy."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "No way! That's amazing. I haven't really followed f2 that closely, but maybe I should start."

Ollie chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you should. We're the future of the sport, you know."

Y/N grinned. "I wouldn't doubt it. So, are you excited for your race later?"

Ollie nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. It's my home race, so I'm hoping for a good result."

Y/N smiled. "Well, I'll be sure to keep an eye out for you. Good luck!"

"Thanks." said Ollie, waving as he walked away.

As Y/N watched him go, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. When she walked away, Lewis and George spotted her from a distance and exchanged knowing looks.

"Looks like our little Y/N has made a new friend." said Lewis with a smirk.

George chuckled. "Yeah, I bet Toto will be thrilled to hear that she's talking to one of the Ferrari Academy drivers."

Toto, who had been standing nearby, overheard their conversation and raised an eyebrow. "What are you two going on about?"

Lewis and George turned to face him, still wearing amused expressions. "Oh, just that Y/N's been chatting up Ollie Bearman." said Lewis.

Toto looked surprised. "Really? I didn't even know she knew who he was."

George shrugged. "Well, I don't think she did. But she seems to have taken a liking to him."

Lewis grinned. "Maybe we should start calling her 'Ferrari Girl' instead of 'Mercedes Girl'."

Toto shook his head, chuckling. "You two are ridiculous. Let's just hope that this new friendship doesn't distract her too much from her schoolwork."

As they walked away, Toto couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at how well Y/N had integrated into the world of f1. He knew that she had a bright future ahead of her, and he couldn't wait to see where her passion for the sport would take her.

A few days had passed since Y/N had met Ollie in the paddock, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. She had even asked Lewis and George if they knew anything about him, but they had just teased her about her crush.

One day, she was talking with Paul Aron, another driver in the Prema and Mercedes Academy programs. They were discussing the latest f1 race when Y/N brought up Ollie.

"You know Ollie Bearman, right?" she asked Paul.

Paul nodded. "Yeah, we've crossed paths a few times. He's a pretty cool guy."

"He seemed really nice when I talked to him." said Y/N. "Do you happen to have his phone number or something?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want his number?"

Y/N blushed. "I don't know, I just thought it would be cool to talk to him again. He seemed really interesting."

Paul chuckled. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. No promises, though."

A few days later, Ollie received a message from an unknown number. It was Y/N.

Y/N: “Hey, it's Y/N. Paul gave me your number. How's it going?”

Y/N's heart raced as he replied.

Ollie: “Hey, it's going well! How about you?”

And so began a new chapter in Y/N's life - a friendship (or maybe something more?) with Ollie Bearman. She didn't know where it would lead, but she was excited to find out.

[writeriguess]

Five Hargreeves x female reader fic where he has a crush on her and tries to win her over.

Five Hargreeves was a genius, a time traveler, and a survivor of the apocalypse. He was also, despite his best efforts to ignore it, hopelessly infatuated with you.

You were a part of the Umbrella Academy, brought in by their eccentric father to fill in the gaps. With your sharp mind and ability to manipulate probability, you were a force to be reckoned with. But it wasn’t just your powers that caught Five’s attention; it was your wit, your laugh, the way you never backed down from a challenge—even from him.

At first, Five tried to brush it off as a fleeting attraction, something trivial in the grand scheme of things. He had more important matters to focus on: saving the world, for instance. But the more time he spent around you, the harder it became to deny his feelings. The way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about, the way you handled every situation with a calmness that contrasted with his intensity—it was all too much for him to ignore.

But Five was nothing if not stubborn. He wasn’t going to sit around and pine like some lovesick teenager. No, if he wanted something, he was going to get it. And right now, he wanted you.

The first step was figuring out how to approach you. Five wasn’t exactly known for his charm; he was more likely to correct someone’s grammar than to flirt. But for you, he was willing to try.

He started small. Offering to help you with missions, even if he didn’t need to be there. Bringing you coffee in the mornings, just the way you liked it. You’d raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious but amused, and he’d shrug it off with a nonchalant comment.

“Just thought you could use it,” he’d say, trying to hide the nervous edge in his voice.

You’d smile, thank him, and go back to whatever you were doing. But Five noticed the way your gaze lingered on him a little longer, the way your expression softened ever so slightly. It was enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to notice him too.

The next phase of his plan involved more direct efforts. He asked you to join him for lunch, claiming that he needed to discuss strategy for the next mission. You agreed, not thinking much of it—after all, it wasn’t unusual for Five to want to go over the details again.

But lunch turned into a daily ritual, one that Five looked forward to more than he cared to admit. He loved the way you bantered with him, matching his wit effortlessly. He found himself laughing more than he had in years, and the sound of your laughter was something he wanted to hear every day.

One afternoon, while the two of you were sitting in your usual spot, you gave him a curious look.

“You know, for someone who’s always so busy saving the world, you seem to have a lot of time to spend with me,” you teased.

Five smirked, though he felt a pang of nervousness. “Maybe I just find your company tolerable.”

“Just tolerable?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Maybe a little more than that.”

Your smile widened, and for a moment, Five felt like he could breathe a little easier. But then you said something that made his heart skip a beat.

“Good. Because I like spending time with you too.”

Encouraged by your words, Five decided it was time to up his game. He started going out of his way to impress you—whether it was by taking down enemies with effortless precision during missions or by showing off his extensive knowledge of the universe’s mysteries.

He even took a rare evening off, dressing up and inviting you to dinner at a fancy restaurant. You looked stunning, and for a moment, Five was at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, so unsure of himself. But when you smiled at him, all the anxiety melted away.

Dinner was perfect. The food was delicious, the conversation flowed naturally, and Five couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease. You shared stories, laughed over inside jokes, and for the first time in a long while, Five allowed himself to just be.

As the evening came to an end, Five walked you back to the Academy. The two of you stopped at your door, the air between you charged with a tension that neither of you wanted to break.

“Five,” you began, your voice soft, “I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I… I like this side of you.”

He took a deep breath, knowing that this was his chance. “I’ve been trying to show you that for a while now,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Because… well, I like you. More than I should.”

You looked up at him, your expression tender. “I know. I like you too.”

Five blinked, caught off guard by your straightforwardness. “You do?”

You chuckled, stepping closer to him. “Yeah. I was wondering how long it would take for you to say something.”

He huffed, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I’m a little out of practice.”

“Well, you’re doing just fine,” you assured him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, acting on impulse, Five closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, tentative, but full of emotion. When you kissed him back, it was like a wave of relief washing over him.

When you finally pulled away, Five rested his forehead against yours, his heart pounding in his chest. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.

You smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I think I have some idea.”

Five grinned, a real, genuine smile. For once, he wasn’t thinking about the future or the past—he was just here, in this moment, with you. And for now, that was enough.

From that day forward, things changed between the two of you. There was no more tiptoeing around your feelings, no more second-guessing. Five was yours, and you were his. It was a new kind of partnership, one built on trust, respect, and a deep, undeniable connection.

And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Five found himself looking forward to the future for the first time in a long while—because he knew that no matter what came next, he’d have you by his side.

[bluerosetarot]

Professor of Waterdeep

"I'm always willing to learn/If you've got something to teach." Strangelove, Depeche Mode

What if Gale had a professor kink? This is purely self indulgent smut, with a f!reader that I tried to make as ambiguous as possible for all AFABs to enjoy.

MDNI, this isn't a student/teacher ship this is you/Tav and Gale married happily with you/Tav teasing him when you realize how much he likes the title.

@amorgansgal @netherese0rb @dr-demi-bee @waterdeep-weavemoss

Your eyes scan the pages in front of you, a book from Gale's massive collection before you correct yourself mentally that it was partly your collection now. When the great Wizard of Waterdeep had asked for your hand nearly a year ago he promised everything that was his would be yours; books, scrolls, he even made a grand gesture of offering the very air he breathed in his usual flourishing manner with that mischievous grin that was so infectious that you couldn't help but return it every time.

And so over time you had made the space yours in your own little ways. A few paintings, trinkets from your travels together, your own books; and every time you'd bring home something from the town his smile would light up and he'd start looking over the tower for the perfect place to put it on display. The tower was becoming a home for the both of you, working together to build a life you could share for years to come.

It was just you in the tower for now, though, surrounded by books and other finery. He'd gotten back into teaching magic and you chuckled every time someone called him "professor". That title put a glimmer in his eyes and you could sense a noticeable shift in his demeanor. It fed the confidence and ego within, for sure, and his happiness meant you were happy. Tonight, however, when he came home you had a plan: you wanted to test exactly how much that word affected him and now it was your turn to smirk to yourself as you flipped a page. He'd be home soon if the clock on the wall was any indication; he rarely stayed late which he would say was because he knew you were waiting for him. The fact he had you, after so long being Mystra's puppet and the loneliness that followed after, was enough to make him want to rush back to your side at the end of each lesson.

You heard the downstairs door of the tower creak open followed shortly after by Gale's voice announcing his return.

"My love, you would not believe the day I've had." His warm voice echoed up the stairs, a hint of exhaustion in his tone. "I had to put out figurative, and literal, fires today at the academy. The Donlan twins are progressing fine in their studies though, was worried about those two at the beginning of the year…"

You thought back to the first time you two met, pulling him out of the stone and his verbose thanks. Both then and now you had the thought that the man loved the sound of his own voice the way he would ramble as he walked up the stairs. The difference between then and now, of course, was that you had grown to love it just as much as he did. Listening to his voice get louder as he made his way up the stairs made you a bit nervous, the thought of your plan backfiring in the back of your mind.

"Then of course you've got Damiana who has been a natural from the start and the half elf Elise who was a bit rough around the edges but she's been comparing notes with Marco lately which has improved both of them."

"Sounds like you've got a fine class; but of course how could they go wrong with you as their teacher? You're a natural at this, professor." That last word hung in the air between you two with the sultry tone you'd laced it with. You didn't look up from your book but you could hear the confidence as he replied, edging closer to you on the chaise lounge. He'd taken the bait for sure from the sound of the low chuckle rumbling up from his chest.

"Of course I'm a natural, the term 'childhood prodigy' comes to mind." His hands plucked the book from your grasp and he shut the book with an audible clap that brought your gaze up to meet his. "Though I must admit my finest work was our private lesson long ago, when we first began travelling together."

Memories came surging back; that night just after helping the grove and the tieflings. The literal magic building between you two. The closeness that brought your minds and thoughts together. Those warm eyes of his crinkled at the edges, soft lines from the smile on his lips. Though he hadn't said it outright you could tell he enjoyed hearing you call him that, so further on you pressed.

"Then perhaps we could have another private lesson here, professor? I fear I might have forgotten your initial teachings and might need something a bit more hands on." Your hand reached out to caress his forearm and he shuddered in rapturous delight.

"How could I say no to such an… enthusiastic pupil?" Gently he pulled you up from your seat, taking you by the hand and pulling you so close your lips nearly touched. "Shall we work on the verbal," his tongue would glide along his lips to accentuate his words, "or somatic," now his free hand slid down your back, "parts first?"

"Verbal, I think." It was your turn to shudder, suddenly your body felt so very warm. "If I can't properly form the words then I might cast the wrong spell, professor."

Each utterance of that title made his smirk that much wider and he nodded. "I agree, though for purely selfish reasons. Your voice when it resonates with the Weave could put any goddess to shame." He twirled you around and pulled your back against his chest, his lips close enough to your ear you could feel his hot breath as he whispered the first lesson. "Repeat after me… Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao…"

You remembered those words from the first time he taught you, though with him this close it was a bit tougher to concentrate. Still, you took in a shaky breath and repeated his words.

"Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao…" That familiar spark shot down your spine and you could feel the power in your words. "Like that, professor?" Gale's hands slid down the sides of your body to your hips as you felt his breathing quicken.

"Yes. Just so. Again."

"Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao." You said it with a bit more authority this time though Gale's wandering hand sliding up to cup one of your breasts through your clothing made you stutter on the last word.

"Careful, a mage needs to have utmost concentration even under the most distracting circumstances. Again." He tweaked a hardening nipple and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. "Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao!" Third time was the charm it seemed and Gale nodded against your ear.

"Very good. Now for the somatic components. One must have perfect control of your hands and fingers and what better way to practice than with a bit of exercise?" The hand not on your breast slid down past the waistband of your comfortable houseclothes and quickly found your soaked lower lips, thumb rubbing against your sensitive nub while a finger slid into your core. "I dare say you were hoping for this outcome, my lovely pupil."

Your breath caught in your throat while your head pressed back against him, legs already a bit shaky as you leaned into him. "I… I had an idea for an experiment, professor… I'm sure you can sympathize with a curious mind…"

"Oh indeed, and you've done very well so far. Quite possibly my best," a second finger joined the first, stretching you a bit more, "student yet." Your squirming brought another chuckle out of him as he twisted your nipple once more. "Do you remember the somatic components for this spell?"

Even as he gave you such sweet torment he still was focused on the lesson. It took a bit for you to recall through the fog of pleasure forming in your mind but you nodded wordlessly and managed, with a bit of difficulty, to emulate the movements as purple sparks flew from your fingertips.

"A good memory is the best trait a wizard can have. And I see your memory hasn't faded." His dexterous fingers slowly pumped in and out of your core while his thumb continued to drive you mad by circling around your clit. "Now for the last component… imagine your concept of harmony…"

You cursed as his hands would draw soft moans from your lips, each movement bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Willing your mind to focus, damnit, you conjured up a memory. Your first morning together in the tower; you'd had a night of bliss that left you both exhausted but that morning was nothing if not harmonious. Soft sunlight filtered through the drapes and illuminated Gale's still sleeping face and enhanced the look of peace on his features. That was harmony incarnate to you, and the vision flooded your mind.

The Weave was connecting you two already and you felt his pleasure at him being your focus. A wave of joy washing over your mind. That did nothing to stop his hands; if anything it spurred him on further. Fingers moved faster, the hand on your breast kneading it gently, warm breath on your ear as he spoke once more.

"Now combine all three. Do it for me, my love." You were so damn close to the edge of climax but followed his command as you felt his heart pounding in his chest behind you.

"Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao!" Everything was in harmony and the spell went off perfectly. You could feel your minds becoming one, connected by the Weave, and his voice edged into your mind.

"Now, my love. I want to feel you come undone for me. Now!"

A sharp cry of pleasure escaped your lips as the crashing wave of pleasure washed over the both of you, threatening to take your legs out from under you as Gale held you up. Even through the climax his fingers kept tormenting you until you were entirely spent, your breath slowly calming from panting gasps. Only once the final trembles subsided did he remove his hand from you to bring his fingers up to his mouth to taste you.

"Delicious. My favorite taste." Gently he turned you back to face him, his lips pressing to yours for a tender kiss and you could taste yourself on him. When he tried to pull away your hands found his hair and tugged to keep him there a bit longer. When you two finally parted he gazed at you with half closed eyes, that smoldering look that told you that you weren't done yet as he pulled you down onto the lounge. "My turn."

"Of course, professor."

[powdermelonkeg]

Gale of Waterdeep assorted headcanons:

He has photographic memory, hence his accuracy when recreating his tower during his last night

He was born during, and named for, a particularly bad storm that smacked into Waterdeep

He's 38 years old and 5'8" (173cm)

The Scroll of True Resurrection was his magnum opus, something he intended to use to bring back someone he cared deeply for, but with the orb, he was forced to repurpose it for his death protocol

He used to go on seasonal ventures with Tara. He'd be on the hunt for magical items and new knowledge, she'd be on the hunt for beholder jerky. It's where he got the stash of artifacts he had before the orb consumed them all

Is he a sorcerer? He'll tell you no. He's a very studied, very LEARNED wizard, thank you. He was casting Fireball, a 3rd level spell, at 8 years old. Of course, he could also fly at 8 years old, because that's also a 3rd level spell. That Storm Sorcerers can fly as a bonus action after spellcasting is mere coincidence.

He and his mother greet each other with a peck on each cheek and a hug

His previous romantic ventures, before Mystra, always fell apart at his magic. He'd be grand and impress them every which way, they'd ask what else he could do and want more, and he'd launch into whole lectures about the craft. It would always peter out about then; either they always wanted him to one-up himself, or they got bored of his studies and frustrated with his focus on them. Mystra was the first that felt like true love to him because she fell into neither of these pitfalls—but the absence of expectation made him nervous and lit a fire under his ambition, because how could he ever be enough?

He has his mother's eyes and hair, but his father's smile and jawline

He knows how to deal with panic attacks, not because he himself is often subject to them, but because his magical shenanigans when he was young often sent the housekeeper into a state, and he felt bad about it. Particularly after the magma mephit incident burned a hole in the carpet. His own first panic attack was just after he got the orb; Tara sat on his lap and purred like a motor to help calm him down

The man is demi. He has to believe there's a hint of interest in him in order to start seeing the attractive parts of another. Because of that, he thinks "smash or pass" style conversations to be pointless and trite. Of course, he reads into things too much, so he might THINK there's a spark of interest in him before there actually is one and react accordingly

He gets his articulate vocabulary and speech patterns from his time in the Blackstaff Academy, his tendency for jokes and his wild gesticulation from his father, and both his proud and romantic outlook from his mother. His wonder for the world around him has always been in his heart, ever since he began playing with magic

He and his father generally got along, but they had a series of arguments when Mystra came into the picture. Well-intended, civil arguments, none that ever ended in shouting or anything; more a quiet damage of disapproval that left Gale frustrated and feeling like his family didn't understand how great an interaction like he'd earned was

His father died in a carriage accident shortly after Gale moved into his own place. Gale had been trying to make a scroll of True Resurrection to get him back, but...well...

With the orb, statistically speaking, Gale should have gone to Laeral Silverhand about his artifact problem. With his search for "elder wizards" to address his condition with when you talk to him, as well as her ability to CREATE magical artifacts, she seems the best solution. But he hasn't gone to her, nor Vajra, the current Blackstaff of Waterdeep, because he was afraid that if they learned of his condition, he'd be evicted from Waterdeep for the rest of the city's safety (to speak nothing of how much it would hurt to see their disappointment in him)

On that same note, the reason he (according to Tara) left without so much as a note was that he'd gotten an impulsive decision to go to Silverymoon and ask help of Lord Methrammar Aerasumé, Alustriel Silverhand's son. And that's why he was in Yartar when the Nautiloid attacked

On the whole "who meddled first, Mystra or Elminster" topic: Mystra was alive but severely weakened, believed dead until she revealed herself to Elminster. As her Chosen, she'd have known his whereabouts; Elminster interacted with Gale when he was 8, and that's when Mystra became acutely aware of Gale's existence and began interacting with him, BEFORE she began speaking with Elminster (hence Gale's line about "she revealed herself to me")

Same note, when Mystra first appeared to Gale, it was as a child his age. Equal parts enamored with this prodigy who held innate understanding of her Weave, and "keep your enemies close" in regards to caution around where he could lead himself unguided

Their romantic interactions began after she came back to her power in full, though. I fully believe that she paid him the time of day in that regard because she could sense his love for her through the Weave, like how he can sense your intentions during his magic lessons. It was a moment of opportunity, both to indulge herself and to weave (heh) herself further into his future

The Blackstaff Academy gave quarterstaff self defense lessons. Gale was never particularly GOOD at it, but it got him enough to get by. Between that and the various staircases in his tower are why he's built the way he is

He's confident in his appearance, but very conscious of showing too much skin; he doesn't like feeling exposed, hence his camp outfit being as conservative as it is

He can make something palatable out of just about anything, but his cooking style prioritizes flavor WAY over health. Everything is fluffy and delicious and well-seasoned, and also drowned in garlic butter and cream sauces

Despite this, he's a picky eater on his own terms. Give him shelf-stable rations, he'll find some way to make a meal out of the parts he likes, then avoid the rest. Absolutely eats all the M&Ms out of the trail mix

What he drinks depends on his setting. At the bar? Waterdeep whiskey on the rocks. Romantic setting? Arabellan dry wine. Pleasant company to chat with? Tea. Late night studies? Coffee with a stirring of cinnamon. His wedding? Neverwinter ice wine

Besides Mystra, the deities he pays most attention to are Oghma, Sune, Azuth, and Lliira. His patronage at the House of Beauty in Waterdeep is one constant that's never been shaken by his studies

Sometimes, he pretends to be dramatic in the mirror: Doth thy mirror crack? (Thanks for the research, @galedekarios!)

Fully believe Wash My Pain Away to be his personal theme song, independent of the tadpole events

Despite owning a piano, he doesn't actually play it; there's a reason he's spelled it to play songs for him

He was born in late spring, and the season is one of his favorite subjects of poetry

He has sincere potential to be the next Blackstaff: THAT entered his deck of cards when it let him wield it back at the academy

[risingoftime]

AGAINST ALL ODDS | CORIOLANUS SNOW X PLINTH!READER | CHAPTER TWO

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The air in the vehicle was thick with tension, and Noll had yet to round the corner away from the industrial side of Panem, where the Academy resided. You knew it was coming before Coriolanus opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you have feelings for Romulus?” He asked.

His breath was steady as he waited for your response. Coriolanus was meticulous when displaying his emotions, and he wouldn't expose his hand if not necessary. You sighed exasperated, “I like him, as any friend would.” Choosing your words carefully, although there were no lingering ears, Coriolanus would hold onto any admission you gave him.

“Well then, I advise you to reconsider the company you keep.” Was that a threat? Coriolanus wouldn't bring him harm for being your friend, would he? Unsure if you should challenge his abilities to do so. Sejanus once told you of Coriolanus's proficiency in influence in a letter, and you were conscious of your lack thereof. He was not a person that you wished to have as a rival. Although Coriolanus and you were not yet enemies, you weren't friends either.

"He's my only friend, Coriolanus. Do you truly wish for me to be a recluse? I don't want to be seen as a lone wolf, too.” Your voice was docile enough, a silent plea for him to let this one go. And he did, for now, at least.

Of course, it would be great to have more friends, but as of late, it was hard to decipher who truly wanted to know you for you or as “Snow's fiancee and Sejanus’ sister.” The students of the Academy are captivated by secrets and use them as currency to push their agendas. Your association with Coriolanus Snow made yours even more expensive. Especially now that he had made quite the name for himself as the young apprentice learning underneath the infamous Dr. Volumnia Gaul. Coriolanus was one of the few mentors who survived the 10th Hunger Games, and District 12 as a Peacekeeper at eighteen was not an easy feat.

The vehicle halted to a stop in front of the building that you called home. Before Coriolanus exited, he turned to you and said, “If Romulus touches you, even once, he may as well be as good as dead.” You jumped at the impact of the door slamming as you watched Coriolanus retreat to the penthouse. He hadn't bothered to turn to see your reaction. When the day was all said and done, Coriolanus didn’t care to maintain the illusion of being in love if no one could witness it.

Coriolanus didn’t enjoy the thought of another having access to what he deemed rightfully his, and that is you. As a child, you thought Coriolanus to be self-indulgent. He’d never bothered to keep others close to him unless they proved themselves beneficial somehow. When you learned that the Snow family was practically penniless, you assumed that Coriolanus was being protective over Tigris and Grandma’am. But it was now revealed that he is egotistic and maybe jealous.

Noll offered you a half-smile while ushering you inside the penthouse. He had most likely heard what was said in the vehicle. Noll hadn’t been your assigned driver for long. Looking closer, you could see the signs of his aging. His curly ginger hair now had more gray hairs, and his brown eyes revealed crow's feet when he smiled. He’d come from District Four, leaving behind his wife and daughter, and that was all you knew about him, given his limited communication ability.

“Ma, I’m home!” you yelled out.

The luxurious condo smelled of baked goods. Ma came around the corner and walked to the grand mahogany oak and gold dining table with sugar cookies and pie in hand.

“I missed you! You’ve been gone for so long.”

She set the dishes down and wiped her hands on her apron before cradling your face. “No need to worry, Ma. I was just at the Academy.” She pulled you in closer for a hug and took a deep breath, grounding herself. “I know, it’s just– after… everything. I’m glad you’re home.” Ma choked on her words. Ma was one of the main reasons you went along with the marriage. She became like this often, holding on to a thread, hoping it won’t snap.

“Did you make these for me?” Desperate to lighten the mood and give a distraction to your mother.

“Yeah, thought you ought to have a snack while you do your homework. Don’t touch the pie, though!” Ma readjusted her apron, which she wore when you were a child in the Districts. The kitchen had always been her safe space, and Pa hadn’t bothered to argue when she packed her culinary decor from our childhood home.

“Why? Does it still need to settle?” you asked.

“The Snows are coming for dinner tonight. Didn’t your father tell you? I told him to.”

Ma was summoned by the chirp of her alarm in the kitchen, signalling her to base and tend to the turkey. Leaving you to begin your work in the dining room. Pondering on the essay assignment by Professor Satyria, “How is all of Panem complicit in the Games?” You began writing:

A sickening hierarchy is ingrained within Panem’s complicity—compliance, driven by a control system, infiltrating every corner of our nation. Dismally, as long as we remain compliant with the spectacle of the Games, we come to be complicit, in varying degrees, in the horrors that unfold. The Capitolites, the privileged few who reside in the opulent heart of Panem, are the profiteers of this labyrinthine system. They revel in the grotesque mockery made of the district Deaths, reaping the benefits of this cadaverous entertainment.

The pen moved swiftly across your notebook as your thoughts moved faster than you could write. The essay could’ve been completed in one night if given more time. The dinner with the Snow family would take up the rest of the evening, and with everyone in attendance, it must be due to something of importance.

𓇢𓆸

The dress that you chose was tighter than you had remembered. It’s been a while since you’ve had to get ready to socialize due to the Academy requiring their students to wear uniforms, and your father was invited to fewer gatherings than before. Knowing the Snow family, they would come wearing their Sunday best, especially with Tigris’ promotion as one of Fabricia‘s stylists at her storefront. She had access to a plethora of fabrics and textures.

Walking down the grand staircase in heels posed a threat to your safety, given the fact that the dress felt snug around the knees. You have been so focused on your feet that you hadn’t noticed Coriolanus lounging in the living room. He held your schoolbook in his hand, deep in thought as he read.

“Hasn’t your mother taught you that it’s impolite to search through other people's things?” you cleared your throat and raised your eyebrows as he continued to finish the last sentence.

“You left it open on the dining table. I would hardly call that searching,” Coriolanus scoffed. Turning around to look down the hall, you could see that your school supplies had been moved as the Avox housekeeper set the dining table for dinner.

“Where is Grandma’am and Tigris?” Ma remained upstairs, still composing herself for the evening, and Pa was surely in his study. Yet, Coriolanus had made himself at home on the couch.

“You don’t see yourself as a part of the Capitol? You confuse those from the Districts as Martyrs,” answering your question with his own.

“I’m not from the Capitol. Isn’t that the point of our matrimony? For the Plinths— my father, to successfully assimilate into your world. I’m not confused. The districts are martyrs, in my eyes; their only crime was rebelling against the Capitol during the dark days.” Your voice was slightly raised and laced with conviction. The anger you had swallowed earlier in the day had arisen again and was harder to conceal.

“Careful, you’re beginning to sound like Sejanus.” Confirming the mistake you had made to disclose that to Coriolanus.

“I am his sister after all.” Consequently, you should’ve known better, but it felt good. Your eyes challenged him to speak, to say anything indecent about Sejanus. Coriolanus did not grieve your brother in the way that you had, and maybe it’s juvenile, but you would’ve wished for your brother’s best friend to be more distraught.

Cogs turned Coriolanus’s mind to how to settle the dispute without escalating further. His gaze roamed over your stature, only now taking in the way the garment hugged your figure, not leaving much to the imagination, unlike the uniform he's used to seeing you in. Pfft, typical.

Strabo Plinth entered the living room from his study. “Ah, Coriolanus, you’ve found her.” He said this as if he had gone searching for you. Your father only sought you out if he needed something. The relationship was purely transactional. 

“Yes, I was telling your daughter the good news.” The lie came easily to him. 

“Marvellous! Let me fetch my wife, please, both of you make your way to the table. I’m sure Tigris will be here any minute with your grandmother.” Your father offered a tight-lip smile before retreating to the main bedroom. 

“Good news?” You asked. 

“Dr. Gaul would like me to be a game maker in the 11th Hunger Games, and she’s tasked me with the opportunity to implement new reforms.” Coriolanus smiled wide, flashing his white teeth. He was beaming with pride from the decision. He would be one of the youngest ever to do so. Your stomach turned at the vision of Coriolanus subjecting another generation of tributes to his advanced military strategies. 

 𓇢𓆸

The sound of scraping utensils and chewing was all that you could hear as you all silently ate the feast that Ma had prepared for supper. The table was filled with food; knowing Ma, she would have the Snow’s leave with plenty of leftovers. Ma and Pa sat at the head of the table while Coriolanus sat beside you, with Tigris and Grandma’am sitting across. Grandma’am had not said much throughout the evening. The woman was in her private world and often muttered incoherently under her breath. Tigris remained polite and entertained Ma’s attempts to make small talk. 

“Oh, Tigris, I had forgotten to ask! Would you be willing to help me with some of the decor for the wedding shower?” Ma exclaimed. You stopped chewing your food and found it difficult to swallow. This dinner was about the wedding. You and Tigris met eyes briefly. The two of you hadn’t many conversations, but she was the closest you’ll ever have to a sister. 

“Why is the maid talking?” Grandma’am said. 

You looked at the older woman, unsure if you were to pity Grandma’am or set her straight once and for all. The sickness of old age overtook her mind, but she never forgot to turn up her nose at anyone she presumed to be beneath her. 

Tigris cleared her throat and corrected her, “Grandma’am, that’s Mrs. Plinth, remember? Coriolanus is getting married to her daughter.”

“Coriolanus is getting married! It should happen on top of the penthouse that overlooks the city of Panem, with my rose garden surrounding it. Beautiful, isn’t it?” she exclaimed. 

“I think that would be a lovely idea, Mrs. Snow.” Stabo’s facial expression was rigid, his voice void of emotion. He’d only talk like that when he was displeased. Sejanus was usually on the receiving end of this, and it was bittersweet that for once, he wasn’t. 

Ma’s face was slightly tinged pink from embarrassment, but she hid it well, unlike Coriolanus, who looked agitated by Grandma’am’s condition. There was no trace of empathy on his face. 

“When will the wedding shower be?” you asked. 

“In two weeks, your eighteenth birthday will be a grand celebration.”

“My birthday! Out of all dates, Pa, please.” 

“We’ve already sent out the invitations; don’t be crass. Three events within the next month are overkill, and your mother has already booked the venue.” Your father took another sip of his white liquor, dismissing you. 

Tigris tried to lift your spirits, “I’ve been daydreaming of the most breathtaking dress that would be perfect. It’ll be the talk of Panem.” You offered her a small smile. 

“If anyone could turn rags to riches, it’s Tigris,” Coriolanus added.  

Tigris's eyes narrowed at the comment, but Coriolanus hadn’t noticed, taking more food on his plate. It didn’t matter how much he’d eaten. There was always an insatiable hunger for more. He ate as if any meal could be his last. And like that, the dinner commenced as it had before.

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[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

I know your probably not going to see this since you have so many asks but I’m going to try anyway

Could you do relationship headcanons with the Elden ring girls?

(Whatever ones is up to you since I want to see which ones you will pick)

Oh ye of little Faith Anon!

Also, I decided to go the angst route for Marika and Melina so fair warning for that.

Now, since you gave me free rein to choose… My Wish Is My Command!

Malenia was not much of a talker.

She liked her alone time.

That said, she did like listening to others talk on occasion.

She especially liked listening to people talking about normal, everyday life.

It was a guilty pleasure of hers.

To hear about the simple things.

Hugging those they care for close.

Kissing the ones they love.

All the things she rarely ever felt.

But then, one day, she met you.

It was a complete accident, something that, if she had stepped on a different piece of the cobble path, never would’ve happened.

While she was walking the path, her head in the clouds, she caught her still flesh and bone foot on a broken piece of stone.

She, of course, was able to return herself to being upright near instantly.

Though… not without accidentally smacking you in the nose with her prosthetic.

Her unalloyed golden metal prosthetic.

Needless to say, you were bleeding.

Badly.

And Malenia, for all her grace and strength on the battlefield, was absolutely horrible when it came to people.

So, Malenia being the expert in Diplomacy she is, grabbed you by the back of your collar, and dragged you off without a word, nose still absolutely pouring blood.

And that is how you got here.

Sitting on a chair in THE Malenia’s room, pieces of cotton stuck up your nose as the red headed woman paced the room, not saying a single word.

This was an absolutely surreal experience.

An actual Demi-God, someone who could cut down an army with ease, had just accidentally wacked you in the face, dragged you into her room, and was pacing the floor like she had just committed some grand, unforgivable crime.

It was just a bloody nose, not even broken.

She looked like she was about to collapse from stress.

You were pretty sure she was about to wear a hole into the ground with how fast she was pacing.

“U-uh Lady Malenia?” you tentatively asked.

The red head went rigid and turned to you in a manner more akin to an automaton from the Academy Of Raya Lucaria than a humanoid creature.

“I am Malenia, Blade Of Miquella.” Malenia declared without room for response or retort, leaving the room in complete and utter silence as you looked directly into the helm she wore.

It was now that a knock on the door rang through the room, and a wave of relief ran through both parties.

“Malenia! I heard you dragged someone into your room! Did you get a Consort and not tell your favorite sibling!?” a joyous and booming voice cried through the door.

“Consort? Me?” you muttered in confusion.

“Miquella is my favorite sibling.” Malenia stated bluntly, seemingly causing a physical impact to the person on the other side.

“Then your biggest Sibling!” the voice declared joyously.

“Radahn is my biggest sibling.” Malenia stated in the same tone of voice, causing direct harm to the speaker.

“I am going to smite you with lightning.” the voice declared in an oddly happy voice despite the very real threat.

“You can try, Godwyn. I will simply cut the lightning.” Malenia declared.

The door was promptly thrown open and the giant blonde man in the doorway shouted.

“YOU CAN’T CUT LIGHTNING!!!”

“Has anyone tried it before?” Malenia asked.

“No-” Godwyn began before getting cut off.

“Then I shall be the first, and I shall succeed.” Maleina declared in her eternally even tone of voice.

Godwyn moved to advise against this ill fated endeavor but then, he noticed the guest in the room.

He looked at you for a few moments, perplexed, before walking over to Malenia and dragging her out of the room by her ear.

A few moments later, a young Blonde poked his head into the room.

“Excuse me, but have you seen my sister Malenia?” the blonde asked.

“Uhm… you just missed her. Lord Godwyn dragged her off somewhere.” you responded.

“Hmm… I see. Thank you.” the blonde muttered before walking off.

Then, you heard the stomping of running feet and the blonde shot into the room, shouting.

“WHO IN THE ERDTREE ARE YOU!?”

This was how you met the children of Queen Marika The Eternal.

The Demi-Gods that are feared and respected by all.

Malenia, The Blade Of Miquella, a woman of impossible strength, grace, and to you, beauty. She was also pathetically inept when it came to social interaction.

Godwyn The Golden, a man of immense power and lauded as one of the greatest diplomats in history. He had a habit of saying terrifying things with a happy voice and a smile.

Miquella The Unalloyed, a being of unparalleled intelligence and magical power. He tended to have his head stuck in the clouds.

It was such an odd thing to see.

Especially considering your new job that you received as an apology for Maleina accidentally striking you.

You were now the official “Cultural Examiner”.

Also known as, the person who Malenia pays to hear talk about the day to day life of those who lived normal lives.

If there is one thing Marika needs in her life, it is a singular fixed point, an unmoving and unbreaking rock in a rough sea.

That was all she asked you to be, and the only thing she would ever request of you.

To be someone to lean on when she needed it.

She wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for you.

She wasn’t supposed to spend her nights thinking about you.

She wasn’t supposed to start to see you as more than an advisor.

But, she did.

And for years, she suffered for it.

She said she would only ever ask one thing of you, and that is an oath she intended to keep.

No matter how much she wished to ask you what you thought of her as only you had ever truly seen.

A person.

No matter how much she wished to ask you who if anyone you liked.

She occasionally caught herself thinking of you telling her that she was the one you liked.

She wanted to ask you if she was a fool for acting like a young love sick maiden in her private moments.

She knew she was.

But… she still liked to have her dreams.

Even if the nightmares were far more numerous.

Still, even if you felt the same feelings for her… could she even reciprocate them?

The blood on her hands… Her chains to the Golden Order… Her own innumerable sins… she couldn’t force that on you.

And yet… the want to simply sit with you and mumble and grumble about whatever minor inconveniences came to mind overpowered her again and again and again.

She knew she needed to stop on the off chance you reciprocate her feelings since she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from saying yes.

But she couldn’t.

And that was the only thing related to you she didn’t know how to feel about.

Melina The Kindling Maiden

Melina was born to burn.

She knew that from the moment she could comprehend the world.

Her existence was to find a Tarnished without a maiden, serve that role, and then when they reached the mountaintops, use herself as the match to burn the Erdtree.

Not once had this ever bothered her.

But now, as she stood on the edge of the forge with you, her Tarnished, on the ground behind her…

She wished she had a little bit more time with you.

To watch the person who charmed her with their strange antics and many eccentricities.

To eat Prawn with you and Boggart.

To sit by a grace and wait out the rain.

To spend the night under the stars.

To simply spend the day as the two of you always did.

But… Now that was but a sweet dream.

There was only one thing to do before she burned.

She knew better than to turn and face you.

But, that did nothing to stop the tears pricking at her eyes.

“Torrent, please, I beg of thee. Watch over My Tarnished as best you can.”

“Beloved Ranni, you know all someone would have to do to ruin that oh so perfect persona you have cultivated is to knock your books out from under you.” You told the witch with a cheshire grin.

“I have no idea what you mean, I have no mask to wea- FATHERS BALLSACK!!!” Ranni squealed as a single book was removed from the stack, sending her tumbling right into your arms.

“There she is! Ranni, the one whose mouth your mother had to wash out with soap more than anyone can ever hope to count.” you told the doll-like woman with a teasing grin as you twirled around with her.

“Wh- You son of a-” Ranni began to say, preparing to go on a tirade before stopping.

That was exactly what you wanted out of her.

For her to prove your point.

Instead-

“Ack! Cold! Cold!” you began to cry as Ranni wrapped her arms around you.

Ranni was never the type to be above pettily pranking someone.

Especially not you.

After all, if you were to be her Consort you had to know what you were getting into.

[juanarc-thethird]

The Hidden Ones.

The beginning

Beacon Academy, all students and guests are preparing for the grand dance of the Vytal festival tournament tonight. The boys wear their respective tuxedos, and the girls their elegant dresses. In the JNPR team room was Jaune fighting with his bowtie.

Jaune: I never understood how to put this… thing! Arg! I give up, I'm not going.

Pyrrha: *Smiling* Calm down, Jaune. Come, let me lend you a hand.

Jaune approaches her and Pyrrha begins to work on his bowtie.

Jaune: I don't know Pyrrha, it's a hard thing to do.

Pyrrha: Done.

Jaune: What?! How?!

Pyrrha: I've seen how my mom helps my dad put it on many times. So I memorized it.

Jaune: Wow, just like that?

Pyrrha: Yep.

Jaune: Damn, you never cease to amaze me.

Pyrrha: *Chuckles* You are the only one who is surprised by these little things about me.

Jaune: *Chuckles back* You may be right. Well, I'll just put on my jacket and we'll go, ok?

Pyrrha: Ok

Jaune goes to his closet to take out his jacket and Pyrrha just watches him.

Pyrrha: Um... Jaune...

Jaune: *Putting on his jacket* Yes?

Pyrrha: You know,... I wouldn't mind helping you in the future with things like this.

Jaune: Thanks Pyrrha, I can let you do that. I need to learn one day. I can't rely on you until we graduate.

Pyrrha: No... I mean help you in the sense-

At that moment Pyrrha is interrupter by the door being open. Letting in Nora and Ren with a package in hand.

Nora: Are you two ready for the dance?!

Jaune: Of course we are, right Pyrrha?

Pyrrha: S-Sure

Ren: By the way, Jaune. This package was outside the door. It's in your name.

He says while showing said package. Jaune takes it and thanks him.

Jaune: Thank you.

He reads the return address on the package and it just says "Uncle Mario." For a moment Jaune's expression changed to one of sadness. It was almost unnoticeable but Pyrrha could tell.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: Huh? Oh! Sorry. I just need a minute to check my package.

He goes to his desk, turning his back on his team. As if trying to stop them from seeing. He takes his small box-cutting knife, and opens his package. Pyrrha, try to see what it is without drawing his attention. But I only noticed a piece of paper and a feather from a somewhat large white bird. Jaune looks at the paper carefully and puts it inside his tuxedo jacket along with the feather.

Jaune: Hey, why don't you go ahead to the dance without me? I'll catch up with you guys later. I just have to make call to my uncle.

Ren: Is everything okay?

Jaune: Yes, everything is fine, it's just a family matter. Nothing serious, I promise.

Normally a group of friends had more questions. But they know that when Jaune promises something he says, his word is worth gold. So satisfied with his answer they accept his request and leave without him. The four left the room with Jaune accompanying them to the door.

Nora: See you on the dance floor!

Jaune: Yeah, see you guys there.

Jaune watches as they get further and further away. And when he lost sight of them in the hall corner, he left his room and walk in the opposite way. But he fail to realize that Pyrrha was in the corner looking at him.

Pyrrha: Where are you going Jaune?

She told herself quietly

Nora: Pyrrha, come on! The dance is this way!

Nora shouts, getting her attention.

Pyrrha: I'm coming!

Pyrrha returns with the rest of her team on the way to the dance, but unable to stop worrying about Jaune.

Pyrrha: (Why do I feel uneasy? Why do I feel like I have to stop him?)

These were the questions she asked herself. But the only thing she can do is trust him. And trust that he would return with them to dance.

....

That night Jaune never came back.

---------------------- This is a new idea that I've had in my head for a long time. For some of you, you already realized that is this about just by the title. For the rest, I hope you like it.