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briefinquiries · 1 month

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Tyler Owens x Reader: Say Don't Go

Request: Anonymous asked: “I think your writing is one of the best on here for Tyler <3 i’d love to read your take on the reader sticking out a big tornado with Tyler, i guess similar to the rodeo scene in the movie with Kate but i’d like to read your own take on him just comforting the reader and making sure they get through it <3”

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Blood & injury mention, tornado, hurt / comfort

A/N: thank you so so much for the kind words :((( absolutely loving these requests & all of the comments / replies to my recent tyler fics. please keep them coming!!

“You could’ve stayed home if you didn’t want to come,” you said to Tyler frustratedly.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to come,” he replied, trailing behind you as you ventured into another store. “I just didn’t realize that picking up a birthday gift was going to entail being at the mall ‘til sun down.”

“I told you I didn’t have anything picked out and that I’d probably have to look around–” you reminded him, stopping in your tracks so that you could turn to face him.

Tyler put his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’ll shut up.”

As soon as he backed down, your gaze immediately softened. “Well I don’t want you to be miserable,” you said as you crossed your arms.

The corner of Tyler’s lip tugged upward in a cheeky grin. “Now how could I ever be miserable when I’m spendin’ time with you?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. “Yeah, whatever,” you said with a smirk. “Why don’t you head to the food court? Once I finish up, I’ll come find you.”

He tilted his head to the side, like a puppy looking for permission. “You sure?”

You nodded, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder. “Yeah, of course. Just, don’t get ice cream without me,” you warned.

Tyler took a step forward so that you were now only inches apart. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back before he pulled you closer and leaned forward. The second that you felt his lips press against yours in a soft, gentle kiss, all of the annoyance and frustration you’d previously felt melted away in the blink of an eye. Even though you and Tyler had been together for nearly two years now, he still had that kind of effect on you.

When he stepped away, a smile lingered on his lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured you.

You kept your eyes trained on the back of his head as he made his way from the store, because the truth was– even when he pissed you off, you loved him more than you’d ever loved anything.

Only when he was out of sight did you finally turn and resume your search. As much as you loved spending time with Tyler, you had to admit it was easier to shop around without him constantly moaning and groaning the entire time.

You settled into the silence, taking your time as you made your way through the store. After inspecting all of the assorted knick knacks and smelling nearly every candle in the place, you finally settled on a necklace for your mom’s upcoming birthday.

Once you’d paid, you tucked the jewelry box inside your bag and began making your way out of the store, planning to head straight for the food court to find Tyler.

Except the second you stepped out of the store, you nearly jumped out of your skin at the loud sound of cracking thunder above. It was close– enough so the building trembled. You watched as other shoppers stopped in their tracks too.

And then, to your absolute dismay, you heard the emergency alert systems on everyone’s phones start going off in unison.

You pulled yours out of your pocket and read the message flashing across your screen.

National Weather Service: TORNADO WARNING in this area until 8:30 PM CDT. Take shelter now in a basement or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. Check media for more information.

You swallowed thickly before glancing up from your phone. Gradually, others began doing the same. Then, as soon as everyone had read the warning and realized what was going on, panic ensued.

People began running in all directions– pushing others aside and rushing towards exits. You tried your best to remain calm, but you couldn’t ignore the fear spreading through you.

Instantly, your eyes began scanning the crowd as you instinctively began looking for Tyler.

He’ll come for you, you thought. Tyler will come.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t meet him halfway. You tried to keep close to the wall to prevent being crushed in the crowd– unfortunately for you though, other people had the same idea. As hard as you tried to keep to the side, soon, you were sucked right into the mass of people. The only thing you could do was move with them and try desperately to stay on your feet as everyone pushed and shoved their way around you.

Eventually, you dared to careen your neck up and scan for him. At first, all you saw was chaos– but people all seemed to be moving in the same direction now. You watched as parents picked up their children and spouses grabbed each other’s hands. Employees ran out of stores and customers dropped bags.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, you spotted a familiar tuft of sandy brown hair– the only person in eyesight moving against the crowd.

“Tyler!” you screamed.

He reacted to your voice, his head turning in the direction he thought it was coming from.

“Tyler!” you yelled again.

This time, his eyes landed right on yours.

But before you could even sigh the breath of relief that was sitting in your chest, you felt something, or rather someone jab into your side. The force was enough to make you stumble on your feet and fall to the ground with a thud. People continued rushing by– feet stepping on you, knees colliding into your back. At one point, you tried to place your hand on the floor to give yourself enough leverage to stand up, but as soon as you did, a white converse stomped right on your fingers, causing you to hiss out in pain.

Panic began creeping up your throat– making it harder to breathe, let alone think of a plan. A dark cloud began clouding your vision, numbing your senses to what was happening around you. Until suddenly, you heard your name being called. The sound broke through the haze. Before you could react, you felt two hands sliding underneath your armpits from behind. And suddenly, you were being hoisted up from the ground.

“I got you,” Tyler’s voice said in your ear. You didn’t even get a chance to turn and look at him before he was pushing you forward. “We gotta move.”

Thankfully, his grip under your arms never faltered, otherwise you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up. But eventually, Tyler pushed you towards the outer edge of the busy mall hallway. Once you were no longer in danger of being flattened by the crowd, he spun you around– hands clutching your shoulders tightly while he blocked the remaining traffic from reaching you.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. At least you didn’t think you were… But when you glanced down at yourself, you quickly realized why Tyler even asked. Your button down shirt was ripped– presumably from being grabbed, and the tank top beneath it had a few spots of blood splattered across the fabric. You weren’t even sure where it came from.

“We gotta go,” Tyler said urgently.

“The shelter–” you began, but Tyler shook his head.

“Everyone’s heading that way, it’ll be full by now. Plus, we don’t have time– I looked outside and… it’s close.”

“What do we do?” you asked, voice trembling with fear.

Tyler let his arms fall from your shoulders and instead grabbed onto one of your hands. He gave it a reassuring squeeze before nodding in the opposite direction of where everyone else was running.

“The stairwell,” he said.

You nodded shakily. “Okay.”

With that, Tyler was off– weaving his way in and out of the crowd. Luckily, it had thinned out dramatically– most people heading towards the parking lot or the storm shelter on the other side of the mall. Once you broke away from the thickest part of the crowd, Tyler’s grip loosened slightly on your hand.

“C’mon,” he urged, leading you around the corner. At the very end of the hallway was the door that led to the stairwell.

But you only made it a few feet down the hallway before you felt the floor shake beneath your feet. Only moments after, there was a loud bang just as a chunk of the roof was being ripped off the building.

“Tyler–” you yelled.

“Keep going,” he pleaded.

With part of the roof separated, you could hear the winds whipping outside more clearly. The sound was deafening, like a freight train barrelling right for you.

But even above the raging winds– you heard the cries of someone nearby. You looked to your left to see a mother and her child huddled underneath a display booth.

“Tyler,” you said again, tugging on his arm.

He slowed down, turning towards where your eyes were fixated. He hesitated, clearly conflicted on what to do.

“We have to help them,” you said.

His eyes scanned yours desperately before he nodded. “Wait here,” he said, releasing your hand.

You watched as Tyler crossed the hall– trying to avoid the debris now falling from the roof. He called something out to the woman, but you couldn’t hear above the sound of the wind. It was enough to catch her attention though, because soon she was passing her son to Tyler. The poor boy couldn’t have been older than five or six. Tyler pulled him to his side with ease before reaching his other arm out and helping the mother up from underneath the table.

Once she was on her feet, Tyler passed her back her son and pointed towards where you stood against the wall. She tucked her son’s head against her chest and began hurrying forward– Tyler at her heels as they fought against the increasing winds.

“Take my hand,” you yelled. With the arm she wasn’t using to support her son, she reached for you.

You grasped onto her and helped pull her against the wall.

“Go to the stairwell,” you explained. “Get underneath them, as low as you can.”

She nodded, unshed tears glistening in her eyes before she began heading down the hall.

Just then, you heard a deafening crack. You turned to see another piece of the roof being pulled off– causing large chunks of debris to begin falling.

“Get down!” you heard Tyler holler. Using your arm, you shielded your head the best you could and shrank to the floor as the largest piece fell. A cloud of dust enveloped you as soon as it landed and you felt small pieces of debris bouncing against your skin– After a brief moment, you dared to look up.

But Tyler was no longer standing in front of you.

“Tyler!” you screamed. Without thinking, you moved forward, trying your best to stay low. But despite your best efforts, you were still caught off guard by the piece of metal that blew past your head, slicing open your skin– “Fuck!” you yelled, grabbing at your temple. When you pulled your hand away, your fingers were coated in a thick, crimson liquid.

“Tyler!” you yelled again, voice growing increasingly frantic.

“I’m here–” you heard him yell back, causing your shoulders to deflate slightly. As you crawled around the largest pile of debris, you saw him on the ground, moving a chunk of roofing off his foot. His eyes met yours, a flash of concern crossing his face when he saw your head. “You gotta get to the stairs–”

“No, no, no. Not without you,” you shook your head, continuing to move towards him as you felt the blood trickle down the side of your face.

“The storm’s here– you gotta go. You gotta take cover,” he pleaded.

“I’m not leaving you–” you cried, unable to control the tears burning behind your eyes. As they fell down your cheek, they mixed with the blood from your temple. Once you were crouched beside him, you used what little strength you had left to Tyler’s hand and pull him from the small pile of rubble.

When you looked at the short distance between yourselves and the staircase door– you were surprised to see the woman, propping it open with her body and waving towards the two of you to hurry up.

“Move–” Tyler encouraged, pushing you against the wind. “Go, go, go–”

You army-crawled forward, wincing as more debris nicked your skin. But finally– you reached the door. Tyler moved his hand to your waist and guided you towards the staircase.

The woman reached for her son, who was crouched low in the corner. Meanwhile, Tyler moved you towards one of the railings.

“Hold on to this–” he instructed. You wound your arms around the fixture.

"Don't go–" you begged.

But immediately after, you felt the warmth from his body wrap around you. You looked up and saw Tyler shielding your body with his own– his hands gripping the part of the railing just above yours.

“I got you,” he promised. “We’re gonna be okay, I got you,” he repeated. But soon his voice was swept away by the sound of the storm.

The winds grew even louder as the tornado moved closer– the noise of various chunks of debris slamming into the ground around you made you shake. You squeezed your eyes shut– hoping and praying to whatever God might be out there that Tyler was right and you’d both be okay…

You weren’t sure how long the storm raged on. It felt like hours, although you knew that couldn't be right. Eventually though, the winds died down. In their absence, you could hear the sound of the woman comforting her son, along with Tyler’s labored breathing above you.

With a shaky hand, you reached behind you– like you didn’t quite trust that he was still there. You felt the fabric of his jeans beneath your palm and sighed out the choppy breath that had been lodged in your throat.

“Tyler,” you heaved pathetically, voice cracking.

“I’m here,” he gasped, voice equally shaky as he gasped for air. “I got you.”

Nodding, you brushed your hair from your sweaty face and felt Tyler shift. Following his lead, you turned towards him. As soon as your eyes landed on him– hunched over and breathing like he’d just run five miles, you let out a choked sob.

“Are you okay?” he panted.

“Tyler–” was all you could manage to blurt out.

A calloused hand cupped your face– thumb trailing along your hairline. You winced when his thumb passed over a sensitive spot on your head from where you’d been hit earlier. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “We’ll get it checked out.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as you desperately craved comfort from him. Seemingly picking up on your need, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his chest. “We’re okay,” he repeated, hand moving to cup the back of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut– inhaling the scent of his T-shirt. Even though he was coated in sweat and dust, he still smelled so comforting and familiar.

He planted a kiss on top of your head before panting, “We gotta get out of here.”

You nodded, and forced yourself to pull away from him. Tyler helped you to your feet, eyes studying to make sure you were steady before he turned towards the woman.

“You guys okay?” he asked.

She nodded, clutching tightly to her son, who was still in her arms.

“Alright, c’mon– be careful where you step,” he said, helping them out from the staircase. Tyler led them past you and into the hall before coming back for you.

You desperately tried to steady your shaking legs. You were wobbly on your feet, but with Tyler’s help, you managed to maneuver your way out from underneath the staircase.

As soon as you were back in the hall, your breath caught in your throat at the sight. The entire mall was destroyed– the roof had caved in, creating mounds of rubble everywhere you looked. There was dust all over– and no one else in sight.

“Tyler–” you croaked again. His name seemed to be the only words you were able to form in your shock.

“C’mon,” he urged gently, pulling you along.

You let him lead the way, eyes scanning the debris hopelessly. You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw the first body– it was a woman, probably in her late twenties, just like you. She had a mound of tile stacked on top of her and a trail of blood soaking through her yellow sweater. Her eyes were still open– like they were frozen in fear.

“Don’t look,” Tyler’s voice cut through the fog.

He put his body between you and her and placed his hands on both sides of your face, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Sh– she’s dead,” you trembled.

Tyler nodded solemnly. “I know,” he nodded. “Don’t look, okay? Just keep your eyes on me.”

Tyler wound his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. With his fingers digging into the fleshy part of your hip, he led you forward, bearing the majority of your weight. Eventually, he managed to lead you all out of the rubble of the mall.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tyler turned and asked the woman again. She nodded before thanking him and heading off in the direction of an ambulance.

Tyler seemed to have something similar in mind.

“I want to go home,” you insisted.

But Tyler shook his head. “You need to get your head checked out first.”

“Tyler, please–” you whimpered.

He glanced down at you– seemingly noticing the way your voice cracked. His face softened the moment he saw the tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Hey–” he said gently. “Baby, you’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I just want to go home,” you repeated.

“I know, baby. I know,” he soothed. “But your head– I really want them to take a look. Then we can go home.”

You sunk your teeth into your lower lip. After a moment, you nodded defeatedly and let Tyler lead you the rest of the way to one of the many ambulances parked near what was left of the mall.

The paramedic who got to you first was a middle aged man with a kind smile. He told you how brave you were as he shined a flashlight in your eyes, checking your pupils.

When he moved to the wound on your temple, now coating your entire hairline in gooey blood, you grimaced.

“This is gonna need a few stitches,” he said after inspecting it.

Tyler sat beside you and let you squeeze his hand as tightly as you needed while the paramedic stitched you up. He applied a local anesthetic but you felt every second of the needle threading through your skin.

You held onto Tyler like your life depended on it, trying to allow his words of affirmation and comfort to consume you.

“Almost done,” the paramedic said before clipping the remainder of the thread. He placed a clean bandage on the side of your head and offered you a soft smile. “You did great,” he told you.

Although you were feeling detached from just about everything right now, you nodded in response before letting Tyler pull you to your feet.

“Think you can walk?” he asked.

You nodded again, although you didn’t entirely hear him.

“The parking garage collapsed– but Boone’s on his way. He’s gonna give us a ride home.”

“Okay,” you mumbled softly, letting yourself melt into Tyler’s side again.

The road where you met Boone was a short walk, and you were thankfully starting to get feeling back in your legs. But even still, you let Tyler support the majority of your weight as he guided you towards Boone’s familiar, beat up truck. Tyler held open the door and helped you climb inside.

“Christ–” Boone said, turning in the driver’s seat to get a good look at you.

“She’s okay,” Tyler answered, sliding into the backseat beside you. Although he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Boone.

“How the hell did you guys make it through that?” Boone asked as he surveyed the destruction around you. You forced yourself not to look. Instead, you rested your head against Tyler’s shoulder. “The blockade guy told me the entire storm shelter collapsed. I guess too many people crammed inside, so they couldn’t shut the door good.”

You swallowed thickly. If you hadn’t found Tyler, the storm shelter was going to be your plan B–

“We hid under the staircase,” he said as Boone began down the road. “Had Dexter been tracking anythin’ out this way?”

The two proceeded to talk about the sudden impact of the storm and whatever else tornado chasers cared about. Meanwhile, Tyler’s thumb trailed up and down your bare arm soothingly, allowing you to tune it all out.

When Boone pulled down your dirt driveway and put his car in park fifteen minutes later, he turned to face you. “I’m real glad you’re okay.”

You offered him a weak smile. “Me too.”

After thanking his friend, Tyler helped you out of the car and towards the house, his hand never leaving your waist until you were inside.

“Couch or bed?” he asked, shutting the front door behind him.

“Couch,” you murmured. The bed meant stairs, which you weren’t sure you were ready for quite yet.

“You got it,” he said.

Gently, Tyler helped lower you to the couch, where you curled up against the corduroy fabric and sighed.

But your eyes snapped open quickly as soon as you realized that Tyler wasn’t laying down with you.

“Where are you going?” you asked, trying (and failing) to mask the panic in your voice. You shifted and sat up, a sudden wave of pain hit your head, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. You tried your best to mask it and force your eyes back open. It felt pathetic, but you didn’t really want Tyler out of your sight right now.

He turned around instantly. “I was just gonna get you some water and an ice pack, baby. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you said uneasily. Your eyes remained trained on him the entire time he maneuvered around the kitchen. You could tell he noticed, too. His eyes kept flickering up to check on you.

He was back in less than a minute– but still you sighed a breath of relief. He set the glass of water down on the side table before taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

He handed you the ice pack and watched sadly as you placed it on your temple with a wince.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Will you– will you lay down with me?” you asked him.

Tyler nodded. “Of course, baby.” He opened his arms, making a spot for you to lay between his legs. With your back resting against his chest, Tyler wound one arm around your middle and used the other to hold the ice pack against your head for you.

Using what little strength you had, you gripped his forearm. “Just... please don’t go,” you begged.

Tyler pressed his lips on the top of your head. “I won’t– I’m right here,” he assured you. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief and laid your head back against his chest, finally feeling content.

After a while, you were finally able to drift off in his embrace. Your body ached and your head throbbed, but everything felt more bearable when you were in Tyler’s arms.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader fic #tyler ownes x reader imagine #twisters imagine #twisters fic #twisters x reader #tyler owens twisters #twisters movie fic

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pucksandpower · 2 months

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Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Max wants to take care of you in every way possible, so you let him (much to your father’s displeasure)

Warnings: 18+ content

The muffled sound of raised voices catches Max’s attention as he walks past the back of the Mercedes motorhome. He slows his pace, straining to make out the words.

One of the voices unmistakably belongs to the Austrian team principal but the other is higher-pitched … feminine. Max’s curiosity is piqued as a snippet of the argument reaches his ears.

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

He knows that voice, even though it is now fraught with anguish. Max stops in his tracks, hesitating. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his concern for you overrides his better judgment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Liebchen,” Toto Wolff’s gruff tones reach Max’s ears. “This is for your own good. You need to finish your degree and make something of yourself.”

“I don’t want to make something of myself!” You cry out, your words laced with despair. “I just want to be happy!”

Max’s heart clenches at the pain in your voice. He’s never seen you anything less than perfectly composed, always carrying yourself with the poise expected of a team principal’s daughter. To hear you so distraught tugs at something deep inside him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Toto scoffs. “Happiness doesn’t come from idleness. It comes from hard work and achievement.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry rich then!” You retort, defiance tingeing your tone.

A surprised laugh bursts from Toto. “Is that what you think? That some wealthy man will sweep you off your feet and give you everything your heart desires?”

“Why not?” You sound small and vulnerable now. “At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

“I didn’t raise you to be some man’s ornament,” Toto snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You’re my daughter — strong, intelligent, and capable. Finish your studies and make your own success. That’s an order.”

There’s a bitter silence, and Max can picture the imperious set of Toto’s jaw, the fire in his eyes when he’s crossed. He feels for you, truly, but he also knows how stubborn and uncompromising your father can be.

You sniffle, and Max’s heart twists imagining your lovely face crumpled with tears. “I … I can’t, Papa. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Toto’s voice is like a clap of thunder, making Max flinch. “I’ll hear no more. Get it together, Y/N. That’s final.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Max instinctively steps back into the shadows as Toto storms out from behind the motorhome, his expression thunderous. He brushes past without sparing Max a glance.

Only you remain, your soft cries tearing at Max’s soul. Before he can overthink it, he rounds the corner towards you.

You’re a vision even with your eyes reddened and cheeks stained with tears. Max has admired you from afar for years, secretly yearning for more than your warm smiles and friendly small talk. Seeing you so undone breaks his heart.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. You jump, gasping at his sudden presence. “I … I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Heat floods your cheeks as you hurriedly wipe at your face. “M-Max? I … you shouldn’t have ...”

“Hey, it’s alright.” His thumb strokes your shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’ve been there too — feeling crushed under the weight of expectations. It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. My father, he’s … it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” Max says simply, holding your gaze. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Get your mind off everything for a little while.”

Your eyes widen, and you nibble at your full lower lip — a gesture Max finds utterly captivating. “Oh, I … I couldn’t. Papa would be furious if he found out.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” The words slip out before Max can reconsider their forwardness. Heat prickles at the back of his neck, but he refuses to look away. “Just take a night for yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

You worry at your lip, internal conflict playing out on your expressive features. Max can practically see the warring thoughts flitting through your mind.

“Please,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind your ear. Your breath catches at the gentle contact. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Something sparks in your eyes — acceptance, resignation … or perhaps a hint of excitement? Max couldn’t say. But when you nod, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper, sending Max’s pulse racing. “I’d like that.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel at 8 tonight.” He takes a chance, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles. “Wear something pretty for me?”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a small grin, and Max feels like he could float away at the sight. “It’s a date.”

With a dimpled wink and a last caress of your silken cheek, Max turns and saunters away, already counting down the hours until he can sweep you off your feet — however briefly. He only hopes one night in his company provides a respite from the burdens weighing you down.

You watch Max stride away, a curious fluttering taking wing in your stomach. Despite the turmoil still lingering from your fight with your father, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you at Max’s tender attention.

There was a heat in his eyes that had your breath catching — a scorching intensity you’ve never noticed from him before. Like he was seeing all of you, the pain and insecurities you typically hide from the world, and accepting it all without judgment.

His gentle touches had set your skin tingling, leaving you flushed and flustered in a way you’re unaccustomed to. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you the way Max did — like the weight of all his focus was centered on you alone, searing into your very soul.

Despite the circumstances, you find yourself unexpectedly … excited for tonight. To temporarily shed the burdens your father is so intent on piling onto your shoulders. To let someone else take the lead for once, absolving you of responsibility and expectations.

To let Max take care of you.

The thought sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Allowing yourself a moment of selfishness, of disregarding your father’s disapproval, you relish the delicious sense of anticipation unfurling within you.

For once, you think as you head inside to prepare yourself for your clandestine date, you’re going to indulge your own desires — if only for a few hours. Your father may call it idleness, but you call it sanity.

And if Max’s heated gaze is any indication, he seems more than happy to oblige you.

***

Precisely at 8 PM, Max idles his sleek Valkyrie hypercar outside your hotel’s entrance, eagerly scanning the revolving doors. He doesn’t have to wait long before you emerge, and the sight of you has his breath catching in his throat.

You’ve opted for a slim-fitting cocktail dress in a deep burgundy hue that clings to your curves in all the right places. The plunging neckline and thigh-grazing hemline leave just enough to Max’s imagination, stoking a slow burn of desire low in his belly. Your hair tumbles in artful waves over one shoulder, and you’ve accentuated your lips with a sultry red stain that makes Max’s mouth go dry.

He barely registers popping the passenger door and rounding the car until he’s standing before you, drinking in every delicious detail from your smoky eye makeup to the skyscraper heels lending those gorgeous legs an endless line.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, voice thick with undisguised appreciation. “You look … incredible.”

A becoming flush steals across your cheeks at the naked admiration in his tone. Ducking your head shyly, you murmur, “Thank you, Max. I wasn’t sure if this was too much or ...”

“Not at all,” he cuts you off firmly, unable to tear his hungry stare away from you. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Offering his arm, he escorts you to the car and helps you inside before joining you in the driver’s seat. As he pulls away, he has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road rather than drifting hungrily over every dip and swell of your body.

Max selects one of the finest restaurants in the city — an intimate establishment where the lighting is dim and romantic. The maitre d’ leads you to a secluded table in the back, discreetly ensuring your privacy.

Once seated across from you, Max can’t resist reaching across the table to take your hand, marveling at how tiny and delicate your fingers feel engulfed in his calloused grip. It’s a heady sensation, being so close and allowed to touch.

One he wants more of.

You go to take a leather-bound menu with a shy smile, but Max simply slides it aside and shakes his head.

“Don’t strain yourself tonight, schatje,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Let me take care of everything.”

Surprise flits across your lovely features, but then understanding and gratitude replace it as you nod mutely. He can sense the relief in you at being temporarily absolved of responsibility, even over something as simple as choosing your meal.

A subtle tilt of his head summons the waiter, and Max orders a selection of the finest dishes and robust wine for you to share — decadent fare perfectly suited to indulging your every whim this evening.

As the waiter departs, Max leans back and simply drinks you in, admiring the elegant line of your neck and curve of your jaw. You seem to bask under his appreciative scrutiny, almost … preening for him. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” He asks lowly, searching your face. “After everything with your father earlier ...”

Your eyes shutter briefly at the mention of Toto, but you regain your equilibrium swiftly and offer Max a patently forced smile. “I’m alright. Just … trying not to think about it too hard tonight.”

“Good.” He strokes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Because tonight is about forgetting all your cares and letting someone else handle everything for once.”

The promise in his words has your pulse fluttering wildly in your veins. You know you shouldn’t indulge this … whatever this is … with Max. That it could court disastrous consequences. But there’s something about him — about the way he looks at you, touches you, and speaks to you — that just saps your will to resist.

Perhaps it’s the bone-deep weariness you’ve been carrying from your ongoing battles with your father. Or the guilty craving you haven’t allowed yourself to admit to — the need to simply surrender control for once and let someone else bear the burdens weighing you down.

Whatever it is, you find it impossible not to fall headlong into the solace Max is offering so freely.

The waiter reappears with a bottle of bold Cabernet, carefully filling your glass before departing again. Max lifts his in a silent toast, and you mimic the gesture, reveling in the rich notes that flood your senses.

From there, the evening slips into a blissful cocoon of easy conversation and succulent food that Max deftly applies himself to serving you bite by bite. Each time his long fingers brush your lips as you accept a morsel, a frisson of electricity zips through you.

He pays immaculate attention to your smallest reactions, quickly discerning your preferences even before you voice them. It’s uncanny — and utterly disarming — how seamlessly Max seems to anticipate your every need without fuss or demand.

You can’t recall the last time you felt so … cherished. So indulged and seen. Like Max’s entire world revolves around you and you alone in these stolen moments.

It’s heady and intoxicating, this total surrender of control. And as the hours wind down over lingering sips of wine and heated looks, you find yourself all but drunk on the experience … on Max.

Eventually, once the dining room has emptied and the candles burned low, Max summons the waiter to settle the check with an imperious wave of his hand. He declines your attempts to assist, fixing you with a look that brooks no argument.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says simply, dropping a small fortune onto the tray with a casual air. “I’m not done taking care of you yet, schatje.”

A delicious shiver races down your spine at his words, your thoughts growing hazy and unfocused under the scorching weight of his stare. You can only nod numbly, incapable of voicing even token protest.

Pushing back from the table, Max rounds it in two long strides and pulls you to your feet, linking hands with yours. He holds your gaze as he brushes a kiss across your knuckles, letting his lips linger in a way that has heat pooling low in your belly.

“Back to my hotel?” He husks, voice gone rough in a way that steals your breath. “Or shall I take you home, printsesse?”

For a long, dizzying moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes, the intimate moment stretched taut like a tightrope. Then, as if in a trance, you find yourself shaking your head slowly.

“Your hotel,” you whisper before you can reconsider. It’s utterly mad, this reckless pull you’re surrendering to. But God help you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

A slow, heated smile curves Max’s lips as he nods sharply. Without a word, he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts you from the restaurant.

You move almost in a fugue state, allowing Max to lead you with a surety you envy as he bundles you into his gleaming sports car once more. The ride to his hotel passes in a blur, punctuated only by the possessive weight of Max’s palm on your thigh and the fevered glances he keeps sending you from the driver’s seat.

By the time the valet has whisked his car away, all you can clearly process is the burn of Max’s fingers tangled with yours and the thrumming weight of his presence at your side. Everything else — anxiety, obligation, expectation — fades into insignificance under his piercing gaze.

He tugs you into the shadows of the hotel atrium and crowds you against a corner, his free hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw reverently. You go pliant against the hard plane of his chest, tilting your head back to maintain the searing lock of your gazes.

“Still with me, Y/N?” Max rumbles, the rough velvet of his voice sending sparks of need ricocheting through you.

You nod slowly, unconsciously wetting your lips — an action which has Max’s eyes riveting on your mouth hungrily. “Yes, Max. I’m here.”

His thumb brushes over the fullness of your lower lip with maddening tenderness. “Good girl.”

Those two words should not affect you the way they do — like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath while simultaneously stoking a raging inferno within. You can’t even begin to process the riot of sensations they provoke.

You simply let yourself be swept away in the wake of Max’s intensity, melting into the solid shelter of his embrace as he claims your mouth in a devouring kiss.

Max’s kiss quickly grows fevered and consuming, his tongue delving hungrily to explore the honeyed depths of your mouth. You melt against him, fingers clutching at the hard planes of his back as you surrender to the dizzying haze of desire he’s stoked within you.

He walks you backwards without breaking the molten seal of your lips, until your back meets the wall with a muffled thump. Emboldened by your soft whimper, Max pins you there with the solid weight of his body, hips tilting into yours as his hands roam feverishly over your curves.

You’re drowning, overwhelmed by the potent storm of Max’s passion. It sweeps away every stray thought, every lingering worry about duty and obligation, leaving you delirious and pliant in his arms. All that exists is the scorching brand of his mouth, the iron strength of his embrace, and the maddening friction of him pressing you into the unforgiving wall.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined. More intense, more explosive, more overwhelming in its ability to strip away every pretense and doubt until there’s nothing left but raw need.

Max finally releases your lips with a ragged groan, pressing his brow to yours as you both gulp down air in harsh pants. His palms smooth over your hips, up your sides, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin material of your dress.

“God, printsesse,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that has you clenching with fresh desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?”

You can only whimper, thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as he ducks to mouth wet, open kisses along the column of your throat. Every brush of his lips is like a brand, searing into your very core.

“And tonight ...” Another nip at your racing pulse has you arching shamelessly into him. “Tonight you’re mine. All mine.”

His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, bunching it around your waist as his fingers trace the lace edges of your stockings. You keen softly at the electric jolt of sensation, nails scoring down his shoulders and back.

“Max ...”

“Shhh, schatje ...” His tongue laves at the hollow of your throat, lips trailing a heated path up the line of your jaw until he’s devouring you again. The demanding sweep of his tongue robs you of breath, of thought, of everything but the exquisite present of his touch. “Just let go. No thinking. I’ll take care of everything.”

His words are like a mantra, a siren’s call urging you to surrender utterly to the exhilarating oblivion he offers. To shed every burden and float away on the current of his undivided devotion.

So you do. With a broken whimper, you sag in his arms, giving yourself over completely to Max’s intoxicating command. The doors of your suite can’t come soon enough.

Max can barely keep his hands off you during the agonizing elevator ride up to his penthouse. As soon as the doors close, cutting you off from prying eyes, he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, hands roaming feverishly over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps against the slick column of your throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you.”

You whimper shamelessly as his teeth graze the thundering pulse under your jaw, hips rocking helplessly against his muscled thigh that’s wedged between your legs. The delicious friction has sparks of pleasure-pain arcing through your nerves in dizzying waves.

With deft motions borne of practiced skill, Max strips you of your dress, leaving you clad in only a scrap of wine-colored lace before lifting you easily. You lock your legs around his narrow hips as he mouths hungry kisses along the swell of your chest, callused palms kneading the generous curve of your backside.

The elevator judders to a halt and the doors slide open, but neither of you pay it any mind. Max simply shifts you higher in his arms and carries you down the hallway, your shared gasps and muffled groans echoing off the plush carpets and paneled walls.

Finally, he’s nudging open the door to his suite with his shoulder, barely waiting for it to click shut again before slamming you against the nearest surface. You scarcely register that it’s a sturdy oak desk before Max is divesting you of the remaining flimsy barriers between your bodies with sharp tugs and deft fingers.

He stands you before him, towering and scorching with building intensity as his gaze tracks from your flushed face down to where your thighs are already starting to grow slick in anticipation. A punched-out groan tears from his chest.

“Fuck, printsesse,” he growls, palming the rigid length straining against his slacks as he drinks in the sight of you laid bare before him. “So fucking gorgeous. Made for me.”

With a sharp nip of his teeth against the swell of your breast, he urges you back until you’re bent over the desk’s edge. Cool wood presses against the heated flesh of your belly and breasts, making you gasp.

“Max ...” you keen, reaching for him with shaking hands.

But he bats them away with a low rumble, pinning your wrists against the desks’ burnished surface. His lips scald a path down your spine as he looms over you from behind, thick cockhead prodding teasingly at your entrance.

“So responsive, schatje" he praises in a gravelly rasp, free hand gliding down to pluck at your engorged nipples. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

You can only whine wordlessly, squirming against the delicious torture of his touch as he takes his time mapping every dip and swell of your body. Marking you as his own by searing himself into your senses through each languid caress.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of exquisite torment, Max sheaths himself in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He stills for a long moment, buried to the hilt, broad chest plastered to your back as you both shudder and gasp for air.

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

With an animalistic growl, he complies — withdrawing nearly all the way before snapping his hips in a punishing grind that has your nails scoring the desk’s glossy veneer and guttural cries tearing from your throat.

From there, it’s a haze of sweat-slicked skin and desperate keens, of Max taking you apart with lavish, calculating precision. He’s utterly relentless, wringing every ounce of pleasure from your joined bodies until you’re hovering in a blissful state of oblivion.

It’s everything and yet not enough all at once. You’re ruined for anyone else, forever branded by his ferocious intensity. You’re addicted to the escape he offers from your doubts and burdens.

And as Max’s harsh grunts and increasingly erratic thrusts signal his impending release, you welcome the sweeping wave of darkness that accompanies your own shattering climax.

You’re his now. Utterly and completely. And you’ve never felt so free.

Later, with the tangled sheets pooled around your waists, Max gathers you close and strokes idle patterns over your flushed, sweat-slicked skin. Sated and boneless in the aftermath of his lovemaking, you curl into the strong circle of his embrace with a contented sigh.

Idly, Max’s fingers trail through your tousled locks, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in a way that tingles with delicious sensation. You make a soft sound of pleasure, earning a rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your brow.

“Feel better, printsesse?” He murmurs, voice a low rasp that strokes over you like velvet.

You manage a lazy nod, humming into the heated dip of his throat as you nuzzle closer. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence, savoring the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear and the soothing drag of his fingertips over your skin. For the first time in ages, your thoughts are utterly quiet, every worry burned away by the man beside you.

It’s like floating in a warm sea, cradled and buoyed by Max’s strength and devotion. Every breath comes easier, your soul unburdened and free in a way you can’t recall experiencing before. You want to bottle this precious feeling forever.

Eventually, Max breaks the tranquil quiet with a murmured, “Tell me why you hate university so much.”

You tense reflexively at the simple question before letting out a shuddering breath, curling closer to Max’s solid frame.

“It’s just … not me. Not who I am,” you mumble, struggling to articulate the turbulent storm of emotions your father’s demands have been stirring within you. “I’m expected to act and think a certain way, to follow rules and meet standards that I can’t bring myself to embrace. It’s suffocating.”

You pause, sifting through your scattered thoughts for the right words. “I’ve never known anything but expectation and obligation, Max. It’s like … being slowly crushed under this ever-increasing weight of being someone I’m not while being denied any chance at discovering my true self.”

Max’s arms tighten around you protectively, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So stop,” he says, the simplicity of his words at odds with the complex web of anxiety and disappointment your life has become.

You shake your head wearily. “I can’t. You know my father — he’ll cut me off without a second thought if I so much as breathe about dropping out again.”

Despite the hefty inheritance awaiting you, Toto has always been resolute that his children earn their share through grueling hard work and achievement. To do anything but, even for a moment, is a grievous failure in his eyes.

“No,” Max’s tone brooks no argument, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

One corded arm slips beneath your waist, rolling you until Max is looming over you, his chiseled features grave and intense. “You have me now,” he states with quiet certainty, words ringing with the weight of a solemn vow. “I’ll take care of you, schatje — no matter what. Even if your father cuts you off.”

The conviction in his voice steals your breath, your heart clenching almost painfully at the naked promise in his eyes. “Max ...” you start to protest weakly, but he quiets you with a brush of his fingertips over your lips.

“Hear me out,” he says, tone gentle but uncompromising. “What if … what if you just dropped out? Quit this half-life that’s slowly killing your spirit and let me take care of you?”

He leans in until his brow is resting against yours, eyes searching the depths of your own. “I know this is new between us. But I’ve wanted you for so long, printsesse. And I know — down to my very soul — that we’re meant for each other.”

A tremulous exhale escapes you, your chest tightening as Max’s words wrap around your heart in a heated embrace. It’s insane, surely — to take such a risk based on attraction and a single incredible night in his arms. But the vision he paints of safety and freedom sings an inescapable siren song you can’t resist.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, suddenly afraid to break the delicate spell woven around you both.

“Say yes.” He kisses you reverently, until your lashes flutter shut at the tender onslaught. “Say yes, and let me take care of you, printsesse. The way you deserve to be cherished.”

God help you, but you can feel your resistance crumbling in the face of Max’s single-minded intensity and undeniable allure. He’s everything you’ve been missing — freedom, passion, and hope for something more than the crushing prison of expectation.

So with one last, shaky exhalation, you give in.

“Okay,” you breathe, the dam finally bursting as tears of bewildered relief prick your eyes. “Yes, Max. Yes.”

He claims your lips in a searing, triumphant kiss that leaves you lightheaded and clinging to him. When you part, his smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

“Tomorrow morning,” he vows fiercely against your swollen mouth. “First thing — you’re calling your university and withdrawing. No arguments.”

Your chest clenches sharply at the directive, fear and anxiety lancing through you at the enormity of what you’ve just agreed to. The crushing weight of your father’s disapproval already feels like a lead shroud.

But Max is there, holding you close and peppering your face with soothing kisses. “Shhh, schatje,” he croons, stroking your hair. “Don’t overthink it. This is what you want, isn’t it? To finally be happy and free?”

You manage a jerky nod, melting into the safety of his solid strength. “Y-yes. But ...”

“No buts,” he reproves gently, capturing your gaze again. “It’s you and me now, Y/N. I’ll handle everything else, I swear it. All you need to focus on is finding what makes you happy again. The rest is my problem. Understand?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, wrestling your scattered thoughts into a semblance of order. What Max offers — this safe harbor from all the pressures slowly drowning you from without and within — is everything you’ve been desperate for. Your own private rebellion against the rigid expectations suffocating you at every turn.

If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to take this lifeline.

With a tremulous smile, you curl into Max and nod against his chest. “Okay. I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, satisfaction and triumph ringing in his tone as he cradles you tenderly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His fingers stroke through your tresses again, the repetitive sweep quickly lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The first of what you hope will be many where you don’t fret and stew over responsibilities and failures.

The last coherent thought that drifts through your mind as you let Max’s strong heartbeat under your ear lull you under is one of bone-deep contentment and relief.

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

The first faint rays of dawn filter through the gauzy curtains, rousing you from the most restful sleep you’ve had in longer than you can remember. For a blissful moment, you simply bask in the cocoon of warmth and safety enveloping you — the solid weight of Max’s arm draped possessively over your waist, the clean, musky scent of him surrounding you.

Then the gravity of your decision the previous night comes crashing back in a dizzying wave. Your breath hitches in your chest as apprehension and anxiety spark to life once more.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Max stirs behind you with a quiet rumble, nosing aside the tumbled locks at your nape to press a hushed kiss there.

“Morning, printsesse,” he murmurs, voice still roughened from sleep in a way that has something inside you clenching with need. “Sleep well?”

You can only nod, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in your throat as you twist in the circle of his arms to face him. His brow furrows at the clear trepidation playing over your features.

“Hey now,” he soothes, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “None of that, schatje. You know what you need to do.”

Your teeth snag your lower lip in a nervous gesture as you give another jerky nod. Yes, you know. You agreed to call your university this morning and make your break official by withdrawing.

It should be a relief — knowing you’re finally free of all those crushing expectations and obligations. And yet ...

Max must read the swirling doubts and fears etched into the tense lines of your body. Because he simply gathers you closer, cradling the back of your head against his broad chest as his free hand strokes over your hip in a soothing caress.

“I know it’s scary, letting go of everything you’ve been groomed for,” he murmurs, the steady thump of his heart under your ear already working its magic in calming your turbulent emotions. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be happy?”

Another nod, this one more decisive. Because despite the trepidation gnawing at your resolve, you know deep down that it will be worth escaping the slow atrophy of your spirit.

“Then trust me. Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

He tilts your chin up until your gazes lock, his eyes burning with so much intensity and conviction that your breath catches.

“Make the call,” he urges in a low rumble, searing you to your core. “Be brave and take the first step towards your freedom. Towards us.”

Us.

The word reverberates through your veins with dizzying potency, stoking the blossoming embers of hope and longing that have been kindled to life under Max’s tender, all-consuming attentions. He’s right — you do want this. Want him and the scorching promise of something more that he offers.

So with a shuddering exhale, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers and scroll through your contacts. It’s only when you tap the university’s number that the vise around your chest constricts.

You’re really doing this. Cutting ties with everything that’s suppressed your true self for so long.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

Max soothes you through every stumbling assurance and confirmation that yes, you’re formally withdrawing from your degree program, effective immediately. When the call ends, he cradles your face in his large, calloused palms and simply holds your gaze as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

Then, slowly, a smile blooms over his striking features.

“Well done, printsesse,” he praises, the rough timbre of his tone reverberating through your very bones. “So brave for me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a drugging kiss that swiftly banishes any lingering doubts or regrets thrumming through you. His taste, his scent, his unbridled passion — all of it combines into an intoxicating force that strips everything else away until only sensation remains.

He murmurs silken endearments to you as the desperate, frantic press of his lips gentles into something softer and infinitely more tender. Until finally, he’s simply cradling you close, peppering whisper-light caresses over your brow, your lashes, the flushed apples of your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, gleaming with pride as he drinks in your dazed, thoroughly kissed expression. The profoundly peaceful one you haven’t witnessed on your own features in ages. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

And in that suspended moment, everything else — your father’s disappointment, your uncertain future, and the world at large — fades into irrelevance compared to the serenity of being in Max’s arms. Of having his full attention and accepting the release he offers so freely.

A few hours later, Max is escorting you through the familiar paddock with a possessive hand cupping your lower back. There’s a bounce to your strides that hasn’t existed for longer than you can recall, a giddy sense of lightness like all the burdens you’ve been carrying were finally, blissfully lifted away.

You’re practically glowing, the radiant joy suffusing your every pore in a stark transformation from the tense young woman who fought so hard to hide her unhappiness under a brittle veneer.

So caught up are you in the heady exhilaration of your new lease on life that you very nearly don’t register the familiar, thunderous bellow ringing out over the motorhomes.

“Y/N Wolff! Just what in the hell is going on here?”

The blood drains from your face as your father’s irate voice cleaves through the peaceful moment. Beside you, Max stiffens, his palm searing a brand against the small of your back as he half-turns to face the oncoming storm that is Toto Wolff.

Your father is stalking towards you both with the implacable force of an enraged bull, features contorted into a mask of fury that would cow most grown men into instant submission. But not Max. If anything, his shoulders go back as he shifts incrementally in front of you in a subtle, shielding motion.

“Papa, please let me explain-”

“Explain?” Toto roars as he draws up mere feet away, face mottled and spit flying as his blistering glare swings between you and Max. “Explain why I received an email this morning informing me that my own daughter has willfully withdrawn from the university without so much as consulting me!”

You flinch bodily as if struck, guilt and dread roiling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much he’s stifled you or how right this decision feels, your father’s disapproval is every bit as crippling as you’d feared.

“But Papa ...”

“I have half a mind to cut you off without a cent to your name for this unseemly lack of respect!” Toto’s massive hands are clenched into meaty fists at his sides as he fights visibly to regain control over his temper. “You spoiled, selfish girl. All that I’ve sacrificed to give you every opportunity is being thrown back in my face!”

Beside you, Max has gone rigid with rage at the verbal assault being levied upon you. The set of his jaw and rapid flaring of his nostrils are the only outward signs of the barely leashed fury trembling through his frame.

“Toto,” he bites out in a tone of forced calm that still somehow comes laced with subtle menace. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Y/N is an adult making her own choices ...”

“Enough!” Toto cuts him off with a contemptuous slash of his hand, bristling with scorn as he glares daggers at the younger man. “I should have known you’d have something to do with this blatant disregard for responsibility. Just like a driver to think only with what’s between his legs rather than his brain!”

A shocked hush falls over the paddock as mechanics and crew alike abruptly still at the team principal’s uncharacteristic loss of composure. Never before have they witnessed Toto’s infamous ire directed towards his own daughter and her … well, whatever Max is to you now.

But Max remains supremely unbowed before the fury radiating from the much larger man. If anything, Toto’s words seem to enflame his quiet indignation into something hotter. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists as he takes a bristling half-step forward, fully inserting himself between you and your irate father.

“No, Toto,” he growls, the timbre of his normally lilting accent gone dark and thrumming with promise. “That’s quite enough. You’ll not speak to Y/N like that again — not while I’m here.”

Toto blinks, seeming caught off guard by Max’s outright challenge … before a bark of disbelieving laughter rips from his chest.

When he speaks again, his words are bitten off and cruel. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” he sneers in your direction, mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “You’ve become the useless little trophy that I always dreaded having for a daughter. Just another parasite leeching off a wealthy man’s success while contributing nothing of value herself.”

Your breath leaves you in a painful wheeze, like you’ve been gut-punched. Tears of shame and wounded pride prick hotly at the corners of your eyes. Is that really how your own father sees you?

That’s the final straw for Max. With a vicious snarl, he very nearly lunges for Toto — only stopped by your panicked grasp around his rigid forearm and a breathless cry for him to stay back.

“Max! Please!”

The naked anguish bleeding into your voice seems to penetrate his haze of seething fury. He pauses, still trembling with scarcely restrained wrath, but nods once in silent agreement to your desperate plea. Behind his unflinching glower, you can glimpse the simmering promise that your father will face severe retribution in his own due time.

But for now, he forces himself to remain impassive and immovable by your side. No longer antagonizing but issuing a clear warning all the same.

The elder Wolff eyes Max with open disgust before shaking his head violently and spitting onto the concrete floor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Verstappen. Just you wait. And you!” He wheels on you with fresh outrage blazing in his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I won’t make you regret this ridiculous, childish display! You’re cut off, Y/N. Not a single cent until you return to your senses!”

His final scathing words slice into you like a blade, reopening all the wounds of disappointment and failure that have long festered under his stringent demands. You curl in on yourself with a soft, pained noise, unable to even raise your head properly.

Until Max is there.

Cocooning you protectively in the scorching circle of his arms, he gathers you to his chest and simply … holds you. One hand cradles the back of your skull while the other strokes over your back, soothing and petting until some of the rigid tension seeps from your frame.

“It’s alright, schatje,” he murmurs against your hairline, voice rough yet infinitely tender in a way that has tears stinging hotly against your lashes. “There’s no need for this. I’ve got you, printsesse. You’ll never want for anything, not while I’m here.”

His fierce promise rings with so much conviction, so much quiet authority that it bypasses all your ingrained doubts and hesitancies straight to the hollow pit of worthlessness that’s been carved out within you over the years. Soothing that profound ache and filling it with the warmth of Max’s oath.

Because somewhere in the eye of this turbulent storm, you’ve found your shelter.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” Max continues in that same low, reassuring tone. One hand cradles your nape while the other settles against the small of your back, grounding you against the solidness of his strength. “Never again, I swear it.”

So you let yourself unravel against him, forehead pressed to the steady thrum of his pulse as years’ worth of tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. For the first time, you don’t feel shame or weakness in surrendering so utterly to another’s care and protection.

He murmurs wordless endearments and soothes your disheveled tresses as the storm breaks around you both. Making promises as uncompromising and eternal as the rising of the sun itself.

“Everything will be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’ll sort it all, whatever it takes. This is our new start together. And I’ll never let you go.”

***

For the remainder of the weekend, you’re practically glued to Max’s side in the Red Bull garage. A permanent fixture nestled against his solid bulk, soaking up the quiet strength and support he provides like a soothing balm over the raw, aching wounds left by your father’s scathing vitriol.

With Max, none of the biting insecurities and self-doubts that have plagued you for so long can gain purchase. He simply won’t allow it — not with the way he gathers you up in his embrace at every opportunity, lips constantly seeking out your brow, your temple, the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmurs reassurances too low for anyone else’s ears.

And when it comes time for the lights to go out, Max doesn’t so much as compete as utterly dominate, blowing the rest of the field into the weeds. You watch with breathless awe from your spot in the garage as he carves through the field lap after punishing lap, pulling out a lead that turns him into a missile disappearing over the horizon in a blur of ear-splitting power.

By the final lap, Max is so far ahead that he simply has to bring his car home for a staggering 42 second victory. You’re one of the first to greet him after he clambers from the cockpit, all but throwing yourself into his sweat-slicked embrace with a joyful exclamation the second his boots hit the ground.

The cameras inevitably flock, capturing the moment Max lifts you clean off your feet in a bone-crushing hug as his team erupts into jubilant celebration around you both. But Max’s eyes only have focus for you, darkened and blazing with the same all-consuming intensity that’s been ignited behind his ribs since the first moment you let yourself surrender to him wholly.

Later, once the press obligations and podium formalities are complete, Max bundles you away with brisk efficiency — not even needing to explain where you’re headed. You simply follow his lead, gripping his hand tightly as he shepherds you to a private airstrip where his jet awaits.

Your heart skips erratically as you settle into the plush leather seats and Max seals you both inside the luxurious cabin, shutting out the rest of the clamoring world until it’s only the two of you in your own private oasis. Even after everything that’s happened between you in such a short span, you can’t quite shake the giddy disbelief that any of this is truly real.

But then Max is there, sinking onto the seat beside you and gathering you into his side like you’re made to nestle against him for the rest of time. His calloused palm curves over the nape of your neck, thumb stroking over the flutter of your pulse as he presses his brow to your temple and simply … breathes you in.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he murmurs, so low you feel the rumbling timbre in your bones more than hear it. “Just you and me now.”

The jet engines whine to life, as Max tips your chin up to capture your gaze. You go utterly breathless under the weight of his scorching stare, the fevered grey of his irises swirling with so much naked promise that your pulse kicks up several perilous notches.

“Where are we going?” You somehow find the means to whisper, unconsciously licking your lips in a gesture that has Max’s eyes riveting there hungrily.

Rather than answering right away, he nuzzles his mouth over the delicate line of your jaw until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “Home,” he rumbles, sending delicious shivers cascading through you. “We’re going home to Monaco, schatje. Where you and I can start our new life together.”

Your breath hitches audibly at the raw yearning, the adamant possession threaded through his words. The implication that you — his everything now, just like he is yours — will be shacking up in his private sanctuary away from prying eyes and unending scrutiny.

Just the thought alone has a molten thrill of anticipation blooming low in your belly. To be utterly alone with Max, isolated from the outside world and every toxicity that’s weighed down your every step until now. To finally spread your wings and breathe the first tendrils of long-denied freedom as his partner, unburdened of expectation or judgment for once.

Is there anything you crave more than that?

As if privy to your innermost thoughts, Max shifts until he can cup your face in his palms. The kiss he brushes over your lips is searing yet paradoxically soft around the edges — like he’s sealing an unspoken promise to cherish you wholly. To be your shield from a world too cruel and demanding when left to its own devices.

“Our new beginning,” he murmurs against your mouth, words scalding with the same intensity as his embrace. “I can’t wait to show you our home, printsesse. To have you all to myself for once.”

The plane surges into its takeoff run, leaving the ground behind as Max’s grip tightens incrementally, hands smoothing over the sloped curves of your neck and shoulders. There’s a sense of possession layered into his touch, a heady feeling that twines through your body until everything is gilded in need.

Languidly, he works his way across the cradle of your throat, painting the fragile hollows with the blistering heat of his lips and tongue. You shudder against him, nerves set alight and already keening for more of his undivided worship.

“I have the most gorgeous penthouse overlooking the marina,” he continues on a low purr, lips shaping endearments against your feverish skin. “Sweeping terraces with hot tubs and daybeds where you can lounge and not have a single care, schatje.”

Your lashes flutter closed in a dazed sweep, head tipping back against the plush headrest to allow Max easier access as he lavishes attention along the fragile dips of your collarbones. You can’t process anything beyond the raging heat blazing to life under his coaxing touch, exquisitely overwhelmed in the most delicious way.

“Mmm, and of course it’ll need some changes, no doubt,” Max rumbles, nosing aside the loose fall of your hair to trail open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. “New furniture maybe. Whatever strikes your fancy to make it our space.”

He captures your wandering gaze with his own heated one then, a brow cocked in silent invitation. Somehow you gather enough mental function to nod breathlessly, surrendering control over yet another crucial element of your new life to Max’s steady and capable hands.

“Perfect. I’ll have the best interior designers come around to work their magic. That way you won’t have to strain yourself with all those pesky decisions.”

Relief crests through you in an almost dizzying wave at Max’s implicit assurance that he’ll handle everything, as always. That your only role in this brave new world you’ve embraced will be resting peacefully in the shelter of his care and devotion.

As if in reward, Max finally claims your lips in a kiss that scatters what few coherent thoughts still clung to your lust-drunk brain. His hands roam freely, mapping every sloping curve and silken plane as he lays you back against the buttery leather seats to hover over you.

“Don’t worry about a single thing from now on, printsesse,” he vows in a husky rasp, trailing smoldering kisses along the delicate skin over your thundering pulse. “Just let me take the reins and show you a life without all the endless strain and misery you’ve endured.”

His fingers drift up to wind through your tumbled hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as your eyes drift shut in blissful surrender. You’re floating, suspended in a state of hazy, unfocused euphoria with only Max’s low timbre washing over you.

“I’ll make sure you never want for anything again. That pretty head of yours won’t have to trouble itself over choices or tedious trivialities any longer.” A searing kiss is pressed to each of your fluttering eyelids, like he’s sealing each promise behind the delicate barrier of bone and flesh.

“No decisions, no worries,” he murmurs, nibbling a path down the delicate arch of your cheekbone. “Just bliss and contentment and pleasure as far as the eye can see. You’ll exist only for my warmth and protection from now on. To be cherished every second of every day for the rest of our lives.”

More kisses, like balms of heated adoration poured over your sensitized skin. You keen softly on each breath, body arching helplessly into his skilled caresses as he worships you with his hands and mouth.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he croons, slowly stripping you down to chase the slope and hollow of your form with his lips. Every fevered, burning press sears his devotion into your flesh, your consciousness spiraling inward until only Max’s raspy declarations anchor you in blissful desire.

“Let it all go. Forget everything but this — us, our love, our new start. Nothing but sweet oblivion from now until eternity.”

You shudder, boneless and needy in his cradling embrace even as serenity steals over your limbs. Max’s heated weight on top of you is an anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of molten liquid pleasure, his impossible heat seeming to bleed into your very bones with each passing moment.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” he praises in a voice like rumbling thunder, lips shaping words of adoration against the swell of your navel as your eyelids sag heavily. “So perfect and made for me alone. To take such good care of you from this day until my last, printsesse. To give you the world and then some.”

Unconsciousness beckons, cradling you in its downy soft embrace until only the sound of Max’s worshipful murmurs penetrates the enveloping cocoon of warmth and safety surrounding you. It’s the sweetest surrender imaginable, floating away on a sea of rippling, indulgent bliss with your beloved at the helm to guide you home.

The last threads of awareness slip from your grasp as Max shifts and settles behind you, pillowing you against his chest. With a contented sigh, you burrow deeper into the furnace of his solid strength and let the rhythmic thud of his pulse lull you under. His fingers stroke idle patterns through your hair, the rhythmic sweeps like a metronome steadying your descent into deepest slumber.

“Sleep now, printsesse,” he commands in that same soft, indulgent tone that wraps around your soul. “We’re headed for our paradise.”

His deep rumble quickly lulls you under again, cradled in the safety of his arms. The last coherent thought spinning lazily through the cozy haze enveloping you is one of profound gratitude and trust.

You know, deep in your bones, that Max will make good on his promise to cherish you without reservation. To shield you from expectations and disappointment alike.

So you let his softly murmured endearments and the steady cadence of his heartbeat under your cheek sing you into blissful, worry-free dreams of the life he’s vowed to craft for you both.

It’s everything you’ve ever yearned for yet been too afraid to reach out and claim.

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

The early morning sun filters through the curtains as Max stirs awake. His eyes flutter open and immediately drift to you, lying peacefully beside him. A soft smile plays across his lips as he takes in your features — the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fans out across the pillow. In this moment, you look so beautifully unburdened, free from the worries that so often trouble your mind.

Max reaches out, tenderly brushing a few stray strands from your forehead. You don’t stir, lost in the depths of a dreamless slumber. Good, he thinks. You need this rest, this escape from the harsh realities that have been weighing you down.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone as his mind wanders back to the distressing news a few days prior — your father revoking your paddock access in a bitter act of retaliation. Max’s jaw tightens at the memory of the anguish clouding your eyes when you relayed the email to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max had said simply, pulling you into his embrace. “You’re with me now.”

And just like that, the tension seeped from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to melt against him, letting his presence anchor you. Max knew then what he had to do — create an oasis for you where none of your troubles could penetrate.

Leaning closer, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. “Wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “It’s a new day.”

You stir slightly, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness slowly trickles in. Max watches, transfixed, as awareness blooms across your features. For a suspended beat, there is only serene blankness, a clean slate unmarred by the demons that so often still haunt you.

Then your gaze finds his, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in a soft, wondering smile. “Max ...”

“Morning, printsesse.” He brushes his knuckles along your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, as if trying to grasp at fleeting tendrils of thought. But there is nothing there to catch, only a tranquil emptiness. “Good,” you murmur at last. “Really good.”

Relief washes over Max at the simplicity and peacefulness in your tone. He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. You melt into him, pliant and trusting, and he commits every little thing to memory — the warmth of your skin, the faint taste of sweetness on your tongue, and the way your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair.

When you finally part, you are both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. They are clear, untroubled pools reflecting back at him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly. “No worries, no stress. Just … here. Present with me.”

You nod, something vulnerable yet beautiful flickering across your features. Max recognizes it as the look you get when you fully surrender yourself to him, allowing him to take the lead, to care for you in the way you so desperately need.

Brushing his thumb across your lower lip, he holds your gaze. “What would you like for breakfast, hmm? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You nibble on your lip for a moment before shaking your head. “Don’t know. You choose.”

His heart clenches at the utter trust in your words. Nodding, he leans down to graze another deep kiss across your mouth before slipping from the sheets. As he pads across the plush hotel carpet to call room service, he can feel the weight of your eyes tracking his every movement.

Once the order is placed, Max returns to the bed, stretching out beside you as he pulls you against his chest. You burrow closer with a contented sigh, looping an arm around his waist.

“What do you want to do until breakfast arrives?” He asks, carding his fingers through your tousled hair.

You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against the bare skin of his torso. “Don’t care,” you mumble drowsily. “Just … this.”

A profound sort of tenderness blooms in Max’s chest. He knows you would be amenable to anything, so long as it allowed you to exist in this carefree, thoughtless state a while longer.

“Alright, then just this,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your crown.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, lazily trading soft caresses and occasional whispered endearments. Max finds himself lulled by the steady thump of your heartbeat against his ribs, the gentle ebb and flow of your breathing.

He has no notion of how much time slips by before there is a crisp rap at the door, jolting you both from the tranquil bubble. Your eyes widen slightly, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Max smooths his palm along the line of your spine. “Just breakfast, nothing to worry about.”

You seem to remember then, the tension melting from your frame as you peer up at him with trusting eyes. He brushes his thumb across the delicate arch of your cheekbone before carefully extricating himself from your embrace to answer the door.

While the server situates the laden cart inside, Max rejoins you on the bed, rearranging the plump pillows behind you so you can sit upright. You immediately slot yourself between his outstretched legs, reclining against his chest. His arms wind around your middle as you both survey the impressive spread laid out before you.

“What looks good?” He prompts, resting his chin atop your head.

You chew your lip for a moment. “I don’t know … everything?”

He chuckles, splaying one hand across your stomach. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would I? How about we start with this-” He leans over, snagging a ripe strawberry from the platter and holding it to your lips. You part them obediently, eyes sliding shut as you savor the sweet burst of flavor.

Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he praises in a low rumble.

You shiver against him, tilting your head in a silent plea for more. He happily obliges, feeding you bite after bite until the platter is decimated. His free hand roams lazily, mapping every dip and swell of your form through the thin cotton of your oversized sleep shirt. All the while, his mouth works along the exposed column of your throat, peppering fervent, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

At some point, the scattered remains of your indulgent breakfast lay forgotten on the cart as Max rolls you beneath him, drinking in your breathy whimpers and sighs. He takes his time thoroughly ravishing you until you are both sated and deliciously disheveled.

Eventually, you find yourselves curled together amid the tangled nests of sheets, trading languid kisses and basking in the afterglow. Max strokes his fingers through your hair as your head lolls against his shoulder, expression blissfully serene. Your lashes are dark smudges against your flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted on shallow breaths.

“There she is,” he murmurs, drinking in your debauched beauty. “My sweet girl, all relaxed and happy ...”

Ducking his head, Max nuzzles his nose along your hairline, inhaling your comforting scent. “No thoughts, no cares,” he rumbles against your temple. “Just you and me in this perfect little world.”

You make a soft, wordless sound of agreement, snuggling closer in his embrace. He smiles, gathering you even tighter against his chest, relishing the sensation of your heartbeats falling into sync.

All too soon, however, the tranquil interlude must come to an end. Max glances at the clock, silently calculating how much time remains before he needs to head to the paddock. He heaves a reluctant sigh, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, schatje,” he murmurs. “Time to get ready.”

You blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, still blissfully adrift in your peaceful daze. Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at your guileless expression. He would move mountains to keep you looking this way forever — soft and sated, basking in the afterglow with your head deliciously empty.

“Don’t worry,” he vows, thumbing away the crease furrowing your brow. “I’ll take care of you. You just let your thoughts stay nice and quiet, hmm?”

The worry lines ease from your features as you nod with implicit trust, allowing Max to guide you from the rumpled sheets. He quickly sets about straightening your mussed appearance, dressing you with unhurried tenderness. All the while, you remain pliant and completely biddable in his hands, seemingly unconcerned with anything beyond the present moment.

Once you’re both fresh and presentable, Max slips an arm around your waist, tucking you against his side. You go willingly, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“My good girl,” he praises, mouth brushing your hairline. “Let’s go, keep drifting for me.”

You make a soft, affirmative noise, slipping your hand into his as you allow him to lead the way from the sanctuary of your hotel suite. Max is acutely aware of your body listing bonelessly against his own, of the feather-light brush of your lashes against his jaw every few steps.

He knows others might gawk, might question the almost trancelike state you’ve allowed yourself to sink into. But he couldn’t care less about their muttered judgments. His only priority is ensuring you remain in this safe, blissful headspace for as long as possible.

When you finally reach the paddock, Max ushers you towards a secluded alcove in weRed Bull hospitality. He settles you on a plush loveseat, ensuring you’re situated comfortably. Crouching before you, he smooths his palms along the tops of your thighs, holding your drowsy gaze.

“Wait here for me,” he says, keeping his tone low and soothing. “I’ll come get you before FP3, yeah? Just … stay relaxed. Let your mind stay beautifully empty.”

You blink at him, lips curving in an utterly trusting smile. “Okay, Max.”

His chest constricts powerfully at your dreamy, unguarded expression. Rising on his knees, he cups your face in his hands, claiming your mouth in a gentle kiss. You open for him without hesitation, kissing him back with languid strokes of your tongue.

When you finally part, you are both left slightly breathless. Max strokes his thumbs along the swollen curves of your lower lip as you gaze at him from beneath heavy lids, looking thoroughly ravished and compliant.

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I love seeing you like this — free and happy without all those nasty thoughts plaguing you. It’s just us in our own world. Nothing else matters here, printsesse.”

You keen softly in response, nosing deeper into his touch like a touch-starved kitten. He chuckles indulgently, dropping another lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Stay pretty and sweet for me.”

With one final caress along your jaw, Max tears himself away, walking towards the Red Bull garage with purposeful strides. He can feel the weight of your eyes tracking him until he rounds the corner, can picture the blissful emptiness clouding your features.

The thought bolsters him, lending an extra swagger to his step as he readies himself for the day ahead. For once, he finds himself relishing the familiar paddock chaos, eager to simply immerse himself in the visceral thrill of the sport he loves.

He knows his favorite reward will be waiting when the practice session concludes — your warm, pliant form and those trusting doe eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

***

The next morning, Max wakes with a familiar sense of tranquil purpose. Shifting onto his side, he brushes the tousled hair back from your forehead, drinking in the sight of you sleeping so peacefully beside him. A contented smile curves his lips as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, reveling in how relaxed and unburdened you appear.

He knows today will be demanding — race day always is. But that makes moments like these where he can simply bask in your presence all the more precious. With gentle reverence, Max trails his fingertips along the delicate line of your jaw, tracing the bow of your slightly parted lips.

“Time to wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “Big day ahead.”

You stir with a soft, wordless hum, lashes fluttering. Max feels his breath catch as your eyes open, glassy and unfocused for a few beats before finding his own. Just like that, the furrow between your brows smooths out, leaving your expression blissfully untroubled.

“There you are,” he croons, heart clenching at the naked trust shining back at him. Cupping your cheek, he leans in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across your pliant mouth.

When he pulls back, you’re already chasing his lips with a small, plaintive noise. Max chuckles fondly, combing his fingers through your tousled hair.

“Needy girl,” he teases, though his voice is laced with undisguised affection. “I suppose I’d better take care of that before we have to leave, hmm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond — not that he expects any coherent reply in your current state. No, better to let your thoughts remain deliciously empty as he claims your mouth again in a series of heated kisses.

Max loses himself in the familiar glide of lips and tongue, the quiet whimpers that spill from your throat every time he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. He maps every inch of your sleep-warm skin with devoted hands until you are both flushed and panting softly.

Eventually, however, the persistent ticking of the bedside clock drags him back to awareness of the rapidly dwindling time. With a regretful groan, Max tears his mouth from the juncture of your neck, nosing his way along your jaw until he can capture your lips in one final kiss.

“We should get going,” he murmurs against the swollen curve of your lower lip. Though his tone is tinged with reluctance, there’s an unmistakable rasp of command underlying the words.

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and dark, but give a trusting nod. Max feels his chest constrict powerfully at the easy acquiescence. Brushing his thumb in a tender caress across your cheekbone, he slants his mouth over yours once more, coaxing you through several more drugging kisses until your lips are kiss-bitten and slick.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, both breathing heavily. “You’re going to keep feeling this relaxed all day, aren’t you? No nasty thoughts creeping in, just … blissful quiet waiting for me.”

Something like reverence flashes across your features as you nod jerkily, unconsciously worrying your already abused lip between your teeth. Max groans low in his throat, capturing your face between his palms and slanting his mouth over yours in a filthy kiss, all heat and slick friction and desperation.

When he finally manages to tear himself away, you’re rumpled and utterly debauched beneath him, chest heaving. He has to actively resist the urge to simply drag you back under his body, to lose himself in ravishing you until you’re both sated and boneless.

“Gonna make me late for my own race at this rate,” he chides gruffly, though his heated gaze roams indulgently over your prone form.

Levering himself off the bed with obvious reluctance, Max quickly sets about readying the both of you for the day, tugging you along in his wake with firm yet gentle hands. You follow easily, movements loose and languid and so very pliant under his ministrations.

By the time he’s dressed you and seen to your grooming, your features have settled into that slack, dreamy expression he loves so much — eyes glassy and lips slightly parted, not a single worry line creasing your forehead. Perfection.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he rumbles in approval, reeling you into his arms.

You go willingly, slumping bonelessly against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur. He smiles, nosing into the tousled hair at your crown and inhaling your familiar scent. For a long moment, he simply revels in the sensation of your body melting trustingly into his own, of the steady throb of your pulse against his ribs.

All too soon, however, the hands of the clock continue their march forward. With a rueful sigh, Max presses one last lingering kiss to your hair before reluctantly disentangling himself.

“Come along then, printsesse,” he murmurs, catching your hand and giving a gentle tug. “Time to go.”

You make a soft, wordless noise of agreement, falling into step beside him without a shred of hesitation. Every few paces, you angle yourself closer until your shoulder brushes his bicep, seemingly seeking his solid warmth.

Max feels an indulgent smile tugging at his lips as he slips a possessive arm around your waist, anchoring you against his side. You immediately slot against him, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can sense the dreamy, unfocused quality of your gaze as it skims over your surroundings, can practically hear the blissful white noise filling your head.

As you exit the hotel and navigate through the throngs of people clustered outside, Max holds you even tighter, letting the murmurs and clicks of camera shutters wash over him in a dull roar. He’s hyperaware of every point where your body molds to his, of the trusting way you tuck yourself into his shelter without so much as a backwards glance.

By the time the two of you reach the circuit, your cheeks are flushed and there’s a becoming sort of dazed softness to your features. Max has to resist the urge to simply tuck you away in some quiet corner, to keep you insulated in this perfect bubble for as long as humanly possible.

But race days are nothing if not a whirlwind of demands and tight schedules. So instead, he ushers you along the serpentine corridors with a sturdy arm locked around your waist, relishing the way you move beside him in that lovely, blissed-out trance.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he deposits you on the leather couch with gentle reverence, taking a moment to situate you with utmost care. You gaze up at him, eyes glassy but utterly trusting as he smooths back the hair from your forehead.

“Wait here for me, hmm?” He murmurs, cupping the line of your jaw. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep that pretty head deliciously empty and let me take care of everything else.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a soft, wondering smile before you give a tiny nod of agreement. Unable to resist, Max leans in to capture that gentle upturn between his lips, kissing you deeply until you’re pliant and breathless and unfurling like a flower against his chest.

He has to tear himself away before his precarious restraint snaps. “Good girl,” he praises roughly, drinking in the sight of your dreamy, intoxicated expression before forcing himself to turn away, walking toward the garage with purposeful strides.

The familiar race-day chaos swirls around him in a torrent of noise and movement, but Max easily blocks the distractions from his mind, focusing intently on his preparations. There is something grounding about the rituals, the procedural drive to ready his car and equipment. By the time he emerges onto the grid, he is centered and assured, every ounce of his concentration honed on the inevitable green light.

The race itself is, as always, a heated blur of adrenaline and split-second reflexes. Every nerve ending thrums with that singular focus until he’s drunk on the scream of the engine and the smear of color whipping past his visor.

When he finally returns to parc fermé, it takes Max a disorienting moment to recognize the distant clamor bleeding in from beyond the paddock. Handing his helmet off to a mechanic, he makes his way towards the steadily amplifying sound, chest still heaving from the lingering effects of the endorphin high.

Rounding the corner towards the pits, he’s abruptly met by a scene of utter chaos. People — crews and spectators alike — seem to be converging in a jumbled knot near the Red Bull garage, a strange sort of bristling tension in the air. Max falters for a moment, brow furrowing in bewilderment, when a familiar figure finally emerges in his line of sight.

You.

Your expression is one of naked distress, red splotches staining those beloved cheeks as you seem to shrink in on yourself. Though he can’t make out the words, it’s clear you’re pleading with the imposing figure looming over you.

Your father.

Something protective and ferocious ignites in Max’s chest at the realization. Surging forward, he shoves his way through the ranks of onlookers until he’s at your side, reaching out to splay a steadying hand at the small of your back. You automatically angle into his touch, small tremors wracking your frame. Up close, he can make out the tear tracks streaking your flushed face, the way your lips are bitten and swollen from worrying them raw between your teeth.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, shooting a scathing look at your father.

Before Toto can answer, another man steps forward, one Max recognizes as a FIA official. “Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” he suggests in clipped tones, eyes darting around at the milling crowd.

A muscle ticks in Toto’s jaw, but he gives a curt nod of assent. Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow. Max feels your fingers fisting in the back of his sweat-damp suit, clutching him like a lifeline.

Squeezing the nape of your neck in a silent gesture of comfort, he tucks you against his side before falling into step behind the two older men. It galls him to follow their lead instead of simply spiriting you away, but something in your father’s demeanor warns against open defiance. Better to hear them out.

You’re shown to a secluded room just off the main garage bay, fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead. The moment the door closes behind the four of you with a hollow thud, Toto whirls with an expression carved from thunderclouds.

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” he bites out, eyes flashing dangerously in Max’s direction.

White-hot fury races up Max’s spine, setting every nerve alight. His grip tightens fractionally where his palm is splayed against the dip of your lower back.

“Like hell,” he growls, edging closer until your slight frame is fully bracketed against his own. “She’s trembling because of you.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure this has nothing to do with her being half out of her mind with Lord knows what substances,” Toto sneers. “A fine state to be wandering around the paddock in, isn’t it?”

Max feels you flinch violently against him at the blistering accusation, a wounded sound catching in the back of your throat. Something bright and violent surges in his chest at your obvious distress.

“How dare you,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous as he pulls you flush against his body. “She was perfectly content until you came along and started spouting such vile nonsense. She hasn’t touched anything, you miserable bastard.”

The insult hangs in the airless space as Toto’s complexion darkens several shades. He opens his mouth — no doubt to unleash a scathing volley — when the FIA official hastily interjects.

“Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable. If there has been some egregious violation, I must ask you both to lay out the facts as you know them so we might get to the bottom of this affair.”

Max’s nostrils flare sharply as he draws a steadying breath. He needs to keep a level head if only for your sake, to prevent this from spiraling any further out of control. Dipping his chin, he angles his mouth against the crown of your bowed head.

“Breathe, schatje,” he murmurs, one hand stroking soothingly up and down the quivering line of your spine as he holds your father’s shrewd gaze.

“There’s been no violation apart from Toto coming at his daughter completely unprovoked,” he asserts, voice steady and clipped. “Her current state is simply the result of being relaxed and free of negative thoughts, something I’d think any parent would want for their child.”

Toto scoffs indelicately, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that what you call completely zoned out and unresponsive? Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what that vacant look signifies — early morning drinking or worse. Trying to numb whatever guilt she’s wallowing in after throwing away her entire future like a petulant child.”

Max feels you stiffen, your nails digging half-moons into his bicep. Before he can retort, however, the official clears his throat once more.

“Ms. Wolff,” he addresses you directly. “I’m going to need you to confirm the situation from your own perspective. What is the cause of the … condition your father is alluding to?”

For a tense moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the suffocating silence. Then, warm and tremulous, comes your voice muffled against Max’s collarbone.

“I … haven’t had anything. Really,” you insist shakily. “Max was just … helping me relax. Taking care of me like he always does.”

Toto makes a disgusted, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, mouth already twisting in preparation to unleash another attack. But Max simply holds up a preemptive hand, wholly engrossed in studying the lines of strain bracketing your expression. His thumb grazes the flushed, tear-stained hollow of your cheek as he murmurs a gentle plea, voice dropping into that soft, honeyed register reserved solely for your ears.

“Tell me what you need, printsesse. How can I help chase those nasty thoughts away again?”

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and irises over-bright, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Max feels his heart clench at the naked torment written across your features as you falter, gnawing anxiously at that already mangled lower lip.

“I … can’t,” you whisper tremulously, a broken quality entering your tone. “It’s too loud. I can’t keep them quiet when he’s like this ...”

The vulnerable little admission lands like a physical blow, momentarily stealing Max’s breath. Gathering you closer, he brushes his mouth along the worry line creasing your forehead.

“I know, schatje, I know,” he soothes, cradling the back of your skull. “But you’re doing so well. So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Slanting his head, Max claims your lips in a slow kiss, trying to lose himself in the familiar glide of skin and breath. When he finally breaks away, you’re already chasing after him, eyes glazed and lips prettily swollen. He feels some of the knots in his gut begin to uncoil as he traces the delicate sweep of your cheekbone.

“Better?” He prods gently.

You make a soft, affirmative sound, nuzzling further into his palm. Max’s lips quirk despite the tension still coiled in his shoulders, relief trickling through him warm and heady.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” He suggests, punctuating the question with another lingering press of his mouth against your brow. “Back to the motorhome, just the two of us. You can fully relax again, keep your thoughts quiet and happy.”

Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, he begins walking you backwards towards the exit, keeping his motions unhurried and soothing so as not to trigger another spiral.

“No,” Toto barks in a tone like shattered granite. “She is not going anywhere with you, Verstappen. If she is seriously this mentally addled, then she requires proper treatment, not … whatever sick fantasies you’ve allowed to fester in that depraved mind of yours.”

Max feels you shake like a leaf caught in a violent gale against him at your father’s harsh words. Clenching his jaw, he pivots to put himself bodily between you and that callous glare.

“You’re the one who’s sick if you think for a second I’d ever let anything hurt her,” he bites out in a tone laced with venom. “All I’ve done is try to give her the peace and respite she so desperately needs. If that’s a crime, then throw me in a fucking prison.”

Toto sneers, eyes glinting with undisguised contempt. “Don’t play the martyr with me. We both know exactly what kind of sordid games you’ve been playing while her mind is so clearly compromised.”

Max feels his face flush in outrage, desire to throttle your father warring with the need to keep you sheltered away from any further vitriol. He opens his mouth, another blistering retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, when a warm weight presses against his back.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you peering up at him beseechingly, tears clinging to those thick lashes. Max’s expression immediately crumples into something infinitely softer, gentler around the edges.

“Please … I j-just want to go,” you stammer in a tiny voice, fingers bunching in his race suit. “No more yelling. I can’t … I c-can’t ...”

Your breath hitches in a wounded sound as your eyes skitter away from his, clouding over once more with panic and distress. It’s like a physical blow to Max’s ribs, stealing what little oxygen remains in the claustrophobic space.

Spinning on his heel, he crowds you backward until your trembling frame is braced against the wall. With an approximation of tenderness he hoped you’d find grounding, Max frames your face between his palms as he ducks his head, searching out your skittish gaze.

“Shh, hey … look at me, printsesse,” he croons, ducking to burrow his nose against your hairline. “Just focus on me, alright? That’s my good girl.”

He can feel the fine tremors wracking you even as he gentles your head into the crook of his neck, splaying one broad palm over the rapid flutter of your pulse. Max shushes you through another hiccuping sob, rocking your pliant weight against his as he whispers nonsensical endearments into your hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he soothes without ceasing the soothing motions. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, there we go ...”

Gradually, he feels some of the tension ebb from your rigid muscles until you sag fully into his embrace, boneless and pliant once more. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Max finds Toto watching you with an inscrutable expression, frustration and something else he can’t quite name churning in those flinty eyes.

Uncaring of his scrutiny, Max returns his attention to mapping the curves of your face with reverent fingers, gentling you back into that headspace of tranquil bliss.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the seam of your lips. “Let everything else just … drift away. We’re going back to our sanctuary, yeah? Nice and peaceful, with all those thoughts gone quiet where they belong.”

He can see the worry lines slowly beginning to smooth from your brow, tension bleeding from your frame as his words seep in like a balm. Smiling softly, Max dips his head to capture your mouth in a series of deep, lingering kisses, savoring the addictive little sounds you make against his questing tongue.

“Mr. Verstappen,” a gruff voice cuts in, effectively shattering the lush, private bubble.

Tearing his lips from yours with obvious reluctance, Max twists to slant a scathing glare at the FIA official. He keeps one arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to relinquish an inch of the soothing skin-to-skin contact despite the interruption.

The official holds up a placating hand. “I’m going to have to ask you both to exit the premises for the time being. At least until whatever … this situation is has been resolved to a reasonable degree.”

Max opens his mouth to protest, but you choose that moment to whine softly, nosing against his jaw in search of his lips once more. A hot lance of protectiveness surges through his core. Swallowing back the words on the tip of his tongue, he gives a terse nod.

“We’re leaving. Don’t try to touch her again.”

He punctuates the thinly veiled warning by curling possessively around your smaller frame, tucking you against his side as he propels you towards the door with urgency. You keep up easily enough, still deliciously pliant and soothed by his touch if the lingering glazed look in your eyes is anything to go bye.

As the heavy door clicks shut behind you, Max doesn’t spare a backwards glance. His sole focus is getting you back to the sanctity of his private quarters, away from the scrutiny and toxicity currently swirling in the paddock. One hand splays protectively over the dip of your waist as you move, the other coming up to shelter the back of your head.

“Nearly there, schatje,” he murmurs into your hairline as he blankets you in the solid warmth of his body. “Just a bit further and we’ll be all alone, just how you like it.”

You hum in what he chooses to interpret as agreement, pushing up onto your toes to nose along the sharp line of his jaw. Max groans low in his throat, slowing his strides so he can tug you abruptly into his chest. Your mouth falls open on a soft gasp, which he eagerly swallows with a filthy slide of his tongue.

When he finally wrenches himself away, you’re panting and glassy-eyed, lips bitten and swollen to a lush pout. Tutting under his breath, Max traces the abused swell with the pad of his thumb, pupils darkening to fathomless black pools as he drinks in your wanton appearance.

“Need to stop doing that, sweet thing,” he chides in a low rasp. “Don’t want to tempt me into having my way you right here in the corridor, now do we?”

Twin spots of color immediately bloom in your cheeks as you emit a strangled little sound, thighs clenching convulsively for a dizzying heartbeat. He chuckles, low and wicked, before slanting his mouth over that sinful jut of your lower lip, sucking the swollen flesh between his teeth.

“Soon,” he vows roughly, nipping at the tender skin. “We’ll be alone and I can take care of that delicious ache properly. Would you like that, printsesse? To let me coax all those nasty thoughts back into pretty oblivion?”

You make a small, wanting sound against the sweep of his tongue, fingers clenching convulsively in the fabric of his race suit. Max hums in wordless approval, momentarily losing himself in reacquainting his senses with every lush corner of your mouth.

It isn’t until Max feels the hard planes of his driver’s room door against his back that he bothers dragging himself from the sensual haze. Panting harshly, he brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your flushed brow, unable to resist dipping in for one more searing, open-mouthed kiss.

“Inside,” he growls when you part with a trembling inhale. “Now.”

You nod jerkily, eyes glassy and unfocused even as you chase his lips with a tiny, needy noise. Max gentles you backwards over the threshold with firm, steadying hands until you’re situated within the blessedly muffled quiet of his temporary sanctuary.

Distantly, he registers the faint sounds of celebration filtering up from the track, but they seem muffled and inconsequential compared to the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palms.

Trailing one hand up the slender column of your throat, Max tilts your chin until your gaze meets his own. “You’re alright now, sweet girl,” he soothes, tracing the line of your lower lip. “Just us, safe and sound away from all the noise.”

You make a soft sound of agreement, instinctively pressing closer until your bodies are flush, every pliant curve molded to his hard planes. Max groans at the exquisite friction, hands spanning your waist to tug you even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

“That’s it, stay right here with me,” he rumbles against the swell of your parted lips. “Let everything else drift away until there’s nothing left but my voice in that pretty head.”

Slanting his mouth over yours, Max proceeds to chase every lingering thread of tension from your frame with deep, indulgent sweeps of his tongue. He maps every intimate detail until you’re pliant and breathy in his arms once more, limp and trusting as a ragdoll.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, resting his brow against yours. “You’re doing so well, staying nice and floaty for me even after … everything.”

You blink up at him, that soft, dreamy haze already stealing back over your features. Max’s chest constricts powerfully at the naked adoration shining back at him, the implicit trust written in every fluid line of your body.

“Max ...” you breathe, the single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of devotion and longing.

He hushes you gently with another toe-curling kiss, reveling in the way your mouth instantly softens and opens for the insistent sweep of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, the rigid lines of strain have melted from your expression, leaving only that beloved, blissful tranquility in their wake.

“There you are,” Max rumbles in approval, thumbing away the dampness still clinging to those long lashes. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. Nothing but beauty and peace between those lovely ears.”

You make a small, incoherent sound of agreement, already drifting back into that lush, thoughtless headspace under his ministrations. Unable to resist, Max ducks his head to mouth along the line of your throat, laving hot, openmouthed kisses over the wildly fluttering pulse point.

“I’ve got you, schatje,” he mutters between kitten licks and nips. “Not going to let a single ugly thought spoil this lovely blank canvas. You’re perfect like this, all soft and sweet with nothing rattling around in that pretty head but oblivion.”

His words seem to spur a full-body tremor that ricochets through your slender frame. You whimper brokenly against the crown of his hair, hips stuttering forward in mute pleading as your nails score desperate half-moons against the taut cords of his biceps.

“Please,” you whisper in a wrecked tone that goes straight to Max’s groin. “Need you ...”

“Soon, printsesse,” he promises in a low rasp. Though it takes every ounce of his negligible restraint, he continues blazing a scorching path down the exposed column of your neck and across the elegant jut of your collarbones instead of hauling you against him. “Let me take care of you properly first, yeah? Want you floaty and boneless for me.”

You make a whimpery sound of agreement, one hand uncurling to fist in the damp hair at his nape. Max hisses at the sharp sting, retaliating by capturing the pulse fluttering in the hollow of your throat between his teeth. He nips at the tender flesh until your breath is coming in shallow, hitching gasps, every muscle turned liquid and quivering in his arms.

“Good,” he croons in approval once you’re thoroughly debauched, sparing a moment to take in your wrecked appearance with heated appreciation. “My perfect girl, so prettily unraveled for me already.”

With exquisite care, he traces the bow of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb until they part on a shuddery indrawn breath.

“Stay just like this,” he rumbles in that same dark timbre. “Let your mind drift. Never been more beautiful than when your thoughts are gone all hazy like this.”

You blink up at him, plush lower lip caught between your teeth in that completely docile way. Max rewards your compliance by angling your head to the side, nosing at your neck as he breathes deep of your tantalizing scent.

His hands skate down in blazing trails until they settle with light possessiveness at your waist, bracketing you fully against the solid wall of his chest. You keen softly at the contact, arching on pure instinct as you go pliant in his embrace.

“That’s it,” Max praises, hot and heated against the sensitive hollow below your ear. “Just let it all drift away while I make you feel good.”

Dipping his chin, he seals his mouth over yours in a series of drugging kisses, spine going liquid at your breathy whimpers. He loses track of everything — time, the muted noises of celebration filtering in from outside, even his own name — as his entire universe narrows to the slick glide of your tongue, the warmth of your body twining insistently around his own.

When he finally drags himself back from the precipice of mindless want, you’re boneless in his arms, flushed and trembling and so exquisitely unraveled. Max rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he takes in the picture you make — hair hopelessly tousled, lips swollen to an obscene pout, eyes glassy and dazed as they struggle to focus on his face.

“Look at you,” he husks in mingled awe and possessive pride. “Gone all sweet and floaty again, hmm? Not a single thought left in this little head of yours.”

As if in confirmation, you slur out a low, affirmative hum, butting your flushed cheek against his sternum in search of more contact. The sight sends a hot pulse of want ricocheting through Max’s veins. He barely tamps down a groan as he crushes you closer, driving your pliant body into the solid surface at your back.

“Beautiful, inside and out,” he rasps against the slick curve of your throat. “Every inch of you is perfect like this, schatje, and I’m the luckiest bastard alive to be the one allowed to see you come so utterly undone.”

***

Three Months Later

Toto rounds the corner onto one of Monaco’s picture-perfect side streets, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of leafy trees lining the cobblestones. His strides are clipped and purposeful as he navigates the throngs of lingering brunchers and slack jawed tourists.

He’s due for a terse meeting with several FIA officials in half an hour’s time to hash out the latest regulatory adjustments for next season. Not exactly how he’d envisioned spending his free weekend in the principality, but such was the relentless reality of his position.

As he approaches a charming little bistro tucked into a sunlit alcove, something within the open-air seating area snags his peripheral attention. Toto’s steps falter as a very familiar figure swims into focus — a beautiful young woman with features he knows better than his own.

You.

His stomach churns violently as he instinctively follows your line of sight to the man tucked intimately against your side. Max freaking Verstappen, of course, lounging there like he hasn’t a care in the world with one arm slung proprietarily across the back of your chair.

Toto feels his jaw clench harder with every passing second as he reluctantly catalogs the scene playing out not twenty paces away. You’re turned towards the Red Bull driver in clear invitation, chin tilted up and lips slightly parted in apparent submission as he lifts a forkful of food to your waiting mouth.

Despite the simmer of nausea roiling in his gut, Toto can’t seem to tear his gaze away, some morbid fascination taking hold. He watches, bile burning at the back of his throat, as Verstappen tips the bite between your lips with a gentleness that borders on reverence. A blissful sort of smile curves your mouth as you chew, eyes drifting to shut in an expression of utter serenity.

When you finally swallow, Verstappen leans in to chase the lingering crumbs from your lips with a series of indulgent, smoldering kisses. You allow it with blasé ease, cheeks flushing prettily as he nuzzles deeper into the cradle of your throat.

“Sickening,” Toto mutters through gritted teeth, only to have the words choked off as your breathy giggle floats across the open space between you.

He’s frozen in place, jaw clamped shut and eyes blazing, as Verstappen captures your face in one broad palm with a wicked curl to his lips. Leaning in until your noses brush, he appears to rumble something too faint to carry over the ambient chatter.

Your responding smile is incandescent enough to momentarily steal Toto’s breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such pure joy light up those beloved features — not since those early summer afternoons when you were barely tall enough to see over the mechanics’ workbenches, giggling as he spun you in looping circles around the garage.

The imagery dissipates like smoke in a strong wind as Verstappen slants his mouth over yours, mercilessly chasing every last vestige of warmth and innocence until you’re left utterly ravaged. You drink him in with all the unrestrained fervor of the desperately parched, breaths coming in harsh little pants between every slick glide of lips and tongue.

Toto can only look on in mute revulsion as the Red Bull bastard sets about methodically staking his claim. One broad palm spans the curve of your jaw to better angle your head while the other strokes in bold caresses down the line of your arm and hip, searing brand of possession seared across every inch of skin. You arch into the contact, boneless and malleable beneath his sure ministrations.

When Verstappen finally releases you, your lips are bright and bitten, pupils blown wide into unfocused pools. Max clucks his tongue in wordless approval, thumbing away the dampness clinging to your lower lashes before dipping in for one more lingering peck.

A strangled noise startles from Toto’s throat despite his best efforts. Instantly, those predator’s eyes swing towards him, glittering with something perilously close to challenge.

Your gaze follows a moment later, drifting over Toto’s rigid stance in lazy, disinterested consideration. He expects a flicker of chagrin, even fleeting shame to ripple across your expression at being caught so indecently compromised. Instead, your lips curve into that same serene, soppy beam as you burrow deeper into Verstappen’s side.

The world seems to tilt sickeningly sideways as Toto watches his own flesh and blood regard him like a stranger, a foreign entity to be blithely disregarded. Verstappen, for his part, tilts his head in an almost confrontational motion as his fingers begin carding through your hair with a revolting air of indulgent possession.

Toto wants to scream, to rage and howl until someone — anyone — understands the utter travesty of what he’s just witnessed. But something has knotted itself viciously around his vocal cords so that all he can seem to produce is a low, garbled rasp.

So he turns on his heel instead, gritting his teeth against the swell of fury threatening to choke him from the inside out as he stalks away. Every step rebounds through his hollow ribcage with echoing finality, punctuated by the sickly sweet chime of your laughter ringing in his wake.

He can’t even recognize his daughter anymore. And, much to his disgust, you seem to prefer it that way.

2K notes · View notes

softspiderling · 1 month

Text

est-ce que je t’aime? | j.v

summary:

“What does dear Jace have to say?”

“I do not like your tone,” you huffed, snatching the letter out of his hands. Daeron chuckled, his eyes gleaming.

“You could become my niece, if this continues.”

“Oh please,” you answered, not even entertaining the idea. “I am too low of a rank for him to even consider marrying me.”

OR; After having spent almost eight namedays in Oldtown, you longed for your return to King’s Landing, to see Jace again. When the day finally comes, you didn’t expect to be thrust in the middle of a war for the crown.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: mention of death (Viserys), canonical violence (follows plot of the show up to Storm’s End), otherwise this part is pretty tame!

word count: 8,2k

author’s note: i do not know a single thing about daeron except for the tidbits we have learned in the show. the rest is made up (but imo my Daeron character analysis is pretty great finally my bachelor's in english has proven useful). this is gonna be a two parter! the first part is heavily reader x daeron/team green focused, while the second part will focus on reader’s and jace’s relationship. title is from GIMS' song est-ce que tu m'aimes which also inspired this fic... also @eldrith bc i fear i will be threatened with a gun if i dont... happy reading 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I have a letter from the Queen Alicent and and another one from the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” the messenger said, bowing as he stood at the door.

“Thank you Ser.”

Taking the letters, the messenger bowed to take his leave, and you handed Daeron the letter from his mother before settling into your chaise with Jace’s letter.

This was how you and Daeron received news from King’s Landing and Dragonstone. You hated how you had to wait so long to hear news, longing for the time all of you were at King’s Landing together, but you knew that things hadn’t been working out with Rhaenyra and her family nor with Alicent and her children.

You thought that was the main reason Daeron had been sent to Oldtown, to shield him from the tumultuous life at court and you along with him, despite that you had been Helaena’s lady in waiting.

Smiling at the contents of the letter, you tried to imagine Jace’s voice as he told you of Luke taking flight with Arrax for the first time, failing miserably. It had only been two years since you saw him last, but you knew how boys matured quickly in a short span of time, Daeron being the perfect example.

He had only come up to your shoulders when you first arrived in Oldtown, now, he was almost as tall as you.

“Helaena and Aegon were married,” Daeron suddenly said and your hands stilled, lowering Jace’s letter.

You glanced at him, noticing how small his voice sounded. Putting the letter away, you clasped Daeron’s arm, offering some comfort. You knew how hard it was for him to be away from his family and hearing about important news like that through letter just made the distance seem even greater.

“To whom?”

“To each other.”

“What?”

“Look,” Daeron said, handing you the letter his mother had sent him with the official sigil of the Targaryen house. You read through the letter, before sitting back with a surprised sigh.

“Helaena must be devastated,” you muttered, rubbing the side of your temples. You couldn’t imagine how alone Helaena must feel, to be married off to Aegon. He had always been a little crude; you doubted he had changed much.

“I cannot believe mother did not even deem it necessary to bring me home for their wedding,” Daeron said with a frown. “Am I even still her son?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you chastised him. “Your mother sent you away for your own good.”

Even as you said those words, you didn’t quite believe them yourself. It had been so long since Daeron has seen his family, you understood sending him away in the first place, but going for so long without a single visit?

With a sigh, Daeron brushed his silver hair back, angling towards Jace’s letter you had left on the table.

“What does dear Jace have to say?”

“I do not like your tone,” you huffed, snatching the letter out of his hands. Daeron chuckled, his eyes gleaming.

“You could become my niece, if this continues.”

“Oh please,” you answered, not even entertaining the idea. “I am too low of a rank for him to even consider marrying me.”

“So you have thought about marrying my nephew?”

You groaned and Daeron only cackled when you shoved him.

“Go sit and write to your mother,” you told him with a sniff of your nose and even though he grimaced at you, he sat down at the wooden desk, grabbing a roll of parchment. Even though Daeron was of much higher rank than you, he had adopted you as some sort of older sister ever since you two got to Oldtown, with you being the only familiar person from home that was still present in his life, apart from his uncles, of course.

It pained you, to see Daeron long for his family, who seemed to have discarded him so easily. You wondered when he would get to his family again as you reached for Jace’s letter to keep on reading;You wondered when you would get to see Jace again.

It was six more years before either of that would happen. However under much different circumstances than either of you had imagined.

“Urgent news from King’s Landing!” the messenger said, his breath short as he handed Lord Ormund a roll of parchment. You and Daeron glanced at each other; you were in the middle of breaking fast, the most important meal of the day in Oldtown; it must be incredible important news for the messenger to disrupt the meal like that. His face was stony as he read the contents of the letter, before his eyebrows raised in surprise. He lowered the letter, his eyes finding Daeron.

“Your father has passed. They are to crown your brother Aegon to be King. You are expected back in King’s Landing.” Lord Ormund’s eyes found you. “Both of you.”

It didn’t take long for Daeron and you get everything ready for your departure, you barely noticed most of your belongings being packed up, still reeling from the news. You couldn’t believe King Viserys had died. Of course you had known from the letters that Daeron had received from his mother that the king had taken quite ill, but still. And he named Aegon as his new heir? You couldn’t imagine Aegon, the boy who teased his brother endlessly to become King of the Seven Realms, but who were you to judge?

Your hand was itching to write to Jace, despite your last letter still being unanswered. You weren’t sure what had changed, but lately you felt like Jace’s letters had become scarce, every answer taking longer than the last. You weren’t quite bold enough to ask why in a letter, fearing a rejection, but maybe when you saw him, you could gauge his mood. You knew you were to see him at King Viserys’ funeral or the latest at Aegon’s coronation, you would see him sooner than your letter would take to get to him. Despite knowing that, your eyes caught on parchment and quill, so you took leave to Daeron’s chamber to distract yourself.

The door to his chambers stood open as you stepped in, the maids moving in a flurry as they packed his belongings, while Daeron was sitting on his bed, unmoving. Gingerly, you moved to sit behind him, but he barely acknowledged your presence, gazing out of the window.

“I’m sorry about your father’s passing,” you told him, nudging him with your shoulder.

“I have been living without a father for quite some time,” he replied wryly, glancing at you. “I suppose it will not feel any different.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it, hoping to lend him comfort. “I know. But still, I wish he had been a better father to you.”

Daeron only snorted, shaking his head.

“Are you nervous to see your kin again?”

The young Prince let out a laugh, unwinding his hand from your grip to stand.

“Kin? I haven’t seen them in nearly ten years,” he scoffed, starting to pace. “Mother writes to me once in a moon, Helaena’s letters are more confusing than not, and Aegon and Aemond barely write to me on my name day. I have not seen them since my eighth name day.”

“They are still your kin, Daeron.”

“By blood, yes.”

“Is there any other way to be kin?”

You were humoring him, knowing he was frustrated and nervous to see his family but Daeron stopped in his tracks, looking at you.

“Yes. You.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and he took his seat next to you again, cradling your hand in his.

“You came with me to Oldtown when you did not have to, gave me a sense of familiarity in this… Farce of a home, lent me comfort in a way my own blood failed to do,” he said quietly, squeezing your hand. “You are my sister in everything but blood.”

“Oh Daeron,” you sighed, pulling him into a hug and letting the younger boy - despite him arguing that he was long a man - find comfort in your arms. Ten and six, and the burden of feeling like you were abandoned by your family. You wished he did not have to feel this way, but you were powerless to change it.

“Swear to me you will not abandon me once we get back to King’s Landing,” Daeron said, pulling away to hold you at an arm’s length, his eyes searching yours.

“I swear it,” you told him, a smile on your face. “Swear to me you will not say any of this to your mother.”

Daeron let out a laugh at that, but you only shook your head, only half-jesting. You know Otto Hightower would fall right to his grave if he had heard Daeron call you his sister. You were high-born, yes, but in no way comparable to a Princess.

A knock sounded on the door, before a squire entered. “Everything has been prepared for your departure my Prince.”

“Very well, we will be right out,” Daeron answered with a nod.

The squire bowed, before leaving again and you squeezed Daeron’s hand, standing.

“I will go fetch my belongings, you go bid farewell to your uncles.”

Daeron nodded, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “I will meet you outside the city walls.”

You touched his cheek gently before you departed. A knight and two maids followed you with bags of sustenance and personal belongings to the city walls, where a handful of dragonkeepers were eyeing the sky. Lifting your gaze, you saw Tessarion fly over the city in circles, a smile growing on your face, excited to be making the trip back to King’s Landing on dragonback.

You had always loved whenever Daeron took you out flying on Tessarion; deep within you wished to feel a bond as special as a dragonrider had with their dragon. You wondered if Jace would take you flying on Vermax, now that all of you were reconvening for the King’s funeral rite and Aegon’s coronation.

Tessarion let out a screech before coming to land on the small green meadow, and you knew Daeron must be close. Surely enough, you heard footsteps coming closer before Daeron stopped just next to you, knights accompanying him.

“Will you miss Oldtown?” You asked him, but Daeron only shook his head.

“Nothing keeping me here,” he answered, stepping forward to greet Tessarion as she landed, calming her as the knights and maids attached the satchels and bags to the saddle. You let out a deep breath, turning to look at Oldtown for one last time. While Daeron had been right, a part of you was sad to leave, as it had been the place you had called home for the last years.

“Are you sure this is King’s Landing?”

The journey to King’s Landing had been uneventful and quick, a half day’s journey only. When you had arrived, flying over the city, Daeron directed Tessarion into the dragon pit, where the dragonkeepers had been waiting. Maids had then taken you into the Red Keep, and you barely had any time to react as you looked at the adornments that decorated castle; countless dedications to the Seven. The busy Keep you had remembered had now been replaced with empty halls and dark walls.

Daeron glanced at you before looking around. “Surely mother’s doing.”

The maid led you into empty chambers, bowing to Daeron.

“The Queen Dowager will be with you shortly, my Prince.”

Daeron thanked her and she inclined her head at him before turning to you.

“My Lady, if you follow me.”

“Where are you taking her?” Daeron, his hand on your arm to stop you from leaving. The maid paused, glancing between the two of you.

“To her chambers, my Prince.”

“She will stay with me.”

“Daeron, you should see your mother by yourself, I can come see you after,” you assured him but Daeron merely shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening.

“I shall not meet my mother alone.”

“Daeron-“

“Please,” Daeron begged, his voice panicked and you sighed, giving in. Only then did Daeron release the grip on your arm.

The maid still paused but she then decided to retreat, but not without bowing to Daeron again. He started pacing in the room, picking up the small trinkets that littered the desk.

“They just put me in my old chambers thinking it will be like I never left.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing around before you realized that Daeron was right - you were standing in his old chambers. They had replaced the furniture and added a bigger bed, but it was the same chambers he had stayed in when he was a little boy.

“They have always kept a place for you to return, is that not a good thing?”

Daeron looked at you with a frown when the doors suddenly opened and Alicent stepped in, in tow with Daeron’s siblings and his grandsire, Otto. Alicent beamed at the sight of her youngest son, though her smile wavered when she saw you, before turning her eyes back to Daeron, opening her arms.

“My boy.”

“Mother,” Daeron replied, his voice hesitant before he fell into her arms, hugging him tightly.

Your heart warmed at the sight and Daeron seemed to lose all of the fears he had been carrying - if only for a split second - as he laid in his mother’s arms. You were content to stay back, let Daeron get reacq with his family again, but you weren’t ignored for long, when someone threw their arms around you with so much momentum, it nearly knocked you off your feet.

“Oh Gods,” you laughed, a head of silver hair in your face. “Helaena.”

“I missed you,” the Princess whispered and you hugged her back just as tightly, sighing. She gave you one last squeeze, before Helaena pulled away to muster you, running her hands through the ends of your hair.

“You look well,” she said. “Very beautiful.”

You flushed at her kind words, lacing her hands with yours. “So are you, my Princess.”

Helaena smiled brightly at you. “You must meet Jahaera and Jahaerys.”

“There is time for that later,” Alicent decided, cutting in. Helaena’s smile dropped slightly and she fled to your side as her mother stepped to you. You bowed your head to greet her, but Alicent grabbed you by the shoulders before pulling you into a hug, surprising you.

“Thank you,” she said quietly in the privacy of the embrace. “Thank you for watching over Daeron when I was unable to.”

You wrapped your arms around Alicent. “Of course my Queen.”

She pulled away, straightening her dress and you caught a glimpse of Otto talking to Daeron before Aegon and Aemond stepped into your view.

“My Princes,” you said, bowing. “My condolences for your father.”

“Thank you,” Aemond said. “He was in great pain, The Stranger freed him.”

His voice was monotone, almost void of emotion and you wondered if any of them mourned their father. Aegon nodded, though he seemed more subdued.

“Are you excited to be King, my Prince?” you asked, hoping to change the topic.

He gave you a wry smile, opening his mouth but Aemond gave him a subtle jab in the side with his elbow.

“Uh, yes, of course, my Lady,” Aegon said, clearing his throat. “Now that we have all reconvened, the coronation cannot come soon enough. You are a much better guest than our nephews.”

That made you pause.

“Jace and Luke were here?” You asked, your forehead creasing.

“Yes. Lord Vaemond challenged Luke as heir for Driftmark and the trial was held at court. They left just shortly before father passed,” Aemond told you, his voice even. You hadn’t known that.

“When are they expected to return?”

Alicent exchanged looks with Otto, silent conversation passing between them and you glanced at Daeron, who seemed just as confused. Something was going on, something you weren’t aware of.

“They are not,” Alicent then said and your lips parted in surprise. “Rhaenyra is upset, rightfully so, that her father had chosen Aegon as his heir, so she decided to remain on Dragonstone.”

Your eyebrows furrowed but you decided not to press the matter, only nodding. The topic was quickly brushed off as Alicent wrapped her arm around Daeron, trying to draw him into conversation, asking about his interests. You only listened half-heartedly, your mind still spinning from the news.

“Do you not think all of this odd?” you asked, your voice low. “I know Rhaenyra is proud, but refusing to show up to the coronation or even pay respects to her late father?”

It was the day after your arrival in King’s Landing, the day of the coronation. The day was hectic, the Keep suddenly bustling with servants and maids getting everything ready; you had taken the advantage to sneak into Daeron’s room, something that had gotten much more difficult ever since you got back to King’s Landing.

“Maybe thing’s have changed,” Daeron replied, rubbing his temple. “We have been away for a while, we do not know of the things that have transpired.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a knock on the door interrupted you, a maid coming to fetch you for the coronation was about to begin. As you walked to the carriage, you were arguing with yourself on the inside, knowing that you were privy of most details, thanks to Jace’s letters. You couldn’t believe Rhaenyra wouldn’t rush to King’s Landing to bid farewell to her father. There must be something else holding her back.

As you got to the Dragonpit where the coronation was held, you were surprised that it was over faster than you had imagined, almost like it was rushed. Then again, this was your first coronation so who were you to say this wasn’t how every coronation went? As Aegon raised his hand to the small folk, eliciting applause, you joined in. The applause ceded when a loud growl shook the entire building. Silence followed, before the floor gave away when a dragon emerged through the stone, countless people falling to their death, trampled by the the huge beast with Princess Rhaenys on top.

Meleys, you thought, stood before the family, and Alicent rushed towards Aegon to shield him, cries and pleads from the smallfolk surrounding you. Criston shielded Helaena, and you grasped Daron’s hand as he only stared at his cousin in shock.

With bated breath, everyone waited - to be burnt, eaten, you weren’t sure. But Meleys only let out a deafening roar, before flapping her wings, breaking through the doors to escape to freedom.

“What in the Seven Hells was that?” you muttered to Daeron. He gave you a shrug, squeezing your hand as he looked you over, making sure you were unharmed.

The small folk on the other hand were fighting to get out of the building, which seemed to be crumbling in on itself, and Criston began to usher everyone out.

You were the last to come down from the stairs, taking Daeron’s hand he was offering to you when a crunching sound from above made you lift your head, seeing a large part of the roof cave in, falling right down heading straight for you.

“Sister!”

Daeron gave a harsh tug of your arm, pulling you behind him, as the large slab of stone fell right in the place you were standing mere moments ago.

“Are you well?” He asked, his voice full of concern as he padded you down.

“I’m fine, Daeron.”

“Daeron.”

You both looked up when Alicent called for him, just to see that they were all staring at you, Otto seeming incredibly displeased as you realized what Daeron had just called you. Seven Hells, you thought, this was precisely what you had been trying to avoid.

“Do you even realize what sort of rumors would be spread if anyone had heard you refer to her as “sister”?!”

You were pacing in front of the study, voices muffled through the wooden door. After you had gotten back to the Keep, Helaena and Aegon had returned to their children, while Otto and Alicent had dragged Daeron into the study. Neither of them sounded particularly happy, their raised voices spilling out of the room. You were wringing your hands, something that you had been doing a lot since you got to King’s Landing. Not even three nights ago, you were in Oldtown wondering if you were ever to return to King’s Landing, now you were back and everything was happening so fast and you felt like you were missing a big part of the story. When did the King change his mind about his heir? Why wouldn’t Rhaenyra and Daemon return to King’s Landing following the King’s death? And why in the Seven Hells did Rhaenys break through the floor with Meleys like she was being held captive? You had so many questions, none of which you had answer to; deep in thoughts, you didn’t even notice someone approaching you.

“Eavesdropping, are we?”

Letting out a small gasp, you jumped to face Aemond, a hand on your chest as he eyed you, unimpressed.

“Gods, you scared me,” you said, shaking your head. “No, I am waiting on Daeron. Your mother and grandsire didn’t want me to come in.”

Clearly.

Aemond didn’t say anything else as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. You eyed him as he stood there, on guard. It was hard to gauge him; you felt like Aemond was waiting for you to make a mistake so he had a reason to get rid of you. You remembered the soft, warm boy he used to be when you first got to King’s Landing. You wondered when he had changed, if it was when Luke took his eye or before.

“I should have known Daeron would cling to you after you had gone to Oldtown with him,” he said, his voice slow. “What is it, that you are planning to do with him? Make him infatuated with you so you can insinuate yourself into our family?”

Your ears grew hot at his implication. How dare he abandon his brother for nearly all his life and accuse you of having improper thoughts?

“Daeron is like a brother to me,” you said, voice indignant. “I care about him and I mislike being accused of such a horrible things.”

“So you vow your loyalty to our family, to Aegon as King?”

The way Aemond phrased the question made it seem like you had a choice and you hesitated, the fight leaving you.

“Of course, he’s the rightful heir, is he not?”

Aemond only gave a nod, taking a step back. You narrowed your eyebrows at him, but the door opened and Daeron stepped out, his face in a scowl.

“What happened?” you asked, but he only gave a brief shake of his head. He inclined his head, and you followed him, a knight on your trail, while Aemond stayed behind. The two of you walked for a while, until you reached the gardens, the knight staying by the edge as you and Daeron took a seat on a bench. He still seemed agitated, so you placed your hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“They accused me of impropriety,” Daeron muttered. “Said that I was opening our family up for vulnerabilities and rumors.”

“We’re not in Oldtown anymore, Daeron, everything you do here is looked upon,” you sighed.

“What is improper about calling you my sister? You have been by my side since my eighth name day,” he argued. “How can I call a woman my mother when I haven’t seen her since I was a boy? The strangers brothers and sister, when I barely recognize them?” Daeron hissed, his voice rising.

“I know you’re upset,” you said quietly, eyes darting around, not wanting him to get in even more trouble. “It’s hard for them to understand. They are not trying to hurt you.”

“Did they not try to hurt me when they cast me out of the family?”

You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, and Daeron let out a shaky breath, staring out in the distance.

“How is my brother faring?”

You shut the door to Daron’s chambers quietly to find Aemond waiting just in front. After you had spent the rest of the afternoon in the gardens, you had thought it best if Daeron laid down for a while before supper, hoping it would calm him.

“It’s hard for him to find his footing here. His life in Oldtown hasn’t been this… Restrictive. It will take him time to adjust.”

Aemond nodded, letting out a sigh.

“I was hoping he would accompany me,” he said. “But I do not think he sounds well enough to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“Storm’s End. To get Lord Borros to vow for my brother.”

What?

“Forgive me but who else would he be loyal to?”

Aemond turned around, looking at you in disdain.

“Rhaenyra. She might think she still has some claim on the throne.”

He paused, eyeing you carefully.

“You should come.”

“Me?”

Aemond’s eye swept over you once more and he nodded.

“Yes, it will look good to Lord Borros if someone outside of our family is there showing support to Aegon,” he insisted. “It will be a short flight on Vhagar.”

“Very well,” you said, a glance on Daron’s closed door, wondering if you should tell him that you would be gone, but it sounded like the trip to Storm’s End wouldn’t be long, so you decided against waking him. You could tell him after.

You followed Aemond to the dragonpit, where a maid laid a cloak around your shoulders as you watched Aemond mount Vhagar, the breath stocking in your throat at the size of his dragon. Vhagar was large and old, barely able to turn in the dragon pit without brushing the cave.

“Come,” Aemond said, offering his hand to you before pulling you into the saddle, instructing you to hold on tightly.

“Soves, Vhagar!”

With a loud growl, Vhagar stepped out of the dragon pit before taking to the skies, her enormous wings stretching out several feet. The ride on Vhagar was much smoother than every ride you had ever taken on Tessarion, and it wasn’t long before you reached Storm’s End, dark clouds following you. Vhagar landed in the courtyard, you and Aemond climbing off.

“Just in time,” the Baratheon knight said, watching the rain pour from the skies just as you stepped under the roof.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, brother of King Aegon II,” Aemond said, fixing his doublet. “I am here to talk to Lord Borros.”

The knight lead him into the Round Hall, where Lord Borros sat on his seat, seemingly having expected Aemond, his four daughters standing idly next to him.

“Prince Aemond, what can I do for you?”

“Lord Borros, I am here to ask you to pledge loyalty to my brother, King Aegon II.”

“King Aegon, you say,” Lord Borros said, arrogance dripping from his voice. “And what do you offer me for my loyalty?”

You were taken aback by his words, but Aemond only smiled, his hands locked behind his back.

“Your four daughters… They are still unwed?”

A smile spread on Lord Borros’ face and he gestured to his four daughters with his arm.

“Indeed. Are you proposing a betrothal?”

Aemond inclined his head. “Not only am I free to marry, but my younger brother, Prince Daeron as well. His lady companion can attest to his formidable character.”

Your eyes widened at Aemond’s words and you glanced at him, anger welling up inside you. So this was why he had wanted you to come. Aemond paid you no mind and you exhaled deeply, turning to face Lord Borros again, putting up a faux smile.

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Borros said, clapping his hands. “Let us discuss-“

“My Lord!” A knight called, striding into the hall with quick steps. “Another dragon has been sighted, headed straight to Storm’s End.”

“Ah, that must be my nephew,” Aemond replied easily, your heart skipping a beat. Were you finally going to see Jace again? Lord Borros gestured to the side, and Aemond placed his hand to your lower back to push you along; you fought your urge to slap his hand away from you, eyes darting over to the door.

The heavy rain was still pelting outside, nearly drowning out the sound of the steps as a young boy entered.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” the knight announced. “Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Luke, you thought, looking at the young Prince, now old enough to be delivering messages. The last time you saw him, he was round faced, his dark locks curling around his angelic face. Seeing him lessened the fire in your chest, though you were still angry at this whole situation, and you threw Aemond a look. He didn’t seem like he was paying any attention anyhow, his focus on his nephew who came further into the hall.

Luke’s step faltered when he saw Aemond, before his eyes laid on you. You tried to give him a comforting smile, show him you were a friendly face in a crowd of hostiles, knowing Luke was about to be met with a rejection, but he quickly glanced away, facing Lord Borros.

“Lord Borros...” Luke started. “I brought you a message from my mother... the Queen.”

“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King,” Lord Borros drawled, his tone less warm. “Which is it? King, or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Lord Borros chuckled in amusement and you could tell Luke was nervous by the way he was shifting on his feet. Aemond seemed to enjoy all of it.

“What’s your mother’s message?”

Luke held out the parchment roll and the a knight fetched it, bringing it to Lord Borros, which he readily accepted, asking for the maester. As the maester quietly recounted the content of the message to Lord Borros, Luke glanced to you and Aemond numerous times, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Your eyebrows creased, but the corners of Aemond’s mouth tugged up.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” Lord Borros spoke, the message seemingly upsetting him greatly. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Luke hesitated. You pressed your lips together; he had probably expected less of a hostile welcoming. Lord Borros only scoffed at Luke’s silence.

“Go home, pup,” he sneered. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Luke inclined his head, disappointed at the rejection.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen; my Lord.”

Luke turned to leave, but Aemond stepped forward, calling out to him.

“Wait, my Lord Strong.”

You glanced at Aemond, letting out a soft breath, nerves pooling in your stomach. Luke turned, despite the blatant insult.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

Your hand reached out to grasp Aemond, but he slipped out of your grips as he stepped closer to his nephew.

“I will not fight you. I came as messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond said. “No. I want you to put out your eye.”

He took off his eyepatch and you pressed your lips together, eyes darting between uncle and nephew, knowing this was about to escalate terribly.

“As payment for mine. One will serve,” Aemond added, throwing a dagger in Luke’s direction. “I would not blind you.”

Luke stared at Aemond in shock, his lips parted.

“Plan to make it a gift of it to my mother.”

Luke’s eyes dropped to the dagger on the floor, before he lifted his head. “No.”

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“Not here,” Lord Borros said, but no one paid him any attention.

“Give me your eye!” Aemond yelled, descending upon Luke, grabbing the dagger from the floor, while Luke stepped back, reaching for his sword. “Or I will take it, bastard.”

“Aemond!” you shouted, panic evident in your voice.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros cut in, his voice raised and Aemond stopped, turning back to look at him. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have blood shed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke resheathed his sword, throwing one last look at you before he turned, hurrying out of the hall. Aemond let out a huff of frustration, throwing a dirty look at Lord Borros, exiting the hall without waiting for you.

“Aemond, wait,” you called after him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. “You’re not thinking about following him on Vhagar in this horrible storm, are you?”

“He cannot get away with it, not again.”

Aemond’s voice was angry and you let out a breath, trying to keep a clear head.

“This is a thing from the past!” you reminded him. “Did you not gain a dragon from it?”

“You were not present when he took my eye!” Aemond hissed, taking a turn before you had reached the courtyard, just in time to see Luke on Arrax, flying out of Storm’s End. It was raining so heavily, you could barely see him, dark rain clouds swallowing Arrax and his rider easily.

Aemond was already walking towards Vhagar, the rain soaking, as you stayed put under the roof, hesitant.

“Are you coming, or staying?” Aemond shouted, climbing on top of Vhagar. You could feel the anger rolling off of him, something that Vhagar no doubtedly was feeling as well with the way she was growling and you wanted him to stay, calm down, but you knew it was no use, so you exhaled deeply, lowering your head.

“I am coming.”

You took his outstretched hand and he pulled you into the saddle behind him; you had barely settled in before Vhagar already leapt up in the sky.

The rain felt like small icy daggers in your face as you ascended higher and higher to the sky, easily catching up to the smaller dragon carrying Luke. Vhagar let out a roar, snapping her jaws at Arrax, as the smaller dragon breathed fire in your direction. It was clear that Arrax was no match for Vhagar.

“Aemond stop!”

Your voice barely carried over the rain, but Aemond disregarded you, his Vhagar as she darted to the left. You tightened your hold on Aemond, nerves coursing through you.

“What is it you’re trying to achieve, Aemond? You yelled, shaking him. “Are you trying to kill him?”

“That boy needs to learn how to fear me,” he only replied, tightening his reins on Vhagar, the distance between you and Arrax growing.

Aemond let out a frustrated growl, urging Vhagar to fly faster and you could feel the adrenaline rising as you almost caught up to Arrax again. You knew you were at a cross roads, and what would happen next would change everything, with Aemond consumed by his anger, and Vhagar following his emotions, someone was bound to get hurt. You had to do something. So as Vhagar descended upon Arrax, her jaws opening, you let go of Aemond, leaping off of Vhagar, almost immediately regretting it as Aemond yelled out your name, before you landed on Arrax, the wind being knocked out of your chest.

The young dragon let out a screech, dropping several feet down with the sudden added weight, just barely escaping Vhagar’s jaws.

“What are you doing?!” Luke screamed, the rain pelting against his face as he held onto his saddle tightly, Arrax roaring.

“Saving your life!”

You scrambled to find anything to hold onto, trying not to fall a gruesome death, your hands gripping onto Luke’s shoulders.

Vhagar’s shadow disappeared, but you knew her and Aemond were lurking inbetween the stormy clouds, you had to act fast. Your eyes were straining against the heavy rain, hand gripping into Luke’s shoulders.

“Do you trust me?”

“Not particularly, no!”

You grumbled, knowing his feelings were warranted, but this was not the time.

“We’re vulnerable. We need to find a spot to lay low, where Vhagar cannot come in.”

“Arrax is faster, I just need to get back home. It’s not that far!” Luke yelled back and you shook your head, even though he couldn’t even see you.

“That’s what Aemond is counting on! Please Luke, I know you don’t trust me, but I am trying to keep both of us alive.”

Luke groaned in frustration before tightening his reins on Arrax.

“Ilagon, Arrax!” Luke instructed. “Īlon jorrāelagon naejot jurnegon syt ruaragon.” Down, Arrax. We need to search for cover.

Arrax roared before you dropped several feet, flying by a range of mountains. You squinted your eyes trying to see anything in the rain, when you saw a cave several feet down.

The opening was small, too small for Vhagar to get in, but large enough for Arrax.

“Luke,” you said, squeezing his shoulder and pointing to the cave. “Down there.”

Luke nodded, leaning down to guide Arrax into the cave, and soon enough, the both of you were back on solid ground.

Arrax whined and Luke whispered to him gently, stroking his snout. “Lykiri, Arrax,” he said, leaning his head against his dragon’s. “Īlon jāhor jikagon lenton aderī, syt sir, ziry iksos daor ȳgha. Lykiri, issa valonqar.” Calm down, Arrax. We will go home soon, for now, it’s not safe. Calm down, my boy.

Arrax let out a soft whine, before curling in on himself, letting out a puff of smoke. With slumped shoulders, Luke sat down against the cave wall. You took off your cloak, laying it down so it could dry off before you sat down next to Luke, even as the boy avoided eye contact with you.

For a while, the two of you sat in silence with the occasional huff of Arrax, listening to the storm raging on outside. You hoped Aemond would cease his need for revenge soon. As a particularly loud thunder sounded, Luke jumped and you glanced at him, your heart aching.

“Are you well?”

Luke glanced over to you, trying to hide his tense shoulder by tightening his wet cloak around himself.

“No. But I’m unharmed,” he replied, his lips unmistakably shivering.

“It is better when you take off wet clothes, otherwise it might make you sick,” you said, leaning over to him to help unfasten his cloak, but Luke flinched away at your touch and your hands froze midair.

“I am sorry,” you said, breath bated. He must still be shaken, after seeing The Stranger right in the eyes. Luke let out a small breath, his fingers tightening in the fabric of his cloak.

“Did you know my uncle came to Storm’s End to kill me?” Luke asked, his voice small. “Did you come to make me lower my guards?”

“Forgive me?”

You knew their family affairs were difficult, strained from what had happened in the past, but you were stunned that he would expect this from Aemond, or you.

“I cannot speak of Aemond’s intentions,” you said truthfully. “Only of mine. I never wanted to harm you, and I did my best to keep you safe as soon as I realized that Aemond was too blinded by his need for revenge…”

Luke sniffed, wiping his cheeks and you moved to sit down in front of him.

“I’m only here to help you,” you assured him, holding your hands up in defense. “Arrax would turn me to ashes if I even touch you the wrong way, right?”

Arrax let out a soft growl at that and Luke gave you a small smile, nodding.

“Yes he would.”

“See, you’re in no danger,” you told him, your hand slowly reaching for his cloak, careful, as to not spook him. “Now take off your cloak and lay it down, it will dry off faster this way.”

Luke nodded, unfastening his cloak and laying it down next to yours before he took a seat beside you. Even though he had grown considerably in the years you had not seen him, he still was the little cheeky boy you remembered from before you had left King’s Landing.

“You have grown into a fine young Prince,” you told him. “I almost did not recognize you when you walked into Lord Borros’ hall.”

Luke quirked a smile at you, ducking his head. “I’m almost as tall as Jace now. He despises it.”

You grinned, pulling your legs close. You could imagine Jace just all too well, squinting at the mirror standing next to Luke.

“How is Jace?” you asked, your chest tight. You couldn’t believe how it was mere moon’s turns ago where you were exchanging letters, wondering why his replies seemed to become rarer.

Luke let out a small sigh, like it was a question that plagued him.

“Jace is… Angry. Ever since my uncle usurped the throne he has been trying to take action, fight for my mother’s claim.”

Your forehead creased.

Usurp?

“Pardon… Are you saying Aegon is not the rightful heir to King Viserys?”

Luke stared at you, mouth agape. “… Yes. He stole my mother’s inheritance.”

You only blinked at him, letting the news sink in as you leaned back against the wall, stumped.

“Now everything is falling into place… Why Aemond was questioning my loyalties, Rhaenys! Gods!” You covered your face with your hands, a gasp escaping your lips. “Daeron. I’ve left Daeron at King’s Landing without telling him that I’ve gone.”

You didn’t want to imagine what story Aemond has spun to make you a villain, to draw Daeron on his side.

“I’m sure all will be well,” Luke assured you, patting your hand consolingly. You only nodded, even though you were making up the worst scenarios in your head. Luke gave you a small smile, turning his hand when a yawn overtook him; Arrax had long curled up, his snores filling the cave.

“You should get some rest,” you told him, glancing over to the entrance of the cave where it was still pouring rain. “It might be a while before the rain ceases. I will wake you, when it is safe to leave.”

Luke semed hesitant, but then gave in, settling back against the wall, closing his eyes. As he slept, you noticed how he looked even younger, too young to be thrust into a war like this. Was this the fate that would meet Daeron, Helaena or even Joffrey? The thought unsettled you.

Time passed for a while, and it seemed like the clouds would never pass, but surely enough, the rain lessened, before stopping completely.

Gently, you shook Luke awake, feeling bad for waking him, but you knew he’d want to go home as soon as possible.

“Luke, the rain has stopped,” you told him, waiting for him to blink at you sleepily before you got to your feet, collecting your cloaks off of the ground. You handed Luke his cloak, fastening your own around your shoulders.

“It should be safe now. Aemond must be long gone.”

Luke nodded, glancing at Arrax and then back at you, hesitating, and you knew what he was thinking. You had been thinking it ever since you got to the cave.

“It is alright, Luke. Arrax is too small to carry us both all the way to Dragonstone. Go.”

You tried to be brave, giving Luke a smile but your voice was shaking, whether it was from fear or cold, you weren’t sure. You were a high born lady, you were in no way capable of fending for yourself. Luke leaving you here would mean a certain death, but he didn’t need to know that. Luke looked at you with big eyes, saying nothing before he walked over to Arrax, whispering to him as he stroked his dragon’s neck gently.

You let out a small breath, taking another look around the cave, resigning yourself to your fate when Luke called your name.

“Come, we need to leave before the weather turns again.”

“Luke, no,” you argued but Luke shook his head.

“You saved me. I am not leaving you behind. I would never forgive myself, and neither would Jace,” Luke said, and you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Arrax can carry us both, it is not much longer until Dragonstone.”

You ducked your head, a smile on your lips. Rhaenyra really raised amazing children.

“Very well.”

The two of you squeezed into the saddle on top of Arrax, who let out a small huff as he walked to the entrance of the cave.

“Mēre mōrī kipagon gō īlon issi lenton, issa valonquar,” Luke said to Arrax, gently caressing his neck. “Soves.” One more flight until we’re home, my boy.

Arrax leapt into the air, letting out a screech before stretching his wings, making his way home. As you flew through the skies, your eyes darted around constantly, looking for any sign of Vhagar, but it seemed like the coast was clear. Soon enough, you could see the outline of Dragonstone, and just in time; as you had noticed Arrax growing tired the more you lost on altitude.

“Īlon issi bē konīr, Arrax. Sepār mirrī tolī.” We are almost there, Arrax. Just a bit more.

Luke’s voice was gentle as he spoke to Arrax, despite his nerves. You nearly sighed in relief when Arrax flew towards the small opening to the dragon mount, and you thanked all the Gods when both you and Luke climbed off of Arrax onto solid ground again.

“Prince Lucerys!”

A knight came hurrying into the dragon pit, his eyes flickering to you before turning his attention back to Luke.

“Her Grace has been awaiting your arrival.”

Luke nodded, watching Arrax climb into the depths of the cave to get some much needed rest before he turned to the knight. “Take us to my mother.”

The knight bowed, leading you and Luke into the Keep, stopping in the doorway. Rhaenyra was pacing in front of the fire, her face worried. You hadn’t seen her for so long, but she looked almost exactly the same.

“Prince Lucerys, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra ceased her pacing, looking up and the relief was obvious on her face as she ran toward her son.

“Luke!”

“Mother!”

Rhaenyra threw her arms around her son, embracing him tightly and your breath stocked in your throat as you stayed back. You couldn’t believe how everything could have played out so differently if you had not intervened.

Rhaenyra pulled away, cupping Lucerys’ face with her hands.

“What happened?”

“Aemond and Vhagar were already at Storm’s End when I arrived. Lord Borros refused to stand by his oath… When I left Aemond followed me on Vhagar; if she hadn’t intervened…”

Lucerys paused and Rhaenyra glanced over to you; you, who had stayed behind to give them privacy.

You bowed your head, mostly out of respect but also because you had no idea what to do.

“You’re Helaena’s lady in waiting,” Rhaenyra said.

“I was. I have spent my last eight name days in Oldtown with Daeron.”

Rhaenyra gave you a small, grateful smile, but before either of you could continue your talks, shouts interrupted you.

“Mother! Luke!”

You turned around just to see Jace storming into the hall, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Your heart stopped in your chest as you saw him again for the first time in so many years, relief washing over his face as he saw his brother stand with his mother unharmed. Then his eyes laid on you, and you gave him a shy smile. Jace only blinked at you, eyeing you from head to toe before his eyes widened; and for a second, you thought he’d be happy to see you. Instead, his forehead creased and his mouth curled downwards.

“What are you doing here?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: omg the drama...what are we thinking??

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace x reader #jacaerys x reader #jace x you #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon #hotd

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almostfoxglove · 12 days

Text

BLOCK PARTY

written for @auteurdelabre's TROPE OFF! challenge & a special thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with this idea - ilysm!

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 4.6k | TROPE: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, so much soft!joel, a tiny bit of protective!joel as a treat.

SUMMARY: After your ex moves into the neighborhood, Joel offers to pose as your boyfriend at the annual block party. It shouldn't be hard to pretend for a night, since he's hopelessly into you.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Joel remembers the day you moved into the house on the corner perfectly—that orange craftsman with the cute triangle yard and a pergola on which the last owners let their wisteria die, left empty for nearly half a year. He’d just gotten home from a job, sweat-stained and spent, desperate for a shower when he’d heard the hum of an unfamiliar car. He’s not curious by nature, keeps happily to himself, but that day he found himself spying out through the picket of window between his curtains, wondering who it might be.

Thank god he did.

Thank god, too, that no one else bought that house. Has a little wrap around porch, a red door. Whole block wanted it—hell, Joel even heard the couple left of him consider it one evening. We could sell, one had said, hushed and conspiratorial, then buy that one.

But they didn’t, and a few weeks later you and your beat-up hatchback rolled up into the driveway, gifting Joel one measly glimpse of the back of your head as you rushed inside. No sight of you the next day; you kept the curtains drawn. But two evenings later a moving truck squealed up the quiet street and Joel, well. Joel happened to be near the windows when the truck happened to stop outside your orange house and happened to catch a look at you slogging down from the porch to roll up the back of the van with a distant grunt, unveiling your boxes and towered belongings.

He was pretty much a goner right then, right there.

Because you looked miserable, an Atlas lugging the world on your shoulders. Dark shadows clinging to the hollows of your cheeks. Your hair pulled back and greasy, your t-shirt a size too big, puddled at the hem with a stain. And maybe he’s getting soft or was from the start, because against his better judgment and the complaints of all his tired joints, Joel jogged out of his house and right on up to you. Offered to help you carry it all inside.

Took an hour to trek the boxes in, twenty minutes to tetris the couch, and another thirty for the rest of the furniture. One lampshade broke, for which Joel will never forgive himself but you swore it was fine, insisting it wasn’t one you liked, that it belonged to an ex.

The whole evening sped by and bruised blue, and Joel’s stomach sank just a little when it was done. Though his body howled and ached, he wouldn’t have minded if it’d taken eight more hours to haul all that shit into your house. Might’ve offered to help you unpack if that wouldn’t have been a creepy thing to do. But you shook his hand in thanks, gave him your name and a stiff smile, promising him dinner, or muffins, or whatever the fuck neighbors do as you walked him to the door with the urgency of a vampire who has only a few minutes left to black out all the windows and doors before sunrise. Hurrying him out, wanting to be alone.

When his own front door was latched, the house dead in its quiet, Joel swore to himself that once you got settled, he’d find some way to tell you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that the caw of laughter you let out when he’d dropped the foot of your couch on his ankle was the best fucking sound even if it did bruise purple and green, that all the furniture you own is somehow perfect and warm and exactly what he’d never think to buy but would love to come home to, and that just shaking your hand made him feel like a kid again. That he’d pretty much do anything to be the one who puts a smile on your face.

But you’ve lived across the street three years now and he’s never told you.

Can’t now. It’s too late. You’re friends.

And anyway, these days you smile plenty on your own; you don’t need him. Took the better part of a year, but you perked up. Transformed that triangle yard into an Eden, built trellises for sweet peas and tomato vines. Every year, bushels of strawberry plants bloom in summer and rows of squash unfurl in autumn. Stalks of bulb plants flower every month right on cue. Your birdfeeders never vacant, the little wooden house driven into the yard on a stake dizzy with mason bees in spring.

Three years after you moved in, no one would ever believe Joel if he told them how you’d looked that first day. Her? Can’t picture that girl sad. Her? The one who’s always smiling? You’re messing with me.

Now, both of you swaying on his porch swing—looking out into the rutted wasteland of backyard he swears one day he’ll landscape—Joel watches that old shadow cross your face as you lift your lemonade to your chewed-up lips. He can see it. The light in your eyes swishing dark like you’ve drawn the curtains. For three years he’s watched you build yourself up, coax yourself into the sunshine, only to have it extinguished by your ex—an ex who’s moved in just five houses down.

It might kill him to see you like this again.

Joel might kill the bastard just to prevent you any more harm. Burn that goddamn house to the ground. He’s glad that he broke that lamp when you moved in. Not that he says.

“C’mere,” he says, stretching out one arm, and without hesitating—without even turning your head to look at him—you sink against his side, cheek squished to his chest. A torture and miracle, the gift of your touch. How you have, over the years, decided to trust him.

“Of all the fucking neighborhoods to—” you start to say, but your voice cracks, betrays you, and there’s a jagged edge to your next breath that makes Joel’s whole body yank with pain. “Of all the fucking neighborhoods for him to choose.”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Praying he doesn’t imagine the way your body deflates at his touch.

“Block party’s gonna suck,” you sigh, and if he closes his eyes Joel can almost imagine that this is something that it’s not. That if he wanted to, he could kiss you right now, touch you properly. Pet and lick and fuck every thought and worry right out of your head. That your heart’s racing even half the speed his is right now.

You must hear it, he thinks—with the shell of your ear resting so near that traitorous organ—but if you do you don’t say a word.

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t gotta go alone,” he says.

This stiffens your shoulders, holds your breath. You peel yourself from his side and evening sun paints your face orange as a clementine, gilds your eyes with tendrils of gold. Your brows pinch together so sweetly, curving down above your nose as a laugh rises to your lips. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Joel says, and takes his arm off you to sit up straighter, rocking the swing. “Could go together.”

He’s not sure why you look so surprised. You’re friends. You go places together. Lunch, the movies, to the grocery store. Shit, you drove him home loopy from the dentist after they cracked out his wisdom teeth. Took photos of him after you waddled him into his house, drugged up and chipmunk-cheeked. Relished showing him every snapshot for weeks afterward, giggling and pinching his face until he blushed.

Going to the annual block party together seems a hell of a lot more neighborly than that.

“What,” you say, still smiling at him like he’s crazy. “And you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?”

It’s possible Joel’s heart stops. All his thoughts certainly do. All sound, reasonable logic floats away until all that matters in the world is your face, your gob-smacked smile. The dissonance of what he was offering and what you heard.

“If you want,” Joel hears himself say.

And that’s that. He digs his own grave.

If anyone was around to see Joel’s face when he first lays eyes on the guy, they’d probably assume you used to date the devil himself. Jaw grinding, arms crossed tightly over his chest, every nerve flayed and hair on end—doesn’t seem to matter how much you assured him that your ex isn’t a bad person, Joel hates the guy. If he were a younger man, as reckless as he’d once been, he’d knock the guy on his ass for daring to step foot in the neighborhood, let alone buy up a place.

You’re with Joel in your front yard showing off the mason bees that dart in and out of their paper tubes when something flickers in the corner of Joel’s eye—a man running on the sidewalk, earbuds in, sweat pooled in a V on the front of his t-shirt. He does a double take at the sight of you.

Joel squares his shoulders.

The guy comes to a jogging halt, pops an earbud out as he calls your name, and Joel’s heart might rip clean out of his chest when your face falls at the sound of his voice, all the pride in your smile snuffed in the blink of an eye. You turn so slowly. Wave a little sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Do you—” the guy starts to ask, his bright eyes flickering between you and your orange house.

You nod. “Three years now.”

His eyes damn near pop out of his skull—this, at least, is one small comfort. He had no idea you lived here. He’s not following you or nothing. As you rub the back of your neck, suddenly quiet, Joel hears your voice in his head saying, You’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?

Guess that starts now if you wanna sell it. At least that’s what Joel tells himself as he takes a small step closer and settles his hand on the small of your back over your t-shirt. Swears he can feel your every tiny twitch beneath his palm, every degree of your body heat. There’s just one second of lag before you inch closer, too, making a shrew of his nervous heart. Blood races in his veins; his stomach turns to molten gold.

A twitch snags in your ex’s cheek and Joel’s lips tighten, fighting back the smug urge to smile. Tucked against his side, you look up at Joel and he can’t help feeling like next to you is exactly where he belongs. Perfect, you smile before drawing your eyes away, and slip your arm around his waist.

“Sorry,” you say, grinning in a way Joel’s not seen you manage since this jackass showed up. “This is Joel. My— uh—boyfriend.”

Maybe heaven is one beautiful lie.

Joel must be a greedy man, because he slips his hand up your spine to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s either the best or worst feeling in the world, the way you don’t resist for a second. The way you melt against him, your hand gripping at the hem of his t-shirt over his hip.

“Right,” says your ex, still doe-eyed when he meets Joel’s blackened stare. “Clark. S’nice to meet you, man.”

Joel hmphs , gives him fuck all but a stiff nod, and for just one second you turn your face into his chest like you’re trying to smother a laugh. Pride has never filled him quite as quickly as it does now, knowing he’s the cause. That he’s put that smile on you, making you bite your bottom lip. He’s the one who’s made this gentler on your heart.

When Clark takes off again, you and Joel wait until he disappears around the corner to withdraw your arms, then you break into stomach-y laughter, smothering your face in your hands. “Oh god,” you wheeze, your whole face split by joy. “His face. That was—shit, that was incredible. That felt so good.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Joel looks out into the empty street to hide his blush, focusing on the golden light of August’s showboating. It’s a perfect evening, oak trees gossiping in the balmy breeze. It’s small, sure, but knowing he’s made you feel so good sets him on fire, fries his brain. He wants to make you say so good, so good, so good, in every possible way.

You snort, you’re laughing so hard.

“Happy to be of service,” he mumbles.

“Jesus,” you go on, and he turns to find you’re wiping your thumbs under your eyes. “That felt so much better than I thought it would. I think you might be a genius.”

Sure, genius. That’s the word for it.

On the day of the block party, you ask Joel to creep across the street at the break of dawn, insisting that people could be setting up, and, wouldn’t it look weird if we didn’t come out of the same house? We have to look like we’re sleeping together, dumbass. He only managed to restrain himself from suggesting that he just sleepover by the skin of his teeth, so tempted by the thought of being close to you at night—even isolated on your couch, so many doors away from your dreams.

But he’ll take the morning. He does. As early light sets the asphalt ablaze, Joel slinks across the road to your house, finds your front door unlocked, and lets himself in. Inside is cold like winter, the air-con cranked, and you’re on the couch in a sweater that’s cuffed at your wrists, coffee smoking in your hand, your legs folded up beneath you, bare.

“Morning,” you say, when you see him, a kind smile on your lips.

Joel shuts the red door behind him, clears his throat. “Mornin’,” he says.

There are hours until the block party begins, so you and Joel kill the morning on your couch watching shitty TV and drinking enough coffee that Joel’s hands begin to shake—though maybe that’s just the cold, the air frigid in a way that transcends summer. Maybe it’s just you. You, transforming leftovers from your fridge into a breakfast hash, rich with cilantro from the plant on your windowsill. You, knocking your knuckles against his arm whenever you laugh at something stupid he’s managed to say or a joke on screen. You, handing him his refilled mug or breakfast bowl or taking them back to wash up, brushing your fingertips against his hand. Every time.

It’s a jolt to his whole system, this small meeting of your skin.

Soon the television is challenged by the din of your neighbors setting up tables and booths and games for the kids—at which you straighten on the couch, craning to peek through one of your picture-frame windows. A sigh blooms from your lips, then you set down your mug.

“Should put clothes on,” you tell him as you rise, legs unfolding. You look so soft. Joel knows you would be. “Gimme a second.”

Then you’re gone, and his head falls down against the back of your couch, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. It feels like you’re only gone for a second before your footsteps pinch down the stairs once more. “Headache?” he hears you ask, catching him with his hands still over his eyes. “Did I give you too much coffee?”

You’re teasing. Joel can hear your smirk as his hands slip back down to his lap, craning over the back of the couch to look up at you, and the world crumbles below him and falls away. Brows folded low over your eyes, you slide your hands down your front to soothe wrinkles from the skirt of your red sundress that only you can see. Slack-jawed, Joel finally manages to sit up, then twists to look back at you properly—perfect, that’s what you are. Every temptation and every vice and every poison he’d willingly drink.

“The dress is too much, isn’t it?” you say, sounding worried now.

He shakes his head, fights not to reach over this goddamn couch and pull you onto his lap. The thought alone makes his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans. You’re close enough that he could. You’re right there.

“S’perfect,” Joel croaks.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod before moving toward the door for your shoes. With his last remaining sense, Joel turns his head just before you bend down to reach for a pair of sandals. This was a terrible idea. He sees that now. A huge fucking mistake.

But it’s too late to back out now, because you’re already calling him over, sliding your hand into his as you step out onto the porch like this is normal, like you’ve done this before, like you don’t mind his sweaty palm. Outside the street is a racket, a flurry of children chasing each other between driveways and neighbors cracking the caps off beer bottles, a painted banner strung over the road between two maples:

B L O C K P A R T Y !

He hears you make a quiet hmph sound of amusement as you draw toward the crowd.

Joel waits, but to his surprise, no one asks why you’re here together, why you’re holding hands. Sorta figured you’d have to do the awkward uh, yes, it’s very… new for everyone, but nobody asks. In fact, when you vanish momentarily from his side to get drinks—the ruffle of your dress flirting with the tops of your thighs—someone tuts sweetly to Joel, “I knew it.”

Then you’re back before he can blush, two bottles sweating in your hands, and the neighbor vanishes the second you pass one to him. Your forehead has pinched up with nerves. Must mean you’ve seen him, Clark or whatever, and Joel’s a man of his word—you’ve asked him to do a job—so he glides one hand around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. Mumbles softly, “I’ve got ya,” against your skin as he breathes you in. There’s something sweet in your perfume, he thinks. Lilac or honey.

As if on cue, a soccer ball zips beneath the banner and a moment later it lifts as someone chases after it. Clark, obviously, looks up, sees you in the nook of Joel’s arm, and tucks the runaway ball under one arm without a word, then takes off in the direction he came from without so much as a nod.

Joel feels your chin jut into his chest as you squeeze him, smiling. “This is gonna be fun,” you grin.

Joel takes a deep breath to keep himself from hoping. That glint in your eye—one part mischief and another affection—ain’t good for him, but he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that instinct to return your smile. “Careful, darlin’,” he mumbles, and as he brushes his thumb across your cheek you lean into his hand. “Face might stick like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “What, you don’t like it like this?”

Though he only hmphs, Joel suspects you know that he does, in fact, like you very much like this: smiling up at him like he’s painted the sky with stars just by standing at your side.

How quickly the day passes with you beside him. For every year he’s lived in the neighborhood Joel has too attended the block party, but like most obligatory functions, he finds himself worn down quickly, always the first to leave, retreating into the quiet of his house when he’s reached the end of his meager tolerance. When he’s had too many conversations and seen too many faces too close together and he’s desperate for quiet, for sleep.

It’s different with you. You buffer so much of the polite conversations he’s never been good at having with grace and ease, always drawing the focus away from him just as he starts to feel it’s too much, like you can tell when Joel’s at the end of his rope. Sure, he’s still gotta stand there while you chat to whoever about mixed up mail or work or garden soil, but so long as they’re looking at you, that swell of too much never comes. He can just stand there, sipping his beer or lemonade, and focus on the swipe of your thumb across his knuckles as you hold his hand. The heat of your body when you lean into him.

By sundown, Joel forgets that it’s all pretend. He forgets this is nothing but a favor between friends.

Now the food has dwindled, that summer smell of hotdogs dissolving from the air, and all the lawn chairs once relegated to each person’s lawn shuffle into the black street as cicadas form their nightly orchestra. You don’t have any lawn chairs, but Joel’s got two. Always has—he doesn’t know why. Only ever just him at these things.

Maybe he was hopeful, back when he bought them.

It’s hard not to feel—as he drags both out to sit at the back of the crowd—like he was waiting for you. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“So prepared,” you tease him, as you settle into your seats.

“Keep it up,” he replies, his eyebrows warning in their slow rise. “I’ll take that chair you’re sittin’ on.”

You scrunch your nose. “No you won’t,” you say.

Obviously he won’t. But you don’t have to be so cute about it.

Then a sudden chorus of children shrieks, announcing the first firework. There’s a hissing, then a dart in the darkness, and a small spark of golden light cracks open overhead. A smattering of applause simmers, punctuated by oohs and awws, and all the kids giggle every time a sparkler booms. Beside him, the glitter of each explosion forms a galaxy in your eyes, your lips parted with wonder. The prettiest thing Joel’s ever seen, just like that first day. After a while you notice that Joel’s not watching the show, and turn slowly to look at him, your expression open and tender.

“Missing the show,” you say.

He shrugs. “I’ll see ‘em next year.”

When you smile, he wants to kiss you so badly his heart might actually stop, strangled by its longing.

But your head whips back at the thunder of a vibrant firework—a dandelion of neon blue and searing white—and the moment passes. Then Joel watches your smile falter as your eyes fall into the crowd; Clark, sitting up near the front of the pack, is looking back at you over his shoulder. Trying to be subtle and doing a shitty job; head snapping away the moment he sees Joel’s glare.

“Ignore him,” Joel says, and reaches down to wrap a hand around one leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him. You let out a giddy yelp of surprise and draw your ex’s attention again.

This time you don’t flinch or falter. One glance at the guy and you’re reaching for Joel, fist gripping the collar of his t-shirt to tug him toward you. He’s got no chance to think, to panic; it happens too fast. Your sweet mouth closes over his—not for a peck, but a real kiss. Lips parting to taste his bottom lip, a breathy sigh passed from your tongue to his. Joel’s lost all at once, no use resisting. His hand curls gently over your wrist to keep your grip on him as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth.

The fireworks fall away.

You taste like lemonade and hops and the raspberry cobbler someone cooked up, and there’s not a cell in Joel’s body that doesn’t swoon at the way your lips chase and melt into his, humming softly against his mouth when he cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand. How you tug gently at his bottom lip before you draw away, forcing his hand to slink from your hair.

Clark’s staring. Your lips proud and grinning. Plush and kiss-bitten. Looking every bit as calm as Joel feels walloped. You hm smugly to yourself and drop your head on his shoulder, attention once more captured by the crackle of fireworks Joel forgot were happening, and even though he’s a fool for agreeing to something he knew would rip him up, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you’ve kissed him like that. Not when you’re lying against him still, even though Clark has turned away.

The whole rest of the show passes in a dizzy haze. A blur of shattering light, and the heady weight of you leaning against him. Near the end you slip one hand over his knee. Your ex isn’t watching, doesn’t see the way your thumb glides slowly across the denim of Joel’s jeans, intoxicating.

It feels, or else he hopes, that it’s just for him.

The night is black by the time he walks you home, all your neighbors disappearing into their darkened houses, his lawn chairs stowed safely on his porch, and even though everyone’s gone when you reach your porch you still don’t let go of his hand until you’re at the door and you have to get out your keys.

Your lock surrenders with a metal crack and you let your red door swing open. Inside your furniture beckons from the shadowed living room, cozy and soft. But you hesitate in the doorway, looking up at him. Joel has to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from pulling you against him properly, and pinning you to the wall.

You scrunch your nose at him again. “Thank you,” you say, and your bottom lip pinches between your teeth as Joel’s gaze falls to your mouth. “Was actually pretty fun, in the end.”

Joel nods, drops his eyes shyly to his shoes. “I had fun too,” he manages to say.

Your sandal nudges the toe of his boot as he stares at his shoes. “Y’alright?”

No, he’s not alright. He knows what it’s like to kiss you now—how the hell’s he supposed to go on living with that, and not ever have it again. “Mhm,” Joel lies, head snapping up to meet your gaze. He mistakes the look in your eyes for discomfort, thinks he must be keeping you from your night, from sleep. That after you were so sweet to him all day, he’s got the nerve to bother you. His heart winces as he forces himself to take a small step back. “Sorry. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

“Oh,” you say, face falling a little. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

There’s no way the pathetic flinch of his lips looks anything like a smile as he mumbles a sorry g’night.

Then your face shrinks slowly in the closing gap of the door, a darkened look haunting your face that Joel swears—in the split second he sees it—almost looks like disappointment. Like you don’t want him to go.

When he licks his lips, Joel remembers the plush of your lips, the soft hum you’d made when he licked into your mouth, how you’d leaned into his hand when he cradled your head. How your ex could never have seen or heard any of that sitting so far away.

Maybe you just wanted to. God, he hopes you wanted to.

So before he can talk himself out of it, Joel’s hand jumps out and smacks flat against your door, holding it ajar. Through the slender gap he watches a grin bolt across your face as you sigh thank god and grab hold of his shirt, hauling him through the doorway to crash your lips against his.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed

@burntheedges @jolapeno @la-eterna-enamorada29 @iknowisoundcrazy @guiltyasdave

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @helenanell

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours

@noisynightmarepoetry @kyberblade @beezusvreeland @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack

@pedrospatch @yopossum @toomanytookas @sawymredfox @galway-girlatwork

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel tlou #almostfoxglove #tropeoff2024 #myfics #fic: blockparty #one shot #tlou fanfic

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luveline · 4 months

Note

could I please request a remus x reader that isn’t used to affection and cries at being called a pet name <3

—Remus calls you lovely, so you cry in his back garden. fem

You hold your hands out to the fire pit, relieved when heat kisses your palms and warms your arms to the elbow. Summer nights are supposed to be warm. Not in Wales.

The decking under you bends and groans as multiple pairs of feet cross it. Someone steps off by your legs and moves further into the garden. Solar lights warm the space and a battery powered lantern lights the patio table where Sirius hosts a championship of Speed.

A pair of shoes stop by your legs. They step down and a body sits next to you tightly, thigh to thigh, no want for space. “Hey,” Remus says. “Are you cold?”

“Not really.”

“Did you bring a jumper?”

“I’m not cold,” you laugh. “Of course I did, though, it’s upstairs.”

Staying with Remus and his friends has been fun so far. The idea of spending a few weeks of your summer between your second and last year of University at Remus’ house had felt daunting when they suggested it, but you’ve had nothing but fun so far. It’s nice to have friends. Nicer to have patient and gentle ones.

“You can have my jacket? Wear it over your shoulders like a cape.”

“No, thank you. Really.”

Remus takes your arm. Gives it a quick rub with his thumb until his hand moves down to yours. He feels your fingers, his palm soft, before he returns to his personal space. “You don’t feel too cold. I’ll ask James to put another log on in a bit.”

“All the food is keeping me warm.”

He grins. Brown eyes, brown hair, lashes of firelight on his cheek. “Are you having a good time?”

“Of course I am.”

“Yeah? Will you tell me if you’re not? I know it’s weird staying somewhere else. Even if it’s just that the bathroom makes you miserable or you need extra socks.”

“It’s like I’m on holiday with all my best friends,” you say lightly.

“You are on holiday with your best friends. I’m not, ‘cos it’s my house, but this is the definition of a holiday.”

“Thank you, for inviting me.”

Remus puts his arm around your shoulder, and he kisses your temple with a gentle smile. “I wanted you here, lovely. We all want you here.”

His arm falls away. It’s just amicable affection, you know that, but it’s more than anyone’s given you in a long time. You’re surprised he’d want to; you must feel a deep, deep tenderness for someone to call them lovely like it’s their only name, and to kiss their forehead with a smile already in place.

You pull the inside of your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s precious, to be wanted. To have someone as special as Remus show you what you mean to him plainly. You’ve had a great day filled with nice food and good friends, and now you’re warming your knees by the flickering fire pit in the Welsh countryside, stars emerging above you, the moon a pinky nail by the mountains.

You tip your face into your hands.

Remus brings a hand to your back and draws a shape without comment, but his hand flattens, and he feels it loud and clear when you sniffle. “Dove?” he asks softly.

You raise your head quickly, sniffling again as you wipe hot tears off of the hills of your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Did I upset you?” he asks, sitting up straight. “I’m so sorry, what did I say?”

“No, no, it’s nice. It’s nice, you’re always so nice to me.”

“You’re upset because I’m nice?”

“I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

“Not used to it,” he says, frowning. His brows set. He’s nearly stony.

“You’re the nicest friend I’ve ever had.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

You nod, shivering as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, no room left between you. His cheek smushes into the side of your brow, a heat like the fire warming you, the two of you listening to the sound of wood embers popping.

He makes a sound somewhere in his chest and pulls you closer again. Impossibly, he shifts, and his second arm comes around to turn his side hug into a proper one, as though he’s changed his mind about it just a few seconds in. You turn into him without apprehension.

“You’re not used to it. Do you like it?” he murmurs.

You press your face to his jaw and neck. Your arms act of their own accord, tightening behind his back.

“You should be used to it, someone like you. You should be so used to it that it bounces straight back off you again.” He rubs your shoulder. His fingers work into a tight muscle gently. “You lied about being cold, I can feel it now. Your back is freezing.”

You raise up off of the decking to hug him harder. He’s all for it.

“We’ll teach you exactly how to be part of the world’s touchiest friend group,” he promises. “You're already a good hugger.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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julesinsummer · 5 months

Text

Unbelieveable! (Theodore Nott x Reader)

theo nott x fem!reader | drabble | fluff

... in which theo is distraught by the news you've given him

"you are unbelievable!"

"theo, my love, it's really not-"

"you are an evil, wretched witch!"

y/n sighed heavily and dropped the book she'd been trying to read so desperately. "honey. it's not that big of a deal."

theo shook his head and grimaced at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he gazed down upon her. "it is. it's a big deal to me and that means it's a big deal."

"just because i said i couldn't go to italy with you all summer doesn't mean i'm evil or wretched," y/n drawled, crossing one leg over the other. theo had been pouting for the last ten minutes, all due to the fact she'd informed him that his grand plan to spend all of summer break in italy with her had been immediately shot down by her parents.

theo dropped his body weight on the couch beside her, groaning as he laid his head on her shoulder dramatically. "yes it does," he mumbled, "you hate me."

y/n laughed, running a hand through his hair. "they were never going to say yes to that, babe," she informed him, watching as he seemed to curl up to her side. oh, how clingy he could be. "they said i could stay a week at a time, no more and no less."

"that's like not seeing you at all!" theo shouted out, latching his arms around y/n's waist.

"it's definitely not," she corrected, shifting around until she found a comfortable position for the both of them. "my grandparents are staying the summer with us and would absolutely disown me if they knew i was spending the entire summer with my boyfriend and not my family."

theo grunted in what seemed to be annoyance or disapproval. "they suck, then."

"they do," y/n agreed, twirling his hair between her fingers. "but they're rich and spoil me, so i must submit to their whims."

"i'm rich and i spoil you," he added miserably, "and i'm way hotter than your grandparents."

y/n recoiled a bit, snickering at theo's antics. "don't use my grandparents and hot in the same sentence," she retched internally, "and i'll do my best to come as often as i can. besides, after next year we can just move in together."

theo perked up at that, the prospect of never having a second away from y/n delighting him. "you're never allowed to leave the house. you have to stay with me all the time."

"not happening," y/n deadpanned.

"worth a shot," theo chuckled, tightening his hold on y/n's body. "can we go to bed so i can actually hold you and not get a fucking neck cramp?"

y/n laughed and nodded, moving to get up from her position on the couch, waving her wand at her book to transport it to her own bookshelf. theo followed her as she took steps away from the common room.

"i can't believe you'd still want to sleep in the same room as an evil and wretched witch like me," she joked as she opened the door to her dorm room.

theo pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "as evil and wretched as you are, you're mine and i'll always want to be with you."

y/n smiled up at him, meeting his eyes. "unbelievable."

"mine."

#theo nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #drabble #theo nott drabble #lorenzo zurzolo could get it #theodore nott

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palajae · 6 months

Text

my name. | nishimura riki

PAIRING ▸ nishimura riki! x reader

GENRE ▸ detective! au, fantasy! au, high school! au, s2ls, romance, fluff, angst, humor, SLOW BURN

WC ▸ 15.6k

SUMMARY ▸ you supposedly get transported to a different world, where you encounter niki. apparently, you already existed here. note: past tense. so now you’re stuck in an alternate universe and technically, you’re supposed to be dead.

AKA after facing the truth, you come to the realization that someone was definitely trying to kill you.

AN/NOTES ▸ mentions of death!!!, a murder mystery/whodunit, profanity, mentions of suicide, depictions of murder, a few curse words, violence, blood, dead bodies, some gorey stuff, kissing, nothing too harsh, excuse any typos/misspellings...

wow... i can't believe it but it is finally out... it's been a long time coming lol. with losing several family members and hospital visits over the past year, i wasn't sure if this was ever going to get released. thank you all for your endless (fr) patience and support. happy reading ❤️

a faceless figure stretches out a hand towards you.

you squint but for some reason, you still can’t make them out. the longer you stare, the more you realize it was a person—a blurry vision of a faceless boy. considering the matching uniform to yours, he must’ve gone to your school …was he your classmate?

you frown. you’ve never seen anyone like him in class before. you stretch out your arm, fingertips barely grazing his-

the sound of the school bell ringing causes your eyelids to fly open. you groan, yawning and getting up from your seat by the window by default.

it wasn’t a nice nap—just one that left you feeling groggy, unsettled, and strangely incomplete.

you pack up your stuff quietly and leave the classroom alone, not bothering to look for your friends. as you walk down the stairs, you hear your classmates chattering about the weather.you glance outside.

it was a dreary, unwelcoming kind of rain—part of the reason why you fell asleep earlier in class—and you suddenly feel the urge to get home. as soon as possible.

you weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t just raining. it started to pour, especially hard, on this spring day. you want to think that was what made your mood all miserable and forlorn.

not to forget the fact that you didn’t have an umbrella, leaving you no other choice but to throw your hood on and tighten the strings of your hoodie over your school uniform. not exactly the most stylish look, yet it was comfortable enough for you.

you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion, but you felt out of place, like for some weird reason… you didn’t belong here. like you belonged out of this circle, away from this life and world.

that feeling always came up when it started to rain, and you always tried your best to suppress it. but it was particularly strong today.

you shrugged it off though. those “phases” weren’t uncommon, right?

though you made it halfway out the school grounds by yourself, hyein and hanni catch up to you as you walk. you give them a half-hearted smile, “hey.”

it doesn’t take much for them to notice your off behavior. hyein eyes you.

“you okay, y/n?”

you debate internally, reminding yourself that they’re your friends. you can trust them, rely on them. you’re allowed to do that. even more so, aren’t you supposed to do that?

but the words that come out of your mouth suggest otherwise. you shrug, “it’s nothing. it’s just been a weird day, you know?”

they share a glance before turning back to you, sympathetic smiles on their faces. hanni pats you on the shoulder, “yeah, we get it. you should get some rest at home, y/n. we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“be careful on the way back! the rain doesn’t look like it’s stopping soon.” she calls out before they continue, leaving you behind—still as soaked as ever.

you wave before sighing, gripping the straps of your backpack tighter and making your way towards the train station. the sound of the rain almost makes you fall into a daze as you go about your way. all your school stuff and clothes were definitely getting soaked, which probably meant an oncoming cold, but you could’ve cared less.

the only thing that mattered was going home and sleeping off this weird feeling, so it could become tomorrow and you didn’t have to be in this situation anymore.

the train station is strangely busy, you figure the downpour was making everyone go home sooner. you bypass several people, almost getting your soaked and stained shoes stepped on several times. all while muttering quiet “excuse me’s” to practically everyone and anyone who cared to listen.

after what seemed like ages, you manage to make it to your train. although, the large crowd surrounding the entrance effectively prevents you from getting anywhere.

you mutter a curse, trying to navigate through the waves of people. you just barely get on before the doors begin closing. letting out a huff in relief, you lean back against the door and slowing yourself a moment to close your eyes in peace. all the seats were obviously taken at that point, so you had no choice but to stand. that’s fine—you end up drifting off anyway.

you don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep. or why you feel even more exhausted when you wake up. but the robotic voice announcing your arrival makes your eyes automatically flutter open. you feel your body getting pushed and shoved around as everyone tries to get out all at once.

so you grit your teeth and tug down your hood further until you can finally get out. you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings, too focused on not getting knocked to the ground. when you finally stumble out of the crowd onto the station platform, you try to collect yourself while shaking your head. then you frown,

wait a second-

something solid knocks into you from the side, a rough oof! escaping out of their--mouth?

you’re knocked onto the ground, bottom first. pain shoots into your palms that tried (and failed) to catch your fall—and obviously, your butt as well.

you groan, eyes flashing in annoyance at your unknown assailant. looking up, you stop at the sight of the… boy in front of you.

you really have no idea why, but a question immediately pops into your head—

have you met before?

you don’t voice it, but it lingers in the back of your mind. the boy—as far as you can tell, he looks around your age— simply stares at you. he’s in a strikingly similar uniform.

a flicker of recognition passes in his eyes before you watch his expression grow flabbergasted. he continues to stare at you for a solid minute, while you only stare back in confusion, still on the floor.

“it’s rude to stare, you know.” you finally state with a furrowed brow as you quickly gathering your bearings.

his only response is a blink.

it's like the two of you are frozen in time, everyone else getting drowned out in the moment.

you frown, narrowing your eyes at him. “hello? did you hear me?” you repeat yourself and this time he snaps out of it.

“y-you’re not supposed to be here.” he gets out shakily, looking around while his hand runs through his dark locks in distress. you cross your arms, “what do you mean? this is my stop…”

you falter when you remember what you saw earlier. when you got off the train, you took a quick glance at the signs and posts. yeah, this definitely wasn’t your stop.

that wouldn’t have been a huge issue- if it wasn’t for the fact that you never missed your station, no matter the circumstances.

“no!” he exclaims and you flinch at the outburst. the boy glances at you again, and this time you involuntarily shiver at the unreadable look in his eyes.

“you’re…. you’re supposed to be dead.”

your mouth drops open.

“what a great first thing to say to someone you just bowled over. not even a sorry..” you mutter off, suddenly finding the strength to get up and wipe your hands.

the boy takes a step back away from you. curiously, you take one forward, towards him. he gestures a hand at you almost aggressively.

“you’re dead. you died. i swear-“

you hold out your hands in half desperation and half exasperation, “i dunno if this is some dumb prank or something i missed, but i hate to break it to you. i’m not dead. i’m literally right here in front of you. i think i would know if i died or not. i’m-”

again, that feeling of being out of place washes over you. this time it steals your breath away.

the strange boy shakes his head. “there’s no way. i know exactly who you look like.”

his next words make your blood run cold.

“you’re exactly like y/n y/l/n—who died a week ago.” he looks you up and down again, hands curling into fists.

“who are you? and why do you look just-?”

“because that’s who i am? my name is y/n! now, if you would excuse me.”

you hold up a hand, you didn’t have the time or patience to deal with weirdos on the street. it did struck a little odd that he knew your name, but then again he must’ve gone to your school and heard of you somewhere. the only thing that unsettled you was his reaction.

it just seemed too real, like he couldn’t have been that good at acting.

he grabs your arm to prevent you from leaving. all he does is shake his head again like he’s just trying to reassure himself. you’re about to protest, so utterly confused at what’s happening-how you missed your stop and why this strange boy is saying that you’re dead. none of it makes sense.

his face looks pale and grim, and you’re sure yours look exactly the same. “you can’t be y/n. and yet, here you are right in front of me.”

“i will scream like a little girl for help if you don’t let me go at this-“

“p-please. this isn’t a joke. you can’t be here. we need to get out of here—where everyone can’t see you.”

before you can even splutter a response, he drags you off.

you can call me niki, his words echo in your head.

his name rolls off your tongue unfamiliarly. in his states of panic—to which niki kept slapping himself and you kept denying that you were a hallucination—

you ended up introducing yourselves and deciding to find a better place to discuss. more like, niki decided. you soon began to regret that decision.

all you wanted to do was go home, but this persistent kid you’ve never seen before wouldn’t let you or your conscience go. maybe it was the weird feeling from earlier, but you have the urge to at least hear him out. but when you walked out of that train station behind him, everything was wrong.

you don’t know how to describe it. it was right but… at the same time, it wasn’t.

to begin with, you ended up at the wrong station but it led you to the right street to get home. the streets name were the same, but the stores weren’t.

and the bus stop—the bus driver that had worked there for fifteen years, the one you had greeted for fifteen years, suddenly became an entirely different person. he never missed a day, no matter what occasion it was.

things weren’t right and you had no idea what was going on.

following niki, you get lost in your thoughts. you shake your head, clapping a hand over your forehead. maybe… you’re just in a weird dream. a really realistic one, because none of this made sense. it wasn’t raining anymore either, which would’ve been fine, excluding for one tiny detail: the streets were completely dry. judging by the strength of the rain earlier, it really shouldn’t—no, it couldn’t have dried up that fast.

It wasn’t physically possible.

you could easily navigate your way around this area because you lived here all your life. and yet, it felt like you didn’t live here. not when this random stranger (only on a first name basis) keeps insisting that you died.

niki—or whoever—leads you to a very familiar library, the same one where you spent hours studying for your finals. you head in, feeling a bit better hearing the familiar entrance chime. you walk ahead of him to take your spot by the back corner. the fact that this place was essentially the same gave you some comfort.

niki seems surprised, but he doesn’t say anything, only taking the seat across from you.

“okay.” you start, glancing at the boy with wary eyes.

“if whatever bs you’re spewing is true, explain.”

he raises his eyebrows.

“me? explain?”

you nod and he scoffs, “i think you’re the one who should be explaining. after all, you’re the one that’s supposed to be dead-“

“i’m not dead.” you grit out, rolling your eyes.

“okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender, “but you still need to talk.”

you sigh, rubbing your temples.

“what do you want me to say? that i got soaked, took the train home, overslept, and then missed my stop? then, i bumped into a weird boy-”

he shoots you an offended look, which you ignore.

“-who keeps telling me that i died. oh, and the more and more i stay here with you, the more wrong everything gets?” you barely get the last word out before niki leans in, eyes focused intently on you.

the closer he gets, you more you begin to malfunction. you unconsciously hold your breath, alarm and confusion evident in your eyes. his hand reaches out, slowly, to your head. your body freezes.

his fingers catch a drop of water at the tip of your hair. “sorry. that was bothering me.”

you exhale, glaring at him. “are you serious?”

“yeah. are you?”

“no,” you deadpan, “i’m a ghost and i’m haunting you. of course i’m being serious!”

he gives you an unconvinced look and you roll your eyes, “i’m y/n y/l/n. we live an hour away from the capital. my house is two blocks away in the neighborhood with the broken fountain, and right now we’re at the library that doesn’t open on thursdays.

you harshly tug off your suddenly dry hoodie, displaying your school uniform.

“and by the looks of it, we go to the same school.”

his eyes widen as he leans in closer to study your uniform. you shrug away, caught off guard. then you frown, “but i’ve never seen you before at school. how do i know that you’re not some imposter? that you somehow stole a uniform to get something from me?”

he rolls his eyes while you gaze at him suspiciously.

“obviously not, because that’s dumb.”

you scoff.

“i live here. why would i go through all the trouble to steal a uniform to get something from you? besides, what would i need from some-“

he glances at you and you tense,

“-kid like you? you’re the one who came out of the train looking so suspicious, it’s like you appeared out of nowhere,” he counters.

you place your palms flat on the table, “okay, it’s obvious we aren’t getting anywhere. we both don’t have answers and we’re not even close to one. all i know is that i’m alive,” you shoot him another look, “and that i somehow ended up here. now, can i go?”

there’s a brief pause before niki speaks up, slowly. “i already told you, you can’t be seen. come with me. and keep the hood on.”

you roll your eyes. who was he to boss you around?

he grumbles something along the lines of- “don’t want to be seen walking around with a dead person.”

the only reason you listened was partly due to fear that you would lose your way in this familiar, yet unfamiliar place. except, you know exactly where he’s taking you. because it’s the same neighborhood you live in.

“wait,” you call out, “this is where i live.” you point to your house, and niki grimaces.

“i know. there were police here for days.”

you stop, unsure of what to say or do. police? at your house? when?

you stare at your supposed house, suddenly dark and empty. what in the world happened?

“come on,” niki calls out and you move to catch up. you’re starting to think niki may be telling the truth.

soon enough, you make it to an unfamiliar house about a street down from yours. as niki unlocks the door, you take the opportunity to study him, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen him before. but when he turns to you, you clear your throat and look away.

“this is my house,” he tilts his head while opening the door.

you like the fact that it’s messy. it felt much more homey because of that. it was also a lot bigger than yours, filled with fancy and intricate things. to which you assume this niki guy has more money than he has yet to admit. he tells you to wait in the living room, and he soon returns with a stack of books.

you pause, “yearbooks?“

he nods, “yeah, our school’s.”

strangely enough, most of the covers are different than yours at home.

but everything else is the same, like the name and logo. he pulls out this year’s yearbook and flips through before stopping at a page.

“that’s me,” he points to the picture of him and you tilt your head, frowning.

“huh. so we are in the same year. but i’ve never seen you in my yearbook—or at school before. i swear i would’ve seen you at least once before...”

you rub your temples, this whole situation was making your head hurt. none of it made sense. you study his picture, why in the world did he actually look good in his yearbook photo? your eyes shift toward his name,

nish—

he turns the page before you can finish reading, only to get distracted by seeing familiar classmates in your yearbook. niki stays silent as he flips through pages and you continue to point out your friends and classmates and stare in wonder at the unfamiliar ones-

ones that you’ve never seen before in your life but somehow their faces are printed on the page, in the same grade and same school as you.

just like niki. you were actually speechless.

eventually, he stops flipping eventually and looks at you. you catch his eye and glance down at the page, immediately catching on. you breath hitches.

“no way—”

“—and there’s you.”

it is you. you can confirm, it’s a photo of someone who looks exactly like you. but… it’s not you.

almost everything is the same, your face and clothes. your hair was cut shorter, and your smile wider for the picture. you were even wearing makeup, for crying out loud. you can only stare at the photo.

according to niki, this you is dead?

you look up at him, stomach churning. what in the world was going on?

the silence lasts until niki finally speaks up with a hesitant tone. “i might be tripping, but have you ever heard of… alternate realities?”

you shake your head firmly, “don’t even get me started on that-“

he cuts you off, “i know, i know. but just hear me out.”

you have no choice but to internally whisper a quiet plea of help. he scoots closer,

“wouldn’t it make sense? there’s really no other explanation. maybe it’s because i watched that spider-man movie recently, but you being from another world would explain how you’re alive right now—when in this world, you’re dead. plus, all the similarities and differences that you mentioned can be chalked up to different timelines—the butterfly effect and stuff like that.”

you don’t know what to say.

could it actually be?

what other explanation could there be?

“please say something,” niki mumbles and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“okay. okay. fine. say the whole multiverse crap is true. then how did i even get here? how did i—”

you do air quotations,

“—switch dimensions to another world?”

niki shrugs, “no idea.”

he scratches his head, “it’s weird to think about but i mean, maybe there’s a reason why you came here.”

his voice suddenly gets lower and you shiver, “you know, the timing’s a bit weird that you showed up right after the other you passed away.”

you clear your throat, “let’s not think about that right now. we should probably focus on the whole me being dead thing, right?”

“what?”

you glance at him questioningly, “what?”

niki raises an eyebrow. “what’s there to focus on? you died.”

you don’t have to rub it in my face, you mumble under your breath.

“shouldn’t we be focusing on how to get you back to your world?”

you roll your eyes, “sure, but still, i kinda want to know how i died? i think i deserve to, you know, so maybe i don’t make the same dumb mistake back home.”

“-if you ever get home,” he corrects and you huff.

“whatever, just tell me. we don’t even know if your dumb alternate reality theory is right.”

“okay,” niki rubs his hands nervously and you wait in anticipation.

“well, it actually happened last thursday.”

you swallow. why was your heart rate picking up?

“at school. on, uh, the rooftop. no one witnessed it, and the cctv was broken so we don’t have any exact answers. but from what I’ve heard,” he gives you a cautious glance,

“the police are about ready to call it a suicide.”

at first, you think you misheard him. but the hesitant gaze and pause proves you otherwise.

at first it doesn’t hit you. but then suddenly you feel sick to your stomach. your hand grips the table for support as you try to take it all in.

you?

a suicide at school?

what about your family, your friends-

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head. “i… i would never-“

you slam your hands on the table, “i know myself. i would never do that.”

his face is grim and sympathetic, which you can feel the dislike churn in your stomach at that. “i’m really sorry… that’s the current situation. it kinda blew up at school, but everything’s still so recent that nothing is confirmed yet.“

unspoken words linger in the back of his head, that he questions if he should say it or not.

that niki really didn’t know you that well, that you were just another classmate of his. one that he passed in the halls without a second glance back. that the you in his world-

was just a stranger to him.

yet seeing you, desperate and alive, right in front of his eyes. he doesn’t know what to do or say. so niki watches you bury your head in your hands. and he waits.

it’s only a couple of minutes later that you look up. his face morphs into one of surprise when he sees your determined expression.

“niki,” you state carefully and he nods, waiting patiently.

“are you sure that i-i did it?”

you can’t bring yourself to say the word but niki gets it. he sighs,

“no. no one’s sure. but from what i’ve heard, the police haven’t found any other motives so… a suicide seemed most likely.” the more and more niki talked, the more unsure he got.

your face hardens.

“so there’s no proof? the police aren’t doing their freaking job and investigating?”

his eyes widen—surprised at your sudden outburst—and you sigh, voice falling to a whisper.

“did i really commit suicide? and why do i care so much?”

something warm falls over your hand and you jump, glancing up.

even for only a split second, his hand covers yours in a sympathetic attempt, “i’m sorry y/n. i wish i had answers but i really don’t know…”

despite the awkward look on niki’s face and overall awkward situation, his words strangely comfort you.

you bite your bottom lip. “i-i have to get to my house.”

he stiffens, “what?”

you stare at him, eyes sharp, “if no one else is going to do something, i at least have to.”

you need to. for yourself.

niki scoots closer, “y/n, you can’t just-“

“i know. but i need to know. something just-ugh,” you rub your face in frustration, “something doesn’t add up. i have to check. it’s like i can feel it deep within me.”

he sits there wordlessly. when you don’t get a response, you stand up. niki splutters, “w-where are you going?”

you cross your arms, “without or without you, i’m going to my house.”

he slaps a hand to his face in frustration. “just how stubborn are you?” he mumbles. you hear it and yet you decide to ignore him.

“thanks for the help i guess,” you give him a (weak) half-smile before turning towards the door

“wait! you’re being serious?!”

his desperate voice calls out and you internally debate if you should listen to him or not. slowly, you turn back around, “yeah. do you need something?”

“no, but you do— a plan. especially since the police closed off your house for investigation. plus, most of the evidence would have been taken already.” he clasps his hands together behind his back.

you shrug. “okay, and? i’ll still find a way. i have nothing to lose. i’m not even supposed to be alive.”

he groans loudly and you raise an eyebrow.

“idiot. i’m trying to say that i’ll help you. i-i want to help you.”

“i didn’t ask,” you raise your hands in mock surrender. annoyed, niki puts his hands on his hips.

“sure, but i know plenty of things you don’t. this is my world. so, are you gonna accept or not?”

“you wish you did,” you retort, yet you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face, “but… i would appreciate it. just be grateful that i’m accepting your dumb theory from a spider-man movie as of right now.”

niki gulps at the sight. it was the first time he saw you smile since you met. at least, the first smile he saw from the you of an alternate universe.

“whatever you say,” he holds out a hand,

“miss imposter.”

you take it gladly, harshly. “don’t call me that-“

“my name is y/n y/l/n.”

you spin around in niki’s chair, having went up to his room to figure out your so called master plan. niki (respectfully) offered to let you stay in his room for the length of your “visit.”

to which you almost punched him.

but he explained that there were no extra guest rooms and you were still technically dead, so hiding in his room was the best bet as to not raise any questions. you could take the makeshift bed in the corner of his room as to not raise suspicion. you were surprised yet grateful.

“i’ll grab extra blankets and pillows. and i’ll sneak you food and whatever you need.”

“what about clothes and toiletries?”

he yawns, “easy. i’ll steal some from my sisters.”

you feel bad, but you realize you have no other choice. you were literally stuck here.

a part of you still wondered if this was a dream. a horrible one, at the least. but while you were stuck here, might as well make the best of it. niki graciously offered and you had no choice but to accept. you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“so basically, i’m like a secret pet you’re hiding from your parents?”

“technically… yes,” niki rubs his hands together, and you can only watch the mischievous expression grow on his face.

“but i like to think that you’re like eleven. you’re different—you’re special, like her.”

you hold back a laugh at the words.

clearing your throat, you try to play it off. “from stranger things? your world has that show too?” he lets out a scandalous gasp and this time you giggle.

“of course, dude. what kind of world would i be living in if i didn’t have stranger things?”

“apparently a horrible one,” you snort.

after the whole living situation was sorted out, you returned to your investigation.

“so you’re saying the police taped off my house for further examination?”

“uh, yeah? that’s how it works?” he raises a brow.

you stuck your tongue out at him, “okay, smartass. then how do we get in?”

“clearly, there’s only one way: sneak in.”

“i don’t think this is a good idea?” niki whisper shouts at you and you shush him.

the sun was barely setting. if anyone knew you, they knew you really couldn’t be deemed as patient of any sort.

niki watches you struggle up the tree in your backyard.

obviously, going through the front door was a no go. luckily this house looked pretty much the same as your house, at least from the outside. you knew your parents weren’t home judging by the darkness. you wondered if they were staying with other family.

or were they at work? so soon after your death?

you grimace, now was not the time to be getting in your feelings.

the best (only) option was jumping the backyard fence and going in through your bedroom window. leading to your predicament now.

you exhale heavily when you find a place to rest, gripping the tree with all your might in hopes that you don’t fall

you glance down at niki.

“can you make it?”

he scoffs,

“easy.”

it was easy— easy for you to watch niki struggle to get up to your point.

you were sort of scared the tree wasn’t going to support both your weights, at the way it was trembling slightly. niki makes it though, by the time the sun is well down.

you can see him sweating heavily and your nose scrunches in amusement,“easy, huh?”

“yeah, for you just standing there and watching me. we don’t have all day, grandma.”

“don’t call me that,” you mutter while stretching out towards your window.

niki’s eyes widen.

“be careful, y/n.”

“i got it,” you stretch out a leg to the ledge and your sweaty hands begin to slide from the bark, most likely from exertion.

without even thinking about it, niki places his hands around your waist to stabilize you. you don’t notice in your concentration to not fall to your death. you certainly didn’t want another dead you.

your foot clicks the lock, and with a grunt you’re able to push the window open.

“you got it?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, clumsily making your way in. you reach out a hand for niki and he takes it, maneuvering his long body in through the small window.

finally, you can breathe.

it’s the first time you have the luxury to desperately wish that you were home right now. your real home. you certainly didn’t mean this home, the empty and cold looking one locked up for the police’s investigation.

after catching your breath, you get up to examine your surroundings. you weren’t not sure what you were expecting. this was the other you’s room.

all you can think is, at least this y/n was much cleaner than you.

a part of you feels like you’re invading someone’s privacy. but then you realize that it’s literally your own privacy that you’re invading, with the addition of niki. you actually can’t believe the absurdity of the situation.

at first glance the room looks pretty normal, an average teenagers room. not what you expected for yourself, but there’s not much you can see. you turn to niki,

“there’s no shot we’ll get caught right?”

he gives you another sympathetic look, “we’ll keep a look out for the police, but i heard your parents were busy with your other family and funeral preparations, so it wouldn’t be them catching us.”

“oh.”

the air feels so glum, you clear your throat to move on. “guess we should look around?”

he nods and begins to snoop around.

“wait,” you call out hesitantly.

niki cocks his head and you cough awkwardly.

“it’s still my room, so like, be careful with what you look through.”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah. i got it.”

you gaze at the photos on your shelf, displaying your happy family and friends. it just made you acknowledge how precious they were. it made you miss your friends and family at home even more.

you’re appalled at the books you read. you shake your head, seriously? you take out one of the books-

“ten days to love,” you voice aloud with disgust written across your face.

you weren’t one to judge, but what kind of cheesy romance novels were you reading?

niki opens your closet and you turn at the sound. your eyes widen-

wait a second,

your closet with clothes? possibly including…. more personal things?

you dash over in desperation, praying that niki hasn’t already seen something that he shouldn’t.

“don’t!”

his wide eyes meet your panicked ones, shocked at the sudden change of events. he doesn’t move until you push past him, blocking the door from his view.

“you didn’t see anything, right?” you stare at niki desperately and he furrows his eyebrows.

“no? am i not supposed-“

“no reason. just being cautious. we can, uh, open it together.”

you carefully examine your belongings inside before deeming it safe for niki’s eyes. you let out a sigh of relief.

he gives you a weird look and you shoot him an exaggerated smile.

“you can proceed!”

he mutters something under his breath as you continue your search on the other side of the room. it didn’t seem like there was anything of importance on the shelves. but, after careful examination, you see a glimpse of something. pushing past some folders, your face morphs into a stunned one.

you pull out…

a pink teddy bear with hearts? why would this be in your room?

and even more so, why was it hidden?

niki calls out your name and you turn around. your mouth drops open.

“a box of chocolates?“

he scoffs, “yeah. stuffed behind some clothes in your closet for some reason.”

“it’s not even the good brand,” you mutter.

niki laughs, “maybe you had secret admirers from school?” suddenly, you give him a suspicious glance.

“what makes you say that? you sure you weren’t one of them?”

he side eyes you, “trust me, you wouldn’t catch me within five feet of you at school.”

you walk over to shove his arm and he only laughs harder. you huff, suppressing a smile on your face as you turn away. but you keep niki’s comment in the back of your mind.

after a solid thirty minutes, you can feel your resolve waning. there was no sign indicating that you felt suicidal. at least, none that you found after the police probably scrounged through everything. some stuff was suspicious—

like the teddy bear and chocolates. and some lavish perfume and makeup in the drawers. that just wasn’t your style. but you supposed this world’s you was just different.

just because you weren’t particularly into those things didn’t mean another you couldn’t be.

“did i have a diary? what about my phone?”

niki frowns, “the police would’ve taken it. it’s their evidence now.”

you suddenly get an idea, and it’s probably wasn’t a good one.

“hey, niki?” you call out. he hums in response.

“what day and time is it, currently?”

“uh…” he checks his watch, “sunday. 8pm. why?”

“when does the police station close?”

dummy, most people would say--why would the police station be closed?

luck seemed to be on your side, because you knew especially well from complaints by locals, that your local police station did actually have a curfew. and you could only hope it was the same here.

niki scratches his head, “in ten minutes? why are-“

his mouth drops open, “no. no. no.” you shrug and he shakes his head adamantly, “y/n, there’s no way that we’re going to sneak in.”

you dust off your hands, “i’m all ears for any other ideas you have.”

you have him at that and he falls silent. after a couple moments, he speaks up albeit hesitantly. “well… i might have a way.“

you grin. “onwards, then.”

“wait, so how did you manage to get access again?”

he coughs, “my friend jungwon is the son of the police deputy chief… so i may have called in for a favor.”

“he managed to sneak in with his dad’s keys and get the files to my case?” you finish.

he nods.

“illegally?”

he nods again.

you tap your chin, “would we get arrested if we got caught?”

he shrugs, “probably.”

“good thing i’m not from this world.”

perhaps secretly hanging outside this jungwon’s house was not the best idea, either. he rolls his eyes before offering the file to you.

“do you want to open it?” to your surprise, his voice comes out quite comforting and soft.

you gulp, “i guess i should.”

you feel sick for the second time that day. luckily, the photo didn’t show too much. not that it made it any better. it was still you, dead.

you had to look at yourself and imagine yourself in that situation. you cover your mouth and niki immediately takes the file away from you. he watches worriedly as you shake your head.

“i’m fine. i-is there anything else your friend managed to get?”

“are you sure?”

“yes.” he doesn’t protest anymore at the tone of finality in your voice.

niki pulls out a bag with your name on it. taking a deep breath in, you open it. you shuffle through some things hurriedly until niki speaks up.

“hold on a sec,” he softly places a hand on your arm to stop your actions.

“we should be careful. someone could notice that we tampered with the evidence so we need to be very careful when putting things back. plus, we have to give it back to him as soon as possible—we don’t want them noticing that your stuff is missing.”

you curse, “that’s right. we can’t risk taking anything.”

“then what?”

you pinch your nose bridge, “we snap pictures and hope it’s good enough. unless we want to take another field trip here.”

you manage to snap a few pictures and go through a few things. you catch a glimpse of your diary and flip to the most recent page. it was about a week and a half ago, and-

it wasn’t finished. you skim through it, reading boring stuff about how your day was and how you met-

you squint.

the rest of the words were scratched out, harshly, with a black marker. seeing how it was getting late and dark, you can’t make out who’s name it was even with your phone flashlight. you wonder, could it be-

your thoughts are interrupted by niki.

“y/n, i think we need to hurry and head home soon. the longer we stay out, the greater risk we’re at for getting caught. oh, and i found your phone.”

he holds it up and the extremely glittery case makes your eyes hurt. you eye it. heaving a deep breath, you prepare yourself to open your phone.

but when you click the power button and nothing happens, you groan. you try again, and again, holding it down for seconds but the screen remains black.

“the phone’s dead.” you sigh again and niki bites his lip.

“maybe we should give up. we can ask jungwon another time,” he suggests

you nod wearily and he closes the box. as he gathers everything, opening his phone to text his friend to come back out, you glance at the time. it was quite late for a school day.

“that’s right, you have school tomorrow?”

he groans, “yeah. i guess you’ll just have to stay home in my room. no one will go in while i’m at school, so you don’t have to worry.”

you nod, “okay.”

it felt weird knowing you were supposed to be at home, in bed and preparing to go to school yourself the next day. instead, you were stuck in another world—in a stranger’s room, forced to hide since you were supposed to be dead.

were you considered missed at home? did anyone notice? call the cops?

more like, if anyone cared?

while you get ready for bed in niki’s bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror.

yes, you affirm, you’re alive.

you’re staring back at yourself, dressed in one of niki’s oversized shirts and basketball shorts.

but the image of your dead face flashes in your mind and you immediately squeeze your eyes shut. you breathe heavily, hands planted on the sides of the sink.

everything’s fine. you will get back home. things will figure themselves out. you’re okay. you’re breathing and-

a knock on the door makes you jump.

“y/n? everything okay?” niki’s voice sounds out hesitantly, “it seemed like you were taking a while so-“

the door swings open.

you stand there, face emotionless. he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. niki tries to keep the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head, but it won’t seem to go away.

“goodnight, niki.”

you slowly walk over to the temporary bed he’s set up on the floor for you. he blinks,

“night, y/n.”

it’s surprisingly comfortable, or maybe you’re just so exhausted you don’t seem to care or question anything anymore.

you hear light footsteps padding to turn off the lights.

in the darkness, your eyes close. but your mind is awake.

you know his is too, judging by the sounds of quite shuffling every couple minutes or so.

“niki?” you say quietly.

another shuffle.

“yeah?”

“this may sound weird, but have you noticed anyone that looked particularly sad?”

there’s a pause.

“about you?”

“yeah, but not like the typical sadness. like, anyone who seems to have changed drastically after hearing about me? let’s say,” you swallow, “any guys or friends of yours who seemed particularly upset or affected?”

niki rolls to the other side of his bed so that he faces you, but in the darkness he can only see the outline of your figure. “y/n, what are you trying to say?”

you tug the covers over yourself a little tighter.

“nevermind, niki. have a good day at school tomorrow, and don’t worry about waking me up. you won’t be able to.”

“wasn’t planning on it,” he snorts.

you fall asleep with a faint smile still lingering on your face.

the next day at school, niki struggles. he struggles when it’s supposed to be another normal day, and all he can think about is you.

especially about what you said.

niki never paid much attention before to his surroundings, there was no reason to. but now he keeps an eye open.

he eyed anyone who passed by your locker, empty desk in class, anyone who mentioned your name. but the fact that you mentioned guys specifically, made him confused.

why did it matter if a guy was upset? a lot of people were shocked and sad at the news. niki shook his head. he didn’t get it.

meanwhile, you stayed at his home.

thinking.

thinking about yesterday. somehow everything that happened was all just yesterday. you took the train and ended up here. then you found out you were apparently dead.

you spent what felt like hours scrolling through the photos you took and waiting for niki to come home. all while eating snacks that niki left for you graciously.

you don’t even know what time it is when you hear the door begin to open. you scramble to your feet before realizing that there was a chance it wasn’t niki.

you go back to your hiding spot, shrinking underneath the covers. next thing you know, the bedroom door flings open. you tense.

however, a call of your name allows you to let out a sigh of relief. you hop up, “niki!”

he grins, looking rather cute in his ruffled school uniform, backpack slung off one shoulder. you stop yourself, horrified at your thought. at your face falling, he cocks his head. “what’s wrong?”

you laugh awkwardly, “nothing! nothing at all!”

he gives you an unconvinced look but doesn’t press further.

“you must’ve been bored without me.”

that was the niki you’ve come to know (in the span of a day or so). sarcasm drips from your lips as you laugh dryly, “sure.”

but you knew he was right and he knew it too.

“i spent the day looking through the pictures, but i couldn’t find much else,” you frown.

“same here. today was pretty normal, no one seemed any different than usual…”

“i mean, the mood has been somber ever since you,” he pauses, “left. but nothing out of the ordinary.”

you seemingly deflate, but niki perks up. “i talked to jungwon and he said he’s going to try and get your phone next time. we can only hope that someone charges it or that we can charge it ourselves.”

you nod, “that’s good.”

“but, don’t you have work to do? what about your family?”

you realized you didn’t see or even hear of them yesterday.

“oh, they usually stay late at the dance academy—me included. but my grades haven’t been good recently, so they’ve been forcing me to go to home and study…”

you tsk as niki gives you a sheepish look.

“you know, while we’re waiting, i’m not too bad at studying myself. what do you need help with?”

niki rolls his eyes, “thanks, but no thanks. i don’t need another person on my back about my grades.”

instead, he falls back onto his bed with an oof.

“don’t worry, i’ll manage. let’s just talk about our next step.

“step? as in, my case?

“yeah,“ his eyes glint, “i have an idea.”

you were starting to believe he was getting more invested in this than you were.

“okay—shoot.”

what was the worse thing he could suggest?

“we should sneak you into school-“

your eyes practically bulge as you gape at him. “excuse me? weren’t you the one saying i was going too far with sneaking into my own house and you want me to do what?”

niki gets up, placing his arms on your shoulders to calm you. strangely enough, it did.

“hear me out first—we sneak into school at night, bust open your locker, and see what you have. that’s better than waiting for jungwon.”

“don’t you think the police would have already looked through my locker?

“well, he looks around nervously, “as far as i’ve heard, the police were already mostly convinced the case was closed and didn’t care to check. but, what can i say? rumors are just rumors.”

you purse your lips. what did you have to lose? being in a different world made you much more reckless than you would have ever thought. but that didn’t mean you were going to be stupid about it.

“fine.”

niki winces at your tone, but you speak up,

“how in this stupid multiverse crap am i going to break into my own locker? and with cameras all around school?

he smirks and you raise an eyebrow.

“i didn’t miss a whole chem lecture for nothing—“

confused, you give him a look as if to say, what in the world are you talking about?

“who said we had to know the combination?” he takes out a pair of keys form his pocket.

you gasp in awe, clasping a hand over your mouth.

you gaze at him with wide eyes for a second, causing him to look at you questioningly.

“you’re actually being smart...”

his confused expression immediately changes to one of irritation.

you stand up straight again, “how did you even get those keys? and what about the cameras?”

he winks and you glance at him, trying to remain expressionless. if there was anything you noticed, it was that niki was actually quite attractive. it made you wonder if he was popular at school…

“it’s a secret. don’t worry about it.”

“you sure have a lot of secrets, niki. like, is niki even your real name?” you squint accusingly.

niki chokes on his spit, “how in the world did you know?”

you falter. “huh? it isn’t?”

he clears his throat, “anyway, i have to get up early for school tomorrow.”

you eye him but decide to let it go. niki shrugs, “usually i’m up playing games, but you look like you need the sleep with those eye bags. you aren’t surprised.

“tomorrow night,” he says shortly after. “i’ve got a plan—you just have to trust me.”

turns out said plan was dumb, but you really had no other choice.

niki made some lame excuse to his teachers about staying late to study- and his teachers, being utterly shocked that he offered to study, immediately agreed to let him linger.

meanwhile, niki would sneak you in, wearing one of his old uniforms that was too small for him so that just in case, no one would question anything. along with one of his totally inconspicuous baseball caps to hide your face and hair.

you sigh, you couldn't believe you were sneaking into school through the boys bathroom. you groan while maneuvering through the window. niki shushes you, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. he raises his hands playfully and you resist the urge to smack him.

on your way to jump down from the window, your left foot gets caught on the ledge. you stumble forward, expecting to be met with the revolting bathroom floor face first. instead, perhaps now was the time to thank the universe (in this case, his universe?) for niki’s quick reflexes.

he inhales, catching you by catching and pulling you towards him instead of the ground, essentially into his arms.

instead of faceplanting into the ground rather foolishly, you fall into his strangely soft and warm chest. you let out a barely discernible squeak, unable to respond due to the pounding of your heart.

after a couple of seconds—that felt like forever— niki lets you go with a shake of his head.

“my god y/n, i had no clue you were this clumsy. please don’t ever do that again.”

please don’t ever make me sneak into a nasty teenage bathroom again, you wish you could retort.

you shake your head quickly, lips pressed thinly together. don’t get distracted, you remind yourself. “yeah-thanks. let’s uh, just hurry.“

you don’t have time to wonder what would the consequences be if you got caught by cameras or anyone else while niki leads you down the familiar hallways.

“how do you know which one’s my locker? i thought you said we didn’t really know each other?“ you eye him suspiciously.

he scoffs, “don’t get too excited. mine’s just a couple lockers down so i was bound to see you at your locker by some point.”

he hands you the keys and you gratefully accept—your hands slightly trembling. you didn’t know what to expect.

niki watches from behind, and you can feel his warm breath on you occasionally, causing you to shiver.

with a slight click and creak of the rusty locker door, the locker opens. you hold your breath at first glance. it’s…. normal?

normal as in any average high schoolers locker one would expect. what catches your eye first are a couple of photos of you and your friends.

on deeper inspection of yourself (it was still weird to imagine and even weirder to see) you see a twinkling, intricate chain around your neck. maybe you were tripping (again, but mentally this time) or that necklace you had on seems really expensive?

“there’s no way,” you suddenly gasp and turn to niki with wide eyes.

“what?” niki starts to panic, “what is it?”

“am i actually loaded in this world?”

niki pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “jesus, you scared me. i mean, you didn’t seem like it.. who knows where you got that super expensive, luxury brand necklace? it looks familiar…“

you try your hardest not to roll your eyes. of course, niki would know.

“how much are you talking?”

he taps his foot on the floor, “well, my mom and sister likes that brand. that specific necklace is specially made since it’s a seasonal limited edition, so it’s somewhere in the thousands-“

you truly forgot how rich niki’s family was, you think with a half joking tch and a shake of your head. niki glances at you, impressed.

“-whoever gave that to you must’ve really cared.”

you frown, “sure… or maybe i just really worked hard to get it for myself?”

he’s shoots you an amused look, “you wanted to get yourself the valentine day’s collection necklace?

“what?”

you feel your heart rate begin to pick up, “are you implying what i think you are?

“yes?” he responds with a raised eyebrow, “someone must’ve been really in love with you to gift you that. maybe your parents or friends?”

then niki pokes your side playfully, “-or a secret admirer?”

you don’t answer his question, regardless of if he was being serious or not. you peer into the locker again, “but where is it? it’s so valuable i’m certain we would’ve seen it in the police’s evidence…”

suddenly, niki grabs your wrist. that’s when you hear the footsteps. you turn to him with wide eyes as he mouths for you to hide. panicking, you look around in desperation before he pushes you—

straight into the locker.

your own locker.

you know you should be freaking out over getting caught, but you could only wonder—could this be considered a crime?

in the dark, stuffy locker, you see a glimpse of niki’s silhouette run past through the tiny openings of the door. just barely a second later, you hear more footsteps. squinting, you able to discern a familiar, yet weirdly unfamiliar guy. your eyebrows raise.

no way. park sunghoon was in this world too?

you hold your breath when you hear him call out, “is someone there?”

really, curse niki for shoving you in your own locker. yet it was also a smart move as no one could see into your locker, but you were able to see out.

“sorry. that was me, pres.”

it was niki’s voice.

you can barely see his relaxed demeanor appearing to face sunghoon.

“i was staying back to study and catch up on work—you know already,” he adds hastily.

sunghoon nods coolly, “i was just checking. making sure everything’s good before leaving.”

niki was a little too good at acting, you questioned how often he had done this to those around him. he fake salutes, “i promise to clean up after i’m done. no need to worry, class president.”

“alright, see you later.”

you have a sigh of relief as sunghoon turns to leave.

but you swear, for a split second, his expression changes as his eyes fall on your locker.

your heart rate picks up. did he notice you?

however, sunghoon leaves without a second look back.

you frown—what was that?

after waiting a minute to be safe, niki quickly lets you out. only to be greeted by your displeased face and crossed arms.

“that was the only thing i could think of in the moment!” he immediately defends himself.

“seriously? i could’ve-like-“ you trail off and niki smirks.

“see? nothing bad would’ve happened.”

“doesn’t change the fact you stuffed me in my locker. it’s not even mine, for crying out loud.”

“whatever. just be glad you didn’t get caught by park sunghoon, our school’s super rich, smart, and handsome-“

“i know him from my world. he’s irrelevant, let’s continue on.” you wave him off.

you can’t help but compare him to niki. niki was way more genuine and… boyish in a way? he felt real. you preferred that. not to mention he had a much more tolerable presence, you supposed.

everything else in the locker was useless. random crappy notes, perfumes and hand lotions, along with the pictures you already inspected were the only things that decorated your locker. no sign of that ridiculously expensive necklace.

you rub a hand over your face in exasperation. “that’s it…”

one thought still lingered in the back of your mind. where was the necklace?

“hey, y/n, i think we should get going soon. the lights are going to turn off soon-they’re automatic and we didn’t bring any flashlights.”

you sigh. next time.

it feels like you’ve hit a dead end. by the end of the week, niki has caught up on his studies. you were surprised to find that he was quite dedicated to school, even if it didn’t seem like it.

the days that niki came home with a pile of schoolwork and other duties, you went out to think—with one of niki’s hoodies and a mask on. but the times you spent with niki since you couldn’t go out much, mainly at night, were nice.

tutoring him at subjects he was struggling in, learning new dances together (and learning how talented he really was), simply being around him was enough to distract you from your impending crisis.

niki always came to keep you company and bring you food. you really were his eleven.

niki was gaming while you sat off to the side, watching him play. you admired his side profile, the shine from the bright computer screen enhancing his features, the furrow of his eyebrow as he focused.

he yells as his character dies and you can’t hold back your laughter, “you kinda suck-“

all of a sudden, you hear a knock on the door.

“bro, you good? i swear i heard another voice-“

the door handle begins to turn.

you and niki share a look of panic.

your first instinct is to dive and roll, underneath niki’s bed. you ignore the fact that it’s as dusty as you’d expect for a teenage boy’s room and hold your breath.

“mom said dinner is ready. also, what’s with all the noise? it sounded like someone else was in the room with you.” a girls voice—niki’s older sister, you presume.

“nope. just me.”

you cringe at the fact that niki’s voice is octaves higher. it wouldn’t be that much of a problem if his voice wasn’t as deep as it normally was.

“it was just probably the video i was playing.”

“…sure,” you hear his sister’s footsteps as she leaves and shuts the door behind her.

you let out an exhale of relief.

“y/n?” you hear soon after.

“under here.”

you turn to see niki’s head peeking down underneath the bed.

you meet his curious eyes. cute.

“jeez.” he holds a hand out and you gladly accept it, letting him pull you up with ease. huffing, you dust yourself off.

“jeez, indeed. who knows what horrors you’ve been hiding under there.”

“hey,” niki defends himself, “i’ll have you know i am a very clean person and don’t-“

“oh really? then what’s this?” you hold up the sacred item, jerking your hand back as he reaches out to snatch it.

“hey! haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

he lunges again as you laugh, just keeping it out of his grasp. however, you feel the bed frame hit your legs, and you gasp.

you fall back, niki over you on his bed. he must’ve underestimated his arm-span and overestimated yours.

niki lands over you with a soft grunt, eyes wide. you peer up at him wordlessly. his arms catch him, but it’s still so close you can feel his hair tickle your forehead.

is this what the movies mean when your heart… skips a beat?

niki snaps out of his trance, “s-sorry,” he hastily gets up. you cough, trying to dispel the stuffy atmosphere.

“so, uh, i had an idea.”

“yeah? what’s up?”

“i was thinking we look at the evidence again. i just want to double check something.”

“come on,” you take niki’s hand. it was habitual by this point.

“you got the charger, right?”

niki nods, taking it out of his pocket.

it was risky asking niki’s friend to retrieve the evidence for you again, but you needed to confirm your suspicions. or, hit a dead end.

when niki returns, carefully holding a plastic bag (and dinner, your grumbling stomach reminds you), your eyes zero in on one thing.

“thanks. i know it must be hard for your friend to sneak behind his dad’s back like that.”

“it’s fine,” niki shrugs, “i promised to buy him lunch for the next week.”

you snort as you take out “your” phone and plug it into the charger.

“okay. now we wait.”

niki looks at you expectantly, and you only stare at him back. subconsciously, a hand raises to your face. “is there something wrong?”

he shakes his head while looking away sheepishly, “nothing, nothing.”

you open your mouth to question him further, but the phone screen flashes. you scramble to open it. thankfully you were able to use your own face id.

as soon as you scroll through your messages, your stomach sinks. you raise a hand to cover your mouth.

“what?” niki jumps up, “what did you find?”

you open the photos app, which only confirms everything. you drop the phone, and that’s when niki sees it.

“oh my god.”

“don’t even-“

“i was secretly dating park sunghoon?!”

you cup a hand over your mouth. “i think i’m gonna be sick.”

niki scoffs, taken aback. “b-but how? you- and him-?”

you rub a hand over your face. “don’t ask me. but the valentines gifts and necklace were so suspicious, i started wondering… i just didn’t expect it to be him.”

niki notices the sour expression on your face.

“oh. you don’t like him?”

you shake your head vehemently, “bro, not even if he and i were the last two people on earth.”

you think about your world’s sunghoon and almost shudder. he was selfish, arrogant, could but would never keep a girl for more than two weeks. yet the whole class still loved him and you never understood it, never understood the appeal of him.

besides getting bro-zoned, niki relished your words.

“good to know.”

“i wish i didn’t,” you sigh.

but that was besides the point. you still didn’t know how it all added up. did sunghoon—unfortunately, your boyfriend in this world—have anything to do with your death? did he really get you that expensive necklace?

and as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t rule it out. thinking as rationally and fairly as possible, suicide was likely-as much as you didn’t believe it. you couldn’t rule it out simply based on a feeling. plus, his expression when he passed by your locker lingered in your mind.

“so, now what?” niki watches you carefully.

“you’ve heard of the saying, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?”

“yeah,” he cocks an eyebrow, “why?”

“well, i’ve got a task for you.”

niki has never spoken a word to your friend group in his entire life. the most he’s ever done was send a cold look their way and pretend not to know them out in public.

he had nothing against them—nothing against your choice of friends—but he preferred not to associate with your group. he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he just didn’t vibe with them.

and yet here he was, talking to your “friends” because you asked him to. he sighed, the things he did for you.

danielle looks him up and down with her arms crossed. “why are you asking about y/n? since when did you care about them?”

“please,” he sighs in exasperation, “i just need to know if anyone disliked y/n or was acting suspicious around them.”

haerin steps up, an annoyed frown on her face. “there’s no one. can’t you tell this is a touchy subject for us? now, leave us alone.”

she grabs danielle and walks off, angrily whispering into a distressed looking danielle’s ears.

niki wants to punch someone. besides the fact that surrounding people were catching onto his conversation and whispering about the interaction, he essentially got nothing out of it.

you were also at a dead end. after scrolling through hundreds of disgusting texts and photos of you and sunghoon, there was nothing remotely suspicious. plus, you had to give your phone back to jungwon soon before anyone noticed it was missing.

everything seemed normal. everything was normal. normal until this world’s you suddenly died.

the only lead you had was the missing necklace. and yet where were you supposed to find it? it could be anywhere—in the police’s hands, with sunghoon, most likely gone.

you couldn’t even go out on your own, you felt like a hopeless rapunzel trapped in her tower, desperately wishing for answers and freedom. it was starting to get to you. the stress, homesickness, and most of all, loneliness.

you throw your phone to the side and bury your face in your hands, trying your best to focus on your breathing. you almost don’t realize how long it’s been until you hear a faint call of your name.

“y/n? y/n, what’s wrong?” niki drops his backpack and rushes to your side.

his eyes carefully examine your body, checking for who knows what. you slowly lower your hands, revealing your bloodshot eyes and tear stained face.

what scared niki the most was the lost look in your eyes, a deep and dark pool void of any emotion.

“niki… i don’t think i can do this anymore,” your words float out carefully, like a whisper of the wind.

“i’m trying my hardest, but it’s so frustrating. i miss my home, i miss my life. i miss myself.” as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel yourself break down. and right as you do so, niki reaches forward to wrap you in an embrace.

“i want to go home,” you whisper in an small voice.

his heart almost breaks at the sight. you sounded like a little kid—you looked like you were a little kid again, as small and curled up you were when he found you. in his eyes, he saw a lost child looking for their parents, their guidance and their own light in the world.

he resolves to never be the cause of your pain again.

niki holds you for the entire night as you cry and drift off to sleep.

you wake up with a headache and a dry throat. you feel hungover, although you’ve basically never drank alcohol before.

somehow, you’re not sure exactly when, you ended up in niki’s bed. as soon as you’re able to sit up, your eyes fall on the clock on the bedside table.

11 am. niki must be at school still, you note.

you wonder what he’s up to, if he was being a good student while you were stuck all alone at his home, skipping your own school. you wonder what life is like back at home. did time even pass?

niki heads home as soon as the bell rings. he wanted to see you, to comfort you and reassure you. he wanted you to be okay.

when he knocks on his own bedroom door and there’s no response, he frowns. all there’s left is a pink sticky note on his desk.

went out for fresh air. don’t worry and don’t look for me.

niki immediately drops his stuff and runs out. he goes to the train station, the bookstore. he even goes back to school, for crying out loud.

he’s breathless and exhausted by the time he’s arrived back home. niki knows his family won’t be back. it was competition season, which meant the busiest time of the year for the other dancers. you were the sole reason he attended school at this time of the year, studying hard instead of skipping and dancing 18 hours each day.

he’s scared.

niki hasn’t felt this feeling in a long time—he can only recall the time where he was six and went to disney world. his older sister was pressuring him into riding one of the larger roller coasters, and he felt that sickening nausea fill him as he looked up at the towering structure.

he almost gives up. he basically has, until he notices something strange. his balcony door is unlocked, and he always kept it locked for safety purposes.

tense, niki reaches out and slowly turns the handle. what greets him is certainly not what he expected.

you sit on the balcony railing, hanging over the edge quite precariously with your feet swinging. one slight mistake and you would fall.

you stare down at the passing cars, cloudy and dreary skies showing you it was soon to rain.

niki stares at you, and you turn around at the sound of the door to stare back, not a single word exchanged.

then you finally break the eye contact, glancing down at your stilled feet. “i wasn’t going to do it.”

he silently moves closer, hopping next to you on the railing as well. “okay.”

you don’t see the tender way his eyes travel over you. your voice is quiet as you speak up, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“okay,” niki repeats.

it’s not said in a sarcastic way. it’s not sad, either. it’s just..... soft. soft and understanding enough to make a blanket of comfort fall around you, to make it known that niki’s presence is here by your side.

suddenly, the rains starts and niki asks if you want to go down. you slowly nod and he helps you safely off the railing before opening the door for you guys go out in the rain.

the rain doesn’t stop.

and niki doesn’t stop either. he grabs your hand, dragging you along with him haphazardly.

“where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

“out. like most people our age. we’re still kids.”

“wow, i had no idea,” you mutter sarcastically.

he holds back a smile of relief. good to know you were still your usual self.

“you need a break. you’ve been so caught up in this case, you need to rest.”

“but-“

“come on,” he leads you on, “relax. it’ll give you a clear mind, so we can come back with a fresh start.”

you’re hesitant until he pulls up at an arcade. “what if someone sees me? what if they-“

niki places a finger over your lips, silencing you. “we’re here to have fun like everyone else and not give a crap about anything else. now, are you gonna play or are you gonna get your butt kicked by me?”

a challenge was a challenge.

you laugh at niki’s rambunctious side, yelling as he tries to cheat during competitive games and fight over the better toy gun.

“just so you know, i technically won.”

you playfully shove him, “in your dreams. you’re just saying that because you don’t want to-“

you get cut off by the loudest (and most embarrassing) grumble of your stomach. you both look down at your stomach. you look back up, petrified.

niki almost cackles, “i guess that’s a sign.”

“it’s not my fault i fell asleep before eating yesterday,” you pout.

“what do you want to eat?”

“anything. i’m serious.”

niki watches with a fond smile as you quite literally inhale your food.

“eat any faster, and you’ll make a new record.”

you flip him off as he laughs, putting more food onto your plate from his. you can only watch wordlessly, feeling your heart warm. after you finish eating, niki takes your hand again. you glance at him questioningly.

“there’s one last thing i wanted to do,” he mumbles while avoiding your gaze.

“how’s this one?”

you scrunch your nose in distaste at the sight, reaching to place red devil horns on niki’s head.

“i think this one fits you more.”

as he grumbles, you laugh.

“fine, but i get to choose yours.”

he ends up picking a frog headband for you—which you complain to no avail. his reasoning was, “you remind me of a frog. like the princess and the frog.”

you splutter, “but that means-“

“yes. i’m the princess.”

“obviously,” he adds.

in the photo booth, you sit awkwardly. niki cocks an eyebrow.

“i’ve never done this before, so…"

instead of teasing you like you originally assumed, niki only brings you closer. he wraps an arm around you while posing for the camera. you’re frozen, even as the countdown starts. you can barely manage a smile as the camera flashes.

“what now?”

niki glances at the screen, “we still have three more pictures. what poses do you want to do?”

you’re at a loss for words.

niki leans closer again. he makes a half heart with his hand as he looks at you expectantly. “how about a heart pose?”

“o-okay.”

you never felt so suffocated in that photo booth. and yet, you’ve never laughed harder. you’ve never been so happy in your life with someone else.

“hey, this photo came out good!”

“but what happened to the first one?”

you both lean in to get a closer look at the photos that printed, and you end up feeling niki’s breath on your cheek.

it was warm. it was nice to have someone so close to you and still feel comfortable. it was nice to know you were close enough to someone to feel that way.

it was something you had never felt before.

“..-y/n?”

“huh?” you snap out of your trance.

“i said, you can keep this copy.”

you look at the pictures and then at niki. “what? no, it’s fine-“

“i said keep it,” he forcefully shoves the photo into your hand as he quickly heads over to the cashier to pay.

you stand there for a minute, looking at the photos. you guys looked happy. you guys looked good…together. like you were a real couple, or something. you internally chide yourself while taking off your headband. what a silly thought, you brush off.

on the walk back home, you feel utterly satisfied, humming as you match your pace with niki’s.

“when we arrive, i’ll let you in through the back, just to be safe.”

“whatever you say, mr. responsible.”

he ruffles your hair and you swat his hand away in annoyance.

that night was the first night you’ve felt content. almost like you could stay here—like you belonged. you stare up at the dark ceiling, reflecting on the days events.

“niki?”

you hear his bed shift. “yeah?”

“i just wanted to say thanks. for everything. you’ve been providing everything for me, all while helping me on my case. i’m grateful for everything. i don’t know how, but i promise to pay you back one day.”

“what’s with the sudden sappiness?” his tone is teasing, but light. he clears his throat to add, “but yeah, of course.”

“i dunno, i guess i’m just not used to this type of treatment back home.”

“what? what do you mean?”

even in the dark, you can feel inquisitive stare on you.

“i mean, i’m usually left on my own since my parents are working. and my friends, well, they’re nice and all…”

“but you don’t feel a true connection?” he finishes, and you roll over.

“yeah. i don’t really know what my friends are like in this world. who even are my friends? do i even have any?”

niki grimaces.

“uh, yeah. i don’t know if they exist in your world, but have you heard of danielle? and haerin?”

“nope. what are they like?”

he shifts again, and the bed creaks. “you see, i don’t really talk to your friend group. it’s nothing personal, i just don’t want to associate with them.”

“dang, maybe it really is just a me problem, in every life too.”

you hadn’t thought about hanni and hyein since you got here. but danielle and haerin were two new leads. a new start, perhaps.

now that you had more information from niki, you started your research again. specifically, insta-stalking.

your specialty.

niki hands you his phone with a suspicious look when you casually ask for it. you pray he doesn’t hear the sound of blood rushing in your ears or the pounding of your heart.

as he goes to do his night time routine, you quickly tap on the instagram app and search up danielle’s name. it doesn’t take long for you to find her account since niki followed her. checking to make sure he didn’t come out of the bathroom, you scroll through her feed.

and your heart stops when you see it. in the corner of a photo—a picture of her and haerin posing at school in front of their lockers.

that’s your ridiculously expensive bracelet on danielle’s arm. you’re sure of it.

you felt yourself grow nauseous as you quickly turn off niki’s phone as soon as you hear the door turn.

“hey, are you okay? you look like you just saw a ghost..”

you blink and smile, peeking at him innocently, although the dread grows in the pit of your stomach. “huh? no. what are you talking about?”

“what were you doing on my phone?”

you look away sheepishly, “trying to see if i could call my mom?” maybe niki’s acting skills were rubbing off on you.

“oh, and?”

you shake your head, a fake grim expression plastered on your face.

that night, you lay awake staring into the darkness. when you hear niki’s soft snores, you sneak over to his bedside table to retrieve the key. you know you shouldn’t, but you felt this was something you needed to do alone.

you feel like you’re on the edge of the cliff, about to jump into the water. the adrenaline filled you, you were right there-

it was so close.

the next day, you have to pretend everything is okay. you smile when niki greets you good morning, even peck him on the cheek when he tells you he has to stop by the dance studio for the night.

he visibly blushes, stuttering on his words, “w-uh, w-what was that.. for..?”

you shrug, “i’m just proud of you for getting your grades up. it’s your first time back dancing in a while so have fun, okay?”

he nods, beaming as he squeezes your hand goodbye. as he leaves, your smile fades. it felt too normal. it felt too right to imagine having a life with niki, like this everyday.

and knowing what you knew now, it was wrong. it was wrong from the start, and yet you couldn't help yourself fall even deeper. you had to get back into the right mental state. you couldn't keep deluding yourself.

it was time to confront the truth.

you can’t believe you’re sneaking into through the school boy’s bathroom again. the locker key safely stored in your pocket, you find danielle’s locker. the same one from the photo she posted.

this had to be the one. you can only hold your breath and hope as you unlock it.

you quickly scramble through all the stuff, looking for the shiny bracelet. you don’t find it, but when you go to close the locker door in defeat, a crumpled up piece of paper falls onto the floor.

you huff, taking it and opening it up. it’s a picture of sunghoon, you, and danielle, all smiling as you three posed for the camera. but it wasn’t just an ordinary picture—there was a big, red “X” scribbled over your face, with the words “finally done” written next to it.

and hearts next to sunghoon’s face.

horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth.

during a break at the dance studio, niki doesn’t expect to open his instagram app and see danielle’s instagram show up on his recently searched. frowning, he taps on the account. he never cared to pay attention to danielle, so why was her account the last thing searched up?

just out of curiosity, he scrolls through her recent posts.

and then he sees it. something that is so hard to miss. it’s so strikingly familiar.

he rushes home. when niki bursts through the front door, he doesn’t expect to find you missing. and when niki notices his old school uniform and cap gone, his heart drops.

you sit on the floor next to the lockers with your head buried on top of your knees. you’re sure you could get caught, but you don’t care.

the crumpled picture feels heavy in your pocket.

you stay there, staring at the walls until you see the moon shining brightly outside one of the windows. you haven’t eaten or drank anything the whole day. you’re not sure how long it’s been.

“y/n!”

great, now you were hearing things as well?

furious footsteps stomp towards you.

“why did you leave without telling me? you could’ve gotten caught-it could’ve been dangerous?!”

“n-niki?” your eyes widen.

before saying anything else, he pulls you up to your feet.

“why would you come to school without me?”

for some reason, his words sting. you cross your arms, “what? like i can’t take care of myself?”

he groans, “that’s besides the point! if someone saw you—“

“i don’t care! so why do you care so—“

a sound from down the hall cuts you both off. you turn to niki in panic and he curses. “the custodian comes on weekends to clean.”

you hold back a yelp as niki grabs your wrist and pulls you along in the opposite direction.

he pushes through a door and turns to the left. you don’t stop until you’re inside the.. natatorium?

“why are we-“

“there are no cameras here, unlike in the school building. i thought you would’ve known that.”

after he speaks, there’s an awkward silence.

niki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “well, are you gonna tell me?”

you feel the frustration flow through your veins, “and what about you? you tell me why i have to let you know my every location? why i feel like i can’t take care of myself, l-like a sick, old dog who can’t go anywhere or do anything? i’m sick of it all!”

“you don’t understand,” his voice raises, and you interrupt him, getting closer and closer to him.

“you’re right, i don’t. i don’t understand why you helped me in the first place. you say that you barely knew who i was, yet here you are acting like you care! like you cared about the dead me!”

at this point, his face is so close to yours, you can feel your breaths mix as neither of you back down.

“i do care! of course i care! about you, standing right in front of me!” he clenches his fists. your eyes linger on a single vein on his neck that sticks out due to the intensity. the fire burning in his eyes, your trembling voices, it all makes you falter.

you don’t know what you asked. you know the truth. niki always cared—more than cared. he always went out of his way to search for you, like the day on the balcony and today. he wanted to find you, he wanted to have you in his life,

you realize it now. to put simply, he wanted you.

and this was the first time you felt wanted.

you don’t know what else to do, so you lean in and close the gap to kiss him. and if anything, niki immediately pulls you closer to him.

when you break apart for air, his dark eyes still staring deep into yours, you think he’s gonna lean back in again. but you hear a faint voice sound, growing louder. your eyes both widen. the janitor.

without a second thought, niki pushes you.

he does it lightly, although it’s still enough to make you lose your balance, and for a second you stare back at him, betrayal evident before you fall backwards—

straight into the pool.

your eyes just barely peek open in the water, and then there’s a splash accompanying yours a few seconds later.

he easily swims to you, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his once more. it was a much different experience from just a few seconds ago.

you stay entwined like that together, eyes squeezed shut, until you actually can’t breathe anymore and you have to smack niki’s arm. you both rise to the top, heaving water and air.

after a few seconds of coughing and gathering your bearings, niki’s raspy voice fills the air.

“at least he’s gone. i’ve always wanted to do that.”

you roll your eyes, splashing water back at him in revenge for pushing you earlier. “seriously? after we got almost got caught? we could’ve drowned!”

you splash him again, “also, you could’ve given me a heads up!”

he grins, wiping the running water free from his face. “and where’s the fun in that?”

you shake your head in amazement, “you’re actually an idiot. i can’t believe you, niki.”

“an idiot who saved us from getting caught.”

after returning home together, you sit and enjoy the peaceful silence as niki dries your hair. your mind can’t help but replay the last few moments, from finding the picture at school to kissing niki, and then finally get pushed into the pool. specifically, the kissing part.

growing sleepy at the soft and warm feeling of niki’s hands running through your hair, you almost don’t hear him when he says, “all done.”

you thank him and he looks around awkwardly.

“what is it?” you squint at him.

“well, i wanted to apologize. i didn’t mean to make to feel that way. i was just really worried about you, and i felt hurt you didn’t tell me why you snuck into school again today. did you not trust me? did i do something wrong?”

you soften, eyes falling to the floor.

“i’m so sorry, niki. i didn’t mean to lash out on you. of course i trust you, i just wanted to do something for myself for once. without needing your or anyone else’s help.”

you exhale, “the reason i left today was for this—“ you take the damp, crumpled picture and unfold it as best as you can.

niki’s hands fall to his side. “oh god.”

“it was danielle. she took my bracelet and i-i think she wanted my boyfriend. i know it has to be her.”

“w-what? but how?”

you shake your head. he goes to hug you.

you feel tears brimming at the corner of your eyes, but you won’t waste any tears on her. you pull back to look at niki, with a determined expression on your face.

“you have to catch her and make sure they get what they deserve.”

niki stares at you deeply, “are you sure? because if you are, i won’t stop.”

he wonders why you say you and not we.

at that, you falter.

“no. i never be sure because she is—was my best friend and i will always hold that guilt in me. but you have to do something about it.”

niki’s hold around you tightens, “and what about you?”

you smile, albeit sadly. “you know i can’t stay here, hiding away forever. i don’t belong here. i already existed in your world, and at some point, i have to leave soon. i can feel it.”

it was the same feeling as when you first came here. that day you felt off. the feeling that you don’t belong anywhere, but this time, you feel fulfilled. complete. like you were ready to go back home.

“it’s not something i can explain, but i know it,” you look at him with determined eyes.

and he looks back at you with pained ones.

niki is able to convince jungwon to get his dad to reinvestigate the case again. the picture is given up as evidence, and danielle and haerin are taken in.

the day they confessed out of guilt, you and niki celebrate by sneaking onto your school’s rooftop. the same place where it all started.

it’s a cold and windy night, but you could care less about getting sick. because it was your last day anyway.

you didn’t tell niki, but you had a good feeling—like the world was patting you on the back and saying, “you worked hard.”

the two of you watch the stars, snuggled up and reflecting on how your lives came to be like this. wondering how far away apart your worlds were.

you kiss niki’s cheek, wishing to remember the feeling of being in his arms forever. his scent, his touch, his warmth, you wish you could keep all of it. you smile at him, willing back the tears.

“there was a reason i bumped into you that day, of all people. there was a reason you came into my life, and i came into yours, niki.”

he bites his lip, “y/n... you changed my life. every day with you was better than the last.”

if this was a dream, you wouldn’t want to wake up. you trace his face, so it will remain ingrained in your mind forever, even when you go back to your world.

“what will happen when i leave?” you whisper.

“how will you even get back home?”

you shrug, “i don’t know how, but i know that i will.”

niki laughs, “that’s the y/n i know.”

as he kisses you once more, a star falls across the sky.

the next day, you find a ticket in your bag. a train ticket.

you don’t recall having bought one, and you don’t question niki. you only ask him to take you to the train station.

while walking hand and hand, you reminisce on the past month or so. “will we still remember this once you go back to your world?”

your body trembles, “i don’t know.”

“then… will i ever see you again?”

you don’t want to meet his eyes, because you know you’ll cry.

yes, you want to say. instead, you say, “ i don’t know.”

niki wipes a stray tear on your face. you don’t even know how you reached your stop already.

“this is it,” he says.

but neither of you move.

“don’t worry, even if i don’t remember you, you’ll always be in my heart. we’ll meet in your world,” he reminds you while the tears start falling down both of your faces.

“don’t forget that there’s another me out there to annoy you. you just need to search hard.”

you sniffle, playfully pushing him away as you furiously blink away the tears that blur your vision. you needed to soak up the sight of him as much of him as you could.

“i promise i’ll find you again.”

he holds onto you until the very end, until you slip out of his grasp once more.

crossing the platform into the train while giving him one last, slow wave was painful. the last thing you can think of is the fact that you never knew. you never asked for niki’s full name. his real one.

you never knew niki’s name.

and then everything fades into nothing.

that’s the last time niki ever sees you. the train passes by in a flash, blowing his bangs across his face while he tries his best to keep that fake smile on his face for you—all for you before you go.

then, you’re gone.

in those seconds as the train passes, niki knows exactly why he did it. why he helped you through all of it, through everything together.

all because you were there in class. you never looked at him, but he looked at you. he saw all of you, everyday—even if you didn’t know it. all your quirks and habits that he couldn’t help but find cute. you made his days interesting.

but he was the coward for never approaching you. that was his fault because one day, you weren’t there anymore.

and he had to pretend like nothing happened. on the outside, that’s how it was. even if he felt the slightest connection, tiniest pull towards you, you were still strangers.

you were strangers until you knocked into him on the train platform.

niki had to be selfish. he thinks it could have been fate that he saw you again, but now he’s just left with the lingering regret and feelings. those memories flash past like the train does. they come and go in the blink of an eye- a split second.

when the train is gone, niki frowns and wonders why he’s standing there.

he also wonders why it feels like there’s a piece of his heart missing.

after that, he attends your funeral in his world. it was an open funeral to everyone who wanted to come- classmates, friends, and him. niki didn’t even know you that well, but he get this unexpalaniable urge that he should go- he needs to go. he brings flowers and gets to see you one last time.

when niki sees the picture of your serene face, he can’t help but get this sense of peace, like everything’s resolved.

and then he’s free.

epilogue...

you sigh, trudging along the walkway on the way to work. looking at your surroundings, you were getting major deja vu. but at this point, you were used to having episodes like that.

there were many, many times where some things simply felt so familiar. but it was like your memory was wiped and you couldn’t remember why. some times you had flashes of an adventure, a feeling of mystery, a boy.

ever since some day in high school, it just happened. and from then on, you’ve always felt like something was missing. or wrong. you can’t tell. it became a part of you, to the point where you almost forgot about it. that feeling of misbelonging, being just out of reach. it’s strange, like a weird occurrence that makes you want to open your third eye or whatever to find out more.

even after graduating, it never left you.

you being so lost in your thoughts, fail to notice when you bump into someone coming off the train you were about to get onto.

“i’m sorry,” you quickly apologize, but you soon falter when you meet eyes with sparkling brown ones. weirdly enough, they draw you in.

they were familiar, you’ve certainly seen them somewhere. the moment lasts for a while, with the two of you standing still in the middle of the passway, staring at each other.

you slowly smile, extending a hand. “i apologize if i’m mistaken, but have we met before?”

he stares at you too, confused yet enthralled.

“i-i think you may be mistaken,” he starts hesitantly and you begin to apologize.

“are you sure?“ you quickly introduce yourself, “and you?”

you swore you were not such a desperate person, but you couldn’t help it, not this time and definitely not in front of this particularly alluring guy.

“me?”

he takes a quick glance at you before taking your hand with a small smile.

“my name is nishimura riki.”

first i wanted to say thank you for reading! this was a rough time coming, and i wanted to apologize for the long wait. this has actually been a wip of mine for years and i finally was able to finish it with riki after months and months of writing. this past year has been the worst one so far, but i'm just grateful to still be here. just feeling super appreciative for those who stuck with me and waited patiently. thank you. can't wait to see you guys again soon with the next oneshot (hint hint)!

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