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oristromboli · 3 years

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If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 6

Chapter Title: Punishment

The fierce sounds of arguments melt into clashing weapons in the Liyue landscape as all frustrations are released in bloody fury.

Punishment is thus dolled out on the sore, sore loser.

(Smut this chapter: Reader/Childe, M/F)

(Warnings: rough and angry sex after a fight, power dynamic struggles, being very very mean to each other - not a fluffy first time between them given that it's Childe and his implied mission. please be careful if this isn’t your cup of tea!)

CW: the first segment describes Childe making a hunt! Canon-typical violence, but just in case: one paragraph starts with "Childe kneels down - " and another one is "With a firm - "

Childe takes a slow breath in, and on his exhale, releases the arrow, watching as it sinks into the boar’s side.

Damn, he was never good with a bow. He strolls leisurely up to the animal, frowning when he notices the pitiful struggle as it tries to move despite the mortal wound. Poor thing thinks it still has a chance.

Childe kneels down and reaches out to the pig, running his hands gently through the matted fur. He watches as its breathing becomes labored; each unsteady drag likely pushes its lungs against the arrow. How many ways did he watch the abyss deny death to the unfortunate prey wandering in? A quick death was mercy never granted in that suffocating darkness.

He feels black armor fighting to grow from his skin, feels the electricity pulling him taut as he smiles softly, running his hand up to cup the boar’s head.

With a firm twist, Childe snaps its neck and the body goes limp.

Blood from the arrow wound trickles onto his gloves, and he raises his hand to lick it idly away. His frown returns when he realizes that the flaming need in him is barely sated.

Warbled and demented noises creep up towards him from between the cracks in the earth.

Grunting, he hoists the animal over his shoulders and starts walking again while whistling a lullaby.

---

Birds call overhead while the wind rustles through the emerald leaves around you in this little outcrop by the river. The sun felt warm, kissing the back of your neck gently as you took in your surroundings, counting each fish that crested the surface as they leaped further upstream.

Though you normally take these moments of isolation to regain your internal serenity, you didn’t necessarily hate the fact that Childe insisted on tagging along. Yet, confusion still wrung your head as to why he came along on a commission so far off the beaten path. Even Aether would complain at such a wildlife excursion.

“Hey girlie,” Childe calls, grinning wide and bubbles up a rare, genuine laugh when he sees your surprised expression. “I got lunch!”

Your eyes bulge as you watch him carrying one of the largest boars you’ve ever seen with a skip in his step like the animal weighed nothing. When he drops it unceremoniously to the ground, you hear the resounding thud and decide firmly that yes, Teyvat’s animals are ridiculous.

Childe cracks his knuckles and materializes his hydro knife to kneel at its side, and you just… You just watch.

Some deeply primitive part of you is hooting like a shameless dog as you watch him handle the meat with ease. Good man. Strong man. Can feed and protect.

“ – girlie, hey, you listening?”

You shake your head and blink at him. He starts laughing and gestures to the fireplace. “O-oh, right!” In a flash, you turn your back to him to hide the rising heat to your cheeks. “Um… That’s a lot of meat, you know.”

“Well, nobody ever complained to me about that, pretty bird.”

Nevermind. Big, strong man gone. “Why are you always cracking jokes? It’s like you never take things seriously.”

Childe pauses for a moment, stilling his hands. He never looks at you before he resumes skinning the boar, though you recognize the flash of a bygone memory nonetheless. “Nothing wrong in trying to get people to laugh occasionally in this shithole of a world. What else can you do? Tell your siblings that this place isn’t the fairytale they grew up believing in?”

You swallow and nod. Some time passes, and as you finish setting up the makeshift stove, it occurs to you that… There’s two of you. And one very big, very fat pig.

You’ll need a bigger fire.

“Hey, how do you plan on cooking this?”

“You’ll see.”

---

An hour later and you’re in awe at how good the food is. The meat is practically melting off the bone as you eat the roasted pork, slight drool dribbling down.

Childe just stares as you lick your lips. “Did you learn this in Fatui boot camp or something?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice a pitch lower. “Closer to the ‘or something’ part though.”

Idle chatter starts between you two, soft banter and long talks about nothing. You ask about his past, he gives curt answers and you do the same, but there’s this silent understanding between you two about it. There’s little to say on the matter as neither party wants to remember. At least that’s something you have in common with Childe.

“So, along your travels,” he starts, wiping his mouth with a crimson handkerchief. “Did you come across any gods? Besides our resident funeral consultant, of course.”

“A few,” you reply. “Some also stepped down to join mortals too, but in those lands, they gave up their full divinity instead of just the title.”

“Why anybody would ever give up power willingly is beyond me.”

You laugh, though it sounds more vindicative than you intended. “Don’t you know? The gods envy mortals because their lives are fleeting and any moment can be their last. It’s all the more beautiful to them.”

Childe narrows his eyes. “Who said that? Seems to me the gods here don’t really care for us.”

You smile bitterly. “Yeah, I can see your point. The gods in Teyvat are different, but what about Zhongli? Don’t you trust him?”

“Ha, I trust him to pursue his own self-interests. If they align with mine, then great, there’s no problems between us. He’s reliable and stubborn. Shockingly, he has my honest loyalty, and I trust I can predict his next move.”

“Always the tactician.” You both chuckle at the thought. “I would’ve thought there was more than that.” You pray he doesn’t realize how you test the waters, and with the way he looks in the distance, you’re safe.

“You’re not wrong. I care about him. He drives me insane, but come hell or high water, he’ll be my friend to the bitter end.”

Friend. Your heart throbs again, though in deliverance or bewilderment for their strange relationship, you’re not sure.

“With your powers, were you ever seen as one?” Childe says, breaking your thoughts.

“A god? Sometimes, though only if people haven’t seen real divinity. We were also called demons. Unnatural. We keep to ourselves mostly and avoid too much trouble, but with our powers sealed, we don’t even have that going for us. We’re not really welcome among humans or divine, hah.” His eyes relax briefly, shifting to an indescribable emotion. There’s something in them, some light of understanding.

You hate it.

“Don’t act like you care,” you say, turning away and hugging yourself. Yeah, you know you’re being unfair, but you can’t handle Childe’s pity at the moment. He sighs as he tosses his leftovers over his shoulder and tries putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey – “

“Don’t.”

“I don’t care. Look at me,” he says, tone sharp and commanding you to listen. During easy exchanges, it became so easy to gloss over the fact that Childe is, indeed, a general of the Fatui.

He’s all but glaring down at you, matching your petulant stare. “What is with you? I’ve been trying to fix things between us, but I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one. This goes both ways, you know.”

“Us? There is no us, Childe. It’s just you. It’s always been about what you want,” you seethe. Stars, you sounded so much like a kid, but some sick part of you is enjoying this. All your words are underhanded and you both know it. “Did you even care? At any point, any at all, did you care?”

His blue eyes slowly widen as realization dawns on him. “Ah. You’re still mad about that. About me using you, huh?”

“What the f – Yes, I’m still mad! Congratulations, you’ve got a pair of eyes. Don’t you know that I – nevermind.”

“No, say it,” he says, placing both hands on each of your shoulders now and caging you in. His face leaves no room for argument as he says your real name. “Say it. Don’t back out now.”

“Stars, you stupid, selfish son of a – “

“Hey, don’t you bring my mother into this,” he says, though a lopsided grin works its way onto his face regardless.

“Very funny, Childe. I just… I kept it, you know? It’s no Mr. Cyclops, but it’s still mine,” you say, looking down. His eyes flick to the starconch dangling from your journal.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your shoulders.

“Of course I did. I made a promise to you, and I have a feeling you’re the type to actually cut my pinkie off.”

“Ha. Who’s being funny now?”

You shake your head. “My question still stands: did you care? I’ve forgiven you – you know that – but I’m mad because… I need to know if our friendship was...”

When you look up again, he’s – oh holy – when did he get so close? His deep blue eyes are resolute and you’re holding your breath. Childe is close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him as his lips parts. “Honestly? I didn’t at the time.”

Oh. Of course not.

You close your eyes as you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. Great. Just fantastic. Nothing can get worse than this.

“But now…”

His fingers gently grab your chin and lift up as he tilts his own down at you. “I can’t remember that time without guilt. When I saw how Teucer showered you all with adoration, it just reminded me of what we had.”

“What we had? What was that? Friend? Enemy? Sparring partner?” You scoff and lean out of the space he made that threatened to suffocate you. “I don’t want to believe a word you’re saying, because even though I’ve been honest every step of the way – “ You pull his right hand off your left shoulder and lock a pinkie with it. “ – I can guarantee that you haven’t.”

Do you feel a sense of joy when you release his hand with a glare?

“You’re no better than the gods you hate.”

When he has the gall to look offended?

Yeah, you do, and know what? Fuck him.

Suddenly, your hand is harshly yanked up as he leans close again, locking a pinkie before you can escape. “You don’t want to believe me? Fine. But don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for your duty if push came to shove. At least this time I had the decency to tell you why I’m here, why I’m ‘using’ you again. You beat me to it though, or did you forget?”

Childe sneers, fury now raging in those watery depths. “I’m not mad, I’m happy that you’re as shrewd as you are strong. Yes, I didn’t care then. Yes, I care now, even if I don’t regret it. I want to leave that in the past because today, this moment, is all that matters. C’mon, eye for an eye.”

“What are you even talking about?” You’re seething now, matching his frustration. Seriously, he can’t spout this crap and expect you to suddenly understand. “I am not doing this with you, to you, whatever ‘this’ is. Despite being upset, you’re still my friend.”

“No, we weren’t just friends and you know it,” he growls. “Or enemies. So just give the word and get it over with, comrade. Fight me, use me, do something and get it out of your system.”

He’s… He’s crazy, he’s just insane, you have to get out of here. You swiftly stand and pull your hand away, staring down at him. “I said no, Childe. Not everything is a battle. I can’t believe you… You would think that. Think that I’m no better than the people who treated you like some pawn.”

You sigh and turn away, but your hand is yanked behind you again. May the stars give you patience.

When he turns you, he’s looking at you with a familiar glint as his lips curl. It’s the same expression he wore in the aftermath of Osial.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to them. You aren’t one of those out-of-touch bastards. I just… I wasn’t sure what else to do to get you to believe me.”

Who would’ve thought a Harbinger could be so maudlin. Torpor replaced your irritation and quiet resignation flickered in your mind. Why you still bickering with him? It’s pointless.

You take the hand holding you and bring it up to the center of your chest.

He freezes and stares at his hand, breathes growing shallow and quick.

“This is going nowhere. Leave it in the past, right? There’s always more to argue over, ha.”

When you squeeze his hand, you smile at him, meeting his bloodthirsty eyes. “You’re right, Childe. Let’s get this out of our system.”

You don’t want to, you really, really don’t, but seeing the way his shoulders relax with barely contained relief shoves that regret aside. Childe was never the best with words – while his fellow Harbingers wove tale after tale with silver tongues, he simply collected others’ tongues with that sharpened silver.

As you both pace yourselves apart, you pull out your journal, long modified to be a weapon of sorts in this world. You know you are at a severe disadvantage as you were never great with other tools, so you had to find a way to either stay out of his range – difficult with his bow – or get close enough to his personal space to land a direct blow with energy gathered in your hands – difficult with his water shields.

Childe summons his hydro blades and begins twirling them, head bowed as he watches your every step. Slowly, you circle one another as both try to find weak points to exploit. His eyes are nothing short of predatory, and as his lips barely twitch into a snarl, you’re once again reminded of just who is in front of you.

Tartaglia, the Vanguard of the Harbingers, whose arrogant and ruthless madness could only be soothed on the battlefield. He’s not so much like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a monster in wolf’s clothing.

On instinct, you immediately tilt your head as an arrow whistles past your ear, nicking the edge. You feel warmth trickle down and your ear stings something fierce as you start to dodge his incoming folly of arrows.

Is it too late to back out? Like, right now? You can handle the proverbial tail between your legs but you cannot handle –

You curse as water rises from the river to wrap around your ankle and shackles you when you drew too close. Cruel laughter bubbles to your left as you turn and see him charging, serrated blades out for the slaughter.

When he gets close enough to leap, nearly too close for comfort, you immediately summon a wall of stone in front of you. A soft thud echoes, so you form a fist and push the wall forward and away from you as the hydro chains break with Childe’s concentration shifting to his predicament.

Normally, you would be more prepared and calculating in your attacks, but the sheer ruthlessness of his onslaught took you by surprise.

Russet-colored hair juts out from the top as he leaps up and over, twirling in the air. With a clear opening, you reach out energetically to the smattering of small – yet sharp – stones around you to use as projectiles. He laughs as he slices each stone, but your goal of interrupting his trajectory is accomplished.

Childe lands a distance away as you sprint farther back, summoning small pillars of stone between you two as he immediately chases after. Though he’s chaotic, his movements are somewhat predictable; you summon one stone in a bluff to get him to move to his right to dodge, but immediately slam another stone to his ribs on his side from the direction he moved towards.

He grunts, but hardly flinches as you see him double his efforts in chasing you. Belatedly, you realize he’s been herding you towards the massive waterfall the entire time. Either you finish him here or he finishes you there with the elemental advantage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not as fast as Aether, this is why you stay on the backline, fuck –

Childe’s lance smashes the shoddy stones rising quicker in your panic to separate you two. Not your finest work, but it’s a bit hard to focus on their construction when you have a maniac sent from hell on your ass, thank you. When you see how he leaps from your most recent stone, utilizing the momentum in its rise to propel himself forward, you tuck tail and run.

Safe to say, two thoughts occur as he tackles you and his iron grip is wrapped around your body to restrict movement as you both tumble along the ground.

One, you’re absolutely torn between humiliation and feeling shameless as you realize your undergarments are soaked with his husky pants filling your ears. His head tucked against your own in the roll.

There’s definitely something wrong with you, you decide, since you were nothing short of terrified two seconds earlier.

Two, when your head slams against the ground and you open your bleary eyes, you realize how lovely the snapdragon flowers lining the riverbank are this time of year.

You hiss as you feel heavy thighs cage your arms to your side and look up. Childe is leering down at you and snarling as his right hand curls into a fist, purple lightning slowly dancing across it. His left hand glows blue as you recognize the sensation of the infamous riptide mark forming over your chest, eyes glazed over with concentration.

In a moment of paralyzing horror, you realize just how far from civilization you two are.

Ha, haha, good one Childe. He’s… He’s playing, right? This was just friendly brawling. Ha. Oh shit.

He’s not slowing down.

When his hand clamps on your shoulder to still your frantic movements, you whine – high and feeble – at the pain blooming from his grip. For a split second, he falters as his eyes regain clarity, hand loosening a fraction to no longer being unyielding. You take the opportune distraction to flick your hand and throw a stone to his chest.

It’s not much, not without the power of your book – now discarded somewhere – but it does the job as he is knocked to the side and off of you.

In the action, you scramble to keep with the flow and slam him on his back, perching on his chest as your hands glow with accumulating geo energy.

Seeing his soft pants, a sparkle in his eyes, and how blood trickles down his forehead, the shattering in your heart is deafening when you realize how young he looks. His laughter is wet and harsh as his arms are splayed.

“Do it,” he grunts. “End the fight, ‘cause I won’t stop.”

No. No, you’re not doing this.

“Aw, is little birdie too scared?”

You lower your hand and wrap it around his throat, and stars, is his grin growing?

“Come on, just do it – “

“Shut up,” you hiss, leaning forward. “Stop it Childe, I’m not punishing you.”

“What if I want you to?”

You freeze as your mouth parts in a silent gasp, his expression never faltering. When you jump back, you grind against something hard and insistent against your ass, and oh. Was this his plan all along…?

Childe’s hands fly to your hips and pull you down, and oh fuck, a moan fumbles from your lips before you harshly cut it off. Your eyes glance down to see his hooded eyes and he’s panting as he watches you. “Pretty bird is suddenly backing out now? So weak, you won’t even take your venge – “

His words are muffled as you lean forward and kiss him, but you yelp when you feel sharp teeth suddenly bite your bottom lip. Something angry twittering in you possesses you to reach into his hair and fist it, yanking his head up to meet your irritated gaze. When he moans again, loud and shameless and grinds against your core, you’re seized by the same fierce need.

“You’re sick,” you say as your tongue darts out to taste a hint of blood.

For some reason, those words still him as his eyebrows furrow slightly. “I know.”

Stars, you hate how he stares you down, daring you to do something about it. You hate how it feels like it was your fault, that crack in his shield as you see your own shocked eyes reflected in his ocean blues. They flicker between yours, and that something whispers in you again: for whatever reason, he wants to be punished.

Maybe that’s how he gets his sick kicks. Yeah. That’s it.

(You shove aside any lingering doubts.)

You pull him to you this time, kissing him as you simultaneously begin a slow, rhythmic roll of your hips against his throbbing bulge. When Childe’s mouth parts in a strangled moan, you take the opportunity to dive your tongue into his and hum in approval as he rubs his hands along your thighs.

As you part, a thin trail of saliva stained red with blood connecting you two, you lean back and smirk at his whine from the loss of contact. Instead, you lean back and arch your back to apply more pressure to his bulge. “You’re such a challenge sometimes,” you murmur, scanning his features.

Childe moans, ragged and hoarse, as his hands find purchase on your hips. “Please,” he replies desperately.

“When was the last time someone put you in your place?” you say as your hands slowly trail down to his chest and meticulously begin undoing each button. Each time your nails scrape his skin, the contact is minuscule but enough to hitch his breath.

“N-not since the Tsaritsa,” he whispers, keening as you dip your fingers beneath his jacket to open it fully, baring his pale chest. “The people in Liyue are too… Let’s call it traditional in bed, hm? A bit too tender.”

You both snicker (unknowingly at the same man), but his laughter is cut off as you lean down to kiss along each scar littering his chest. There is a smattering of slashes and burns, enough to paint a picture of a life hard-won and deserving of his name.

When you ghost your lips back up, you pause at a pale, crescent-shaped… Is that a bite mark? You raise your hand slow to that juncture between his neck and shoulder, and you feel blue eyes watching you intently. As you trace it, you murmur, “What’s this? Did a lover leave this? Doesn’t seem very becoming of a Liyue native.”

Childe releases a puff of air instead of a laugh and rolls his head back. “Let’s just say it’s a trophy for the one time I managed to get a stupidly sentimental man to realize I’m not fragile on my last night here. He even apologized for it.”

Huh. You choose not to comment on the strange memory, but instead, opt to kiss the scar lightly. Childe openly moans, breathes becoming shallower as you move down the expanse of his creamy abdomen from there.

Gloved hands fly to your head and grab. His shallow thrusts against your chest halt when you lift away from him, glowering at him to stop. Childe’s eyes narrow, but when he tries again, you lie your palm flat against his bulge and push down.

Childe cries out at the border between pain and pleasure, and good, that fucker needs to learn when to stop.

Oh, gods, when did you get a mean streak? Except, when you lay your eyes on the Fatui again, memories of each time he’s pushed your buttons surface, directly compromising your promise to Aether to be kind to the locals in Teyvat to expedite finding Lumine.

Yeah, Aether isn’t here right now. You can make a special exception.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you grunt and you lean up again, choking back laughter when you see how his eyes widen at your abandonment. Ha. “Maybe I’ll go slower and, how is it called, ‘make love to you like the people in Liyue? Maybe I’ll stop pursuing you like this, where none else dared challenge the almighty Harbinger, huh?”

Admittedly, the lust in you skyrockets when you see how he tries putting on an intimidating façade again, yet the flush across his face and chest absolutely ruins it. Oh man, you can keep doing this all day.

Only… When the devil smirks at you, your heart begins hammering.

“Oh? Maybe you should,” he pants, and you pointedly look at his erection now forming a slight damp spot on his pants. “Tch, but don’t tell me you’re not curious. You’re too fucking nice all the time, you’d hate that slowness as much as I would.”

Irritation seers through you again as you suddenly – and perhaps unnecessarily roughly – grab his pants, purposefully dragging your nails along his skin as you begin to pull it down. “What makes you think I’d hate it?” you huff.

Childe aids in your struggle, shimmying his pants down and off as he kicks off his boots while you clamber on top of him again.

“Come on,” he sneers, snaking his right hand around your neck to pull you closer while his left makes begins to slide down your belly. When he leans closer, he pauses short of kissing you and stays like that. “Don’t you want a taste?”

“You – “

Fuck, you didn’t realize how he distracted you until one finger brushes your clit and slides along your folds. Fuck, fuck, you hate how he drinks in your quiet and strangled moans as it begins to slowly dip into you. When you feel something smooth and cold instead, it hits you that he never took off his gloves.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he coos and rolls his hips upwards to grind against your ass. You grit your teeth, though Childe takes this moment to kiss you again and suck on your bottom lip, massaging you all the while. It’s… It’s not enough, damn him.

"Give me a safeword," you rasp as you break apart. "Right now. So I know this isn't a trick up your sleeve."

He grunts and leans forward again to press his lips against your nose, though he pauses in his ministrations. "This isn't -"

"Childe."

"... Calla lily."

You nod and sigh, tilting your head to the side.

The hand formerly around your neck slides down to pull down your clothes, allowing more access as it pools around your thighs.

You pull away entirely – ah, there goes his fingers – and stand, beginning to strip. As he watches you, you see how his jaw clenches, impatient and yet thoroughly enjoying the impromptu strip dance.

When you’re bare, you begin to walk over and have to bite back a whimper at how Childe’s tongue darts along his lips as you approach. Hmm…

You pad over to his head and grab a fistful of his hair again as you kneel by his head, concentrating on how his face contorts with pleasure again.

“What makes you think you’re so special, huh?” you gruff at him as he grins up at you in that wicked, wicked way.

“Because I’m all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” he responds daringly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Oh, stars forgive you if you (not so) accidentally strangle this man. You swing one leg over his head and pull it up as you lower yourself. At least he needs no further instruction as he immediately rests his hands on your thighs and tilts his head to lap at the wetness dribbling down.

Let it never be said that Childe didn’t know how to use his mouth, because fuck, the eagerness he begins devouring you out with is nothing short of a man approaching his last meal. You become hyper-aware of your wanton moans, how you grind your core further along his lips while his aching cock is behind you, devoid of all attention.

When his tongue dives deeper between your folds, truly fucking you with it, you slam a hand behind his head to prevent your fall. Fuck, you can’t fucking think –

Your thighs are trembling as the pleasure shoots through you, building with each rock of your hips. It’s slow and steady, but you feel yourself surfing the rising pleasure when you mentally short-circuit. At some point, he crept one hand under you and – without warning, the asshole – plunged two fingers deep as he turns his attention to your clit.

It’s pathetic how you mewl, it really is, and like a bloodhound, Childe senses your weakness. He doubles his efforts while humming against your clit, vibrating it with the motion, and fuck, you feel it coming, it’s, it’s –

You open your mouth in a silent scream as it shoots up, pulling you taut and your muscles stiffen. It’s like you’re a bow strung along and Childe is the man just using you like this.

Stars, he needs to stop, he needs to – stop it, it’s too much –

“Stop, Childe, fu-ah – “ When you frantically roll off of him, falling on your side, he merely turns and grins. It’s absolutely sinful how he slowly licks each finger that was knuckle-deep in you, never breaking contact.

You wish he’d say something because for once, he’s not actually talking. He just. He followed your initiative and was promptly shut up, drinking you in. You don’t know what to say to him, so you opt instead to reach over and grab his scarf, yanking him up.

He follows, nearly as eager as a pup, and crawls to you on all fours as you sit up. Childe blinks at you, the smile never wavering as his eyes wander to your chest rising and falling with soft pants. Something in you, some small and evil voice whispering on your shoulder tells you to ruin this man, this arrogant warrior still clad in his Harbinger jacket and gloves and mask –

“Your mask,” you gruff. Childe tilts his head (oh no, that was cute), but follows your command nonetheless.

When he hands you the item, you fidget slightly and fight back that creeping uncertainty. Fuck it, you’re the one punishing him, so why are you getting embarrassed?

In a desperate bid for confidence, you hum and refuse to look at him, pretending to inspect the mask as if just now seeing it. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, so you firmly pull on the scarf like it’s some leash. “You always get your way, don’t you?” you hum.

When silence meets you, you yank on the scarf again. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. You smile softly and look at him, look at his wide eyes as you’re met face-to-face. Each of his arms has settled next to your sides as his legs hold himself over you.

You hazard a glance at his cock and smile at how it twitches in response, leaking driblets of pearlescent pre-cum and just throbbing red. Oh, he wants it so badly. “Beg for it,” you say, looking back into his eyes.

Childe narrows his own, gritting his teeth in a snarl. “Beg for it,” you repeat slowly, “or we stop here. Your choice.”

“Please,” he mumbles, and… Oh, oh is he shy? Pink begins to dust the tips of his ears as he dips his head.

“Please what?” you tease and he huffs.

“Please, let me… I want it, I want you.” Each word is punctuated and forced out like it took all of his willpower to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

Some quiet, dark part of you is slightly disappointed he didn’t.

Well, you’re merciful, and he did say please. You lean forward and tilt your own head, catching his lips in a kiss entirely too soft – and yet, Childe doesn’t complain, only sighing in relief as he moves his head with yours.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment, you remind yourself vehemently. That lustful side of you rears its head, screaming at you to stop whatever it is you’re planning because Childe is here, on his knees and begging to fuck you.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment. Damn it.

Childe seems to recognize the idea swirling in your eyes when he pulls back and he frowns. You smirk back and slide his mask into place, thoroughly relishing in how his breath hitches seeing his own face staring back at him.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He jerks his head back like he’s been slapped. “Oh, you’re kidding me, right? You just made me beg, you charlatan.”

“Exactly,” you chirp back. You push him back while retaining your hold on his scarf and run your hand down his abs, pausing at the naval above his aching cock. He moans when your nails dig in there and he spreads his legs wide to allow you to move closer. When you finally, finally grasp his cock with a firm squeeze, a strangled groan is wrenched from his chest from somewhere high and deep like he wasn’t expecting the noise either.

“I’m still mad at you, so this is all you get. Nothing more than this, not even spit.”

Gods, how badly do you want to weep and take it back, but you have a point to prove, damn it.

Childe opens his mouth to protest, but you pull on the scarf to effectively cut off his air, watching how his eyes haze over with pleasure when you do an experimental pump. Is this… Is this how you looked when you fought for dominance with Zhongli?

Oh, you really can keep doing this.

Slowly, you shift forward more until you’re pressed close enough to lean next to his head as you gather the pre-cum leaking in torrents to twist around the head of his cock. “Does the Harbinger like this?”

Childe releases another strangled moan and nudges his head against yours, bucking his hips in demand for you to just go faster. You don’t, you’re mad at him, but the insistence is cute. That infamous earring of his dangles in front of you, tantalizingly close, so you grab it with your teeth and pull sharply as the pressure from your hand increases.

Childe cries out in a mixture of shock and pleasure, hands flying to your back to pull you closer to him as you release it to begin whispering filth into his ears.

With each movement, each tug and twist and sin tickling him, you watch as he slowly becomes unraveled and pulled from the seams. The contrast between you two, how you watch with startling clarity as Childe loses his sanity in chasing after that edge, serves only to thrill you. Your core starts to throb again, practically weeping with your own slick as you fight back the instinct to mount and ride him to hell here and now.

As his thighs tense and his breathing drawing quicker, you pause abruptly to stop him from cumming and – oh shit – he yanks your hair back as he growls in your ear, “Don’t you dare – “

Wish granted. You laugh openly and release his scarf to cup his jaw, leaning forward enough that he can catch the whites of your eyes through the slits in the mask. “Then don’t look away.”

And, blessedly, you resume your ministrations with a sudden increase in speed that has Childe panting so beautifully, so raggedly as he whines at the sight of his own mask staring him down. His hips rock into your hand needily, clinging to your back like his life depended on it.

“Ah, f-uck – “ Childe’s words are cut off as he flushes red and you feel warmth spill over your hand. You never pause as you continue milking his cock, jerking it well past the point of pleasure and deep into oversensitive pain. His blue eyes are squeezed shut as a string of Snezhnayan curses tumble from his lips, clinging to what shreds of euphoria are left before you slowly stop.

His chest is heaving, each exhale hoarse and dry as he buries his head against your neck.

Huh, what does a Harbinger taste like…?

As you idly bring your hand up to lap at the cum, you smirk behind your mask when you hear Childe’s breath hitch and he begins mumbling something indistinctly, watching you all the while.

When he’s this close, you can nearly count each freckle dotting his cheeks and nose, and… And you can almost draw constellations between them.

After a moment, he leans back to stare at you before pulling off the mask. When you both see each other again, a lazy smile tugs at his lips before he looking you up and down, then towards the scene around you.

“… Well, this is unsanitary.”

What – what the fuck? You bark out a loud laugh and Childe joins you, though his sounds huskier still as he recovers. “That was a little mean of you to keep going,” he says, pouting when you snort.

“You wanted it.”

“I wanted to fuck you,” he grumbles. You shrug and try to stand, though admittedly you’re no better than a colt with how your legs shake.

Eventually, you manage to waddle your way to the river and take slow steps into the freezing waters. Fish dart between your legs, barely brushing by with slick flutters, and you sigh as you force your muscles to relax.

Some time passes before you hear movement and splashes behind you, though you don’t turn to meet him. If Childe is upset with you, he can deal with that himself, you’re too busy trying to find some peace.

You just need a hard reset. Just once, you need to get one merciful moment alone.

Still, that wish remains ungranted as strong muscles wrap around your front and you jolt at the sudden contact, but more so when you feel Childe rest his head against the back of yours. Neither of you move, opting to instead sway lightly with the currents drifting by. Each wrist is wrapped in a leather brace with a Vision inlaid in the right while the Delusion is in his left.

When you glance down at the water, you suck in a breath upon realizing he’s been staring at you through the reflection the whole time. Soft aquatic plants dance at the corners of your feet, brushing ever so slightly with each tug.

It’s nice, but something about the stillness sparks uneasiness in you. But… It’s not the kind you felt staring down Childe’s lifeless eyes seconds before he struck, no, this is different. This feeling left you feeling both heavy and light, clear and foggy like you were alone with the dawn breaking and somehow that fact makes it all the sadder.

You… You want this to last, you realize. Stupid. You’ve gotten yourself stupidly attached already, two for zero with these men in your life.

He sighs as one hand reaches up, tracing idly over your chest again. “Do you ever feel like it’s some game,” he begins delicately like each breath is an affront to the world around you.

“What do you mean?”

“These gods, these… Not-humans, I guess. The one that took Aether’s sister, the ones that laughed at you for not being good enough in your travels, the adepti that thought Liyue too fragile… Do you ever think it’s a game to them? Like we’re just puppets on strings?”

He whispers these words, writing them like clandestine letters, ones that will surely get him executed should the gods ever see yet he writes them all the same.

“Like the fabled strings of fate?” you reply, and his lips twist in a wry laugh. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to answer, since I’m not…”

Human.

Childe hums, understanding the tacit sentiment. “Doesn’t matter, you were never welcome among the divine anyway, right?”

“As if the humans would welcome us instead.”

“I would. I already have.”

Without skipping a beat, Childe continues hastily, once again obscuring that something in his voice. “Do you think they understand us? Actually care about their people?”

You shake your head, a barely-there motion, and should any soul look upon you two now, surely they would never see how you squeeze his hands. “I don’t think gods understand true strength.”

You don’t know why, but those two words, that single combination seems to still Childe completely as he listens, utterly rapt with another memory flickering across his expression. At least, that’s what you think, judging from the reflections.

“Gods may shape the world and play with the pieces, but mortals are the ones living in it. I don’t think they remember that humans are not – “

“Things.”

Another beat of silence passes before Childe breaks it again. “They think we don’t understand anything just because we haven’t had an eternity behind us, ha. I don’t blame them, I think I’d take the opportunity to be immortal too.”

You frown and turn in his arms, coming face-to-face with him. “Why?”

“So I can finally make right everything that’s wrong,” he mumbles, placing his hand on your chest again. When you look down, you see how water tickles and caresses your skin – almost lovingly if you were so bold, but you’re not – as it forms a vague riptide mark. You feel cool hydro energy seep into your skin before disappearing entirely, though you suppose more elemental energy could always trigger its appearance once more.

Childe sighs again, massaging the spot from the mark before roving hands move to your shoulders, rubbing along them. When he looks at you again, your heart stutters at the glittering image of wide-eyed wonder and determination staring back at you – the sight of it renders you mute. A cheeky grin pulls his lips. “And more time means more journeys, right? When my plans are complete, I can finally put this all to rest and go adventuring.”

(You vow then to never tell him that Teucer long spilled these secrets to your motley group.)

And then. And then he smiles, though it’s all teeth and wicked intentions, and then you feel your heart race with sudden fear as the sweet moment left as soon as it arrived.

“You know comrade,” he begins charmingly (oh no), “I did warn you about one thing.”

“Y-yeah?” Oh no, you didn’t mean for that to come out as quiet and breathy as it did. Childe chuckles as he slides one hand to cup the back of your neck.

“That I won’t stop.”

That’s all the warning you get before your world is turned askew, everything blurring together in motions of blue and rippling colors.

This is… He’s taking you somewhere, you realize belatedly, this is how he escaped the Golden House. When his face materializes before yours, peering out of the water as the element obeys its master’s commands, he holds one finger up to his lips in a signal to keep holding your breath.

So you do. You hold as long as you can, eyes darting as the world passes by and you’re struck by the kaleidoscope of light as it ripples along the outside of this shell.

When Childe leans forward, slotting his lips against yours, you swear then that he meant to steal your breath.

Hard rock slams into your back suddenly and you break the kiss, gasping for air and flopping your hands about you for purchase. Air, hallelujah, there’s air –

You grumble at him, sulking at the unexpected journey as his drenched hair trickled droplets onto you. Childe rears his head back, roaring with laughter at your cross attitude, but you can’t hear it. As a matter of fact, you can’t hear anything really.

Wait, did he just take you behind the waterfall?

Amusement dances across his face as he watches you drink in the sights around, of how you two are in a small enclave behind the waterfall roaring overhead. It’s not much, probably two lengths of Childe’s body long and wide with temperatures freezing you to the bone.

So, why did he bring you back here –

You keen when he suddenly dips his head to kiss along your sternum, one thigh nudging your legs apart. His hot breath fans across your skin, licking a long stripe up your neck to your ears as he brings one hand up to squeeze one breast.

“Sweet girl is always so far away,” he whispers huskily. “Will you finally let me hold you?”

“Childe,” you huff, your soft breath cutting off into a moan as he pinches one nipple. His teeth graze your jaw, kissing along it and moving steadily towards your mouth. “All this time, you never needed to ask. You already had me.”

He groans, capturing your lips again with the barely constrained ferocity of a starved man as the hand fondling your chest moves down. Stars, you’re already so slick with anticipation; Childe moans appreciatively as one finger slides easily in, then two, then three.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so hot, sweet little thing.”

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that Childe is whispering something about fair trade and equal punishment, is sinking his fingers knuckle-deep into you and ruthlessly finding that sweet spot in you with a single goal in mind. You encourage him further, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue as he explores your mouth with near-invasive energy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize how his cock is already at attention and ready to spear you, how it waits patiently for you to cum first.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. You wail as his fingers press harder, palm now rubbing your clit while he nips along your jugular and scatters your thoughts. Childe shifts so he no longer needs his other hand to hold himself over you, and instead places it over your throat as he pulls back to stare into your eyes.

The devil grins at you. “Don’t look away now.”

“Ah – oh, Childe – “ His hands squeeze, tentative at first, then with more conviction – and a terrifyingly practiced technique – around your neck, cutting off just enough air to leave the images blurring around you. Fuck, fuck, you’re clinging to consciousness, holding onto that pleasurable spike for dear life and –

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he pants, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours and you wail. It comes out softer and quiet, like a lamb being laid bare before a wolf, and you’re shivering with the fuzzy pleasure blanketing your body. Calloused fingers work you over as he grins, murmuring praises as you come undone from his unrelenting pace.

Your orgasm is nothing fierce like when he ate you out, but as air steadily becomes harder, the pleasure refuses to fizzle out like the fireworks you felt earlier. No, it only builds and builds and builds like it refuses to let you go, dragging you through this sex-addled haze whether you like it or not.

“Stay with me now,” Childe grunts, dark hunger swirling in his eyes. “Come on, don’t black out on me now, that’s too easy. Do I have to be mean?”

What the fuck is he talking about –

You cry out in sheer panic and blinding euphoria as you feel light sparks dance along your clit. He’s using his fucking electro element, all fine control and just playing you like a fiddle while you writhe underneath him. You can’t take it anymore, this is too much to all once and impossible to describe, you can’t –

Childe blessedly releases his grip and you gasp in lungfuls of air for the second time in a short window; though his fingers slow, they don’t stop. He coos at your writhing underneath him, moaning with you as you ride out a second orgasm from his electro currents.

You’re biting your lip to stop from whining even more, but that must’ve irked Childe because he moves down to kiss you again, pulling your bottom lip away with his teeth. As the stimulation slowly pushes into pain, you hiss and swing your left leg up to kick him away.

Of course the fucker caught your foot and exploited the momentum to wrap it around his right shoulder, of course. “Pl-ease,” you cry out as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure quickly becoming too much again. “Please!”

“Mm, you’ll have to beg for it,” he replies, too casually for a man whose fingers are working up a storm to bring you to a quick and merciless orgasm again. Your hands fly down to his wrist in a pathetic attempt to slow him, but he curls his lips in a challenge and speeds up, shifting closer to you to brush his cock along your cheeks.

Fuck, fuck – You cum again, though somewhere in you tells you that you never actually stopped. A last-ditch idea desperately hits you. “F-Fuck me!” you cry out, voice pitching a tune that’s dangerously needy. “Please!”

Childe laughs again, all cruelty and thrilled at your begging, but you can’t find it in you to give a damn, you just need him to stop fucking you with his fingers. You need a break.

But the Harbinger is a merciless god.

He hums as his fingers slowly, slowly withdraw and he makes a show of sucking each one clean before he takes his cock to line up with your entrance. As he does this, he tilts his head and looks at you again, pretending like he doesn’t see you plead for – for what, exactly? For more? For less?

And in a single thrust, he enters entirely into you. Two voices bounce off the walls, pitches varying but both as broken, and Childe immediately begins a harsh pace.

“Please,” you whine and he tilts his head again, grinning through each harsh thrust. He’s rubbing one hand along the thigh draped over his shoulder while the other holds your hips in a bruising grip.

“Please? You’re such a greedy thing, look at that, sucking up my cock like that.” Each word is punctuated with another harsh thrust, each word is met with your loud cries – and when he angles his hips enough that you can see the outline of it pushing against your naval with you on your back, you cum again.

The Fatui starts speaking in Sneznayhan again as you clamp down around him, squeezing and milking his cock for all you’re worth, but gods you can hardly care right now. Your back is surely going to be scraped raw with how you’re being dragged across the floor, but you fucking love it, love how pain and pleasure mix in some addicting cocktail you’re absolutely drunk on.

You make a long, anguished whine as Childe begins kissing along your leg and peppers your skin with nips to pierce that pleasurable fog. His words sound slurred, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s trying to call your name, but you’re not sure if it’s him or your perception that’s screwed up on this side of the river.

And then he’s laughing. The bastard’s laughing at your blissful misery.

Oh. Oh no no, no you’re not about to be humbled by some Harbinger –

“T-tartaglia!” you keen suddenly when a particularly fierce thrust hits you.

You both freeze.

Oh no. Oh shit. Cold panic rushes through you at that, at how you just admitted defeat by calling him out – and when he purrs your real name, low and husky and thoroughly vindicated, he knows it too.

“Pretty thing wants to wear my mask, but you forgot who’s fucking you like you wanted,” he snarls.

After he hoists your other leg over his shoulders, he presses his body into yours and folds you in half, the new angle devastating for your pleasure as he somehow reaches deeper. His hips start again, mercilessly hitting that spot deep in as his hands cage you in by your head. Childe leans in and nudges your head aside, brushing his nose along your cheeks. "What's the safeword?"

"C-calla lily," you murmur and he nods, turning to stare you down again.

When you try to look away, close your eyes, do something, one hand brutally squeezes your jaw to open your eyes again.

And it works. You gasp as he forces you to attention, forces you to address him as those dangerously blue eyes threaten to swallow you whole in the treacherous deep ocean. “Baby, look – hah, shit – look at me. Y-you want Tartaglia, huh? Isn’t that right?”

Your throat is betraying your mind, whining and begging and blabbering something in response as the grinding pleasure continues to drown you.

It hurts so fucking good as euphoria tears you apart, rips your insides as you start openly sobbing from the pleasure he’s dragging out, and the fucker has the audacity to shoot forward and press an open kiss to your tear-streaked cheeks. Chi- Tartaglia lets you claw at his back – hell, he encourages it with how he groans – and he torturously continues his pace.

You’re not sure if you have the energy to continue, so you smack at his back weakly as you mumble against his lips. Your cunt is squeezing and spasming around him in a vice grip, but he continues fucking you through it. “P-please, please c-cum, please, I don’t know if I can keep going,” you beg desperately.

“N-no,” he grunts and your heart sinks. “Fuck, pretty birdie is letting me finallyy – hah – fuck her, I warned you, I won’t st-hhop.”

“It’s too much,” you hiccup through the overstimulation and scream – your throat hurts with the force of it – as you feel electricity twist your muscles, clenching around his cock as white-hot plasma seems to seer you from the inside out. He moans in response, a low and gruff noise.

“Then suffer.”

And he keeps going.

---

You never notice how he traces along a barely-there geo sigil with the smallest, briefest Cor Lapis glow beneath your navel. You never notice how it throbs in time with his thrusts, with each exertion of his elemental visions as if protective over your body in a lingering memory of whatever divine beast spurred its awakening.

You never notice how he grins.

---

The Harbinger is a cruel and merciless god.

---

He ruins you, thoroughly devastates you with a meticulous precision befitting the Vanguard of the Harbingers. You’ve been manhandled and manipulated into a myriad of positions until pebbles and scrapes litter both of your bodies. True to his word, you suffer through each orgasm he tears from you.

And fuck, do you love it.

Your back is to the wall as your hands are interlocked with his own by your head, hips rapidly thrusting you up and down against it as you wrap your legs around him for purchase while he nips your neck like a rabid dog.

Stars, you can’t concentrate, your eyes keep losing focus – and each time Tartaglia notices, he bites or thrusts or squeezes with that iron grip, electricity lacing each action jolting you to the present. He refuses to let you sink, refuses to let you black out as you’re dragged through hell and back by the devil himself.

“Please,” you weep as he rests his forehead against yours, dutifully watching how your chest bounces with the movement and how his cock is thoroughly drenched with your juices. The ease with which he slides in and out of you is downright criminal.

“T-tartaglia, please,” you whimper and his blues meet yours again. “Tartaglia… I want…”

A single eyebrow arches as he presses his body impossibly closers, now chest-to-chest as he cages you in and looms over you. “I want you,” you gasp between thrusts, “all of you, please. I – ah – I trust you, please.”

Tartaglia freezes for a split-second before groaning, raw and thunderous and wild as the storms that herald his coming, and when he kisses you, you feel wetness dribble down both of your cheeks.

In your haze, you weren’t aware you were crying again from it all, but a lot of things snuck past your attention.

You don’t know what happens after that, but you know it’s hot and wet as his body flexes over yours. Somewhere in your consciousness, you hear a voice cry out Tartaglia’s name, utterly shredded to ribbons from how it was abused.

Was that your voice?

His cock is throbbing in you as you feel him empty load after load of cum, more words in a foreign language wrapping you in warmth his tone lightens, his eyes grow soft and his lips curl up. It’s all you can do to squeeze your wet cunt around him, tightening around him to milk more out of him until Tartaglia is gasping desperately in time with the stutter of his hips.

Eventually, he slumps over you, draping his muscled body over yours with sheer exhaustion and sweat glistening in a thin sheen over his skin.

He whimpers your name, almost going unheard and the noise is halting as if he didn’t expect to say it either. Frankly, you’re too tired to unpack all the layers woven into that right now. So you don’t. Instead, you squeeze his hands as you start to feebly sing softly in your native tongue.

Childe freezes instantly as he sucks in a sharp breath. “What is that?”

“Hm? My people’s language?” you respond and he nods dumbly. “Sorry, probably sounds bad.”

“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head enough that his auburn locks bounce lightly. “Just familiar.”

Huh? Whatever. He’s probably too blissed out to make sense right now.

You both stay like that for a time in a slow-going bid to steady your breathing. You… You never honestly expected this to happen when he invited himself along your commission. Not that you’re complaining, of course, it’s just… It’s not what you expected.

Some lust-addled part of your brain, utterly fucked out and blissful, is already planning another ‘excursion’ into these deep woods.

And then you start to giggle at the gooey mess pooling between both of you. Childe huffs against you and you feel his smile against your cheek. “What’re you laughing at, pretty bird?” he slurs out.

“Oh, just. This is just unsanitary.”

Childe just grunts, too tired to join your laughter, but that’s okay. Your bubbling joy is enough for the two of you in this little enclave behind the waterfall.

---

Hours have passed, and somehow – through sheer and utter spite – you both manage to drag yourselves back to Liyue Harbor despite the protesting aches from your muscles. Nerve endings are set alight with each step, but judging from how Childe winces, he feels it too. Night has long fallen and you remind yourself to apologize to Aether and Paimon, since you said you’d be back by dinner at the latest.

Do you regret it though? Nope.

Eventually, you stumble (literally in your case, tripping over a rock in your lethargy) across Zhongli scrutinizing various wares on display with a careful eye.

Zhongli’s smile is brilliant and warm as he spies you two, immediately weaving his way through the crowd to make his way over. In a way, the movement is serpentine as he manipulates each person away. It’s fitting, really.

“I expected you two to be back much earlier,” Zhongli rumbles, though there’s no disappointment. He looks pleased to simply see you both safe and sound.

“Ah, it was a little far,” Childe chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know how it is.”

“Where are the others?” you interject, too tired to maintain any sane conversation. Or sanity in general. You need a bed and you need it now.

The former Archon tilts his head as he peruses through his memories. “I believe they moved to Wangshu Inn. They said that since you both took too long, we are to meet again at midday tomorrow near Jueyun Karst.”

You nod weakly and tune out their conversation, trying to muster what little energy you have left to begin the trek to get outside the city.

“I saw the most interesting thing,” you hear Childe say conversationally. The tone feels off, though. “Did you know geo sigils can stay on skin? I got a most intimate view of it! Even left a little hydro mark of my own,” Childe’s teasing voice continues with something else lacing the undercurrents of it.

Your heart sinks and you slowly turn around, thankful that in your brief glance at their faces, Zhongli was all-too distracted with Childe’s words to see you. However, when one eyebrow raises, you immediately duck your head.

Fuck. What the fuck. You’ll sprint if you have to, but for now, walking away is okay too.

“Oh?” You hear a curiously deep rumble from behind you as you slowly make your way out, but you can’t place the tone. Zhongli is as stoic as ever and you can’t get a read on him from his voice alone, oh no. “Is that so.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact, an observation, and it’s delivered so flatly you want to cry from sheer mortification and horror as your mind shifts into maximum overdrive with panic at all the worst possibilities.

What’s he thinking? What does either of them think of you now? Did you cross some unspoken line?

Well then! Now’s as good a time as any to flee.

“See you at Jueyun Karst!” you throw over your shoulder as you wave, but the words are broken since you’re shaking like a leaf in a fierce wind.

As you make your exit, you feel two pairs of eyes burning into your back as neither man says anything.

Haha! Terrific! That’ll surely help you sleep tonight!

notes:

i love how the 1.5 leaked cutscene says there’s a liyue saying that goes something like “waiting for rain to fall on earth once again” like hello?? metaphors??

#childe #Childe fanfic #genshin childe #genshin fanfic #childe x reader

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spiderman-homecomeme · 4 years

Text

off the record pt. 2

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

A/N: Hello friends!! Here is the second part to my enemies to lovers fic for spideychelle week!! I’m hoping to get this one done fairly quickly, so updates should be pretty regular!

Enjoy 2.6k of Peter and MJ just fuckin hating eachother, passive-aggressive coffee talks, and pettiness!!

Read here or on AO3

It shouldn’t be this hard.

At least, in theory.

Really, Michelle’s been through worse.

Befriending—or at least pretending to—Peter Parker by joining him at his desk with two to-go cups of coffee should be easy—the keyword here being “should.”

But as she stands just outside the office entrance, Peter’s desk just in her line of sight, she begins to doubt her resilience. It’s a simple task: asking him to chat, offering him a cup of coffee. Something she would be comfortable asking any other coworker in an effort to gain insight on a particular subject. It’s a perfectly normal occurrence.

So why in God’s name is the idea of sitting for longer than ten seconds with him making her legs suddenly feel as though they’re filled from hip to toe with lead? What the actual fuck is wrong with her? It’s not as if she’s worried he’ll say no—in fact, the thought hasn’t even crossed her mind until now. No one says no to free coffee. No, it’s more likely that she’s worried he’ll actually say yes and that she’ll have to spend time alone with him. The thought of actually talking to him for once is sickening.

But, again, it’s for the greater good. For her. It’s in her best interest.

Peter looks up as another one of their coworkers passes by with a wave, and he offers his signature, warm and homey smile that always makes her want to find the nearest trashcan and immediately vomit. Instead, she steels herself, and with a final, resolute nod, she accepts her fate, using her elbow to push through the door and into the main office.

He doesn’t see her approach at first, or at least he pretends not to as he opens a file on his desk, rifling through the papers. Though, the look of surprise on his face—plus the way he almost drops the small stack in his hands—shows that she’s the last person he’d expected to see. “Oh, uh, hi. Michelle.” Like with the coworker from seconds before, his expression melts into a smile—albeit, a forced one.

Wow.

“Hey…” She trails off, suddenly unsure of how the hell she’s supposed to be standing. “You.”

He squints, trying his best to keep the grin on his face as it falters slightly. “Hi,” he repeats, eyes darting down to the two cups in her hand then back up to her face.

And it’s nothing like she’d rehearsed—in her brain—earlier. Nothing at all. Why, all of a sudden, is it so hard to talk to this guy without wanting to just dump the coffee on his head and whack the folder right out of his hands?

“Coffee?” She asks with an uncharacteristically sweet voice as she holds out one of the cups to him.

Peter lets out a quiet huff of an unsure laugh. “Um—” His gaze flits left and right. “Sure…” He trails off.

Wordlessly, she hands him the cup, and she almost punches him right then and there when he not-so-subtly sniffs it before taking an overly cautious sip. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh, it’s good!” He speaks as if the idea that she didn’t poison his coffee is what the big shocker is.

A muscle twitches in her jaw, and she tries to fight the way her lips want to twist into an angry frown. Of course it’s good. Michelle knows what she’s doing; she’s seen him taking the last bit of coffee in the lounge more than a dozen times, always pouring an obscene amount of milk and sugar into his mugs.

Michelle’s not playing around; she’s here to make friends.

Taking a sip of her own coffee to hide the anger threatening to boil over, she waits for him to speak. He hasn’t invited her to sit, and she’s not sure if she wants to be the one to initiate that particular part. She’s the one who brought the coffee. Now, the ball’s in his court.

“Working hard?” She asks against her better judgement, and she doesn’t miss the flash of annoyance in Peter’s eyes behind his lopsided grin.

“Obviously not as hard as you are,” he offers, an edge to his clearly forced enthusiasm, taking another drink of his coffee as he rocks back on his heels. “Heard Jameson loved the new article.”

God, she hates him so much.

“Of course he did,” she mutters under her breath. “It’s what the people want.”

God, he hates her so much.

A beat passes.

“Well thanks for the coffee—”

“Good talk—”

They both speak at the same time, both of them forcing a laugh at the jinx. His gaze holds hers for a moment, and once again, she feels that same urge to pour her hot coffee over his head, her stomach tangling in fiery knots at the brief exchange.

Without another word, Michelle’s feet carry her away and to her own corner of the office. Unconsciously, she nearly slams her drink on her desk in her sour mood. She slumps into her chair, pulling her laptop out of her bag and occupying herself with pretending to open another word document.

That certainly could have gone better.

Really, how hard was it for him to be civil? She had been so kind as to bring him coffee. The least he could do is to try to make conversation without… well, without being himself. Her gaze darts up from behind the lid of her laptop, her eyes careful in watching him as he sits back in his chair, covering his face with one hand before he cards the other through his hair before it clenches into a fist on top of his desk.

Truly, in that moment, as she continues to unconsciously watch him from across the office, she realizes that as difficult as he’s going to make this, she can’t let it stop her. No matter how much of an annoying pain-in-the-ass he is, she has to remember why she’s doing this.

She sees him smile at another of their coworkers as they pass by before taking another tentative sip of his coffee, his eyes flitting upward as he lowers his cup.

Her chest seizes when in that split-second, his gaze meets hers as he catches her staring, and she almost gives herself whiplash with how fast she tears away, her face burning hot.

After the disaster of yesterday’s impromptu coffee get-together, Michelle knows that if she wants any part of this to actually go off without a hitch, she’s going to have to change her approach. She comes into the office that morning, a brand new plan having been brewing in her mind since the previous evening, when—

“You wanna go get coffee with me?”

Truly, she’s not sure she’s ever been more shocked and surprised at the sight of someone at her desk. Peter’s standing there, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders held high and tight as his brows pull together in what she offhandedly thinks looks like something akin to constipation.

He seems to have beaten her to the punch.

Perhaps her little stunt yesterday paid off.

“What?” She finds herself asking, voice acting on its own accord.

“Do you wanna—” He coughs into a fist, clearing his throat. “Go get coffee with me?” He throws a firm thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a place down the street.”

A beat.

“Sure.”

In fact, Peter’s just as surprised as she is, his eyebrows darting upward for a fraction of a second before he seems to collect himself. “Great,” he responds with a tight-lipped, thin smile. When she’d come to his desk yesterday, two coffees in hand, he’d taken it as a good sign—of course, after the initial fear that she might have been poisoning him. It had been, for that moment, something that he could see becoming easier between them. But then, after she’d made that snide comment about—about whatever hell it was—he’d quickly fallen back into the same, heartburn-inducing hatred.

It was then that he knew he had to change tactics.

They wait for their combined lunch hours before they head out, walking in deafeningly loud silence together through the halls and out into the city streets. One of his knuckles brushes hers as they walk, and she mentally reminds herself to burn that hand later as she yanks it away. At the brief, fleeting touch, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained ahead on the sidewalk.

The small coffee shop is warm and inviting, though Michelle finds it to be almost too warm under her jacket as they order their drinks and settle into one of the corner booths. He orders a caramel mocha, and she wants to scoff. A kid’s drink, she thinks offhandedly, not stopping to consider the frivolity of being annoyed at someone’s drink order—one that happens to be fairly common at that.

“So…” Peter trails off, watching with pursed lips as she stirs cinnamon into her cappuccino.

He clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances around the coffee shop, almost as if he’s looking for a way out, perhaps an emergency exit. His leg bounces furiously under the table, every so often his heel tapping against the dark wood floors below, a sound that Michelle has to actively ignore in order not to just get up and leave.

Peter stares down into his coffee—well, more like a pile of whipped cream—for a moment, lips pursing in thought as he swirls the mug in his hand.

It’s easy to see how hard he’s thinking, and for some reason, Michelle finds herself strangely pleased at this; there’s a hint of satisfaction at the fact that it's taking him so long to say anything at all.

But then, it becomes infuriating that he doesn’t even try to continue his initial thought. He can at least try, she thinks.

She decides, in a brief moment of what she can only assume is pity, to put him out of his misery. “It’s funny that you asked to get coffee today,” she starts, setting the wooden stirring stick to the side before taking a sip of her drink. “I was planning on asking you.”

He does seem surprised at that. “Huh. Really?”

With a hum, she sits back against the leather seat. “Really.” She briefly glances down to her clasped hands in her lap, knowing that they were now officially entering the first phase of her plan. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something—or I guess ask about… something.”

Something flashes across his face that she can’t immediately identify, and she unconsciously feels herself stiffen at the unknown expression.

“Really?” He asks again, quirking a curious brow as he takes a long sip of his mocha.

The corner of her lip twitches ever-so-slightly before she boldly leans forward on the table, bracing herself on her forearms. “I was wanting to ask if you could help me with an article I’m working on.”

At that, he freezes, eyes darting up to hers. He swallows slowly, and she doesn’t miss the hint of annoyance that tints his expression as he sets his mug down with a dull thud. “What kind of article?”

As much as she wants to call him out for swan diving into a pit of hasty conclusions, she refrains. “About Spider-Man.” He bristles, jaw setting, but she doesn’t let him speak. She leans in even further, voice hushed. “The truth, this time. I’m tired of writing all this bullshit about how terrible he is. I’m done. I want the world to know who Spidey really is.”

Her words come out so earnestly, she almost believes herself.

But it’s not like she’s completely lying. There’s truth in that particular corner of the web.

“Really?”

It takes everything in her not to mock the question he’s asked three times already.

“Really.”

And for the first time, she sees the beginnings of a genuine—somehow, relieved—half-smile tug at the corner of Peter’s mouth. Though, his fleeting, happy expression is gone as he seems to remember himself, sitting back in his side of the booth.

Peter, of course, is shocked that she’s the one to bring up stopping the libel in the first place. This hadn’t been part of his plan in the slightest. But, as hopeful and relieved he is that this may be easier than he thought, he doesn’t want to let his guard down too quickly. He maintains a thoughtful expression, making sure not to seem too eager in his response.

Michelle can see him weighing his options, can almost hear the near-rusted wheels turning as he tilts his head from side-to-side. He folds his arms across his chest, and her eyes are immediately drawn to his exposed forearms as they flex briefly.

“What do you think?” She hastily spits out, mentally kicking herself.

“I mean—” He starts, cutting himself off as he brings a hand to rub thoughtfully at his jaw, his tone casual. “I think it’s a great idea. Spidey, uh—he’d be happy about it. Though, not that your articles really have that much of an effect on him now, he doesn’t really care enough—”

She can feel her eye twitch, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Not sure if Jameson would be super happy about it, though,” Peter reasons, shrugging apologetically.

She forces her twisting lips into a neutral expression. “Who says I plan on telling him?”

Sure, that’s a bold-faced lie—she plans on telling Jameson as soon as she can to get the green light—but that’s unimportant.

Peter cocks his head to the side, squinting slightly. “You sure something like that would even do well?”

“Think about it,” Michelle answers easily. “A news site that’s been constantly dragging Spider-Man down suddenly having a change of heart after a thorough expose on what he does for New York, painting him as the true hero that the city needs, showing the citizens who he is?”

He nods slowly as she speaks, biting back the winning smile desperately wanting to show.

But that expression only comes across as smug to Michelle, and she clenches her fist underneath the table before digging her nails into her leg.

“I’m in,” Peter says after a beat. He leans forward on the table, his hands clasping together. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, first, I’d like to interview you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Why me?”

She gives him a pointed, deadpan stare. “You’re his photographer aren’t you? And you seem to know him pretty well.”

“I mean, not that well—”

A beat passes.

She blinks.

“Okay, fine. Yeah,” Peter concedes. “You can interview me. What else?”

A smirk tugs at her lips.

“I’d like an interview with Spider-Man.”

At that, he blanches, and for a split-second, there’s a tugging dread in Michelle’s gut that she’s gone too far with that one request, but it’s instantly smothered as she waits for him to respond.

Peter stares at her, mouth parted in slight surprise. Really, he knows he should have seen this coming; writing an article all about Spider-Man and the things he does for this city, of course she’d want an interview with him. And although he feels as if he’s already succeeded in his plan, he knows that this isn’t a one-way street, that in order for him to really win, he has to give her this one thing.

Though, his main worry stems from knowing that as an excellent investigative journalist, Michelle’s observation skills are nothing to joke about. How she’d be able interview the two of them—Peter Parker and Spider-Man—and not immediately connect the dots, he’s not sure.

“I know he’s busy, but—” Michelle cuts in again. “I think it’d be really great to get exact quotes from the guy himself.”

Peter looks right back at her, contemplating. The corner of his lip twitches upward into a small, wry grin as he huffs, glancing to the side before meeting her gaze again.

He figures that’s just a chance he’s going to have to take.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

#spideychelle #spideychelleweek2k20 #enemies to lovers #journalist au #i say updates will be regular but pls pray for my self-control lmao

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zig-a-zow · 6 years

Text

As told by Aiden [Chapter 4: Watching and waiting]

Summary: Aiden Zhou had everything figured out. He was a Junior at high school, he would graduate in two years, attend a prestigious school such as Juilliard and become the best musician he could be. Of course, despite being practically a prodigy at what he loved, he had a lot to learn yet, especially the most important lesson: there was more to life than what he once thought.

Pairings: Aiden x MC (Grace Ashton)

Word count: 2826

Notes: Hello there! What is this, you might be asking yourself? Well, nothing other than what the title says: High School Story as told by Aiden. The events from the book, but from his perspective, plus extra scenes/fanon lore. There are significant changes in this story, though. For once, I have two MCs, best friends Grace and Callie. However, one of them will be significantly more prominent due to being Aiden’s love interest. Also, each chapter has its own song, cause how could I write about Aiden without music included? Click the lyrics to listen.

Taglist: @mlmseangayle @ravenclawpokegirl25 @poofboopmew @apluschoices

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 (It’s right here!) - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 (Coming soon!)

Oh, you capture my attention

Carefully listening

Don’t wanna miss a thing

Keeping my eyes on you

He had been staring at his phone’s screen until its light stopped illuminating his face, and he could see his reflection on the glass.

The screen came to life again with a single tap of his finger, as he immediately deleted the message he had written but not sent.

Was he really going to text Grace? Right now, while laying in bed, unable to sleep?

It probably wasn’t a good idea, he told himself. They had been talking all night, and even if she seemed pretty… interested in him, maybe it was a little too much to talk to her now.

Plus, she was probably already asleep, like a normal person at 5:00am.

Aiden sighed deeply, leaving his phone on his bedside table and pulling his blankets to cover his whole body in a futile attempt to rest at least a few hours.

Next morning, he had a raging headache and wished he could stay in bed all day. Or maybe all week. All month…?

Begrudgingly he got out of bed, and left his house hoping for a little bit of quietness at school.

Which he didn’t find.

“Aiden! AIDEN, HOLY SH–!”

“Myra, language” he simply said, waiting until his friend reached their usual table at the cafeteria.

“You’re not gonna BELIEVE what happened today at homeroom!” she exclaimed as she sat across from him, a big grin of joy adorning her face. “Come on, ask me what happened!”

He sighed.

“What happened, Myra?”

“Okay, so Grace and Callie are sitting in the front with Caleb, right? And suddendly Brian comes in and starts acting like a jerk, so Caleb is fed up and they both get up, like, they’re gonna fight!” she started narrating, her hands gesturing as she spoke. “And Brian goes and punches Caleb when he’s distracted! And Grace is all like ‘Oh, no you didn’t!’, so she goes and…!”

Her hand turned into a fist, and she punched the air with a smile.

“BAM! Right in the face! And he almost falls on his back! It was hi-lar-i-ous!”

Aiden listened in silence, an expression of astonishment displaying on his face. He tried to imagine Grace, petite and dainty Grace, punching the school’s quarterback so hard that she made him stumble. It was surprisingly easy to picture.

“So Callie is all like ’Oooh nooo, don’t fight!’, and grabs Grace before Brian can hit back, and Vice Principal Isa came in right then! And she took them ALL to the Principal’s office! HOW COOL IS THAT?!”

“Pretty cool, if you ask me” they both turned to Ezra when they heard his voice, just as he took a seat beside Myra, grinning. “Yep, everyone’s talking about it. I think Morgan recorded it all, I hope she uploads it to MyTube soon.”

“Oooh, man! Why didn’t I think of recording it…?!”

“Wait a minute… are you two celebrating this?”

At his words, Myra and Ezra exchanged glances briefly before turning to look at him again, stunned expressions on their faces.

“Well, she did punch the biggest jerk at Berry High, so…”

“… of course we’re celebrating, you dummy! Here’s a better question, why aren’t you?!”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t condone violence in any way, shape or form?” he replied to Myra’s rhetorical question with one of his own. “What Grace did was wrong, no matter how justified you might think it was. She lowered herself to his level, it’s as simple as that.”

Ezra smirked at that.

“Okay, you tell her that.”

“What…?”

“Hey guys” Grace’s voice startled him as she took a seat right beside him. She gave him a quizzical look before turning to the others, grimacing at their smiling faces. “Don’t tell me…”

“Aaah! Grace, you were so awesome!” Myra almost bounced out of her seat with excitement, her voice a squeal. “Remind me not to mess with you!”

“Oh, and Aiden has something to tell you” Ezra smirked mischievously, nodding his way as if to give him the word. “What was that you were saying right now…?”

“I, uh…”

Aiden stammered for a few seconds, suddenly feeling all his confidence and resolution go down the metaphorical drain. To his surprise, Grace barely turned to him with a tired expression.

“I heard him. What I did was wrong, I lowered myself to that idiot’s level. He’s right” she mumbled, casting her gaze toward the table in shame. She let out a long sigh of resignation. “Don’t get me wrong, he deserved it. And I’m not gonna lie, it felt good. But guess who was almost suspended and is now stuck on Homecoming committee?”

She half-heartedly pointed to herself with her thumbs.

“This girl.”

A moment of silence reigned between them, and Aiden took a good look at the girl beside him. She looked somehow smaller than before, and genuinely remorseful. He raised his hand a few centimeters, tempted to place it on her shoulder, before Ezra spoke again.

“Sorry, Grace. We didn’t mean to make you feel bad or anything” he said with a soft tone, and Myra nodded silently by his side, a rare serious expression on her face. “It’s just, what you did today? It was great, even if it got you in trouble. You wanna know why? ‘Cause that guy always thought he was untouchable, he could do whatever he wanted, but guess what? He can’t, 'cause people like you are out there putting jerks like him in their places. So chin up, queen. You did good.”

Grace looked up at that, her dark eyes shinning slightly as a tiny smile started to appear on her face. Myra rounded the table to sit by her side and give her a quick hug, smiling encouragingly.

“That’s more like it! We’re not saying you should go around punching every person that looks at you the wrong way… though honestly, that would be pretty cool” she started, before catching herself, shaking her head quickly. “But seriously… giving the Brians of the world a reason to count their teeth? Yes, please!”

Just then, the bell rang. Several people started abandoning the cafeteria, and that included them as well.

“Thanks for the pep talk, guys” said Grace with a little smile, shrugging slightly. “I guess this could be worse…”

Aiden remained silent. He had heard lots of stories about how Maria Flores, his classmate and the person in charge of Homecoming committee, was like as a leader. They all agreed in the fact that she could be utterly terrifying.

But somehow he had a feeling that Grace would be able to handle it just fine. At least he hoped so.

A growing feeling of discomfort didn’t leave him alone for the rest of the day.

Aiden couldn’t help but feel guilty about the way he had spoken before. He dreaded the idea that his words could’ve hurt Grace’s feelings in any way. So he needed to talk to her so he could… apologize? He wasn’t really sure of what to do, but he had to do something.

He didn’t see Grace again until it was time for him to finally leave the school. He had just walked out of the band room after practice, and was approaching his locker when he could hear her cheerful voice calling his name.

“Oh, hey! Look, it’s Aiden!”

When he turned around, he could see her approaching quickly with a grin and a cupholder full of milkshakes, Maria following her at a moderate pace and clearly not as excited.

“Grace, we can’t stay for too long…”

“I know, I know! Just wanted to say hi!” she replied with a brief laugh, turning to him again. “Hi!”

“Hey… what are you doing here?” he mumbled as his eyes fell on the cupholder significantly.

“Homecoming committee… we had to go and get something to eat 'cause we all got hungry halfway through.”

Aiden was about to say something when he could hear Maria huffing at a prudent distance from them, probably unaware of him noticing her gesture of impatience. He sighed.

“It seems like you’re busy… but I need to talk to you” he admitted as he finally reached his locker, placing a few books inside. “It’s… moderately important.”

“Oooh, you got me at 'moderately’!” Grace had a playful smile on her face, so he wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. “Tell you what, I’ll hit you up as soon as I’m able, okay?”

“Grace…”

“I’m coming!”

Grace winked before she walked away and joined Maria, who clearly was growing impatient by the minute. She turned around once with a smile.

“Talk to you later!”

“Yes, talk to you later!” repeated Maria as they both started to walk away, and seemingly realized what she had said a few second later. “Why did I say that? I’m not going to talk to him later!”

Grace laughed loudly as they reached a corner, and Aiden was barely able to hear them anymore.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny…!”

“But it’s super cute…!”

Aiden stopped for a second before closing his locker, his gaze directed toward the corner where the pair of girls had disappeared from view. He frowned slightly. Had he heard that right?

Had Grace called Maria cute?

'No. She thought what she said was cute. In a funny way’ he told himself as he shrugged, hanging his backpack on his shoulder. 'But what if it was… in a flirty way?’

Well, if that was the case, it was okay. Because Grace had the right to flirt with whoever she wanted, and he had no say in that matter, obviously.

He knew all of that, and still, he wasn’t able to erase that frown from his features.

He had patiently waited for Grace to call, but she didn’t.

At first he thought nothing of it, and distracted himself with simple tasks like composing a short piece for violin and making small talk with his parents while having dinner.

But as the night progressed, he started to feel… something.

At first, he was worried. Was she okay? Maybe something bad had happened. He contemplated calling her himself to check, but what if she was simply busy and his call was unwelcome?

Then he was somewhat disappointed. Maybe she just had forgotten, which was completely plausible.

Or maybe she was talking with Maria instead.

Aiden huffed as he finished drying his longish hair with a towel after a shower, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He frowned, though he wasn’t sure why.

He made his way back to his room and let himself fall on his bed with a soft thud, staring at the ceiling for a few moments.

He could feel his tired eyes give in after minute or two, and drifted to sleep.

Aiden wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but his phone rang on his bedside table and startled him. He grabbed it, half asleep, and let out a sleepy groan.

“You have to be kidding me…”

It seemed like Grace had decided that calling him almost at midnight was a good idea.

He felt tempted to ignore her call and resume his much needed sleeping… but he couldn’t do that. Well, he actually could, if it were Ezra or even Myra.

But seeing Grace’s name and face in his screen was somehow enough for him accept the call.

“Hello…?”

“Hey! Did I wake you up?!”

“Mhm.”

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” Grace’s voice sounded a bit hushed, as if she were trying to keep quiet and failing. “I didn’t mean to, but I just now found a moment to myself.”

Aiden yawned as he sat down on his bed, rubbing the sleep out of his tired eyes in an attempt to fully wake up.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice a bit hoarse from sleeping. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah… I mean… well, Emma did something really dumb and brave today and needed some cheering up, so I had the brilliant idea of staying up with her and Callie for a while” Grace explained with a sigh, sounding tired as well. “I didn’t expect Emma to stay for so long. Her mom came to get her like twenty minutes ago.”

“And Callie?”

“She’s sleeping on the floor. I don’t know how she does it, to be honest.”

Aiden nodded slowly before remembering she couldn’t see him at the moment. He sighed deeply.

“Sorry, I can hang up if you…”

“No, I mean… I’m already awake” he mumbled, and it was only half a lie. “I might as well say what I wanted to say. It’s about what happened today.”

“A lot happened today” she pointed out, matter-of-factly. “Are you talking about me punching Brian or…?”

“Yes. Partially. Mostly about what I said later on, at lunch.”

Grace remained silent, and all he could hear for a few seconds was her calm breathing. He knew she was waiting for him to explain further, but couldn’t help finding the soft sounds oddly relaxing.

He shook his head, feeling himself blush.

“I meant to apologize, Grace. I was out of line.”

“For stating your opinion?”

“For the way I worded it, I suppose” Aiden looked up at the ceiling yet again, suddenly feeling like he didn’t really know what to say. “I felt… guilty afterwards. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Aw, Aiden… you didn’t. Really” she assured immediately, and he could almost hear the smile on her face as she spoke. “You were right. And it’s okay.”

“Maybe so, but…”

“If it makes you feel better… then I accept your unnecessary apology.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the tone of her voice and the emphasis of her words. Her soft laughter made him smile.

“Thank you, Grace.”

“Don’t mention it. I guess I should let you sleep now” she muttered then, and he could hear the mischief in her voice. “Even though I don’t really want to.”

Aiden let himself slide in his bed until he was again resting on his back, and repressed a yawn. He was really tired, but the conversation was getting more interesting by the minute.

“Is that so?” he could also hear a rare glimpse of confidence as he spoke, and assumed it was only because she couldn’t see his blushing face. “May I know why?”

“I dunno. I really like the sound of your voice. It’s… deep but also soft? Like a constant whisper… if that makes any sense.”

Suddenly all that confidence he was building up once again drained faster than it had arrived. He swallowed hard, feeling his face burn red with embarrassment.

“Oh. Um… thank you? I think… uh…”

Grace giggled at that.

“You’re blushing.”

“N-No, I’m not.”

“You’re totally blushing. That’s cute.”

’Cute’.

Suddenly Aiden felt the need to hang up without any warning, and just go back to sleep, possibly with a frown.

But that would be too immature for him, so he sighed.

“I really should go back to sleep now” he said then, and he noticed that his voice sounded more serious now.

She noticed as well.

“Uh… sure. Of course. Have a good night, Aiden.”

And there it was again, that sting of guilt he hated so much. He sighed, his tone softening slightly.

“Good night, Grace.”

They both hung up at the same time, and as he was setting his phone aside, Aiden came to have an epiphany of sorts.

No matter how hard he was trying to deny it, it was very clear now.

He was jealous.

And he hated it.

Oh, you capture my attention

I’m anticipating

I’m watching and waiting

For you to make your move

Got me on my toes

Chapter 4 is up!

I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Remember that I can add you to my taglist if you want me to, so you don’t miss any update!

As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged! Thanks for reading!

#playchoices #high school story #hss #aiden zhou #aiden x mc #maria flores #myra khandaar #ezra mitchell #hss mc (grace ashton)#zig writes #fghfjjgv #i like how this came out #💖#thanks for your patience btw #ok bye #long post

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