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Language:
English
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Published:
2023-04-04
Words:
742
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
17
Kudos:
113
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the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of

Summary:

you don’t need to be an oracle to know this isn’t going to end well.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

you had gotten cold feet. pulled away out of fear, not for yourself but for his sake. 

 

a flash of something in those pale eyes. annoyance? at the fact that you didn’t trust the word of a stranger you had just met or was it because you didn’t do as you were told?

 

he touches you anyway and those eyes go blank. even blanker than before. a luminous green like the flowers of light that dispersed into nothingness within your cursed grasp. you think this is the first time you’re seeing him.

 

his hand. your throat. you see it coming from miles away. you may have had a dream just like this not long ago. 

 

the moment passes and things are back to normal-enough. his smile comes back in full-force and it reminds you a bit of his magic show. he’s playing a part so you might as well play yours.

 

he’s as warm as you thought he’d be. you trace lightly over the lines of his palm, knowing full well they could’ve been the death of you. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t excite you but judging by the blush spreading across his cheeks, you think this might be doing more for him than it is for you.

 

☾✩

 

as you sit at a table with leander, you wonder what you have gotten yourself into. there is a tension with him. one you don’t share with any of the others. 

 

even the monsters. 

 

he crowds you into the back of the booth, his bulk easily obscuring you from view until you see no one but him. 

 

you get to talking and it’s familiar. the roundabout way he speaks, bordering on condescending at times. it’s easy enough to ignore. you’ve been doing it your whole life after all. then the talking stops in favour of what you both came here for.

 

his hands. as lovely, as strong as they are, you think you’d like to try something else. 

 

you ask and he says yes, as if there was any other answer he’d give.

 

your touch is tentative, creeping down the cruel length of his scar. like a starved dog, he nuzzles into the palm of your hand. a breath stutters from his lips.

 

‘would you like me to walk you to your room?’ he asks and it is gentlemanly, as sheepish as a wolf can sound.

 

you nod and with all the courtliness of a prince, he stands and holds out a hand. you take it and it feels like a dark deal has been struck, a covenant. 

 

a man of his word, he walks you to your room. you know he has no intentions of coming in, wanting to prove something — you have no intentions of asking him to either. chivalry you suppose isn’t dead, just grievously injured. 

 

instead you’re forced to entertain his little speech, mapping his pretty features and counting the freckles on his nose instead of listening to the lies tangling like brambles inside his mouth. 

 

‘what if that’s not what i want?’ you say in an almost bored tone.

 

he gapes for a moment before slotting a smile back into place. ‘i’m sorry, i don’t follow.’

 

you see the beginnings of discomposure. a straining against his own skin. you want nothing more than to take him apart.

 

‘what if i don’t want normal,’ you repeat, ‘‘what if i want something real.’

 

swallowing the distance between you, he steps in close until your back brushes against the door. he tips your chin up, holding it between his fingers. a lock of dark brown hair falls into glowing eyes. 

 

‘who says i’m not real?’ he whispers. 

 

his body, a weapon, bears down on yours until there isn’t an inch of you that isn’t touching him. feeling his need for you, showing you the effect you presumably have on him — though you suspect you’re not the first or second person to receive such a warm welcome. 

 

pushing him away, you twist the knob behind you and take a swift step back into the room. he stands on the other side frozen, eyes alight.

 

‘good night, leander,’ you say curtly.

 

he slowly snaps out of his transfixion, pink blossoming across his nose and cheeks. a discouraging contrast to the hollow look in his eye.

 

he smiles widely and you get the childish urge to smack it off. 

 

‘i’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. 

 

a threat, if you’ve ever heard one. 

Notes:

i can fix him and make him worse.