#( ♡ ). chapter one: jean

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter II: Go Your Own Way 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond's written another song about your separation, and it becomes clear to you that he'll do anything to make you suffer.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, depictions of anxiety, smut, oral (f receiving), facesitting, phone sex, description of naughty videos

Word count: 3600 A/N: Thank you so much lovely Justine for looking this over for me @theoneeyedprince ♡

‘DRAGONSTONE: VIBRANT START OF TOUR FOR DRAGON DREAMERS’

Eyes glued to the screen of your phone, you absentmindedly sip your cup of tea, newly awake and curled up on a puffy armchair in your hotel room. 

Life on the road proves to be draining. You still feel exhausted from having to fly from Dragonstone to your current location, Gulltown, right after the show, currently operating on merely 4 hours of sleep. 

You had told yourself that you wouldn’t check reviews from your opening night before you felt ready to deal with all possible speculations of your and Aemond’s divorce. 

You know that the concert had been fantastic, the audience demanded two encores and you left the venue with a sore throat and an unquenchable thirst for more. There’s nothing as exhilarating as the high you feel after a live show. 

Still, you couldn’t fight the urge to google reviews, curiosity getting the best of you. 

‘Tensions were high as Dragon Dreamers entered the nearly full venue on Dragonstone last night. Kicking off with a song from their new album, The Chain, devoted fans are quick to speculate whether guitarist Aemond Targaryen wrote it to-’

You can’t bring yourself to continue, knowing that whatever they’d written would only leave you feeling melancholic. You need all the energy you can muster, which means torturing yourself reading about your divorce isn’t a good idea.

As you’re about to put your phone down, it lights up with Helaena’s name. 

“Are you okay, love? We’ve been waiting for 10 minutes”, she asks, voice sounding a bit strained. 

A meek “What?” is all you manage to get out. You were supposed to meet up in an hour, not now.

“The press? We’ve got 5 interviews lined up and need to leave now. Didn’t Tyland tell you about the change in schedule?”

No. 

And you have a feeling that it isn’t Tyland who’ll be delighted when you show up smelling of sweat from yesterday's gig, with your hair in tangles and face fatigued. 

“Sorry, Hel. I’ll be there as soon as I can, give me five minutes”

No shower. 

No hair. 

No makeup. 

Great. 

In haste, you throw on a pair of jeans, a burgundy top and messily apply some blush and mascara, hoping it’ll distract from the bags under your eyes. You throw one last glance at your reflection before heading down. 

You look exactly like you feel,

Shit. 

You try your best to not let your cheery facade crack, smiling brightly at the journalists as they ask you about yesterday’s show and the ongoing tour. 

No one dares to ask about your personal lives, something you find yourself feeling immensely grateful for. 

Three interviews down, two to go.  

You throw a quick glance at Aemond. You’d been careful to sit on his blind side so you wouldn’t have to feel the searing sensation of him staring you down. Observing him in secret still burns though.  

You know he won’t move quickly enough for you to get caught. After the accident that left him blind in one eye, he always moved slowly. His blind eye has a tendency to lag slightly, not always looking in the same direction as his seeing eye. Self-conscious and afraid of being awarded the epithet ‘lazy eye’ on top of ‘one eye’, he’s trained his body to always move slowly, giving his blind eye a chance to keep up.

The next interviewer enters the small room you’ve been assigned, donning a wide smile as she makes her way to the chair in front of the two sofas where you and your bandmates are seated. 

After quickly introducing herself and the magazine she works for, Harrentown Underground, she jumps straight to the questions, asking you how yesterday’s gig felt and what fans should expect from the upcoming tour.

As she talks, her gaze is trained on Aemond, nodding and smiling brightly when he answers. 

Her eyes narrow slightly as she purses her lips together, visibly tensing up as she asks,

“Has the recent, um, changes in your personal life aided your creative process?”

The tension in the room grows as Aemond stays silent despite the journalist looking solely at him. You’d asked management to let the journalists know that you wouldn’t be taking any questions about your personal lives. She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care; you can’t make out which it is. 

Aemond finally breaks the silence,

“Yes. I guess so” 

“Many fans online suspect the new song you performed yesterday is about your failed marriage, is that correct?”, she continues, completely ignoring you and the other band members as she looks up from her notepad, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He’s completely still as he regards her, taking time to answer so that the awkward atmosphere of the room lingers.

“It is”, he finally admits, catching you by surprise. He’d always been so reserved; never wanting to let the public in on his private life. 

The journalist gives Aemond a sympathetic look, nodding as she replies,

“Heartache really fuels the creative process, is that it?”

Aemond lets out a detached hum, 

“I’m not one to go back on my promises. I value loyalty. The song is about when promises are broken”

Helaena has started to pick at her nail beds next to you. On your other side you feel Jace straighten up, eyes cast down to inspect the floor with newfound interest. 

Nobody wants to say anything; nobody wants to continue this conversation. Except for the journalist, who nods in understanding as she scribbles on her notepad.

“It must be hard, being left by your partner”, she says, throwing a brief, disapproving look your way, “Have you had time to process it all?”

She is clearly not interested in speaking to anyone else in the band. She regards Aemond as if they are the only two in the room. It feels so belittling, being talked about like you’re not even present. 

“Hmm. Betrayal takes time to recover from”, he replies curtly, sounding cold and harsh. 

You feel your throat close up, eyesight going blurry as you take in his words. 

Betrayal? 

You try to the best of your ability to not let any tears escape down your cheeks, tilting your head slightly backwards as you take a deep, quiet breath. 

You will not cause a scene. 

You will not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words got to you. 

You will not give him what he wants. 

As soon as the journalist from Harrentown Underground leaves and Tyland tells you to take a break, you make your way to the bathroom in quick steps. 

You rush inside a booth, quickly locking the door before you fall down on the toilet seat, hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your wailing as you begin to cry heavily, sobs ripping through your body in angry waves, and tears pouring down your cheeks.

He’s such a fucking prick. 

He’s such a fucking prick.

He knows exactly what buttons to push to upset you. He also knows exactly how to do it in front of others, without them knowing of the quiet war being fought between the two of you. If that journalist knew the full story of what led to your divorce, would she still pity poor Aemond? 

You cry hard, trying to release some of the frustration built up inside. After a couple of minutes, the tears start to lessen and you roll out some toilet paper, patting it over your soaked face before throwing it in the toilet. 

You exit the booth and move to stand in front of the mirror. 

Seeing your reflection makes you feel worse. Your hair is frizzy from the way you tossed in bed, your mascara has run down your cheeks in black streaks, and your eyes are puffy and red. 

You sigh in surrender, pulling out a concealer from your purse and patting some under your eye to hide the smudged blackness and swollen skin.

If strength was measured by resilience, you’d be a warrior. You wouldn’t let Aemond’s attempts at hurting you hinder you. He’d already controlled your life when you were married. He wasn’t going to continue to restrict you now.

The last interview is with a journalist from King’s Landing Weekly, and you remember meeting him last year when you’d just released your first album. 

He’s a true music nerd, always asking insightful questions about your inspirations, what you want to convey, how you went about the recording process. 

“How has recording been this time around?”, the journalist asks, oblivious to the fact that you’d spent most time alone in the studio, recording your parts separately. 

“It’s been interesting. Production has taken longer than we anticipated, but we’ve got some real bangers we’re eager to share with our fans”, Jace answers with a smile, going on to reveal that you’ll perform some of the new songs during your tour. 

You think back to when you recorded your first album, spending almost every waking hour in the studio with your bandmates. 

Well, mostly with Aemond. 

The nostalgic past when you were madly in love. It seems so distant now. 

On your knees, you hover over Aemond’s face. His nose repeatedly brushes against your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you. He’s lying on his back on the dirty floor of the studio, his arms locked around your thighs, and his hands grip your hips tightly.

You’re so close to breaking. So close. 

Hands resting on your thighs to keep yourself upright, you let your hips rock in tandem with Aemond’s tongue as it fucks you. And when your orgasm crashes over you, one hand moves to his hair, grabbing it harshly as you moan his name. 

Unabashedly, you cry out in pleasure before stilling. Breathing heavily, your mind feels delightfully empty in the bliss-filled aftermath of your peak. 

As you move to get up, Aemond’s grip on your hips tighten, focing you to stay put as he continues his assault on your cunt. You moan, half in pleasure, half in pain, from how his nose brushes against your over sensitive clit, sending jolts of stinging delight through your body. 

“Aem, I can’t-”, you weakly protest as he brings his tongue up to your clit, gently swiping over it. 

His voice is muffled underneath you as he replies, “Yes you can” 

His hands push your hips to forcefully rock your body against his face once more, and you feel the stinging between your legs morph into fierce pleasure, consuming your senses. 

You had tried to keep yourself up slightly to not place all your weight on Aemond’s face, but you slowly lose control over your body and slump down against his face as a second orgasm approaches. 

Satisfied at your defeat, Aemond moves one hand down to your entrance and pushes two fingers inside at once, stretching your slippery hole. You gasp, and when his fingers find your g-spot, you moan without inhibition. 

“Fu-, k-”, you sigh, voice strained. 

Your hands hold on to the edge of the desk in front of you, head thrown back. Aemond’s fingers continue to move in and out of you in calculated strokes as his tongue determinedly massages your clit, and when he closes his lips around your bundle of nerves and suck, you come for the second time; the edge of your vision going black from the intensity.

Your body jerks uncontrollably as you gasp and sigh and moan. 

After your body’s stopped twitching, Aemond’s face pokes out from beneath you, covered in your slick. You’re still breathing heavily, trying to regain your posture and stand, but he tugs you down to the ground and places you in his arms.

“Go on, pretty girl. Clean me up”, he whispers into your ear. You oblige with a smile, kissing away all the remnants of your arousal on his face, revelling in the taste of you on his skin. 

You wish your mind wouldn’t go there whenever you think about the last time you were in the studio together. You wish it wouldn’t drift to the happy memories. 

They hurt the most. 

Leaving someone you still love is so much harder than leaving someone you don’t. You have to continually remind yourself of what a toxic husband he could be. Of how unfair, and controlling, and dangerous he could be. 

In fact, you didn’t really need to remind yourself; Aemond was fully capable of acting horrible on his own. 

As the journalist from King’s Landing Weekly wraps up the last interview of the day, he stands and thanks you all for your time. 

He stretches out his hand and offers each member a handshake. When he reaches you, he holds onto your hand as he gleefully states, “I truly hope we get to hear one of your new songs soon. The emotions you put into song-making is truly something else”

You smile back at him and squeeze his hand, assuring him that you’ll perform a new song soon.

Behind you, Aemond clears his throat a bit too loudly for it to seem unintentional. He stands up, prompting the reporter to move to shake Jace’s hand next to you before leaving. 

All you can think about is getting back to your hotel room, take a long-overdue shower, and a much-needed nap. 

You make your way out of the conference room, but before you can leave, a large hand gently tugs at your shoulder, stopping you. 

You turn around to face Aemond, who gives your form a once-over, 

“Are you doing okay? You look a bit, hm, disoriented” 

If he is trying to sound caring he’s failing miserably. His tone is condescending, nearly mocking. 

“I’m fine”, you reply, jaw shut tight and annoyance tinting your voice “No one told me about the sudden change in schedule”

You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

He nods curtly, “Alright. I’d like to perform a new song tonight, you did back-ups on it in recording; ‘Go your own way’. Would that be okay with you?”

The forced, nice pretence he’s trying to uphold doesn’t fool you for a second, you can hear how he’s holding himself back as he speaks. 

“Of course”, you reply shortly. 

Why is he asking for permission? 

You turn and move towards the door, eager to retreat to your room. Aemond stays put behind you, voice a little more urgent than before as he adds, 

“My girlfriend will come to tonight's gig, if you don’t mind?”

You sigh as you turn the handle of the door, 

“Why would I mind?”

You do mind. 

It feels so wrong to see Alys sit on Aemond’s lap backstage as he whispers something in her ear. It almost feels perverse, seeing your husband with someone else. Like they’re committing a sin. 

Still, you say nothing. Instead, you stubbornly refuse to look their way, focusing on helping Helaena with her eyeshadow at the other end of the room. 

You can’t help but ponder their dynamic. 

Is he as possessive of her as he had been over you? 

Is he as insatiable?

Like the time he demanded you record when you touch yourself, instructing you to place your phone on your stomach so he could hear just how wet you were as your fingers slip inside and you moan his name. 

That was back when he was still working for his grandfather’s company, and he’d occasionally go away on business trips. He’d call you around midnight every night. 

“What would you do if I were there?” 

You hear him breathe heavily. His voice is strained and the distant sounds of him stroking his cock echo in the background. 

“I’d climb on your lap and beg you to fuck me. Beg you to let me ride you”. 

Aemond groans. 

“And then?”

“I’d beg you to suck on my tits as I bounce up, ah-, and down”

You’re so close, forcefully letting your fingers push at your g-spot while the palm of your hand presses at your clit. You know he’s close too by the sounds of his breath hitching and the way he’s swearing under his breath, mumbling “I can’t wait to sink my cock into you”

Or the videos he had on his phone of you. God, did he keep those? You know his favourite had been the one where you’re seen kneeling in front of him, tongue sticking out of your mouth as he coats your face with his cum, asking you who you belong to, who’s little slut you are. 

“Only yours, Aemond. Always yours”

You shiver at the memory. Hopefully Alys had gone through his phone and deleted any and all trace of you. 

You do some vocal warm-ups with Helaena, restless nerves bubbling inside you as you wait backstage to soon enter the stage. 

Wiping some sweat from your palms onto the jeans you’re wearing, you internally remind yourself of the fact that you’d done an incredible show yesterday, and today would be just as good. 

You know that your band will deliver. You always do. Even Erryk, being a new addition, has proven to be a great drummer and teamplayer, possessing both the stamina and skills needed to thrive in Dragon Dreamers. 

You hear the crowd chanting, mood just as elevated as it had been the day before on Dragonstone. As you go over the set list for the night, Aemond suggests you start with ‘The Chain’, like you did yesterday, and end with his new song, ‘Go your own way’. 

Although you’d recorded backups for the song, you hadn’t listened to the entirety of it in the studio. 

Somewhere inside, you know that the song is about you. About the divorce. You remember singing, 

‘You can go your own way’

‘You can call it another lonely day’ 

Anxiety grows within you as you think of having to listen to the entire song. You’d put it off in the studio, never feeling mentally prepared to hear Aemond’s thoughts on how you’ve ‘wronged’ him. 

And now you’ll have to hear it for the first time in public. In front of an audience. 

You can do this.

Just breathe. In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. 

Your breathing is laboured, body vibrating from the excitement of performing. This truly is where you thrive; where you feel your best. 

Where you can contribute something to the world. 

Make people happy. 

You look down at the fans beaming up at you, howling in excitement as they demand another song. 

“Here’s a new song from our upcoming album”, Aemond starts, the crowd cheering louder. 

This is it. The anxiety you’d felt about hearing Aemond’s new song still buzzes within you, but you won’t let that hinder you from giving this song your all as well. You won’t let him intimidate you. 

The song is fast-paced, and Aemond’s fingers quickly pluck the strings of his guitar as he starts to sing, 

‘Loving you isn’t the right thing to do’

‘How can I ever change things that I feel?’

‘If I could, baby, I’d give you my world’

‘How can I when you won’t take it from me?’

He was so intent on playing the victim it was almost laughable. Ignoring his own wrong-doings; his part in your separation. He was suffering; left to bleed out from the knife you’d stabbed in his back. 

Fuck that. 

He’d driven you away with his obsessive behaviour and anger issues. But that was not the story he wanted to tell. 

‘You can go your own way’

‘Go your own way’

‘You can call it another lonely day’

‘Another lonely day’ 

As he sings his solo lines, Aemond stares you down. 

His seeing eye bores into you with a fire you’d hardly seen before. It’s a stark contrast from his damaged eye; the white mist covering it making it appear calm, almost gentle.

He’s found a way to yell at you in public, berating you for leaving him in front of the entire world, without causing a scene. That’s why he’d been so set on appearing civil with you around others. He wants to break you. 

‘Open up, everything’s waiting for you’

Just like yesterday, he sounds uncharacteristically passionate as he sings, much angrier than usual. He basically spits the words at you; ‘go your own way’, ‘everything’s waiting for you’

You can’t keep eye contact with him for long, his gaze too scorching. 

Why is he suddenly so intimidating? 

You try to remind yourself of the fact that you were married mere months ago. 

You know him. He’s still Aemond. Your Aemond.

Or is he? The man staring at you on stage feels far removed from the person you married two years ago. 

As Aemond starts to play his guitar solo, he leaves his microphone, furious eye never leaving you as he approaches you; more akin to a predator than a man. 

You hear the crowd cheer. 

He doesn’t have to look at his guitar as his skillful fingers effortlessly play the climatic guitar solo. He’s treating his instrument like he’s angry at it, harshly plucking at the strings in the most violent manner. He comes up to stand right by you, between you and the audience. You’re forced to face him. To meet his eye. 

The crowd cheers louder and louder. 

His expression is stoic, eye unblinking as he assaults the strings of his guitar. 

Never looking down. 

Only at you.

Thank you for reading!

[itsmemuffy]

I can make you feel better...

If you let me (chapter one)

Chapter Two out now ♡

Contents: Original Trilogy! Logan x fem reader, naive reader, obsessive and touch starved Logan, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, non-sexual physical intimacy, sexual fantasies (real smut in pt. 2), mentions of Charles, Ororo, Jean, Scott and Rogue

Summary: You keep everything running as smooth as possible in the background while Professor Xavier keeps a very full plate of locating mutants, running the school, and leading the X-Men. A steady stream of mutants come and go through the mansion, but a certain one in particular makes it his mission to nestle his way into your life.

The past few days had been a whirlwind for Logan. He's the type of man that goes where he wants to go- and waking up in an infirmary on a small hospital cot after being round up like some sort of animal was not on his list of things to do that week, to say the least.

For all intents and purposes, his next plan of action was to get away from here as soon as he possibly could and get back to the life he lived on his own terms. His only home and form of transportation was totalled somewhere in the Alberta wilderness, sure, but he already had experience starting over from nothing.

Oh, but was one man ever persuasive: Charles Xavier. Not many people had an edge over Logan like he did. If his ego permitted, he would be thankful that the man that held upper hand had noble intentions.

When he first met you, a cute little thing diligently running errands to what was perhaps the one man who could have his answers, you immediately piqued Logan's interest. So sweet and so kind, and Charles put his trust in you?

He had barged in like he owned the place on you and the professor scheduling out the upcoming semester in his office. Charles appeared to have already gotten used to this type behavior from him. "This, my dear, is Logan. He will hopefully be joining us now."

Oh... so is he planning to stick around? You ponder as you bite the inside of your cheek, leaning onto Charles' desk with your hip. Logan immediately came off as brooding and dismissive, and he didn't seem like the type to settle into a place beaming with so much activity. Regardless, you extended your hand out to him as you told him your name.

It took him a second to register the gesture. He only now noticed how lost in thought he was, eyes caught below your neckline. With a clearing of his throat, Logan reached a hand back to you to shake it. The most formal of ways to greet someone, yet the feeling of your delicate fingers grasping his rough palm caused his mind to wander again. He forced himself back to reality.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around," Logan remained aloof in speech, hoping you didn't notice the way he devoured you with his gaze. He decided to promptly remove himself from the room, searching for the privacy to be alone with his thoughts.

A few interactions after your initial introduction, Logan started to feel something beyond sexual curiosity. You made his heart race, you made him nervous.

Not a single detail went unnoticed by Logan. The way your hips would sway, how you parted your hair, the shade of lipstick you wore, the softness in your voice whenever you greeted him, your scent.

Life kept throwing change in Logan's way, morphing his way of living into something unrecognizable to him. For the last however many years (boy, is he ever bad at keeping track of time) he had filled them with isolation and taking whatever cheap pleasures he could find. Now he finds himself surrendering the space in his mind to a woman he barely knew. You brought warmth and light into a cold, dark place.

No, this won't fly, he thought to himself. The fact that he was losing control over the dynamic between you made him very uncomfortable. Logan made it his mission to learn more about you. If he could just figure you out, he could take the reins over again.

The two of you would always acknowledge eachother in a group setting. The tiny smile Logan would throw your way whenever you caught eyes made you weak. You couldn't help but to want to know more about him, too. A rugged man who was a stranger not too long ago was showing you consideration? A man who nobody knows where he's been, what he's done, how old he is? It kind of wracked your brain, but you tried not to let it trip you up.

Oh, but he would catch you trip up. It wasn't lost on Logan the times you entered a space with him in it, seemingly to forget what you came in there for. Maybe you were a little ditzy- your mind often racing too fast that you couldn't catch up with yourself, but it had happened too many times for it to be a coincidence. At least, that's what he told himself.

He replicated your behavior, scouting you out amongst the mansion. It wasn't hard for him to find you. Your trail had become so much bolder to his senses, overshadowing anybody else that could be in vicinity.

Logan always found what he was looking for. Excuse after excuse slipped easily from his lips. Obvious to everyone else what he was doing, you earnestly took the bait every time without fail. He marked the first time he had a conversation with you alone as a significant victory.

"Hey, didn't see you there. Have you seen Charles around? I need to talk to him." He had cornered you in the library, watching you read for a minute or two before making his presence known.

You flinched up in your chair, "Jesus Logan, don't sneak up on me like that!" The yelp that initially left your lips was definitely a sound he would remember next time he's alone.

"Sorry, doll. Didn't mean to scare ya," he chuckled.

The upset you felt towards him for breaking your flow state lasted but half a second. You couldn't be mad. After all, whatever he needed Charles for must of been important.

"No, Jean and him are off chaperoning a field trip in the city. He should be back sometime this evening."

Logan let out a little "hmph", trying his best sound to sound disappointed. Inside he was estatic he finally caught up to you again. Now with no one else around, his mind flooded with possibilities on how this could go. The odds of you immediately throwing yourself at him weren't zero, were they? If he were to take you and bend you over the table right this very second, there was a possiblility you'd let him... right? God, am I really this desperate? he thought.

After letting a moment hang in the air, he sat down next to you in the ajacet seat. "So, what are you doing here all by yourself? Got nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, huh?" Good idea, Logan, change the subject.

"You're one to talk," your focus was now one hundred percent on him. Thighs spread as he lazily leaned back in the chair, rolling his head to the side. To say he wasn't beautiful like this would be a lie. You've rarely seen him this relaxed. "Aren't you here too?"

"Huh." Logan did not anticipate you to call him out like that, "I guess you've got a point, there."

An awkward silence sat between the two of you. You pretended to divert your attention back to your book, not letting him escape the corner of your eye. Logan lit up a cigar he fished from his pocket. He desperately needed something to do with his hands.

"This is a library, you know that right?" You chide him after an annoyed sigh.

"Oh, is it now? I thought all these books were just for decoration." His lips sucked in another drag.

"Very expensive books, Logan. There's plenty of perfecly fine places to smoke around here if you just look."

He got up from his seat, "Then why don't you show me around, darlin'? Open my eyes a little." You couldn't quite tell if the pet name was to belittle you or to be affectionate. A hand reached out to bring you to stand. "I'll let you lead the way."

You lead him outside to the back of the mansion, a secluded area with an old stone bench shaded by the surrounding trees. It was your favorite place on the property, and it soon became his as well.

After that day, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the two of you to catch eachother in that very spot on a warm day. You would watch the kids play in the field, discussing all the antics the students got into that week. Bright afternoon sun would peak through the trees as cigar smoke wafted in the air- everything felt so perfect when you were with him.

Logan often found himself falling asleep thinking of you. He would linger on any time you spent together in the previous hours of the day, overanalyzing the interaction. Any amount he got of you was never enough. He always needed more. More time with you, more closeness, more, more, more.

If he was lucky, you would visit him in his dreams. It was rare but whenever it happened, it was a blessing. You would appear to him as vivid and real as if he was awake. There, he was finally able to close the gap between you two. His hands would finally meet every inch of your plush skin.

However, Logan's mind loved to torture him. As much as your companionship has brought him peace, no amount of feelings for you could change the fact that he was a broken man. Most nights consisted of horrific images; an incomprehensible collage of blood and bodies that he desperately tried to make sense of. All he knew is that it was all real. It happened. The pain was too prevalent to be fantasy.

Tonight he had awoke in terror yet again. A cold, uncomfortable sweat coated his body, chest heaving up and down like a piston. Logan's eyes were blown wide, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to convince himself he was safe in his room. When did four walls around you ever mean you were safe? His intrusive thoughts were keen on keeping him in a state of anxiety. When did four walls ever make someone safe from you?

That was enough. Logan knew all too well how his mind could go on and on like this if he let it. He needed to get some air. The bed creaked under his shifting weight as he sat up. His entire body felt sore. It was if he fought off an entire army in the hours he was asleep.

After finally getting up, he made his way past his bedroom door and down the hall towards the nearest exit. The kitchen was along that route. He figured he might as well grab something to drink. Anything, as long as it was cold.

As he turned the corner, the narrow hallway met the open space of the kitchen. Logan was surprised to find the room already illuminated with light. His eyes lit up when he saw who was sitting at the counter.

Logan stumbled before you a dishelveled mess. His hair was matted, sticking up every which way. The white tank he wore was half tucked into sweatpants he haphazardly put on before leaving his bedroom, drawstrings not even tied as they sat low on his hips. His demeanor was one of a wild animal, cautious and running on instinct.

A wave of awareness washed over Logan. He combed his fingers through his dark locks and straightened his back as he approached you further. Once he got himself to think in actual words again, he greeted you.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" His voice was hoarse and deep. Logan just now realized how sore his throat was. He hoped to god that he wasn't screaming in his slumber- at least not loud enough for anybody to hear.

"I just woke up not too long ago. Was hoping a snack would help me get back to sleep." You sat before a plate filled with a random assortment of food you scavenged from the cupboards, "Want some?"

"No thanks, sweetheart," the way he spoke sweetly to you through his gravelly tone made your heart skip a beat. He didn't need to ask to know that you had a rough night as well. It was written all over your face. A gentleness Logan typically pushed down and tried to ignore was bubbling to the surface. Something in him was relieved he was no longer alone with himself tonight.

You watch him make the journey past you to the fridge, scanning the contents of the shelves like it was the hardest decision he had to make in a long time. Rootbeer or ginger ale... Ginger ale or rootbeer...

"You didn't hear it from me, but Scott keeps a few beers in the vegetable drawer underneath the celery."

"That sneaky little bastard," he smirks. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." Logan was delighted. Not only by the sudden promise of alcohol, but by the thought that you might share other secrets with him, too. He had a boyish urge to stay up the entire night with you and see if he could get you to spill all the other secrets you must have.

Two beers clanked together as Logan grasped them with a single hand. He took a seat across from you and slid a bottle over to your side of the countertop. Your eyes locked and held on to that contact for probably way too long. Time felt like it has stopped. The moment he walked into the kitchen and saw you, the clock might as well never ticked a single second past 1:37 AM.

"I don't know... Scott will probably notice if we take more than one," you say as you bite your lip.

"I'll run to the store in the morning, he won't even know they were gone," he was all too ready to combat your excuse. Logan wanted to see you come undone. You worked so hard, did everything you're told and were so diligent. Such a good girl. A beer in your hand looked terribly out of place and that made his heart swell.

"Guess it can't hurt, can it?" You opened the bottle and sipped as the frosty glass numbed the tips of your fingers.

He drank much slower than his usual pace, taking the tiniest of mouthfuls like the time with you would run out with the beer. Silence draped over the two of you like a warm blanket, both too exhausted to put on any sort of show to entertain the other. The satisfaction of just being in eachother's company was enough. It came all too easy when you were together. After witnessing all those horrors earlier in the night, Logan finally felt content.

You notice he rubs his neck, a strained noise rumbled in his chest. The stool you sat in screeches against the tile floor as you get up and make your way over to him on the other side of the island. Logan's eyes followed you with every step you took

"May I?" you ask as you now stand behind him, hands hovering over his shoulders, waiting for permission. It wasn't a big deal. You always help out Ororo and Jean when they have stiffness or a knot. That's what friends do for eachother, right?

Logan did his best to hide his signs of exitement. He couldn't let you know how often he thinks of your touch. If he had only one ounce less of pride, he would be begging you for the simplest of contact all hours of the day. "That's real sweet of you, but you really don't have to," he said with the slightest quiver in is voice.

"But I want to." That's it. Those four words just shattered him into a million pieces. If you only knew what you were doing to him.

Your digits grip the dip in his shoulder as your thumbs dig between his shoulder blades. You tried not to gasp when you felt the all knots going up his back. It has just occurred to you how little mind he must pay to taking care of himself for it to get this bad. Pain was a staple of his everyday life, why waste time to try and remedy it? Despite the ability to heal, the constant state of tension still took an immense toll on his body.

Logan leaned into your touch and practically melted under your fingers as he tentatively sipped his beer. If he were to turn around and look at your face, he'd see your complexion flushed bright red. Maybe you were enjoying this a little too much, and you chastised yourself for thinking that way. Little did you know all the scandalous thoughts Logan let his mind run away with on a daily basis when he was around you.

Your hands quickly grew weary working into the solid muscle, but you pushed through it for him. You know he needed this by the way his eyes were now closed and soft hums that left his lips. After working across his shoulders, you finally made your way to his neck. Logan let his head fall forward completely as your knuckles broke up the bundled-up nerves beneath his skin. The tightness in him was able to come loose a bit for the first time in a long, long time.

"Whew," you withdrew your hands and shook them out, "hopefully it feels a bit better now."

"It does," a smile crept up on his face that he tried to supress with each word. "That really was somethin', thank you."

You sat back down across from him and remained mostly silent after that apart from the occasional yawn. A single beer not quite enough to offer a buzz, but enough to lull you out of your wired state.

"Think I'm going to call it a night. You should, too. Danger room is on the itinerary first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, well you can tell Charles where to stick his itinerary." Logan was determined to make you smile one last time before you parted ways- and he succeeded.

He walked behind you on your way back down the hall, wishing the journey was not as quick as it was. Your room came up a few doors before his. Logan almost followed you into your bedroom before he shook himself out of auto pilot. It was like a habit that hadn't been formed yet. He belonged next to you in that bed, he knew because he felt it in every fibre of his being.

"Goodnight, Logan. Sleep well."

"I definetly will now. Goodnight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. There it was again. You convince yourself it couldn't of meant anything.

When you gently shut the door behind you, time had resumed yet again. That little bubble wherein only the two of you existed had been popped.

He lied about going back to sleep, holding on to the delusion that he didn't need it. Besides, he didn't want to say goodbye to your essence. You still filled his senses, if only just barely. A deep inhale could capture your scent, and your breathing could faintly be heard if he really listened. Logan stood outside your door until the sun started to rise before he snuck back into his room.

He never ended up replacing Scott's beers.

As time went by, your encounters with eachother became more and more frequent. Excuses to talk were no longer required. You enjoyed Logan's company, as he did yours. There was no reason to pretend, you were just two friends growing closer by the day.

You gradually opened up to one another and Logan started to confide in you. Any insight on himself or his past was kept brief, giving carefully worded and vague details. You knew better than to push him for more than he was wiling to give and he liked that about you. Whenever the confusion, the regret, or the pain would get too much, he turned the conversation back to you. The more he learned about you as a person, the more his mind circled all his thoughts back to you.

Neither side knew, however, what things the other was keeping to themselves. You couldn't tell him how the casual touches felt different from him than how it felt with your other male friends. You couldn't tell him how hard it was to think when you would run into him all sweaty after an intense training session. You couldn't tell him that when you held onto your pillow at night, you wish it had his warmth.

And he couldn't tell you that you were the first thing he thought of in the morning. He couldn't tell you how he had a favorite pair of jeans that your ass looked best in. He couldn't tell you that he committed every detail about you to memory- from the curve of your lips to the way you say his name.

Anyone who saw the way Logan looked at you could deduce there was something more going on beneath the surface. Scott would tease him about it and he would swiftly shut it down. Jean and Ororo would pry you for details, only for you to tell them there was nothing going on between you and him. They didn't buy it. No one bought it.

All the words unsaid eventually built up so high it was suffocating. It was getting harder and harder to behave like normal around eachother, not knowing where the boundaries were and if it was okay to cross them. Something had to give.

It started out as a regular Friday evening with the team gathered together, watching movies and playing cards. Your initial plan was to work late into the night. Small, tedious tasks has accumulated as you had focused on more pressing matters throughout the week. Charles was having the X-Men find mutants at a pace more efficient than ever before which corresponded with an increased workload on your front.

You were leaving in the morning on a trip for the long weekend and you were determined to finish everything before you left. Ororo was always the one to break you out of your paperwork prison and get you to live a little. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you to come down before we put on the next movie."

"Storm, if I don't do this now, it will never get done."

"Oh, please. You worked so hard all week. Everything here can wait until you get back," your friend watches you as you roll your eyes and continue sorting files. Good thing she had a little trick up her sleeve, "...and Logan wants to see you before you leave."

"He said that...?" you inquire in an almost pathetic manner. She nodded but truthfully, he didn't have say it. She knew it was true all the same.

After dragging you downstairs you scanned the common room, everyone talking amongst themselves with a glass in hand. Everyone except Logan. Ororo had pulled a similar scheme to get him to come out of his self isolation, but when he saw you weren't there earlier, he decided to skip the socializing and retire to his room.

Jean, ever the fast thinker, was in on the plan, "Hey, we were thinking about ordering takeout. Can you do me a favor and see if Logan wants anything?" She hands you a menu knowing you wouldn't pass up a chance to be helpful to a friend.

Logan sat in darkness on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples and groaning. He truly didn't mean to blow everybody else off. In actuality, he enjoyed shooting the shit with the mutants he was slowly starting to recognize as his family. Tonight was different, however.

Frustration was pushing him to his limit. He still wasn't any closer to finding the missing pieces to his puzzle. Charles told him these kind of things take time. He was sick of hearing that, he needed answers now. His sanity depended on it.

Only one thing was certain- another person had done this to him. There was no doubt the wiping of his memories was a deliberate effort on somebody's part. That wasn't the only thing. The recurring visions of being horrified at his own self, the sickening realization he was changed into something he hadn't been before haunted him on the daily. Is my body really my own?

All of this made worse by the multiple birthdays of a couple of students this past month. Simple things everyone knew about themselves- when and where they were born- was a luxury he was not afforded. Logan felt himself slipping, the feelings that were out of his control eating away at him.

A knock at the door stopped his thoughts in its tracks. "Logan? You there?" Only but a half hour earlier, you were the only person he wanted to see. But now that he has succumbed further down his spiral of self pity in that short amount of time, he didn't want you to see him like this.

"What do you want?" His uncharacteristically cold tone made you wince behind the door. As much as he needed you to pull him out of the hole he dug for himself, the dark recesses of his mind were commanding him to push you away.

"We're ordering takeout. Jean needs to know if you want anything."

"I'm not hungry." He was silently begging for you to walk away before he said something he would regret.

"Can I please come in?" You pleaded, hoping he'd recognize the worry in your voice. This wasn't like him.

"Fine," he grumbled. At the end of the day, Logan could never say no to you.

The door squeaked as you inched it open. You could barely make out his silhouette in the dark. With a flick of a switch, the space was illuminated. "Is everything alright, Lo? You're scaring me."

Careful footsteps slowly brought you to stand before him. The air in the room was undoubtedly charged. Every action you now took was deliberate, as if trying not to startle a feral animal.

"You wouldn't be the first person that's ever been scared of me," he spat out his words like daggers.

As serious as the conversation felt, you couldn't help a scoff from escaping you. You sat down next to him on the bed mere inches apart, "that's not what I mean and you know it. Stop being so obtuse and tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on, believe me," Logan sighed. His demeanor immediately softened just from having you close. He buried his face in his palm- an insecure gesture you've rarely seem him perform. But when he did, you knew exactly what it meant.

"Bullshit. I know you better than this, Logan." Maybe you were getting through to him.

Something about what you said must have struck him the wrong way as he tensed back up again. "You don't know me at all, actually."

"How can you say that? We see eachother almost every single day! Come on, now... You can't be serious," you playfully nudge his knee against your own, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I am serious. How can you know me when I don't even know myself? You don't know what I've done and how many people I've had to do it to. I don't even know any of the fucking details but I know it ain't anything good, sweetheart." He watched outside himself as he was taking his inner frustration out on you.

Logan knew it wasn't right to speak to you this way when you were just trying to be there for him. As much as it stung in the moment, you tried not to take it personally. He was hurt and he needed you, that much was clear.

"Listen to me for just one second," you braced yourself, unsure how he would take what you were about to say. "I know what kind of man you are. And I don't need to know your entire damn history to be certain of that."

All he could do was stare blankly at your face as he processed your words. Without waiting for a response you continued, "How can I be so sure? Because I see it in everything you do, Logan. It's in the way you treat Rogue and the other kids, treat your teammates, treat me. I can't tell you that you've never had to hurt anyone, but you know what? I have faith in you. Faith that whatever may have happened in your past, you've learned from and are a better man for it."

A long period of silence sat between you. It wasn't exactly a comfortable silence, but the charge in the air had definetly diffused. You held his stare, now was not the time to back down. There was a chance you were finally getting through to him and you needed to make it clear you meant every word that you just said.

After a prolonged moment to properly think about what you were saying to him, the look on his face transformed into something you couldn't quite put your finger on. A look that was warm, and you could go as far to say it was a look that was loving.

Logan did indeed love you. He loved the way you didn't try to tame him, how you not only didn't shy away from the less savory aspects of his life- you met them head on with tenderness and understanding.

With this love came great guilt. You had a way of making Logan feel like the world had more to offer than just loss and suffering, for this he was grateful. Still, the feeling he deserved to suffer alone gnawed at him until his gut felt raw. If he were to send for you everytime he needed you, you would be a way busier woman than you already were. The fact that you always made time for him without the semblance of hesitation wasn't lost on him, either.

"How are you so sweet?" he croons as he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. Logan was always gentle with his touch when it came to you, but the softness of his actions in this moment shocked even yourself. "You're too sweet for me, darlin'. Wouldn't want anything to change that."

It almost made you sick to your stomach how just barely your bodies were connected in this moment. He kept his touch as light as a feather as he trailed his hand down your neck before it made it's temporary home on your shoulder. "Say something, sweetheart," he pleaded as a firm squeeze brought you back to reality. Logan needed more of your words to keep him grounded. "Please."

"Logan, I..." your brain scrambled as you tried to gather your thoughts. The way you felt for him was so foreign to you. You couldn't put it into words right now no matter how badly you wanted to. This feeling could only properly be put into actions- an action older than language itself.

Without thinking, you close the gap and press your lips to his- Logan's bottom lip captured between your own. In his wildest dreams, he never thought you would be the one to make the first move and initiate a kiss. The hand that wasn't on your shoulder now cupped your face. He held you there, afraid you'd slip away from him.

"I'm sorry... I know it probably isn't the right time for this," you whispered against his lips.

"Mmm," Logan emitted a small chuckle into your mouth as he went in for a deeper kiss this time. More intense, hungry. His beard burned deliciously when it scuffed your skin. "Never a wrong time to kiss ya, sweet girl."

Now that he has felt your velvety soft lips, he knew he would never be able to get enough. His desire for you overrided his shame. Logan got a taste of what it would be like if you were his. From this point on, he wouldn't be able to hold back anymore. The floodgates were now open and he couldn't wait to pour himself all over you.

He pulled his face away from yours, still holding your body close, "all this just for you to leave in the morning, huh?" Logan looked down at you through half-lidded eyes. His mind was in a daze, in such bliss now that the invisible barriers between you were finally being torn down.

"Oh please, I'll only be gone for a few days." Even though the trip you were about to go on was a long time coming, you wouldn't mind throwing all your plans away just to be in Logan's arms all weekend. "Why, you gonna miss me that bad?"

"I always miss my girl when she's gone," he couldn't help all the syrupy words from flowing from his mouth. Inhibitions were nonexistent to Logan in this moment and he couldn't say anything but exactly what was on his mind.

He was right. You were his girl. In every sense of the word. His girl whose face would light up everytime he walked into a room. His girl who would save him a plate whenever he was late to dinner. His girl who would always make sure he was comfortable and had everything he needed. His girl who would do absolutely anything for him- all he had to do was ask. Logan had owned your heart for a while now.

You fiddle with the seams at the bottom of his tank, fingers brushing his abdomen underneath. It was enough to make you both shiver. "Just do me a favor while I'm away, Lo."

Jesus, how his pulse quickened everytime you called that little nickname. I'm so fucked, he thought. What a fool he was to think he was ever in control. Since the moment the two of you met, his heart belonged to you as well. "And what is that you need me to do?"

"Try not to be so hard on yourself," you punctuate your request with a chaste kiss to the apple of his cheek. You felt his face lift as a smile reached his eyes. "Shit... I haven't even finished packing," it has just now dawned on you.

The realization he couldn't keep you next to him in bed forever hit him like a brick- another bubble popped. It's a shame, but he told himself there will be plently of opportunities to conjure up the little worlds you built together. He had no other option but to placate his burning desire for the time being.

"Well, don't let me keep you any longer," Logan hesitatantly let go of his grip on you. He got up to escort you the few steps from the bed to the door. Excessive, yes. But so necessary all the same.

Just as your hand was reaching to turn the handle, turned your back to the door to embrace him. It took your entire wingspan to wrap your arms around his broad form. Logan's warmth was absolutely addictive. He held on to the back of your head with his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Just in case I don't catch you first thing in the morning..." you whispered as you caress up and down his back, "goodbye, Lo."

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he withdraws from his burrow within your hair to slip his lips between yours again. "Think of me while you're gone, will ya?"

"Always do."

And with that, you were apart again. As you were folding clothes to go into your suitcase, you couldn't help but think about how well the two of you clicked into place. He already had you longing to feel his body up against your own again. You fell asleep imagining all the places you'd let his hands explore when you got back. Logan laid in his bed doing the same.

Fin.

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact! slight angst, only a tiny bit of sadness, fluff, lots and lots of fluff, mentions of loss and death, smut, pool sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unrequited feelings

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve get lost in your own little world, a delusion in which you both have what you want, if only you knew how to talk, how to communicate.

Word count: 11.6k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult we've been talking about this moment since February and now we're here aaahhhh! thanks for helping me and for putting the smut idea in my head, it's been living rent free in there for the past few months, thanks for writing with me hehe ily

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

Steve was dying of boredom. Mrs. Click’s voice sounded through the room that was filled with other bored students, the girl next to him that he never bothered to learn the name of was chewing her gum obnoxiously as she was sketching in her notebook, she smelled like weed and a strong perfume, it was giving him a headache. 

He looked at the clock and sighed, forty minutes to go… 

He couldn’t wait for the bell to ring and go home, watch a movie and eat the pasta his mom made the night before. 

Steve leaned back and tapped his fingers against the book he didn’t even bother to open when Mrs. Click told everyone to flip to page 137. He looked to his left, at the girl sitting by the window, listening attentively and taking notes the way he should have been doing too. 

Just the sight of you angered him and he didn’t even know why, but something in his chest burned every time he looked at you and it frustrated him to no end. And yet, he never stopped himself from looking, from taking in the sight of you and how soft your skin looked, how pretty your eyes were, how nice your clothes fit you and how stunning you always were, even when you ditched your pretty dress for sweaters and jeans on some days. 

Today wasn’t one of those days, you were wearing a skirt, a short one that rode up on your thighs, it made his eyes spark with interest, it made him look closer at you, he sat up straighter and leaned his elbows on the table. 

Your eyebrows were scrunched together, your glossy lips puckered, your eyelashes kissed your skin every time you blinked, your hair laid so prettily on your shoulder, curled at the ends, he wondered how much time you spent on it, did you sleep with rollers in your hair? Or did you get up early just to style it? 

Your skin was glowing and he swore that he could smell your sweet perfume even from a distance. Every time you passed him, he breathed in your scent and made the burning in his chest feel worse than before but he couldn’t help it, you smelled so good. 

He kept staring at you and questions started running through his mind. 

Why do you have to be so beautiful?

Why do you have such pretty lashes?

Why do you bite your lip like that?

Why does his heart beat so weirdly every time he sees you?

It’s not fair, it’s bullshit. 

Your eyes, your smile, your hair, your lips, your pretty face, your stupid rings, your scent, your beauty… it’s not fair. 

Your presence always made him huff in irritation and yet, he never bothered to look the other way or avoid you. 

He always stared, every chance he got, he stared, just like now. 

But then, you turned your head and your eyes locked with his, you caught him staring and it made his cheeks heat up. He shifted in his seat as you gave him a look of confusion, your puckered lips turning downwards, your eyebrows scrunching together even more. 

He should’ve looked away and pretended like nothing happened but he didn’t, he raised his brows at you and curled his lips into a smirk, an action that made you roll your eyes before you turned back to your notebook. 

He almost felt disappointed at the loss of your attention, but then you flipped a page and leaned closer to the table, you quickly scribbled something into your notebook, it made him curious and it made him crane his neck a little but he couldn’t see what you were writing. You then ripped the paper out and folded it, you looked at Mrs. Click before you turned back to him and threw the note on his table without giving him as much of a glance. 

Something in his chest stirred as he picked it up, still looking at you before he gave his full attention to the paper in his hand, he unfolded it and furrowed his brows as he looked at your pretty handwriting before he even read what you wrote. 

What are you looking at perv?

Steve almost laughed, he didn’t expect anything else from you. He shook his head and smirked as he folded the note back together and threw it in his pencil case. He ripped off a piece of paper from his own notebook and started writing without thinking. 

You.

A simple ‘you’, that’s all. He wanted to see how you would react, what you would say back, if you would take it as a chance to flirt with the King, if you would use the opportunity any other girl would use. 

He looked around and ignored the curious looks from Tommy as he threw the note on your table, it landed right in front of you and you wasted no time unfolding it, you looked over your shoulder at him, a deadpan look on your pretty face. You sighed and turned back. 

Steve straightened in his seat, he pressed his lips together as he watched you and the way you held your breath, the way you stared at the paper for a moment, tensely and then, you huffed and crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it in your case just the way he did. You started writing hastily and made him more curious when you stopped for a second before you continued. 

His heart jumped when he got the second note, just like the first time, he quickly unfolded it and read it with excitement bubbling in his chest. 

Very funny, are you running out of girls to flirt with, King Steve?

Of course you would not take the bait and give into his curiosity but he found himself craving for more, you sparked his interest, so he picked up the pen again. 

What makes you think I’m flirting with you, Blondie? Maybe I just like looking at you. 

He should have seen the way you halted your breath, the way you stared at the note a little longer than you did at the last one.

And here I thought you only like to look at yourself…

He snorted at that and earned a pointed look from Mrs. Click, he instantly straightened his back and pretended to listen to her, scared of getting caught, he didn’t want this to end just yet. A sigh of relief fell from his lips once she turned her attention back to the book in front of her. 

No, I quite like looking at the skirt you’re wearing today

Steve swore that you grew flustered at this note, you even glanced down at the skirt and took a few deep breaths before you wrote back to him. 

Like I said… perv. 

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. A part of him was amused, the other… not so much but before he could write back, the bell rang and everyone around him started gathering their stuff and hurrying to leave the classroom, including you. You picked up your notebook and got up, you smoothed down your skirt and left without sparing him a single glance. 

But Steve wanted more. He gathered his things and jumped up, not bothering to wait for Tommy, he hurried after you and watched the way your skirt swayed and your hair bounced. He licked his lips and cleared his throat as he caught up to you, he glanced down at you with a cocky smirk on his face, one that made you roll your eyes again. 

“What do you want, perv?”

He chuckled and shook his head. 

“I’m not a perv.”

“You’re not?” You tilted your head at him, cutely. “Then why are you staring at my skirt and making comments about it?”

He shrugged and looked down at it before his eyes moved up your body, “maybe I just really like it.” 

You rolled your eyes again and laughed – a sound that made him feel something in his stomach. 

“I fear you can’t borrow it, it won’t even fit around your big square head.” 

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and yet, he couldn’t even help but snort at your insult, they were so very different from the ones he threw at you sometimes.  

“My head isn’t square…”

“Yes it is,” you giggled and gave him a smirk as you eyed him. 

Evil. 

“You look like a lego figure, you have a lego head.” 

He shook his head at you, though the amused smile lingered on his face, even as he took notice of all the prying eyes on you and him, he heard the whispers, saw the girls that eyed him and then you before they leaned towards each other to make up some new gossip, a part of him felt irritated and annoyed but the other part of him that loved the attention, couldn’t care less about what they would say about him or you. 

You stopped at your locker and gave him a weird look when he stopped too, he leaned against the locker next to yours and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you fidget with your lock. He looked at your hands, how much smaller they were than his and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander the way his eyes did as they roamed every inch of you while you were busy putting your stuff into your locker. 

Usually he did not allow himself to see you as anything other than a girl he disliked but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he allowed himself to see you as something other than that, as something more. 

He licked his lips as he looked at your soft skin, his fingers itched to touch your hair, wondering if they felt just as soft as they looked. He breathed in the scent of your perfume and felt something stir inside of him. 

You turned towards him and he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was staring. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, your lips twisted into a downturned smile, you raised your brows at him and shrugged.

“Okay, what do you want from me, Harrington?” You asked, the strap of your backpack now over your shoulder and you slammed your locker before you crossed your arms over your chest. “Is this a dare or something or why are you staring at me like some creep?” 

He felt his cheeks heat up a little, a shyness he usually never felt tugged at his emotions but his arrogance was still in control. 

“I’m bored,” he shrugged and let his eyes linger on your lips as his mind continued to wander. 

You rolled your eyes at him and huffed, pointing your finger around you, gesturing to the students, to the girls that stared at you in envy at this moment. 

“Well, I’m sure one of them will keep you entertained,” you mumbled and took a step forward, “they are practically begging on their knees for your attention, don’t leave ‘em waiting.” You patted him on his chest before you stepped away from him. 

He turned to face you, not wanting to let you go just yet. 

“What if I want you to keep me entertained?” He asked teasingly with a cocky, playful smirk on his lips, one that made you blink and sigh. 

“Dream on, King Steve,” you smirked and looked over his shoulder at something behind him, “gotta be more creative with your dares, your stupid friends are way too obvious.” 

He furrowed his brows and turned around to see what you were looking at, he found Tommy and Carol watching the two of you with a smirk on their lips, giggles falling from Carol’s mouth. Steve rolled his eyes at them and sighed. 

“Listen, that wasn’t–” he stopped talking when he found you long gone and away from him and watched as you walked away, “a dare…” He mumbled to himself, he sighed again and looked down once you were out of sight. His notebook and pencil case were still in his hand, your notes tucked safely in the case – where they stayed for a while. 

“Steve!” 

Your giggles make him smile so widely that it makes his cheeks ache but he can’t stop, not when you continue blessing him with your sweet laughter, your hands are on his shoulders, holding on tightly as his fingers dig into your sides, he peppers your neck with kisses, smacking his lips against the skin over and over. 

You are squirming underneath him, your dress riding up in the process as you both lie on the big couch in your living room, the movie playing on the TV long forgotten, your snacks discarded on the table, your attention is fully on each other, your lips locking every few seconds as your hands wander across his shoulders, over his back, down his arms and finally melting into his hands, your heart skipping several beats when he entwines his fingers with yours.

Steve squeezes your hands and he dives in deeper into your neck, kissing and smiling against your skin. 

“That tickles!” You giggle again, your eyes begin to water from all the laughter. 

He chuckles against you and pecks your neck one more time before he pulls back to kiss your jaw instead, then your cheek and finally your lips, humming against you when you kiss him back immediately. Your breaths mingle together, your lips mold against each other, softly yet passionately, you are chest to chest, hands clinging to one another. 

You let go of one hand and place your palm on his back, sliding it up to his shoulder and squeezing it before you sink your fingers into his already messy hair. 

Steve sighs into the kiss and tightens his hold on your hand as he parts your thighs with his knee, not to take this any further but to feel you closer and you welcome him happily, not initiating anything else either, this feels good, this feels nice, this is enough. 

Your whimper makes his stomach flutter, a smile tugs at his lips as you play with his hair. Your hands feel so good on him, so perfect, so right. His heart skips a beat when you push yourself up and press yourself further against him, parting his lips with your tongue, you deepen the kiss in need to feel him even closer. 

Your hands roam his body and his roam yours, sighs and whimpers sound through the room as you make out on your couch, growing more and more breathless, only when it gets too much do you break the kiss and pull away from one another. You lay your head back on the pillow and open your eyes to see him staring at you already, a soft smile on his swollen lips, eyes hooded and laced with softness, his cheeks are pink and his hair is messy from all your tugging. Steve makes your heart flutter when he presses another soft kiss to your lips and cups the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone as he gazes down at you in a way only a special one should do. 

“Hi Blondie,” he whispers sweetly. 

You raise your hand up towards his face, brushing back his spitcurl before you trail your finger down to his lips, “hey, Lego Head.” 

His eyes crinkle in amusement, a chuckle falls from his pretty lips, “wow, way to ruin the moment.” 

You giggle at him and it makes him continue. 

“You haven’t used that one in a while.” 

“Mhmm, did you miss it?” You tease him, knowing how much he hated the nickname you gave him on a random school day. 

“Hmm, it kinda grew on me,” he admits, smiling down at you, “but I kinda prefer it when you call me Stevie.”

“Stevie? That only happens when I’m drunk.” 

“Yeah,” he whispers and tugs your hair behind your ear, still smiling as his eyes trace your features, “guess I gotta get you drunk again.”

“Why?” You giggle and furrow your brows at him, “so I’ll call you Stevie again?” 

“Yeah, and so I can have sweet Blondie again,” he smirks, “you’re so nice and adorable when you’re drunk.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his words but you roll your eyes and shake your head. 

“Are you saying I’m normally not adorable?” You joke and pout at him and push him back so you can stand up, heart beating faster at the groan of protest and the tightness of his hold on your waist when you try to get up from the couch. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, frowning at you when you place your hand on top of his and gently remove it from your waist. 

“I’m starving, I’m gonna see what I have in the fridge.” 

Steve nods and wastes no time to get up and follow you into the kitchen, admiring the way your little sundress fits your body, the way it hugs your waist and sways around your hips as you walk. Your hair matches the state of his own, messy and disheveled from the previous makeout session. 

When you open the fridge, you let out a loud sigh and look over your shoulder, “uh… I kinda forgot to do the groceries.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, chuckling at the expression on your face, he steps closer to you and places his hands on your waist as he takes a look inside, finding nothing more than fruit, drinks, condiments and cheese, “yeah, that won’t do.”

You sigh again and close the fridge, turning around to face him while his hands are still on your waist. 

“Yeah…”

“Well, let’s go out then,” Steve shrugs as the idea of taking you to a restaurant fills him with excitement and giddiness. 

Your lips part in surprise as your eyes widen. 

“W-Where?”

Steve clears his throat, his cheeks take on a deeper shade. 

“T-To eat. We can uh– go to a sushi restaurant, I’ve always wanted to try… Have you ever tried sushi…?” He stutters and blushes. 

“Y-You wanna go out with me… in public?” You ask, cringing at how shaky and small your own voice sounds. 

His lips twitch, curling into a smile as he nods. 

“We uh… We could go out of town, there are no sushi restaurants in Hawkins, Blondie.” His words left his mouth so casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest and he isn’t filled with the same nervousness he felt as a teenage boy. He feels as though he is asking you out on a date… and maybe he is, maybe he’d like to pretend that he is. 

“You mean to Indianapolis?”

Steve nods. He wants to leave Hawkins for a while, even if just for one night, he wants to be able to go out with you without feeling the need to hide, he wants to hold your hand in public and kiss you breathless on the streets, he wants to hold you close and show you off as if you were his. 

He wants it all with you and he wants it here too, in his hometown, where anyone could see but he still doesn’t know how you feel, he feels hopeful but he is still in the dark about your feelings. 

“It's the closest city we got.”

“It’s an hour trip!” 

His heart melts at the bewildered, cute look on your face, the excitement that lingers in your eyes as your lips start curling into a smile. 

“So?” Steve shrugs and squeezes your waist, “we got all night.”

Your heart is racing and everything inside of you flutters in excitement. Your cheeks are burning and you feel the giddiness of a girl that’s been asked out on a date by the boy she likes. You can’t even hide the smile that appears on your face, brightly and happily. 

“I need to get changed then!” You beam at him as you already step away, not giving him the chance to protest or say anything else before you walk out of the kitchen, “I’ll be down in a minute!” 

Steve listens to the sound of your footsteps as you rush up the stairs, leaving him in your kitchen with a pounding heart and a huge smile on his lips. He looks up at the ceiling, an accomplished and joyful feeling rushing through him, he can’t help but do a silent fist pump. 

This is going to be a date, an unofficial one, but still a date. 

He can’t fight the grin off his lips, the giddy feeling settling into his whole body. He walks back into the hallway and takes a look at himself, your lipstick is smudged on his skin and his lips, his hair is a mess, created by you, his cheeks are glowing from all the happiness inside of him. 

He fixes his hair and wipes the pink lipstick off his skin before he makes his way into your living room to turn off the TV and put away the snacks you both had earlier. 

You come back down fifteen minutes later, changed into a new dress and your makeup reapplied, your hair fixed and a small purse in your hand. You meet in the hallway, keys already in his hand, and he’s leaning against the door.

Steve’s heart goes wild at the sight of you in your new sundress, your glossy lips tugged into a smile, the urge to pull you into a kiss pushes him towards you.

He whistles playfully, making you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Getting all pretty for me now?” He teases, acting cocky as though his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. 

You always get pretty for him. 

“I’ve been dying to wear this dress,” you say, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you twirl around to reveal your open back to him, not knowing how crazy you drive him with your action. 

Steve’s stomach flutters, his hands instantly itch to touch your bare skin, you look so beautiful. 

He takes a step closer to you and grabs your waist, humming, “that’s a pretty dress, I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor though.” 

Your cheeks burn and despite it, you giggle as you turn around to face him, “is that a King Steve pickup line?” 

He shakes his head, “no, he never said such things.”

“Sure,” you snort and tug at his hand, pulling him towards the door, “come on now, I’m starving!” 

Steve chuckles and nods, reaching for his car keys on the dresser, he squeezes your hand, “yeah, come on, before you get grumpy.” 

“I never get grumpy,” you argue as your lips curl into a pout that he instantly feels the urge to kiss. 

“You always get grumpy when you’re hungry,” he laughs. He loves it. 

Steve opens the door for you, giving you a sweet smile as he looks down at your pretty face. You step out and he follows, admiring the way your dress hugs your body, the way your skin glows beneath the evening sun, the way your hair shines, your perfume lingers in the air and he can’t help but breathe it in deeply, just the way he always did. 

Your hand fits in his so perfectly, like it belongs there… and to him it does. 

You look over your shoulder, giving him a cute smile that leaves him breathless. The golden light that shines down on you turns his breathing shaky, no words could describe your beauty, nothing comes close to it, absolutely nothing. You are stunning, bewitching, you are a goddess and he worships every inch of your being and you don’t even know it.

He wishes he could scream out those three big words, kiss you breathless and show you just how much he adores you but he can’t, he is too afraid, he fears rejection so deeply, so all that he can do is pretend, pretend that you are already his and live in this small delusion for as long as he can. He opens the door for you and winks at you, fighting the urge to kiss your hand before he lets go of you and closes the door only to grab your hand again once he is seated in the driver's seat, you lace your fingers together and squeeze his hand, unaware of the feelings you leave him with, with your sweet action. 

When he turns on the music and a smile appears on your face, you sink deeper into the seat and get comfortable, a content look on your pretty features. You look so perfect sitting in his passenger seat, next to him, holding his hand, enjoying the music as you look out the window when he drives down the road.

This is where you belong, this is what he wants, you by his side, for tonight and for always, he wants you to be his, his girl.

This isn’t enough, it never was, this was never just about sex. 

There was never an ounce of hatred for you in his bones, not in high school and not after. 

He felt bitterness, confusion, denial but most of all, he felt jealousy, he always did and he never understood why you didn’t like him, why you bickered with him, why you laughed at his poor flirting attempts, why you didn’t want him the way every other girl did, why you showed up for Lucas’s game but not a single one of his – that night isn’t one he likes to think back on, it makes him cringe and shudder in annoyance at himself for what he said to you, he let his emotions, his jealousy, his frustrations control the words his mouth left. 

He didn’t know that you were a friend of Max and Lucas, he didn’t know that you showed up for her, and for him, knowing that his friends were too busy with Eddie’s D&D campaign. He didn’t know why you were there, but when he saw you on the bleachers and he caught you waving at Lucas, whose eyes lit up when he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel jealous because why did you show up for a freshman, for a kid? Why did you never show up to any of his games? Why didn’t you give him the chance to show off? 

He felt irritated, even more so when he saw you talking to Lucas in the parking lot, smiling at him and congratulating him on his successful first game. 

He remembers the way he marched over to you, the way he started bickering with you instead of praising the teen he showed up for. 

“Are you so desperate for attention that you go for a freshman now?” 

He cringes at himself, even now, disgusted at the words he threw at you.

You looked so hurt and angry, you pushed him away from you and he never blamed you for it, you could’ve slapped him right there, he deserved it. 

He felt guilty right then and there but that emotion intensified when only a few days later he found out about your sisterly bond with Max and your friendship with both of them, you cared for them and protected them just the way he did. Before he knew that, he made himself believe that you were just a loner, a person too cold to feel anything, even platonic, he wanted to believe that he wasn’t some unimportant person that you crossed paths with, that you were simply unable to form bonds or relationships but that wasn’t the case, you had people you cared for, you had friends you would die for, you just didn’t want to give him a chance, not platonically and especially not romantically. 

He was jealous of anyone who was close to you, who was special to you but back then, he didn’t allow himself to explore the depth of those emotions that always lingered inside of him when it came to you. 

Now he can see them, he can feel them, he can admit that he was jealous and hurt because he is no longer ashamed to like, love you — someone who might not feel the same. But whatever the outcome of this affair will be, he doesn’t regret letting all those feelings in, especially now that you are here with him, like this, holding his hand and letting him take you out and show you off in public. 

He is allowed to feel hopeful now, he thinks. 

Indianapolis is big and no town people, no friends, no prying eyes will be there to see you both but you could have still easily said no to his suggestion because who goes out to eat with their supposedly casual hook up? But then again, what is casual about you both? 

Not even your first night together was casual. 

You kissed and held each other close from the very beginning. 

You stay over, you cuddle, you hold hands, even in public and when you are sure that no one is looking, you sleep in his arms and you make each other breakfast, you make sure that his favorite drinks and snacks are in your kitchen and he does the same for you, his bathroom and his bedroom are filled with things that belong to you. 

This isn’t casual, the signs are there and they are so very clear, tonight especially, when you make it to the city and you walk through the busy streets where it’s much more crowded and louder than it is in your small hometown, you keep close to him and hold onto his hand tightly as you lead him to the sushi restaurant that you have told him about on the drive here, the one you went to with your parents and your sister every time you visited your grandparents in the city. 

So many things go through Steve’s mind and so many emotions rush through him as you walk side by side, hand in hand with the city lights shining down on you both as the sun disappears more and more. He feels free, like he can do anything, like he can kiss you right here, right now, without needing to hide or drag you to a secret corner, he feels giddy, happy, he can’t even hide the smile on his face. 

Once you make it to your destination, Steve lets go of your hand and places it on the small of your back instead, he opens the door and keeps his palm pressed against your body. He is so lost in his happy bubble, he doesn’t even notice the blush taking over your face when he wraps his arm around you and rests his palm on your hip instead as he leads you inside. 

It’s crowded but he didn’t expect any less from a restaurant in a big city, he doesn’t seem to mind though and neither do you, especially when you get one of the booth tables, tucked away in the very back, next to a big window where you can see the city lights. 

You sit down across from one another, smiling from ear to ear as you look into each other’s eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispers, making you giggle. 

“Hi.”

His honey eyes look so pretty in this golden light, his hair looks softer than ever, his smile so big and bright that it fills you with hope, especially when it stays as his eyes trace your face, he is staring at you even though he could be staring at this pretty setting around you, at the decorated room, the string lights over you, the city lights, but no, he is staring at you and he is making you feel special. 

A sheepish smile takes over your face, a shyness that you rarely ever feel flushing through you, the look in his eyes is so intense that you can’t help but be the first to break contact. You lean back and cross your legs, looking around the restaurant you used to eat dinners at with your family. 

Nostalgia comes over you when a family of four catches your eye, sitting at a round table, they seem to be in a lively conversation, the two little girls laughing with their father as their mother shakes her head with a smile on her face. 

Steve follows your gaze when he notices the sad but soft look in your eyes. Something tugs at his chest when he takes a look at the family you are watching and suddenly your eyes aren’t the only ones filled with sadness. 

He leans closer to the table, placing his palm above your hand. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, watching the way you tilt your head at him, the softness in your eyes never leaving. “I mean, are you okay to be here… right now… with me?” 

There is no one else you would rather be with here.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you nod, glancing down at his hand, he is now rubbing circles into your skin, “and yes, I want to be here with you,” you admit, knowing how vulnerable you can make yourself look with such words. 

He breathes out a sigh of relief, his lips curl back into a smile. 

Steve keeps holding your hand, not letting go, not even when he decides to look at the menu, not even when the waiter stops at your table to take your orders, not when your drinks arrive a few minutes later, he keeps holding on and you let him.

Curiosity sparks in him when he notices the way you keep looking back at the family, a look in your eyes that signalizes the feeling of longing. 

“Blondie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You nod, “anything.”

You’re close enough to ask each other questions that won’t make the other uncomfortable and that is something Steve greatly appreciates, knowing that you weren’t here months back, not even close.

Steve blinks, taking a few shaky breaths, he keeps his hand on yours, tracing the ring on your middle finger. He clears his throat and looks down, ignoring the strong beating of his heart and the nervousness bubbling in his stomach. 

“Do you uh… do you ever think about it?” 

You look at him with big, curious eyes and it’s not helping his case at all. 

“Think about what?” 

“Kids.” 

You furrow your brows at his question but you smile softly and you don’t hesitate to nod, not even needing time to think about it. 

“I honestly want to… I miss having a big family, you know?” You pause and look down at his hand, wondering what it would be like if he had a ring on his fourth finger, one that would match your own. “I don’t care if it’s one or many, I just… I really want a family, one that is here with me, all the time.” 

Steve’s big hazel eyes soften and flicker with deep emotions. His heart skips a beat as warmth settles in his chest. 

He didn’t think he could fall even harder for you, even deeper but now as he looks at you, as he holds your hand and looks into your pretty eyes, he knows that he will never stop falling, there is no end, no limit when it comes to his feelings, to his love for you.

A future lies before his eyes, a future with you, rings, cradles, a white picket fence, kids that look like you and him. He sees something, something that is in reach, something that he hopes for, something that he wants with you without a single doubt.

“You will have it all, Blondie.”

You don’t know what to make of his words but whatever the feelings behind them are, you know that they are not what you want them to be, no matter how much his feelings for you changed, no matter how much hope there is in you, no matter how big it is, you can’t believe that the thing you have now, could be one for the future too and not only the present. 

You don’t know what to say without revealing your feelings to him, you want this with him and he can’t know, he just can’t. 

To your relief, the waiter brings your food to the table, taking Steve’s attention away from your face. You let go of each other's hands, thanking and smiling at the waiter. 

“That looks amazing,” Steve murmurs as he looks at the plates in front of the both of you, reaching for the chopsticks, he looks down at them, growing a little nervous, he never used them before. 

“It does,” you nod with a smile on your face, “hey, this is special, Steve. I’m getting my first sushi with you.” You say with a giggle, making his chest flutter. 

“I thought you had some before.” 

“Yeah, stole some from my dad but I never actually had a plate for myself,” you chuckle. 

“Well, I’m glad we share some firsts together then because I never tried them before, at all,” he grins. 

You can tell by the way he is holding the chopsticks wrongly, looking down at them with furrowed brows and pursed lips. He looks so cute like this but a part of you wants to laugh even though you can’t even use them properly yourself. You have seen your dad using them every time you came here to eat, but you never tried it yourself. 

“I can tell,” you murmur, unable to hide the giggle when he tries to pick up a roll but fails to do so. 

He snorts and shoots you a playful glare. 

“Go ahead, and show me then, Blondie,” he smirks at you, pointing at your plate. 

You clear your throat and place your chopsticks between your index and middle finger, you can already feel your cheeks heating up beneath his gaze. You press your thumb against the chopstick and bite your lip in concentration, glancing at him for a second to see him staring at you, making the warmth in your cheeks grow hotter. 

“See?” You grin as you pinch your food gently, growing confident when you manage to pick up the sushi despite the shakiness in your hands. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, smiling softly. 

You go to dip it in the soy sauce when your shaky hands lose control and your sushi plops into the sauce loudly, splattering over your plate but luckily not on your dress. You press your lips together and look into his eyes, you stare at one another for a moment before you both burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Steve chuckles in amusement, “you’re a great teacher, honey.” 

“Shut up,” you giggle and try to pick it up again. 

“Guess we gotta learn together,” he shrugs with a smile on his face. 

You do, you learn together and you share jokes and laugh at each other every time you fail, but once you get the hang out of it, you fall into a conversation about your parents, you tell him stories of the times they brought you and your sister into the city and Steve listens attentively, smiling at you and feeling grateful that you feel comfortable enough to bring him here and to talk about them – and you, you are surprised yourself when you don’t feel the cold sadness in you that you always felt every time you even mentioned them, talking about them with Steve feels… comforting, he is comforting. 

His knees touch yours beneath the table, the material of his jeans brushing your bare skin, his hand is close to yours, his pinky touching your own. He smiles at you, he laughs with you, he makes silly jokes and feeds you his food, his eyes never stray away from you, there is only you for him right now and as the realization strikes you, you grow hopeful again, your heart skips a beat at the thought that this could be something like… a date. 

You both want the same thing, though what neither of you realize is that you aren’t acting like two nervous people who finally managed to score a date with that one person, you are acting like a couple, not a single awkward moment follows you both, you are talking and laughing with each other like you’re best friends. 

“I have this theory…” Steve says before he takes a sip of his coke. 

You cock your head to the side, “please continue.” 

He places his glass back on the table and picks up his chopsticks again, he chuckles before he opens his mouth once more, “that Dustin is copying Eddie.”

“What?” You laugh. 

“Hear me out, for the past few weeks… Have you seen Dustin’s change of style!? He is wearing all black now! And his hair? It’s fucking long!” He exclaims, shaking his head. 

You’re a little amused by his sudden outburst, by the confused and slightly irritated look on his face, it’s cute. 

“Well, he sees Eddie as a role model, so?” 

"Excuse me?” He scoffs, not liking your words, not liking that the boy that once looked up to him found someone else, someone better to look up to. 

You squint your eyes at him and lean closer to the table, cupping your cheek as you smile, “Steve, is it just me or are you jealous of Eddie?” 

He scoffs again, waving his hand at you, “nonsense.”

“You’re jealous that he stole Dustin from you.” 

Steve shakes his head at you, “I’m not jealous, I’m just saying that– he is following Eddie like some lost puppy, copying him fully! What if he takes on smoking?” 

A laugh tumbles from your lips and Steve can’t even fight the smile off his lips when your soft eyes glow with amusement. 

“Really? He is fifteen, Steve! You were hosting parties at that age and getting drunk, he is not the twelve year old you once met.”

Steve laughs, he leans back in his seat and sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “yeah, I forget that sometimes, he’s not a kid anymore… he’s a teenager,” he chuckles, furrowing his eyebrows, “but come on… Eddie? Eddie’s sense of style? Is Dustin insane?” 

You roll your eyes at him, still amused by him. 

“So, you want him to wear polo shirts and cardigans instead?” 

His lips part and he pretends to be offended, “hey! You like my polo shirts!” 

“Yeah, not the point here.” 

Steve tilts his chin up, smirking at you, “you admit that you like them then?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and hiding your face behind your hair as you start blushing again which prompts him to continue his teasing as he begins to reminisce about your shared days at school, leaving out the saddening memories and only talking of the good ones, the funny ones, memories of your childhood, of your time in kindergarten and middle school and how long you have been a part of each other’s lives and when you leave the restaurant after a long time, you reach for each other’s hands and entwine your fingers together without even thinking about it. 

You stroll through the city and kiss on the streets, like he wanted to all night and it makes you both smile, it makes you feel happy and free and Steve can’t wait for the day when he will find the courage to ask you out on a real date, to ask you to be more than this, to be his, like he pretends you are now as you stand beneath the twinkling lights, surrounded by people, surrounded by the sounds of the city and he can’t stop kissing you, not even when you continue your way to his car, he keeps pulling you into kisses, pressing his lips to yours, to your cheeks, to your hands, to your neck, over and over again, making you giggle and blush at his sweet actions. He’s drunk on you, he is so in love with you that he can’t contain it, he has to show it in some way, he has to let it out, even if not in words. 

Steve holds your hand on your way home, he kisses you at every red light and he sings along to The Smiths, you don’t think that you have ever seen him so carefree and relaxed before. 

And Steve, he had never felt this happy before, nothing, no one can compare to you, to the way you make him feel, to the love he feels for you, to the happiness that flickers in him every time you reach for his hand or bless him with a sweet smile after pressing your lips to his. Those three words that are on the tip of his tongue, beg to be released and he is so close to doing it, so damn close. 

You’re waving your hand in front of your face when you step inside his house, the heat of the summer night feeling too warm on your skin and Steve’s hands on your waist aren’t making it any better, worsening second by second, especially when he keeps making you laugh with his silly comments. 

“I need to cool off.” 

Steve brushes his fingers through your hair and tucks it behind your ears, “cool off? Why, am I this hot?” He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You snort and place your hands on his chest and run your finger down his stomach, hooking it around his belt,  “you’re such a dork.”

Your dork. 

His lips curl into a smirk, he leans down close enough that your noses brush, “mhm, you like it though.” 

Yes, you do, you really do. 

You gaze into his honey eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, getting lost in his touch as his hands hold your waist. 

“You know what else I’d like?” You whisper against his lips as you give him a soft kiss, making his breathing hitch and his heart stammer. 

“Hmm?” 

Steve blinks at you, excitement bubbling in his stomach. 

“A cold beer.”

He chuckles, he expected something else but he can’t complain, not when you give him another short kiss. 

You bite your lip and step away from him, letting his hands fall to his sides. You bring your hands up to the buttons of your dress, walking backwards slowly and continuing to gaze into his eyes with mischief in yours, you undo the top buttons, revealing your new bra to him. You almost giggle at his parted lips and the hunger in his eyes. 

Steve gulps as you expose more and more of your skin to him, he could fall to his knees right then and there.

“Don’t take too long,” you murmur, winking at him. You walk away from him and into his living room, humming as you turn on the lights in his backyard before you slide open the big glass doors and step outside. 

The night is quiet and hot, the only sound coming from the crickets and the slight rustling of the trees as soft wind blows through them and then Steve turns on the stereo in the living room, making you smile. You look up at the starry sky and listen to Steve’s footsteps. 

You push the straps of your dress down your shoulders and kick off your shoes, looking over your shoulder to see Steve rushing out with two beers in his hands. 

He places them on the table and steps towards you, tutting at you with a playful glare on his pretty face, “could’ve let me take that pretty dress off,” he murmurs and places his hands on your elbows where your straps hang loosely now. 

His hands are cold from the beers he picked out of the fridge, goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“I didn’t take it off yet,” you shrug, smirking as your hands find their way back to his belt, and you waste no time to unbuckle it. 

Steve smirks back at you, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers as he slips the straps down your forearms and pushes your dress down, bunching it around your hips, he sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes grow darker, lustful. It certainly isn’t the first time he sees you like this, but his reaction never changes, his body always reacts to you, just the way his heart does. 

You look so beautiful, so goddamn sexy that it drives him crazy. 

Not many words are shared between you but the silence is comfortable and your eyes speak enough words as you undress each other, you take his shirt off and place your hand on his chest, staring at him in awe as he pushes your dress down and lets it fall to the ground, his hands touching your bare skin, fingers tracing your lacy underwear. 

With hooded eyes he looks down at you and he pulls you closer, “is this little set new?” 

You nod, your skin heating up again. 

“Looks so pretty,” he murmurs and leans in to press his lips against your neck, “too bad it’s gonna get wet.”

You sigh at the feeling of his kisses, breathing shakily. 

You start pushing his jeans down, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “take your pants off, Steve.”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and pushes them down his legs, he quickly steps out of them and bends down, hooking his arm around the back of your knees, he scoops you up into his arms, laughing at the surprised squeal that falls from your lips. 

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, looking at him bewildered while he smirks smugly. 

“What are you doing?” 

He steps closer to the edge of his pool, “what do you think I’m doing?” He chuckles, not giving you time to react before he tightens his hold on you and takes another step forward, jumping into the pool and crashing into the water with you, letting the cold envelope you both. 

And you feel it, you feel the freezing water on your skin, the goosebumps that rise and the shivers that ripple through you but not even this takes away the heat you feel inside of you. You taste the chlorine on your lips and you feel his hands on your waist as he pulls you back up with him. 

“Is that cool enough for you, honey?” He asks breathily as he wipes his hand down his face and shakes his head to get the water out of his hair. 

You giggle and stretch your arms out, “mhm, the water feels nice,” you murmur and tilt your head up, glancing at the stars in the sky, smiling at the sound of one of yours and his favorite songs playing on the stereo. 

Steve starts humming along, his eyes tracing your pretty features, your wet hair that still somehow looks just as perfect as it did before, water rolls down your face, your lacy bra now clinging even more to your skin making his hands itch for you. 

The water sloshes around him as he moves closer to you, wanting to feel your body back against his but you seem to have different ideas because when you notice him inching closer to you, you give him a teasing smirk before you turn around and start swimming. 

“Hey!” 

You giggle at the disappointed sound in his voice, that sighs that follows after. 

You feel his hand brushing your foot but unable to get a hold of you, you pick up your pace and start swimming faster, pushing against the water stronger, “you can’t catch me, Lego Head.”

He shakes his head, letting out a laugh. 

“You think you can get away from me?” He teases, diving deeper into the water, he starts swimming after you, “I was a lifeguard, honey.”

“Yeah, you’ve been bragging about it for three years now,” you snort and dare to take a look over your shoulder, “you must’ve been a bad one, ice cream man.”

He laughs again, amused by your comment and by how you slowed down. 

“You’re so funny.”

“I know,” you smirk and turn around again, thinking you can still get away from him but Steve is close, so very close. This time he catches you by your ankle, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back, chuckling at the squeal that falls from your lips, he grabs your waist and embraces you with his arms, pulling against his chest, he holds you tightly, chuckling at the pout on your lips when you look back at him with a frown on your face. 

“Not fair,” you whine and wiggle against him which prompts you to press yourself harder into his chest, into his front, you can feel his bulge against your butt, you can feel how hot his skin is despite the cool water, his hot breath on your shoulder, his lips on your neck. 

You breathe in shakily, the heat inside of you rushing into your core, making you press your legs together as a deep longing takes over you. 

“Guess you’re not that fast after all, huh?” He teases, loving the way your bare skin feels against his. “Didn’t even take me thirty seconds to catch you.” 

You hold onto him tighter, glancing at his lips before your eyes lock with his again, “maybe I just let you catch me.” 

He chuckles, adoring the way you look at him. 

“Yeah sure, Blondie.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around your waist as he starts guiding you away from the middle of the pool and towards the stairs. 

“So what now, do you plan on drowning me?” You joke. 

The water gets lower and lower, exposing your upper body to the cooling wind, making you shiver a little. 

“No, too late for that,” he jokes back with a chuckle, “but I am thinking of something.” 

You tilt your head to the side and raise your brows at him. He moves away from behind you and reaches for your hand as he takes three steps up the stairs, enough to still be in the water once he sits down before you. He licks his lips as he looks you up and down with need and adoration in his eyes, he admires your body, your curves, you. He pulls you a little closer, the water is still hiding your hips, your legs that he loves having wrapped around his waist and his head. 

“What?” You ask softly and curiously. 

Steve looks at you with hooded eyes, with cheeks glowing pink and lips begging to be kissed. 

“I want to fuck you, right here, right now, in my pool, and–” he rasps, glancing up at the sky above you, he points his finger up, “under the full moon.”

Your eyes widen at his words, butterflies that never die growing wild in your stomach, your kneels almost buckle and you have to press your thighs together. 

You follow his gaze and frown when you only see the stars in the sky and the quarter of the moon. 

“That’s not a full moon, Steve–” you gasp when you suddenly feel his hands on your waist and he forces you closer, prompting you to straddle his waist. Your knees hit the steps he’s sitting on, your arms wrap around his neck instinctively. 

“You’re a stupid moron,” you whisper with no venom in your voice or your eyes. 

Steve blinks, smirking at you. 

“And you are too naive,” he whispers back, squeezing your waist as you lean into each other, not even noticing that you did as you shared your soft whispers. 

You smile at one another, your noses brushes and you close your eyes as your lips meet in a soft kiss, a kiss enough to steal your breath. 

You move your palm down his strong shoulder, squeezing his bicep and resting your other hand on his back, deepening the kiss as he parts your lips with his tongue, blessing you with the sound of his moan. 

Steve runs his hand down your waist and to your hips, gripping your body tightly, pulling you closer and closer until you’re flush against him. He can’t help but gasp when you grind against his erection, filling him with more need. 

Your soft kiss grows faster, hungrier, needy but still passionate and despite the lack of air, you don’t pull away just yet. You run your hand down his hairy chest, his stomach, making him shiver against you. You tug at his boxers, pulling them down just far enough for you to wrap your hand around his dick. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips, continuing to press kisses to your mouth as he tugs at your panties, “let me–”

“No,” you whisper as you jerk him off slowly, pumping him a few times and teasing his slit with your thumb, “I need you.” 

You don’t need no preparation, you don’t need his fingers or his tongue, not right now, you only need him, to feel him, all of him. 

“F-Fuck,” he breathes shakily, moaning at the feeling of your soft hand around him, “please… I want you, I need you so bad.”

You whimper as his fingers dig deeper into your skin, his words rushing to your heart and your core. 

You push your panties to the side and waste no other second to guide him to your entrance, looking into his pleading eyes that watch you in awe as you sink down on him, taking him slowly and moaning out his name in pleasure as your eyebrows scrunch together. The water pressure making it a little harder to do so, and it is a weird yet not unpleasant feeling. 

“J-Just like that, baby,” he whimpers, his hands holding you tightly, his eyes flickering between your face and your body, the pleasure in him growing deeper and stronger, “you’re doing so well… fuck… you feel so good,” he groans when he feels your warmth enveloping him fully. 

His right hand settles on your lower back, moving up to the middle and the top and then he wraps his hand around the back of your neck so he can pull you even closer, he presses his lips back to yours, pecking them one, two, three times. 

“Steve,” you whimper, tears brimming in your eyes from the pleasure in your body, from the size of him. You bite down on your lip and suppress a moan, when you’re fully seated on top of him, you feel a wave of different emotions rushing through you. His kisses, his touches, his hugs and his compliments, the sweet things he says to you, the sweet things he does for you overwhelming you in the best way possible. 

Something changed, something was different today, this feels different. 

You pull him into an even deeper kiss than before, letting your emotions take full control over your actions. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the sudden kiss, he even smiles into it, feeling his heart beating in joy. 

You start riding him slowly, moving your hips at a torturing pace as you’re still getting used to his size. You’re clenching around him, your slick coating his dick and Steve feels it all so intensely. 

The strap of your bra slips down your wet arm but you don’t bother to fix it.

Steve cups your cheeks as your tongues clash together, your needy whimpers vibrate against his lips but he notices how quiet they sound compared to moans and screams you let out when you’re in his bed. 

“Let them out, baby,” he murmurs as you both pull away from the kiss, your breaths mingling together as your lips keep brushing against one another. He tucks your wet hair behind your ears and slips his hands down your body, settling on your hips, he gives you a lazy smile, his eyes already fucked out, “let me hear your pretty moans,” he whispers, trying to coax his favorite sounds out of you as he starts fucking up into you. 

You gasp and hold on tighter, furrowing your eyebrows even more, the feeling of him splitting you open, fucking you deeper making you whimper in need. 

“P-Public, neighbors might hear, Steve–” You whine as you meet his thrusts, continuing to roll your hips despite the nervousness that lingers in you from not wanting to get caught, but it’s hard to keep quiet when he feels so good. 

Steve couldn’t care less about his neighbors, the bushes around his house hide his backyard well enough, there is no need to worry. 

“Let them hear,” he whispers into your neck as he presses his lips to your delicate skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, surprise sparks in you because he wants people to hear you, both of you, he doesn’t care about hiding, he didn’t care about it at all today. 

His strong hands hold your hips, his cock sliding in and out of you, sending waves of pleasure through your belly, his moans echo through the night and you can’t help but get lost in the moment of this. 

You bury your fingers in his hair and your face in his neck, whining as you pick up the pace, riding him faster than before, causing the water to splash around you both. His chest hair brushes against your boobs, his lips suck on your skin, his moans vibrate against you as he kisses you through it all. 

“Just like that,” he hums, satisfaction tugging at him when he feels you drooling over his neck, your hot tears falling down on his skin, “look at me, honey, I wanna see your face.” 

You gather your strength to pull back far enough for him to see you and those tears he caused to fall from your eyes. You’re whimpering and clenching around him tightly, making him match the sounds that fall from your lips. 

His hazel eyes are dark, his lips puffy and cheeks redder than before, his wet skin glowing under the string lights in his backyard. God, he looks so beautiful, especially when he is moaning your name and clinging to you. 

He cups the side of your face and you make his heart flutter in his chest when you lean into his touch. 

For a moment, he leans back the slightest bit just to see you, to watch how you ride him, how you take him, how much pleasure he brings you, how your face scrunches up so prettily, how your lips curl into a pout, how your boobs threaten to spill out of your bra as you bounce on his dick, whimpering his name, over and over again. 

God, he loves you, he loves you so fucking much that it physically hurts him to hide those words from you, everything inside of him screams at him to say them, to let you know, to confess to you, to show you how much he wants you, how deep his feelings for you are. 

His own eyes burn with tears, pleasure and emotions mixing together as he watches you, convinced that there is something behind your eyes as well, feelings, adoration, love. 

There has to be something, right? 

You wouldn’t hold his hand just for the fun of it, you wouldn’t kiss him and let him feel you, have you like this if there wasn’t something in your heart for him. You wouldn’t spend nights in his arms and dinners with him if it was casual. 

It’s not casual, it just can’t be. 

You have to feel it too, you have to feel the love. 

You just have to. 

Your name falls from his lips and when you wrap your arms around him again and you lean your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes with something, you grow tighter around him, making his moans louder. 

I love you. 

He traces words into your skin that he can’t say out loud because he is too afraid to lose you because while there is hope in him, there is also fear, fear that he is misunderstanding something again. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Steve wants to whisper them to you, to say them to you, to scream them out into the open for the whole world to hear. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your heart explode in your chest. 

“So are you,” you whisper back, shakily, wishing you could say something else, something more. 

Steve looks up at you as though you’re something special, like you aren’t the girl he once hated, like you are his and it prompts you to peck his lips, over and over again just the way he always does to you. 

Waves of pleasure crash over the both of you as you chase your high together, you moan against each others lips as his hand moves down your stomach and his fingers settle between your thighs, no words are spoken anymore when he presses against your clit gently, rubbing circles against your sensitive nub, your high pitched moans, his deep thrusts and the begging looks in both your eyes are enough. 

You kiss and you both move, faster than before, you cling to one another harder, stronger, deeper than ever, your lips moving feverishly with each other, desperation and love behind all your movements, a searing heat cursing through you both, overwhelming your poor hearts that long for each other so pleadingly. 

And when you both reach your peak, Steve has to press his lips strongly to yours so he doesn’t spill the words that become harder to keep in. He kisses you for as long as he can, he kisses you through your high and through the aftermath, your movements slow down and your hearts beat slower, he still doesn’t pull away, if anything, he tightens his arms around you, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting this night to end. 

He wants to smile, he wants to feel happy but a part of him is so scared, after tonight especially. 

You showed him something that he could lose at any given moment, you made him feel things he didn’t even think he was capable of feeling, you lit the fire inside of him again, you made his heart feel again, you made him love again, stronger than he ever did before, he didn’t even think a love like this was possible, he didn’t think he could love so deeply. 

What will there be if he loses you? 

He experienced heartbreak before but nothing would compare to this, not even his first love could make him feel such excruciating pain that you will curse him with when you decide to leave him. 

His heart pains at the thought, it already begins to break just thinking of the possibility. 

Steve clings to you, when you pull away from the kiss, he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, he holds you tightly as though he is afraid that you might disappear if he lets you go. 

He needs to feel you, he needs you against him, he needs to savor every moment you still allow him with you. 

Steve can’t bear to lose you, not you, he can get through anything, he can get over anything but not you. 

And while he is filled with fear, inwardly begging for you to stay, for you to be the one to be by his side – you are holding onto him with hope, with a smile on your face, unaware of the fear that lingers in the man that you love with all your heart.

You never thought you’d be in this position. That you’d ever feel like this when it came to Steve. You never thought you would feel confident in this relationship, potential, a future in it. The fear slowly decreases in each caress he gives you, in every touch, in every kiss. A fear you never thought you would lose in your life.

All you ever imagined in this love you had for him was pain. Everything ended in pure heartbreak and loneliness for you. Now, that image doesn’t come to mind. That picture you painted is no longer vivid in your head. 

And this is when you realize that you have a chance. You truly have a chance.

You decide to push it all aside, the anxiety, the fear of rejection, the fear of loss, you push it all away, no longer allowing the sadness and the fear to control you, if today wasn’t the push that you needed then you don’t know what else will. 

All the signs you weren’t sure of are there, they are there, colorful and bright, for you to see so clearly and you no longer move away from them, you move towards them, allowing yourself to feel hope that he can feel the same. 

And when you two go to bed that night after a long shower together, you cuddle and you kiss each other sweetly, whispering words of affection to one another, tracing each other's skin and holding one another tight. 

You make a decision. 

Tomorrow… Tomorrow will be the day you decide to confess. It cannot wait any longer. It cannot be postponed. It is inevitable, and you cannot handle the pain of loving him and being just this item with him any longer, especially not after this night. 

Having him like this is no longer enough. 

Keeping those three words in becomes less possible after every kiss, every touch, every whisper.

Tomorrow your life will change. 

And hopefully for the better. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[hoonieyun]

a lovesick girl's guide to heartbreak

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ fuckboy!sunghoon x reader ladies and gentleman, i present to you: the ex... summary: you knew that getting with sunghoon meant playing with fire and after ignoring all of the red flags and stories you heard about him, you decided to play into his trap anyways.

warnings: profanity, kissing, implied hookup but nothing explicit, suggestive, drinking and partying, sunghoon is a manipulator, naive!reader, cheating?? kinda, 18+ not proofread lol! wc: 3551

being the new girl wasn’t something new to you. your parents constantly moved around because of their job so there wasn’t ever a permanent place you could call home. just in your first year of high school you had moved three times before you dad was able to settle in a small town until you graduated. 

you were now attending college as freshman and for the first time, the decision of where you’d end up wasn’t up to your parent’s employers. a sense of freedom that you hadn’t tasted before and although it brought a lot of uncertainty, you were excited for this next chapter of your life where you’d be able to live on your terms and not those of others. 

finding friends has always been tough for you because you weren’t ever in one place long enough to develop friendship, so making friends was something you really wanted to prioritize now that you were in university. luckily, you were able to make friends with some girls in your morning literature class that have been so king to welcoming you into their little group. 

they had invited you to a party tonight that one of the frats were throwing, something about a homecoming for the first month of school, you weren’t 100% sure what this party was going to be like, but you were excited to have gotten invited to you very first one. you would be getting ready at one of the girl’s apartments and as the day went on; the only thing you could think about was this party. 

you’ve never been to a party before, let alone a college frat party, so saying you were nervous was an understatement. what if no one likes you? what if the girls leave you alone? what if something dangerous happens? 

so many questions were running through your mind, “yn? you ok, girl?” winter asks, taking you out of your deep thought as she does your makeup, brushing on some blush onto your cheeks. you give her a nod with a small smile, one convincing enough to prevent her from asking anymore questions; “ok, go get dressed and i’ll put on your mascara and do your lips!” she says, slightly patting you on the bottom as you get up to go to her bathroom. 

karina was looking at herself in the mirror as you walked by her while ningning and giselle were on the other side of the room, ningning curling giselle’s hair. you close the door gently behind you as you walk into winter’s bathroom, taking in all of the pink accessories and items from her toothbrush to the cotton swabs sitting in a jar on the counter of the bathroom sink. 

you had chosen a simple outfit, a pair of jeans and a crop top; although you didn’t show much skin; this was probably the most skin you’ve shown as your midriff and collarbones were on display. you admired how you looked in the mirror briefly before winter knocks on the door, asking you to come out so she can see how you look. 

“well?” you asked as you opened the door and the girls just tilt their in response, “what? do i look bad?” you ask, a pout settling on your lips. the girls instantly shake their head, telling you that you were beautiful but encouraged you to explore a bit out of your comfort zone with your outfit. you then realized that all of the girls were in skirts or minidresses so you did look a bit out of place. 

“i don’t really have dresses or skirts..” you muttered, winter grabs your wrist to bring you to your closet; taking outfits out of the closet one by one, placing it in front of you to see how it would look; karina, ningning, and giselle shaking their head at each one until she pulled out an asymmetrical lavendar dress that stopped halfway up your thigh with cutouts at your waist. you looked shocked as everyone nodded in agreement that it would look perfect on you and although you wanted to disagree; you didn’t want to disappoint your new friends so you reluctantly grabbed the hanger from winter and walked back into her bathroom. 

the dress hugged your body in just the right places and although you found yourself looking unfamiliar in the mirror; there was a sense of confidence that was building inside of you; like the girl looking at you in the mirror wasn’t anyone that you knew and it made you feel good. 

“you look hot, bitch” ningning says when you walk out and all of you laugh at her comment. winter also lets you borrow some heels for the night as you originally brought sneakers; which now doesn’t go with your outfit at all. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the drive to the party wasn’t long but you ran into a bit of traffic as it seemed the road was congested with other driver’s who all had the same destination as you and your friends. “okay, yn. let’s go over some things..” karina says as you all sit in traffic. 

“there are probably going to be some guys that are going to hit on you tonight; i know that for a fact because you look hot as hell– and because you’re new they’re going to want a piece of you; but don’t be scared we’ll make sure you don’t end up with any loser guy tonight.. or girl?” karina asks and you just laugh, telling her that you weren’t looking for a guy to go home with. 

“who knows though, the night is young.” giselle adds. 

“the guys you need to watch out for are: 

jake; he has a girl who isn’t his girl. they’re just fuckbuddies but they love acting like a couple until it’s time to actually be a couple. 

jay; serial dater and serial cheater. stay away at all costs, super cute though.

heeseung; he and his girl just broke up so he’s probably going to be looking for a rebound; don’t let it be you because he’s likely going to go back to her anyways. 

and then there’s sunghoon; he’s known as your campus’ fuckboy, heartbreaker, and all of this cliche’s about a playboy. just stay away from him he’s a walking red flag.” 

winter and karina had given you the rundown about these boys and although you probably weren’t going to be seeing any of them, it was nice to know who to stay away from. only thing was, you didn’t know how any of them looked. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

its been about an hour into the party when you’ve realized that your friends were nowhere to be found. you’ve had a few drinks that the girls offered you and as you finished your third drink, none of them were by your side anymore. naturally, you’ve would’ve began to worry and panic, but with the help of the alcohol; it was easy to not spiral. 

you ventured around the unfamiliar house, weaving through countless bodies, some you realized from campus and many others that you don’t. you received several compliments on how you looked, many guys looking you up and down with a lust in their eyes while very kind and sweet girls would give you compliments like you had known one another for a long time. it was nice to be social and have fun without having to worry that you’d never see these people again with the fear you had to move away. 

“are you lost, angel?” a voice asks from behind. you turn towards the voice’s direction and a tall boy with dark eyebrows and strong features is staring down at you from a few steps on the stairs. you were stunned by his beauty. he was definitely handsome but not in the way you found traditionally. it was a type of handsome that people wrote poems about or would yearn for years on end. 

“you ok?” he adds when you don’t answer right away. 

“uhm.. yeah. i’m fine.” you mutter and he chuckles at your response. walking down the stairs to stand to you a bit closer; getting very close to your face as he speaks into your ears, “are you sure? i can help you if you’re lost, angel.” he adds and although the music is loud, his voice rings clearly in your ears. 

sending shivers down your spine. 

your voice falters when you try to come up with a response and when you’re about to respond, the mysterious boy grabs your wrist and drags you somewhere, not even fighting him off as his face alone had you complying, feet following behind him as he drags you to a quieter part of the house. 

“what’s your name, angel?” he asks, his hand letting go of your wrist and moving towards your face, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. 

he’s walking around the room when you respond, observing random stuff and tousseling his own hair after he had just fixed yours. “pretty name for a pretty girl.” he adds, a warmth growing at the lower part of your stomach when the compliment leaves his lips. your phone starts ringing but you’re too lost in his eyes to even notice your phone blowing up in your purse. 

“you going to get that, angel?” he asks, blinking several times when you realize your phone is ringing. 

“i’ll get it later.” you tell him, switching the ringer off on your phone so it wouldn’t interrupt you. “so, do i get your name?” you ask him and he chuckles, looking down at the carpet as if it was the most interesting thing in the room– but all he had in his mind was you. 

“sunghoon.” he says and your smile slightly falters. 

his name seemed familiar but you couldn’t tell why. maybe he was in one of your classes? or you had run into each other at some point, but the alcohol in your system was preventing you from remembering why sunghoon seemed familiar. 

you send the girls a quick text to let them know you’re okay and had ended up finding a boy and that you’d let them know when you got home the next day; to which they responded with praise and cheers, congratulating you for finding a little boytoy for the night. you laughed off their responses and averted your reaction back to sunghoon when he grabs your phone from your hand while his other hand reaches for your chin, raising your head to look up at him. 

“are you done, yet?” he asks, a pout on his lips as he tries to get your attention back to him. you roll your eyes teasingly and nod, letting him take your phone, watching him as he places it on the nightstand. 

“so, tell me about yourself?” sunghoon asks, hands trailing down to yours as he brings you over to the bed in the room. “should we be in this room?” you ask, looking around and once again sunghoon’s hand finds its way to your face, moving it so you’re looking at him once again. 

“it’s my room.” he says, eyes glued to your lips. 

you spend the rest of the night in sunghoon’s arms, learning about one another as the two of you laid in his bed. this was the most intimate thing you’ve ever done and you’re constantly surprising yourself as you do things you’ve never done before. 

needless to say, the night ended with another first experience for you; sunghoon making sure that you were comfortable the whole time, whispering sweet things into your ears as the two of you tenderly explored one another. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

that night led to several other nights that were very similar, spending time in each other’s arms on sunghoon’s bed. eventually he asked you to be his girlfriend which came as a shock to anyone who knew sunghoon because he didn’t do relationships. 

he loved women so much and loved chasing after the perfect girl even more. 

but then he found you and everything changed. sunghoon asked you to be his girlfriend and everything was looking brighter and brighter with him by your side. you didn’t know why your friends had described sunghoon the way they did because he was the furthest from it. he was nothing but sweet and loving to you and you were grateful that you didn’t let the unfamiliarity of sunghoon lead you to leaving that night. 

everything was going so well, until it wasn’t. 

sunghoon had become a bit distant, he was constantly busy without explaining further, and had cancelled on several dates. it was like the honeymoon phase lasted about two seconds before things were starting to get rocky. 

you’ve sent sunghoon several texts about tonight, his frat was throwing a party after the football team had one their game but he hasn’t responded. he was supposed to be your ride and as your boyfriend; that was expected of him. when you don’t hear from sunghoon for a half hour, you send karina a text to see if she’s going, asking her for a ride and telling her about the situation. 

she picks you up on her way to the party and giving you advice on what she thinks of the situation, which doesn’t soothe your worries as she only reiterates what she and the other girls had said in the past. sunghoon was a fuck boy and he’d always be one. 

“i don’t want to hurt your feelings but his behavior isn’t excusable and i think he’s going to hurt you, yn..” karina says, voice getting quieter as the sentence goes on. you couldn���t be upset at her because she was only giving you the advice you had asked for. 

all you could do was hope that none of it would be true. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

the party was filled with way more people than usual, you figured it was because the football team had a very successful run this season and more people wanted to celebrate from several other univerities in the area. 

you expected for the party to be very lively with people drinking, dancing, and mingling; but what you didn’t expect was to see sunghoon leaning on one of the doorways talking with a girl that you didn’t know. you were thinking that maybe he was just talking to her but that was until his hand made its way to her chin, shifting her face so that she was looking at sunghoon. 

you knew that motion all too well. 

karina is witnessing all of this at the same time as you and before she’s able to say something, you’re storming towards sunghoon and ripping your hand off of this girl’s face. 

“are you fucking serious?” you don’t know where this ferocity came from, your usual calm and quiet demeanor had been shattered and you only felt fire as sunghoon’s eyes widen at the shock of seeing you there as if he didn’t know you’d be there, completing forgetting he was supposed to be the one you went with. 

it was like the roles had reversed compared to that first night as you two stood at the bottom of the same stairwell you first met. sunghoon stuttered as he struggled to come up with a response while you boldly spoke to him. 

“is this why you weren’t fucking answering me? because you’re busy talking to some girl you can’t respond to your girlfriend?” your words spewing out of your mouth with bitterness as you threw them at sunghoon like daggers. the girl he was previously with had walked away, feeling awkward that she was just standing there; watching you yell at sunghoon. 

“we’re done.” you say, leaning into sunghoon’s face so he could hear you clearly and when you try to walk away, sunghoon is grasping onto your wrist and dragging you to his room upstairs. 

the parallels of the first night with the current one were almost identical as you willingly followed him up to his room, all the alarms ringing in your head that you shouldn’t but when the door shuts closed; you know it’s a bit too late to listen to those thoughts in your head. 

you walk into his room with a huff, crossing your arms in annoyance at what just occurred downstairs in front of all of those people. sunghoon turns around slowly, afraid what he’ll meet as he looks at you. “angel, come on..” sunghoon says, trying to butter you up and erase what happened from your mind, but none of it works. 

when sunghoon tries to grab your hand, you snatch it away. 

when he calls you “angel”, you scoff. 

when he tries to explain that it’s not what it looked like, you roll your eyes. 

you didn’t want to hear any of it because you saw it with your own two eyes. not only was sunghoon flirting with some random girl that way he had done to you some months ago, he had abondoned you to commit this unfaithful actions. 

his words start sounding like ringing in your ears the longer he’s rambling and your eyes begin to twitch as he begs you to believe him. “i don’t want to see your face. ever. again.” was all you said, punching the last two words for emphasis. sunghoon was stunned at your sudden change in demeanor. 

where did his sweet angel go? 

all he could see was anger in your eyes as you pushed past him, walking out of his bedroom and out of his life. 

only for you to find yourself back in his bed some weeks later. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

it seemed that none of it worked, all the arguments that led to you crying and running out of his room only led you back to the same place in the end. wrapped in sunghoon’s arms as he tells you that you’re the only girl in his life, even when you knew that wasn’t true. 

you thought that you could stand your ground that night when you saw him with that girl, but it only deepened the hole that was in your heart as you felt like you couldn’t find anyone else to love you the way sunghoon did.. and he’d even tell you this to remind you. 

no one else will love you like i do. 

i’m the only one who gets you. 

i love you more than anything. 

and the longer you stayed, the more you believed it. 

it was like every time you told him that you never wanted to see him again, and that you were done with him, and you were moving on, sunghoon knew you were just bluffing. he’d pull you in closer, lips grazing your ear as he whispers everything you needed to her to stay, and you’d do just that. 

stay. 

even when you’d find a way to walk away from sunghoon, he knew exactly what to do to stay in your head like a lingering thought. he’d drop a small thought into your head that he knew you’d cling onto like your life depended on it. 

i’ll always be here for you. 

just think about it, ok angel? 

i’d never hurt you. 

i’ll change just for you. 

so many empty and baseless lies that he’d tell you just so you could come back. 

and you did each time because you wanted to believe him every time– but he didn’t.

“baby.. don’t act like this, c’mon.” sunghoon pleas, holding onto your hands as he kisses your knuckles, looking up at your angered face when you attempted to leave. you were annoyed because he overslept and forgot to pick you up from work; so you took an uber to the frat house and tried to cuss him out. 

you were so aggravated and you wanted nothing more to be angry at him but his usual advances were working. you think you’d be immune to them by not but the constant uncertainty in your life in the past caused you to fear that you’d never have anything as familiar as sunghoon. 

“sunghoon.. i can’t..” your voice trembling and sunghoon’s expression shifts when he realizes you’re crying. he doesn’t know what to do because he didn’t think he’d ever get this far with anyone. 

sunghoon was a fuckboy and he knew that. he loved women, he loved chasing women, and he loved having a girl by his side. the one thing he loved more?

having his angel, you, by his side. 

he didn’t really knoew if he loved you, but he loved having you. he loved to see that every time you tried to pull away from him, you’d come crawling right back. he loved that you tried your best to resist him but would always melt into him with a few simple words that only held weight with you and not him. 

“you’re mine, ok? and i’ll be yours, forever.” sunghoon says, standing up and towering over you. your eyes looking up at him with tears still coating your cheeks. sunghoon gently cups your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, as he smiles down at you. 

“my beautiful angel.” sunghoon whispers, pulling you closer into his arms, never wanting to let you go. 

"toxic till' the end" rosé the usage of song lyrics is credited to the artist above

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

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[peachglazewrites]

Hiiii could you write for hyper fem reader abby? It's totally fine if you don't write for super feminine reader tho

𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby/femme!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: none ♡︎ 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: established relationship, fluff 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n, outfit descriptions, modern au & canon 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,478k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Abby helps her overthinking femme with her cute little date outfit + a brain dump on how this dynamic would work in canon!

a/n: thank you so much for the request! this is my first one so i’m suuuper nervy posting it haha but I wanted to do this between writing chapter eleven of dream of us In a year! i hope you enjoy! ✿

“Honey, I think you look fine.”

“Fine?” you ask, peeking around your closet door, eyebrow raised. “Just fine?”

Abby stutters from where she sits on your bed. “Not—” Bringing a hand up, she rubs at her forehead. “Fine as in good. Cute. Hot... I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

You laugh, crinkling your nose. “I know what you meant.” You retreat from the closet, stopping in front of your full-length mirror once more. It’s almost a struggle to see past all the stickers and photos pasted along the edges. “And thank you, I just…” you sigh, posing in the mirror, smoothing down your top. “I’m just not feeling the white, I don’t think.”

The two of you are in your bedroom, getting ready to go out for lunch. Well, you’re getting ready to go out— Abby’s been ready since before she got here. She even arrived extra early, early enough to catch you still in your pyjamas, hair curlers hanging on for dear life, smudges of yesterday’s mascara darkening under your eyes. You let her in, obviously, leading her by the hand as you sleepily shuffled back to your room.

She’s been sat there patiently the whole time, watching you pad around as you get ready for the day. It’s mesmerising to her, the way you do yourself up. Expertly brushing and pinning your hair in place, dabbing concealer and blush and a whole bunch of other things Abby doesn’t have the vocabulary to name along the soft planes of your pretty little face.

You’d just finished up, clipping a pair of sparkling earrings to your lobes when you caught your reflection in the mirror by your closet. Abby could tell just from the dip in your brows that you were second-guessing, overthinking the outfit that you had meticulously put together, deciding, ‘no, this wasn’t it.’

So, Abby keeps sitting, looking so out of place your bed, plush pink sheets threatening to swallow her up as she sinks into them, surrounded on all sides by an impressive wall of decorative pillows and plush toys— most of which have been won for you by Abby herself.

Her ripped denim jeans, loaded with too many pockets to be purely functional, are belted at her waist with an impressive buckle-- something that makes her look like she walked right off a ranch. Tucked in to the waist of her jeans is a plain white tee, short sleeves rolled up to show off more of her freckled arms, muscles bulging as she wraps them around a heart-shaped throw pillow. Her usual braid has been passed for a low bun this morning, keeping the hair off her neck in anticipation for today’s sunny weather.

The only accessory she wears is a simple necklace, a locket you got her for your anniversary, a photo of you on the inside. Technically there’s two photos, one hidden behind the other for a very particular reason, meant for her eyes only.

You turn again in the mirror, chewing on your glossy lip as you look over the white tennis skirt peeking out from under your ribbed top. It’s a delightful shade of pink with capped sleeves. You just received it in the mail the other day and haven’t had a chance to wear it, and what better time to debut it than on a lunch date with your love. The buttons along the front are shaped like hearts. It’s perfect.

Just not with this skirt.

The vision was to add something white, try and match the colour of Abby’s top, but it’s simply not working out.

With a sigh, you unzip the skirt, letting it fall off your hips and pool at your bare feet, stepping out of it and walking back into your closet. Your top is longer than usual, but not long enough to completely hide your naked thighs from Abby, let alone the peek of your underwear from her wandering eyes.

“I think I like this outfit the most,” Abby says, a sly smirk playing on her lips as she runs her gaze lazily across your bare legs.

Rolling your eyes, you grab the closest ball-shaped object (a pair of bundled up socks) and throw them at her. You manage to hit her square between the eyes with your impeccable aim. “Keep it in your pants.”

She chuckles, a low sound as she picks up the bundle from her lap. They’re a ribbed white pair, a delicate ruffle along the top. Abby hums in thought, chewing on her cheek, unrolling the socks and smoothing them out. They’re about knee high, and she recognises them from the few times she’s seen you wear them.

Her eyes flick up to you, on the tips of your toes as you shuffle through your hanging skirts, then back down to the fabric in her hands.

“Hey, babe?”

“Hm?” You keep shuffling through your skirts, metal hangers screeching as you slide them along the pole.

“Why don’t you…” she trails off, feeling a bit silly for even attempting to give you of all people clothing advice. She clears her throat, starting again. “Why don’t you wear these, and that uh—you know that denim skirt you have? With the layers? It’s got that--”

“Oh!” You pop your head out from your clothes, looking over to your girlfriend perched on the bed. “The one with the ribbon on the hem?”

“Yeah, that one. That way we’ll both be wearing denim, and your socks will match my top… right?” She tacks on, almost shyly.

Ugh. She looks so cute sitting there, socks in one hand, frilly heart pillow clutched to her chest with the other. Her lips are doing that pouting thing she does when she’s thinking, a pretty pink from all her chewing on them.

“Let me see if I can find it.”

Turning back to your skirts, you riffle through each one until you spot it, neatly pressed and folded over the hanger. It’s just how Abby remembers it, a washed denim in two layers, a lovely pink ribbon weaved in and out through the slightly ruffled hem.

Not wanting to give any room for your brain to overthink, you shuffle the skirt over your hips, buttoning and zipping it into place. It sits at that perfect length above your knee, just long enough to be modest, but short enough to be a bit flirty.

Abby lets out a whistle as you exit the closet, stepping in front of the mirror. 

“There she is.” She grins, loving the way she can see you blush in the mirror, watching as your already pink cheeks darken in colour under your makeup. The shade matches your eyes, similar pinks and reds brushed over your lids, blended delicately and precisely.

She loves it when you coordinate like this, tying everything in from head to toe.

You’ve got to hand it to her, she did a really good job. Your top sits smooth along the skirt, not looking too lumpy or awkward along your middle. It hides a fair bit of the waistband, but just like the tennis skirt, it lets the bottom peek out in a way that you can’t help but find adorable.

You don’t even have to have the socks on to know that this is a winner.

“Not too shabby, Anderson.” You grin back, turning to face her properly.

Abby sits up a bit straighter, chest puffed out in pride. Letting the pillow fall to her lap she raises one of her hands, making a spinning motion. “Give us a twirl, pretty lady.”

You let out an embarrassed giggle, cheeks burning hotter as you give in, spinning in place and finishing with a pose. You meet her gaze, warmth blooming within your chest at her soft eyes, so clear and filled to the brim with affection.

“Perfect.”

“Not yet.” You reach out, making grabby hands you walk over to her spot on the bed. “The finishing touch.”

Abby removes the pillow from her lap, patting one of her muscled thighs as she holds the socks out for you to take, smirking.

“You’re impossible.” You huff playfully, making a big show of spinning on your heels before perching on your girlfriend’s lap, taking the socks from her hand.

She chuckles behind you, her strong arms coming to wrap around your middle, pulling you back to sit flush against her chest. You can feel the cool press of her locket between your shoulder blades, her hot breath fanning across your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder.

You have to navigate around her grip on you, but you eventually roll the socks up your calves, adjusting the ruffles so they’re sitting neatly under your knees.

There. Now it’s perfect.

Abby’s arms tighten around you, squeezing you gently. With a soft hum you lean back against her chest, bringing one manicured hand up to lightly scratch at her scalp. She won’t admit it out loud, but she loves the way your nails feel. It’s part of the reason she offers to pay for you to get them done. That, and the way you get so giddy over a fresh set, staring at them for hours after you come back from your appointment.

“Thank you for being so patient. This must get so annoying.”

“Never annoying,” Abby murmurs, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to the skin of your neck. You shudder lightly, sinking into the feeling. “Like watching you get all dressed up.”

You can’t help the sigh that leaves you as she kisses up your neck, pressing her strong nose into the skin, finding the source of the perfume you spritzed there. A sweet scent that contrasts the spicy cologne she likes to wear.

“Mm… Like it when you wear this one.”

You giggle, letting out a soft gasp as she nips the skin gently. “I know, it’s why I put it on.”

She continues her path up your neck, kissing along your jaw and cheek. Holding her head in place you tilt your own to meet her, pressing your lips together in a lingering kiss.

It’s sweet. She’s sweet. Unbelievably so.

“Love you,” she mumbles against your lips, pressing in for another kiss before you can answer.

You pull away, hand sliding from the back of her head to her cheek, cupping it gently. “Love you, too.” Your thumb swipes across her lips, wiping off the tacky residue of your tinted lip gloss. “Want to head out?”

Abby nods, pressing in for one last, quick kiss before unravelling herself from you, giving your hip a loving pat. “Let’s go, before they sell out of those muffins you like.”

𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

Working in any capacity for the WLF doesn’t leave a lot of room or time for you to indulge in your physical appearance. Practicality always takes precedence, and you would never ever jeopardise yours or others safety because you were too stubborn to wear a pair of ugly cargo pants. Even as one of the dog trainers you don’t get a lot of leeway, having to be prepared and able to run, play, train, and bathe the couple dozen dogs you keep on site every day.

You live with what you can get, fussing over your hair and wearing the small amounts of makeup you have. It’s very DIY, a couple of the women in the stadium making kohl for the eyes, lip tints and blushes from extracts of things like beetroots. It’s not perfect, but it beats the expired stuff by a longshot. That’s just an infection waiting to happen.

The thing you take the most pride in are your nails. You have your routine perfected at this point, sitting down to file and shape them, rubbing oils into your hands to keep them nice and soft as you push back your cuticles. Your favourite part is painting them, switching out the colours each time you need to redo them.

No matter what you wear or what your hair looks like that day, you’ll have your nails pretty and painted, and that’s enough to get you through.

Your girlfriend Abby is the polar opposite to you, content to spend every waking (and even sleeping) moment in her cargos and muscle tanks. Not that you’re complaining. You both know she looks ridiculously good in them.

Everything about her is practical, and she doesn’t care for putting more effort into her appearance than she has to. Even her braid is entirely utilitarian, keeping her long hair out of her face. If she does it right, she can keep it in for the couple of days while she’s out on patrol, not needing to waste moments redoing the entire thing.

She doesn’t entirely get it, the want for femininity. She’s more than comfortable leaving it behind. If she’s being honest, she likes rejecting it— finding comfort in her broadness, the boxers she slides along her hips, the spicy cologne she spritzes after her showers.

She lives for the moments when you look up at her, eyes smudged dark and lips her favourite shade of pink, manicured hands running along the planes of her face or up to scratch the back of her head as you call her handsome. She’d do just about anything for you in those moments. Fuck everyone else, you’re the only thing she can think of.

Which is why, even though she doesn’t really get understand, she goes out of her way to find things for you, bring you home little bits and pieces from her patrols that she knows you’ll love.

She takes a few minutes to step away from the others and walk the aisles of that old pharmacy, eyes roaming the displays of nail polish. She ducks through broken windows to stuff a hairclip or hair tie into one of her pockets. She pretends to go take a piss when really, she’s jogging back to the jewellers she saw on the corner, snatching a dainty chain from a display cabinet.

And it’s all so worth it when she comes home after those long days, meeting you in darkened hallways or up in your favourite spot in the stadium bleachers, kissing your tinted lips as she presses her gifts into your palm. When she can watch the smile that breaks out over your face, eyes sparkling as you turn the items over in your hand, thanking her as you pull her in for another kiss.

She’s addicted to the way her heart thumps in her chest when she sees you the next time, newest colour on your nails or that clip she just got you holding your hair back. Almost as much as the grin she gets when you spot her looking, kissing the tips of your fingers before blowing it in her direction.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ request your own here! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Prologue

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Next Chapter

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

The scenery of summertime Tokyo whizzes by from the comfortable leather seats of the private car, the hum of the engine blending with the rhythmic swish of tires on the paved mountain road.

Your chauffeur, Hajime, expertly maneuvers the sleek vehicle, his hands steady on the wheel as he weaves down the familiar route.

The commute from your family’s lavish estate to UA’s campus is always scenic. The meticulously maintained grass and perfectly arranged flowers of your front lawn dwindle in the distance, giving way to the ever-growing density of the city.

From the rearview mirror, Hajime’s eyes flick to yours, a soft grin tugging at his lips. His suit is as sharp as ever, the dark fabric neatly pressed, every crease intentional.

“Excited for your last year, Y/N?” he asks, his voice carrying a warmth you’ve grown used to, the kind of warmth that almost feels fatherly. Or at least, what you imagine fatherly might be.

Navigating parental relationships has always been… complicated. After all, how do you really gauge what a father figure is supposed to feel like when you’ve never known the man responsible for half of your existence?

Still, you smile back, comforted by Hajime’s familiar presence. “I guess. It’ll be weird going back to the dorms for the last time… at least we managed to change the room décor to that baby blue set I saw in Vogue.”

By we, of course, you mean your staff.

The baby blue décor—delicate white bows hand-sewn onto the softest silk curtains, intricately embroidered florals adorning the bedding, and custom-made furnishings crafted by an exclusive atelier in Florence—had been shipped directly to your dorm within days of you spotting it in an Italian photoshoot spread.

The magazine never mentioned it was available for sale; it wasn’t. But one phone call from your mother, paired with a not-so-subtle offer of a generous sum, ensured it would arrive before the school term started.

So cute!!

Hajime’s grin widens, this time tinged with amusement. “Yes, I was surprised you stuck with the pink as long as you did.”

You snort, propping your chin on your manicured hand. “It was cute! And it matched my hero costume perfectly. I couldn’t resist.”

Your eyes drift to your nails, long and almond-shaped, with baby pink French tips that gleam under the soft lighting of the car. They complement your delicate diamond rings, stacked just right to add a subtle twinkle with every movement.

Today, you’ve opted for a casual look—a contouring bodysuit paired with oversized jeans and designer sneakers, On your wrist, a few thin bracelets jingle softly as the car navigates the increasingly crowded streets.

Casual. Perfectly casual.

Before you know it, the car begins to slow, and your gaze shifts to the familiar gates of UA. The towering glass buildings in the distance reflect the midday sun

You sigh quietly, reaching for your purse. “Excited to see your friends, Y/N?” Hajime asks, his tone light.

You hesitate, the forced smile on your face betraying your unease. Friends. You don't want to give Hajime the impression that you have no such thing, so you lie straight through your white teeth.

“Sure, yeah. I guess,” you mutter, barely audible.

Friends. Would you consider any of your classmates friends? Probably not. They’re friendly, yes. They’ll work with you during class, exchange polite greetings in the hallways, and even offer occasional smiles.

But do they sit with you at lunch? Do they invite you to their weekend hangouts? Not really.

Which is fine. It’s fine! Why would you even want to join them?

They hang out at malls where everything is off-the-rack, nothing you haven’t already pre-ordered months in advance. They talk about things you’ve already experienced or grown bored of. You don’t need their friendship. You don’t want it. Not at all.

Why would you want to hang out with them? You don’t. Not even a little. Not even a smidge—

“Y/N?” Hajime’s voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts, grounding you. You blink, realizing your fingers have been gripping your purse a little too tightly. The delicate lambskin is now creased under the pressure. Damn.

“We’re here,” Hajime says with a smile as the car comes to a full stop. You force yourself to relax, smoothing out your expression. It’s just one more year. You can survive one more year.

“Thanks,” you mumble as Hajime steps out and opens your door for you. You climb out, standing awkwardly by the car while he retrieves your suitcases from the trunk.

Most of your belongings—clothes, shoes, jewelry—had already been sent ahead when your mother’s staff redecorated the room. These last few suitcases just contain the extras: makeup, perfume, and other necessities. Still, they’re heavy with the sheer amount of product you’ve packed.

“Alright, Y/N, remember to call if you need anything, okay?” Hajime says as he closes the trunk. His familiar smile eases some of your nerves, but not all of them. You nod quietly, watching as he heads back to the driver’s side.

It’s silly, really—you could call him in ten minutes, and he’d come back without complaint. But still, that nagging anxiety creeps up as he slides into the car. Alone again.

Just one more year.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat as Hajime waves one last time before driving off, leaving you standing by the gates. You raise a hand in a half-hearted wave, watching the car disappear into the distance.

For a moment, you just stand there, clenching and unclenching your hand around the handle of your suitcase. Then, with a quiet sigh, you turn toward the dorm buildings. The sight of the familiar brown exterior makes your fingers itch toward your phone, tempted to call Hajime back. But you resist.

You’ll be fine.

At the entrance, the facial recognition scanner blinks to life, confirming your identity with a soft beep before granting you access. The dorm is quiet at first, save for the sound of your suitcases rolling smoothly over the carpeted floors.

Then you hear it—laughter, light and joyful, echoing from the lounge.

The quiet click of your suitcase wheels against the carpeted floors is the only sound until the elevator doors slide open, revealing the lively common area. Laughter and chatter echo from the lounge, but the moment you step inside, the noise halts.

Mina, Ochako, Jirou, and Momo look up from their spot on the couch, surprised gazes locking onto you.

“Y/N! How was your summer?” Momo asks with a polite smile, her tone genuinely curious. The other girls perk up, awaiting your response.

You force another smile, the tension in your shoulders betraying your discomfort. This is your chance. You quickly forget that just minutes ago you were mentally denying any need for friendship.

You traveled all over Europe, met cool heroes, you even picked up little gifts for everyone, trained with new techniques—

But instead, you hear yourself say, “It was fine.”

An awkward silence follows, and you feel the weight of their expectant stares. Ask them how their summer was. You could save this moment, turn it into something meaningful.

“I’m going to go to my room… I’ll see you all in class,” you mutter, stepping back into the elevator before they can respond. The doors slide shut, and you lean against the wall, exhaling sharply.

The thud of your forehead hitting the metal wall echoes through the empty elevator, the sting barely registering against the flood of embarrassment and nerves coursing through your veins.

You let out a soft groan, eyes squeezed shut as you replay the interaction in your head. Why are you like this? You have stories to tell, gifts to give—hell, you even went out of your way to pick up souvenirs for everyone.

The sparkly eye shimmers you bought for Mina in France, the cool music theory books for Jirou in Germany, the pretty pink dress for Ochako in Italy, and the rare fragrance you found for Momo in Spain—all tucked neatly in your suitcase, now practically wallowing in defeat alongside you.

God, you’re such a loser.

You barely have time to stew in your self-loathing before the elevator doors jerk open slightly, blocked by a muscular arm. Your eyes widen in alarm as Eijiro Kirishima and Bakugo Katsuki shove their way inside, sweaty, hulking, and taking up way too much space for the tiny elevator.

You instinctively flatten yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Kirishima flashes you a warm grin, entirely unfazed by the tight quarters. “Y/N, hey! Sorry about us. We were just working out. Finally moving in? I think you might be the last one of us to show up.”

Us, as if you were part of them. It’s stupid how your heart skips a beat at the thought.

You force a sheepish smile, nodding. “Ah, no worries. Yeah, just getting settled.”

You try not to look at Bakugo, who hasn’t even glanced your way. He’s standing there in the thinnest, tightest tank top known to mankind, broad shoulders stretching the fabric as if it were struggling to keep up. His arms, toned and defined, catch the dim elevator light just right, and his small waist is framed so perfectly that you have to fight the urge to let your eyes linger. You flick your gaze upward again, heat creeping up your neck as you silently scream at yourself.

You wouldn’t say you have a crush on Bakugo—crush is too strong a word. But god, you love looking at him.

He’s gorgeous in the most aggravating way, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it!

That ashy blonde hair, always spiked up in every direction, looks like it would feel rough to the touch, but you’ve seen him push it back with his hero mask before, revealing the softer strands underneath.

Sharp red eyes framed by the longest lashes you’ve ever seen—seriously, why do guys always have such nice lashes?—perfect skin, a nose that could belong to a sculpture, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. You could go on and on…

But it’s not a crush. Definitely not.

The guy barely knows you exist, and frankly, his temper is reason enough to keep your distance. You’ve heard the way he barks at people—sharp, commanding, intimidating. He’d probably find you annoying within seconds if you ever managed to get more than a polite nod out of him.

No, it’s better this way: admiring from afar, safe in the knowledge that you’ll never have to deal with his wrath firsthand.

The elevator continues its smooth ascent toward the dorm floors. The faint scent of caramel wafts through the small space, and you catch yourself wondering how the hell Bakugo manages to smell that good after a workout.

It should smell like sweat and exhaustion in here, with two guys practically dripping beside you, but instead, there’s this oddly comforting warmth in the air, sweet yet sharp—like burnt sugar. It lingers just enough to make you dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s the scent or your own embarrassment that's doing it.

You press yourself harder against the wall, praying for the elevator to reach your floor faster. God, this is torture.

The ding of the elevator cuts through the silence, and the doors slide open. Kirishima gives you one last friendly smile as he steps out. “Well, see you in class, Y/N!”

You lift a limp hand in a pathetic little wave, heart sinking slightly when you realize Bakugo didn’t even spare you a glance the entire time. You watch them walk off down the hallway and into their neighboring rooms, Kirishima’s easygoing energy in stark contrast to Bakugo’s usual sharp presence.

The doors close again, and you let out a long breath, pressing a hand against your racing heart as the elevator raises to the fifth and final floor, where your room is located.

Great. Just great. One more year of this. You try to convince yourself it doesn’t matter, but the tightening in your chest says otherwise.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[ksascriptt]

Suck It And See - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Aaron Hotchner x Wife!BauProfiler!Reader

Read part 2 !

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, mentions of mutilation (just the fact that it had happened at some point), lots of crying, not so great writing :( Haley isn’t murdered in this but she has fully left Hotch and Jacks life for reasons I haven’t decided yet — I don’t want Aaron to quite have that ptsd from losing a second lover.

Summary: You and Aaron have been married for five years, and you both hold jobs at the Behavioural Analysis Unit as Criminal Profilers — how is he supposed to react when you are the target that is doomed to die ?

Notes: The original plan was a LOT different than how this is gonna turn out, so consider this as like some background info for the later chapters. Enjoy ! 🫶

Word Count: like 1100 or something close to that

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Three Weeks Ago, 29 January.

Yesterday and the day before, with an abundance of phone calls, meetings, messages, and tears, you were delivered the unfortunate news that you had fourteen days left to live — two weeks. It didn’t seem real, but you were quick to realize just how real it was.

The deal you hadn’t quite agreed to was that you were to free two highly dangerous and hostile prisoners (which, you couldn’t even do, it was beyond your jurisdiction) or you would be killed in two weeks time. Several agents had tried to find the group that planned this, attempted to stop them even, and they were all murdered. Brutally, really, their bodies mutilated in ways you hoped yours wouldn’t be.

So, you had no choice but to accept the fact that death would hold you in its clutches when life could not. Your friends and family didn’t take this well, they all rioted and tried to make it better but somehow, the group was untraceable — the BAU team, the best of the best, couldn’t save you. Aaron was your husband, you’d been married for five years and together for seven, and he couldn’t save you either. This information destroyed him, tore his chest open and gripped his heart like a vice. How does one accept the inevitable death of their lover?

He felt helpless when he realized he couldn’t help you, felt unsure and afraid for the first time in a long time — but he was determined to change your fate. Aaron was always a focused man, his attention rarely strayed from his priorities and he was so put together. It was odd to see him now, on the floor in front of the couch, ankles crossed and elbows resting on them. His hands were running through his dark hair, messy and unruly with stress and his fingers trembling as he occasionally clenched them. Your husband wasn’t the type to sit on the ground and damn-near panic, like he was doing now, face red and the remnants of tears stuck to his beautiful face.

The lights were off and it was dark outside, the only visible glow being emitted from a lamp in the other room, casting an orange-grey shadow on the room and the man it contained. The day had already been long, many tears had been shared and shed throughout the past two days, and you were not exempt from that. In fact, you were nearly drowning in the sheer amount of sadness and fear that coursed through your blood, as though it had entered your lungs in the time it took you to realize this was happening. But you couldn’t help but set your eyes upon Aaron, his casual clothing of a crewneck and jeans, and just how different he appeared now. Everything he stood for felt like it had been crushed in just a few days. You were such a prominent part of his life now, he adored and loved you more than anyone could ever understand, how could he cope with knowing he would lose you when he spent so much time trying to never let you go?

Leaning against the wide, open-formatted archway in the living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to rip your teary eyes away from the nearly crumpled form of your husband. This wasn’t right, you knew that — but you couldn’t let this tear everyone apart from the inside.

“ Aaron, honey? “

You asked softly, sniffling a little as you tried to keep your head level.

“Come here, I think maybe we should go to bed; it’s… been a long day,” you decided, keeping your volume low even as you moved to walk over to him. His head raised, eyes red and a little bloodshot as he took in the sight of you. A short time passed until he was able to stand to his full form, exhausted from work – or, rather, exhausted from trying to find anything that could save you. The taller man merely hummed in response, frowning for a second before wrapping his trembling arms around you, as though he’d never let you go. He didn’t think he should have had to let you go. It was unfair, cruel, irrational.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

You had managed to coax Aaron to bed, and he barely let you go, not even just to change. He hated the sudden attention to detail he had, how he was forced to commit everything about you to memory for you were running on a clock until you were torn away from him. From the world. How would Jack take this? And even worse, how could you tell him that it was inevitable? Nobody understood. It hurt, you almost felt like you had been given up on so fast, as if the FBI had decided they couldn’t even try to save you, as though you weren’t worth the trouble. Maybe you were bitter out of fear, maybe you thought it was unjust.

Your mind wandered everywhere as you lay in his arms, the cold air drifting in from the open window a harsh reality in the safety of Aaron’s hold. “I don’t understand,” he finally spoke, the first words since a mild outburst he’d had this afternoon, emotions at a high at the office. “You don’t understand?” You repeated back to him, confirming. “No,” he began, “I don’t. It’s.. untraceable, I don’t know why I can’t stop this. It’s my job to stop this, sweetheart.” Aaron was shirtless, wearing only flannel pajama pants, legs entangled with your own. You wore a shirt of his, something older; from college, probably. “I.. there’s been four agents dead because of me. There’s more risking their lives. I’ll get everything arranged,” you explained with a slowly breaking voice. Tears welled in your eyes at every blooming thought. You were thirty, barely a real adult but you weren’t lucky enough to live until your next birthday. The lottery of life was not yours to be rewarded. “I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you more, honey.”

Nobody could count just how many times those words had been uttered already, for fear every time would be the last. The feeling that eventually, you would say it once and never say it again. But the clock was ticking everyday, and you couldn’t change that, no matter how much you yearned for just a little more time. With a mind racing a mile a minute, tried to zero in on his heartbeat, not on the tears slowly slipping from your eyes and onto Aaron’s chest.

[samptlay]

♡ ⁠◍⁠• Skin That Cries Golden Tears • Chapter 2 ◍⁠

Chapter 1•🌑

Ah yes. How cliche. Of course, you blackout as soon as you hear the background noises of the tiny mob dying. Everything was too overwhelming at once, you couldn't fight it. You died and suddenly woke up inside a game. Not to mention you still have to process the deep feeling of betrayal left by your ex. But it honestly can't be helped. You have no idea where you'll be when you wake up and just pray it's not a jail cell. You weren't dressed in anything they were used to, you were dressed in a simple black dress that you’re sure didn’t belong in your wardrobe, it definitely wasn’t what you were wearing when you had died but it looked modern. You’re going to half to find a way to play it off, somehow.

When you first felt your body being carried, it was no surprise since it was the only way you’d be…. Well, rescued. That is what happened, right? Surely you didn’t get kidnapped. But judging by the moon being out and the cool air at the time, it couldn’t have been the Knights since all of them must have been asleep or in town based on how dark it was. So who came to your rescue? They had to use Pyro, you knew that, at least.

Red ponytail…. Pyro vision…. Night time….

You can’t possibly be this slow. It’s clearly -

“So you think the Dark-Knight Hero is the one who left her unconscious at our doorstep?” There’s no mistaking it, the owner of that soft-spoken voice was most definitely the Grand Acting Master, Jean. Your eyes were still closed telling by the sunlight hitting your skin, that you most likely spent the night there, or morning. You were completely conscious, but you wanted to know for some reason. Depending on when they noticed you outside. “Yes, there was a letter too but it flew away in the wind before I could bring it here when I picked her up.” And that absolutely had to be Diluc’s voice. Anyone smart enough would be able to tell that it was clearly him who brought you the HQ. However, Jean just sighed with a nod before looking over a particular document at her desk, which actually looked more like some type of scroll in your opinion. She kept looking back and forth between it and you.

“So, unidentified traveler, how long do you plan on faking unconsciousness?” The sudden change in his voice startles you, causing your eyes to blink open fully and take in the frowning tall man who’s crossing his arms while looking down at your figure lying on the bed.

“Oh. Sorry, I was a bit… Half-awake? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, I just-” But your words were interrupted by someone clearing their throat to which both you and Diluc turned to look at the source, Jean, of course. “It’s not that big of a deal, Diluc.” She takes a few steps towards you before raising a hand to your forehead, even moving a little hair out of your eyes. Even with her touching you, she looked somewhat wary and in your opinion, overly spectacle.

“You seem healthy. However, I am curious to know exactly what you were doing in the fields late at night. And you don’t seem like a traveler, with no weapons on you, or resources. And you clearly don’t have a companion, or am I wrong?” You catch the way she wavers in her voice as if she’s conforming to something she doesn’t want to or is even afraid to. It is exactly what she’s doing so you’re confused about why she’s nervous.

“..Yes, I’m alone. I was just… I... I don’t know how I woke up there, to be honest.” Diluc, who you had forgotten was there for a moment lets out something that sounds like a chuckle, but out of disbelief. Jean glances at the desk once more which just makes you want to get up and see what’s there for yourself. She removes her hand from your body before standing up straight up and eyeing you with something you can’t describe. She goes behind her desk and sits down.

“...”

The silence & tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. You suddenly felt the urge to sit down, as if sitting down would prove to turn you too vulnerable. So you get up, quickly. It startled the other people in the room and you swore you saw Diluc reach for his sword when he flinched, and the reaction on your face clearly said it all because he glimpsed over the sword strapped to him before visibly relaxing (at least trying to). 

“This was fun for a little but I think it’s time you c-” The Grand Acting Master is interrupted as the door flies open and you think the temperature gets a little chiller. A certain navy blue man with an eyepatch scurries in, looking like he is searching for something. His eyes scan the room in a flash before landing on you. Something about the eye contact you two made sent a shiver down your spine while his gaze lingered while he turned towards the other two in the room. “Oh! Was I interrupting something? Sorry, sorry. I heard that a particular person had shown up in the middle of nowhere and I just had to see what all the commotion was about…” The deep ocean blue eyes fall on you again. “So this is our guest?” He leans against the door frame for a moment, eyeing you up and down when he decides to stand up straight and walk (more like stride) straight in your direction. 

Real. This is all real and in fact, not some delusional dream. You pray none of them notice the way you hold your breath as he gets closer and closer, stopping at Diluc's distance, only a little closer. You can't stop the words coming out of your mouth. 

“You're-” “Kaeya.” He interrupts confidently, stretching out his hand to you. It's a good thing he said something before you mentioned his name. It would have only made you all the more suspicious. You stare at his hand that's stranded in the air for a few seconds, before he sighs and takes your own with a gentle yet strong grip, pulling it to his lips, and kissing it. A peck. Then he freezes, as if he didn't believe what or why he just did that. It wasn't really visible on his face but you could tell. You can tell a lot about everyone here, actually. And some things tell you it's not just because you know all the lore for every character. It's something you feel from the inside. 

Kaeya graciously lets your arm fall back to your side and you hope there isn’t as much blush on your face as you think there is. “Why don’t I take this fine lady throughout Mondstadt, hm? You two seem like you have more important… things to discuss about whatever just happened, unless..?” He, not aggressively, yanks you up and off what you are sitting on and starts leading you toward the door. He didn’t even wait for the two to reply. Jean gets up from her chair, hands practically slamming on the table as she pins him with a look. “Hold on Kaeya, this is dangerous. We don’t know who this is or where they came from. And here you are trying to show them around? Let them meet civilians? This is all too suspicious. You can’t just-” She shuts her eyes and makes a noise that sounds like something close to a groan. One hand on her hips. “They have to stay here. You know exactly how heavy this situation is.” Diluc, being the man he is, also glares at Kaeya, and you swear you hear a scoff from under his breath.

Kaeya, shockingly, doesn’t look back and continues dragging you along out of the head office. “I’ll bring them back, don’t worry. But I’d like this with this one by myself.” You can hear Jean and Diluc’s complaints rise but you're out of the building by the time you can make out any of their words. 

The two of you venture into the city, and you take a moment to look at everything around you. Wow. It’s much more beautiful and lively since everything is suddenly so…. Realistic. Before waking up here, it was your least favorite nation but you might consider changing your mind. Everything seems so calm and it really is less chaotic than all the other nations. It’s peaceful. “So I assume our city is to your liking? With the way your eyes are practically shining…” Your daydreaming is cut short when Kaeya stands in front of you, arms crossed, hands on his hips, looking amused out of his mind. “Well, it’s not every day you wake up in a whole new world.”

It slipped out, it really did. But you hope he doesn’t take your words literally, and you think he didn’t because he lets out a content chuckle. But then his smile drops. And you’re stuck in place. He slowly makes his way closer, then he grabs both your hands and stares you straight in the eye.

“I don’t think what I’m feeling right now is simply attraction. I have a lot of experience with that, trust me. But with you, there’s a pull. A pull that I can’t ignore. Hah, I wonder if the Red Hawk man feels it… Maybe that’s why he didn’t want you to go.”

You don’t know what to say. You have no idea why this is happening or why you’re here. And is he serious? A pull of some sort? That’s not good. Pulling means attention and that’s the last thing you need right now. Yet the way he looks at you would make anyone think the whole world revolves around you. And as of now, you have nothing. No one knows you or trusts you. You don’t know how to fight, which is very much required to survive in Teyvet. You need friends, allies, and people who are willing to defend you. And you can’t do that while simply touring around Mondstadt.

“Thank you, for this.” You step closer and you know what you want from him, what you need. You need his trust. “All of this is nice, but I’m more curious about you. I think I feel that same pull with you, to be honest. I want to get to know you better. Where do you live around here? I’m curious to see how people here live.” You’re positive you sound genuine and curious. Good. All is needed to win him over.

He looks surprised, then pleased. All before you’re suddenly tucked into his chest… And a sword is against your throat. You gawk at it, squirming. That wasn’t the smartest thing to do, which caused him to press it against your throat even more. “I might be captivated by you, but I’m not as stupid as you think. Now… Why would anyone try and get into someone's home when they’ve barely known that for a couple of hours? Unless, that certain someone has a plan, of course. I took what Master Jean said to heart. For all I know you could be dangerous. I’ve been watching you closely the whole time. It’s as if you’ve never seen something like a regular town. There are even more impressive ones all over Teyvet. You know what that tells me?”

You know exactly what he’s implying and you feel like you could throw up your organs. Were you going to lose your second chance so easily? 

He turns you slightly and you’re finally facing him. Expect all the warmth is gone. His gaze is as cold as his vision and you’re no longer sure if you’ll be able to try and gain him as a companion, let alone civil allies. The sword across your neck is making you start to throb in pain and you’re sure it’s going to leave either a cut or a mark. It hurts.

You can feel Kaeya’s breath against your neck.

“Who are you?” 

Suddenly, there’s a bright flash and you’re temporarily blinded, and Kaeya’s holding his left arm up. You can see some blood seeping through. It looks like it’s the same size as the one he created on your neck. But yours is gone.

He’s breathing heavily, confused. Kaeya’s barely standing on his two feet, he’s dizzy. Even though he just practically attempted on your life, you couldn’t blame him for it. He doesn’t trust others. He can’t, it’s not what he’s here for. You don’t know how you get to him so quickly, throwing one of his arms around your shoulder. He seems to be in a more… fatal condition than you were. It’s like he took your injury, only intensified. You have to get him aid. But then again, if you go to anyone else, there’s a good chance you’ll be locked up. You don’t want to imagine an interrogation right now. So, you look at the poor man in your arms and speak softly. You hope that gets you some points, at least.

“Where do you live, Kaeya?” He barely opens his eyelids, having a look on his face that’s in between exhaustion and uncertainty. You think he’s about to shake his head before he blurts it out, surprising the both of you. Now he’s the one gawking at you since you go in the actually direction of his home. How did you even know your way around? That took away some points, didn’t it?

A/N:

A little over two weeks, my apologies. Time flies, 1.5x longer!! Yippeeeee ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ I'll get to that Masterlist...

Taglist: Sorry if I tagged you twice!

@esthelily @cosmo112 @fantasyhopperhea @ilxina @aloflapse @mayberaspberrywrites @enjoyjellime @vianitry @blipblopblopblip @fuji-sen @leafanonsforest @cchiiwinkle @annexblogs @akemityan

@uhfhfhfhf @xdrin @msun1c0rn @umi-adxhira @lovingnahida @strrawb3rrysh0rtcak3 @ssecylia @skyl8ver @immahuman @meowmeowraven @01234 @markexplanation @esthelily @dawnofazrael @chickenalfredo4life @eccaza @jun-xiu @klemen-time @delulu-val @everi-eve @cluelesstoeverything @strangersomeone @lapinaenmicoche @alwayslegendarymoon @lumiiiiiiiiii @superninjaarbiter @themonsterunderyourbed69

Borders by @cafekitsune

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : A CELEBRATION : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You, a successful skincare entrepreneur, are supported by your loving husband Hugh Jackman and your two kids at a promotional photoshoot. Later, you host a rooftop launch party to celebrate your brand's commercial, with friends like Ryan Reynolds attending. Filled with love, laughter, and pride, the story highlights your achievements and Hugh's unwavering admiration for you as you share the joy of success with your family.

Based on a request.

THE DAY WAS BRIGHT AND BUZZING WITH ENERGY AS YOU STEPPED INTO THE SLEEK, modern studio where your photoshoot was set to take place. Your skincare line had exploded in popularity over the last year, and this shoot was a major milestone. As you entered, the familiar hum of cameras, makeup artists, and stylists filled the air, and your excitement mirrored the energy in the room.

Hugh walked in right behind you, holding the hands of your two kids, their wide eyes taking in the vibrant scene. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a dark button-down shirt, looking every bit the supportive husband with a proud smile plastered across his face. Your kids—an adventurous five-year-old boy and a curious eight-year-old girl—were equally excited, bouncing on their feet as they looked around at all the equipment and lights.

"Look at this place, Mom!" your daughter said in awe. “It’s like we’re in a movie!”

Hugh chuckled softly, watching her enthusiasm. “You know your mom is a star, right? She’s not just in a movie; she’s the leading lady.”

You smiled at them, adjusting your outfit and taking a deep breath. Today was a big day, but having Hugh and the kids here made it all feel easier, more grounded. They were your biggest supporters, and their love and enthusiasm were the fuel that kept you going.

As you were guided toward the makeup station, Hugh leaned in to kiss your cheek softly. “You look stunning already,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and full of warmth. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep the kids entertained while you work your magic.”

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” you replied, squeezing his hand. His eyes sparkled with love and pride, and for a moment, the bustle of the studio faded away as the two of you shared a quiet moment.

~

The photoshoot went seamlessly. You felt confident and radiant as the photographer snapped away, directing you with ease. Every now and then, you caught a glimpse of Hugh and the kids in the background. They were lounging on a plush couch, Hugh holding your son as he animatedly pointed out the cool lights and equipment. Your daughter was mesmerized, her little hands cupped around her face as she watched you pose.

“You’re doing amazing, babe!” Hugh called out, offering you a thumbs-up with that signature grin of his.

During a break, you walked over to them, your heels clicking against the polished floor. Your daughter ran to you first, hugging you around the waist.

“You look so beautiful, Mom! I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you crouched down to her level, brushing a stray curl from her face. “You already are like me, sweetheart. You’re smart, creative, and beautiful, inside and out.”

Hugh ruffled your son’s hair. “She’s right, you know. Both of you have got a bit of your mom’s magic.”

A small, contented laugh escaped your lips. The love you shared as a family felt like an unshakable foundation, one that had carried you through the highs and lows of launching your business. And here you were, on the brink of even more success, with them by your side.

~

The evening of your launch party had finally arrived. The event was being held at a luxurious rooftop venue, with sweeping views of the city skyline and an intimate, festive atmosphere that felt like the perfect way to celebrate the next chapter of your skincare brand.

Hugh stood beside you as you surveyed the space, your fingers intertwined. He looked effortlessly handsome in a sharp suit, the very picture of a supportive, loving husband. Your kids were running around with their friends, laughing and enjoying the festivities. The rooftop was elegantly decorated, with soft lighting, floral arrangements, and tables laden with food and drinks, including your very own line of skincare products on display.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you whispered to Hugh as you gazed at the bustling room. Friends, colleagues, and even a few celebrities had shown up to support you, making it feel like a dream.

Hugh kissed your temple, holding you close. “Believe it, love. You’ve earned every bit of this. I’m so proud of you.”

Just then, you heard a familiar voice calling out. “Oi! Where’s the star of the night?”

You turned to see Ryan Reynolds walking toward you, a grin plastered across his face, arms wide as if he were about to make a grand speech. As usual, his entrance was full of energy, and he didn’t waste a second before pulling you into a friendly hug.

“Ryan!” you laughed, returning the embrace. “You made it!”

“Of course, I did. There’s no way I’d miss celebrating your big night,” Ryan said, pulling back to glance at Hugh. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Hugh would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t show up.”

Hugh smirked, crossing his arms. “You’re right about that.”

Ryan turned back to you, his playful grin in full force. “Seriously though, congratulations. I’m going to buy so much of this skincare stuff that people will start mistaking me for Hugh. Just you watch.”

Hugh groaned, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t. One of me is more than enough for the world.”

Everyone laughed, the banter light and familiar. It was moments like these—surrounded by friends and family—that made all the hard work feel worth it.

As the night progressed, speeches were made, drinks were raised, and the rooftop was filled with laughter and joy. Hugh rarely left your side, his arm draped protectively around your waist, his presence a steadying force amid the celebratory chaos.

When it was finally time to unveil the official commercial for your skincare brand, the entire crowd gathered around the large projector screen. Your heart raced with anticipation, and you felt Hugh’s hand squeeze yours as the video began to play.

The commercial was stunning—a perfect representation of everything you had worked so hard to build. It showcased the elegance, simplicity, and natural beauty of your products, and when it ended, the crowd erupted in applause. Hugh leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips amidst the cheers.

“You did it,” he whispered, his voice full of awe. “This is just the beginning.”

You smiled against his lips, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around you like a blanket. “We did it,” you corrected softly. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. “You’re incredible. Don’t ever forget that.”

Just as you were about to respond, your daughter came running up, dragging your son behind her. “Mom, Dad! Did you see how cool that was? Everyone loves your commercial!”

You scooped her up into your arms, feeling the love and pride radiating from every direction. Hugh placed a hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into the family embrace as the four of you stood there, soaking in the moment.

It wasn’t just about the success of your business or the adoration of your friends and peers—it was about the love and support of your family, who had been there every step of the way.

As the party continued into the night, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. Surrounded by your loved ones, with Hugh’s arms wrapped around you and your children beaming with pride, you knew that this was the start of something even more beautiful. Not just for your company, but for the life you were building together—full of love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

🏷️: @oatmilkriver @khxna @haytchee @kellyxo1

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter III: Dreams 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: You miss Aemond, yet you can’t stand to be near him. Will performing a new song about your separation make you feel better?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, fighting, smut, oral (f receiving), spanking, thigh riding, P in V, thumb in bum, spit kink, degradation

Word count: 5750 A/N: Thank you always my love @theoneeyedprince ♡

“This is the third day in a row that guy comes in here, orders a coffee, and pretends to work on his laptop as he stares at you”, Alysanne whispers in your ear and points to the silver haired man sitting in the back corner of the campus coffee shop. 

He’s clad entirely in black, and his long hair is neatly tied in a low bun at the base of his neck. 

“You should go talk to him!”, she urges with a gentle push on your shoulder. 

“What? No. He’s not been staring at me”, you shut her nonsense down, slightly embarrassed by your friend's pushiness. Alysanne is such a hopeless romantic; always convinced that the love of your life’s lurking around the next corner, constantly looking for a ‘meet cute’ to thrust you into. 

“Oh, come on! He’s definitely been checking you out! Maybe he’s just shy?”, she argues, staring at the stranger unabashedly as he sips his coffee. Her lack of discretion fuels the nerves bubbling inside you, eager to end this embarrassing conversation as soon as possible. 

“Aly, please. A guy like that doesn’t get shy. Typical rich fuckboy”

He certainly is good-looking, and probably knows it as well, dark designer clothes a stark contrast to the surrounding patron’s jeans and sweatshirts. He looks to be around your age, a student as well, you’d guess. 

Alysanne hums in response, moves to stand by the display of sweets by the register, and places a cinnamon bun on one of the small dishes stacked on the counter. 

Before your protests stop her, she walks towards where the stranger is sitting, a wide smile plastered on her face, 

“Hi there! My lovely friend and coworker over there made these earlier today. Would you like one?” 

Her voice is unnaturally cheery as she places the dish on the table next to the stranger's laptop. 

He looks up, nods stiffly in confirmation, and quietly mumbles a “thank you” before quickly returning to type on the keyboard, eyes again on the screen. 

“Would you like to talk to her? I can ask her to come over here”, Alysanne offers, voice still upbeat, so energetic it nearly comes across as intrusive.   

The stranger seems slightly thrown off by her forwardness. He looks up at her in surprise, but stays silent. 

To anyone else, his stoicism and unfriendly demeanour would be enough reason to leave him be. But not Alysanne, who turns around to catch your eye and gesticulates for you to come over with an exaggerated wave of her hand. 

From behind the register, you’d watched the scene unfold in horror, certain that your friend would embarrass you to the point where ‘rich fuckboy’ would tell everyone on campus about what a freak you are. 

You slowly make your way over, eyes boring holes into Alysanne as you force yourself to smile, dreading the inevitable faked  niceties you’ll have to exchange with the strange, silver-haired man. 

His face is even prettier up-close. 

High cheekbones, strong jawline, sharp nose, beautiful eye- 

Your gaze stops at his left eye. The baby blue iris is covered by a thin mist of white, and a red, angry scar slashes through the socket, starting at his forehead and ending at cheekbone. 

“Hope you like it”, you blurt out, trying to grab Alysanne’s hand and tug her away from the unbelievably awkward interaction. She’s still smiling, dodging your hand while her attention stays on the stranger in front of you, 

“Would you like her number?”

Alysanne persistence causes dread to pool in your gut. God, she could be so forward it was disturbing; completely ignoring what you thought to be common social decency. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as the stranger hums at your friend’s question, 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the open mic last week. Did you write that song?” 

“‘Planets of the Universe’? Um, yes, but it’s not really finished, um, I mean, I just sang it for fun, I was kinda drunk last Friday..”

Your babbling reflects how the stranger makes you feel; nervous and unsure. His face is impassive, and his tone so unemotional it borders on stern. 

You only performed that silly song because your friends were pushy and you were buzzing on way too many margaritas. Why does he care about who wrote it? 

“You’re not a guitarist, I assume?”, he asks and you notice the corners of his lips briefly turn upwards, as if to prevent a smile from breaking out. 

God, the audacity of this rich fuckboy. 

“No, but like I said, it was just for fun”, you bite back. 

You don’t care for his condescending tone, or his efforts to make you feel bad about your sub-par guitar skills. Does he not understand what ‘just for fun’ means? 

The stranger’s gaze is still locked on you as he hums in response. He stares with an intensity that leaves you feeling even more unsettled. 

“You’ve got a very unique voice” 

The unexpected compliment takes you by surprise, and a warmth spreads over your face; heating up your cheeks. 

“My siblings and I play a bit of music on the side, for fun” he says with an emphasis on the last part, mimicking you, “I think your voice would go well with the sound we’re trying to create”

He sounds very matter-of-fact, like he’s offering you a business proposal. You notice something shine in his intense gaze; something inviting that makes it hard for you to concentrate on what he says. 

“The song you performed has great potential, with a proper guitarist backing you up, that is. If you’re interested, we’re meeting up tomorrow night” 

You’re briefly lost for words, not expecting him to be so forward. Alysanne is practically vibrating with excitement next to you, glancing over at you with a wide smile and big, expectant eyes. 

“Sure, I’ll stop by after work” 

Your infatuation with Aemond started slow. 

Essentially, it was the small things he did that pushed you to the realisation that he isn’t just some ‘rick fuckboy’, but a quite caring and sensitive man. Albeit with a layer of stoicism obscuring his more tender side. 

Things like him insisting that he needs to walk you home after band practice, even if it’s still bright outside. Or him picking you up in his car when it rains, so you ‘don’t catch a cold’. Or him offering to help you with coursework, surprising you with detailed, hand-written notes tucked in between the pages of your textbook. 

Aemond is caring in such a genuine way, always asking you how your studies are going, how work at the campus cafe is like, if you’d eaten anything. Always straight-to-the-point. And when you answer, he listens to you with such intensity, you’d think whatever comes out of your mouth is of grave importance. For the most part, it’s not. 

You soon find yourself looking forward to seeing him, heart skipping a beat every time he picks you up after you've finished your shift at the cafe. He always waited outside of the cafe, observing you tidying up through the shop window with a cigarette glowing between his fingers. 

When he asks you one day if you’d like to grab dinner after practice, you eagerly accept his invitation, trying your hardest to hide the excitement you feel as he says a quick goodbye to his brother and sister before leading you out of the studio you used for practice. 

It’s not a date, not really, yet when you sit next to Aemond in that dimly lit booth at the rather posh Yi-Ti-inspired restaurant he’d picked, it sure feels like one. 

That night, after sharing a bottle of wine, your face is warm and you’re filled with alcohol-infused confidence. As you talk animatedly about your favourite musician, Aemond regards you with a small smile playing on his lips, eyes intensely meeting yours to take in all your telling him. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, and though it is chaste and unplanned; a result of your slight intoxication, you feel mortified as you pull back, ready to apologise for placing your lips on his without consent. Before you have a chance, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls your face back towards his, kissing you passionately, though his lips are soft and gentle. 

As you pull away, eyes still closed and mind lost in the bliss of your first kiss, you hear Aemond murmur a quiet “finally”. 

As a partner, Aemond seems to study you just as diligently as he studies everything else. 

He quickly picks up on your favourite things.  

If you’d been admiring a particular flower when you passed by the flower shop on your way to campus, you’d later find a bouquet waiting for you at home. When you went to museums and exhibitions together, he’d lean in next to you, one hand gently on your waist and soft lips right by your ear, and tell you everything he knew about the artist or artwork in front of you. Later, he’d buy you postcards of the paintings you’d shown particular fascination with, so you could decorate your bedroom wall with them. 

Though he claimed that his knowledge of the arts simply stemmed from being a history major, explaining that “art is one of the greatest insights we have to previous decades”, you have a strong suspicion he actually knows so much because there’s a secret love for the arts tucked away inside him, where he keeps the more sensitive parts of his soul. 

Sometimes you’re privy to that too. 

Like the time he wanted to take you out to a fancy restaurant downtown to celebrate your six month anniversary. Being a student, you didn’t really have money to spend on anything besides rent and food, meaning that you hadn’t been able to reciprocate the lovely gifts Aemond had given you since you first got together. 

Determined to give him something meaningful, you purchase a small frame from the local charity shop, print out some pictures you’d taken together from the university library, and put together a little collage of your time as a couple. 

You include a message on the back of it, thanking him for everything he’s done for you; for being such a caring boyfriend. 

As you timidly hand him your homemade gift at the luxurious restaurant, you feel a storm of unease swirl within you, suddenly overcome with embarrassment that you couldn’t get him anything nicer. 

Aemond’s eyes light up in a way you’d hardly seen before. 

He turns the gift over in his hand, admiring the photo collage and reading the little message on the back. 

Grabbing your hand, he looks into your eyes and says a quiet “thank you”, and the gravity and sincerity of his voice lets you know that he appreciates the simple gift more than he can put into words. 

The coming week you stick to the same set list; kicking off each performance with ‘The Chain’ and finishing with ‘Go Your Own Way’. You’d like to pretend that the performances got easier as time went on, but that would be a lie. 

Each night, you’re forced to sing Aemond’s self-pitying words; ‘if I could, I’d give you my world’. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes each time. What made him incapable of ‘giving you his world’ when you were married? He made it sound like he had no part in your divorce; like all he did was try and love you while you broke his heart. 

Fuck that. 

He broke your heart. And he kept breaking it. Every fucking night he made you sing his martyr complex bullshit. 

It wasn’t anything new, not really. This is how it so often went when you fought as a married couple, it had just taken a new form. The bones of it are the same; Aemond is upset and shuts you out, you try to reason with him and get burnt. 

There’s something about his attitude when you find yourselves in a fight. He could turn so condescending, berating you for your emotions. Like he’s better than you for not letting them get the best of him; for not shouting or crying. 

He thinks showing that something hurts him is a sign of weakness. That he’s too smart to let his insecurities and doubts overtake his senses. So he can pretend he doesn’t feel such unbecoming emotions. 

Even when they prove too strong to push down. 

Aemond has been quiet for the entire trip back home, jaw shut tight and eyes refusing to meet yours. 

You know something’s off in the way his usual stoicism doesn’t feel natural, but forced. He’s holding something back, keeping something from you, and you can’t figure it out for the life of you. 

As you enter your flat, he finally breaks the silence. 

“Did you like that?”

His voice is colder than you’re used to. You recognise the tone though, from when he’s had enough of Aegon’s endless shenanigans. 

You step out of your heels and turn around to face him, “Like what? The party?”

His face is set in a frown and he irritably clicks his tongue at your obliviousness, 

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb” 

You really have no idea what could’ve prompted his sour mood, so you stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. You don’t feel like playing these games with him; they won’t lead anywhere. 

If he’d just tell you what made him upset, you could solve the issue and move on.  

He sighs at the lack of answer, “You liked all that attention, didn’t you?”  

Oh. 

He’s jealous. 

“Oh come on, Aemond, this is great for the band! We’re getting recognition! We’re recording our first album!”

You don’t want him to rob you off the excitement you’d felt today, talking to one of Westeros biggest record labels and finally getting the recognition you’d worked so hard for. 

He turns to face you, features still stern as he backs you into the wall, 

“But did you like it? The way that guy from the record label was eyeing you?”, he asks again. 

You know Aemond has a tendency to get protective of you; fussing over you and insisting that you listen to him. And when he’s caring, and when you feel anxious, it feels comforting to have someone protect you so fiercely. But you’re not a child, and he doesn’t have to treat you as one. 

“Why would I like it?”

Your challenge makes him move closer. You see the way his pupil is blown wide, the heat in his gaze radiating off him. 

“I think you did. I think you enjoy the attention”

It’s almost laughable; the fact that Aemond Targaryen, undoubtedly one of the most alluring people you’ve ever met, feels threatened by some sleazy guy from a record label. How could he think some guy flirting with you would affect your affection for him even in the slightest? 

Still, there’s something intriguing about the dark look in his eye. It’s so passionate; the way he observes you. Like he wants to devour you. Punish you. Claim you. 

It sparks something alight inside you. You want to match his fire.  

“Maybe I did”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a smirk from breaking out. Will he fall for the provocation? 

Aemond’s eyes narrow. They travel from your face down to your body, and his arms come up to cage you against the wall of your hallway, 

“You like tormenting me, is that it?”, he asks lowly and presses the tip of his nose to the side of your face, trailing it down your cheek. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, lowering your lips to press kisses onto his neck, 

“Yes”, you say against his skin, a light chuckle escaping your lips. 

It’s almost cute when he gets like this, and so flattering in the most twisted way. He’s just as enchanted by you as you are by him. 

He startles you by pulling away, grabbing you by your waist and flipping your body so you’re suddenly facing the wall. 

He rucks up the short skirt of your cocktail dress with much more force than necessary and a firm smack lands on your ass. The sudden sting of pain makes you inhale sharply and you feel your pulse elevate with excitement.  

Behind you, Aemond drops to his knees, kisses your stinging backside, and pulls at the flimsy material of your thong until it tears in two, falling to the floor. 

His insatiable display causes desire to pulse within you; an ache that nestles itself between your thighs and beats as fast as your heart. 

Pushing on your lower back, he urges you to lean forward as he continues to soothe the aching flesh of your ass with sweet kisses. 

The chill air of the room feels strange against your hot, wet cunt, and you wish he’d touch you in the place you needed him most. The place that painfully pounds with want for him. 

As if he could read your mind, Aemond grabs the front of your thighs with his large, warm hands and he presses his face against your exposed cunt, unwilling to waste any more time as he swipes his tongue over your swollen clit. 

You moan in gratitude and your forehead falls to make contact with the wall in front of you, the sweat of your forehead sticking to the cool surface. 

He knows exactly how to work you; how to make you squirm and tense up and reach your peak in no time. 

With each movement of his tongue against your clit, you feel your peak grow closer; an embarrassingly fast release only your beloved could elicit. 

As you lose yourself in the pleasure, and your hips begin to move in tandem with Aemond’s tongue, his debauched kisses lessen, and he pulls away from your cunt, wiping his sticky face against the back of your thigh. 

You let out a frustrated whine, turn around to face him, and look down at him, still on his knees. 

“That’s just cruel, Aemond”

He looks so beautiful kneeling in front of you, long hair dishevelled and cheeks flustered pink. 

“Maybe I like tormenting you as well”

He still has that darkness dancing in his eyes, but now accompanied by the playful grin that’s spreading across his face. He stands, leans in so closely your body gets pushed against the wall behind you, and places one of his legs between your naked thighs, 

“Beg me to fuck you”

He rocks his jeans-clad thigh against your exposed core as he makes his demand; blue colour quickly darkening from the stain of your arousal. 

You throw your head back and moan at the pleasurable friction, the harshness of the fabric providing wonderful relief to your aching clit. Your hips quickly meet the rhythm of his thigh, and when he lowers his face to bite at your nipple through the thin material of your dress, you feel your previously denied release approach once more. 

You move yourself more forcefully against his thigh, and as your movements turn sloppy from pleasure tightening inside you, he pulls away yet again.  

You know you look like a mess with your hair frizzy from the friction of the wall, spit covering the fabric over your nipple, and the lower part of your body fully exposed; inner thighs sticky from arousal. 

“Aemond, please”, you whine as he straightens up, face wholly entertained by your miserable state. 

“Beg me to fuck you”, he repeats, this time slower and with emphasis on each word. 

You bite your lip and look at him. You can see the hardness of his cock straining against his jeans, but you know he’ll never relent; never give you what you want until you give him what he wants. 

“Please”, you plead, hands moving forward his zipper to undo his trousers. 

He tuts and slaps your hands away, 

“Beg”, he repeats, face returning to its previous, stern expression. 

You’d like to think you’re as good as him at playing these games. But you’re not. You don’t have the patience. 

“Please fuck me Aemond. Please make me come, please make me feel good, please stretch me out on your cock, please-” 

Your pathetic surrender is cut off by his lips on yours, kissing you passionately, stealing your breath. 

Pulling down his zipper, he takes his length in hand; rock hard and glistening with arousal. He pushes your body up against the wall and you quickly catch on, wrapping your legs around him as he enters you in one swift motion. 

“Fuck! Thank you!”, you cry out when he finally gives you what you want, and an amused snort espaces his nose. 

Aemond wastes no time in ravishing you and sets a brutal pace, pelvis repeatedly hitting your clit as his cock hits your g-spot. You’re unable to do much more than to just take it; take the mind-numbing pleasure he’s forcing upon you. 

For the third time, your peak is within reach, so close your cunt starts to tighten around Aemond’s cock. To your dismay, his pace slows, and you’re back to begging,  

“Please, I’m so close. Please let me come Aemond”

He pulls out, smiles at the devastated frown on your face, and turns you around once more. 

This time, he presses your body against the small side table by the front door, pushing his hand on the back of your head so that the side of your face makes contact with the wooden surface, ass prettily propped up and glistening entrance waiting for him. 

He presses the slick tip of his cock against your leaking hole, and pauses without entering. His large form looms over you as his hand reaches for your face, thumb stroking your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth, 

“Who do you belong to?”

His voice is lower, and calmer, than before. You look up at him; at his lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips. 

You. Always you.

“You” 

Aemond’s thumb is still on your lower lip. He leans down and pushes his length fully into you again, making you let out a cry in blissful relief. 

God it feels so good. 

You see him purse his lips together, spit collecting between them, and he slowly lets it drip down to where his thumb is. 

Onto your lower lip, your tongue, your teeth. 

He smears his spit around your lips and tongue with his thumb, pace of his hips picking up to thrust into you harder. The table beneath you rocks against the wall aggressively loud. 

“Would you let anyone else fuck you like this?”, he asks, trailing his spit-soaked thumb down your body, stopping between your asscheeks to push at your puckered hole. “Never”, you assure, moaning as he pushes his thumb in, never ceasing the pace he’s set as he fucks you on the table. “Didn’t think so. You’re my little slut. Mine. No one else will ever see you as fucking cockdrunk as I do”

Maybe it’s the heat of his tone. The dark, possessive passion that excites you, even in its volatility. 

Maybe it’s the way he knows your body. How he can turn you into a begging, pathetic mess by the briefest of touches. 

It’s hard to decipher what makes your orgasm feel so utterly consuming, but when it hits, and your body shakes from the force of it, you know that no one else will ever have this effect on you. 

You. Always you.

You’ve made it a habit to go back to your hotel room between the sound check and the show, not able to bear spending more time around Aemond than absolutely necessary. 

Both of you had tried to keep up with the cordial act, but even Erryk had started to catch on to how forced each of your interactions felt. Whenever you or Aemond addressed the other, everyone around you tense up and the air feels thick; like you’re all just waiting for what’s bubbling beneath the surface to finally erupt. 

Tonight, as you’re getting ready for the tour’s fifth stop in White Harbor, no amount of breathing exercises seem to lessen your nerves, making your hands clammy and heart flimmer in anxious anticipation. 

You’re finally going to perform one of your new songs for Rumours. 

What if the fans hate it? 

Writing has helped you deal with the aftermath of your separation; a tedious effort to make the painful end of your relationship into something meaningful. A song about lost love. 

What if it sounds awful live? 

Recording separately means that this will be the first time the band actually plays the song, as opposed to each member recording their own part in solitude. 

The song sounded good in post-production. It’ll sound great live too.

You try to repeat the comforting phrase to yourself as you spot Aemond and Alys in your peripheral vision; her arms around his neck, his lips coming down to brush against her cheek. 

You don’t know if you’d rather barf or cry at the display, but when Aemond’s seeing eye briefly searches for yours, your stomach turns in disgust.

The intro of your new song starts to play; upbeat drums accompanied by a melancholic guitar melody. Aemond plays it flawlessly, just like you knew he would.

This is it. Your time to shine; to actualise the pain that’s been wearing you down for the past months. To make it into something that means something. 

Your music.

‘Now there you go again, you say, you want your freedom’

‘Well who am I to keep you down?’ 

You don’t want to look at Aemond, don’t want to mimic the staring contest he challenges you to each time he sings ‘The Chain’ or ‘Go Your Own Way’. 

You’re not doing this for him, you’re doing this for yourself. To make sense of the suffering he’s caused you. You’re doing it for the fans; all those who can resonate with what you’re singing.

‘But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness’

‘Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Oh but gods, do you want to throw him a quick glance though. 

See hurt in his eye. 

See his jaw tick in anger at your words. 

‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’ 

‘Players only love you when they’re playing’ 

Now you understand why he wanted you to do backup vocals on his new songs. You feel so powerful as you make him sing your lyrics, a sudden rush of hubris getting the best of you as you steal a glance of him.

‘They say women, they will come and they will go’

‘When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know’ 

You’re disappointed to find him in his usual state, stoic face turned away from you.

The recent rage-filled, passionate tone his voice had adopted is gone. He sounds just as calm and precise as he usually does. 

‘Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision’

‘I keep my visions to myself’

‘It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams’

‘Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?’

‘Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad’

‘In the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Like the previous nights, you’re in a rush to get back to your hotel room as soon as the show ends. 

As are your bandmates; no one really enjoys the tension that seems to be a permanent feature whenever you are all in the same room. 

As you’re about to jump into a taxi with Helaena outside of the venue, you realise that you forgot the tote bag you keep your notebooks and music sheets in backstage. You tell her to go ahead and quickly make your way back to retrieve your forgotten bag. 

A security guard lets you back in and you spot your tote immediately, laying on one of the many cheap fold-out tables lining the walls of the room. As you make your way towards it, you hear someone clear their throat in the other corner of the room. 

You’ve no idea what he wants, but you turn around in an instance, leaving your bag on the table. 

Aemond is sitting by himself in a dark corner of the large room, stomping out a cigarette onto the silver ashtray he's holding in his left hand. He places it on the ground and leans back in his seat, 

“I never said that, you know”. 

His voice is low. He sounds tired. 

“Said what?”

You’re still sadistically disappointed by the fact that he’d acted so indifferent during your performance of ‘Dreams’, and it reflects in your voice. He has a talent of bringing it out of you.

“I never said ‘women come and go’, or whatever. The reporter said it” 

His voice grows more irksome with each word, matching yours. 

Sure, he hadn’t said it. But he might as well have. 

“Whatever, Aemond”, you sigh, too tired to engage in pointless discussion with him. You turn to leave, reaching for your bag, but he stops you once again,  

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t perform that song again”.

You let out a startled, joy-less laugh at his audacity, “Too bad”

“Then change the lyrics. It’s obviously about our… relationship” 

You can sense strain in his voice. He’s holding something back.

Maybe you finally got to him.

“So are your new songs”, you counter. 

He is such a hypocrite, it’s almost laughable. An unbecoming characteristic of his that reared its ugly head more frequently as your relationship got worse. 

“I never say they are though. You’re quoting me, hard to assume it could be about anyone else”

His voice is low and dark, you have to focus to properly hear him. 

“Thought you didn’t say that?”

You have to bite the inside of your lower lip to keep yourself from grinning as you add, 

“Maybe the song is about the reporter?” 

The provocation works. Aemond swiftly stands up, seeing eye dark and threatening as his voice grows louder, 

“My songs aren’t filled with blatant lies, you’re calling me names and shit” 

His nostrils are flaring as he breathes heavily, hand flexing in an attempt to stifle his rage. 

You’d got to him. 

“You can’t be for real, Aemond! Every fucking time you perform your new songs you're staring at me on stage, singing about how I can ‘go my own, lonely way’! You have no right dictating what I write or how I express myself”. 

He’d gotten to you too. You can’t hide your irritation any longer, a whole week being in his insufferable presence proving to be too much.  

It’s his turn to throw a condescending laugh your way. 

“Well, you’re the one who kept going on about how lonely you were”

Back when you were still together, when the fights had became a permanent, unavoidable recurrence, you had accused Aemond of never truly letting you in, leaving you feeling lonely in your relationship. 

But there’s a difference between feeling disconnected from your partner, and being unable to be on your own. 

“You couldn’t be alone for a second, Aemond, that’s how fucking lonely you are. How long did it take you to hook up with Alys? 3 days!?”

“Because you left me!”, he shouts back. 

And there it is; the anger that he pretends he doesn't have within himself. The ugly, raw emotion he thinks he’s too good to let overtake his senses. 

His voice isn’t cold anymore. 

His face isn’t indifferent. 

His eyes shine with heartbreak, but so do yours. 

“You chased me away with your fucking obsessive behaviour! You deserved to be left!” 

Sometimes when you fought when you were married, you’d hold yourself back, still trying to protect Aemond’s feelings to some degree by not purposefully hurting him just because you were angry. 

Not anymore. 

He grimaces slightly at your words and you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

He deserves it. 

You can’t bear to look at him, and you can’t hear anything either, heartbeat thumping in your ears so loudly it’s giving you a headache. 

If you stay, and see that the fire in his eye has been extinguished by regret, you might cave in. 

You can’t. 

So you turn around, grab your bag in a haste and storm out of the door, rushing to get hold of a taxi on the busy street by the venue. 

You hold it together in the car ride to the hotel. You thank the driver and offer him a tip, you enter the building and go to the elevator, smile at an elderly couple who engage you in some polite smalltalk about the weather. 

It’s not until you enter your hotel room and lock the door behind you that you allow the tears to fall. 

They seem endless, and all you want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. 

Seeing the empty space, the empty bed, makes you feel so lonely a stinging pain goes through your chest. You're pulled back to the memories of living with Aemond, coming back home to him; sleeping in the same bed as him. 

You miss him so much it hurts. Not the person you’d just had a fight with backstage. You miss the Aemond he was before; your Aemond. 

You think about the Aemond in the museum, who’d tell you about the history of the Water Gardens and Prince Maron Martell.

You think about the Aemond that kissed your forehead before each show. 

You think about the Aemond that loved you. 

You go to your closet, stretch your arm all the way to the back, and search for what you know to be there. Your hand finds the soft sweatshirt and you pull it out from the dark corners of your hotel room closet, quickly pulling off all of your clothes until you’re standing in nothing but your underwear. 

Aemond’s uni hoodie still smells like him. You cry harder, uglier, as you put it on, burying your nose in the fabric and inhaling deeply. 

Maybe the Aemond you miss still exists in your dreams. 

You get under the duvet, nose still nuzzled in the soft fabric and body shaking from the violent sobs leaving your body, and fall asleep.

A/N: Before you ask, no. She doesn’t know if Aemond met Alys exactly three days after their separation. She’s exaggerating for emphasis, as one often does when fighting. The point is that he “moved on” suspiciously fast.

Planets of the Universe is a demo song that never made it onto Rumours, but it so good; very raw and real. TY for reading 🩵

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 21

WARNINGS: mention of food/eating, swearing

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 3,573

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 2

A/N: i was going to make this a super duper long chapter but i think i'll also split this into 2

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©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

“Thank you so much,” you say. You take the drink carrier that one of the hotel staff members found and place the coffees you made for you and Wonseok inside. You make sure to carefully wrap up the Danish you grabbed earlier tightly with a napkin before putting it in your bag to prevent crumbs from getting everywhere.

It’s early. Not as early as it normally is when you go down to the complimentary breakfast at whichever hotel you’re at, but early enough for most of the good food to still be available. Luckily for you, most of the people staying at the hotel are still asleep or are already exploring the city, leaving practically no lines and making it easy for you to get what you need.

“Y/n, noona?”

You freeze at the familiar voice calling for you. You know it’s Changbin, you can recognize his voice anywhere especially when he’s trying to be quiet. Even more so when he’s calling for you. He’s developed a habit of calling your name as gently as someone would carry a newborn baby followed by ‘noona’ after a brief pause so short that anyone else would miss it.

Uncertainty laces his voice like he’s not sure it’s actually you. You think for a moment. Maybe if you pretend you heard your phone and keep walking out, then you’d be fine. You know the members tend to roam the hotel and go to the complimentary breakfast on their own. Or at least, without a member of their staff. The hotel has a lot more privacy than any restaurant they might try to go to. And if anything, the hotels are committed to keeping their complimentary breakfast exclusive to the guests so it's a bit safer for them to go off on their own without worrying about running into fans or cameras as much.

"It is you, noona," His voice is closer now, a bit more hushed. A sense of relief in his voice. "Do you want to join me for breakfast?"

You turn to Changbin, a soft smile spreads across your face at the sight of him. His hair is mostly hidden under a black beanie but you can still see some of the soft black tuffs poking out in the back. In his slightly oversized white t-shirt, distressed baggy blue jeans, and plain white sneakers he blends in with the crowd of people inside the dining area. Virtually undetectable to the public but you still can’t shake the nagging feeling at the back of your mind telling you to leave.

“You know the rules,” You remind him gently. “Besides, I’m heading out to meet with one of my best friends from back home.”

"Oh," It's subtle, but Changbin's lower lip juts out as he turns away.

It was one thing when Changbin hated you and actively tried to avoid you. It stung at first and made your job difficult when it came to the interview portion of your day. It was another when the two of you became civil. He wouldn't seek you out as much as the other members did. He'd mostly show up when one of the other members did and would engage in small conversation. But after your little mental breakdown at the start of the second tour, you've met an entirely different Changbin--the most frustrating version of him yet.

The one that pities you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, bringing you back to your previous task of meeting with Wonseok. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the show tomorrow,”

“Right,” Changbin nods slowly. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You know that half of the members have schedules today. You also know that Changbin hates being stuck in the hotel room. You thought that it was something that he said as an exaggeration in an interview. But you've spent enough time with him during the tour to know that he usually would tag along with one of the other members if they were doing something so that he wouldn't be bored. But Han wasn't feeling too well after your exploration day with him and Seungmin for the "Summer A Stay" project. Minho will probably stay the day to take care of him while Hyunjin might sleep in until mid-day. Which means that by the time he wakes up, most of the day might be gone. And even if Hyunjin is ready to go out later or any of the boys who are currently working are ready to go out, Changbin is still going to be bored for several hours.

You give Changbin one more glance before you head to the front of the hotel to wait for a taxi.

"Aren't gallery openings more of an evening thing?" You ask after taking a sip of the apple cider.

"The events that I normally take you and Frankie to are," Wonseok puts a cracker with a piece of cheese in your mouth. He filled up his plate full of hors d'oeuvres enough for the two of you since you can't hold both a plate and a cup with your broken arm. "But this one is for up-and-coming artists and this is a sort of soft launch. Only the press and invited guests are allowed today. Tickets sold out for the next few months for the main event so they added today to lessen the traffic."

The two of you stand in the middle of the gallery in front of an oil painting of a large tree where the roots are sprouting from a skeleton, directly from the heart by an artist whose name you’re not even going to try to sound out, even in your head. It’s a grim painting with a message a bit too morose for you and Wonseok to be taking a snack break in front of, but it’s also the least crowded area of the gallery for now.

Your eyes focus on the child playing near the tree in the painting. “Is this the type of gallery where people can buy art or just look at it?”

“Looking to add some life to your apartment?” Wonseok smirks. Your apartment back in Seoul hardly looks lived in. You only decided to get some plants after Frankie commented on it looking like a jail cell.

You hold back hitting him playfully, not that you have an available hand to do so, and instead roll your eyes at him. “You know for a fact that I couldn’t even afford an art print right now.”

“Which is exactly why I’m paying for everything today.”

“I’ll pay you back when I get paid. I’ve had a lot of free time so I did a bunch of album reviews and introspective pieces for rookie groups. Plus I get royalties from my stuff on the company website.”

“Pretty sure that’s supposed to be resting time so you can heal,” Wonseok takes a sip of his drink, also apple cider, and slightly shakes his head in disapproval.

“I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I’m dead. For now, I need to focus on the present and I’d love to have a place to come home to once the tour is over. Can’t do that if I get evicted for not paying rent.”

Wonseok presses his lips together in a tight line as his eyes shift between you and that painting that seems to have captured your full attention. He takes the last bit of food from the plate—something wrapped in lettuce—and shoves it in your mouth before discarding the paper plate in a nearby trash can. “C’mon, let’s find you a happier piece of art to stand in front of. Look, that one has a puppy in it and a dea…okay maybe not that one. I think we saw a sculpture with butterflies when we first walked in.”

Wonseok’s hand lands on top of your head as he tries to steer you away from the tree painting that you feel strongly akin to, almost like it’s not a metaphor for life and death but a visual representation of how you feel inside. Like you’re the skeleton and everything above ground is every other aspect of your life. But that’s just how art is supposed to work, right?

Your head is turned to the left towards a small crowd standing in front of a piece of art you can’t see. You feel Wonseok pushing you towards the crowd. The two of you barely move a foot away from the tree painting when a random pain in both your stomach and chest forces you to stop dead in your tracks, causing Wonseok to stumble into you. Miraculously, your drink remains in its cup.

"Why'd you stop?"

You're unsure yourself. The strange pain you're currently feeling, although fairly new, isn't entirely foreign to you. It's not consistent either. Sometimes it feels like a vice is being squeezed around your torso. Other times it feels like a horse kicked you so hard that all of the air has left your body. Right now, it feels like you've been struck by lightning thrown by Zeus himself. You thought it was a side effect of the pain medication that you had been taking. But even after making sure you eat enough food with your medicine, the side effects never went away. So, deciding the pain in your arm is much more bearable than whatever is going on internally, you decided to go off your meds and just deal with the pain from your arm.

You turn around and point in the opposite direction at a clay sculpture. You clear your throat and try your best to keep your voice as even as possible. "Let's go look at that one instead."

Wonseok follows your hand to see what you're pointing at. "The illusion piece? We already looked at that one. I took notes on it and everything."

"Maybe a second look will inspire more questions for you to ask the artist. Perspective and all that."

Wonseok furrows his brows as he studies your face for a moment. Seemingly finding what he's looking for, he nods as his face softens. "Sure, we can go look at that one again."

The further you walk away from the crowd, the faster the pain dissipates and you let out a silent sigh of relief.

The two of you walk around the gallery a bit more, appreciating the less crowded pieces. Wonseok explains the art and techniques to you as you walk. Occasionally, Wonseok leaves you alone in front of one of the pieces so that he can interview one of the artists. You make sure to stay in his line of sight so he can find you quickly when he's done.

"Okay, I just need to find one more artist and then we can go. She's supposed to be the star of the gallery and has been someone that everyone is watching. But she's also very introverted. So far, none of the other journalists and artists have talked to her today. But she's here, I saw that she was signed in at the front desk earlier." Wonseok explains as he scribbles into his notebook.

"Is she the one who made the tree painting and other similar still-life pieces?" You ask as you look around the gallery to help find her for him. Luckily, there are pictures of the artist printed in the brochure you were given when you got in.

"Yeah," Wonseok closes his notebook and shoves it into his pocket. "She's the youngest one here too. Barely 17. To exhibit that much talent and to be featured in a gallery like this at such a young age is astonishing. Some of the stuff here she started when she was only 14."

You let out an impressed sound as you continue to scan the room. There are more people than there were earlier, making it harder for you to see through the crowds of people. You try to look past the crowds, along the walls, and in the corners. You know that if you were her, that's where you'd be if you were avoiding people.

As you scan the room, you catch a glimpse of a very familiar face, locked in focus while stroking his chin as he stares at something on the wall.

"Oh...I'm actually going to kill him..." You mumble under your breath.

"Kill who? What happened?" Wonseok looks where you're looking and tries to see what could have unsettled you.

"Right there," You whisper as you point at the man several feet away from me. "It's Seo Changbin."

"Your Seo Changbin?"

Smack

"He is not my Seo Changbin."

Wonseok stares at you with his mouth agape as he rubs the spot on his arm where you hit him. "I didn't mean it like that. When the hell did you get so strong? I just was asking if it was the same Seo Changbin that you've been complaining about for nearly a year."

"Unfortunately," You roll your eyes as you dig for your phone inside of your bag. "He better not come over here. If anyone sees us together, Yoona will have a have a field day."

"Look around, Y/n. Nobody cares that he's here. If they did, they would have swarmed him already. I promise you, nobody recognized him. It's fine,"

"Yeah but..." You look around the room again, seeing if anyone might be looking at Changbin. There are a lot of cameras around, anyone can snap a photo and upload it online.

"It'll be fine. I see the artist I need to interview right there. So let me go talk to her and then we can get out of here before you combust."

Wonseok points just behind Changbin at the girl standing off in the corner with a lanyard around her neck. Sure enough, it's the artist he's been searching for. Wonseok pats your head and starts to walk off in her direction.

"Wonnie, wait," You grab at Wonseok, successfully latching onto a bit of the fabric on the back of his shirt. "Let me go with you. I can help translate."

"I can speak English, Y/n."

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that."

"Y/n," Wonseok lets out an exasperated sigh as he looks at the artist and then back at you. Luckily for him, she hasn't caught on that she's been spotted yet. "Just go stand in that dark corner over there or hide in that bathroom. I'll be back in fifteen--twenty minutes tops. And then I will hand feed you the fish and potatoes or whatever you've been bugging me about."

You look between Wonseok's stressed yet worried face and Changbin's distracted one. If you slip away before Changbin spots you then maybe it'll be fine.

"Fish and chips," You pout.

"Yes, fish and chips. Now please, can I go interview her before she runs away again?"

Before you can finish nodding, Wonseok is off to interview the young artist. You do one more survey around the room, trying to find somewhere to hide. Conveniently, you've also lost sight of Changbin.

"Shit," you mumble under your breath. You turn quickly to disappear into the bathroom, only to be met with a wall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to hit the ground as something wraps itself around your waist. You crack one eye open and see what's around you. Apparently, the wall has arms.

"I'm so sorry...noona?" Changbin sets you upright and helps you straighten your clothes.

You quickly push his hands off while looking around. "Th-thank you,"

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. What are you doing here?" Changbin sheepishly smiles and throws his hands behind his back.

"It's fine, that's what I get for trying to run indoors." You smooth out your shirt and look up at Changbin. He's wearing the same thing he was when you saw him at the hotel. Only, he's added a dark grey long-sleeve button-up over his shirt and a pair of black-rimmed glasses. "I'm here with my friend, remember? Which staff member are you here with?"

"None," Changbin scratches the back of his head while he looks around the room. Finding what he was looking for, he smiles and waves behind you. "I'm here with Hyunjin. I had nothing to do today and he was invited so he let me tag along."

You turn around and see Hyunjin walking towards you. He's wearing a pair of black cargo pants, a leather jacket that's covering up the white graphic tee underneath, and a black bucket hat that's hiding his recently dyed ash-brown hair. Both of them stick out amongst the nice button-downs and slacks that most of the men are wearing, but you know that once they step outside, they'll blend in.

"Ah, noona, what are you doing here?" Hyunjin asks when he gets closer.

"She's here with one of her friends from home," Changbin answers for you.

"We get to meet one of noona's friends?" Hyunjin smiles. Somehow, you can't tell if it's an entirely innocent look from him.

You turn back to look for Wonseok. His back is turned to you as he continues to interview the artist about her work. No matter how many signals you throw in his direction, he doesn't turn around.

Best friend telepathy is fake.

You are consciously aware of the way that the three of you are standing. You take a small step back, ensuring there is a noticeable gap between you and them.

"Maybe..." Your voice trails off.

You're not sure why you feel so awkward right now. You're with the kids practically every day. You've spent more time with them than your friends in the past few months. Maybe it's the fact that you're trying to avoid ruining their hard work with a scandal that's making you feel uneasy. You were fine yesterday when you were with Han and Seungmin. And you had a brief conversation with Hyunjin in the hallway yesterday when you were walking back to your room after getting a bucket of ice. So why does everything feel weird?

"Noona?" Changbin calls softly, directing your attention to him.

"Huh? Sorry," You shake your head. "I'm a bit hungry so I'm not all there right now. What were you saying?"

"I was just asking if you and your friend want to join us for lunch," Changbin suggests, a large smile etched on his face.

"Um..." You turn around and see that Wonseok is finally making his way back. "I think we have a pretty packed schedule so--"

"That was quicker than I thought it was going to be but I'm done. Ready to go...Oh, they caught you."

You press your lips into a fine line and squeeze your eyes tight as you try to refrain from smacking Wonseok in front of Hyunjin and Changbin. After silently counting to ten, you slowly open your eyes. Hyunjin wears a large teasing smile as he looks between you and Wonseok while Changbin's smile is gone altogether.

"Alright, noona, we get it. We'll leave you two be." Hyunjin smirks as he nudges Changbin who has now returned to being a wall, unmovable and tall.

"What?" You tilt your head to the side and raise an eyebrow at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin looks at Changbin and gives him a strange look before turning back to you. "We see that you're...busy so don't worry about having lunch with us."

Wonseok nudges you suddenly. You turn to him to see what's wrong with him only to be met with him tilting his head towards Changbin and Hyunjin. You gently shake your head 'no,' knowing that he wants you to introduce them to him. The two of you continue to argue silently.

Stubbornly, Wonseok pushes past you and sticks his hand out in front of them. "Sorry, we're still trying to teach Y/n her manners. I'm Park Wonseok. She'll kill me if I get this wrong. You must be...Changbin and...Hyunjin?"

"You're right Wonseok...hyung?" Hyunjin asks as he takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

"Ajusshi," You cough. Wonseok's head snaps back at you, warning you silently that he'll get you later. "Sorry, I have something in my throat."

"Then I guess we should go get you some soup instead of that thing you wanted. Huh?" He smiles mischievously.

"That's not fair, Wonnie," You mumble. Suddenly, you're nerves are at ease and you're back to being calm.

"Then be nice to the person who is buying you things today." He whispers. He turns back to Hyunjin and Changbin. "Why don't the two of you join us for lunch? As a thank you for taking care of Y/n all these months. I know she can't be a pain in the ass sometimes."

"I'm not a--"

"We'd love to, right hyung? Noona doesn't talk much so it'd be fun to get to know her more." Hyunjin smiles as he looks at Changbin, who is still quietly looking between you and Wonseok.

"I don't think--"

"Perfect!" Wonseok claps his hands together. "Let's go, I know just the place too."

Wonseok grabs your good arm before you can protest further and drags you out of the gallery, Changbin and Hyunjin in tow. You repeatedly pinch Wonseok's side to get back at him. Instead of telling you to stop he slides his hand down your arm and firmly clasps your hand, swinging it back and forth between the two of you as you walk.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied. 

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes. 

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Once again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately. 

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods. 

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly. 

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield. 

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.01.2024]

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Two

cw: dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, emotional distress Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi again! I'm back with the second part of this series and its another long one🤭 I really wanted this chapter to focus on Logan's emotions and inner turmoil. I'm working on the third part already and hoping to have it out soon...stay tuned! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪. Summary: Logan wakes up in the past, grappling with the contrast between the peaceful present and the grim future he left behind. He struggles to focus on his mission to prevent the Sentinel program while being haunted by memories of you and the dystopian world he must change.

(Part Three)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Logan’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him came rushing back in a disorienting blur. The sharp scent of fresh linens, the warm touch of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant hum of a city that was alive and thriving—all of it was jarringly foreign, and yet achingly familiar. For a moment, he simply lay there, his mind grappling with the surreal contrast between the present and the grim future he had just left behind.

He could still feel the phantom ache of the battle-scarred wasteland, the oppressive weight of despair that had become his constant companion in those final days. The memories of that desolate future clung to him like a second skin, refusing to be shaken off even as he tried to focus on the present. He blinked hard, trying to banish the images of burning cities and fallen comrades, forcing himself to breathe, to center himself in this time, this place.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing with the urgency of the mission that had brought him here. The room he found himself in was modest, cluttered with remnants of a simpler life—a life untouched by the horrors he had witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden furniture and worn, familiar objects. It was a world that should have felt safe, comforting even, but to Logan, it was nothing but a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm.

He rose from the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath him almost startling in its normalcy. As he moved, the sensation of the sheets, the cool air on his skin, the scent of life outside the window—it was all too vivid, too real, reminding him that this was not some fevered dream. He was truly in the past, in a world that still had a chance, and that realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

But with that realization came the crushing weight of what was at stake. The future he had left behind was teetering on the brink of extinction, a future where you were still fighting, still struggling to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. The thought of you, alone in that doomed timeline, fueled his resolve. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail. Every second here mattered, every decision could be the difference between salvation and destruction.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall, and the sight was almost jarring. Gone were the lines etched by years of battle and loss, the gray that had crept into his hair, the weariness that had settled into his bones. He was younger, stronger, unburdened by the physical scars that had marked his body in the future. But the weight of his mission was already visible in his eyes, a dark shadow that lingered, a reminder of the impossible task that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Logan began to dress, the familiar movements grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He slipped into his worn jeans and boots, each piece of clothing a small comfort, a tether to the man he had been before the world went to hell. But even as he moved through the motions, his thoughts were drawn back to you—your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him in those final moments before he left.

The memory of your kiss, fierce and desperate, lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow keep him from slipping away. It had been a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say, everything you feared you might never have the chance to say. The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice, was a cold, sharp pain that cut deeper than any wound.

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for distractions, no time to dwell on the past—or the future. He had a mission, and he had to stay focused. If he let his mind wander, if he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of what he had left behind, he would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when the stakes were this high.

The streets of the city were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolation he had grown accustomed to. People moved about their daily routines, unaware of the dark future that loomed on the horizon. It was both a comfort and a torment, this vibrant world that still held so much promise. Logan’s heightened senses picked up the sounds, the smells, the pulse of a city that was very much alive, and it almost overwhelmed him. The laughter of children playing, the scent of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby café, the distant honking of car horns—it was all so normal, so ordinary, and yet it felt like a world apart from the one he had left.

But beneath the surface, there was tension. Logan could sense it, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that ran through the city like a barely contained storm. The mutant crisis was already brewing, the seeds of hatred and fear being sown by those who sought to control, to dominate. And at the center of it all was Bolivar Trask, the man whose assassination would set off a chain of events leading to the creation of the Sentinels.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he thought of Trask, the man who would become the architect of so much death and destruction. He had to stop the assassination, prevent the creation of the Sentinels before it was too late. But how? Every step he took felt like walking on a razor’s edge, the consequences of even the smallest mistake echoing across time, threatening to unravel everything.

He made his way through the city, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan. He needed allies, people he could trust, but the X-Men he knew in the future were not the same people they were in this time. They were younger, unscarred by the battles to come, and convincing them to join him in this mission would be no easy task.

As he walked, Logan’s thoughts kept returning to you. He could still hear your voice in his mind, your whispered words of encouragement in the dark, the way you had held him close that final night. The memory of your touch, your warmth, was like a balm to his soul, giving him the strength to keep going, to push through the fear and doubt that threatened to overwhelm him. But it was also a torment, a constant reminder of what he had left behind, and the fear that you might not be there when he returned gnawed at him relentlessly.

Logan’s steps slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and determination. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if he failed, couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that you might be lost to him forever. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on the mission. But the weight of the future, of the memories that haunted him, pressed down on him like a crushing burden.

He found himself in a quiet park, the sounds of the city fading into the background as he took a seat on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The park was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned inside him. For a moment, Logan allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the scent of grass and earth, to let the sounds of birdsong wash over him. It was a small respite, a brief moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, the memories wouldn’t leave him. The faces of those he had lost, the screams of the dying, the endless battles that had worn him down to the bone—all of it played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. And at the center of it all was you, your face etched with determination and pain, your voice a constant whisper in his ear, urging him to keep going, to fight, to survive.

Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and loss, and yet the thought of losing you was the one thing he couldn’t bear. It was a fear that gnawed at him, a cold, relentless terror that gripped his heart and refused to let go.

But then, in the midst of that fear, he remembered your touch, the way your hand had rested on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken love that had given him the strength to keep going, to fight for a future that seemed all but lost.

“You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The memory of your words, spoken in the darkness of that final night, echoed in his mind, and Logan felt a surge of determination wash over him. He couldn’t afford to let fear control him, couldn’t let the weight of the future crush him beneath its burden. You were counting on him, trusting him to change the course of history, to save a world that had been doomed by the actions of a few. He couldn’t let you down.

With a deep breath, Logan opened his eyes, the peace of the park settling into him like a soothing balm. He had a mission, and he would see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, he would succeed. For you. For the future. For the world that had not yet been lost.

As he rose from the bench, the weight of the future still heavy on his shoulders, Logan set his jaw in a firm line. The fear of losing you would never leave him, but he would use that fear, channel it into the determination to succeed. He had to. 

 Logan walked through the bustling streets, he couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at him—casual glances, indifferent stares, eyes that held no recognition of the man he was or the battle he had fought. To them, he was just another face in the crowd, a man with no past, no future, only the present moment. It was a strange, almost liberating feeling, to be anonymous in a world that had once known him as a warrior, a survivor. But the weight of what he knew, of what he had seen, anchored him, kept him from fully embracing the illusion of normalcy.

The city around him thrummed with life, every corner turned revealing something new and unfamiliar. It was as if the world itself was trying to distract him, to pull him away from his mission, but Logan’s resolve was unshakable. Each step he took was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to do. The mission was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the ordinary, by the lives of people who had no idea what was coming.

Yet, despite his determination, there was a part of him that longed to stop, to sit down in one of the quaint cafés he passed, to sip a cup of coffee and lose himself in the mundane. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he was just a man living in a world at peace. But he knew better. The illusion of peace was just that—an illusion. Beneath the surface, danger lurked, and it was up to him to ensure that danger never became reality.

Logan’s thoughts drifted back to you, as they so often did. The memory of your voice, your laughter, your touch—they were the only things that kept him going, that gave him the strength to face the daunting task ahead. He could almost hear you now, teasing him about his gruff demeanor, laughing at his grumbles and sighs. 

But it was more than just your laughter that kept him grounded. It was the memory of your strength, the way you had faced the end with courage and determination, never wavering in your belief that there was still hope, still a chance to turn things around. You had been his rock, his anchor in a world gone mad, and now, more than ever, he needed to hold on to that memory. It was all he had left of you, all that kept him from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume him.

The sun was beginning to set as Logan made his way to the edge of the city, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink that seemed almost surreal in their beauty. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t been so focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when so much was at stake.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done, of the people he needed to find, the alliances he needed to forge. There was no room for error, no time for second-guessing. Every move he made, every decision, had to be precise, calculated. He had to be perfect, because the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But as much as he tried to focus on the mission, his thoughts kept returning to you. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you had looked at him with those eyes that had always seen right through his tough exterior. You had known him, truly known him, in a way no one else ever had. And now, with you gone, he felt a piece of himself missing, a void that nothing could fill.

He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of a small clearing, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to imagine that you were there with him, your hand in his, your presence a comforting warmth against the growing chill of the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered, and he was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the crushing weight of the mission that lay before him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, on what might have been. The future was all that mattered now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that future was one worth living in.

With a deep breath, Logan set off once more, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He had a world to save, a future to rewrite, and he would stop at nothing to see it done. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many battles he fought, you would always be there with him, a guiding light in the darkness, a reminder of why he couldn’t afford to fail.

And so, with the memory of you burning bright in his heart, Logan pressed on, determined to change the course of history, to save the world from the fate that awaited it, and to find his way back to you.

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[achilles-rage]

♡ sweet as pie: part one ♡

summary: on your way out the door to hang out with your friends, you meet your new neighbour, and your dad’s friend, donovan rocker.

word count: 1.3k

series masterlist

a/n: i changed the mood board because i hated the other one<33 this is also a little shorter than i normally write, but this series will be a drabble series, so most parts will be this short. i have a lot of ideas for this, and most chapters may take place days/weeks after the previous one, and may not be necessarily chronological. if you have any ideas involving these two, i would love to hear them and include them in a future part!!

warnings: age gap, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You’re singing along to the music playing from your phone as you stare at the three outfits on your bed, one arm crossed over your chest as the other props up your chin. Your brows are furrowed as you try to imagine which of these outfits would be best for your plans for the day.

Not the jeans, you think, you’ll be sitting down the whole time, and these are definitely not sitting jeans. You look between the two other outfits, both dresses, some of your favourites. Finally, you reach for the dress on the left, nodding once to yourself as you take it off the hanger.

It’s supposed to be warm today, so this is definitely the best option. You pull on the short white dress, fingers gliding over the small pink flowers littering the fabric as you pull it over your head and let it fall down against your upper thighs. Then, you pull on your light pink tie front cardigan, tying the strings into a quick bow as your phone dings.

You huff when you read the text from your friend, telling you that she’s in your driveway to pick you up. Ten minutes before she said she would be here. 

You’ve been away at college, and now that you’re back for the summer, your friends are eager to finally see you for longer than a few days during holidays and spring break.

You text her back, telling her you’ll be right there, and then move to your dresser to put on your necklace. You watch yourself in the mirror as you fasten the clasp, tilting your head to the side and inspecting your face when the necklace is securely around your neck and resting right in the valley of your breasts.

You’ve decided on light makeup today, opting for just some mascara and some tinted glittery lip gloss. With one final once over, you grab your purse and make your way downstairs.

Your brows furrow when you hear voices in the living room; one your father’s, and one you’ve never heard before. When you step off the last stair and onto the hardwood of the living room, both pairs of eyes trail over to you, and your smile at your father while your eyes dart to the man on the couch across from him for a split second.

“Hey, honey. You remember I told you we got a new neighbour while you were gone. This is Donovan Rocker.” your dad tells you. You finally take a good look at the man, eyes meeting his as he smiles at you. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your feet are stuck to the floor as you feel his gaze burning your skin.

You have to admit that he’s attractive; he’s clearly well built, his sharp jawline and plump lips have your throat going dry, and his eyes are a beautiful blue that have you unsure if you want to keep staring into them or to force your gaze away. He’s wearing jeans and a tight black t-shirt, but you try not to stare at his pecs with your father right there.

Your eyes widen slightly when he stands from the couch and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand gently and shake it, your heartbeat suddenly sounding very loud in your chest as you take in just how tall he really is. 

You snap out of it when he lets go of your hand, your entire body feeling hot from the warmth of his palm lingering on your skin, and the air around you feels suffocating as you struggle to bring oxygen to your lungs. When your father speaks again, you have to fight hard to tear your gaze away from Rocker.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, both men clearly unaware of the thoughts currently swirling around your head. 

Rocker takes this time to trail his eyes down your plush figure. Your little dress is pretty on you; and it shows off your thick thighs and your soft tummy and chest wonderfully. You look gorgeous standing there, and he smirks to himself when he sees the coating of glittery lip gloss on your lips and the little heart locket teasing him as it hangs between your breasts.

“Where are you going all dressed up?” your father asks again. You look down at your outfit sheepishly, subconsciously smoothing the dress down your body to give it just a little extra length. It’s a little short, you’ll admit, but you were planning on having a day out with your friends, not standing in the living room with your dad and your handsome new neighbour.

“Going out with the girls. Brunch.” you reply quietly, looking back up to your father, and he just nods with a hum.

“Alright. Well, have fun.” your father tells you, and you give him a smile, mumbling a quick agreement. Your eyes dart between Rocker and your father again, eyes trailing down to Rocker’s hand gripping his bottle of beer. God, even his hands are attractive.

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.” you tell Rocker, meeting his eyes again to see his smirk. He raises his beer, giving you a nod as he returns the sentiment. You turn without another word, both you and your father completely unaware of Rocker’s gaze glued to the way your hips and dress sway gently with each step. 

You hear your father get up and go to the kitchen for another beer, and Rocker takes his chance to continue watching you at the front door. You bend down to put your mary jane doc martens on, and Rocker swallows, your dress dangerously close to showing him your pretty pink panties. 

You jump slightly when you hear your friend honk the horn from outside, almost falling over as you stand back up. You hear Rocker chuckling quietly, and you look at him from the corner of your eye, letting out a shaky breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

“You okay?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone, and you give him a big fake smile, feeling embarrassment flood your body. 

“Yep. Bye.” you reply quickly, hand gripping the door knob. His eyes sweep down your figure once more before he speaks again.

“Have fun.” he tells you. You nod once, swallowing as you turn to open the front door.

When you’re finally out of sight and safely in your friend's car, you let out a shaky breath, but your hot older neighbour is quickly pushed out of your mind as your friend greets you excitedly.

Inside, as Rocker keeps talking with your father, he tries not to think about you, and he begins to feel a little guilty. That’s his friend’s daughter, for God’s sake, but even so, he can’t keep his mind from wandering to the way your chest was practically on display for him, or the way your dress just bordered on too short. 

If you were his, he’d probably keep you from wearing that in public. At the very least he would keep a close eye on you all day, keeping you glued to his side so no one gets any ideas.

He tries to keep his focus on your father as he speaks to him, wiping you out of his mind completely, especially because your father is right there, and he’s sure his unease would be easy to spot if your father knew what to look for.After a few hours, he excuses himself, telling your father that he needs to get home. He doesn’t want to run into you again; he doesn’t know what kind of stupid thing he’ll be tempted to do if he sees you again. All he does know is that this is going to be a long summer with you here all the time.

next part

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[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 8}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Biting words, whispered confessions- they all lead to the decision for you to leave the zone for good.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language,, outbreak fic, darker fic, adult language, reader has no canon name but has a commonly used nickname, reader is mostly blank slate but has hair that can be tied up, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v, pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, strained relationship dynamic, reader is keeping secrets, joel talks about sarah, offscreen character death (canon), um i think that's it for this one!

A/N: this is on the short side but this chapter stumped me, not gonna lie. think i managed to get to to where i wanted it and then we can move toward the final act of this series! thank you so much for all the birthday wishes yesterday and today- i love y'all and hope the day is good to you ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Items begin to accumulate in both apartments. Different items than what people ask after and need to help cope with the day to day realities of life in the zone. It’s been waning, the heat of summer, but that hasn’t stopped Joel from going out once a week and working the jobs the zone offers for everyone. Tess, too, to help get as much sorted out and set up for the long trek that will result in your and Jean’s departure.

Joel’s heavy steps can be heard in the hallway and they pause as he unlocks the door to Tess’s apartment, his voice filling the quiet before your own door knob is turning and his broad form fills the space.

“Picked up some rations, there’s some root vegetables from the greenhouses. They’re pretty bruised but figured we could make a good soup paired with the seasonings we gathered from that restaurant a few weeks back.” He places a large, and faded crate full of food on the counter before he begins to unpack it.

“Joel.” The weird inflection of his name has him looking over his shoulder quickly to see you holding tight to the back of one of the mixed-matched chairs. You feel nausea rise and your next words get caught in your throat as a gagging noise sounds deep in your chest. Your skin is dappled with sweat from your forehead to the backs of your knees, a hot flash or fever or a symptom of something else taking over your body in that moment.

The soup, you think, the mention of soup and the smell of the food in the crate, but your head is throbbing too much to pin point it exactly.

“Hey, hey, alright.” He’s moving closer but his figure blurs into vague shapes and running colors. Your knees buckle and his big hands catch you, preventing you from collapsing onto the worn hard floor.

He boils gallon after gallon of hot water until the tub is full, bubbles from the bottle of body wash you seldom use. Soothing you as he runs a washcloth over your back, wet hair swooped over your shoulder to shield your chest. He had waited until you were safely in the tub with your back pivoted to him, his hands never straying from where he runs the fabric in cleaning slides over your skin. Despite the head inside your body and the heat you’re submerged in, small tremors shake your body.

When they begin to subside, you begin to breath a little easier.

“I had a daughter.” His voice is low and quiet. You hum in acknowledgement, arms wrapped around propped up knees and cheek resting atop them. Your eyes are closed, his actions soothing in the dim candlelight by which he cares for you in the only way he can show right now. The only way you’ll let him show you right now. His words don’t register until the air grows slightly tense and your eyes fly open to meet his dark ones.

“You don’t…” You whisper, genuine in the not wanting to pull the truth from him if he wasn’t ready or willing to share it. That’s not what your relationship was built on, the foundation was one of mutual trust and respect.

“I do, Cane. You deserve to know the reason behind why I feel the way that I do.” He’s nothing like the image he made during your argument nearly a week ago. He’s all slumped shoulders and soft eyes, gentle hands and low, quiet voice. Gone is the man who was biting back just as viciously as you had been. Submitting to your will and decisions, submitting to you in the quiet moments you share still even now after such an explosive interaction.

“She was…on Outbreak day. I did everything I could and it wasn’t good enough.” “I wasn’t enough.”

“Did she-“

“Not bit. We were, uh, tryin’ to get out of the city- Austin. Military, they were corralling people, stopping anyone from getting out of the limits and I couldn’t get her past the county line.”

“Joel…”

“She was my entire world, my entire reason for living. Gone in the blink of an eye, in a shaky breath and I buried her in our backyard.” His hand doesn’t stop moving, the drag of the scratchy cloth along your skin paired with his words sprouting goosebumps along it. “It took me hours to scrub all the blood off of my body, but I still see the stains. I still feel it thick on my hands, see the way it was all that was left of her. That’s…that’s why children are a curse. You carry them with you, feel the pain of failing them. I don’t…I don’t think I’m a good enough man to be what Jean needs. I couldn’t even protect my own child and Jean…she’s going to need a lot more help. The birth, it’s going to be tough no matter what, you can’t deny that. But after…I’m not enough for that either. But you are, I believe with my whole heart that you can be what she needs. So even if I don’t like it or agree with it- you two going to live with them, it does make sense.”

The air in tiny bathroom grows thick with emotion, the swell of them swirling around as if to imitate the steam from actual running hot water.

“I don’t want to leave you, but it…it’s what needs to be done. For the sake of mother looking for help, looking for a way out of the life she’s been coerced into. And Frankie…” Your voice warbles as a hiccup bubbles up. “Frankie is getting sick, Joel. He needs me too.”

“We won’t be able to visit much, with how things are getting worse.”

“I know.”

“I meant what I said the other day. About lovin’ you.”

“I know you did and I know how hard it might’ve been for you to be that open with me. I wish, god, I wish it could all be so much easier. That we could have a little house to ourselves, a backyard garden to grow the things we need, somewhere safe to be who we want to be. But that’s not the way the world works.” You can see it so clearly, the man who sits beside you now on the peeling tile of the small bathroom- doing so in a better house, a better environment, tending to a toddler as giggles rain down a set of stairs or a hallway as you busy yourself with other things or come home from a long day. But it’s not the way the world works, and so much is broken.

Even if you feel the love for him that he proclaimed for you.

You feel the need to protect yourself, the baby growing in your womb. And your instincts are screaming at you to run, even if he’s soft with you now and reveals the reasons behind his feelings on the matter of children. A father in mourning. Something he carries with him still, transformed him completely. Peaks of his old self rise to the surface and it’s an amazing thing to see, to experience. Hope crests and vanishes in one slow blink, but the words still sneak past your lips.

“Would you-“

“Cane, I’m not a good man. I don’t deserve to be involved in the raising of someone born free of what life has done to me. I would try, but I know who I am now. I’m not fit, I’m a fucking dog fighting and thrashing against anything that tries to tie him down, that challenges him. And you, you are too. But you’re good, at your very core. There’s still good in you, but I’m all rotten.” He doesn’t look at you, up from where he rings out the suds and water from the rag he had been using. He drapes it over the edge of the tub, swirls his hand in the water to test the temperature. “Gettin’ cold, let’s get you out before you catch another fever.”

“Joel…” You watch as he stands, his clothing still from what he wore out during the day, where sweat once creates damp spots in the worn fabric.

“I’ve made my peace with it, I’m the one who let it take control.” He rinses the suds from you in silence and you give him the time to mull over his thoughts, grateful for the glimpse of who he used to be. But your decision still remains the same, the zone too dangerous for you now. There are too many threats and even though he shared with you that he has a daughter, Joel Miller is still a threat.

Because you know he would do anything to protect you, even from yourself.

“Cane.”

“I don’t have time to talk right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.” It was the last check up in the deteriorating medical center that the zone houses. The true nature of your visit sworn to secrecy from the older nurse who helped keep everything as organized as possible as supplies and medical supplies became scarce.

“C’mon, we both know you’re just trying to get away from the apartment. Been cooped up for too long, but you’re still a little sick. I made soup, come have a bowl, yeah?”

Sighing, you pivot on your feet, boots scrunching up the threadbare carpet beneath your boots and walk back down the hall. Tess stands in her doorway, hair pulled back behind her shoulders and damp from her evening shower. She must be tired, still getting used to working again, it’s only been two weeks since she’s been feeling well enough to. The ordeal with Jean cropping up out of nowhere but giving everyone something to focus on besides the seasonal shift in weather that’s been causing the sickness to crop up all over the zone.

“She’s fast asleep in the bedroom, body is really feeling the strain of what’s going on. I’ve given her some of the vitamins we still have. But she needs true pre-natal stuff.” She explains when you look toward the living room that houses her own bed now, taken from an empty apartment that the tenant across the hall up and left. She locks the door securely behind you, moving about the small kitchen space to get a bowl ready for you.

“Frankie has some, Bill scoured his entire town and collected it all. I’ve been in contact with him, he assures me they have what we need for her. Bill took everything from the local pharmacies around Lincoln.” You aren’t terribly hungry after last nights bout of nausea, but you know that you need to pack in as many nutrients as possible. “The med center here is a joke, they’ve got such a restricted approval rate for things people actually need. But maybe we can sweeten the deal for some other stuff we might need.”

“That’s good. And yeah, take whatever you think will help.”

You both share a comfortable silence that is only broken by the scraping of spoons in ceramic. A shared meal among friends, two women who never anticipated being here with one another. But you are grateful that she’s part of the deal of having Joel come into your life. She’s been such a help, a pillar that you know you can rely on. The stunts she’s tried to pull before, her energy harnessed against you in an initial stand off, now put forth to help run the trade business you take pride in.

But you worry about when you are no longer here. Not for the business, you trust her to take it over flawlessly. You worry for Joel, how he will fair once you leave the zone for good. Once your pregnancy advances enough to show, you won’t be able to make the trip. It would be too reckless, too much of a risk of someone seeing you that stems from the zone. You don’t want Joel to know the true reason you left, especially after what he told you last night. He’s a good man, but he’s lost. Consumed by the grief and the fall of everything he once knew in more ways than you anticipated.

You feel so strongly for him, something you never imagined when you allowed them into the fold of your life here. The one you fought tooth and nail for, the one you bled and broke for. He is a father, only child lost before the world could contort her in heinous ways. A blessing in disguise, because you’ve seen his softness. You know he allowed her to be exactly who she wanted to be, and she could only have been good. Too good for a world like this.

“Tess, I need to ask you something.”

She’s quiet as she regards you across the table. She must be able to see how exhausted you are, the emotional and physical strain you’re under. You feel like everything wrong with you is on obvious display, from the fight with Joel to the way your stomach is roiling at the food you’re trying to consume. But you push forward, it’s all you’ve ever known, to tamp down discomfort in order to adapt and hold your ground.

“I need you to take over the business here in the zone.”

“You’re going to stay with Jean.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation. She’s smart, she sees things that no one else does. Cut from the same cloth as the one you found yourself swaddled in and embracing rather than tearing free.

“She needs someone to help her through this. Frankie and Bill will support her and give her what she needs, but she’s also going to need someone who knows what she’s going through.”

“Mistake me if I’m wrong, but I’m the mother out of the two of us.” Her eyes rove over your body, assessing but not judging. “I would be able to sooth some of her worries, my own pregnancy was rough. Can offer her some insight and be there for her.”

“This is something I need to do. Get some fresh air, get out of the zone for a bit. And not because of some fight with Joel. I just- it’s all so much, and it’s only getting more dangerous. You can pivot in the direction you want, limit trades, limit clients, just…promise me one thing.”

“Depends on the promise.” She looks you straight in the eye, and she can see it, you know she can. That you’re choosing to run for the second time in your life. You can only hope that this time you’ll be able to get away.

“Keep Joel safe. From the competition, from himself.”

“Stay and do it yourself.” She looks away to gather her bowl and set it in the sink with a clink.

“I can’t. I need to be with Frankie, there’s….we aren’t sure just yet but he’s exhibiting symptoms of a degenerative disease he holds the genetics for. Bill contacted me after a weird interaction, he wasn’t sure what happened and asked me if I knew anything it could be.” You have yet to admit this part of why you want to go, but your family- Frankie, he really needs someone who knows how to handle it. It’s too much for loved ones to go through alone, support is needed, and you can provide it while receiving your own from the two men.

“He’s the reason I’m alive right now, Tess. I owe it to him to be there for him, to give him a fighting chance at this. My…my mother had something similar, so I grew up around it, in a household that centered around caring for someone who was sick like this. I can be the support he needs, the support they both need.”

“But you’re willing to leave behind the man you’re in love with.” She crosses her arms as she leans back against the counter. She’s not judging, just simplifying what you’re telling her. No bullshit, just matter of fact realities of what’s happening. It’s appreciated.

“Joel is strong, he…he’s capable.”

“You and I both know he’s going to spiral the second you leave the zone.”

“Well, Tess, frankly it’s none of my business. He’s a big boy, he can handle a little break up. He’s the one who decided that he didn’t want anything to do with people who need his help so I’ve got to rearrange my entire life in order to pick up the slack. What the fuck else do you want from me, huh? I’m literally handing over my entire business to you both and you’re telling me I need to consider doing more? Fuck no, I’m doing everything in my power.”

Her eyes rove over you, watching, reading. And you’re not worried about her finding out, you realize.

She would keep your secret, an unspoken understanding between two women who have lost everything.

And you know you’re right, she does too. Joel is a good person, but he has his flaws. And his was telling you that children are a curse, no matter the outcome of their own lives. He feels so much guilt for not being able to save her but you know he also feels it for the relief that his little girl doesn’t have to be witness to what the world fell into.

With a nod, she accepts your words and takes them into her own aged hands.

Days of organizing breeze by as the nights begin to cool. Joel helps you to unload the bag you use on your runs and organize. Go over the lists of what is already waiting for you in Lincoln and what you still need and go over the detailed route to the nth degree. And when it comes time for you to leave late that night, he’s helping you both sneak out of the zone to make the trip with you.

The morning light is faint, summer in full swing makes it hot. An early departure seemed the most reasonable, for safety as well as ensuring Jean wasn’t traveling in the height of the heat the days reach as time progresses through the seasons. They’re harsher, now, the effect of living in a zone right by the eastern coast paired with the damage done to the land and atmosphere to combat the outbreak that ruined the world. There were rumors of contaminated water pockets in the once abundant aquifers underneath the city.

The sand and clay that protects them no longer strong barriers but crumbled over time in the aftershocks of bombings and digging for new resources when it could be safely done.

The young woman huffs as she walks closely in front of you, you and Joel walking around her to ensure her front and back are covered. He’s got a gun one of your soldier contacts traded for a bag of pain pills, even at the protest of the man who now shoulders it and keeps it at the ready in case of any threats or danger. You insisted that with the open fields you would need to walk along or through and the thick forest by the river that it would be better to have a longer range than benefited from a handgun.

It's an easy trek, despite the distance and the heat. A water break by a bubbling river, a rest stop underneath the thick canopy of trees. Nearly seven hours, but not once did Jean ask to rest for longer than fifteen minutes. The openness of the land uncomfortable for her- all she’s ever known is the zone and before that the city it once was. She’s young, alone, and now facing the ramifications of one selfish, dead man’s desires. You vow to give everything you can to her for her to make the most of it. You see a lot of yourself in her, she has the potential to harden, to pick up the skills she’ll need to protect herself and her child.

Stopping just inside the tree line, you hold a hand to your hardened stomach. You’re not showing, it’s only been a month since you found out, since Jean sought Joel out for help. You feel the change because you anticipate it, look forward to it despite the circumstances and details, you yearn for a reason to live other than just survival. And the little bundle of life growing inside you allows you that.

Joel looks over at you, his eyes already sweeping across the last bit of distance and the metal gate is faint on the horizon. They rove over you, from your frizzed out hair in a messy updo, to the hand held to your middle.

“You okay?” His brow furrows as he glances over at Jean, who looks so out of her element, a contrast to your controlled demeaner. Her breath is a touch heavy, her long locks pulled back but still loose.

“Yeah, just hungry I think.” You wish he would reach out, touch your shoulder, skim the back of his hand against yours. But you know it’s wrong to want it, you’re the one running away this time. Put the distance between you, the wall back up though the parts that were dismantled scatter between you in quiet admissions and the way you both pulled emotions and sensations from each other’s bodies.

They’re both waiting on the other side of the gate when you clear the tree line about half a mile away, guns slung over shoulders much like Joel. Frank and Bill are on alert, though you can sense that they will take this as seriously as warranted. Good men are hard to find these days, but you thank the stars that you’ve crossed paths with three of them.

“What was her name?” You look over to him as he helps you to carry your personal bag up the quiet staircase. The house is lived in, far more than it was the last few times you’ve been here over the years, a testament to the life that Bill and Frank make for themselves every day. The door to the room is open, giving you and Joel easy access to filter in after each other. He places your bag on the bed, his own as well- a worn backpack.

“Her name was Sarah.” His voice softens even now, ten years later, when he speaks her name. Your heart clenches, your stomach fills with flutters. He cares so much, even now. And you wonder for a split second if he would say your own name that way if he were to find out that you were carrying his second child…

“Her name is Sarah.” But you can’t do that to him, not now. He’s proven that he doesn’t want that life any longer, isn’t suited for it, said it loud and clear. Still, you reach for him, resting your hands atop his broad shoulders and straddle his lap. There’s nothing sexual about it, just the need for human connection and warm contact. His arms wrap loosely around your waist as you rest your head underneath his chin.

You both smell of sweat and sun, dirt and pollen cling to your clothes but you don’t care.

“Yeah, darlin’, it is.” He whispers as he just holds you, not knowing when he’ll get the chance to again.

He basks in your company until a soft knock sounds on the bedroom door and Frankie announces that dinner is ready. It’s just before sundown, but he convinces Bill to wait until your trio arrived- wanting to ensure you had a decent welcome home.

“It hurts too much to say, but I do…feel the same, Joel.” You close your eyes as the feel of his knuckles graze your cheek. The roughness of them calming from the first touch. The secret you hold close doesn’t taint the way you still crave his touch, his lips, his soft murmured words of comfort. “I do have love for you.”

“I’ll try to be back before winter, I swear to you.” His body is still hot where he’s pressed up against you, the air of the room heavy with the scent of sex. One last desperate coupling that neither of you even attempted to fight, feeling righteous in taking one last thing for yourselves. He pushes up, the cooler air pebbling your skin as he kisses the tip of your nose before pulling away completely, pulling out of you where he’s softened inside.

“I believe you, please, be safe going home.” You feel something in your heart clench, as he walks across the room toward the ensuite, completely naked and exposed. Muscles and evidence of your passion on display in the low light from the plugged in salt lap.

“I will, but the zone isn’t my home.” His voice is low and full, despite speaking the admission freely to you as he uses a warm cloth to clean between your legs. You hiss out, sensitive after the way he pulled pleasure from your body. The quirk of his mouth at one end betrays what the hitch of your breath does to him, his fingers swiping up through your tingling folds. Two thick fingers, feeling for the combined release he wiped away, but he finds how slick you still are. Humming, he raises a brow and looks up at you from under his lashes.

You don’t ask him what he means by that, and he doesn’t tell you that he thinks of you as his home.

But you think you know as he gently, reverently brings you to the brink of pleasure one more time and cradles you carefully, tightly as you fall over the edge.

The soft, quiet conversation shared between two people tucked into the same bed in the dead of night echoes in your mind as Bill opens the gate for Joel to leave through.

As you watch Joel’s broad form disappear into the tree line from behind the gate, you feel a tremendous shift. There’s no going back on the decisions and circumstances that led to this moment. You know this is for the best. A warm hand cups your shoulder, and you put a hand over it and squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay. He’s a strong one and you- you’re gonna be an amazing momma.” Frankie’s whispers as he steps up close. He can feel the anguish and conflict stemming from you as you stare at the now empty land between the fence line and the bank of trees. He sees the cracks in your façade, knowing who you once were and who you are now, the emotions at war with each other. It would be so easily to fall apart, but you can’t let yourself do that. You have to be strong, it’s all you have.

You don’t ask him how he knows. But you know that he’s there for you and will do everything he can to do so as long as possible. Even when Joel doesn’t return before the first snowfall in two months’ time and all you can do is hold tight to your swollen stomach and hope he’s okay.  

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[gloomy0x0phantom]

Nightmare chapter one

ʚ synopsis ɞ You haven't been able to sleep for a while, and Bepo has the solution to your problem. As you develop a friendship with the polar bear, you fail to notice the jealousy of a certain captain.

pairings : Bepo & Fem!Reader / Trafalgar D. Water Law x Fem!Reader

words count : 5.2k

content : fluff, a very tired reader, mention of nightmares.

note : Here's the rewrite of the first chapter of Nigthmare! I hope you like it ♡ I decided to keep the old version up cuz I don't want to lose all the nice comments 😭 A huge thank you to WesNest for being my beta reader!! English is not my first language

Next chapter // Chapter index

In the middle of the ocean, on a small island lost in thick fog, lay the crews of the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates. Once again their paths crossed, much to Trafalgar Law's misfortune and Monkey D. Luffy's delight. Despite having seen each other a few weeks ago, Luffy insisted that this umpteenth encounter should be celebrated with a big feast, a bonfire, and music. The Hearts, equally fond of a good night's drinking, gladly accepted the offer without consulting their captain, who had expressed reservations about the idea. Although Law was hesitant, his crewmates knew he didn't harbor animosity towards the Straw Hats and that he would be unable to resist an evening with them. Why? Well, let's just say they were well aware of their captain's weak spot... a weak spot concealed within the opposing crew.

A cheerful melody of violin fills the night air. Between the beach and the tropical forest, a towering fire illuminates the faces gathered around it. Luffy, Penguin, Shachi, Usopp, Bepo, and Hakugan dance enthusiastically around the flames, waving their arms and reveling in the moment. Even after a hearty meal the guys find the energy to twirl and celebrate. Chopper, his belly full, peacefully dozes in Robin's embrace while she talks with Jean Bart and Jinbe. Brook plays the violin while Franky joins in with an old tune. Nami, Zoro, Uni and Clione are competing to see who can best hold their liquor, with the redhead taking the lead of course. After completing his cooking duties, Sanji approached Ikkaku, expressing that he doesn't have the opportunity to see her often and desires to cherish every moment in her delightful company throughout the evening. Although unimpressed by the blond's flattery, the young woman allowed him to continue to be around her. Leaning against a tree, Law observes the pirates with a bored expression, yet a faint smile betrays his true feelings.  And you? You sit slightly apart from the others, quietly observing the festivities.

The others made efforts to include you in their activities, and you almost succumbed to Usopp's invitation; however, you opted to take it easy instead. Despite your desire to join the dance, you feel too drained to participate. While you find the drinking competition entertaining to watch, your distaste for alcohol prevents you from taking part. Although you enjoy listening to Robin's stories, there's a risk of nodding off while she speaks. Right now, despite your body craving it, sleep is the last thing on your mind.

You're glad to see your friends unwinding and enjoying themselves; everyone needs it. It's a relief that the Sunny has stopped at a deserted island. Since leaving Wano, you've encountered one unpleasant situation after another with pirates who believed they can defeat Luffy. Additionally, you've had to hastily depart from the last three islands as the Navy was covertly lying in wait for you. It feels like the crew's every move is being meticulously tracked. Nami insisted on searching the Sunny in case a camera had been planted on board. Thankfully, nothing was found, but it's clear that every member of the crew is exhausted. Meeting the Hearts provides the much needed distraction to unwind.

You can sense that Law isn't pleased with this coincidence. At least he's smiling. You noticed it when your gaze landed on him. The fire casts such a beautiful glow on his skin. He's dressed in a white tank top that showcases his black tattoos. You're secretly admiring the artwork - well, you think you're being subtle, but you soon realize that Law is watching you. Caught red-handed, you quickly avert your gaze. Despite this, you can still sense his eyes on you, and it's embarrassing.

“Chronicler-san!”

You are surprised when you hear your nickname cheerfully shouted by the Heart navigator. The guys halt their dancing while Brook takes a break to stretch his bones. Bepo, exhausted and needing to catch his breath, settles down next to you. You greet him with a warm smile. The polar bear is someone you appreciate, even though you've never had time to chat for more than a few minutes. It's not as if you've had the opportunity in the past. You're constantly in dangerous situations or caught up in Law and Luffy's plans. Come to think of it, this is probably the first time you've all been together outside of a mission.

"It's a beautiful night!" he says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He's breathing hard, which is not surprising given his size, but he still takes the trouble to ask if you're okay between breaths.

"I'm fine, and you? Life with your crew isn't too hard?" you reply in a playful tone.

"I could ask you the same question about yours," he replies, laughing. "I'm fine, a little out of breath."

"A little?" you say, raising your eyebrows and smiling, gently teasing him. You've just witnessed him dancing for a solid thirty minutes. It was quite entertaining. It's a good thing everyone was dressed casually; otherwise, you're sure Bepo would have fainted. He might have even ended up in the fire. There's always something wild happening at parties.

Bepo usually chooses to be by his captain's side, so you get the impression that he hasn't come to see you by chance. You're curious about why he's here, but based on what little you know of him, you can tell he's likely searching for the right words. You choose to keep the conversation going.

"How's your journey been since Wano? I hope you haven't run into too much trouble with the new bounties, unlike us."

"We came across a few annoying cases, but Captain is so strong, he wiped them out in a heartbeat!" Bepo gestures animatedly as he speaks with such admirationI. It's cute. "To avoid drawing any attention, we stayed underwater most of the time. Otherwise, the Marines would have chased us too."

"Oh Bepo!" you gasp, and it's his turn to jump. "Would you trade places with me? I'd do anything to live underwater for a while and vanish from the Marines' radar!"

"I don't think the captain would be happy about losing his navigator!" He chuckles, glancing at Law, who once again looks your way, though you remain unaware.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," you wink at Bepo and motion for him to lean in. As his ear draws near, you whisper, "I'm going to dress up as a polar bear, and you're going to wear a wig. No one will suspect a thing!"

Bepo straightens up with a laugh. "Do you even have any navigation skills?"

"No, but that's a detail!"

You both laugh at this outlandish idea. Pulling off such a plan would be next to impossible, but the thought of wearing a polar bear suit and casually strolling around the Polar Tang brings a smile to your face. You can imagine the amused reactions of the Heart Pirates, except for Law. As for Luffy, you know he'd be thrilled to have Bepo join your crew simply because he's a mink.

"What brought you out of hiding?" You ask. 

“Hm?”

"Why did you surface and come to this island?"

"Oh! Um... Well... It's kind of my fault. I enjoy being on the Polar Tang, but after a while, I start craving some sun and fresh air. My body can't handle the heat of the submarine. Maybe I complained a bit too much to the captain, and he agreed to stop at the next island, which happened to be this one." The navigator scratches the back of his head, embarrassed.

"I'm sure the others wanted some fresh air too. Just look at them!"

The two of you take a moment to observe the Heart Pirates. All you see are smiling faces, including Hakugan's mask. To you, this scene appears ordinary, but for Bepo, it holds significant meaning. They spent months without their captain, wondering if he would come back alive. And when he did, they had to face two emperors, which could have ended badly. Bepo smiles proudly. Their captain is healthy, and everyone is safe. They emerged victorious.

"I was so relieved when I saw the Polar Tang in the distance." you murmur as you continue to look at the others.

"Really?" asks Bepo, curious to know the reason.

"Yeah... I'm tired of all the fighting. We haven't had a break in ages. When I saw the submarine, my body just relaxed. I know you won't harm us. I feel safe with you guys." You glance at Bepo with a wide smile and flushed cheeks. Suddenly, you realize the magnitude of your words. "B-But I know we're not... I mean, we're enemies."

“Right, enemies…”

As if you shared the same brain, your attention shift to Law and then Luffy. Finally, you meet each other's eyes and hold back a laugh. Yeah, enemies. Luffy can't consider Law a real enemy, not after all they've been through. And honestly, you'd like the alliance to be renewed, someday. It may never reach the same level as when Law lived aboard the Thousand Sunny, but having him as an ally is comforting.

"I'm glad you feel this way with us. I feel safe with you too!"

You're taken aback by his declaration, and even more so by the wide grin Bepo offers in return. You don't doubt his sincerity. Your heart races, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much. Then, you hear a small voice in the back of your head saying, "He shouldn't."

You look at the fire, and gradually your smile loses its brightness. Returning to the boat would be a wise choice. The conversation is enjoyable, but you shouldn't continue. You're enemies, despite everyone getting along well. It's only a matter of time before Law betrays Luffy again.

Bepo noticed the sudden shift. “Alright, now would be a good time to intervene,” he thought. But how? It's not for nothing that he decided to approach you. While he was dancing, he noticed that his captain was watching you intently. The subtle frown of his eyebrows meant he saw something wrong with you. And it must have been very important, given the tension in his shoulders and his clenched jaw. As his second mate, it was his duty to find out what was wrong with you, for the sake of his captain's sanity! 

Now that he's close to you, he sees what his captain noticed.

"Are you sure everything's alright? Your dark circles are starting to look like the Captain's, and that's never a good sign," Bepo jokes, trying to lighten the mood with his question.

"It's a bit unsettling, isn't it?" you ask, with a dry laugh. "I don't sleep very well."

"B-because of the attacks?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Partly."

Bepo senses there's something more, but he's uncertain how to encourage you to open up without crossing any lines. Yes, he's eager to assist his captain, but... Bepo genuinely wants to help you. He's always held a fondness for you. He recalls your initial interaction: you were kind and appreciative. His mink instincts don't fool him; he's adept at sensing energies that humans might overlook.

"Captain could prescribe you some sleeping pills," he suggested in a hushed tone.

"I don't want to sleep," you confessed darkly.

Instantly, Bepo understands.

"Nightmares."

You nod in agreement. Bepo has known Law since childhood, and living with someone who suffers from chronic nightmares alters one's perception of sleep. For Law, sleep isn't refreshing. Bepo has seen him push himself to stay awake to the brink, and it's not a pleasant sight. So when you mention that you're reluctant to sleep because of nightmares, the navigator believes he can understand the root of the issue. However, he doesn't plan to pry further with any probing questions.

"As a doctor's assistant, I feel obliged to list all the reasons why sleep is important, but I suppose you already know them all."

You tilt your head slightly and regard him with curiosity. "You help Law during surgery? I had no clue! How long have you been studying medicine?"

"Oh, well, everyone in the crew knows how to assist the captain during surgery! It's crucial knowledge that enables us to handle situations both on and off the submarine. I've been learning for - You've changed the subject."

You look down, embarrassed.

“I did. Sorry…”

"N-no! I'm the one who's sorry!" Bepo attempts to reassure you, his tone gentle. He doesn't want you to think he's mad at you.

"Please, don't be. I'm the one who tried to fool you."

Bepo sighs, concern etched across his features as he observes you. He notices your trembling hands, the dark circles under your eyes... You don't resemble the vibrant young woman he met at Sabaody. Reflecting on it, even during your time in Wano, you seemed burdened by stress, much like everyone else.

"How many hours have you been awake...?"

"About... 60 hours, I think. Actually no, that's not true. I sleep 5 to 15 minutes every few hours, it's never a deep sleep. I wake up as soon as I hear a noise. The adrenaline rush from the fights keeps me going, pushing myself beyond my limits. But I feel strange. My heart feels like it's pounding everywhere, I can't focus on writing, food's lost its appeal, Sanji has saved my ass a few times during fights because I'm not paying full attention, sometimes my vision gets blurry and I see things in the corner of my vision. But otherwise I feel fine."

In one breath, you spill out your words, leaving Bepo staring at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked by your extreme lifestyle. He shouldn't be so surprised; enduring 60 hours without sleep is far from healthy, but for you, it seems, this is just another day in the life.

"Have you discussed it with the others...?"

"They're aware of my nightmares; that's nothing new. But I haven't brought up my current issue. It'd be foolish for Monkey D. Luffy to have a crewmate who can't sleep due to stupid nightmares... I don't want to embarrass him."

"Nightmares are not something to be taken lightly, especially the ones that are-" Bepo stops abruptly, his expression twisting into a grimace. "Uh.. Don't feel ashamed. Capt-," he halts once more, grunting in frustration. His lips clamp shut as he bites down on them, then he resumes, "I know someone incredibly strong and respected who dealt with nightmares. They'll never be seen as weak or a disgrace in my eyes. They're truly remarkable, destined to become the king of—" Bepo abruptly cuts himself off, covering his mouth with his hand. He's let slip more than intended.

The navigator's reaction is cute. It's clear he's referring to Law. You appreciate what he's trying to say. You understand why the Heart Pirates hold the polar bear in such high regard; he truly has a talent for making people feel at ease with his attentive listening and open-mindedness. You can't help but wonder if he also serves as a psychologist on board the submarine; it wouldn't be surprising.

Slowly, you lower your head, resting your elbows on your knees and concealing your face behind your hands, assuming a vulnerable posture. With your back bent and your shoulders trembling, it's a sight that catches Bepo off guard. Panic grips him, and he quickly scans the surroundings, ensuring that no Straw Hat crew member is watching. You're... You're crying. And he's the one to blame! He feels a pang of guilt wash over him. He's replaying what he said to you, he doesn't know what could have provoked such a reaction! He wouldn't dare hurt you on purpose!

Bepo's hands fidget nervously as he mutters a string of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" His entire focus is on you, but he can sense his captain's frustration looming in the background, only adding to his anxiety. If you were part of his crew, he'd instinctively reach out to hug you, offering comfort and reassurance. But you're not part of his team, and he hesitates, unsure if such a gesture would be appropriate. After all, he doesn't know you well enough to gauge your comfort level with physical contact.

“Can I... hold her? Give her a hug?” Bepo's thoughts race frantically as he considers the consequences. “I've seen her snap a man's neck with one kick—I don't want to die!” But the fear of the Straw Hat discovering her tears fills him with dread. “If they see her crying, they'll know I'm the cause... they'll kill me!” He shudders at the thought of facing the wrath of the redhead. “I don't want to provoke her wrath, she's terrifying!” Panic grips him as he wrestles with his dilemma. “Oh no, what am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING??? I'M SO SORRY!”

Behind your hands, a sound that doesn't resemble crying catches Bepo's attention, halting his panic. He tilts his head, intrigued, and whispers your name. Swiftly, you unveil your face to reveal a broad smile, tears glistening in the corners of your eyes. You don't look sad, on the contrary, you're laughing! Relief floods through the navigator as he releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. For a moment, Bepo had feared the worst—walking the plank and sparking a conflict between Law and Luffy. But now, seeing your smile, he knows everything's alright.

You wipe away your tears of laughter and jest, "What kind of spell have you cast on me, Bepo? I never allow myself to broach this subject with my friends, yet here I am, spilling my heart out to you without a second thought!"

From the look on his face, you realize you've startled him. You let out a soft giggle and gently pat his back. Predictably, Bepo hangs his head and apologizes. Wanting to reassure him, you decide to do what comes naturally to you: offer a hug. You're not sure if he enjoys being cuddled, but he seems like the type who appreciates a good hug. After all, you've witnessed him embrace several members of his crew before.

Since the navigator towers over you by several heads, you have to stand up to reach his neck. Bepo quickly catches on to what you're trying to do and bends over slightly to make it easier for you, allowing you to control the strength of the embrace. As your arms encircle his neck and your face brushes against his fur, you freeze.

"B-Bepo..." you whisper.

The mink senses the tension in your body and quickly pulls away, fearing he's made you uncomfortable. But as he looks at you, he sees anything but discomfort in your expression. You stare at him as if he were your soulmate, as if he were an oasis in the desert, as if he were the most delicious treat in the world!

"Bepo!" you shout, disregarding the volume of your voice entirely. "You're... you're... so..."

"Y-yes?"

"You're so... FLUFFY!!!"

Once again, Bepo relaxes. "Thank you! We polar bear minks are known for having very soft fur," he responds, his tone tinged with pride as he puffs out his chest.

His pride comes to an abrupt halt when he hears you say, "Give me your fur!"

"Huh?! No way!"

You burst out laughing at his reaction.

"You can touch me, if you like. But you can't have my fur!"

"Really?" you say, hopeful.

Bepo nods eagerly, a wide smile spreading across his face, showcasing his beautiful, sharp teeth. Seeing his joy, you can't help but smile too. Driven by a sudden warmth in your chest, you decide to climb onto the polar bear and settle in his lap. It's impossible to wrap your legs around his waist, his stature is impressive, but that doesn't stop you from trying. You can't stop giggling like a child. Your fingers trace down Bepo's arms to his shoulders, and you even muster the courage to touch his round cheeks. It strikes you as surprising that this is the first time you've thought of cuddling him, and you find yourself wishing you'd done it sooner!

Struggling to remain composed, you fight the urge to cling to the navigator and squeeze him like a cuddly stuffed toy. It's not the first time you've had such an impulse. In the past, you nearly suffocated Chopper in your embrace when he donned a cow costume; and poor Karoo fell victim to your accidental feather-plucking. You've always been wary of approaching small animals (and even larger ones) for fear of inadvertently harming them with your overwhelming cute aggression.

You don't want to hurt Bepo, but you want him to know how much his fluffiness messes with your brain. 

"You're so cute and soft! I want to bite you!"

Bepo flinches and lets out a little cry of fear. "Please don't!"

You squeeze him with all your strength and rub your face on his furry chest, releasing a high-pitched squeal of delight. Your statement catches him off guard; while he's accustomed to receiving compliments on his fur, being told that someone wants to bite him for it is a first. Unsure of how to respond verbally, Bepo reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his head against yours. The two of you share smiles and giggles, caught up in the moment. He couldn't be more adorable!

You let out another cry of joy, causing heads to turn in your direction. The music abruptly stops, and you feel a pang of regret for disturbing everyone. You hadn't realized you were being so noisy.

Suddenly, rubbery arms wrap around you and Bepo, pulling you both into an even tighter embrace. Luffy's body collides with yours, almost knocking the breath out of you. Like a true monkey, the young man clings to you, laughing gleefully in your ear.

"Oi bear, you are fluffy shishishi!"

As you catch your breath, Penguin, Shachi, Hakugan, Franky, and Brook all join the hug. You're completely crushed under the weight of all the men—and the skeleton—but you don't mind. It's a shower of love that you happily accept!

"Yohoho, your fur is so soft! Oh, but I can't feel it, I have no skin yohohoho!" exclaims Brook. 

You roll your eyes, a gesture Brook can't mimic, at his classic skeleton joke. 

"Bepo is the fluffiest!" declares Penguin.

"Yeah, he's the best mink!" adds Shachi.

The boys return to dancing and singing, leaving you alone with Bepo. His face is flushed with embarrassment, but there's also a hint of happiness in his expression knowing he caused this adorable moment. You're the last one to remain in his arms, cherishing the warmth of the embrace.

You release a long, contented sigh and allow your eyes to drift shut. Gradually, your body begins to relax. You immerse yourself in the sounds around you—the crackling of the fire, Bepo's steady heartbeat, Brook's music, the chatter of voices—and find the atmosphere to be perfect. Feeling a protective hand resting on your back, you take it as confirmation that Bepo doesn't mind your presence on his lap. Whatever worries you had earlier, they slip away from your mind. Normally, you'd muster the strength to snap yourself out of such a relaxed state, perhaps with a sharp slap to the cheeks, but right now, you find yourself unable to resist the pull of fatigue.

Before long, you fall asleep. It feels like being cradled by a giant teddy bear, shielded from the demons of the night. Bepo becomes your protector, kicking away any bad memories and nightmares, ensuring you're safe and sound in his arms. Almost unable to believe it, Bepo watches you sleep, feeling a sense of happiness wash over him. 60 hours awake... If you had continued, you could have slipped into psychosis.

A little further away from the duo, Law sits with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. He attempts to focus on the fire, seeking distraction, but his gaze inevitably returns to you. Your face is nestled against Bepo's chest, mouth slightly parted, hands grasping the bear's fur. A stray lock of your hair appears to tickle your nose; he has the urge to step forward and gently tuck it behind your ear, but refrains. Instead, the captain remains seated against a tree, determined not to retreat back to the submarine.

Of course, Bepo would notice your fatigue; it was obvious. It was the first thing Law noticed when you walked onto the beach.

You stepped off the Thousand Sunny with a radiant smile. You were looking at your feet, a habit he noticed, to avoid falling or running into someone else. Ikkaku took you in her arms, the lucky girl. That's when he saw it. Right there. Your hands, resting on the young woman's back, trembled ever so slightly. Were you that eager to see his crew? No, it couldn't be; when you're excited you tend to hop to your feet, and would have thrown yourself at Ikkaku to cuddle her. His suspicions were confirmed as you stepped back to chat with the brunette—your eyes were heavily bagged. So you were tired. When you're working on the logbook or writing a story, sometimes you get so immersed in your work, you end up pulling an all-nighter. Maybe you've been working a lot the last few days? While plausible, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Law recalls something peculiar about your behavior earlier in the day. You frequently glanced behind you in a manner that appeared paranoid. Moreover, you seemed more on edge, visibly flinching when Clione tapped you on the shoulder and even when Sanji placed a glass down in front of you at dinner. Nami's earlier conversation with Shachi may shed some light on this.

"People are insane for wanting to test Luffy's power! Ever since his new, stupid poster came out, wannabe pirates have been constantly coming at us! One group even had the audacity to attack us during the night! Zoro was pissed. We thought we could rest on the next island, but nope! The Marine was waiting for us. Sanji didn't even have time to buy food; the boys had to fish every day! I'm sick of eating fish! The Marines pulled the same stunt two other times, but at least on the last island we had enough time to roam around for a few hours and stock up. I decided to change course completely, and that's how we ended up here. So if you attack us, I swear, I'll electrocute you all."

Your nervousness could be attributed to the constant presence of enemies. Yeah, that's likely it. Tonight no one's going to attack you—Law's going to ensure that.

In the ongoing competition, Nami and Zoro are the final contenders. The swordsman eyes the opportunity to pocket some money, and he's adamant about seizing it. Though he's never emerged victorious before, tonight might just be his chance. Meanwhile, Nami has no plans of letting him walk away with the prize without a challenge, but she enjoys seeing him give it his all until he eventually succumbs to sleep.

But, Nami suddenly stops drinking, leaving a glass half-full.

"What? Now you're going to give up? I knew you were going to lose," says Clione, clearly intoxicated.

The redhead doesn't seem to hear; she's bewildered by what she sees across the fire. Has she indulged in too much alcohol, leading to hallucinations, or is it actually you sleeping? Doubtful of her own condition to discern reality, she slaps Zoro's shoulder and gestures towards you. Gradually, the swordsman follows her gesture and frowns in confusion.

"Am I crazy or...?"

"You are crazy, but it's real," replies Zoro. He waves his arm to get his captain's attention. "Oi, Luffy."

The young man tilts his head to the side and stops playing with the guys. He follows the navigator's finger and a huge grin spreads across his face when he sees you sleeping in Bepo's arms. Finally!

"The party's over."

Brook and Franky immediately stop playing music, leaving only the sounds of the fire and nature. The Hearts are visibly intrigued by this drastic change of mood. When Luffy says the party's over, something's wrong.

"What's going on?" Ikkaku asks, a worried look on her face.

Robin stands up while keeping the little reindeer in her arms, gently stroking his head.

"The recent events have affected the sleep of the whole crew, but (y/n) is the one suffering the most. We've tried to help her by giving her chamomile tea and exhausting her with training, but it's not working. Bepo, would you be willing to spend the night with her?"

All eyes are on Bepo, who must deliver an answer quickly. He's feeling the pressure of the Straw Hats. Disappointing them is the least of his concerns; the navigator considers that he owes them nothing. The alliance has dissolved in Wano, and there's nothing compelling him to comply with Nico Robin's request, but... The thing, or rather the person, that makes him hesitate is just a few meters away. Bepo doesn't dare turn to his captain, as it might raise doubts, but he can sense a negative energy emanating from his direction.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Uh... S-she might wake up if I move."

"No problem; you just have to stay in this exact spot and not move a muscle," Nami replies, her arms crossed and a tone of finality in her voice, indicating she's not open to negotiation.

"Okay... B-but she might get sick if we stay outside!"

"Don't worry bro, I'll go get some blankets, no one will get sick." adds Franky with a thumbs-up.

Bepo lowers his gaze to your sleeping face. You look really comfortable... And with everything you've told him, it would be a shame to wake you up.

"Bepo, you have the right to refuse," Robin finally says, sounding sincere.

Did he truly have a choice? Because right now, he feels like murder will be committed if he refuses. Bepo doesn't mind sharing a sleeping space with you; you're not heavy, you smell good and he trusts you. Law is the problem. Bepo isn't the only one harboring this thought; Penguin and Shachi are visibly nervous as well.

"Bepo will stay with her," Law declares before anyone else can continue the conversation, thus putting an end to the negotiation.

"C-captain?" asks Bepo, uncertain and surprised.

"But only for tonight. My navigator is not at your beck and call," Law adds firmly.

"Of course, Torao." agrees Robin with a mysterious smile. "Franky."

"Yes! I'll be right back with the blankets, I'll be suuuuuuuuper quick!"

"SHH! You'll wake her up if you scream!" Sanji warns.

"Sorry! I'll be suuuuper fast!" murmurs Franky without losing his excitement.

"You're the one who's loud, shitty cook."

"What did you say mosshead!?"

"SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

"Sorry Nami-san!"

The pirates walk away, their voices ranging from hushed murmurs to boisterous chatter. The Straw Hats aren't good at going unnoticed - they never have been. In contrast, the Heart Pirates are accustomed to lurking in the shadows, making silence second nature to them. Most of them bid Bepo a good night, but Shachi and Penguin restrain themselves from voicing the myriad thoughts swirling in their minds. They know that uttering those thoughts could provoke their captain's wrath. They certainly don't want to risk being swapped for the night or, worse, dismembered. So, they remain silent, merely waving their hands in farewell.

And Law? He uses his power to return to the Polar Tang, without uttering a word.

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