#also how easy it is for him to clench his jaw. well. thinking thoughts.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Imperator

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Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[orangeblossomsintheair]

DAD SIMON THOUGHTS!!

im also in this fandom now ;>

simon’s fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the table as you placed your mug down and sat across from him. he avoided your gaze, staring at a spot on the wall instead. his silence was deafening, stretching long enough to make you sigh.

“spit it out, simon,” you said gently, leaning forward.

“there’s nothing to spit out,” he muttered, but his clenched jaw betrayed him.

you tilted your head, watching him with that knowing look that always unnerved him. “you’re acting like the world’s about to end.”

he huffed a humorless laugh. “maybe it is.”

your brows knitted together, but there was no anger, only a concern that made his skin itch. “simon, talk to me.”

he nearly laughed at your face. you made it sound so easy.

how could he put that fear into words, knowing it might hurt you, knowing it might break something in you too?

“i can’t,” he finally admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “it’s not… i don’t want to say something I can’t take back.”

your lips pressed into a thin line as you reached out, taking his hand in yours. “you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared,” he shot back too quickly, tone defensive.

“you’re terrified,” you corrected softly, squeezing his hand. “and that’s okay.”

you tilted your head, trying to catch his eyes. “now, seriously. talk to me.”

he shook his head. “what if I’m not…good enough? what if I fail you? or our baby?”

your hand tightened around his, and you moved closer, your eyes unwavering. “you won’t. because you care too much to fail. and because you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i don’t know how to be…” he trailed off, his voice cracking.

“a father?” you finished for him, your voice warm.

he nodded, staring at your joined hands.

“you’re already doing it,” you said softly. “you’re here, si. that’s what matters most. the rest, we figure out as we go.”

simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

he hadn’t said anything for a while now, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. you sat beside him, watching the way his shoulders tensed, his body a coiled spring ready to snap.

“i know you don’t believe me,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “no matter what I say, you’ve got it in your head that you’re not good enough.”

he didn’t respond, but his hands flexed slightly, like he was gripping onto some invisible weight he just couldn’t drop.

you exhaled, leaning closer, voice steady. “simon, I didn’t marry you because I thought you were perfect.”

he looked away, jaw tightening, but you pressed on.

“do you really think i didn’t know what i was getting into? i knew. and i still love you. i’ll always love you.” your hand rested on his, grounding him. “not because you’re perfect but because you show up. because you try, even when you’re scared. because you care, even when it hurts.”

his breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

then he looked at you, his voice cracking as he whispered, “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“you don’t get to decide that,” you replied, smile soft but firm.

his lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how. “bit bossy, aren’t you?”

you smirked, tilting your head playfully. “someone has to be, with you moping around like this.”

“moping?” his eyebrows lifted, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “i don’t mope.”

“oh, you do,” you shot back, leaning back slightly but keeping your hands on his. “it’s very broody, very dramatic. could give shakespeare a run for his money.”

a dry laugh rumbled in his chest, and the sound warmed you more than you cared to admit. “didn’t know i married a comedian.”

“well, i didn’t marry a ray of sunshine, so i guess we’re even.” you grinned, poking him lightly in the ribs.

he caught your hand before you could do it again, holding it tightly but not enough to hurt. “careful,” he said, his voice low but teasing. “i’m dangerous, remember?”

your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it. “oh, please. you’re about as dangerous as a kitten when you��re sulking.”

he huffed, shaking his head, but the ghost of a smile finally broke through. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet, here we are,” you cooed, leaning closer until your forehead was almost touching his. “you stuck with me, riley. for better or worse.”

he let out a long breath, finally letting the tension drain from his shoulders. “guess i can live with that,” he said, his voice soft, his gaze warm in a way that made your heart ache.

“you better,” you quipped, grin returning full force. “because i’m not going anywhere.”

his lips finally curved into a small, genuine smile. “good,” he murmured, pulling you closer into his arms. “i’d be lost without you.”

[yrsonpurpose]

#nicholas galitzine the actor that you are

[starsenha]

CHALLENGE / N.R

Pairing ◊ reader x bf!riki

Genre ◊ established relationship, suggestive

Warnings ◊ kinda heavy make out sesh, marking, lots of cursing, lowk dom riki

Word count ◊ around 2k

Summary ◊ you saw a challenge on tiktok and wanted to try with your boyfriend

a/n: literally saw someone doing that on tiktok and thought of riki immediately. not proofread, enjoy!

You had been dating Riki for a few months now, and to say he was confident would be an understatement. Riki was cocky, always walking with that proud smirk plastered on his face, the kind that could make anyone fall for him. He was also playful—a tease in every way possible, constantly challenging you, whether it was playful banter, jokes, or that look in his eyes that always seemed to suggest he had something up his sleeve.

One lazy afternoon, you were scrolling through TikTok when you came across a viral trend that caught your attention. The challenge was simple: couples stared at each other, their faces close enough that they could kiss—but they didn’t. You couldn't help but smirk to yourself as you imagined Riki’s reaction. This challenge had him written all over it. You could already picture how smug he’d be, certain he wouldn’t give in.

You lifted your phone and called out to him. "Riki."

He was sitting on the couch, lazily flipping through channels. His sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours. "Hmm?" His voice was deep, casual, almost bored, but the way he looked at you made your heart flutter.

"I want to try something." You walked over and sat next to him, holding up your phone. His brows raised slightly in curiosity.

"Oh?" he asked, that familiar cocky grin spreading across his lips. "What is it this time? Another dance challenge?" His tone was teasing, like he was ready to poke fun at you.

"Not exactly," you replied, leaning closer. "It's a challenge where we stare at each other, faces close, but we don’t kiss. You think you can handle it?"

Riki’s grin widened. He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You really think I can’t hold back?" His tone was full of confidence, and he leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms lazily.

"You up for it, or are you scared?" you teased, knowing full well he’d never back down from any challenge.

He narrowed his eyes, then straightened up and leaned in closer, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief second. "I’m never scared. You’re on."

You positioned your phone to record, setting it on the coffee table. The camera captured both of you as you leaned in, faces inches apart. The air between you felt charged, thick with the tension of anticipation.

At first, Riki was calm, relaxed, his eyes locking with yours with ease. His usual smirk lingered, as if he was already claiming victory. "This is too easy," he muttered, voice dripping with arrogance.

But as the seconds passed, his gaze slowly changed. His eyes darkened, and his smirk faltered just a little. You could see the flicker in his gaze—the way it wavered slightly before it dropped to your lips. You raised an eyebrow, daring him to give in.

"You’re staring, Riki," you whispered playfully, a soft challenge in your tone.

His jaw clenched, that confidence suddenly faltering. "I’m just looking," he retorted, voice a little huskier than before. You could feel the shift in the air between you. What started as a game had quickly turned into something else. His breaths were getting shallow, and you could see the tension building in his muscles as he fought the urge to close the gap.

"You sure?" you asked softly, your voice almost teasing as you leaned in just a fraction closer. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, and you swore you saw his eyes darken even more, his pupils blown wide.

Riki’s eyes flicked up from your lips to meet yours again. His smirk was gone now. He licked his lips, his composure cracking. Finally. "You’re fucking with me," he muttered, his voice rough.

"That’s the point," you whispered, barely holding back a grin.

And then, just as you thought he might break, his hand shot out, grabbing your phone. Without even glancing away from you, he stopped the recording, tossing the phone aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Fuck the challenge," he growled, and before you could even process his words, he crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss was intense, desperate. His lips were hard and demanding, like he had been holding back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching out to grip his shirt as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

He wasn’t gentle, not in the slightest. His kisses were rough, full of need, as if he was trying to claim you, to erase the teasing tension you had built up between the two of you. His tongue parted your lips, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment.

"Fuck," he muttered between kisses, his voice low and laced with a kind of frustration that made your heart race. "You’re such a tease, you know that?"

You barely had time to respond before his lips were on yours again, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deeper into the kiss. His other hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip tightly, possessively.

"All this time," he growled, breaking away just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, "acting all innocent, and you think you can play with me like that?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue sliding against yours, sending a rush of heat through your body. Every kiss felt desperate, like he was trying to make up for the restraint he had shown just moments before.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire. He stared at you, his breath ragged, and you could see the way he was barely holding himself back from diving in again.

Without warning, his hands gripped your hips firmly, his strong fingers digging into your sides as he guided you over him. His movements were fluid, confident. In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, and you could feel his strength beneath you as he settled you across his thighs. His hands didn’t let go, though—they held you there, tight, possessive.

"Come here," he muttered, voice thick with desire. His tone left no room for argument. His eyes bore into yours as he pulled you in closer, his legs spreading slightly beneath you so he could adjust your position, making sure you were right where he wanted you—straddling him, your knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips.

Your body reacted instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His eyes flicked down to your lips again, lingering, but this time there was no hesitation, no teasing restraint. He reached up, his fingers brushing your jaw before tangling in your hair, guiding your face closer until your lips met his.

The kiss was fierce—more intense than before. It was as though pulling you into his lap had unleashed something in him. His lips moved against yours with a kind of desperation, his tongue sweeping past your lips, claiming you fully. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped, the sensation overwhelming as his hands roamed up and down your sides, pulling you impossibly closer.

Riki’s grip tightened as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending a shock of heat through your body. "Fuck," he groaned against your lips, breaking away just for a second to catch his breath, but his forehead remained pressed against yours. His hands slid down to your waist, fingers digging in as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you in his lap.

"You feel so damn good," he muttered, voice low and rough, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you. But you heard him clearly, and the raw need in his voice sent a thrill rushing through you.

Your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, his heartbeat pounding beneath your palms. You leaned in again, capturing his lips with yours, this time with just as much intensity, your body pressing against him fully as you kissed him deeply. The taste of him was intoxicating, and the way he responded to every touch only made the heat between you grow.

Riki's hands roamed your body freely now, one hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was firm, yet the way his thumb lazily caressed your skin sent shivers down your spine. He pulled you tighter against him, guiding your hips to press against his. You could feel how much he wanted you, you could feel it underneath you.

"You're driving me fucking insane," he breathed against your mouth before capturing your lips again in a kiss that was nothing short of hungry. His hand slipped further up your back, under your shirt, his fingertips trailing over your skin in a way that made you arch into him.

"Riki," you gasped softly as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your skin. He chuckled against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear before biting down gently, enough to make you gasp.

"You like that?" he whispered, his voice rough and teasing. His lips ghosted over your skin as he continued to kiss his way down your neck, his hands never stopping their slow exploration of your body.

You nodded, biting your lip as you tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel more of him. Your hips shifted instinctively in his lap, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest sent a shockwave of heat through you.

His hand slipped back down to your hip, his grip tightening as he guided your movements, pressing you harder against him. "Fuck," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "You're such a fucking tease, and you don’t even know it."

You couldn't hold back your response, your voice coming out in a breathy whisper. "I think you’re the one teasing."

He paused for just a second, pulling back to look at you, his lips curled into a wicked grin. "Oh, I’m just getting started." His eyes were dark. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours, but this time he didn’t kiss you immediately.

Instead, he whispered, "I could kiss you like this all night." His voice was a low growl, full of raw need, and the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. "But you know what I want even more?"

You swallowed hard, breathless as you stared into his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. "What?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he growled softly, "I want to hear you beg for it."

His words sent a shock through you, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded, pressing harder against him. The heat between you was overwhelming now, and your mind was spinning, caught up in the intensity of the moment. But Riki didn’t stop. He tilted your head slightly, his lips returning to your neck as he nipped at your skin, leaving a trail of marks down your throat, each one making you gasp.

"Come on, baby," he muttered against your skin. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as his hands continued their slow, torturous exploration of your body, his lips never leaving your neck. "Riki," you gasped, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone the words he wanted to hear.

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "That’s not what I asked for."

Finally, you broke, your voice breathy and desperate as you whispered, "Please, just… kiss me."

In that instant, his lips were back on yours, kissing you fiercely, as if he had been waiting for those words. His hands tightened their grip on your hips, guiding your movements as you ground against him, his lips never leaving yours.

"That’s my girl," he muttered against your mouth before kissing you harder, deeper, pulling you completely into him as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

[feyascorner]

until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

[predestinatos]

hungry for life - MV1 (18+) ༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader

summary: it could've been a dream trip. if it hadn't been for the nightmare of the company. (also i didn't proofread i'm sorry)

tags: enemies to lovers, smut, lots of smut, filthy really, p in v, fingering, reader swallows, idk what to say.

word count: 5.2k

MINORS DNI!!!

Monet’s Water Lilies occupied the entire room, listening to your conversation intently.

“It isn’t that big of a deal” you friend said, whispering and pointing to the painting as if she was commenting on it.

Your gaze remained on the careful brushstrokes, head tilted as you replied, “Easy for you to say. I mean, seriously? Max?” your hand raised to a specific part of the painting that really wasn’t as impressive up close as it probably was from afar - but there was no other way to have this conversation.

“You’re in Paris, looking at a Monet, with your best friend” she continued, a hint of a smile in her tone of voice. Her amusement only frustrated you more as she walked a few steps to the right, trying to inspect another part of the mesmerizing painting.

“And my worst enemy” you rolled your eyes as you followed her. “It’s not fair. When you said it would be you, your boyfriend and a friend of his, I didn’t expect this. I was thinking more of a double date.”

She looked at you, shrugging, causing her beautiful hair to bounce with her. “It can still be” she joked, to which you could only reply by turning your back to her - and consequently, Monet himself, muttering a ‘fuck you’ to her giggling frame and to the lilies who stood motionless in the still water.

You stood, alone, in front of Sam Francis’s In Lovely Blueness. You felt unlovely blue yourself, though you knew you couldn’t let this ruin a dream trip for you. Your excitement might have died down the minute you met Max at the airport and put two and two together, but you were sure it was mutual, which did make things better. At least he wasn’t particularly amused himself, falling for the exact same trap you fell into.

As if manifested by your own thoughts, his frame appeared on the corner of your eye, big eyelashes adorning his eyes as he stared ahead, almost as if he had no intention of acknowledging you whatsoever. “This is inspired in a poem by Hölderlin. It has the same name and everything. In Lieblicher Bläue. It’s a representation of-” he started, shocking you at first but then angering you just as well.

“I am an art major. I don’t need you to explain this to me” you spat, a fake smile adorning your lips as he looked at you, your annoyance, and chuckled. It was brave of him, you had to admit - to intentionally go out of his way to annoy you by explaining something you were sure he knew you knew. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, his head slightly tipped to the side, he admired how easy it was to get under your skin. He wanted to be nice, to engage in a conversation and try to achieve some type of neutral ground, but he found it impossible to do so. “Since you know so much, why don’t you guide us?” 

The comment came out aggressive and petty, which wasn’t particularly intentional but he also hadn’t made any effort to hide what he felt towards you anymore. You stepped closer to him. It surprised him, how daring you were all of a sudden, but also how much you actually seemed to dislike him, to the point where this was something you did publicly, unashamedly. 

“You want me to guide you?” you asked, whispering while looking up at him. You were smaller than him, his frame towering over you even unintentionally, but that factor didn’t stop you. 

“Sure” he said, swallowing dryly, jaw clenching as the tension between you both rose. The red on the painting seemed to stand out even more and spread on the corner of his vision, inundating the whole painting.

“Okay” you replied, taking two steps back away from him, opening the distance between your bodies, carrying the red color with you as the painting seemed to fill with blue again. But not for long, for you walked and looked at him as if urging him to follow, which he did, curiosity winning against irritation. 

After a couple of steps, you reached the end of a hallway, secluded and stripped of any painting, walls too bare, contrasting with the previous setting.

He was confused. He really didn’t know what you would do next, though this whole scenario just proved you were just as childish about your feelings as he was. “And, to your left you have the exit sign, which will take you right where you belong” you said, moving your arms like a museum guide, overly cartoon-ish on purpose, knowing it would only annoy him more.

“You’re such a child” Max said. Indignation wasn’t something he felt often, yet this time he felt it appropriate. But he was also thankful - thankful that his attempt at being nice didn’t work, for he did not have to pretend to like you for a week when he absolutely did not. “I tried, at least.”

At this, you could only gasp in surprise at his courage to make such a statement. “You tried? By mansplaining a painting? Oh, that's new!” it was almost funny how you two were whispering in shots, or shouting through whispers, the empty hallway echoing your words as if to emphasize them. 

“It’s more than what you’ve done so far! I’m not the one walking around looking all bitter and bratty.”

You stood, motionless, looking at him. His green eyes fixated on yours and burned as if they were scorching red, and as much as you wanted to lash out even more at him, you figured walking away was the best solution. Once again, turning your back on someone in Paris. It had to be done.

“Oh, yeah, walk away. Good luck doing that at the hotel” Max said, the comment a nail in your coffin, a way to affirm that yes, he had won, yes he was right, and the points had been made - you were to avoid each other at all times.

You, however, stopped. His last words echoed in your head. What did he mean, the hotel? The moment you closed the door to your room and he closed the door to his, you two would be out of each other’s sight. So what did he mean by that? That he would annoy you further, being noisy, screaming, to the point where you couldn’t sleep? You were about to ask when you decided that would admit some sort of defeat - asking someone to clarify a point you hadn’t understood in an argument seemed weak, frail and ridiculous to you, so you kept walking, desperate to find your friend again.

“No,” you said when the room card was handed to you. “Fuck no” you kept going, your best friend’s hand raised towards you as she tried to contain a hint of a smile. 

Now you understood Max’s comment. Now you were angrier than ever.

Why did you let your friend handle the hotel reservations? Because you trusted her good judgment. Which was bad judgment from your part, apparently, as she reserved two rooms - one for her and her boyfriend, and one for the friends they brought - you and Max.

“It has TWO beds” she tried convincing you, as Max had already gone up angrily, snatching the card swiftly without saying a word. “I wouldn’t put you two in a king sized bed. I am not crazy” she kept going. 

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. 

Max prided himself on his fast insticts and reactions to any unforseen events that might come his way. It was probably one of his best traits, one he always mentioned when asked about his favorite psychological aspect of himself.

But all that was put into question as he stood motionless in the middle of the hotel bedroom, towel wrapped lowly around his waist as the air conditioning hit his bare back and he heard the door click open.

He stood in the same place as you closed the door behind you and ran a hand through your hair as you exhaled. He had those brief seconds of you unaware of his presence to hide in the bathroom and get dressed quickly, or lay underneath the covers discreetly. Anything at all.

But he had no time to make a decision as your eyes met his, panic written across his green irises.

You prided yourself on your fast insticts and reactions to any unforeseen events that might come your way. It was probably one of your best traits, one you always mentioned when asked about your favorite psychological aspect.

But all that was put into question when you opened the door to the hotel room and saw a Max's frozen frame, towel wrapped lowly - too lowly, you thought - around his waist, swallowing hard as droplets of water ran across his bare skin.

No thoughts crossed your mind before you cursed, a hard "for fuck's sake" escaping your lips from accumulated stress over the events of the past 24 hours.

This was not how you wanted your trip to go. This was not what you had planned. It wasn't just sleeping in two separate beds.

This proved it clearly.

During this time, Max's brain found the opportunity to adapt to the situation, adopting an arrogant attitude that contrasted from his initial shock.

"Come on, I'm not fucking naked" he said as he turned his back to you, heading to the bathroom.

"You are underneath that towel" you pointed out, starting to follow him before stopping yourself, realizing it was best not to do it. "I mean, you knew I was coming"

You heard him chuckle - really, he made sure you would - and his head and bare shoulder showed up from behind the open door. "Yes. Hence the towel. Otherwise I'd be naked. Which I'm not. Don't be such a child."

You could only throw a middle finger at him in response - one that he found gave him the victory, the upper hand. One that signified the discussion was over and he was right.

He grinned to himself, closing the door as he undid the towel around his waist in order to put on his underwear and a t-shirt.

Max's hand reached for the small hanger where it was placed and his fingers wrapped around nothing. He looked at the empty hanger and then at the floor, completely empty of what he needed the most in that very moment - his boxers.

"Shit. Shit. Shit Shit" he cursed, looking around for an answer. He knew his only choice was to ask you to bring them to him, but he only knew it cost him that final victory he enjoyed so much, his ego and pride mixing with each other to create a selfishness that surprised even him sometimes.

You heard your name being called out from the bathroom. At first you thought you had imagined it, like in horror movies where it seems to be coming from everywhere, but when it sounded again you knew that wasn't the case, though it was equally as terrifying.

You jumped from your bed and went over to the bathroom, ear pressed against the door in search of a sign of danger.

"...Yes?" you asked.

"Can you bring me a pair of boxers? They're in my suitcase. That is if you don't want to see me naked for four seconds while I get them myself."

You groaned loud enough for him to hear, your steps heavier than usual so he could notice your discontentment even if he couldn't see it.

Walking over to his suitcase, you opened its zipper almost carelessly, searching for a pair of underwear in the midst of the collection of same colored t shirts and same fit jeans.

Max was walking around the bathroom like a mad man, realizing how ridiculous this situation was, and how ridiculous it was that he had accepted it without asking who his company would be first. Maybe this was a lesson, yes, from the ghost of vacations future warning him about being careful who to trust, or to spread kindness, or something.

Before he could dive deeper into thoughts of madness, a knock sounded on the door. He grabbed the towel quickly to cover himself, although he did not bother wrapping it around him. He was not planning on opening the door entirely, not after the scene you caused.

As he opened, he saw an outstretched hand - yours - holding a pair of underwear. The fabric dangled in your pointer finger as if it was made of a burning material that you needed to get rid off, and fast.

He grabbed that from you, but as he was closing the door, your arm remained in place.

"I'm childish but you brought like two packs of condoms for this trip?" you said accusingly, and he could hear your smirk, as if you finally had something to hit him with.

"Don't flatter yourself, I didn't know I'd end up with you" he said as he pulled his boxers up and opened the door once again. "Is this less offensive than the towel?"

He was close - closer than you had expected - and though he hid his own surprise at seeing you at the doorframe, he couldn't deny that he didn't exactly measure the consequences of not checking where exactly you were before opening the door so fast.

His chest was close to yours, so close part of him almost felt as if you were touching, the proximity making him feel unbelievably taller than you, though he was sure the difference couldn't be that big.

You tried not to stare. Really, you were trying really hard. But he was so close to you he occupied your entire line of vision, his pale skin appearing so smooth in front of yours, contrasting with the dark color of his underwear - that you unconsciously had picked.

He towered over you, head low so he could look at you in the eyes, though the view wasn't particularly bad from up there. Your pajama top was loose - too loose - in your frame and your shorts were the very definition of the word.

"You wanting to sleep with me would be an insult" you said, moving away from the doorframe so he could pass, though he didn't move, merely crossed his arms across his chest, muscles tensing slightly at that. "And sure. It's an improvement" you continued, staring him up and down - taking his frame in but disguising the act as disdain.

Max's head leaned to the right, a smirk growing on his lips as he realized he got you for a second time. Nonchalantly, eyebrows raised, he decided to act.

"That's not what you said a year ago." There. He had you. And while before this bickering came from a place of anger and hatred, he was growing increasingly more amused at how you matched his own pace.

"Yeah, but that was before you opened your mouth" you retorted, focusing hard - too hard - on his face and not on his body, though it did not help either. His hair was messy and slightly damp from the shower, and his stubble had grown in a way you could only describe as attractive - not perfectly shaved but not entirely messy either.

He bit his lip then, mostly because he knew what to say to you after your words and was trying not to smile. Also because you had admitted to feeling attracted to him, even if only physically, which added to his confidence as he stared at you and ran his eyes down your body. "What's wrong with my mouth?"

You were dumbfounded for a few seconds, mouth opened at the ridiculousness of his comment, what it implied and the line it had crossed. "You're such a piece of shit" you said, while his grin grew to his eyes.

"You want me" he sounded so matter of factly, as if he had commented on the weather or said the sky was blue.

"I hate you."

"Never said you didn't" Max took a step forward towards you, and you found yourself unable to walk away. Something about his deviance pulled you in, and part of your brain told you you could leave, though another tried to convince you you were only staying because this was your room, after all.

"Then how could I possibly want you?" you asked, though it was more directed at yourself than at him this time.

He looked away then, as if the answer was obvious, his body moving closer to you but never touching you, both decreasing and increasing the distance between the both of you.

"You want me but I'm a piece of shit. And that's why you hate me. Because you know, deep down, you still want me to fuck you" as he said this, he moved away, almost as if the conversation had never happened, though it had, just now.

"I don't want you anywhere near me" you tried to sound assertive but part of your voice had failed by how taken aback you were, still wondering if you had imagined his words.

He stopped and turned to you once again, battling his own brain on whether or not he should push you a bit further.

"Define near" he said, as he walked closely towards you, like a predator slowly approaching its prey, defying them.

Your chest rose and fell as he moved, and you found yourself unable to tell him that that was near enough, mostly because it wasn't, not even close.

The back of your legs hit the bed - his bed - and you fell backwards, sitting on it as he moved as close as he could towards you. "Is this near for you?" he asked, though his tone had changed into something darker, raspier and more filled with lust than flirt.

You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact, aware of how you looking up at him provided a view for himself as well.

"Who wants who now, huh?" you asked teasingly, a smile spread across your lips as you noticed his body tensing up - with a bit of anger but maybe a bit of arousal too.

"Is this wanting you?" he asked back, finding your language had moved from insult to rhetoric, questions that needn't answer - not when he could see your eyes shining as they looked up at you from your eyelashes, not as he saw you crossing your legs despite your attempts at discreetness.

You shrugged at his question, not wanting to back down on your claim but also not wanting to give him the chance to refute it.

His hand cupped your face with firmness, holding your stare as he lowered himself towards you, bringing his lips close to yours, so close you felt his skin brushing against yours although he broke away before you could indulge in his initiative.

"What about this?" he asked, testing you now, though he knew the answer himself, felt it in his body as his boxers felt tight against his erection.

"I'm still unsure" you replied, and as if awaiting for that sign to keep going, Max exhaled and ran his hands through your bare thighs, pinching softly at them, causing you to hiss and giggle from his contact.

"Do I have to keep asking?" it was his time now to look up at you, something close to desperation rubbing at him as he knelt between your legs.

"Not if you admit it" you leaned to kiss him, to - admittedly - give him some kind of upper hand, though you weren't sure if you were playing anymore, not as his tongue hungrily explored your mouth, so desperate it was almost sloppy yet so warm and arousing and fulfilling.

"Fucking hell you're stubborn" he managed to let out during the brief instances where you weren't pulling his neck towards you, making sure his lips remained on yours.

His body moved on top of yours as you laid down in his bed, his hips pressing against yours as you felt his cock against you, a moan escaping your lips and a sigh leaving his at the contact.

"Is this, huh?" he asked again, mouth now moving to your neck, kissing it so lightly you shivered, only to bite you afterwards, the sensations overwhelming you with need for him.

Your body felt hot, burning intensely; and Max's body against yours only fueled that, his voice making you feel more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

You wanted him to feel like you were feeling in that moment - unaware he was already as on the edge of completely losing himself as you were. So you held his hand with yours and brought it in between your legs, allowing him to get his response.

Max had to steady himself. Really, part of his brain froze and only his body worked, mouth watering as he felt how wet you were, mind going completely foggy at the fact that you had done it, at how hot what your simple gesture had been - at how strongly he reacted to it.

His cock was so tight in his boxers it felt almost painful, especially when he knew how comfortable he could be, inside you, feeling your entire body react to him and him alone.

However, he craved to drive you mad as well, convinced you would probably lose your minds together in that hotel room. "Use your words" he said, pulling your shorts down in order to get better access to you.

His fingers teased you gently, brushing over your entrance and pulling away just as you were ready to take them. "Tell me, is this wanting you?" he insisted, his voice breathy and hoarse.

You wished you could answer, could say more than his name which came across as a whine for more of him inside you. It took all your strength to focus, on winning, on seeing him crumble before your eyes, losing his composure which was so so close to fall apart.

You bit your lip while staring at his eyes - once so bright but now so dark, so filled with something you hadn't seen in him before - and took him completely by surprise as you ran your hand across his erection through the fabric of his underwear.

Max closed his eyes and his eyebrows were now close together in an almost frown. "Fuck" were the words he let out as he dropped his head.

"Admit it" you demanded, not only because you wanted to win but because you couldn't wait any longer - you felt empty, his teasing frustrating you to no end.

Without warning, his fingers dipped inside you, filling that emptiness, even if just slightly. He moved them painfully slowly, savoring every inch of your moans as you kept your hand on his hard cock.

You could feel its length and thickness, making your mouth water at the mere thought of having it inside you. You started moving your hips against his fingers, craving more of the pleasure, more of him.

Max was just observing you at that point, how desperate you were for him, how beautiful you looked with flushed cheeks and swollen lips with barely anything being done to you yet.

"I would never admit something like that" his words contrasted so much with his thoughts, but he knew one fed the other both for you and him, this back and forth the main reason why you both felt an incessant pull towards one another.

"You're ridiculous" you managed to reply, though the words came out muffled and confusing, earning you a chuckle in response.

"You're being fucked stupid and I'm ridiculous?" he asked, grinning as he used a hand to removed his boxers, freeing his erection. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, the sheer anticipation of what was to come, at the opportunity to having him buried inside you.

However, letting him win this easily wasn't something you were willing to do - and though your mind was cloudy and your judgment blurred, you stood on your elbows, face almost touching his. Your hand caressed his tensed arm which kept its movement inside you, and he couldn't help but look at your contact.

You tilted your head, biting your lip as you stared at his face - the desperate attempt at remaining composed, the rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, lips wet and eyes so dark they looked almost black.

"Who's stupid now?" you asked, hot breath against his neck. He could hide many things, but he couldn't control the goosebumps spreading across his entire body, he couldn't hide the way his shoulders tensed even more, how his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

This was thrilling. Maybe too thrilling, if such thing existed. He thought of the painting, of the colours spread across the canvas and somehow, in that moment, that seemed to increase every emotion he was feeling, and he had to close his eyes to control himself and steady his breath.

He had to keep it going. He knew he had to - he knew this was precisely what he wanted, to drive you insane, to keep the tension running across both of you until one exploded.

So he removed his hand from where it was - so comfortable, so hard inside you - and he could see you pout slightly before returning to your previous cold attitude. "You want me to stop, I'll stop" he said, climbing fully on top of the bed, both hands on either side of your head, hovering above you.

"I never said that" you bit back, though it was hard to focus as he started leaving trails of kisses on your neck, going down to your chest, and on your navel, biting your shirt and pulling it - removing the last layer of clothing you possessed.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, face in between your thighs, just above where you wanted him to be buried. Max's grin didn't hide the fact that he knew exactly the answer to this - but, just like you, he was stubborn, loving to hear the words escape your lips, to know that you wanted him to ruin you completely.

His hand now caressed your thigh, fingers softly moving up and down, drawing invisible nothings on your skin.

You fought against your will to just say it, although you wanted to give it up and just admit it. As if reading your thoughts, his eyes pierced yours with amusement as his cheek rested against your thigh, stubble scratching your skin pleasurably. "We don't have all night, sweetheart" he whispered.

The nickname caused your heart to race, but what came out of your mouth was a scoff, arrogance still coating your actual feelings despite the situation you were both in. "You're just as desperate as I am" you told him, lifting your right leg to caress his bag with your foot.

"Desperate for what, hm?" he asked, biting the inside of your thigh as he climbed back up, facing you.

"To fuck me" you finally replied, knowing it was less of an admition and more of a dare.

"Is that what you want me to do? To fuck you?" the question was rhetorical, almost mocking, but at that moment you didn't quite care. Not when the tip of his cock rubbed against you, not when he tried so hard to steady his breath.

You could only nod, carnal insticts getting the best out of you. That was all he needed to let himself go, to let go of all restraints previously holding him back - if there were any.

He sinked inside you slowly, as if to prolong your pain and your pleasure simultaneously, savoring your reactions - your whine of pleasure, your closed eyes and teeth biting your lip, your eyebrows furrowed. You felt and looked so good it took all of his strength to focus on being the stronger, composed person in the room - something he never struggled this hard to achieve.

He dropped his head low, his forehead against yours as he steadied himself. "Fuck" he managed to say, along with a loud exhale. "You feel so fucking good" he continued, words leaving his mouth almost impulsively.

"Then don't stop, Max" you demanded, almost aggressively, as your body ached for more of him.

He pulled himself almost fully out and slammed back inside you, harder now, making you let out a loud whine - one which you rapidly covered by placing your hands over your mouth.

He kept going, hips slamming against yours with a steady rhythm as you uhmed in pleasure, eyes teary already as they rolled to the back of your head.

He wanted to hear you. In fact, he wanted to know others could hear you, hear how good he was making you feel, hear how his cock drove you absolutely insane. With an assertive movement, his hand grabbed yours and pulled it away from your mouth, then held your cheeks tightly as he made you look at him.

"Don't cover your mouth" he ordered, hungrily, feeling you tighten around him as he said it. "Let everyone hear how well you take it" he continued, speeding up his pace and laying on top of you as you wrapped your hands around his waist, caging him.

"F-fuck, Max" you started, unable to resist much longer, feeling his hot body against yours, your hands pulling his hair as he moved almost animalistically, so focused on your sounds he could only get off to them.

"You sound so pretty" Max growled, close to exploding as well. "So fucking hot" he continued, and you had to bury your teeth in his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming - all you could let out was his name as you felt him inside you, and his hips rolled against you, unmatched amounts of pleasure running through you.

"I'm so close, Max, I'm so close" you said, not realizing how often his name was being uttered by you, how it seemed like one of the few words you had left to say.

Driven to a state of total lack of control, Max let moans escape his own lips, his animal vulnerability resulting in your own orgasm.

Feelings you tighten and pulsing around his cock was the tipping point for him, as his body shuddered, pulling himself out of you as fast as he could.

“Open your mouth” he said, gesturing at you to sit back. You did as he demanded, still drunk from your orgasm, still completely at his mercy, and he came finally, warm come filling your mouth.

The view was Max’s dream come true - your mouth wide open and filled with him, so obediently taking his orders and so beautifully contrasting with your previous attitude. 

“Now swallow” he said, tapping your cheeks slightly with his hand as you closed your mouth and did as he said, the slightly salty flavour filling your tastebuds.

You laid down on his bed, exhausted and completely fulfilled, while also dizzy with the amount of emotions running through your head. You closed your eyes, but felt and heard him laying down next to you, his arm brushing yours shyly now. 

“Was that close enough?” he asked.

[formulawolff]

the (not so subtle) art of a crush - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 777

warnings: toto being down bad, some teasing, sexual innuendos, one-sided yearning, yadayadayada

a/n: this was a request made by an anon (i believe!) this is also sort of a spin-off of fanboy behavior, which i absolutely adored writing. i think yearning (and well.. down bad) toto is my favorite toto to write! i hope y'all enjoy! <3

"and tell me," the driver's accent is crisp as he licks his lips, "why do you need help creating an instagram account again?"

"nothing major," a figure shrugs, fiddling with a loose thread in his wrinkled white polo, "i just want to stay in the loop. that's all."

"toto," a new voice chimes in, "you have never once mentioned wanting an instagram, or any social media really, until now. what is going on?"

"nothing major," toto wolff exhales, rolling his eyes, "you all have it, so why can't i?"

"because you're ancient?" lewis hamilton scoffs, arching a brow, "you're probably going to need a step-by-step tutorial on how to navigate the platform."

"i think i can figure that one out myself you know," toto hisses, jaw clenching as his drivers stare blankly, "if five year-olds can do it, i can do it."

"let me see your phone," george russell extends an arm, waving his fingers, "i'll get your account set up."

"i-i," the team principal stammers, heat billowing into his cheeks, "i-i don't know if i necessarily need help with that."

"are you blushing?" lewis purses his lips, a devious smirk forming as the dots connect, "mate, do you have something in there that you don't want us to see?"

only approximately one hundred and two screenshots of a certain williams driver. three or four videos. all of which were screen recordings from various interviews.

his cherished clips. ones he watched every night before he drifted off.

all of which were not tucked away into the hidden folder of his camera roll.

speaking of which, he may have to figure out how to do that. with three kids, an ex-wife, and two nosy drivers, his phone was an easy target. he probably needed to set up a passcode as well.

the lengths he was going to over a crush. a fucking crush.

well, was it a really a crush?

or more like an infatuation?

that was a question for another time. he had two drivers in his office at the moment, circling around him like vultures, eager to pick him apart.

"nothing of your interest," toto retorts, in a vain attempt to maintain his composure, "nothing, really."

"got someone's nudes in there?" lewis coos, tilting his head, "or even worse, a sex tape?"

"lewis," george brings a hand to his temple, "what on earth is wrong with you?"

"what, mate?" lewis throws his hands in the air, "i'm just giving him shit."

"shit he clearly does not want," george mutters, "toto, if you need help setting up an account, just facetime me. don't try to text me. it's much easier to explain over a call than written directions."

"or he can just go on wikihow," lewis offers, "they have guides on just about everything."

oh, really?

did they have a guide on how to navigate the unbearable weight of yearning for a woman thirty years your junior? a woman on a rival team? a crush so bad that it was beginning to snake its way into every aspect of your life? consume your every waking thought?

a crush so intense that you had already spoken to members of the williams crew?

his next target was james, whom he was planning on meeting and speaking with after the next press conference. that was in about a week's time, at third grand prix of the season.

fuck, this was embarrassing, really.

but he wanted more.

actually, he needed more.

he craved it.

he needed to gather all of the possible information and intel as he could. her likes and dislikes. her favorite foods and the ones that were so vile they made her throw up. what kept her up at night. what music she preferred to listen to on race day. what drinks she indulged in. what animals she loved. what made her so unbelievably pissed off she couldn't think straight.

he wanted to catch a glimpse inside of her mind.

all of the things that could possibly buzz around inside of that beautiful head.

really, he just wanted to learn what she was composed of.

her childhood memories, the ones she spoke of with that sweet fondness in her voice. the delicate aspects of her life that she cherished, beaming from ear to ear. the things she feared. how she expressed her love. the people she adored.

everything.

he wanted to know it all.

and following her instagram account, along with her various other socials would prove to be the first step in accessing that plethora of information.

at least it was a step in the right direction.

even if his drivers were giving him hell for it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ taglist ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

@noooway555 @s-awturn @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @lokideservesahug @fore45fore @eattothebeatt @statuewoman @sarah10r-blog @lavenderandlace @racecardilfs @bblouifford @irishmanwhore @jhobi18 @roseandtulips @simply-the-best23

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[misslovasstuff]

Op!men with girlfriends that get excited about them being angry

paired with: Sanji, Zoro, Ace and Law.

content: kinda suggestive (nsfw)

Sanji

he would NEVER get angry at you, like NEVER

Sanji didn’t know about this weird side of yours but being the sharp genius that he is, sometimes there were clues he put together when you two were being intimate

Let’s just say you got a bit too excited when he grabbed your flesh tightly and when you hear him groan, at times when you teased him at the point when you think he’d snap at you… but he didn’t

He was torn apart between ‘do I give her what she wants so she’s satisfied’ and ‘but I would never wanna hurt or disrespect a woman’.

Despite the dilemma, he especially noticed your gaze on him when he was angry or whenever he was fighting an opponent

He’d think you’d have a more worrisome look on your face but no, you’re literally melting while watching his eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched as he cusses some filthy words out of frustration

He brushes it off this time as well, thinking whether he should ask you about it.

However, when you thought that there was no way Sanji would ever get mad at you, there is a detail you ignored: he gets most angry when you’re in danger

So the day you voluntarily put yourself in harm’s way, that was the day you sat down and listened to him attentively as he ranted at your carelessness.

“You think going on your own against such a strong opponent is the right thing? You could have died if I didn’t come at the right time! What were you thinking?!”

His tone of voice is louder than usual, his eyes wide and not looking at anything else but you.

Sanji sighs and rubs his temple, closing his eyes to recollect himself.

Once he opens them and gazes at your direction, about to apologise for the way he got mad at you just now, he meets your blushing face and eyes that reflect a gaze much in awe.

Obviously you were in an effect other than what Sanji expected.

“Uhm, love? Are you alright, I’m sorry, I just… you have no idea how worried you got me and…”

You blink after a while, gulping as you cross your legs and giving a fake cough.

“No need to apologise. I acted selfishly.”

Sanji notices your flushed demeanour. Seeing you sat on that chair, legs crossed, a strong grip on the base and head lowered down as to hide your blush, it made him smirk a little bit as he approached slowly.

He presses his hands on your thighs as he parts your legs, his face only centimetres away from yours. He’s grinning, scanning your face and realising that he was right about his doubts:

“You like it when I’m mad at you, huh?”

Sanji asks and you avoid his gaze but he tilts his head to meet it nevertheless.

“You get excited by watching me so heated up, don’t you?”

Biting your lip, you finally meet his eyes and nod.

“You must be so frustrated then. It’s almost impossible to make me mad at you.”

You sigh: “Tell me about it.”

After you both chuckle, Sanji leans in and whispers in your ear:

“I can give a list of things you can do to make me mad, love. I also like it when my girl misbehaves sometimes.”

Zoro

“You’re an absolute freak you know that?”

“Oh come on Zoro, say it one more time for me…”

Your boyfriend is not known for his patience.

Zoro sighs, rolling his eyes with a hidden smile: “You’re impossible. How can you be into this kind of thing? Listen to me and just-“

You pout, averting your gaze and giving up on convincing him.

But your boyfriend is known for having a weak spot for you.

Zoro notices, grabbing your hand and guides you to somewhere.

You’re confused but follow him nonetheless.

He stops and gazes around then pushes you harshly against the wall, his arms surrounding you.

“Want me to get mad at you? That’d be easy giving how much you get on my nerves.”

Of course, you let out a soft moan, undeniably making the swordsman excited on his own accord as well.

“You always wanna get your way!”

He whispers aggressively, grabbing a hold of your hair, causing you to tilt your head.

“Why you never listen to me, huh?!”

Zoro’s voice becomes louder in a breathy way as he bites your ear, then drags his lips along your jaw.

“I listen to you, Zoro… I really do…”

You moan his name as your hands press against his chest, travelling up where you put them around his neck.

With this, Zoro pulls you closer as you arch your back, leaving bite marks on your neck.

“You won’t do this again, right? - Zoro asks. It receives no response other than your loud moaning. - Right?”

He asks again, grabbing your jaw and making you look at his gaze directly which is so firm, fierce and possessive.

“I won’t… I won’t…” - you whisper, gazing at his lips before he crashes his with yours, beginning one of the hottest make out sessions you ever had.

It’s not your fault he ends up doing what you want over and over again and that’s the key that makes him mad, and that’s how you know he likes it too.

Ace

“Fucking shit!” - Ace cusses, throwing his broken log pose in the sea.

When he does so, his body catches fire a little bit but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

You on the other hand, you do notice of course.

The way he brushes his hair backward as he sighs, placing his hands on his hips as he tilts his head back, gazing at the sky.

“Fuck it, that was the only way we could find our way to the island. Damn it!”

Whilst his back is in front of you, Ace does not notice you biting your lip and looking at him up and down.

“Don’t get so mad, babe. I’m sure we will figure it out.” - you state, getting up and hugging him from behind, hands resting on his chest which he grabs and lets you experience the warmth.

“Right. - he calms down, turning to face you. - Now, why are you looking at me like that?”

Ace is intrigued at the expression of your face. There was obvious excitement there and the way you’re now pressing your chest against his is making the guy visibly confused.

“Does it make you mad that I’m looking at you this way?” - you ask, giggling.

“Of course not, sweet thing. How can I be mad at you?” - he puts some strands behind your ear and notices now a bit of disappointment evidently shown in your face.

“Can you say that again for me?” - you ask, tracing his chest with your finger.

“Say what?”

“The way you cussed earlier… can you…”

Ace was catching on with what you meant, but still thought is was funny to hear you say it out loud.

“Tell me, - he grabs your chin a bit harshly. - what do you want me to say to you?”

You gulp, licking your lips before claiming:

“Get mad at me like that, say ‘damnit’ and ‘fuck’ to me.

“Ohhh, - Ace smirks, pulling your lower lip down with his thumb. - I have a better idea, how about I fuck you instead? Promise I’ll get angry at you as you ride me in an agonising slow pace and make me mad at my core, aight?”

Law

Your boyfriend acts nonchalant most of the time. It you know deep down this man is crazy for you.

He’s usually calm and collected and the few times you’ve seen him lose his marbles was around the time you traveled with the strawhats.

Now you wonder, how can you make him a bit mad, just a little bit to spice things up.

However all your efforts did not amount to anything. The way you achieved what you wanted was from a random man who approached you on the street while you were with Law.

“What a beauty! You’re free tonight, sweetheart? I’ll rock your world i prom-

Certainly he was drunk, but Law did not hesitate in teleporting that man away as you heard a scream from afar.

“Asshole.” - he cusses, grabbing your hand tightly as continuing walking.

Your heart is beating like crazy. You didn’t want to provoke him further but on the other hand…

“He said he was gonna rock my world.” - you claim, smiling at him as he turns his face to look at you, confused.

“So what? - Law asks, stoping his pace and pulling you by your hand into his arms. - You’re curious now?”

It’s hard to hide your blush as his eyes gaze into yours with a passion different from other times. His grip on your waist tightens as his hands travel up your body to your chest.

You let out a small moan: “maybe I’m curious, yes.” Trying to tease him backfire as he grins and whispers to you.

“You’re really making me mad here. - he gropes your tights aggressively. - You know damn well I can rock your world as well, don’t you?”

In attempt to keep him irritated, you say: “I might have forgotten about that.”

Man, the look in eyes is insane.

“Oh, really?” - law questions, shaking his head and clicking his jaw. - He teases your nipples with his fingers, making you suck in your teeth.

“Let me refresh your damn screwed memory then, love.”

[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs

part 1: the tall emo kid

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1.5k

content warnings! swearing, jay is delulu and jealous

author's note! toenze is my new roman empire... i don't think i'll ever shut up about it. also realistically i'm only posting this bc yolo since i have nothing ???

masterlist | next

It didn’t affect Jay anyhow, really. That you ended whatever the two of you had for another guy. Like, this was all just casual. And you still wanted to be friends which was exactly what the two of you were before… so not much had to change between the two of you. Other than, well, the lack of physical intimacy.

He didn’t care, really. It wasn’t like you were the only girl he hooked up with (you were) or that he couldn’t get any other girls, but… you ending the situationship was kind of exactly why he liked you. Because you understood everything was casual and there were no expectations, no feelings. The others, they always got attached.

And, look, Jay understood that maybe he was being too nice or whatever, but it was in his nature to help out when necessary, or to cook for people in the morning — it wasn’t like he made breakfast only for those girls anyway. He had roommates to feed, too.

You ended the deal because you had no feelings for him. Which was exactly what he wanted. So why the fuck did it bother him so much? And for Huening Kai, no less? The tall emo kid that barely spoke and people thought he was being mysterious or whatever.

What could you possibly see in him?

What did he have that Jay didn’t?

Jay let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixated on the conversation between you and him. So Huening Kai asked you out. And you liked him enough to say yes. That was certainly not on his bingo card. Realistically, he thought the type of guys you liked were someone like Sung Hanbin or Choi Soobin or… him. Not Huening Kai. 

What the hell?

“What’s up? Someone steal your cat?” Heeseung entered the shared living room with a grin. Jay had to dryly laugh at the irony of his question since, in a way, yes.

“Nah. It’s Y/N,” Jay replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wants to be just friends.”

“Damn, got tired of you already?” Heeseung teased, but he knew not to go further when Jay’s scathing glare nearly burned him. “What did she say?”

“Huening Kai asked her out and she said yes.” Jay shook his head. You and Kai weren’t even dating yet, and you already wanted to be exclusive with him? Why? Who even does that?

“Oh, Kai? He’s got music classes with me,” Heeseung said with a grin. “He knows how to play like five instruments. He’s kinda cool. A band kid, too. Pretty sure he has a band.” Jay didn’t need to know any of that. Not yet anyway. And then Heeseung added: “I think he was planning to ask Y/N out for a while. I caught him asking around about her once.”

Jay clenched his jaw. How long had you been talking to Kai before he asked you out? Was it out of nowhere or did you befriend him before? Which gave him another reason to be upset because if you did befriend him before, you didn’t tell Jay anything. In fact, you hadn’t been telling him anything about yourself or your life for a while now.

Which stung.

“Kai’s a good guy. You should be happy for her.” Heeseung made a point, giving Jay a long, meaningful look. There was more he wanted to express, but chose to not push his limits. 

Jay huffed.

Thinking about it, maybe he’d have actually preferred it if you were in love with him.

Upon entering the Sanctuary Café, you noticed that it was already packed. But you were instantly recognised by Taehyun, who greeted you with a bright smile and led you toward a table that was empty, save for your reservation. It was in front of the stage set up for live performances, and it occurred to you then that Kai’s surprise was very likely just that. He prepared a performance for you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the stage. It had a full instrument set up for a band. Drums, bass, keyboard and an electric guitar. The sight of it made you think of Jay for a bit, but you shook your head and got rid of the thought.

This would be your first date with Kai. The boy who actually doesn’t only want to sleep with you, but also wants to do everything else that real relationships include. Like holding hands and hugging in public and being affectionate without being judged. (The things you wished you could’ve had from Jay.)

A group of three guys entered the stage, none of which were Huening Kai. They glanced toward your table every now and then with a knowing smile, though. You watched them set up their instruments — the guitarist, the bassist and keyboardist. But the drums were empty. 

Because of course, he knew how to play the drums. He was a genius that never flaunted his skills, and the reality of it hit you just now. Huening Kai was a drummer — which was actually sexy as hell.

“Hello, everyone, welcome to the Sanctuary Café,” the guitarist spoke into the microphone with the largest smile. He had a cute dimple as well, and you thought he perfectly fit Kai — whenever he wasn’t closing in on himself. “I’m Kim Taerae, lead singer and guitarist of our band, Toenze. We’ve prepared a very special performance today because one of our members wants to dedicate it to a special girl.”

A round of awes went through the crowd. You looked around in hopes of catching a glance of Kai, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, your eyes locked with a person you did not expect to see today — at all.

Jay stood at the back of the café with Heeseung by his side, and you wished you could unsee him. Your heartbeat raced, and your mind felt like you needed to come up to him and apologise. But what would you even be apologising for?

“On my left is our bassist, Choi Beomgyu, and on the keyboard, you’ve got Han Yujin. And, of course, we’re missing a key member — the drummer,” Taerae spoke lightly, his smile hearable in his voice. “Some of you already know him from our previous performances, but for those who have yet to meet him — please give a round of applause to Huening Kai!”

Kai wasn’t even inside the café. He entered through the main door in a dark grey hoodie, the hood covering his face. The whole shop held its breath as he looked up. And when his eyes met yours, a smile spread across his lips. Taking off his hood, he revealed his face and carefully styled bangs. 

From the pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a bouquet, and when he aimed through the crowd toward you, your heart nearly melted. All thoughts of Jay being here, too, evaporated from your mind. All you could think about was Huening Kai, looking beautiful as ever, heading toward you with a bouquet of flowers.

“For you, my lady.” He knelt down to hand you the flowers, and you stared at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he winked before standing up and heading toward the stage, leaving you absolutely flustered and frozen in place.

“Hello, everyone! This performance is dedicated to the girl that didn’t reject me. It’s for you, Y/N,” he said into the mic jokingly, but there was a hidden meaning behind his words.

The memory of how he asked you out lingered, and you giggled. You could still picture him, approaching you with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans. And then he asked you, in the most embarrassing way possible, if you were dating Jay. The smile that spread on his lips when you said that what you had with Jay was only casual was an unforgettable sight, really.

“I can make you forget him,” was Kai’s closing argument, and the confidence with which he had said it sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t possibly reject him then.

Jay’s glare was palpable. You could feel it at the back of your neck, but you ignored him. Why was he glaring at you anyway? If there were no feelings involved, he shouldn’t care about any of this. 

“The first song we prepared for today is called Higher Than Heaven,” Taerae informed the crowd. “And the second song is Kill the Romeo. Hope you guys like them!”

Both songs were amazing, and both conveyed one pretty clear message: I’m better than him. You couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy yourself while Kai’s band performed. They were good — really good. And eventually, you even stopped sensing Jay’s gaze burning through you. 

Naturally, you turned around to check on the spot where Jay had previously been. Except he wasn’t there. Instead, you were met with Heeseung, who shrugged when he noticed you looking at him.

“He left,” Heeseung mouthed.

[narrycherries]

call it what you want ✨ part 7

Harry’s starting to feel the pressure..

masterlist

word count: 9.4k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, best friends to lovers, angst, smut, f receiving, secret relationship

The past few weeks did not play out in your favor. You were only able to see Harry a few times, and each time was shorter than the previous one. It was almost like the world was working against you, instead of for you. One of your mutual friends, Heidi, was getting married this weekend so there have been a lot of things going on. Last weekend, you went on the bachelorette trip. Her fiancé was not really close to Harry, so he opted to not go on the bachelor’s trip. Besides, he had a ton of stuff he had to do regarding his internship. He got an easy excuse, you didn’t have that. You were a part of the wedding party, so you felt obligated to go. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to celebrate, it was solely the fact you were spending yet another weekend away from Harry that you hated.

Now, it’s finally the night of the wedding and you were excited. Of course it was a celebratory night for your friend, but it was also the night you were finally free to see Harry. You knew that once the wedding was over, you would be going with him - most likely to his place. Of course, he made sure to let you know that you had no choice. He was sick of being away from you, and he was craving your company.. as well as the intimacy.

The wedding ceremony was being hosted at a pretty chapel. You were waiting patiently for the service to start, as was Harry. He was sitting next to your other friends in a pew, waiting to see you enter the room. Sure, he was happy for Heidi, but he was more concerned with you.

“Alright, everyone. We’re about to start!” The wedding planner, who was a relative of Heidi’s, announced with a big clap.

You perked up, thinking about how quick this will be. You were desperate to see Harry. You could hardly text him today. You were getting ready, taking photos, and helping with last minute things before people arrived. Your phone was put away in your bag and you were unable to answer it. Harry hated being away from you, but he was trying not to be selfish. Heidi was a close friend of yours, more so than she was to him, and he knew this was an important event. It wasn’t about him.

Before you even realized it, you were walking down the aisle with your arm locked with the groomsman you were paired with. It was the groom’s cousin, but you didn’t know him. Your eyes struggled to stay ahead of you as you fought to not scan the crowd for Harry. The chapel was filled to capacity, and you had no clue where he was sitting. You ignored the thought and stayed focused.

You were second to last in the wedding party, so you weren’t going to be able to look around for very long. You took the opportunity and searched the bride’s side of the chapel for Harry. You were starting to gain a little nervousness in your stomach as you struggled to find him.

Finally, after a solid minute of searching, you locked eyes with him. Unfortunately, you caught his tense stare and clenched jaw before he could make it disappear. He smiled as he realized you were looking at him. You gave him a gentle one in return, but a new fear was forming in your mind. Why was he looking that way? Did you do something? Surely not, you hadn’t seen him in a few days and you didn’t have any kind of fight.

Harry had made the face when he saw you come down the aisle with your arm around someone else’s. He wasn’t upset with you, he was just jealous that someone else was getting to touch you before he was - even though it wasn’t in any kind of serious, intimate, or meaningful way at all. He missed you and he was impatiently waiting to put his arms around you. That guy just ticked him off a little.

Thankfully, the ceremony went by pretty quickly. You tried to keep your mind off of Harry and on the bride and groom instead. It was a special day for your friend, she deserved to have your full attention. Harry, though, kept his eyes on you the entire time. He liked the way the light sage green color of the dress complimented your skin. The straps were thin, they were delicately laying over your shoulders. It was a little tight at the waist, which gave definition to your hips. The dress touched the floor, and he thought it looked wonderful on you. He kept having to swallow and bite down on his cheek as he thought about the body that was beneath all that fabric.

Once the ceremony had ended and the wedding party exited, the guests were instructed to go to the reception venue next door.

Harry was not happy about leaving without you, but he knew the faster he got it over with, the quicker he’d be able to see you. When he walked into the venue with the majority of your friend group, he was displeased to see the seating arrangements. Everyone was allowed to sit wherever they pleased, except for at the tables designated for the wedding party. He was annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to sit with you. He would have to get over it, though, there wasn’t anything he could do to change that.

There wasn’t much he could do other than wait. So that’s what he did. He sat with his hands resting on his lap while his friends talked amongst themselves. They all couldn’t fit at one table, so they were occupying the ones around, too. Harry was sitting with Austin, which wasn’t ideal, but he had no other choice. When the wedding party entered the venue, Harry perked up. He scanned the sea of dark brown tuxes and green dresses, trying to pick you out. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he saw you.

He smiled as he watched you walk around some of the tables, navigating yourself to where you saw your friends were. You hadn’t seen him just yet, but you saw Stephanie standing up. You were clutching some of your dress in your hand, trying to keep it off the ground and prevent yourself from tripping. Harry wished he could escort you to the table, to help you out so you weren’t so nervous about walking - but of course, he couldn’t do that right now.

When you finally picked your head up, your moved your eyes around and unexpectedly caught his stare. Your cheeks caught flames and you decided to walk a little faster. He stood up to greet you as you approached the table. Luckily, Austin had excused himself to the bathroom and everyone else was so caught up in talking that they didn’t pay you any mind.

“Hi!” You squealed happily as your arms wrapped around his torso.

He laughed a little as his arm went around your back. He didn’t want to overdo it, so one arm was all you got.

“Hey, you look stunning.” He whispered into your ear, wishing you were alone with him.

“Thanks.” You said through a sigh, slightly embarrassed but you weren’t sure why.

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you.” He kept his voice low as you pulled away from his hug.

“Yeah, same.” You glanced around quickly, just to make sure nobody was watching. “I’m so tired of this dress and these stupid heels.”

Harry smirked, bringing his hand up to your waist almost instinctively. “You look great.”

“Harry.” You muttered quietly and pushed his hand down. You took a few steps back and slipped a piece of your hair behind your ear. “Too much.”

“Right, sorry.” He quickly apologized and sat back down in his chair, but he stayed facing you. “Do you have more bridesmaids duties?”

“Not a lot more.. just gotta sit over there.” You said while looking over your shoulder towards the table.

“Maybe I’ll get to see you again.”

You let out a breath and closed the space you shared with him. You couldn’t do anything too obvious or drastic, so you just sat your hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you, a disappointed expression on his handsome face. You frowned, not liking the fact he was upset. You were literally an inch from him, but he couldn’t touch you.

“It won’t be too long.. once the dancing starts.. we can talk. Just gotta do all the wedding stuff first.” You told him with a gentle smile, trying your best to convince him it would be okay, but you weren’t sure he was listening.

“Unless someone sweeps you away.”

Your eyes darted around again, making sure it was clear. You leaned down to his ear, not really caring if any strangers were watching - as long as none of your friends were.

“I won’t let that happen, I promise.” You placed a kiss on his ear.

When you leaned back up, Harry grunted and reached out for your hand. You let him take it for just a few seconds before you started to back up. He dropped it, his heart breaking as he realized you were about to leave.

“I gotta get over there before they announce the bride and groom.” You nodded your head towards your brother, who was walking back to the table. “Besides, your friend is back.”

Harry huffed as you turned away from him and began the journey to your designated table. He watched you walk away - admiring how nice your long hair looked while it was curled. Half of it was pulled back in a sparkling clip, but it all cascaded down your back. Before he knew it, you vanished in the crowd.

Harry put on his best performance for his friends while he waited for his chance to see you again. Dinner consisted of a long table of food options where the guests served themselves. He ate some of his food, but he was mostly distracted. He didn’t want to look suspicious, so he didn’t stare in your direction the entire time. The special wedding festivities were over now, and the guests were invited to go into the next room to dance and have fun. There was an open bar, and Harry was ready to throw a shot down his throat. He was tense and anxious, he just needed something to lift the edge off.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked with a welcoming smile.

“Um, shot of whiskey.. whatever you got.” He said with a sigh, leaning his arm on the bar as he waited.

He stared at the marble counter top as his shot was being poured. He was wondering where you were. Surely, there were no more photos that needed to be taken or small things that you had to do for the bride. He wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he was very impatient.

“Thanks.” He said as he took the small plastic shot glass and threw the contents into his mouth. “Can I get another? Then I’ll be outta your way.”

“Got it.” She smiled back.

He wasn’t aware that you were standing not very far from him, watching as he took the second shot and emptied it into his mouth. He decided to ask for a mixed drink, so he waved the bartender back over. You knew that sometimes he overdid it, and you didn’t want that to happen tonight. You quickly walked his way. He had already had two glasses of wine, so he was getting a bit warm. He wanted to take off his suit jacket, but he didn’t.

“Be careful, whiskey makes you a little rowdy.” You said suddenly, appearing next to him with your hand on his back.

He jumped at first, but then grinned as he realized it was just you. “Finally.”

You let out a laugh as his arms snaked around your body. Luckily, the majority of the guests were taking advantage of the dance floor - including all of your mutual friends.

“Missed you so much.” You whispered into his ear as your arms went around his neck. You felt more comfortable hugging him this way now than you did earlier. There were too many eyes on you before.

“I missed you way more.” He mumbled back, pressing a kiss to your jaw before letting you go. Despite knowing he wasn’t being observed by anyone that he knew, he didn’t want to overdo it.

“Am I going home with you tonight?”

He smirked, then lifted a brow. “Trying to get in my pants?”

“Shut up.” You gave him a gentle shove, but made sure you let your hand trail down his chest and abodomen afterwards. “You’re such a guy.”

“Look at you.” He said, gesturing to your body. “Can you blame me for thinking that way? You’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up, you’re too loud.”

He rolled his eyes, then grabbed your waist to pull you towards him. “Then get closer.”

“Stop before someone sees us.” You huffed back, looking over your shoulder to make sure nobody you recognized was around.

Harry moved his other hand up and gently grabbed your jaw. He shifted your head back, your eyes finding his instantly. “Relax.”

“No.” You pulled his hand down and took a step back - you didn’t want to, but you had to. “Save all this for later.”

He shook his head and looked down at the floor. “I’ve been waiting all week to see you.”

“I know.” You grabbed his hand, the one that was closest to the bar and not out where everyone could see. You laced your fingers with his and gave his hand a squeeze. “Later, okay?”

He rolled his eyes and kept them on the floor. You were surprised that he was acting this way, but you quickly remembered he had some alcohol in his system. He was probably solely thinking about you and nothing else - not even the environment you were in. If he were sober, he would be more subtle with his touches and smarter about his word choices.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered out after you became silent.

“I don’t think you need any more drinks.” You said through a sigh.

His eyes lifted to meet yours. “Why?”

“You’re acting too.. obvious.” The lift of your eyebrows didn’t effect him, he was still unsure.

“No, I’m not.”

“Just.. please, don’t do anything too crazy, okay? I don’t want.. people to see anything.”

He huffed again, almost like a child would, but gave you a nod. “Okay, I won’t. I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

“Thank you.” You rubbed your thumb over his skin before letting his hand go. “Now, do you wanna go find everyone else? We can dance.”

“Everyone else?” He mumbled out, a frown covering his lips.

You took a deep breath. “Harry, we have to act normal, okay? This is no different than any other situation.”

“You promised me you’d spend time with me once everything was done.” He furrowed his brows. You realized his words had a little anger in them.

“Harry, we can have some private time here and there, but we have to interact with everyone else.”

He shook his head in disbelief, then turned to face the bar. You hit your hand against his arm but he was ignoring you. He lifted the cup to his mouth and swallowed the contents in seconds. He wasn’t a child, but you felt like scolding him.

“Fine. Then I’m going to act like everyone else.” He said with a cold tone as he waved to the bartender. She walked over to him and smiled. “Can I have some more whiskey.. on the rocks, please.”

“Just whiskey?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, then looked your way once the lady was occupied again. “Go have fun.”

“Harry.” You pouted your lips out, not pleased with how he was acting. “Please, don’t be this way.”

“I’m not being any kind of way. Just go have fun. Go dance, have a drink. We’ll worry about each other later.. at home.”

You were shocked by what he said, but you were more so disappointed in his attitude. You gulped softly and adjusted the strap on your shoulder as you walked away from him. Of course, you were upset. You wanted to cry your eyes out and beg him to stop being so mean towards you. Was it him actually being mean? Probably not. He was just annoyed, and you knew that and understood why, but still.. It hurt your feelings.

You disappeared before he knew it. He looked around, but you were gone from the room. You went to find your friend group in the ballroom, hoping that they were dancing and having a good time. You would just join them and try to forget about Harry.

Dancing with your friends was always a fun time. You felt like the last few times you were with everyone, you weren’t very active. Of course, that had a lot to do with your new intimacy with Harry. It wasn’t like you suddenly hated your friends, the anxiety of it all was just eating you up. Tonight was a chance for you to let go and have fun. You weren’t concerned with Harry right now. He’s a grown man, he can handle himself.

An hour went by without you seeing Harry again. You were mostly with your girl friends, so you were dancing and singing and having a few sips of champagne. You didn’t want to get drunk, so you just shared drinks with them. It was a fun time. Well, until you had to go to the bathroom.

You broke away from the group and headed back towards the dining room and bar. The bathrooms were through there, near the lobby. Your eyes were roaming around as you walked, just observing the decorations and the people. That’s when your attention froze on the bar. Harry was sitting on a stool, his head laying down on his arm. There was an empty cup in front of him, and as you got closer, you realized there were several empty cups.

“Harry?” You said his name sort of loud, the music was blaring through the building. You laid your hand on his shoulder blade and started gently rubbing his back. “Are you okay?” He lifted his head and you instantly felt your heart drop. He looked so sad. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

He shrugged, then looked to his empty cup. He tried to gesture the bartender over, but you quickly grabbed his hand and pulled it down. You shook your head towards her, and thankfully, she understood. She didn’t come over.

“Stop.” He huffed, trying to pull his hand from you but his efforts were weak. He didn’t want you to let him go, that’s why he didn’t try.

“Have you been here this whole time?” You asked with a frown, leaning your body onto his to be closer. Your hand went down to the small of his back. “Hmm?”

“Yeah.. cause you left me.”

“Harry, we can’t.. can’t act this way in public, okay?”

“We could.”

You knitted your brows together. “Well, we’re not.”

“Go back to everyone else. Go have fun.”

You let go of his hand and quickly grabbed his jaw. You moved his head so it was facing you again. He wanted you to stay like this, to not let him go again.

“Come to the bathroom with me.”

“What?” He seemed a little confused.

“We need to talk.” When you relaxed your brows and features, he noticed you seemed upset.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and proceeded to stand up from the bar stool he had chosen an hour ago. You knew where all your friends were, so you confidently took hold of his hand and pulled him behind you towards the bathrooms.

You thought one escape to a public bathroom would all you’d share with him, but clearly not. To your advantage, the stalled bathroom was big but had a lock on the door. You turned the lock and let Harry finally wrap his big arms around you in the way he wanted to all night long, ever since he laid eyes on you walking down the aisle. You returned his embrace, not caring about messing up your hair or makeup at this point. The wedding photos were done with, you had no reason to be so concerned anymore. Harry squeezed you as hard as he could without hurting you, and that made you feel safe. He held you like that for a few solid minutes. Everything was okay for the first time in a while.

He stayed quiet, and so did you. There was nothing that needed to be said right now. You just had to feel his body against yours. Your eyes were bolted shut, and his were, too. He felt like he was on another planet - was it the alcohol, or was it you? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it was a different feeling than anything he felt tonight.

When he finally let you loose, you moved both hands up to his jaws. He was frowning, almost like he wanted to cry. He did, but he didn’t want you to think he was a loser for crying.

“Hey, you gotta tell me what’s going on, okay?”

He shrugged. “You already know.”

“Tell me.”

He huffed, looking away from you for a moment. “I hate having to pretend. It fucking sucks.”

“Harry.”

His lips turned to a frown and he leaned down so his lips were on your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.. I know it’s not easy.” You mumbled back, letting one hand move into his hair while the other went to his chest.

“It was.. sorta easy at first.. but since we.. y’know.. I just want to touch you and kiss you all the time.”

What he was explaining to you was how you felt. The kissing situation made things very different, but it was somewhat more manageable to act normal in front of other people. Even after Harry had touched you intimately, things were easier than this. It’s different now - more than it’s ever been.

“And it’s been.. so long since we got to be together.”

“Do you remember how I was at the restaurant? We.. we can’t.. can’t be so emotional about this in public, okay? I know it’s super hard.” You pressed a kiss to his dimple, but he was too sad to appreciate it.

“It’s so hard.” He muttered out, feeling defeated from all of this. “M’trying to.. to be strong for you.. not disappoint you.”

You grabbed his jaw and pushed his head up so you could see his eyes. “I know, honeybun.”

For the first time in a while, he shot you a smile. “Honeybun?”

He was surprised by your use of a pet name. It was the first time you really called him anything like that, and he seemed to like it. His cheeks were flushed and his smile was contagious. You laughed a little while rubbing your thumb over his skin.

“You’re so sweet, hm? Just like a honeybun.”

“If you say so, peach.” He chuckled back, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

He looked down at your chest for a second, then to your lips. He wanted to suck your tongue down his throat, but he refrained. He wasn’t sure if you wanted that yet. Your hand moved to his neck, your thumb messing with his ear lobe. The feeling of your skin moving against his made his stomach churn in a good way.

“My eyes are up here.” You said suddenly, lifting his head up. He hadn’t noticed he was staring at your chest.

He let a smirk cover his mouth. “If you lean over.. you’re gonna be spilling out of that dress.”

You cocked a brow at him. “So you’re admitting to staring at my boobs?”

“Hmm.” He laughed under his breath, making you grin.

“What a creep.” You playfully rolled your eyes.

“Just be mindful, darling.. I’d hate for some stranger to see them tonight before I get to.”

You were not surprised by his words, and you were glad he was back to his normal self and not so upset anymore. “You’re so jealous, hm?”

“I have a good reason to be.”

“Is that so?”

He licked his lips and yanked you closer, his arm tight around your body. His mouth was brushing against yours, teasing you with every second that went by.

“Do you care about that lipstick?” He mumbled out, his lips pressing into yours already.

“No.”

His tongue practically shot into your mouth. You couldn’t resist the moan that came out as he started exploring each inch of your mouth. His hands didn’t hesitate to explore either. He was squeezing your butt with one while the other kept you pressed firmly against him.

After all these days of being unable to touch him like this, you were lost in the moment. Everything around you disappeared and nothing mattered. The world stopped spinning, it was just you and him.

“Harry.” You gasped out as he grabbed your waist on either side and lifted you off the ground.

“Shh.” He sat you down on the counter, his hands selfishly grabbing onto your body as he returned to your lips.

You didn’t protest, didn’t say a thing - just let him continue. You wanted to rip his jacket off and tear the buttons from his shirt, but you tried to control yourself and just worry about kissing him. He noticed how hard you were pulling on his clothes, though. He broke the kiss and immediately took hold of your face with his warm hand.

“I want you.. so bad.” He breathed out, trying to get his lungs to catch up.

“Not in the bathroom.” You let out a gentle laugh. “And.. not if you keep drinking, understand?”

He nodded. “Yeah.. I’ll stop, promise.”

You leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Drink water.. eat something, okay?”

“I will, promise.”

Just as he was, you were trying to calm yourself down and catch your breath. Your hand slid up his chest to his shoulder. You adjusted his shirt collar, noticing how messed up you had caused it to get.

“You look.. really nice in this.” You told him with a sweet smile.

The dark grey suit looked nice on him. You admired how the shirt was a soft shade of blue instead of just plain white. The top two buttons were undone, so you could see the chain around his neck. You wanted to strip him, but now wasn’t the time.

“We should.. go back out there.” You said after a few moments of silence.

He licked his lips and nodded gently. “I guess so.”

You decided that it would be fine if you both approached your group of friends at the same time. There couldn’t possibly be any harm in that, or so you hoped. When you came up, you immediately made a joke about finding Harry stumbling over the bar stools. There were some laughs and snide comments, since it wasn’t unusual for him to get this way at events or celebrations.

He was trying to counter your claims, which just added more laughter to the group. It was a relief to hear that. There was still a bit of anxiety lurking about, but you hoped it would pass on. Everything went accordingly for the rest of the evening. You were focused on having fun with your girlfriends, dancing and singing to the music.

Harry was more involved in conversations as he casually looked around and gave you a few glances here and there. He wasn’t drinking anymore, the goal for the night had changed. He wanted to black out and forget it all - forget how upset he was and how much he missed you. Instead, he’s trying to let some of that alcohol fizzle away so he could appreciate you later on.

Once the wedding was over and you did your job of helping clean up some of the mess, Harry gladly volunteered to drive you home. Your roommate was gone for the weekend, so the destination was your place and not his. Besides, you wanted to be in the comfort of your own bed after such a long, exhausting day. But of course he actually didn’t drive his car, you weren’t drunk from the few sips you had.

“My feet are hurting so bad.” You groaned as you finally got to sit down on the foot of the bed. It felt like you had been standing in the for days.

“I could give you a massage.” Harry said with a cheeky smile as he knelt down to your feet. He swatted your hand away and took over removing the shoes. “You’d feel better.”

“That would be nice.” You raked your fingers through his scalp as you yawned. Unfortunately, you knew nothing would happen tonight. You were beyond exhausted and you wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. “Help me out of this dress and I’ll go wash my makeup off.”

“I’ll gladly help you out of it.” He chuckled to himself as he stood up and held his hand out for you.

“I don’t think.. I have the energy for anything.” The sigh you pushed out made him frown a little. “I’m sorry.”

He licked his lips and shrugged as he grabbed your waist and turned you around. “That’s alright. I know you’re tired.”

“I would love to, don’t get me wrong.. I just.. can’t tonight.”

There was something about seeing the disappointment in his eyes that made you feel horrible. You knew he was thinking about this all night, especially once he filled his body with alcohol. The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel bad, but there was simply nothing you could do to fix it. You were tired, your feet hurt, your back hurt - everything hurt. You just wanted to relax and go to sleep.

“I know. I said it’s alright, peach.” He said in a low voice as he swept your hair over your shoulder so he wouldn’t get any of it caught in the zipper. “We can make up for lost time tomorrow.”

“Please, don’t be mad.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make a wish or say a prayer or do whatever was necessary.

“I never said I was mad, babe.” He pressed a kiss to your back as he guided the straps of the dress down your arms.

Once it was off of your body, you picked it up and draped it over your arm. Harry was trying to control his mind as you walked across the room half naked. You put the dress on its hanger and stuck it in the closet, intending to deal with it in the morning. When you turned to face him, he was undoing his shirt and coming out of his clothes, too.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” You said as you approached him. He looked up and smiled as you snatched his hand and wrapped your fingers with his. “Do I still get a foot massage?”

“Of course, peach.” He winked, making a layer of blush rise to your cheeks. “You get whatever you want.”

You disappeared into the bathroom to take off your makeup and soak your tired body in a warm bath. Harry wanted you to have some alone time, even though he was desperate to be with you all night. It was different now, you were home. There was no hiding needed or secrets you had to keep up. It was just you and him.

Despite wanting to relax, you were becoming anxious to be with him. Your bath was quick, but it was decent. You mainly just wanted to soak your muscles and rinse the day off. Your hair was pulled up on your head, you’d deal with washing it in the morning.

When you finally came back to the bedroom, Harry was sitting at your vanity scrolling on his phone. You noticed the bed was made and he had emptied your hamper. You smiled sweetly and walked over to him.

“Massage time.” You giggled.

He looked up at you and smirked. “Yes ma’am.”

“Could you also give my calves a little rub? They’re hurting.”

Harry followed you to the bed, where you sat down on the end. “Sleeping naked tonight?”

“No, I’ll get dressed in a little bit.”

“So just going to tease me then? Won’t let me take care of you tonight.. but forcing me to stare at this towel?” His grin was contagious.

“Don’t be a cry baby.” You joked back. “I promise we can do whatever you want in the morning.”

He smirked. “Whatever I want? Hm, I’ll remember that.”

Harry spent a good ten to fifteen minutes rubbing his fingers deep into your feet and legs. You kept letting out soft hums and moans that stayed circling his mind. He wanted you so bad, but now wasn’t the time. He tried to stay focused as he massaged your sore muscles. He’s always offered to do this for you, way before anything changed. He had strong hands that made your tension melt like butter. You always took advantage of his massage offers.

When he was finished, he helped you rub lotion on your legs. He pushed the towel up a little so he could cover your thighs. He tried not to peek between your legs but it was hard to avoid. After that, you got off the bed and figured it was time to get dressed.

Harry grabbed his phone and sat down on the bed as he waited for you. Just as you slid a pair of underwear up your legs, you heard Harry sigh. You turned to face him, a t-shirt in your hand, in time to see him furrow his brows. He was looking at his phone.

“We’ve got a problem.” He said suddenly, lifting his head.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t seem to be angry, but he was definitely bothered by whatever he was reading. “Come look at this..”

You climbed on the bed and sat next to him, taking the phone. You crossed your legs and read over the text your brother just sent Harry. Instantly, your stomach dropped and you gulped slowly.

From Austin: Have you been alright lately? I saw you acting weird earlier.. like you didn't want to be around us when my sister was over there. The two of you having a cat fight? You’ve been weird about her lately.

You gulped harshly as you read over the words. You shook your head and gave the phone away. Harry tossed it on the mattress and huffed, unsure of what to do.

“You can’t reply to that.” You mumbled out.

He rolled his eyes. “I have to.”

Your heart was starting to race. Your brother never asked about your friendship with Harry. He didn’t care that you were super close. It hadn’t always been that way, but once it started he just accepted it. It was no big deal.. so, why is it suddenly coming up?

“Then lie. Say nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, trying to stay calm. “I mean.. technically nothing’s wrong.”

“Well, he clearly thinks something is wrong.” He quickly replied, his tone was sharp.

“Who cares what he thinks? Just lie.”

He didn’t appear to be on board with what you were suggesting. He groaned and ran a hand through his messy hair. You weren’t sure why this was actually bothering him so much.

“What if he’s catching on?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his intense stare. But you kept your own eyes down and just shrugged your shoulders. There really wasn’t anything you thought you could say. What more could you do?

“Just lie to him, Harry. We lie about everything else.. what’s it matter now?” Saying it out loud brought some of that guilt back up.

You absolutely hated the fact you were keeping such a huge secret from your friends and your family, and that included your brother. As much as he pestered you, he was one of your best friends. Not only that, he’s Harry’s best friend aside from you. Lying to him about all of this isn’t ideal, but it’s what you wanted for the time being..

“If I lie and say nothing’s wrong and I keep acting however he thinks I’m acting.. he’s going to know I’m lying.” Harry started to sound more paranoid than you initially thought.

You let out a deep breath. “But nothing’s wrong. Just tell him you were tired and wanted to drink. He knows you were at the bar.”

“Yeah, but does he know you were with me first? What if he saw you?” He was quick to respond.

If anything, you had been observant all night. You knew for sure that none of your friends were around when you were with Harry. None of Heidi or the groom’s family knew you, so it’s not like somebody saw something and reported back to your brother. Harry was starting to be more anxious than you.

“He didn’t. Nobody we knew was in there, Harry. You’re being a bit.. dramatic.”

As you said that, he scoffed and tensed up next to you. Even though you weren’t touching, you could feel his body change. He didn’t necessarily want to be angry with you, but what you said sort of affected him.

“Oh, as if you haven’t been dramatic about this before.” His tone made you frown.

“I never said I haven’t been.. Why are you being so rude?”

Harry moved to the side of the bed. You watched closely, not sure if he was going to get up and disappear from your room or not. You didn’t want him to leave, especially not after you had to suffer all these days without seeing him.

“Because, you’ve been worrying about this and now it’s making me worry.” He finally spoke, his head hanging low as leaned over, his arms on his knees.

You didn’t know what to say. Maybe he was just having a hard time tonight and this was some of that lingering frustration from being apart from you. Normally, he was the calm one and you were the overthinker. You feared maybe you couldn’t help him.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Harry.” You reached over to touch his back, but as you did he shook you off and stood up. “Don’t.. don’t leave.”

“I just need a minute.” He muttered out, grabbing his phone from the bed. “I’ll.. think of something to tell him.”

“Harry.” You whispered out his name as he started walking towards the door.

“I’ll be back in a little while.”

As you watched him leave through the door, you felt a lump form in your throat. Something was different tonight and you weren't sure where things went wrong. What if you were too harsh with him at the wedding? You knew nobody was watching, yet you didn't allow him to do much. Maybe he thought you were being too serious about everything. Was it all finally coming back to bite you?

One of your biggest fears that had developed since this all started with him was starting to creep into your mind. You feared something would happen that would ruin your friendship. What if it was an argument? You rarely, if ever, argued with him before or even disagreed about things. Now, it seems more common for you to spat about something.. and each time it’s been about your situation. Was intimacy playing a larger role than you could’ve imagined? Was it truly going to ruin everything?

Tears swelled in your eyes as you sat in silence, the only noise being the thoughts racing in your head. You weren’t sure if he’d come back in the bedroom.. and you were too tired to wait up for him.

Although you were successful at falling to sleep, your anxiety was bubbling up and you found yourself waking up in the middle of the night. You reached behind you, gently patting the air until you touched his body. It was relieving to know he was behind you, even though he wasn’t cuddled up next to you. You turned onto your stomach, your elbows digging in the mattress as you battled the racing thoughts in your mind.

You and Harry had never really had a bad argument in the past, and despite the disagreement you had earlier not actually being that bad, you felt very upset. You had never gone to bed without him telling you goodnight, and it felt odd and unsettling.

A sigh fell from your lips as you grabbed your phone, wanting some light so you could see him. You opened your home screen and sat the phone on the pillow. There was a soft glow casted on him now, allowing you to see how adorable he looked. He was facing you, one arm under the pillow, his hair was a mess.. You smiled to yourself, admiring him was one of your favorite things to do. He was so perfect.

You thought maybe seeing him would make you feel better and ease some of the tension you held, but it was doing the opposite. A tear trickled down your cheek suddenly, followed by more and more as the seconds passed. Maybe you had been too rough with him earlier. He was seriously worried and anxious about the situation and your attempts at calming him must have been read wrong. It wasn’t your intention to upset him, and now it felt like you were falling apart.

You covered your face and tried to keep your crying silent. But it was difficult to stay quiet as you sucked in breaths and tried to control your quivering lips. After a few minutes, the sounds got louder and Harry could feel the bed moving slightly as your shoulders jolted with each breath. You were struggling.

“Peach?” He said softly in a groggy voice, melting your heart.

You sucked in a breath and quickly wiped your eyes and cheeks, hoping to rid your skin of the tears before he could see them. He opened his eyes and squinted, adjusting to the light reflecting off your skin.

“What’s the matter?” He realized you were sniffling and trying to hold in your tears. His hand slid onto the small of your back, a warmth you missed so much was lighting a fire on your skin. “Baby.. why are you crying?”

You shook your head and chose to drop your head on the pillow. Harry sighed and scooted closer to you, closing the small space. You grunted as he rubbed circles on your back. He wasn’t sure what time it was or why you were awake to begin with, but he wanted to comfort you no matter what.

“Go.. go back.. to sleep.” You managed to get the words out, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Harry pulled the cover off of you some, feeling how warm you were made him think you were too hot. You didn’t protest, just went mute as you waited for him to give up. He wouldn’t do that easily, though.

“Tell me what’s going on, peach.”

That word did something to you every single time he said it. You couldn’t resist the butterflies forming in your stomach or the way your heart sparked or the heat that rose to your cheeks.. every time it drove you crazy. You let out a groan and lifted your head, your puffy eyes finding his. He wished he could see you better, but you were glad he couldn’t. Whenever you cried, you would always end up crying more if he was watching. Something about it made you feel worse, more embarrassed and ashamed.

“Are.. are you.. mad at me?” You asked him a shaky tone, your voice almost broken completely.

Harry furrowed his brows and slowed his hand to a stop on your back. “What?”

“I made you mad earlier.. I know i did.”

“No, you didn’t. I was just irritated by the text.”

You huffed and let your lips fall to a pitiful frown. He hated seeing you this way. He leaned closer, his face just an inch or so from yours now. You wanted to kiss his lips, wanted to feel the magical sensations he gave you.. but you stayed still and just looked at his eyes.

“I’m not mad.” He tried to stress his words, but you weren’t believing them.

Whether he was actually mad or not was starting to slip from your anxious mind. You were more concerned about what could’ve happened or may happen one day in the future. What if you had a major blowout fight and everything came to an end? Not only would this new found romantic relationship end, but your years long friends would be ruined. Everything would shatter.. and there would be no fixing it.

“I knew this would happen.” You whispered as your eyes shifted from his worried stare.

“What do you mean?” He was still confused as to why you were so upset over what happened. Sure, it wasn’t the best situation, but he didn’t think it was this bad..

“That all of this going on between us would cause fights.”

He sighed gently and licked his lips. “How many times do I have to tell you, love, that everything will be fine?”

The thought of arguing over this yet again was enough to make you realize that maybe he was right. Maybe things would be okay as long as you continue doing what you’re doing. There was no need to go out of your way to lie or hide more than you are now, so why worry? They didn’t know, and they haven’t asked..

“Do you.. promise that you’re not mad?” You asked in a soft whisper, making him smile back.

“I could never be mad at my little peach. Promise, darling.”

Harry’s hand moved with your body as you shifted onto your side to face him. He slid his touch down to your hip where he rested his hand and gave you a comforting squeeze. You took in a deep breath and pushed it out as you realized your body was not prepared to rest.

“Great.. now m’so worked up.. I won't be able to sleep.”

Harry smiled as your lips poked out in a pout. “I can make you a bit tired.”

He moved his hand to your butt, while his eyes stayed glued to yours. A few ideas popped in your mind, but you were hesitant to say something or agree to anything. You were exhausted from the long day dealing with the wedding, and the arguing earlier made you feel emotionally drained. You feared you couldn’t handle any intimacy with him right now. Yet, you still let out a soft whisper.

“How?”

He leaned into you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Let me take care of you.. just a little bit.” His big hand squeezed as much of your ass as he could hold, wishing he could grab more.

A sigh fell past your lips. “Harry.. I.. I’m just anxious.. I don't really have the energy.”

“I’ll do the work, peach. Just rub you for a few minutes. I know it’ll help.”

Although you were tired, the thought of his fingers being lost in your underwear was tempting. Under the covers, you reached for his hand and he let you take it. As much as he was enjoying your ass, he wasn’t going to deny you his hand. He knew how much you loved his hands. You wrapped your fingers with his and let your eyes fall to his shoulder. Each time he’s touched you, it feels like the very first time. You get butterflies shooting around in your stomach, your head starts to get a little dizzy, and you have a burning desire in your body for him. It was magical each and every time. The thought of him doing it is enough to drive you mad.

Your eyes moved back to his intense stare, blush covering your cheeks. “Would you really?”

A smirk toyed on his lips. “Of course.. I love watching you cum for me, baby.”

The statement made you push out a breath and close your eyes. The little things he did and spoke were always what caused the most chaos in your body. You wanted to climb on his lap and tear his clothes off, but your body was too worn out to do that now.

“And.. and you’re okay with.. me not doing anything in return?” You asked curiously, your tongue poked out to lick your lips.

He watched it disappear back into your mouth, a million thoughts filled his mind as he darted his eyes back to yours. “Absolutely. I need to make it up to you anyway.. I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

You cocked your brow and let out a giggle. “Yeah, you do need to make it up to me.”

“Sassy, hm?” He pushed his lips onto yours and swallowed the soft moan you let out.

Harry grabbed your body, digging his fingertips into your flesh as you clawed gently at his neck. You didn’t want to hurt him, even though he would definitely not mind, so you kept your nails soft on his skin. He grunted as you shoved your other hand into his hair, pulling him further against you.

“Missed you so much, peach.” He muttered against your mouth, his tongue returning with a split second to continue exploring.

You couldn’t respond to him, so instead you just pulled on his roots and squeezed his shoulder. Soft whimpers and moans filled the air as he sucked on your tongue and bit down on your bottom lip. Your stomach was bubbling and your toes curled as the thoughts of what was to come circled your mind. You needed him way more than you initially thought you did.

Harry pushed down on your hip, forcing your body to fall onto the mattress. You whined as he pulled back from the kiss, but quickly sighed in relief as his lips moved to your jaw. He sucked on your skin for a few seconds before falling down to your neck. You didn’t want to go all the way, and he was aware of that, but he just had to make up for lost time.

You gripped his nape as he filled his mouth with your skin, creating a few soft marks here and there. Every nerve in your body was on fire and you craved him. You grabbed his hand from your waist and moved it between your legs. He hummed against your skin as he took over and covered you with his hand. You wanted more, and the grunt you let out made him smirk.

“Please.” You whispered next to his ear, closing your eyes as you patiently waited for him.

He broke away from your skin and lifted his head, his pretty eyes instantly locking with yours. He gave you a smirk and placed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. You pouted, silently pleading with him. He was enjoying your begging, but he didn’t want to torture you any longer.

“So warm, hm?” He mumbled as he patted you through your panties.

“Harry, please.” Your voice stayed quiet. “Touch me, please.”

He pressed two fingers over your clit and gave you a little tease. You groaned, furrowing your brows as he chuckled. As much as he wanted to keep teasing you, he knew that if he didn’t start soon you were going to explode.

“M’gonna take care of you, peach.” He leaned back so he could get a better look at you while he made you come undone.

You bit down on your cheek as he brought his fingers to his mouth. When you first started this, you were a bit shy when it came to your body. But right now you didn’t care about all of that. You kicked the covers down, making him gently laugh, and tugged up your shirt. Your chest wasn’t out, even though you were sure he’d like that.

“Hm, always so wet for me, yeah?” His hand disappeared in your panties and you let out a moan as he coated your clit with his spit and slid his fingers through your folds. “Been too long since I’ve taken care of you, hm?”

You grunted. “Too long.”

His lips lifted with a smirk. “Won’t let that happen again, darling.”

A wave of pleasure flooded your body as he began making circles on your clit. Your legs already felt week and your stomach was knotting up. You weren’t sure why you were so sensitive, maybe it was just because it was Harry doing it. When you did it by yourself, you were never this intense right off the bat. Now wasn’t the time to question it, the only thing on your mind was him.

As much as you wanted to watch him, you couldn’t keep your eyes open as the sensations swarmed your body. Harry was amazed by how beautiful and perfect you looked like this. He was trying not to focus on his growing cock. This was all he was getting tonight, and he was okay with that. A minute passed by as you got lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

“Talk to me, baby doll.” His voice rumbled deep and low, making your eyes roll back into your head. “Tell me how it feels.”

You were lost for words at first, and you thought it would be impossible to say anything. Somehow, your eyes managed to open and you caught his stare, but you couldn’t speak. Your lips parted as you pushed out a breath. He was thoroughly pleased with how you were reacting to his touch.

“C’mon, baby, gotta tell me, yeah?” He whispered, his warm breath fanning over your face. Everything he did was making it harder to speak.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, gripping him hard while the other one grabbed his elbow. He hissed as your nails sunk into his skin. His favorite part was always when you wrapped your hands around him. Finally, you were able to speak.

“Fuck, Harry.” You gasped out, your lip was quivering. “S’good.. re-really, good.”

“Yeah? Like it when I rub your pussy, don’t you, babe?”

You nodded, unable to really say anything else. He chuckled and moved his lips down to your forehead.

“I know you do, baby. Look at you, hm, coming undone for me.”

“Harry.” You whispered his name quietly, fearing that you’d scream if you spoke any louder.

“I want you to cum for me, okay? Make a mess, baby.”

It was like his words controlled your body. Your stomach rolled as your thighs began to tense up. You scratched at his skin while your moans filled the air. He knew what he did to you, knew how easy it was to guide you to the edge.

“Harry.” You pushed out his name as you came.

He rubbed you through it, humming in satisfaction as he watched your body react to what he had done to you. So much spilled out of you, it felt never ending. You pushed your hand off your forehead and let out a heavy exhale. Harry smirked to himself as he watched your eyes close and your lips fall apart. You were breathing hard, trying to catch up and slow down your heart rate.

“Feel tired now?” He asked with a subtle chuckle.

You dropped your hand and looked over at him. He was still holding onto that smirk, and it made you shake your head and smile back. There was something so wild about this, something so special and crazy. You licked your lips and just stared into his green eyes. It was evident that he was tired, but he was willing to do anything you wanted, and that included staying awake to let you stare at him.

“I’ll go grab a wash cloth-“

“No, not yet.” You snatched his hand as it came out of your underwear. “Just.. stay right here for a bit.”

You kept hold of his wrist as he rested his hand on your stomach. The feeling of his damp fingers against your skin made your heart skip a beat. It was a surreal feeling. Even though it wasn’t the first time he’s touched you, you still couldn’t believe he did it..

[a/n: hehehe the drama is coming 🤭 hope u enjoy the update! reblog like and all that good stuff! love uuu]

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @storyschanging (if u want to be added to the list, comment or message me)

[dyaz-stories]

found an island in your arms || Eun Hyuk x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: angst, eun hyuk deserves a hug and he gets one, eun hyuk is a little controlling towards the reader

previous one-shot

A/N: my entry for day two of @neohumanmonster's Turning a New Leaft event! Prompt: Change in Nature. While this is in relation with yesterday's entry, there is no need to have read it to understand this one, it just provides a little more context.

Eun Hyuk is more tense lately, more irritable. Everyone can feel it, though most people chalk it up to the dwindling rations and the growing fear that the army simply isn’t coming to save you. You can tell that Eun Yu doesn’t believe in that, though, and neither do you.

Eun Yu doesn’t seem to have an actual explanation for her brother’s out of character behavior. She pokes and probes and throws out cutting remarks to see what sticks, but she doesn’t seem all that worried either.

“He does that sometimes,” she answers you bluntly when you ask if she thinks Eun Hyuk is doing alright. “There’s probably something he wants to fix. I’m sure he’ll get there. He just needs a little push.”

That doesn’t satisfy you. You don’t like to sit idle while people are in pain, don’t like to sit idle at all, actually, even if someone is hammering that you’re doing it ‘for the greater good”. But the thing is, you and Eun Hyuk… don’t get along that well. You clashed a bunch in the beginning, before you were outvoted by the people who thought Eun Hyuk would bring them safety, at least. It was a short-term solution, what he was offering, you’d argued — to which he had replied that yours was a death sentence.

You still admired him. The decisions he had to make on a daily basis couldn’t be easy ones to make, nor were the sacrifices. Of course, you still often believed he chose wrong, but you had to admit that he had kept most of the group alive until now, and considering the circumstances, that was truly impressive.

You just wish that he would let you do more. Instead, he’s constantly getting in your way, particularly when it comes to helping the infected. ‘Your abilities could help the whole group’, he’d say. ‘We can’t afford to lose them because you trusted someone you shouldn’t have.’ It drove you insane, how easily he’d interfere, always with these pseudo rational arguments that you never really bought were genuine ones.

It felt as if they were just for show, and as such you never felt all that guilty for going against his orders.

You weren’t dumb. You wouldn’t put others in danger unless they were willing to risk themselves for something. But you also refused to let others get hurt through your own inaction. So if you had to sneak around to see Hyun-Su’s in order to treat his wounds and bring him food, then you’d do as you damn pleased, and neither Eun Hyuk nor anyone else had any say in that. It was your life, and it was your decision.

Still, you can’t say you’re thrilled when you find Eun Hyuk waiting for you when you exit Hyun-Su’s so-called room. He’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, and he gives you an annoyed look when you come out.

“What did I tell you?” he asks you coldly.

You grimace. The two of you are almost the same age, and you hate that patronizing tone he insists on taking with you.

“Hyun-Su needed help,” you say. “There is a limit to what even you can ask of me.”

He’s silent for a while. You notice him clenching his fists, and something unusually dark passes in his eyes. His jaw tenses, a vein bulges on his forehead. You think you’ve done it now, that you’re going to get an earful — even if you still don’t quite understand why. There’s simply no reason for him to care that much, and the lack of control is blatantly unlike him.

You’d run into him often, before this whole— thing— started. He was always quiet but sweet, would smile politely when you got in the elevator, maybe exchange niceties with you when you met in the lobby. He’d leave early and come home late, with the look of someone who hadn’t taken a breather all day, but it never appeared to have any effect on his temper.

That’s what’s throwing you off right now. How angry he seems to be.

After what feels like an eternity, he exhales, relaxes his hand.

“I guess you’re right,” he says, but his voice sounds too even now, like it’s forced. “I can’t force you to do anything. I just wish you’d consider that—” He cuts himself off the second his voice becomes strained again, looks away from you.

None of that is normal for him.

“Eun Hyuk,” you say, taking a step towards him. “Is there something wrong?”

He stares in your eyes for a second, and for that second, you think that maybe he’ll give you an honest answer.

“Everything is wrong,” he says in the end, and again, you know it’s nothing more than a half-truth. Then again, you can’t blame him for not telling you. “Can you even remember the last time thing went right for us?”

It’s not that he’s lying, it’s just that you know he’s not being genuine, and so you don’t bother continuing that line of discussion. It unnerves the other residents when you drop a conversation that is clearly going nowhere, makes them think you’re avoidant, but you think Eun Hyuk understands it. Close enough, anyway.

“You should still tell someone,” you tell him.

“I— What?”

“I get why you wouldn’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug. “I still think you should tell your sister. Or Jae-Heon, I guess, if you’re more comfortable with that, but I get why it can’t be me.” You take a step towards him, put a hand on his shoulder. You do it slowly, as if you were trying not to spook a skittish cat. Eun Hyuk glances down at your hand, but makes no movement to get rid of it. “I’m here if you need me.”

He scoffs, looks away from you, pushes his glasses higher on his nose. But you don’t let go, and he doesn’t actually move away from you.

“I mean it,” you say softly. “If you want to talk, or if there’s any other way to help you. Just let me know.”

He closes his eyes. You wait for it to sink in, then take your hand off, hoping you haven’t pushed a boundary already. As you break contact with him, though, he grabs your wrist without warning, and pulls you into him. Your chest collides with him as he wraps both arms around and his chin comes rest on your shoulder.

You’re surprised by how strong his embrace is, how he clearly doesn’t want to let go.

“Eun Hyuk?” you squeak.

“Just— Just give me a second,” he says, voice so low you barely hear it. “Please. Just let me have that.”

You feel your heart almost breaking at the desperate plea. Slowly, you close your arms around him, start rubbing his back. You’re not sure what’s happening, not completely, but you know he’s warm against you, and you know you need that contact, too.

Seconds go by, until he takes a step back, clearing his throat. He refuses to meet your eyes, but you don’t miss that his cheekbones are dusted pink now.

“Sorry, I—” Then he lets out a long exhale, and appears to get himself back under control. “You offered.”

You’re not fooled in any way by that, but you still nod.

“And the offer still stands. If you need any help, you know where to find me.”

Another long exhale.

“You— Why— Why would you—”

“Because you need help,” you answer. “You’re the one who’s looking after everyone, and I want to make sure there’s someone looking after you, too.” Eun Yu does, sure, but Eun Yu’s a kid, and that’s a lot of responsibility to put on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Eun Hyuk mumbles, still not looking at you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he gives you a vague nod and leaves the hallway without once looking back.

Your eyes follow him, worried. You’re afraid he’s reaching his breaking point. This situation is revealing things about people, about yourself, too, even if you don’t like looking at it. Clearly, it’s changing you.

You can only hope that Eun Hyuk will withstand that change — and be by his side for as long as he needs you to.

hope you're enjoying this! tomorrow's entry will be for hyun-su ^-^ as always, reblogs and comments are strongly appreciated and keep me motivated and writing :)

more writing for sweet home

[heli0s-writes]

intricate rituals*

a/n: You know how kids pick on each other but it's actually because they like each other? It's like that. 4.7k words. I don't know why this one was so long. I wrote this as a companion piece to slow hands. warnings: fantasizing & masturbation, language, the usual helios sprinkle of angst because Steve. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Judgmental red numbers gleamed from the alarm clock on your beside table. 2:50, it leered like a schoolyard bully, and you could only groan in reply, shoving your pillow over your face and muttering into it a string of unintelligible curse words.

The day stretched too long after you were hit—socked—square in the left orbital. Your skull ached and thrummed, congregating pain at the welt along your brow bone, and beneath all of it, your brain was at once empty and full of insistence.

And although you’d have to be vertical again in about three hours, your nerves were still uneasy, still roiling beneath your skin because adrenaline could be a bitch and a half like that.

You were floating aimlessly in limbo, trying to force-sink into the distance of sleep. Thoughts skated behind the back of your eyes and around your ears, restless fingers twitching beneath blankets. Each time you slipped off, the rug was pulled out beneath your feet and your body jerked awake, leaving your heart racing. Self-sabotage.

You were too tired to attempt a jog, not trusting your sore muscles to maneuver the compound’s wooded perimeter. The best option was the easy route: quick, simple, and only a little offensive. After all, imagination after a certain hour of the night was a dangerous thing but flirting with danger in private was worth it once you could rest after.

Besides, asking Tony for any strange white pill to put you to sleep was perilous at best and fatal at worst, and asking to be gently placed in a sleeper hold by a friend was a one-way ticket to seeing the on-call psychiatrist.

And, anyway, they’d think you were a masochist.

And, well, maybe you were. But that’s not their business.

Maybe you’d like it to be though. Maybe you’d like to see the flutter of interest, the reciprocity, admittance that they were also a little masochistic because who in this line of work isn’t?

Volunteering to get pummeled day in and day out must be diagnosable in the DSM-5 manual. Yeah. At least a few of your teammates are masochistic. You’d bet good money on it.

Bucky, for one. And—oh—wouldn’t his cheekbones look so good bright red? You could cut your palms on those.

Here was the danger with imagination past a certain hour of the night:

Co-ed dormitory style living with a gorgeous cast of characters—all deranged in their own right—but still gorgeous. Lovable despite their many, many flaws. Egregious, maddening flaws.

Some were shared, inhabited by every member like they decided to build homes inside of their neuroses. Martyrdom, obstinacy, the occasional withholding of all worldly pleasures when they thought they deserved deprival—when someone would fuck up unnoticeably on a mission and then self-flagellate inside their mind for days afterwards.

Bucky’s refusal to trust his own instincts sometimes; Tony’s incurable lust for sticking his foot in his mouth like he’s starving for the taste of dirt; Natasha’s quiet, catastrophic need to be useful whether it made her a teammate or an object.

Steve— the basket-case. A whole shitshow marathon of issues all crammed up in his bright blonde head, and it’d get so full it would rush out of him by way of seething rage, reflex reactions, his boot pressed against yours as he’d stare down. His hands curled into boulders, jaw working in slow, powerful movements as clenched and unclenched his teeth.

You couldn’t help but think of it now and again. Imagine him turning all that misplaced anger to good use.

One hand ventured to your thigh, the other crossing over your chest, rubbing up your bicep to your shoulder. There was a knot you couldn’t massage out, that Bucky couldn’t either despite his best efforts. His flesh hand first and then his other hand when he thought a temperature change would help. It whirred by your ear, the plates shifting like bee song.

You could hear yourself hum lightly at the memory. It felt nice—smooth, cool, heavy. The weight of his curled fist as he kneaded, the strength in his fingers he was always holding back, even more so as he worked over the delicate skin near your neck. You didn’t shudder then, but you began to.

He’d probably laugh if you did. Roll his eyes even though he’d be pleased about it.

And excuse you for being like everyone else in the world who’d ever seen Bucky Barnes and his arm in action.

You might just say, shut up, just touch me, and he would. Touch up your neck, thumb propped at the base of your skull, the rest of his fingers around your throat where he’d drum out the beat of an old 40’s song.

And then Steve began emerging from darkness along with a couch, cheek propped on his fist, watching lazily. It was indigo all around him. Just a lamp somewhere in the corner making the side of his pale face warm orange.

Guess three’s not a crowd in your book—

Shut up, Bucky.

His hand was still on your neck, but you’d gotten in his lap, thighs spread until your legs were on the outside of his. He’d lost his shirt and landed on the couch next to Steve, who asked, petulantly, I’m here to watch?

You weren’t sure. You didn’t expect your own half-awake mind trying to reason itself out of a sex fantasy. Not when Bucky was shirtless beneath you, slightly tanned skin displaying a scatter of freckles like the time he ventured to the tropics and came back with a grin lasting almost two weeks.  

But Steve was expecting an answer and the critical eyebrow high on his forehead repeated the question: I’m here to watch?

Apropos of nothing except being 85% shut down, you replied with, you hit me today, and fell forward into Bucky’s arms. It was sullen and Bucky snickered, pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones, a kiss somewhere nearby.

I didn’t mean to, Steve said cooly, still unamused.

Oh yes he did. Bucky touched you again, the webbing between thumb and forefinger beneath your breast for a second before he tweaked a nipple. Your toes curled slightly, chest jolting upward, and Bucky confirmed, masochist.

Steve perched his elbows on knees, leaning forward. One hand reached out, stroked the tapering edge of your eyebrow down to your cheekbone. His face was sweet, pleased, mischief cutting across his features. He pressed his finger down just a fraction, made your bruise sore with it, and the sweetness in his face glinted sharply.

Okay, he said, what else do you want?

He pressed down again and a handful of Steve’s flashed past as you exhaled. All those glimpses of him in various phases of his life, light-speed. There were suspenders and pressed white shirts too large for him. There was short hair and ballcaps and aviators. The way his shoulders hunched as he made himself invisible in a crowd. Captain suits in bright blue, then dark blue, and finally the deep night of the stealth number, material of tough neoprene and dull and sturdy across his chest. His hair was long flipped out at the ends. His beard grew and then shortened in length.

You couldn’t decide what else.

He was standing and then he was sitting. He leaned back on one elbow, sprawled like a Greek statue on a chaise lounge.

He was behind Bucky, arms coming to rest on either side of his neck, hands hanging limply forward, palm up, as if coaxing you closer, pressing Bucky tight in the middle until he huffed with discomfort.

Guess three is a crowd in your book.

Bucky disappeared and Steve came forward until he was flush against you.

In my dress uniform, really?

He sat with his thighs spread, contemplating your choice of Steve. His hair was slicked back, the high collar of his dress shirt starched and cupping his sharp, gorgeous jaw.

He was a garbled assemblage of an old photo in olive-green military wear. His blue eyes sparkled with attentiveness. He looked down his chest at the ribbons you were sure were incorrect, but they approximated something official. The jacket was starched and crisp, slacks well-pressed and fitted nicely.  

You liked the idea of him young, hopeful, and—smiling.

He placed his hands on your biceps before moving to your waist, stretching his fingers as far as he could to snare you. The fabric of your white button-up crinkled between your body and his. Three top buttons were undone, your breasts spilling out.

Steve’s hair was a mess, like it’d been yanked at fiercely. His mouth was wet and red and he was pawing at your back, rolling his hips upward until your groins met. His voice was rumbling and stuttery, brows together and cheeks rosy.

He stopped moving, only looking up at you with enormous eyes like a dog waiting for a command— which he’d never, ever looked like before. Panting as he caught his breath, he took a labored gasp, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and asked.

Ma’am?

Oh. God help you.

There he was in all his glory, one foot into martyrdom and the other still in boyhood. Before everything crashed and burned and he was still clumsy with it. Just a bright, beaming thing pleading for  you to notice his light.

He began to fumble, hardly used to his body and so different than how you’ve seen him hurl himself through the air head-fucking-first because he was always ready to die on some hill or another.

He was shy, worrying his gorgeous mouth into a small line as he looked and looked. Over your face, down your neck, your chest, the mismatched set of underclothes you were still dressed in—and he stared at it entranced as if you were some kind of centerfold.

Like he ever would—but your brain was an electrified lump of meat, so dream-Steve could forgive it for irrationality.

But you were still sane enough to feel guilty about it because he was 24, and in a flash of genius engineering, he’d be weary beyond all his days.

Which hurt, which was stupid, which was really killing your whole endeavor.

You couldn’t do it with the thought of him careening into war at 20-something and couldn’t even worse with the thought of him, terrified and alone, the same giant, blue eyes searching the modern world for a sliver of recognition only 7 years later.

So your fingers halted between your legs, letting his nervous, boyish face shimmer away into the back of your mind.

Your eyes opened back up. The clock taunted 3:15, sizzling fuchsia.

You closed your eyes again.

The numbers shifted, rearranged until they were two curved lines and Steve’s mouth was there, hovering over yours, and he’d grown up some—you could see it in the pallid sheen of his skin, the creases in his face that were less from age and more from suffering. He waited, saying nothing.

There was supposed to be a lot you could do here. All manners of debauched acts to imagine— involving rope and whip and raking your nails down his back until your name burned in his throat, his considerable figure reduced to a tremble as he ached for you.

But you couldn’t, because suddenly the agony of not being able to sleep pivoted into a strange, new turn of events. From wanting to touch yourself to wanting nothing more than jumping into a lake to erase the turmoil his big, blue eyes roused in you, you struggled on a little longer, peeking around his haloed head of blonde, faint light behind him like a corona.

No? He drew one eyebrow up toward his hairline, his full pink lips quirking into a smirk. Not doing it for you? Why’s that?

You put a hand over his mouth, but dream logic was in no mood to be silenced, and Steve’s voice crept up in your ears anyway. No matter how much you wanted to shut him down, to push him away, he remained.

The truth, soldier. He tipped his head and looked at you past long, dark lashes. Give it to me straight.

-

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was gravelly.

You rubbed your eyes, wincing. 4 A.M. approached while you were still caught in a loop in bed—drifting, then jerking awake, nauseated with each new scenario.

Finally, it had been enough. You couldn’t force a thing that wouldn’t arrive, and so you trudged to the training room with your water bottle and forgot shoes along the way.

“Just need to get my mind off things,” you replied, and swatted weakly at a punching bag.

Steve was still wrapping his knuckles because he would always have more foresight than you do and watched you from the corner of his eye. You tapped at the leather, jabbing one-two, one-two, until it began to sway marginally wider, the link chain holding the bag rattling like windchimes.

You wished he wasn’t in the gym. You could feel him in the corner of your mind, a presence that sensed you as much as you sensed it, that weighed heavily, waiting.

“You’ll split them open.”

You jumped in surprise and then it only took a few steps before he was in front of you, hand outstretched with the wrap.

“I’m fine,” you protested, but his mouth was a thin straight line that didn’t need to emit any words. He’d just nag until you gave up. Then he’d throw you onto the wrestling mat and call it a lesson.

Maybe you were cranky.

“I can do it myself,” you attempted, but he ignored it steadfastly, focused on pulling your fingers apart.

“Sure, you could.”

You shifted your weight, “You think I’d fuck it up or something.”

“I think you’d do it clumsy. Think it’d be a rush job.”

He secured the loop onto your thumb before tugging it over the back of your wrist. You watched his fingers, wrapped up skillfully, as they turned and twisted around yours. For all his calluses, he was handling you delicately, and it was all too strange.

Sweat beaded along his brow, his pink cheeks from an earlier warm-up were settling the longer he stood still. He wasn’t making eye contact even as you ducked to find his gaze. It felt like part of an apology.

Nothing passed but his breath and yours, both awkwardly out of their regular tempo. You knew why you were being so weird, but couldn’t guess a damn what reason he would have.

Suddenly, he said, “If I pulled my punches in practice, it would skew your perception in the field.”

You deliberated this information, and the way he offered it up. Like he was bringing you a precious relic you’d be grateful to receive. What an honor. The stinging aftermath of his bones against your bones.

“So this,” you tilted your face forward, showing him where his forearm landed this morning and the pulp of your skin that ice, for fifteen minutes after, did nothing for, “This is a favor?”

He frowned, something complicated skittering across his face.

After a minute, which was quite a long time for Steve to meditate when you were obviously baiting him, he said, “It’s a warning. Enemies won’t go easy on you. I can’t either, even if I wanted to. It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for whatever is coming next. It’s my job to bring you back home.”

“That’s nice—"

He cut you off, firm. “That’s the truth.”

The truth.

You felt it with your entire chest as Steve stood there, attention fixed upon your hand, his own circling your wrist and palm and then between the sensitive webbing of your fingers with diligence.

A lock of hair fell over his forehead, obscured one eye, and when he looked up behind it in wait of your reply with that open, honest expression, you gulped.

The truth, he asked in your dream— that he seemed to be wanting now wordlessly. That you’d been punching down every morning and night because it was so simple, and excruciating.

The truth was, you were stupid for him. And just stupid, in general, because you could never tell him. Because he was Steven Grant Rogers, for fuck’s sake. He was stunning and tortured and you wanted to die sometimes, just looking at him because you didn’t know how else to express it.

Because there wasn’t a world where you could step up to Steve, stare down the magnum opus of his monumental hero’s journey and feel like you could be a contender for a single, sad crumb of his attention. 

And yet you could never quite help yourself.

The truth:

Sometimes you’d do it to get his hands on you—to motivate him, to have him spare a single glance your way. Screw up the training exercise just so he’d spend an extra hour beating the drill into you.

Because outside of your private quarters and battered-tired imagination, when would he ever?

Because short of begging him to touch you, when would he ever?

The baiting. The backtalk. Challenging him at every turn. You were a spiraling addict, grabbing any high within your reach.

Hell, you were just as deranged as the rest of them. DSM-5, eat your heart out.

He dropped your hands, finished, and brought his thumb up to your temple where the welt throbbed under his pulse. “There,” he said. Almost silent, almost like you imagined it.

Then between one heartbeat and the next, his lips parted, bottom one pulled in almost imperceptibly— and— fuck, you didn’t understand a damn thing.

You made a noise like a fish out of water and he rubbed the back of his broad neck, craning his sight to the high ceiling. When he turned back down, he was soft at his edges, the tired years on his face placated.

“I know what you’re doing. You don’t think I know?”

You were nearly sure you were still in bed, and the fantasy was turning on its head, coming up absurdist and you were ready, nowpleasegod, to wake up.

“Pickin’ fights in alleyways since I could throw a punch. Why’d you think so?”

You sputtered, because you’re a ham-fisted, sleep-deprived, single-minded moron, “Because you’re a glutton for punishment?”

Steve snorted. “Like you are?”

You could feel the burn of agony twist its way up your neck, the way fact exposes itself when there’s no other cowardly avenue to run down. He watched, his sea-glass eyes stormy and insistent, and the lights of the compound gym were like stage spotlights now, white, and localized.

You found interest in your feet, because you were still missing shoes, and Steve followed the path and saw your toes curled up tight like hiding themselves.

“Jesus,” he huffed with dismay.

“I was tired. Am. Still tired.”

 “Go back to sleep.”

“I tried. Why do you think I’m here? Have you ever seen me here?” You swept your arm out toward the abundance of equipment that have not yet been acquainted with even your shadow.

“Now that you mention it,” he replied.

“Not once—my god, Rogers, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Hey,” he said, because you were doing that horrible, compulsive, nervous-tic conflict thing again, and this time he put his hand on your shoulder and it was warm.

Your skin crooned his name.

“What. Are you doing.” Your throat was bone dry.

He stepped closer—not a dream, he was real, he was there, he was breathing your hair and touching your shoulder—and he dipped his head down, in wait.

“Oh,” your mouth decided sentences were beyond its means. “O-oh.”

“That a yes? Or no.” He moved to step away, his serious expression fluttering into embarrassment, and then guilt, and then you were doing an aerobatic move between a hop and a hurdle to reach for his face.

Teeth clicked, and you winced. He didn’t seem to mind, only stabilizing you with one hand on your neck and the other at your hip. His lips were full, hot, like there was a pulse in his mouth that was trying to overcome yours. He towered, not just in height, but—you couldn’t describe it. Your head was swirling, dizzy.

“You haven’t had any water today,” he murmured—and what kind of psycho would say that during a kiss.

“Do you mind?” you grabbed at his hair, “I’m trying to—” You kissed him some more, your brain a fluttering, ecstatic mess. You shivered when he licked your tongue, fisted his collar when he made a huff—a moan—and then he was gone, a faint hiss between his teeth and his eyes burning darkly.

You wanted to fall down to the gym floor, take him tumbling with you, hands impatient and wild as you felt for each other. Up t-shirts and down waistbands, tongues sloppy and missing each other, leaving lines of spit along chins and necks.

It felt silly—stupid, reckless, fantastic—but it was damn good. Like two kids figuring out their bodies for the first time. So natural and luxurious that you could literally fall forward into him, let him do everything. Strip you naked in the damn gym, fold you in half atop some mats, over a bench, leave marks down your spine and up your throat. Curl himself so deep you could feel him in your mind for days after—you wanted it all.

He was laughing a little bit, the creases of his eyes lit with joy as he weaved left and right, getting all the right angles to mouth at you with. He pawed and squeezed and sighed as he touched you, feeling every inch. He was excited, and it kind of killed you to know—made your belly swelter and clench with pride.

You rolled your hips lazily into his, and he backed up until he found a bench to sit down on, pulling you by the hand, the wrap yanking open and unspooling onto the floor.

“This okay?” He asked.

You made a low, pained sound.

“Hey,” he said, and you blinked at how concerned he was. He steadied your shoulders, his long fingers comforting and heavy. “You okay?”

You yawned, and when you looked at him again, he was confused. And he was standing.

You couldn’t keep up. You looked down dumbly at your empty hands. He was just there.

Oh, gods.

Steve was standing—at the punching bag, not sitting on a bench with you between his thighs. And the wrap that had unspooled from your left hand was limply hanging from your right, the necessary supplies in a bag next to your foot.

You went ice cold.

You wobbled and caught yourself, because you were standing in the middle of the gym idly, realizing that you’d spent the last 10 minutes losing yourself in a fever dream about Steve.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly, recoiling when he side-stepped from his position to head toward you. Your knees trembled, the place between your thighs warm and clenching madly on nothing.

“You don’t look okay.”

“You’re… worried about me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and said “yes”, like you were stupid. But then he breathed soft, and looked so much like that fantasy you’d conjured up a few seconds ago, that you turned and made ready to bolt.

He caught your wrist.

“I need to—” he began firmly. “You need to listen--”

But you didn’t. You licked your lips because he was so close and you were insane with want for him, and he stopped dead in his tracks for a split second, eyes tracking your mouth and the short, puffs of air that your chest was pushing out without you meaning it to. Just quick huffs as you bit down on your lip to make yourself quiet and small and unseen.

Steve swallowed. He said something almost silent and it sounded like sorry before he leaned forward and caught your mouth with his.

He sighed into it. Breathed into it. He placed one hand on the small of your back and pressed your entire body to him, and you moaned like he tore it out of you.

And this time, it was real. The two of you scrambled for each other, heaving and loud.

He took you to the floor, only took another few impatient, hotheaded licks of his tongue and then he was inside of your shirt, his mouth sucking round, wet brands up between your breasts.

You bucked up to get closer, and he sank down, licking and sucking and all ten of his fingers dug into your hips and waist.

“Shit,” he said.

“Uggnnn,” you replied eloquently before your better judgement pivoted and decided to swipe at reason. “What’s—“

“You make me fucking crazy.” Steve rushed out.

“Fair,” you gasped when he began rolling his hips against yours. “Feeling’s mutual—oh, what are you doing--”

He only answered with more of it, and harder, up and down, his forehead pressed to yours—his entire body, really, pressed like he wanted to swallow you whole.

It went on for eternity, it felt like, the two of you messy and starved, every second of contact a half-fight, half-resignation. Between the rushing blood in your head and the high-pitched ringing of excitement, there was a relief, like your skin was singing finally, oh god, finally.

Steve, above you, was smiling—was happy—almost as if he felt the same.

-

“Next time just say something,” you said, when you could finally breathe again.

“Like what?” He wiped his forehead. You did that to him.

You sputtered, the taste of his tongue still in your mouth, “Like—just don’t hit me so hard. And don’t say you have to.”

He opted to say nothing instead, only rolling his eyes, and you found the perfect opportunity to continue pestering. “Do you ever pull your punches? Could you maybe try?”

He only grinned with that wet, red mouth, and his eyes flicked down to you like a challenge. “I hold myself back more often than you think.”

“Name one time you held back from anything.”

His lips pressed together, a smile squirting out of the corners as he looked at his bare feet, toes flexed against the mat. His lashes were fluttering as he pondered, looking so shy and mischievous all at once.

“Just now.”

“Now?”

Beneath your collarbone, the bruise Steve sucked into your skin stung with embarrassment. The sound you made when he did it should be burned out from all memory. You had to beg him to stop, you could have cried.

“I had it all wrong. I thought you might have liked getting bossed around in bed, but you’re a sadist, Rogers.”

“No, no. You can boss me around.” He paused, “Maybe. You can try, go ahead.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, try.” And if you were to look up the definition of shit-eating, annoying, and contrary-bastard-even-more-so-than-yourself, you’d find his smug as sin picture.

“I need to go to sleep— team captain, my ass. Don’t you care about my well-being, Rogers? What even is your refractory period?”

“Don’t have one.”

Your brain was a watery 7-11 slushie, and instead of saying anything comprehensible back, you only babbled.

Just then, the gym doors slid open and both of you were on your feet like someone had been shooting them.

Natasha looked you up and down. From the crumpled bedclothes to the unruly hair and then to your mouth, which was slightly open and catching your breath. She narrowed her eyes, glanced over to where Steve stood leaned on the wall, shuffling his feet in an attempt to sort out his sweatpants.

She made to remark something else but then Bucky sidled up wearing nothing but basketball shorts and grey socks.

“It’s ass o’clock,” he complained loudly. “Why are any of you awake. Never mind, Steve you’re a degenerate. You wake up at 4. I was having a great dream, then Nat drags me up, then you’re already here? You fucking animals.”

“Hm, a dream?” Nat drawled, “Anyone I know?”

She flicked his chin already knowing entirely too fucking much.

“Can’t remember the details,” Bucky turned to you offhandedly before recognition lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he chirped, leering. “I remember now.” He wolf whistled, muttered, “Hello nurse,” and rubbed his palms together like he was warming them up.

You backed up, covering as much of your body as possible with two hands, and bumped your ass into Steve, dick-first, who cleared his throat loudly.

Nat only cackled.

[won4kiss]

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— FOREVER AND ALWAYS

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. bf! choi beomgyu x fem! reader synopsis. arguments with your boyfriend are never easy, but this one- this one may just be the breaking point. genre. angst ,, fluff ,, wc. 1800. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ beomgyu the man u are🤭.. 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

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Beomgyu had always been known for his charm and wit, his playful demeanor endearing him to everyone around him. But in private, he could be cold and distant, his mood shifting like the unpredictable weather.

Last night had been no exception. The argument had started over something trivial—his lateness, his unexplained absences—but it had escalated into a shouting match that left both of them wounded deeply by each-other’s harsh words thrown.

Beomgyu had stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and regrets. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, and glanced at the clock. It was past midnight, and Beomgyu still hadn't returned. The silence of the apartment was deafening, and Y/N felt a pang of loneliness that she couldn't shake, which had been residing within her for a while now.

“I should head to bed” she mumbled, but as she felt the tiredness of the nights events crawl up into her, she also felt the doom of her relationship with Beomgyu, falling asleep with tears running down her cheeks.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. Y/N had barely slept, her mind racing with worry and anger. She couldn't understand why Beomgyu had become so distant, why he seemed to push her away every time they got close. She loved him deeply, but his coldness was breaking her heart.

She heard the front door creak open and sat up, her heart pounding. Beomgyu walked in, his hair damp from the rain, his eyes tired and hollow. He didn't look at her as he shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes.

"Where have you been?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and concern.

"Out," Beomgyu replied curtly, avoiding her gaze.

"All night? Do you have any idea how worried I was Gyu?”

Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "I needed some space Y/N."

"Space?" Y/N's voice rose, her frustration boiling over. "You needed space? Beomgyu, you can't just disappear whenever things get tough!"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you didn't suffocate me all the time! I come home and here you are just bitching at me all the time!” Beomgyu snapped, his eyes flashing with anger.

Y/N recoiled as if she'd been slapped, her heart aching at his harsh words. "Suffocate you? Is that really how you feel? Bitching at you? I was worried for you, did you know how scared I was?”

Beomgyu's expression softened slightly, regret flickering in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with indifference. "I don't want to fight right now, Y/N."

"Well, that's too bad, because we need to talk about this. You can't keep shutting me out, Gyu. We need to talk about this.”

"There's nothing to talk about," Beomgyu said coldly. "I just needed some time to think."

"Think about what?" Y/N pressed, her voice cracking. "About us? About whether you still want to be with me? Wasn’t leaving me alone last night for the hundredth time enough?”

Beomgyu remained silent, his jaw clenched. The silence filled the atmosphere between them, heavy and oppressive.

"Fine," Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face. "If you won't talk to me, then maybe you should leave."

Beomgyu stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, he let out a quiet scoff before turning on his heel and walking out the door again. This time, the sound of the door closing behind him felt like the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

Days turned into weeks, and the apartment felt emptier than ever. Y/N went through the motions of her daily life, but the weight of Beomgyu's absence was a constant. She missed him terribly, missed the way he used to make her laugh, the way his eyes would light up when he saw her, and missed what it felt like being loved by Beomgyu.

She couldn't understand what had gone wrong, why Beomgyu had become so distant and cold. She replayed their last conversation over and over in her mind, trying to find some clue, some hint of what had driven him away.

One evening, as Y/N sat alone on the couch, her phone buzzed with a message. Her heart leaped as she saw Beomgyu's name on the screen.

"Can we talk?" the message read.

Y/N's hands trembled as she typed her response. "Okay."

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Y/N took a deep breath before opening it to find Beomgyu standing there, looking tired and worn. He didn't say anything as he walked inside, and Y/N closed the door behind him, her heart pounding in her chest.

They stood in silence for a moment, neither of them knowing where to begin.

"I'm sorry," Beomgyu finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for everything Y/N”

Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Why, Beomgyu? Why did you push me away?"

Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I guess... I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of losing you. Of letting you get too close and then losing you."

Y/N's heart ached at his words. "Beomgyu, you don't have to push me away to protect yourself. I love you. I want to be with you, no matter what. I won’t lie, you hurt me so bad Gyu, but I love you. Forever and always.”

Beomgyu's eyes softened at her words, Forever and Always, the same words he said to her the day he confessed his love to her, which seems forever ago now and he took a step closer to her.

“I’m so sorry baby, I love you too, Y/N. More than anything. I'm just... not good at showing it.” He says with his voice cracking at his land words as tears filled Beomgyu’s waterline.

Y/N reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Then show me. Let me in. We can face whatever comes together."

Beomgyu nodded, his eyes filled with determination. "I promise. No more running away."

Y/N smiled through her tears and pulled Beomgyu into a tight embrace. As he held her close, she felt a sense of hope and relief wash over her. They still had a long way to go, but for the first time in weeks, she felt like they were on the right path.

Over the next few weeks, Beomgyu and Y/N worked on rebuilding their relationship. They talked openly and honestly about their fears and insecurities, building up the trust and slowly, the walls between them began to crumble.

Beomgyu made a conscious effort to be more present and attentive, showing Y/N just how much he cared. He would surprise her with little gestures of affection—bringing her favorite flowers, cooking her breakfast in bed, or simply holding her hand as they walked through the park and giving her soft kisses.

Y/N, in turn, was patient and understanding, giving Beomgyu the space he needed while also being there for him whenever he needed support. She could see the effort he was putting in, and it made her love him even more.

One evening, as they sat on the couch together, Beomgyu turned to Y/N with a serious expression. "I want to apologize again for how I treated you. You didn't deserve any of it, I was such an asshole, I don’t deserve you.” He says with a small smile.

Y/N smiled softly and placed a hand on his cheek. "Thank you, Beomgyu. But what's important is that we're working through it together. I believe in us, and you deserve me just as much as I deserve you, we deserve each other.”

Beomgyu leaned in and kissed her gently, his lips soft and warm against hers. It was a kiss filled with love and promise, a symbol of their renewed commitment to each other.

Beomgyu sighs into the kiss as they pulled away, Beomgyu rested his forehead against hers. "I don't ever want to lose you, Y/N."

"You won't," Y/N whispered. "We're in this together, no matter what."

Just when it seemed like things were finally falling into place, a new challenge arose. Beomgyu received an offer to go on a world tour with his band, TXT. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, but it also meant months of separation and uncertainty.

Beomgyu was torn. He didn't want to leave Y/N, especially not after everything they had been through. But he also didn't want to miss out on such a significant opportunity for his career.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, Beomgyu broached the subject. "Y/N, I got an offer to go on tour with the band."

Y/N's heart sank, of course she knew what that meant, but she forced herself to stay calm. "That's amazing, Gyu. You should go."

"But what about us?" Beomgyu asked, his voice filled with worry. "I don't want to leave you, not again.” He says whispering pressing his forehead onto hers.

Y/N took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We'll be okay. We'll find a way to make it work, we always do Gyu. I believe in us.”

Beomgyu looked into her eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was love and gentleness. He smiled, adoration for you in his eyes and feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Thank you, love. I promise I'll make it up to you, mmh?” Beomgyu says fluttering his lashes onto your skin making you giggle and fall into his warm embrace even more.

Y/N leaned in and kissed him softly. "Just promise me you'll come back to me, no more running.” You whisper.

"I promise," Beomgyu whispered against her lips.

The day of Beomgyu's departure arrived all too soon. Y/N stood at the airport, holding back tears as she hugged him tightly.

"Be safe," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I will," Beomgyu replied, his own voice thick with emotion. "I'll call you every day, I promise."

Y/N nodded, unable to speak as she watched him walk away. As he disappeared into the crowd, she felt a pang of loneliness and fear, but she knew they would get through this. She knew Beomgyu loves her, and she loves him.

Forever and always.

@luvvsim 2024