#am I deliberately ignoring the last thing you said? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 20 days ago

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cinnamon | h.s | 2

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

summary: in which two broke college students ignore the fact that they’re falling for each other. (just because you ignore it, doesn’t make it any less real.)

cw: smut18+ (piv) …dare i say…subrry (if u squint), drug dealing/usage, angst, violence, blood (only a lil), college!harry, fem!reader

word count: approx 16.4k

| i needed some softrry i’m not sorry. BUT i am sorry for being a lil late with this final part!! i took a hot minute to edit / drive home from work. all that fun stuff. anyway!! hope u liked it :^)

masterlist

the shift between them was subtle at first.

YN didn’t say anything the next time they crossed paths in the hallway. she didn’t make eye contact, didn’t give him her usual raised eyebrow or sharp comment. she just walked past, her bag slung over her shoulder, her face blank like he wasn’t even there.

it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t loud. but it was deliberate. empty.

harry noticed it more than he wanted to.

their usual routine—the unspoken agreement to walk home together after their evening classes—just stopped. she didn’t linger by the exit anymore, didn’t slow her steps like she was waiting for him to catch up.

the first time it happened, he told himself she’d just left early. the second time, he figured she’d had something to do. by the third, it was clear; she wasn’t waiting for him.

and yet, he found himself hesitating by the doors anyway, glancing toward the biology lab like an idiot, only to leave alone, his steps echoing too loudly in the quiet.

at home, it was worse.

the silence between their apartments felt heavier now. he used to hear her faint laugh through the thin walls, the clink of a coffee cup on her counter, the muffled hum of her shitty netflix shows. now it was quiet, like she’d taken all the noise with her and left him sitting in it.

harry didn’t know why it bothered him so much. this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? to keep things simple. clean. to keep people out.

but then he’d remember the look on her face when he said it—it’s not like we’re friends—and something sharp twisted in his chest.

and all he had to sit with was his own guilt and regret.

the distance wasn’t one-sided.

YN hated how much it stung. she told herself she didn’t care, that she was too busy with school and work to think about harry, but that was bullshit, and she knew it.

she felt his absence in the small things—the sound of his voice beside her on those walks home, the way he’d lean against the wall outside their building, cigarette dangling from his fingers like he had nowhere better to be.

she told herself he didn’t deserve her attention after what he said. that he’d made it clear where they stood.

but sometimes, when she caught a glimpse of him—his curls hidden under a backwards cap, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie—she couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was carrying. and why he seemed so determined to carry it alone.

it wasn’t until thursday evening, two weeks since they last walked home together, that their avoidance finally broke.

harry was heading back from class, his backpack slung low, his rings clicking softly against the railing as he climbed the stairs, nails painted a cherry red that already started to chip.

as he reached their floor, the door to YN’s apartment opened, and she stepped out. her hair was tied back, her sweatshirt hanging loose over her frame, a pair of worn sneakers on her feet.

they froze when they saw each other, the air between them thick and awkward.

he glanced at her, then at the stairs, his jaw clenching—not in anger, not in hate, but in quiet hope. “hey.”

she didn’t answer. she just stared at him for a moment, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. finally, she nodded once, curt and distant. “harry.”

then she walked past him, her steps quick, her head high.

he stood there for a moment, staring after her, his fists clenching at his sides. he wanted to say something, anything, to pull her back. but the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the same wall he’d spent years building.

so he didn’t. he just turned toward his door, the silence swallowing him whole as the door clicked shut behind him.

the house wasn't packed, but it was loud. laughter and bass thumped through the walls, voices spilling out onto the porch where clusters of people leaned against the railing, cigarettes glowing faintly in the dark.

YN hadn't planned on coming.

but her roommate had begged, tugging on her arm like a child demanding candy at a grocery store. "come on," she'd sigh. "it'll be fun. you don't even have to stay that long. besides, you think jays cute, right?"

and YN, with no pressing deadlines and no excuse not to, had reluctantly agreed.

harry didn't want to be here either.

the house hummed with energy—the kind of energy that clung to saturday nights in college. voices blended with the low pulse of bass—heavy hip hop, the faint static of a projector flickering on the far wall casting neon splashes of color across the crowded living room. laughter spilled out from the porch, accompanied by the faint, acrid tang of weed smoke drifting in through an open window.

he slipped inside unnoticed, his nyu hoodie pulled low over his face, his hand brushing the pocket where an empty altoid tin sat snug against his leg.

the thing about acid drops was they were tiny. clean. no plastic bags crinkling to give him away. no smell to catch on clothes. just a few paper tabs, tucked neatly into a tin that could easily pass for mints.

this one wasn’t supposed to take long, anyway. pauli had texted earlier, casual as ever.

bring me four. party downstairs but i’ll be at the same spot.

simple.

harry liked pauli well enough, even if he’d never say it out loud. he was easy to deal with—no drama, no bullshit, and he tipped. if things weren’t so complicated, maybe they’d even get along.

he moved through the thrumming crowd, his eyes scanning the room automatically, checking for the usual signs of trouble.

that’s when he saw her.

YN was tucked into a corner of the living room, half-hidden behind a group of people, her back leaning lightly against the wall. the warm glow of fairy lights strung across the ceiling flickered over her, mixing with the neon hues spilling out from the projector somewhere behind her.

it made her look like art—like she didn’t belong here, needing to be some vibrant watercolor strung high up in a gallery.

she had a red solo cup in hand, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she listened to something the guy next to her was saying. harry didn’t recognize him, not in the dim light, but it didn’t matter. what mattered was how close he stood to her, how his arm brushed hers whenever he moved, how he leaned in like he was trying to fill the space between them.

harry’s eyes drifted lower, tracing the line of her figure almost involuntarily. her shirt clung in all the right places, the loose wrinkles in the fabric shifting faintly when she’d move around. her black jeans, straight-legged with a single slit on the right knee, revealed a faint bruise just above her kneecap.

his eyes narrowed. the thought came unbidden, like bile rising in his throat—a thought he had no right to conjure, no right to mull over.

was it from him?

the thought pushed itself to the front of his mind, uninvited, insistent.

did she get on her knees for him?

he clenched his teeth, ripping his gaze away before it could wander further, before his thoughts could twist into something darker, uglier.

he had no right.

his hand brushed the strap of his backpack, grounding himself as he trudged up the stairs. the second floor was quieter, though the music’s thrum still vibrated the floor beneath his feet.

at the end of the hall, pauli’s door was already cracked open, a faint glow spilling out—a mix of blues and purples that pulsed softly, courtesy of the lava lamp perched on the nightstand.

he stepped inside, letting the door creak wider as he entered.

he looked up from his spot on the bed, his grin as effortless as ever, the glow from the lava lamp catching on his teeth. “harry. what’s up, man?”

he nodded toward him before he pulled the altoid tin from his pocket, flipping it open and sliding four tabs onto the corner of the nightstand. “same price.”

pauli sat up, grabbing his wallet from the bed. “you know me. always good for it.”

he handed over the cash—a neat stack of bills folded lengthwise—and harry pocketed it without a word. “tipped you fifteenthis time.” pauli added with a wink, leaning back onto his elbows.

harry smiled faintly, “‘preciate it.”

he grinned, the blues and purples of the room painting his face like some kind of hipster saint. “likewise, man. let me know if you ever wanna hang. game a little, whatever. always a spot for you here.”

he nodded once, already moving toward the door. “noted, thanks.” (he didn’t stay long enough to hear a response.)

the bass hit harder as he made his way back downstairs, his hand ghosting along the banister.

as his foot touched the last step, marie was already there.

pretty brunette, long legs, and a perpetual smirk that always seemed to say you can’t resist me. she never stopped trying to score free weed from him, always angling her body just close enough to make it seem like an invitation.

“hey, haz,” she drawled, stepping into his path.

he glanced at her, half a second’s worth, his eyes scanning the room as he muttered, “don’t have anything on me right now, marie.”

she pouted faintly, her head tilting just enough to catch the light. “come on. just this once?”

harry stepped past her without a second glance, his tone sharp but dismissive. “not now.” he avoided brushing her shoulder, his steps measured as he maneuvered past her.

the main room was a mess.

a circle of people had formed, shouting over each other as someone recorded the chaos with their phone flashlight. harry didn’t care what was going on—he just didn’t want to get stuck in it.

he b-lined for the kitchen instead, slowing his steps when he caught the low hum of voices just beneath the music.

he wasn’t planning to stop, wasn’t planning to get involved in whatever was going on in there. but then he caught the tone—a mix of light coercion and arrogance, the kind of smug insistence that made his stomach churn.

“come on,” the guy said, his voice smooth, confident. “just one pill, YN. you’ll feel amazing, i swear.”

harry’s stood still, his grip on the strap of his backpack tightening.

“jay…” her voice was quieter, hesitant.

“it’s no big deal,” he pressed, his tone almost lazy. “just let loose. it’s saturday, for fuck’s sake. live a little.”

it was jay. of course, it was jay.

he knew that voice anywhere—smug and dripping with entitlement, like the world owed him whatever he wanted.

“i don’t know,” she sighed, her voice soft, her uncertainty cutting through the noise like static.

harry’s chest tightened, a knot forming just beneath his ribcage. he knew he didn’t have a right to feel anything about this. he’d said it himself—they weren’t friends, even if that was a lie. YN could make her own choices, could hang out with whoever she wanted, could take whatever jay was trying to shove into her hand.

but the knot didn’t go away.

it tightened further when he heard her sigh, gentle and resigned, like she was starting to give in.

that sound sent something sharp slicing through him. before he even realized he’d moved, harry stepped into the kitchen.

YN was leaning against the counter, her red solo cup in one hand, jay towering over her, his arm braced against the counter beside her. his other hand held a small pill—molly, probably—his fingers hovering just inches from her lips.

he looked over his shoulder, startled by the sudden presence. but before he could say a word, harry was on him. he grabbed jay by the bicep, yanking him away from YN with enough force to make him stumble.

“what the—”

his words were cut off by harry’s fist colliding with his face. the sound of bone crunching echoed through the kitchen, sharp and final.

he fell back, clutching his nose as blood began to drip onto his shirt. “what the fuck, man?” he shouted, his voice muffled and nasally.

his knuckles throbbed from the impact, the skin already split and stinging, but he didn’t flinch. his breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts as he stood there, his fists still clenched at his sides.

he didn’t look at jay.

he looked at YN.

her breath hitched audibly, her chest rising sharply as her lips parted in shock. but she didn’t say anything.

she just bandaged that hand.

she didn’t even glance at jay—not once. her wide eyes were locked on harry, and in that moment, the noise of the party faded to nothing.

his gaze softened, the adrenaline in his chest burning into something heavier as his eyes traveled down.

the bruise on her knee caught his attention again, stark against her skin just above the ripped fabric of her jeans. his jaw tightened, his features shifting slightly—something flickering across his face that she couldn’t quite name.

and then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers again, and the weight of whatever had passed between them felt unbearable.

without a word, he turned and walked out, his shoulders tense, his fists still aching from the punch. he didn’t look back, but YN’s eyes followed him, her chest still tight, her cup clutched tightly in her trembling hand.

jay muttered something—another fucking psycho—but she barely registered it.

the only thing she could think about was the look in harry’s eyes before he left.

three days had passed since the party, and the library was quieter than usual.

a few scattered groups occupied the tables near the entrance, laptops open, notes spread in chaotic displays of end-semester panic. YN moved past them, heading toward her usual spot near the back, a corner table she’d claimed as her own months ago.

but as she turned the corner, she paused. harry was there.

he was slouched in a chair at one of the smaller tables, his head resting in his hand, his elbow propped on the desk. his other hand hovered over a textbook, pen in hand, though he wasn’t writing anything.

he looked tired. dark circles smudged under his eyes, his curls an unruly mess that barely held under the backwards cap perched on his head. his sweater was wrinkled, the sleeve pushed up just enough to reveal his forearm, where faint bruises from something she couldn’t place mottled the skin.

she stood there for a moment, debating whether to turn back, but something in the way his shoulders sagged made her pause.

despite herself, she walked over.

“how’s your hand?”

her voice broke the silence between them, startling him slightly. his head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers, his expression caught between surprise and something unreadable.

“huh?” he croaked, blinking at her like he wasn’t sure if she was real.

she nodded toward his right hand, which was still gripping the pen. “your hand,” she repeated. “you messed it up again.”

harry glanced down at it, flexing his fingers slightly like he’d forgotten it had happened. his knuckles were still faintly red, the scabs on his skin threatening to crack.

“s’fine.” he muttered, his voice low, his tone as casual as he could manage.

she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “doesn’t look fine.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair and setting the pen down on the open page of his textbook. “you always this nosy?”

she rolled her eyes, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. “you always this defensive?”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “only when people ask stupid questions.”

“it wasn’t a stupid question,” she shot back, leaning forward slightly. “you punched a guy in the face hard enough to put him on the ground. you’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”

he shrugged, glancing at his hand again. “felt worth it at the time.”

YN’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she studied him. “why’d you do it?”

he looked up at her then, his smirk fading, replaced by something sharper, more guarded. “thought he deserved it.”

“that’s not an answer.”

he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. “what do you want me to say, YN?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with tension. “that i hated the way he talked to you? the way he tried to push you into something you didn’t want? or that it pissed me off seeing him so close to you, like he had the fucking right?”

her breath caught, her fingers curling against the edge of the table.

he let out a sharp exhale, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater as he slouched into his seat again, his gaze dropping to the textbook in front of him. “doesn’t matter. s’done.”

“it does matter.” she whispered, a furrow forming on her forehead from concern.

harry didn’t look at her, but his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing faintly.

“you don’t owe me anything, harry,” she continued, her tone careful but firm. “but don’t act like what you did wasn’t about me. because we both know it was.”

he finally met her eyes, his expression guarded but not cold. “so what if it was?”

she stared at him for a moment, her chest tight, the words stuck in her throat. finally, she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

but harry spoke first, his eyebrows knit together. “did you sleep with him?”

her eyes darted between his, her lips pressed into a tight line, her shoulders faltering. it caught her off guard, obviously—she could’ve torn into him, yell about how he had absolutely no right to ask her that, but the way his eyes looked slightly glassed over underneath the fluorescent lights made her keep composure. “no, harry.”

he bit the inside of his cheek, nodding with a frown.

finally, she stood, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “take care of your hand, okay?”

the walk home had always been theirs. a quiet that belonged to them.

not awkward, but comfortable, the kind of quiet that felt earned. the rhythm of their footsteps, the hum of the city around them—it was just enough. for weeks, though, that rhythm had been off, broken by the absence of something harry didn’t want to admit he missed.

but now, it was back.

it started on a tuesday.

YN walked out of her bio lab, distracted as she finished sending a text. she didn’t notice him at first, leaning against the wall just outside the lecture hall, his cap pulled low, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

when she did notice, she froze for half a second, her breath catching. he wasn’t looking directly at her, but he wasn’t not looking, either.

she could’ve walked past him. maybe a week ago, she would have.

but instead, she shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and walked toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. “you’re still here?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

harry shrugged, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside her. “just needed some air.”

YN raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “right. sure you did.”

he smirked faintly, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

they didn’t talk much on the walk back to the apartment, but it didn’t feel heavy, not like the silence that had filled the space between them for weeks.

the november air sharpened the sound of their footsteps, campus quieter than usual around them. she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, glancing at harry from the corner of her eye. he walked with his usual loose stride, his cap casting a shadow over his face, but there was something less guarded about the way his shoulders hung, something less tense in the way he moved.

when they reached the front of their building and went up the familiar steps, right into their hallway, YN hesitated, her fingers brushing against the door handle. “goodnight, harry.”

he glanced at her, his jaw working like he was debating whether to say something more. “night, YN.”

he opened the door and slipped inside, leaving her standing there for a moment longer, the faint echo of his voice lingering in her chest.

by thursday, it felt less strange.

harry was already there when she walked out of her lab, leaning against the wall again like he had nowhere else to be.

this time, she didn’t pause. she just walked toward him, her bag slung low on her shoulder, and nodded in his direction. “let me guess,” she said as they fell into step together. “you needed air again.”

he smirked, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets “you’re quick.”

she rolled her eyes, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “quick enough to know you’re full of shit.”

as they turned the last corner before their building, harry finally broke the quiet. “so,” he breathed, glancing over at her, “how’s bio lab? still full of idiots?”

she raised an eyebrow, giving him a side-eye as she adjusted her hood. “you care about bio lab now?”

“just making conversation.”

she hummed, skeptical. “it’s fine. i’m getting through it. probably not as hard as chem, though, huh?”

harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “chem’s fine. can’t say the same for everyone else in that class, though.”

YN slowed slightly, turning to face him. “wait—fine? i thought you said you were failing?”

he smirked, tilting his head as he held the door open for her. “did i?”

she blinked, stepping through the doorway before narrowing her eyes at him. “you’re kidding.”

he shrugged, his grin small but sharp. “guess you’ll never know.”

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, stuck somewhere between annoyance and disbelief.

“night, YN.”

“goodnight, harry.”

by the next week, it was a routine again.

neither of them acknowledged it, but they didn’t need to. the walk home became theirs once more, the silence and conversation fitting together like pieces of something neither of them wanted to break again.

two days later, her radiator would give out sometime after midnight.

it wasn’t subtle—first, the groan of old pipes struggling to keep up, then the sharp hiss of steam escaping. finally, a metallic clunk that echoed through the apartment like the radiator had given up entirely.

she stood in front of it, arms crossed, glaring at the rusty old thing like sheer willpower might make it start working again. the cold was already creeping into the room, the chill biting through her socks and sweatshirt.

she’d called the maintenance guy twice, but as usual, it went straight to voicemail.

she paced for a few minutes, debating whether to try fixing it herself. she’d done it once before with her dad’s help over the phone, but the tools she needed weren’t here, and the memory of burning her hand on scalding metal wasn’t exactly encouraging.

with a sigh, she leaned against the counter, her eyes flicking toward the wall separating her apartment from harry’s.

she hesitated.

asking harry felt like admitting something—weakness, maybe, or a level of dependence she wasn’t ready to face. but the cold was making her breath fog, and the maintenance guy clearly wasn’t coming.

“whatever,” she whispered, grabbing a throw blanket from the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders as she crossed the hall.

when harry opened the door, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

his curls were a mess, his hoodie slouching lazily over his frame, the sweatpants he wore hanging low on his hips. his eyes were half-lidded, his features slack with sleep, but when he saw YN standing there, his expression sharpened slightly.

“what’s up?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

she shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “my radiator broke.”

he blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “did you call maintenance?”

“twice. nothing.”

he sighed, stepping back and jerking his head toward the corner of his apartment. “give me a second. toolbox is somewhere under all this shit.”

she raised an eyebrow. “you have a toolbox?”

“yeah,” harry muttered, crouching to dig through a pile of books and loose papers. “what, y’think i just let my stuff stay broken?”

she smirked faintly, leaning against the doorframe “honestly, kind of.”

he glanced up at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he returned to his search. a minute later, he stood, a small red toolbox in hand. “let’s see how bad it is.”

the radiator wasn’t just broken—it was practically on life support.

harry crouched in front of it, his knees on the worn wood, wrench in one hand and flashlight in the other. his hoodie shifted as he moved, revealing the sliver of a shirt beneath and the faint line of muscle along his forearm.

she leaned against the counter, clutching the throw blanket around her shoulders, trying not to stare.

it was a radiator, for god’s sake. there was nothing sexy about it.

but somehow, the sight of harry focused, his brow furrowed as he fiddled with the valve, was enough to pull her attention. the way his hands moved—sure, precise, his knuckles faintly bruised—felt like a distraction she didn’t want to have.

“how long’s it been acting up?” he asked, breaking the silence. his voice was low, steady, like he was more invested in the question than he should’ve been.

she blinked, snapping her gaze away from his hands. “um, tonight. but it’s been making weird noises for a while. hissing. clunking. you know, the usual signs of impending doom.”

harry let out a quiet huff, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted the flashlight. “you waited until it died t’deal with it?”

she shrugged, her grip on the blanket tightening. “figured maintenance would actually show up for once.”

harry snorted softly, shaking his head. “rookie move.”

she rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched faintly upward. “okay, expert. what’s the diagnosis?”

he tilted his head, glancing at the valve before pressing the wrench into it. “clogged. pretty bad, too. no wonder it gave out.”

she shifted closer, crouching beside him to get a better look. “and you know this because…?”

“cause i’ve fixed this piece of shit more times than i can count,” harry sighed, his voice laced with dry humor. “y’think i just let it flood my place every time it breaks?”

YN smirked, tilting her head as she studied him. “so you’re saying you’re handy. good to know.”

harry paused, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “wanna find out?”

“oh, ew.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you walked right into it.”

their eyes met briefly, the air between them shifting. YN didn’t move, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket as she watched him.

he broke the stare first, turning back to the radiator with a soft exhale. the metal creaked under the pressure of the wrench, the sound loud enough to fill the room.

she leaned further against the counter as she tried not to let her gaze wander. but the way harry moved—confident, efficient, like he knew exactly what he was doing—made it impossible to ignore.

“you do this for everyone, or am i special?” she asked, her voice lighter now, teasing.

harry chuckled faintly, his lips quirking upward. “you’re special.”

she blinked, caught off guard by the casual honesty in his tone. “wow. didn’t think you’d admit it.”

he glanced back at her, smirking. “don’t let it go to your head.”

“too late.”

a few minutes later, he leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees as he inspected the radiator. his curls fell forward slightly, the faint sheen of sweat on his temple catching the light.

“alright,” he breathed, “should be good f’tonight. just don’t crank it too high, or you’re asking for trouble.”

she stepped closer, crouching beside him again to inspect his work. “so you’re saying this isn’t a permanent fix.”

he shook his head, wiping his hands on the front of his hoodie. “nope. keep bugging maintenance. eventually, he’ll get sick of you.”

she glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “you ever think about being less cynical?”

he snorted, standing and grabbing his wrench. “not really my style.”

YN followed him to her feet, the blanket slipping slightly off her shoulder as she leaned against the counter again. “well, thanks. for whatever your style is.”

harry glanced at her, his jaw tightening briefly before his expression softened. “don’t mention it.”

their eyes met again, the space between them feeling smaller than it should have.

YN swallowed, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter as she tilted her head. “i mean it, thanks. you didn’t have–”

“YN,” harry interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. “it’s okay.”

the weight of his eyes lingered, his features unreadable but softer than usual, like something unspoken was hanging in the air.

she nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around herself “okay.”

harry grabbed his toolbox, heading for the door. as he opened it, he glanced back at her, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “try not to break it again.”

“no promises.”

the door clicked shut behind him, and YN stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he’d been.

christmas break arrived a bit too quick, final exams and whispered see-you-later’s mumbled after lectures.

but YN stayed at the apartment.

so did harry.

it was sometime after eleven when she heard it. the knock had been frantic, sharp, and loud enough to rattle her nerves.

she sat up from her spot on the couch, her blanket falling to the floor as she turned toward the door. it wasn't the casual tap of a neighbor or even the hesitant knock of someone unsure if she'd answer. it was loud. rushed. desperate.

her heart kicked up, the kind of thud that made her breath catch in her chest. she didn't even think before standing, her bare feet padding softly across the floor.

she opened the door without a second thought, and there he was.

his curls were a mess, sticking to his damp forehead like he’d been running. blood smeared his cupid’s bow, dried into the corner of his mouth. his cheekbone was bruising fast, a shadow of purple already spreading beneath the skin. his knuckles, raw and bloodied, hung at his sides, trembling slightly as he stood there, his breathing uneven.

but it wasn’t just how he looked. it was his eyes.

they were glassy, far away, like he wasn’t even really standing there.

her breath hitched as her hand tightened on the doorframe. she wanted to ask a million questions—to demand what the hell had happened, to make him explain. but the way his gaze barely met hers before darting to the floor made her stomach churn.

“can i come in?” he asked, his voice low, rough.

she nodded quickly, stepping aside. “of course.”

harry stepped into the apartment, his movements slow and heavy. he stopped in the middle of the living room, his shoulders sagging like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

she shut the door softly, her heart pounding as she turned to face him. “sit.”

he hesitated, glancing at the couch like it might collapse beneath him. then he slumped into it, his elbows resting on his knees, his head dropping into his hands.

YN hovered for a moment, watching him, before disappearing into the bathroom. she grabbed a towel, dampened it with warm water, and pulled the first aid kit from under the sink.

when she returned, he hadn’t moved.

“you’re a mess.” she murmured, sitting down upon the coffee table that sat right across from him.

he huffed a weak laugh, his shoulders shifting slightly. “you don’t say.”

she started with his face, gently wiping away the blood smeared across his lips and jaw. the silence between them was thick, heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was full, almost brimming, like there was too much in the air between them to put into words.

harry’s eyes stayed downcast, his breathing uneven as YN dabbed carefully at his split lip.

“this is gonna sting,” she warned softly, tilting his chin slightly so the light hit his face. she worked in silence, her fingers brushing against his skin as she cleaned the dried blood.

he didn’t flinch, but she felt the tension in him—the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched slightly, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

when she finished with his face, she turned her attention to his hands. his knuckles were a mess—split, swollen, and crusted with blood.

“let me see, please?”

harry hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly before he lifted his hand toward her. she took it carefully, her touch light as she began cleaning the wounds—split raw and red.

and then, without warning, harry broke.

it started with a sharp inhale, his chest heaving as he tried to pull in air. then came the tremble, the kind of shake that started in his shoulders and spread like a wave.

she froze, her gaze snapping to his face.

his eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, running down his bruised cheeks. it wasn’t a quiet cry. it was raw, deep, the kind of cry that came from somewhere buried so far inside that it was impossible to contain.

YN set the towel down, her fingers still wrapped lightly around his hand. “harry…”

he shook his head, his voice breaking as he choked out the words. “i don’t know how much longer i can do this.”

her chest tightened, her free hand coming up brush strands of hair from his forehead. “do what?”

he exhaled sharply, a shuddering breath that seemed to rattle his entire frame. “all of it,” he croaked, his voice cracking. “the fucking drugs. school. the… everything. i can’t keep it together anymore.”

“you don’t have to.”

his eyes snapped open at that, his gaze locking onto hers. they were red, glassy, but sharper now, like her words had cut through something.

“yes, i do,” he said, his voice bitter. “you don’t get it, YN. if i don’t, it all falls apart.”

“then let it,” she whispered, her voice sharper, the tension in her chest spilling into her words. “let it fall apart, harry. you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

he stared at her, his breathing still uneven, his knuckles trembling in her grasp. the silence that followed was thick, full of everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

but she didn’t let go of his hand.

he sat back against the couch, his chest still rising and falling unevenly as he wiped at his face with the heel of his uninjured hand. his head tilted back, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling like it might hold some kind of answer for him.

then, after a beat, he shifted forward, his elbows on his knees, preparing to stand. “i should go,” he muttered, his voice rough, worn thin.

he rose to his feet, wobbling momentarily before he ambled toward the door.

her frown deepened. “don’t.”

his eyes flicked to hers, hesitant, searching. “YN, i—”

“stay,” she said, cutting him off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “just… stay. at least for tonight.”

he paused, his jaw working as he glanced toward the door. but then he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging like he’d finally let go of whatever excuse he was clinging to.

slowly, he toed off his sneakers by the door, one foot pressing against the back of the other to slip them off without bending. he straightened, looking at her expectantly, unsure of what to do next, waiting for her to guide him.

YN’s chest ached at the sight.

she crossed the room, shutting off the tv and the lamp in the corner, plunging the living room into soft darkness. then she turned back to him, stepping closer, her fingers brushing gently over his hand.

“come on,” she murmured, her grip light but steady as she led him toward the bedroom. the room was dim, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds.

harry lingered by the door, his steps hesitant as YN turned back to face him. “just for tonight,” she breathed. “just so i know you’re okay. we don’t have to talk about it. not ever, if you don’t want to.”

his lips twitched, almost into a smile, but the weight in his eyes dulled it. “just once, huh?” he whispered, the faintest trace of humor slipping through.

YN nodded, watching him carefully. “just once.”

he shifted, glancing down at his hoodie, the edges of it damp and stained. “can i…?” he gestured toward his chest. “s’kind of a mess.”

“yeah.” her voice was barely above a whisper as she began to fumble with the blankets on the bed.

he reached for the hem of the battered fabric, pulling it over his head in one slow, fluid motion. it clung slightly, damp with rain and speckled with blood, before he tossed it to the floor. his tshirt followed, revealing the lean line of his frame, faint bruises already forming along his ribs, the tattoos that decorated him.

her eyes flicked over him briefly, catching on the dark smudge of a bruise near his collarbone, but she didn’t comment.

he stepped toward the bed, hesitating for a beat before sliding under the covers. the mattress dipped slightly as he settled, his movements slow, unsure.

she slipped in beside him, her movements deliberate, careful, leaving just enough space between them to let him decide. for a long moment, the only sounds were the faint rustling of sheets and the distant hum of the city outside.

harry lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands resting loosely on his stomach. his breathing was quieter now, steadier, but the tension in his frame was still palpable.

then he shifted.

he turned toward her, the covers rustling softly as he inched closer, his chest brushing her side as he lowered his head against her shoulder.

she froze briefly, her breath catching as his curls tickled her collarbone, the faint scent of rain and something sharp lingering on him. she moved her arm at his pace, holding his head against her, fingers brushing through his curls.

he let out a shuddering breath, his body softening against hers, the weight of him settling in like was made to fit against her.

she combed her fingers gently through his hair, her other hand resting lightly against his bicep as his arm draped over her.

it was all unspoken.

harry’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against her side. YN’s fingers didn’t stop, the motion soothing for both of them.

just once—it seemed to echo like a taunt. just once, even if neither of them truly believed that.

the hours ticked by slowly, the room heavy with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty, but full.

harry hadn’t moved much since he’d settled against her, his head resting on her chest, his breath brushing faintly against her collarbone. she honestly thought he’d fallen asleep, at least, till he spoke again.

“i didn’t mean t’scare you.” he croaked, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of her shirt.

she paused, her hand stilling for a moment before resuming its path through his hair. “you didn’t scare me.”

“you don’t have to lie t’me.”

“i’m not.” her voice was soft, steady. “you didn’t scare me, harry. you just… worried me.”

his hand shifted, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her blanket. “i didn’t mean to do that, either.”

she tilted her head slightly, her chin dipping into his tousled mess of curls. “then stop doing things that make me worry.”

he smiled weakly, the expression brief and half-hearted. “easier said than done.”

they fell into silence again, the weight of his words hanging between them.

YN wanted to ask what had happened, what had pushed him to show up at her door the way he had. but she bit her tongue, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing fill the space instead.

it wasn’t until his hand shifted again, this time fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, that he spoke once more. “s’been a long time since i…” he hesitated, his voice trailing off like the words were too heavy to finish.

her hand stilled, her fingers curling slightly against his scalp. “since you what?”

he exhaled slowly, the sound shaky, almost unsure. “since i let anyone see me like this.”

her chest tightened, the knot of something unnamed twisting deep beneath her ribs. she pressed her fingers gently against the back of his neck, her touch grounding. “you’re allowed to let people in, harry.”

he shook his head, cheek still pressed against her, the movement causing the collar of her shirt to shift a bit lower. “not really.”

“yes, really,” she said firmly, her voice low but resolute. “you don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

his hand balled the fabric of her shirt, his body pressing closer to hers like he was trying to absorb the weight of her words. “s’not that simple, cinnamon.”

“it doesn’t have to be complicated, either.”

they didn’t speak again after that, but the tension in the room shifted.

harry’s breathing evened out, his body relaxing against hers as the exhaustion he’d been fighting finally caught up with him.

YN stayed awake longer, her hand brushing gently through his curls, her other hand tracing the muscle in his bicep. she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t. but eventually, her eyes grew heavy, and the rhythm of his breathing lulled her to sleep.

by morning, she woke to the weight of his arm still draped across her waist, the faint warmth of his skin against her own. his face was pressed against her chest, his curls soft and unruly, tickling her jawline. his lips, still split and red, were parted just enough to let out the quietest, almost imperceptible snores.

for a moment, she stayed still, letting the quiet of the room wash over her, the hum of the radiator and the muffled sounds of the city filtering through the window.

but then reality crept in, nudging her to move.

carefully, she shifted, slipping out of his grasp. harry stirred slightly, his arm twitching before falling back against the bed. he let out a soft sigh, his body sinking deeper into the mattress, and YN froze for a beat, watching him.

the bruise on his cheekbone had darkened overnight, a stark reminder of everything that had happened. she stepped lightly toward the thermostat, turning up the heat a touch before padding into the small kitchen.

her fridge was mostly empty, save for a few leftovers and a half-gallon of milk. she sighed, crouching to dig through the shelves until her hand landed on a familiar blue tube tucked into the corner.

ready-to-bake cinnamon rolls.

simple. easy. and hopefully something harry wouldn’t complain about. she pulled the tube out, setting it on the counter before preheating the oven. as she moved, her thoughts swirled—fragments of the night before, the weight of his head against her chest, the broken edge in his voice when he cried.

harry was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she was supposed to solve, but she couldn’t stop trying.

the scent of cinnamon and sugar began to fill the air just as she heard the faint creak of the bedroom door.

YN turned, glancing toward the hallway as harry trudged into the living room, his chest bare, his sweatpants from yesterday still slung on his hips. his hair was a mess of curls, sticking out in every direction, and his eyelids hung heavy, dark lashes casting faint shadows against his bruised cheekbone.

he rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low groan as he stepped further into the room. “what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

“almost nine.”

he leaned against the wall, blinking slowly as the scent of the cinnamon rolls registered. “you’re baking?”

“don’t get too excited,” she said lightly, glancing over her shoulder. “pillsbury.”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “good enough f’me.”

YN shook her head, hiding a small smile as she grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “go sit down. they’re almost done.”

he pushed off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate as he sank onto the couch. “didn’t know you were a morning person,” he muttered, resting his head against the back of the couch as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

“i’m not,” she said, pulling the cinnamon rolls from the oven. “you’re just lucky i like you enough to feed you.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes slipping shut. “guess i’ll take what i can get.”

she glanced at him as she set the rolls on the counter, her chest tightening faintly at the sight of him—bare, bruised, and completely at ease for the first time since she’d opened the door last night.

she shook the thought away, grabbing a plate and a spatula as she tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest.

when she set the plate in front of him, harry opened one eye, “yeah,” he smiled, his voice still low, almost a drawl. “you definitely like me.”

she rolled her eyes, settling onto the couch beside him. “shut up and eat.”

she stole a glance at harry as he chewed slowly, his head bowed slightly over the plate in his lap. the bruise on his cheek looked worse in the daylight, darker, more defined.

it was uncanny, how vulnerable he looked—shirtless and bruised, curled up on her sofa.

he didn’t look up when he broke the silence. “where’s your roommate?”

“home,” she sighed, “she went back for break.”

he nodded, his focus still on the roll in front of him. “makes sense.”

another silence followed, stretching longer this time, broken only by the faint clank of the plate as YN set it on the coffee table.

he shifted, his fingers brushing the edge of his plate before he set it down beside hers. “can i stay?” he asked, his voice low, hesitant.

she frowned slightly, tilting her head to look at him. “here?”

he nodded, his gaze fixed on the table. “just for a while. i don’t…” he paused, his fingers flexing against his knees. “i don’t feel like going back right now.”

she didn’t respond immediately, her chest tightening as she watched him. there was something raw in his voice, something that made her think he’d never asked for this kind of thing before—not from her, not from anyone. she shifted closer, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned toward him. “you don’t have to ask. of course, you can stay.”

harry finally looked up, his sleepy eyes meeting hers. “just for a while,” he repeated, his voice quieter now.

YN shook her head, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “as long as you need.”

he didn’t respond, but the tension in his frame seemed to ease, his shoulders dropping slightly as he leaned back into the couch.

she wasn’t used to seeing harry like this.

his usual confidence—his sharp tongue and quick wit, had softened into something quieter, something almost fragile. the way he slouched slightly in his seat, the way his fingers fidgeted against his knees—it all felt foreign, but it tugged at something deep inside her.

he stayed there for a while, his head tipped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as he seemed to lose himself in the moment. YN didn’t press him, didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch between them, comfortable and full.

eventually, harry shifted, sitting forward as he rubbed his hands over his face. “i should grab some clothes.”

she glanced at him, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “from your apartment?”

he nodded, standing slowly and rolling his shoulders as he glanced toward the door. “yeah. but…” he paused, his jaw tightening slightly before he let out a slow breath. “can i shower here?”

“you don’t wanna shower at yours?”

he shook his head, his lips barely forming a pout. he didn’t respond, not verbally at least, but his silence was enough.

she nodded, “go get your clothes then.”

he was only gone for a few minutes, slipping out her door and back in with an armful of clean clothes to change into.

she stood as he locked the door behind him, gesturing toward the hall. “c’mon.” she led him to the bathroom she shared with her roommate, flipping on the light and pulling back the shower curtain. “okay,” she breathed, pointing toward the corner of the tub. “this is my stuff.” she glanced at the bottles lined neatly along the edge. “shampoo, conditioner, body wash. whatever you need.”

harry stood just inside the doorway, watching her with an intensity she tried to ignore. his arms hung loosely at his sides, his expression unreadable but steady.

YN reached for the faucet, twisting it to adjust the temperature, testing the water with her hand before stepping back. “there,” she smiled gently, looking at him over her shoulder.

she hesitated, her hand hovering near the shower curtain, before finally stepping toward the door. “i’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

he didn’t respond right away. his eyes flicked to hers briefly, something flickering in their depths—something warm, quiet, and unsaid. “thanks.”

she nodded, slipping out of the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind her.

harry stood there for a moment, staring at the running water, the faint scent of her body wash already filling the small room. his chest felt tight, but not in the way it had last night. this was different. warmer.

he glanced toward the door, his lips pressing into a faint, unreadable line as he exhaled slowly. it wasn’t much—letting him stay, starting the shower for him, showing him her space—but it was enough to make something in his chest ache.

the night would settle in slowly, blanketing the city in quiet.

her back pressed lightly against the mattress as she stared at the faint outline of her bedroom ceiling. the soft hum of the radiator filled the silence, its warmth finally chasing away the lingering chill from earlier.

harry was beside her again, just like the night before.

at first, they were apart, separated by a stretch of empty space between them. she could feel his presence, though—the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the occasional rustle of the sheets when he shifted. but then, just as she’d started to drift off, he moved.

the bed dipped slightly as he turned toward her, his weight shifting as his arm draped across her waist. his chest pressed lightly against her side, and his curls tickled her jawline as he lowered his head to her chest.

it was the same as last night, yet somehow it felt different—heavier, more—just more.

her fingers combed through his curls again, and he let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing against hers, the tension she hadn’t even realized was there melting away with the sound.

the silence stretched, long and unbroken, until harry’s voice cut through it—quiet, almost hesitant. “are we still friends?”

YN froze briefly, her hand pausing mid-motion before she resumed her gentle combing. her gaze drifted upward, staring at the faint pattern of the popcorn ceiling as his question echoed in her mind. she didn’t answer right away, her tummy tightening as she tried to make sense of what he was asking—not just the words, but the weight behind them.

finally, she nodded, the movement gentle as her chin brushed against his curls. “of course,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the slight flutter in her chest.

he didn’t respond immediately, but the way he shifted closer, his arm tightening around her waist, said more than words could have. she kept combing through his hair, the motion slow and soothing, her fingers tangling lightly in the knots at the nape of his neck.

“this okay?” she asked quietly after a while, her voice barely above a murmur.

he exhaled, the sound low and heavy, like he was sinking into her touch. he only hummed, “mm-hm.”

her lips twitched faintly, a small, tired smile forming as she rested her cheek lightly against his head.

his breathing slowed, his weight growing heavier against her as sleep began to pull at him. YN stayed awake longer, her fingers threaded through his hair, her eyes fluttering shut. whatever this was—whatever they were—it was fragile, unspoken, and entirely theirs.

the rest of the week passed in a blur.

monday

it started with breakfast. YN had woken up early, the smell of coffee already filling the small apartment when harry wandered into the kitchen.

he was barefoot, his shirt hung loosely around his frame, curls a mess, still sleep-tangled, and the faint shadow of the bruise on his cheekbone was beginning to fade.

“you’re up early,” he muttered, leaning against the counter as he grabbed a mug.

she shrugged, flipping a pancake. “someone has to feed you.”

he smirked faintly, lifting the mug to his lips. “you say that like i’d starve without you.”

“you might,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder. “your fridge is pathetic.”

he didn’t argue. he just sipped his coffee and watched her move around the kitchen.

tuesday

the snow came down hard that afternoon, blanketing the streets in white.

they sat on the couch, harry’s legs stretched out in front of him, YN tucked into the corner with a blanket draped over her lap. a movie played quietly on the tv, but neither of them was really watching it.

“you ever build a snowman?” she asked suddenly, glancing at him.

“what, like when i was a kid?”

“sure,” she said, nudging him lightly with her foot. “don’t tell me you’ve never done it.”

he shrugged, his smirk fading into something softer. “once or twice.”

she grinned, leaning forward. “you wanna do it now?”

harry stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head, laughing softly under his breath. “you’re ridiculous.”

but an hour later, they were outside, their hands red from the cold as they shaped clumps of snow into something that vaguely resembled a snowman.

wednesday

harry had offered to cook.

she had been skeptical—especially when she saw him poking around the kitchen like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. “you know how to use that, right?” she asked, gesturing toward the knife in his hand.

he shot her a glare, though the faint grin on his lips betrayed him. “m’not completely useless.”

it turned out he wasn’t. dinner wasn’t fancy, but it was good—better than she’d expected, and she told him so.

“don’t get used to it,” he muttered, glancing at her as he sat back in his chair.

she grinned, her fork tapping against her plate. “you say that like you’re not gonna do this again.”

he didn’t answer, but the faint curve of his lips told her she was right.

friday

the radiator acted up again.

harry fixed it without her asking, crouched in front of the thing with his hoodie sleeves pushed up and a wrench in his hand.

YN leaned against the counter, watching him work, her arms crossed over her chest. “they should probably just hire you as the new maintenance man at this point.”

harry glanced over his shoulder, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

YN shrugged, trying to keep her expression neutral. “it’d be efficient.”

he turned back to the radiator, but she caught the faintest twitch of his lips, the smirk softening into something that made her tummy flutter.

saturday night

harry didn’t leave her bed that night, just like every other night that week.

but this time, there was no hesitation.

he shifted toward her sooner, his arm slipping around her waist as he pressed his face into the curve of her neck.

YN sighed softly, her hand lifting to comb through his curls, her fingers tracing the familiar path she’d memorized over the past few nights. “you know this is becoming a habit.”

harry huffed a quiet breath, his lips brushing against her skin. “maybe s’not a bad one.”

YN smiled faintly, her fingers tangling into his hair. “you saying you like having me around?”

he didn’t answer, but the way his arm tightened around her waist and his body softened against hers was enough.

the pounding didn’t stop.

harry groaned, dragging a hand over his face as the sharp knocks echoed through the quiet of the apartment. his head was still heavy with sleep, his curls a messy halo that tickled YN’s shoulder as he shifted beside her.

the sound came again, louder this time, and she blinked herself awake, sitting up slightly as she frowned toward the hallway. “it’s not mine,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

he sighed, sitting up and planting his feet on the floor. “no,” he muttered, his voice rough. “s’mine.”

she turned to look at him, her brow furrowing. “you’re sure?”

harry nodded, rubbing his eyes as he stood. “yeah. i’ll handle it.” he grabbed his hoodie that hung from her bed frame, tugging it over his head as he crossed through her hallway. the knocking hadn’t stopped, and by the time he opened YN’s door and stepped out, his scowl was firmly in place.

a guy stood in front of his door—college-aged, tall, wearing a puffy jacket and sneakers that looked too clean for someone pounding on doors at this hour.

harry’s steps were slow, deliberate, the sleep still heavy in his frame as he approached. “you’re real fucking persistent, y’know that?”

the guy turned, his eyes flicking over him with thinly veiled irritation. “dude, i’ve been texting you all week.”

YN appeared in the doorway behind harry, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the frame. she stayed silent, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the two.

he tilted his head, his curls brushing against his hood as he crossed his arms. “so y’thought banging on my door at ten in the morning was a good move?”

the guy shrugged, his tone defensive. “you’ve been m.i.a, man. i need what i asked for.”

harry let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he reached up to run his hand down his face. “jesus christ.”

YN stepped forward slightly, her voice cutting through the tension. “this really something that couldn’t wait?”

the guy blinked, noticing her for the first time. his eyes flicked between her and harry, something smug curling at the edge of his lips. “oh,” he said, dragging the word out. “this why you’ve been missing?”

harry stiffened, his jaw clenching as his eyes narrowed. “don’t.” he warned, his tone sharp.

the guy held up his hands, his smirk widening. “i’m just saying—”

“i don’t give a shit what you’re saying,” he snapped, stepping forward. his voice stayed low, but the edge in it made the guy falter. “you‘ll get what you need later and you’ll walk away. clear?”

the guy hesitated, glancing at YN again before muttering something under his breath and nodding. “fine. i’ll text you later.”

harry watched him walk off, his shoulders tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. when the guy was gone, she stepped closer, her voice softer now. “you okay?”

he shook his head, exhaling slowly as he turned back to her. “s’fine.”

“are you sure?”

harry frowned, the irritation fading slightly as he glanced at her. but he nodded, brushing past her into the apartment.

she followed him, shutting the door softly behind them. “does that happen a lot?”

he didn’t answer right away. he leaned against the counter, running a hand through his curls before glancing at her. “not usually.”

her frown deepened, but she didn’t press. “you sure you’re okay?”

harry met her eyes, his expression softening slightly, though the tension didn’t leave his frame. “yeah,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “yeah, m’good.”

she didn’t believe him, not entirely. but she nodded, letting the silence settle between them as the morning stretched on.

he had left around two, grabbing his hoodie off the back of the chair and muttering something about finally putting food in her fridge.

“i’ve been raiding yours, doesn’t seem fair.”he said earlier, his voice laced with lazy humor as he ruffled his curls into place.

she raised an eyebrow from her spot on the couch, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “that hasn’t stopped you all week.”

he smirked faintly, tugging the hood over his head. “yeah, well. figured i’d give you a break.”

and with that, he was out the door, leaving YN alone in the quiet apartment.

the knock came twenty minutes later, startling her.

it wasn’t the casual tap of a neighbor or the soft knock of a package delivery—it was firm, insistent. she frowned, setting her laptop aside as she stood, her socked feet padding softly against the floor.

when she opened the door, her stomach twisted. there he was—the guy from that morning, his puffy jacket zipped tight, his expression set in something between annoyance and impatience.

“um,” she paused, gripping the edge of the door. “can i help you?”

his eyes flicked over her briefly before he jerked his chin toward the hallway. “harry here?”

her chest tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “no. he’s out.”

the guy huffed, his hands disappearing into his jacket pockets as he nodded toward the apartment behind her. “you know when he’ll be back? he said i could get my shit later.”

“no, he didn’t say.”

he studied her for a beat, his head tilting slightly. “he live with you now?”

she shook her head. “he just… visits.”

the guy smirked faintly, the expression smug. “yeah. figured that much.”

YN bristled, her hand tightening on the doorframe. “look, if you’re trying to reach him, text him. i don’t know anything.”

the guy held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his expression. finally, he stepped back, shrugging. “sure. i’ll text him…again.”

she slammed the door shut, her heart racing as she flipped the deadbolt into place. she leaned against the wood, exhaling sharply as the tension slowly began to drain from her frame.

she didn’t tell harry when he got back.

he’d been carrying enough all week, the exhaustion in his eyes and the weight in his shoulders a constant reminder of everything he was dealing with.

so she kept it to herself.

it wasn’t until later that evening, when they were sitting on the couch with the faint glow of the tv lighting the room, that harry’s phone buzzed.

he glanced at it, his jaw tightening as he read the message.

hey, stopped by urs and then ur girl’s place earlier. said u were out again. just let me know when i can get my eighth man.

harry’s chest tightened, his breath catching as he stared at the screen. “what the fuck?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

YN looked over, her brow furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

he turned the phone toward her, his eyes narrowing. “he came here?”

she hesitated, her stomach twisting. “yeah,” she admitted softly. “this afternoon. i didn’t think it was worth stressing you over.”

his expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “not worth stressing me over? YN, he showed up at your door.”

“i know,” she said quickly, her voice steady despite the tension creeping into her chest. “but i handled it. it’s fine.”

“s’not fine,” harry snapped, standing abruptly. “this isn’t just about me anymore, okay? if people start thinking it’s okay to involve you—”

“harry,” YN interrupted, standing to face him. “you’re overreacting. he was annoying, sure, but it’s not like he threatened me.”

“doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice rising. “this shit is getting out of hand. promised myself i’d keep you out of it, and now people are knocking on your door looking f’me. that’s not okay.”

“then maybe you should stop,” YN said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

harry froze, his eyes snapping to hers, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch. “you think i haven’t thought about that?” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less tense. “you think i want to keep doing this?”

her stomach twisted in ways that screamed retreat, retreat, retreat—the frustration in his voice cutting deeper than she expected. “don’t do this anymore, harry. it’s not worth it.”

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls as he turned away. “you don’t get it,” his voice was tight. “s’not that simple.”

“then make it simple.”

harry turned back to her, his jaw clenched, chest heaving as if he was trying his hardest to keep his composure. “i can’t.” his tone was sharp, the words heavy. “and you don’t get to tell me i can.”

YN frowned, her arms crossing over her chest as the weight of his words settled between them. he grabbed his hoodie from the chair, pulling it over his head before turning toward the door. “i need air.” he left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet apartment.

harry didn’t come back that night.

YN stayed up later than she intended, the silence pressing in on her. she flipped through a textbook on the couch, barely absorbing a single word, her mind spinning with fragments of their argument.

his face—the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his voice, it just played on a loop in her head.

when she finally gave up on pretending to study, she dragged herself to bed, the empty space beside her feeling heavier than it had in weeks.

harry, meanwhile, had locked himself in his own apartment.

he sat at his small kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of water in front of him and his phone facedown beside it. the air in the apartment was stale, colder than he liked, but he hadn’t bothered to adjust the heat.

his bed was just in the other room, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie down.

the argument replayed in his head, every word a sharp reminder of how badly he’d let things spiral. YN was right—this wasn’t sustainable. he knew it, even if he didn’t want to admit it. but the idea of walking away from the one thing keeping him afloat felt impossible, like stepping off a ledge with no guarantee there’d be solid ground beneath him.

he rubbed his hands over his face, the bruises on his knuckles still tender, a faint throb reminding him of how close everything had come to boiling over.

when he finally moved to the bed, it was late, the clock blinking 3:42 am.

the sheets were cold, unfamiliar, and for the first time in weeks, harry realized just how much he’d come to rely on the quiet warmth of YN’s apartment.

it wasn’t just the bed or the radiator or the soft glow of her bedside lamp.

it was her.

the next morning, she woke up to the kind of silence that wasn’t comforting, just hollow. she sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, staring at the spot harry would normally take—his arm draped over her waist, his curls tickling her collarbone.

now, it was just empty.

she thought about texting him, but her fingers hovered over her phone, indecisive. she wasn’t sure what she’d even say.

harry didn’t text her either.

the day dragged on, heavy and slow, each hour feeling like it stretched longer than it should have.

she couldn’t help but glance at the wall separating her apartment from harry’s, the faint sound of movement on his side making her chest tighten.

he was close—just steps away. but for the first time in weeks, he felt farther than ever.

and neither of them knew how to bridge the distance.

the next afternoon, coming home from work, she spotted him the moment she turned the corner onto her floor.

harry was sitting on the ground just outside her door, his back pressed against the wall, his head tilted back as if he’d been staring at the ceiling for hours. the faint light from the hallway cast shadows under his eyes, making the tiredness on his face even more apparent.

he didn’t say anything when he saw her. didn’t stand, didn’t offer an explanation.

he didn’t need to.

YN’s steps slowed, her bag hanging heavy off her shoulder as her eyes met his. there was a weight in his gaze, an unspoken plea that neither of them needed to put into words.

she didn’t ask why he was there.

instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out her keys and unlocking the door.

he stood, slipping off his shoes just inside the entryway as if he belonged there. maybe he did. without a word, he walked the short hallway to her bedroom.

the bathroom was warm from the radiator, but the chill of the night still clung to her skin as she slipped out of her scrubs. she could hear the faint creak of the bed as harry settled into it, the sound an odd comfort after the last two days of his absence.

YN pulled on a pair of worn sweats and a loose sweatshirt, her mind too tired to linger on the why of it all. when she finally climbed into bed, harry didn’t move to face her like he usually did. instead, he shifted closer, pressing his chest against her back, his arm sliding underneath her head to pull her closer.

his body was warm, solid, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed until it was there again.

they didn’t speak.

she twisted the rings on his fingers, the very hand that lay sprawled over her tummy, pressing her into his chest. “harry?” she murmured, her voice worn, tired.

he hummed softly in acknowledgment, his arm tightening slightly around her.

“tell me why it’s not so simple?”

his breath hitched, just faintly, and she felt his hesitation in the way his grip faltered for the briefest moment. “it just isn’t,” he sighed, his voice low, rough against her ear.

“that’s not an answer,” she frowned, her index finger tracing the H of his ring. “not a real one.”

he exhaled sharply, the sound heavy and resigned, and for a moment, she thought he might shut down entirely.

but then he spoke. “s’my mum,” he rasped. “and rent. and groceries. and bills.”

she stayed silent, her fingers pausing against his fingers as she let him continue.

“i grew up watching her work three jobs just to keep the lights on—before we moved,” he mumbled, his voice steady but hollow, like he’d had this conversation in his head a thousand times but never out loud. “and it still wasn’t enough. there was always more t’pay for, always something else breaking, something else needing fixing.”

his chest pressed harder against her back, like he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

“when i got here, i thought things would get better. scholarships, loans—it was supposed to be enough. but it’s not.” his voice cracked, just barely. “it never is.”

“so you started dealing,” she croaked, filling in the gaps he didn’t.

harry nodded against her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. “weed was easy,” he admitted. “then psychedelics. then molly. s’not what i wanted, but… it worked. it kept me here. kept her afloat back home.”

YN turned back toward him slightly, her hand reaching for his. “har–”

he shook his head, “don’t.”

she didn’t push him, her fingers threading lightly through his as she pressed their hands between her chest and his.“you don’t have to keep doing this,” she said quietly after a long pause. “you know that, right?”

his grip tightened, and she felt the faintest shake in his fingers. “i don’t know anything else,” his lips trembled, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it.

she turned fully, her forehead brushing against his as she met his gaze, her hand still holding his tightly. “then let me help.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, his voice low, but the bite that usually sharpened his words was absent.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t look away. instead, her lips curved into the faintest, almost tired smile. “i know enough,” she murmured.

they lay there, facing each other now, their cheeks pressed against the pillows. the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows over their faces. harry’s eyes softened slightly, but he didn’t argue, didn’t push her away. he just watched as she shifted, her hand reaching out to trace the black ink etched into his bicep.

her fingertips moved slowly, following the lines of the tattooed ship, the sails that stretched across his skin. “i get it. not everything, maybe, but enough.”

her fingers paused briefly on the edge of the ink, her eyes dropping to her hand before continuing. “i’m here because of a full ride. the scholarship’s the only reason i even got to set foot in this city. but it’s not just… given, you know? there are expectations, benchmarks, a constant weight reminding me that if i slip up, even once, it’s over.”

harry’s eyes stayed on her, the faint tension in his jaw softening as he listened. “it’s like…” she hesitated, her fingers still tracing the tattoo. “it feels like there’s this blade hanging over me all the time. like one wrong step, one failed class, and it’ll fall.”

her voice wavered slightly, and she exhaled softly, shaking her head. “i’m scared, harry. scared of failing. scared of… what happens if i do.”

his hand shifted, brushing lightly against her arm.

“and the future,” she continued, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “i think about it all the time. whether i’ll make it through this, whether all of this pressure will be worth it in the end. sometimes it feels like it’s too much, but then i think, what’s the alternative? giving up? i can’t do that either.”

harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable, but his hand stayed where it was, a small, grounding touch against her arm.

“so yeah,” she sighed softly, her fingers brushing one last time over the edge of the ship before dropping to the pillow. “i don’t know everything, but i know what it feels like to carry something too heavy for too long. and i know what it feels like to be scared of what happens if you stop.”

he exhaled slowly, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. he didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers tightened slightly against her arm told her he’d heard her.

harry returned to the building just after five, the sky outside dimming as the cold of the evening set in.

he reached up for the key YN had left above the doorframe, something she reminded him of this morning before she left for work. his fingers brushed the cool metal easily, a smile on his lips as he unlocked the door.

stepping inside, the warmth of the apartment wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the chill that had seeped into his bones from the day.

his eyes landed on YN immediately. she was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her, the flicker of the tv casting soft shadows across her face. her chest rose and fell evenly, her lips slightly parted in sleep.

harry toed off his shoes by the door, moving quietly as he turned the heat up a notch. his shirt stuck to his skin, damp with sweat and the stale air from hours spent running around the city. he peeled it off, tossing it over the back of a chair before padding toward the couch.

for a moment, he just stood there, his eyes tracing the soft curve of her body beneath the blanket, the way the dim light from the tv illuminated her features.

he didn’t think twice before bending down, sliding his arms beneath her. she stirred faintly as he lifted her, a quiet sigh escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake fully.

he slipped onto the couch, settling her carefully between his legs, her head resting against his lower stomach. she shifted slightly, her cheek pressing against him as he adjusted the blanket to cover them both.

his fingers found her hair instinctively, combing through the strands in slow, deliberate motions. it was a habit he’d picked up from her, from the way she soothed him almost every night, and he found himself wondering if she felt the same quiet calm from it that he did.

the tv flickered in front of him, some show he didn’t recognize playing softly, but his focus stayed on her.

her breath was warm against his skin, her body soft and relaxed, and for the first time all day, harry felt the weight of the world start to lift, just a little.

he thought she was asleep.

until her voice broke through the quiet, soft and drowsy but steady enough to make his chest tighten. “harry, i don’t think we’re just friends.”

his hand stilled in her hair, his heart thudding once, hard, against his ribs. he looked down at her, his breath catching as she shifted slightly, her face turning toward him, though her eyes were half-lidded. “what makes you say that?”

she hummed softly, her fingers curling slightly against his side beneath the blanket. “because friends don’t… do this.”

harry swallowed hard, his hand brushing lightly against the back of her head, resuming its slow, soothing rhythm. “you think so?”

YN nodded faintly, her cheek nuzzling against him. “pretty sure.”

he huffed a quiet breath, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles despite the sharp twist in his chest. “maybe you’re right, cinnamon.”

she didn’t respond, her breathing evening out again as sleep pulled her back under.

harry stared at the tv, his hand still in her hair, the weight of her words settling over him like a blanket of its own.

they'd both drifted off sometime after the quiet settled, the hum of the tv lulling them into sleep. when YN blinked awake, the room was dark except for the flickering light bleeding from the screen, washing everything in shades of blue and white.

she was still between his thighs, her cheek pressed against his naval, his warmth a quiet anchor as his belly fluttered with every breath.

harry stirred beneath her, letting out a low groan as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, his fingers brushing through his curls. he blinked hard, adjusting to the sudden glow of the television. the bruise on his cheekbone had faded to a dull yellow, but his knuckles still bore the deep, mottled stain of healing. they flexed slightly as he shifted, testing the ache.

she sat up slowly, still nestled between his legs, pulling her knees to her chest as she turned to face him.

his smile was soft, lopsided and heavy with sleep, his dimples cutting through in the faint light. his hands found the outer edges of her knees, palms warm and solid as he wiggled them side to side gently. "the bed is probably more comfortable," he whispered, his voice low and scratchy, like he hadn't used it in hours.

but she didn't move. not away, at least. instead, she shifted closer, folding into herself, her toes tucking beneath him in the small space left between them.

her hands reached out almost hesitantly, brushing against his chest, her fingertips tracing the swallows inked beneath his collarbones.

harry tensed slightly, his breath catching just enough for her to notice.

she leaned in, her knees tilting inward, resting along his hipbones. the flicker of the tv painted her face in broken shards of light as she edged closer, her lips a breath away.

he swallowed hard, his voice a warning but barely that. "YN..”

but he didn't move. didn't stop her.

her lips hovered just over his, her breath warm against his mouth, and her voice came soft and deliberate, barely above a whisper. "tell me to stop."

he didn't.

the space between them disappeared as her lips met his, slow and certain, her hands sliding up to rest against the curve of his shoulders.

for a second, he didn't move, like the weight of the moment had pinned him in place. but then his hands shifted, sliding from her knees to her waist, pulling her in closer as the kiss deepened, quiet and unhurried, their breaths tangling in the stillness of the room.

her lips coaxed his into movement until hesitation (almost) fell away completely. his breath hitched as her hands slid up his neck, fingers grazing over the curve of his jaw.

he whispered her name against her lips, the sound a mix of a moan and a warning, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop or pull her closer.

but his hands betrayed him. they gripped her hips firmly, pressing her down until she straddled him, her knees framing his thighs, his back still flush against the armrest of the couch.

her weight settled over him, and harry's breath came out shaky, like the air itself was too much to handle. his hands stayed at her hips, fingers flexing against her like they couldn't decide whether to ground her or let her move.

"we can't.” he managed to say, the words slipping out between kisses that he couldn't seem to stop. the sentence dissolved into a low moan as her lips moved to his jaw, her teeth grazing against his stubble.

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her own clouded and unwavering, her breath warm against his cheek. "we are.”

the words hit him like a match to gasoline, and his restraint shattered in an instant. his hands slid from her hips to her waist, his fingers curling against the thin fabric of her sweater as he pulled her closer, their bodies flush now. their kisses turned hungry, desperate, like both of them had been holding their breath for too long.

her hands tangled in his hair, pulling softly, and his low groan vibrated against her lips as his grip on her tightened. he tilted his head back slightly, giving her room as her mouth trailed along his jawline, her name tumbling from his lips again, this time softer, rougher, almost pleading.

his head hit the couch's armrest as her kisses worked their way back to his lips, her heat shifting over his in a way that made his breath stutter. his hands roamed higher, curling over the curve of her back, holding her like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

every instinct told him this was a line they couldn't uncross, but the weight of her, the heat of her, the sound of her soft, hitching breaths—it was enough to unravel him completely.

he moaned her name again, softer, almost like a prayer.

so she kissed him in answer.

his hands tugged at the hem of her sweater, his movements rough but not rushed. the fabric slid over her head, leaving her in just her bra, her skin warm and soft beneath the flickering light of the tv.

"fuck," he breathed, the sound slipping out unbidden as her lips found his neck.

the brush of her tongue sent a shiver down his spine, and when her teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below his ear, his hips bucked instinctively beneath her.

his hands slid up her back, fingers fumbling only briefly before unclasping her bra. the straps fell loose, sliding down her arms as he groaned again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against her lips.

she rocked her hips against him, the friction sending sparks of heat spiraling through his chest. harry's hands flew to her waist, his grip tight like he needed something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded.

“tell me where you need it, h.” the words slipped between her lips through his like a dare as she kissed him again. her hips kept moving, rocking in a way that made his breath stutter.

harry's head tipped back against the armrest, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as her words hit him, a moan slipping past his lips, raw and unrestrained. his fingers curled tighter against her waist, his body aching, straining beneath hers.

"fuck—everywhere.” he muttered, his voice shaking, desperate.

she leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear as she rocked against him again, harder this time, pulling another broken sound from his throat.

harry bucked his hips against her, pressing his hardened cock into her core through the thin layers of their sweatpants. the movement was instinctive, almost helpless, his body speaking the desperation he couldn't put into words anymore.

“harry—” she breathed, her voice catching as she felt him beneath her, hard and wanting.

his eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name, glassy and dark, locking onto hers. there was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, raw and fragile, like she was the only person in the world who could see him like this—needy, exposed, undone.

"you feel so good.” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands slid up his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, taut under her touch.

harry let out a broken sound, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue, but all that came out was another moan as she shifted her hips, pressing down against him with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

"let me—“ she whimpered, "let me make you feel good.”

his hands slid back to her waist, trembling slightly as he nodded, his breath hitching when her lips found the sensitive spot beneath his ear again.

he didn't need to say it, not when every touch, every soft sound from his throat spoke volumes. YN could feel it in the way his body moved beneath hers, the way his fingers pressed into her skin like he was afraid to let go.

his touch moved higher, his palms grazing the curve of her shoulders, brushing over the column of her neck, before cupping her jawline with a reverence that made her chest tighten.

his thumbs rested just below her ears, his hands holding her in place like he needed to anchor himself in the moment. "please..." he breathed, the word breaking on his lips in quiet desperation. his voice was shaky, his accent thickened by the weight of it, and she felt the sound reverberate through her, lighting her nerves like a match.

she lifted herself, her knees pressing into the couch cushions as she rose just enough to give him space. her hands rested lightly on his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath her fingers.

harry took the opening instinctively, his hips shifting as his hands dropped to his waistband. his movements were clumsy, rushed, but YN didn't move away—didn't look away.

his fingers hooked under the elastic of his sweatpants and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free himself, the fabric bunching at his mid-thigh.

her breath hitched at the sight of him, her body flushing warm as his cock slapped against his naval from freeing himself.

she sat back, her movements quick but deliberate as she tugged her sweatpants and panties down in one smooth motion. the cool air brushed against her bare skin, sending a shiver racing up her spine as she climbed back into place, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him.

she lowered herself slowly, the heat of him brushing against her soaked cunt, but just before she could take him fully, his hands found her.

his fingers curled against the flesh of her bum, halting her movements, his grip firm but not forceful.

their eyes met, and she froze at the look in his. it was more than hesitation—it was worry, soft and fragile, barely hidden behind the glassy haze of his need.

he didn't say a word, but she didn't need him to. she knew what he was thinking, what was holding him back.

"i'm on the pill," she whispered, her voice steady but soft, her eyes never leaving his.

his gaze flickered, something uncertain melting away into something deeper, warmer. his grip on her eased, and his hands drifted lower, brushing over the curve of her thighs. his fingers spread wide, settling there, his palms grounding her as he gave the faintest nod.

she let out a shaky breath, her hands cupping the sides of his neck as she sank down onto him.

the stretch stole the air from her lungs, the way her body adjusted to his cock, enveloping him fully.

harry's eyes widened, his lips parting as a low, broken groan spilled out, his fingers tightening against her thighs like he was holding on for dear life.

"that’s good—” he rasped, his voice trembling as his head fell back against the armrest. his chest heaved beneath as her hands drifted lower, his body taut with restraint.

but his eyes—he couldn't tear them away. they followed every curve, every shift of her body as she moved above him. her skin glowed faintly in the flickering light of the tv, her breaths shallow and uneven, her lashes fluttering as she adjusted to him.

she was art, every movement deliberate, every curve of her body a masterpiece he couldn't stop staring at.

"s’good baby, just like that.” he moaned his words in reverence, his voice soft and raw. his hands slid up her thighs, his thumbs brushing over her hips as if he needed to memorize every inch of her.

"you're perfect.” he murmured, the words slipping out like a secret he hadn't meant to share.

her hips stilled for a moment, her gaze meeting his, and her lips curved into the faintest smile.

he wasn't used to being fucked like this—any of it. not the careful way her hands steadied themselves on his chest, not the slow, teasing rhythm she set, not the soft, coaxing words that slipped from her lips.

"your cock is so good, harry.” her voice was low and warm, melting into the quiet. her fingers traced the faint lines of his tattoos, her touch light but grounding.

he let out a shaky exhale, his hands flexing against her thighs, the grip of his fingertips faltering as he fought to hold himself together.

"like that?" she asked softly, her voice catching slightly as she rolled her hips again, watching the way his chest rose and fell in uneven beats beneath her.

his eyes blinked open, dark and unfocused, his gaze locking onto hers like he couldn't find the words.

"fuck—yes.” he breathed finally, the words breaking apart as they left his mouth.

she leaned forward slightly, her hips never losing their rhythm as her lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “tell me what you need,” she whispered, her breath shaky. “i’ll do anything for you.”

his breath hitched, his head tipping to the side as her words sank into him, and his grip tightened on her thighs.

"just... just keep going," he rasped, his voice rough and barely holding together. "don't stop—please.”

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her own soft but blazing with intent as she bounced on his cock.

his jaw clenched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth, his fingers twitching against her skin. his eyes dropped to her chest, watching the way her tits bounced with each motion, his gaze burning and unashamed.

"yes, baby—fuck.” he muttered under his breath, a furrowed crease cutting deep into his forehead as he tried and failed to keep his composure.

she bit her lip, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she tilted her hips slightly, drawing a low, guttural sound from him that made heat pool low in her stomach.

his eyebrows knit together in pleasure, strings of whimpers falling from his lips in desperation.

his hands slid higher, curling around her waist as he tried to match her rhythm, but yn was still in control, her movements precise, her focus entirely on him—his body responding to hers like it was made for this.

his lips found her tits, warm and insistent, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his tongue soothed it, drawing a sharp moan from her.

YN’s back arched into him instinctively, her movements above him never faltering, her rhythm unrelenting.

his hands slid up her spine, his palms flattening against her back, holding her to him as though he couldn't bear even an inch of distance. each roll of her hips sent a tremor through him, his body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and aching with the intensity of her.

"YN—“ he groaned against her skin, her name breaking on his tongue, caught between a moan and a prayer.

his whimpers melted into low, guttural grunts as her pace quickened, her movements growing more frantic. his toes curled, his heels digging into the couch cushions as he tried to hold on, but the way she moved, the way her cunt clenched around his cock—it was unraveling him completely.

her moans rose higher, sharper, each sound pulling him deeper under her spell. his grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin as though grounding himself in her was the only thing keeping him tethered.

his chest rose and fell in desperate, ragged breaths, his gaze locking onto her with an intensity that made his vision blur.

her body was mesmerizing—her curves, the way she moved, the sheer determination in her eyes as she took him apart piece by piece.

"m’close, baby—please,” he choked out, his voice cracking as his head fell forward, his curls damp against his forehead.

once her heard her come undone, her breath shuddering as she came all over his cock—he was done for.

his eyes squeezed shut, his head tipping back as his toes curled tighter, his muscles tensing with the force of his release. a low, broken moan ripped from his throat, his body trembling beneath her as he spilled into her.

her hand cupped his face, her thumb brushing away the single tear that slipped down his cheek as she steadied her breathing, her body still moving gently along his length, riding out the final waves of their release together.

his hands lingered on her waist, his thumbs brushing over her skin in slow, absent circles, as though letting go wasn’t an option. his gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, soft and unguarded in the quiet aftermath.

she stayed perched in his lap, her body warm and bare against his, her breathing steadying as her fingertips traced the lines of his face. the bridge of his nose. the sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. the faint stubble along his jawline that scratched softly beneath her touch.

her hands drifted lower, finding his, their size so much larger in hers. the bruises on his knuckles were still deep, fading but stubborn, the purple-yellow marks a silent story she didn’t yet know.

she took his hand carefully, her fingers brushing over the tender skin as if she could will the pain away with her touch. harry let her, his shoulders sinking, his chest rising with a soft, uneven breath.

“you make it better.” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant, like the words might shatter if he said them too loudly.

she glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. “your hands?”

he shook his head, his curls falling slightly over his forehead as he pulled his hands from hers, but only to raise them to her face.

his palms cupped her cheeks, his fingers threading gently through her hair, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. “life,” he breathed, his green eyes locked onto hers. “you make all of its bullshit better.”

her breath hitched, her hands lifting instinctively to cover his, keeping him there as if to say she wasn’t going anywhere.

they stayed like that, suspended in the stillness of the room, their bodies bare and vulnerable but safe. harry’s thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, his lips parting as his eyes softened even further.

“my heart is yours.” he confessed, the words simple but heavy, his voice trembling slightly at the edges.

YN’s chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking deep. she knew what he meant—he didn’t need to say i love you outright. it was there in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he couldn’t seem to let her go.

“as mine is yours.” she whispered, “every beat belongs to you.”

the corners of his mouth lifted, the faintest trace of a smile breaking through the intensity of the moment.

they stayed like that, connected, their foreheads brushing as the world outside fell away. they didn’t need more words, not now. it was enough—more than enough—to just be.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #subrry #softrry #fratrry #college!harry #frat boy harry #harry styles smut #harry styles angst

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lovings4turn · 9 months ago

Text

ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 (𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂)

— charles’ girlfriend likes to wake up a little earlier every morning in order to take her time getting ready. charles tries to wake up a little earlier, too. (1.2k words)

+ more than inspired by my need to wake up hours before i realistically need to (and then complain about how tired i am)

+ fluff ! mentions of reader wearing make-up but nothing overly specific !

gentle clattering served as charles’ alarm clock as he pried his eyes open, rubbing at them clumsily to rid his vision of the bleariness that came with just waking up. a throaty grumble escaped his lips, the sound coming from deep in his chest as he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

after a long overdue movie night, charles had spent the night at your place, something he would never, ever complain about. somehow, sleep always came to him much easier when he was by your side, wrapped in sheets that harboured the smell of your perfume.

though you'd already left the bed, currently sitting at your dressing table as you laid out your skincare products, charles could still feel the warmth of your body travelling along the mattress and up his body like vines of ivy.

time wasn't important to him right now, but he could assume that it was fairly early.

despite your incredibly sleepy nature, you'd surprised charles towards the beginning of your relationship by revealing to him that you quite enjoyed waking up a little earlier in order to take your time getting ready.

rushing to get out of the door was something that always provided you with feelings of anxiety, and you could never shake the thought that you'd forgotten something important. this way, you could slowly wake yourself up and spend a little more time focusing on yourself, an idea charles couldn't find fault in.

any amount of love and care shown towards you was welcomed by charles with open arms.

whilst charles' job required him to be a morning person, thanks to early training sessions and odd schedules on race weekends, it by no means meant that he was magically transformed into someone who delighted in waking up before the sun rose.

dragging himself into the gym at ridiculous hours in the morning required copious alarms and a boatload of motivation, but somehow when it came to this - watching the love of his life follow the same routine she performed almost daily - mornings felt easier.

"good morning, baby," charles said, deliberately keeping his voice low so as not to startle you. the words were thick with sleep, almost slurred together and syrupy, and a smile immediately rose to your face at the sound.

"g’morning love. sorry, did i wake you?"

a fond expression washed over charles' face as you turned to look at him over your shoulder, moisturiser poised in one hand ready for you to use. he shook his head gently, messy chestnut hair falling a little into his eyes.

"no, no, you're fine," he assured, throwing in a gentle smile to fully placate you.

and it was true. charles wasn't woken by the noise - or lack thereof - that you were making. it was as though his body had subconsciously realised you were awake and moving, and had forced his eyes open so he could savour every last second with you, satisfying his desire to get as much of you to himself as he possibly could.

water, oxygen, food, and you: those were the four things charles was certain he required for survival.

noticing that your eyes were still fixed on him, his upper body bare above the crumpled sheets of your bed, a lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his words took on a teasing tone.

"don't let me distract you, baby. keep getting ready."

you playfully rolled your eyes at his teasing, ignoring the way that his words made heat bubble beneath your cheeks. it was nothing a cooling moisturiser couldn't fix, and you relished in the feeling of the cream on your tired skin as you turned back to face your mirror.

meanwhile, charles was utterly mesmerised, transfixed by the glimpse of your reflection he was granted from his spot in bed.

how you could be performing a task charles had seen countless times before and still spark flames of awe in his heart should have been baffling, but to charles it all made sense.

everything about you set him alight, provoked a jolt of white hot electricity that ran through his veins and left him breathless. yet at the same time, you were the epitome of comfort and peace. your effect on him was far too powerful, so much so that it could break the rules of the universe and cause his heart to both pound and stop simultaneously.

charles settled back against the plush pillows, stretching his arms above his head with a soft grunt before letting them fall to rest against his stomach.

even in your silly fluffy headband, designed to look like a snail and complete with two eye-stalks, you were striking to him. every movement was fluid and precise, and it reminded him a little of himself in the car.

just as he knew every button of the steering wheel like it were an extension of his own body, had learned exactly where the breaking points were on each track and tuned himself into the car's movements, you had perfected your own artistry. your hand never faltered as it moved from product to product, and you barely batted a sleepy eye as you followed the routine you had down to a tee.

the two of you had fallen into a comfortable silence, not wanting to break the tranquil air that an early morning provided. now and again, you would meet his eye in the mirror and stick your tongue out at him, a gesture which he would return without hesitation.

it took about twenty or so minutes for charles’ body to begin to wake up, finally registering that the man wouldn’t be trying to get back to sleep any time soon. though his eyes were still a little heavy, charles swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to his feet, muffling a yawn into the palm of his hand.

he padded over to you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder and peer at you through the mirror.

“mm,” you mumbled, relaxing into his warmth. “hi, sleepyhead.”

charles pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before running a thumb lovingly over the spot that his stubble had grazed, attempting to reverse any disturbance to the makeup you’d carefully applied moments ago.

“hello beautiful.”

reluctantly, charles stood up to his full height and flicked one of the headband’s fuzzy stalks with a look of fondness before speaking.

“gonna go make us some coffee. don’t miss me too much”

even with his teasing tone, you almost melted at his words, sure that when charles returned he’d find a pile of sweet, syrupy goo in your place.

charles never needed to tell you how much he loved you - though he never missed an opportunity to do so. instead, your boyfriend preferred to show you, actions speaking louder than words as the famous phrase said.

so, if waking up early on his rare days off to watch you get ready and make you a coffee made your smile a little brighter and your day a little easier, charles would take the mid-day crash he was inevitably going to experience.

anything was worth it when it came to you.

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 x you

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steveseddie · 3 months ago

Text

don’t wait for the sky to clear

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,7k | cw: none | tags: steve has a crush, eddie has no impulse control, flirting, pet names

for @steddie-spooktober day one, prompt “rain”

read here on ao3

Steve almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door— barely audible over the heavy rain that’s been falling over Hawkins for most of the evening.

Then he almost ignores it, ready to wave it off as the wind making some tree branches knock against the side of the house, mostly because he’s convinced no one would be stupid enough to set foot outside in this downpour.

But then he hears it again. Louder, more insistent, definitely not a branch knocking against the house.

Frowning, Steve turns off the TV, cutting off the commentators narrating the basketball game that has kept him mildly entertained since the rain started. As he pads over to the door, his eyes dart towards the nail bat resting against the wall and he wonders if he should reach for it, if it’s possible that what’s waiting on the other side of the door is actually monster, flushed out by the rain like sewer rats during a flood.

Steve shakes his head. “Chill out, Harrington,” he mutters to himself, “Monsters don’t knock.”

And so Steve swings the door open and is immediately hit by the sharp biting cold— and the sight of a soaked Eddie Munson, shivering on his porch.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, voice laced with shock.

Eddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “There you are! Thought you were gonna leave me out here to drown.”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t actually expect anyone to be out here.”

“Well—” Eddie holds his hands out in a ta-da gesture, “—Surprise!”

“I am surprised. What the hell are you doing out here in this storm, man? You’re drenched! Did you fucking bike here or something?”

“Nope, I drove, of course,” Eddie explains, waving a hand at the van parked in Steve’s driveway. “But I spent the last twenty minutes pacing in the rain so there’s that.”

Steve sputters. “Why?”

“It helps clear my head,” Eddie says with a shrug, like that makes perfect sense. It doesn’t.

“And you decided to do it in front of my house because—” Steve trails off, hoping Eddie will elaborate.

“Convenience,” Eddie says, which doesn’t actually explain anything. Then he bites his lip nervously. “You see, Stevie, I have something to tell you.”

Steve tears his eyes away from Eddie’s pink lips, narrowing them at him. “And you couldn’t, I don’t know, call me?”

Eddie shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying, hitting Steve’s face. “It’s not something I wanted to say over the phone,” he admits, scruffing his feet against the floor, deliberately not meeting Steve's gaze.

Steve’s eyes dart to the bat again. He tenses up, fear bubbling up inside him. “Oh shit, are you seeing things? Is it Vecna again? Fuck, it’s only been a few months, it was supposed to be fucking over. Christ, do we need to call a code red? Do we—”

“Steve, hey, breathe,” Eddie cuts in, stepping into the house, trailing water all over Steve’s entryway, the wind swinging the door shut behind him. He grabs Steve’s shoulders, digging his thumbs into his collarbones to get his attention. “It’s not Vecna, it’s not the Upside Down, everything’s fine. Stevie, look at me.”

Steve does, hazy eyes taking a moment to focus on Eddie— his limp soaked hair, his drenched clothes, his nose and cheeks both red from the cold.

“You look like a wet rat,” Steve says, swallowing a few times to get rid of the lump that lodged itself in his throat as he spiraled.

Eddie huffs out a snort. “I know,” he says, his nose scrunching up in a way that makes Steve want to kiss it. “Not a particularly attractive look, which isn’t ideal considering what I’m here to do.”

Steve disagrees, he finds Eddie plenty attractive like this, but he lets the comment slide to ask, “And what’s that?”

Eddie bites his lip. “Please don’t freak out on me again.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t the Upside Down—” Steve says, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s not, it’s— fuck, it’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic. You’re a good guy, you’re not gonna freak out even if you don’t—” He trails off, gesturing vaguely.

“Even if I don’t what?”

Eddie lets out a puff of air. “Even if you don’t like me back,” he says and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. “‘Cause what I came here to do— the reason why I was pacing in the rain, probably catching pneumonia or something— was to ask you out. On a date. With me.”

Steve’s stomach flip flops. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees lightning flash in the distance. “Right now?” He asks, glancing at the window as thunder follows, the rain refusing to let up even for a minute. “Because I’d love to, Eds, but I really don’t want to go out in a storm—”

Eddie makes a pained expression. “No, sweetheart, not right— Wait.” He blinks as Steve’s words register. “‘You'd love to’?” He asks, his voice an octave higher.

Steve nods, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Holy shit,” Eddie mutters. His hands, which up to this point were still on Steve’s shoulders, fall to his sides as he stands there, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“What? You thought I’d say no?” Steve asks, tilting his head. “That I’d freak out?”

Eddie shrugs. "I just thought that if you liked me too, you would’ve asked me out already!”

“I thought about it,” he says, eliciting a squeal from Eddie. “But Eds, I’ve only ever been in one relationship and I fucked it up. I didn’t want to do the same with you.”

“Oh,” Eddie says softly, lips pursing as he thinks over something. “Well, I’ve never been in a relationship so technically I haven’t fucked up any so maybe our odds will balance each other out, y’know?”

That doesn’t sound right to Steve, but Eddie is grinning at him and he just asked him out on a date, and Steve can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

“Okay,” he agrees, unable to stop himself from grinning too. “Then yeah, I’d love to go on a date with you, Eddie.”

Flustered but obviously pleased, Eddie plays with his hair, water dripping from the wet curls.

“Can I ask you something too?”

“You just did,” Eddie says with a smirk. When Steve half-heartedly rolls his eyes, he adds, “But yeah, I’ll allow it.”

“What made you do this right now in the middle of a storm?” He asks, an amused tilt to his voice.

“Well, I was talking to our favorite redhead on the phone, just shooting the shit, y’know? So after like, the third time I said, um, that I missed you, she told me I was pathetic and that I should drive over here and ask you out already so—” Eddie shrugs, “—I did. I don’t think she expected me to just hang up on her and take off in the middle of the storm, and honestly neither did I, not until I was doing it.”

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, “but hey, I was missing you too, y’know.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, giddy and disbelieving at the same time.

“Of course, Eds.”

Eddie giggles, high-pitched and cute. “Well, hopefully you won’t miss me too much now.” He glances at the window, lips pursed. “Since I should probably head back.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit in a frown. “No way, you’re not going out in this rain again,” he says, “you can stay here and I’ll let you borrow something to wear.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, yielding all too easily.

Steve smirks triumphantly. “Good, now let’s get you out of those clothes.”

Eddie lets out a squeak, clutching his chest. “Harrington! At least buy me dinner first!”

“Hey, you asked me out, so you are buying me dinner,” Steve says, wagging his finger in Eddie’s face, who pretends to try to bite it off. “Right now I’m just making sure you don’t get hypothermia.”

“How chivalrous of you, sweetheart,” Eddie says, eyelashes fluttering, a pretty pink blush covering his cheeks.

Steve hates to leave the sight of a flustered Eddie, but since he arrived his shivering has gotten worse and Steve is worried he’s actually going to catch something.

“Wait here,” he says, heading upstairs to his room. There, he grabs some old sweatpants, a cozy green sweater he’d love to see Eddie in and a pair of fuzzy socks Robin got him for his birthday last year. Fighting a blush, he also grabs some boxers. Finally, he stops by the bathroom to grab a towel so Eddie can dry his hair.

He goes back downstairs where he follows the water path and finds Eddie, not in the entryway but in the living room, going through the Harringtons’ VHS collection.

“My, my, my, Stevie! What’s this?” He asks when he sees Steve, holding up a tape to him with a playful smirk.

Steve recognizes it as one of the Star Wars movies— not the one he likes, with the teddies.

“Oh, that’s Henderson’s,” Steve says, dumping the clothes on the couch and joining Eddie. “He must’ve left it here.”

“‘Left it here’, uh huh,” Eddie says, doing air quotes with his fingers. “Just admit you like it. That you’re a nerd!”

Steve smirks. “No, but I like you, nerd,” he says, cupping Eddie’s cheeks with his hands and tilting his head forward so he can press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

When he pulls back, Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, his face bright red.

“Cute,” Steve says, out loud this time, which only makes Eddie blush even harder.

“Jesus H. Christ, if hypothermia doesn’t kill me, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a shaky laugh, tugging some hair in front of his face, “you might.”

“If you die before you can take me on a date,” Steve says, hands on his hips, “I will.”

Eddie sniggers. “Not even death could keep me from taking you out, Stevie! I would crawl out of hell just to have dinner with you! I would brave one thousand storms!”

Steve laughs, interrupting Eddie’s dramatics and steering him towards the downstairs bathroom, picking up the clothes on the way. “Okay, you weirdo, come on.”

Eddie doesn’t put up any more resistance and finally changes into Steve’s clothes. Afterwards, they watch the movie that Henderson may or may not have left behind and they cuddle— to warm Eddie up, of course.

They both agree it doesn’t count as their first date, but when the rain finally stops and Eddie leaves, he still kisses Steve goodnight.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiespooktober #i wasn't planning on writing this but it's been raining all day and it felt like a sign #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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tteotlma · 5 days ago

Text

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here.

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in.

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned.

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place.

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight.

Not that exhaustion was new to you.

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved.

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].”

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around.

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.”

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind.

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise.

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin.

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration.

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you.

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough.

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body.

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder.

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back.

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles.

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood.

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for.

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part. “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat.

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust. Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up.

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes, wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him.

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.”

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed.

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely.

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

#wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #the wolverine #xmen wolverine #wolverine x men #logan wolverine #logan fic #logan fanfic #logan smut #wolverine smut #james logan howlett #smut #wolverine fanfic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x you

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yuri-is-online · 11 months ago

Note

When you're in a "trying to take care of yuu" competition but your opponent is ace trappola

Nah but fr the amount of voice lines of him being like: "I can't date anyone right now, I need to take care of you!" Uh sir???

LISTEEEEEEEEN ACE IS SUCH AN UNDERRATED CHARACTER. AND ACEYUU IS SUCH A SLEPT ON SHIP IN FAVOR OF THAT OTHER ONE IN NA YOU PEOPLE NEED TO WAKE UP ACE IS MORE LOYAL THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THE CAAAAAAAAAAAAST

*i am escorted from the premises*

People don't like him and think he's rude and don't get me wrong he is but... did we read the same words? Because Ace is there for Yuu when he can be. He fucking took the trip from the Queendom of Roses to Sage's Island because he thought Yuu was in trouble, he punches Riddle for insulting Yuu, he sees Yuu get a bit unsteady at Lili's going away part and IMMEDIATELY starts making the good bye rounds to get them out of there. That last one is such a big deal to me, if you have social anxiety a partner who knows when your battery is up and helps get you out of there is such a green flag you don't even know. Double so if they think your sick and need rest. He's a good friend and people need to stop hating on him because I will have a stroke if I see another "replaced" au where Ace decides to hate Yuu. Ace Trappola would not fucking do that. If you are in a competition with Ace Trappola to see who will take better care of Yuu? It isn't a competition unless your name is Deuce Spade.

>"I can't date anyone right now, I need to take care of you!" As a ship I really like aceyuu where Ace knows how he feels but is deliberately ignoring it. He has some "experience" dating so I think he doesn't fully understand that a relationship can be (scratch that should be) something involves a solid friendship. I have said it before and I will say it again, Ace friendzones himself. He makes his attraction to Yuu a joke because that's safer for him than the alternative. But he's not great at it, "three things cannot be hidden: coughing, poverty, and love." Ace's heart isn't on his sleeve, it's on his face. He blushes, flounders, and flusters but it's just so obvious that when Yuu is ready all they need to do is ask.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola #aceyuu

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lostintransist · 2 months ago

Text

This Bunny Bites - Part 4

Work started normal. You got in early and did yourself up in the locker room. You don’t wear makeup except for work. It helped that no one could really recognize you without your beauty camouflage. With your heels on and boobs hiked to the sky, you stepped onto the floor.

You saw a few regulars as you made your way around the room. You checked in first with the manager for the night, Todd.

“Hey, I’ve got a dance lined up for you.”

The forty something balding man looked up from the order sheet for the alcohol. Checking out your outfit, his gaze lingered on the scalloped edge of your bra.

“K? What room?” You shift, crossing your arms over the tops of the cups.

Todd looks up at you, startled.

“Uh, room seven I think is where I put him. He asked for you by name.”

Not unusual, you had a few regulars.

“Okay, that is not a problem. Is he someone I know?”

“That’s the thing, he didn’t use your dancer name. He used your legal name.”

You shared a look with Todd, for all his creeper tendencies he did his best to keep stalkers from getting at any of the girls.

“I’ll see what’s going on but maybe swing by in about five to check on me?”

“Yep. You got it.”

Todd waited for you to leave first; man never missed an opportunity to stare at an ass. You ignore the phantom hands sliding over you. Following an instinct that had yet to fail you, you grab your phone from your locker. Shoving it deep down one side of your bra, you enter room seven. You pull the door shut out of habit.

On the black couch across from the door sits the big motherfucker who had escorted Johnny out of the club last night. He sits knees spread wide, hands reaching nearly both sides of the couch. His hard skull mask covers most of his face, and dark makeup covers any skin not covered by the fabric.

You stare at each other, waiting for the other to blink.

He wins.

Pissed, you stride across the room, lifting your shoe and placing it against his chest.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t get you kicked out of here and banned for life?” You sneer down at him.

“I pay well.”

“I said good reason. What’s your name?”

His head shifts, taking in every inch of flesh from your toes to the top of your teased hair. Slow as dusk shifting into night he placed his hands on your ankle, your foot still pressed to his chest. With great skill he tucks the small leather strap into the buckle of your shoe, while wearing gloves.

“You can call me Ghost.” He glances up at you, the heat in his gaze pricking somewhere low in your body.

“Mmm.” You pull out your phone and set your foot on the ground.

Pulling up a contact you know will be awake at this hour, you initiate the call.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Detective! Sorry for the late call, but I have been meaning to get back to you and I finally have a second.” You pitch your voice high, chipper.

Ghost pulls out his wallet and drops two bills on the couch after showing you the denominations.

Detective Johnson responds in your ear, “Hey! You know this isn’t too late for me, even when I am not on the clock I am still up late.”

“I understand these late nights do something funny to your sleep schedules,” you laugh.

Ghost pulls out two more bills, same high number. You raise a brow at him.

“I was actually calling to reschedule dinner with you and the missus. You free next Wednesday by chance? We could hit up that new ramen restaurant?”

“Wednesday…wed-nes-day…Hold on I’m checking her calendar. Looks like we are both free. Six PM, okay?”

“Perfect. Thanks, give my love to your wife. I will see you Wednesday.” You end the call with a true smile on your face.

When your eyes fall back to the man on the couch your smile falls into the sultry work mask you keep for the darkness you work in. You hold out a hand, the other tucking your phone back away in your bra. Ghost doesn’t hesitate but moves with deliberate slowness. He places four hundred dollars into your palm, gloves rasping against your skin anywhere they made contact.

“Dances are only ten minutes,” You tuck the money into the other cup. “That is how long I will give you to plead your case for my sorry excuse for a brother.”

You turn around and begin your dance.

“Not here for your brother love,” his Manchester accent a sharp relief to the accents that drift though a port town like this one.

“What could you want with me then?”

“How about a job?”

You let out a laugh, “I don’t think you would be a great dancer, but we might need a bouncer.”

He pulls on the end a few hairs, not hard, just enough to tilt your head back a hint.

“No, I have a job for you.”

You reach back and twist your hair around one hand, pulling it over one shoulder. You know how to lay boundaries without disturbing the men getting a dance.

“What is the job?”

“Classified unless you agree.”

You hummed, low in your throat.

“Pay?”

“Name your price.”

You speak without thinking.

“30,000.” Double what you needed to get out.

“Yours once the job is complete. Wired to any account of your choice and not traceable or taxable.”

“What’s the timeline?”

Ghost paused at this question. You couldn’t decide if he needed to think about the answer or if you had truly distracted him with your last move.

“Three months.” His voice didn’t show any hint of stress.

“Done. Send me the paperwork to sign. I imagine you know where I live already.”

No response. You look back and find Ghost’s gaze glued to the gusset of your thong.

“And that is ten minutes.” You straighten slowly, your ass about his chest in your heels.

His lingering eyes leave a heat pattern on your bones as he works his way up your back.

“Don’t come back here. If you show up again, I will deny you service no matter how much cash you pull out of your pockets.” You whip your head forward, hair flying out behind you.

You leave the room, door open. Todd hadn’t knocked when he should have, something must have happened on the main floor. You nearly catch a fist to the nose from the full-on brawl happening around the main stage.

Part 3 | Part 5

Masterlist | Bunny Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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last-dropsevi · 20 days ago

Text

Back again, Piltover girl* ੈ✩‧₊˚ Sevika

Pairing: Sevika x desperate fem Reader

Summary: broken trust and lingering feelings have to be dealt with eventually.

Previous chapter

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: alil arguing in the beginning but yall make up by the end.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚You couldn’t let it end like this. At first, you clung to hope, reaching out through every possible way —texts, voice messages, even an email, a method you’d never imagined using with Sevika. Desperation had become your shadow, and it bled into every word you typed.

-Hey, vika. Can we talk? Please, just let me explain…

Read 6:49 PM

The message sent, the seconds ticking by like hours as you stared at the screen, willing her to respond. She didn’t.

-I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you, but I need you to know the truth…

Read 2:01 PM

Each day a new message but still nothing. You typed and retyped every word, trying to make her see your sincerity. The silence felt heavier, like a weight pressing on your chest.

-I’m sorry. For everything. For not telling you sooner. Please, just hear me out.

Read 9:33 AM

Apologies spilled from your heart, but the silence on the other end remained deafening. A knot tightened in your stomach as you realized she was deliberately ignoring you

-Hey , I know things ended for a reason, but I miss you and still care about you deeply.

Sent 4:59 PM

It hit you like a physical blow—hard and unforgiving. Sevika had blocked you. She hadn’t just distanced herself; she had cut you off completely, slamming the door so firmly that no amount of knocking could force it open.

The realization stole the air from your lungs, leaving a hollow ache in its place. She wasn’t just angry—she wanted you gone. The woman who once filled your nights with warmth, whose voice had been your sanctuary, was now unreachable, leaving only silence and the echoes of what you’d lost.

You weren’t one to give up easily, especially not with someone like her. A week later, fate intervened. You saw her by chance outside The Last Drop, the dim neon sign casting an eerie glow over her as she stepped into the street, the crowd parting around her intimidating figure. She looked rough—her left arm bruised, knuckles raw, her movements stiff as though every step sent a jolt of pain through her body. Her face bore the hardened, unapproachable look of someone who’d been through hell and refused to admit it.

But you couldn’t just watch her fade into the shadows. Not again.

“Sevika!” you called out, your voice cutting through the murmur of Zaun’s streets. You jogged after her as she quickened her pace, shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to disappear. “Wait, please! Let me help you!”

She stopped so suddenly that you nearly ran into her. When she turned to face you, her imposing presence felt suffocating, the dim light catching the sharp angles of her jaw and the storm brewing in her eyes. Even injured, she radiated strength, but it was the kind laced with danger.

“Help me?” she repeated, her words low and laced with venom. “You’ve done enough.”

You faltered under her glare but forced yourself to stand your ground. “I’m not here to fight,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough. “I’m worried about you. Look at yourself, Sevika. You’re hurt.”

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and hollow. “Worried?” she said, the corner of her mouth curling in a mocking smirk. “I’ve handled worse, sweetheart. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“It’s not pity,” you pressed, stepping closer despite her retreat. “It’s... care. Why can’t you see that?”

Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening until the muscle twitched. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought she might relent, that she might let the wall crumble. But her expression hardened again, colder than before.

“Care?” she repeated, her voice rising, sharp and accusing. “You care about me? Is that why you lied? Why you pretended to be something you’re not?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” she snapped, cutting you off like a blade slicing through air. She took a step back, shaking her head as if to clear away whatever doubts had momentarily surfaced. “Go back to Piltover. It’s where you belong.”

Her words landed like blows, each syllable chipping away at the resolve you’d built to face her. You opened your mouth to protest, but the lump in your throat stopped you. Before you could find the words, she turned on her heel and strode into the darkness, her figure quickly swallowed by Zaun’s twisting alleys.

You stood there, the faint hum of flickering streetlights the only sound, the ache in your chest growing with every second she disappeared from view. Frustration warred with heartbreak, and you were left rooted to the spot, wondering if there was anything you could have said to change her mind—or if you’d already lost her for good.

Sevika’s mind was a battlefield that night, each thought clashing violently against the next. She barricaded herself in her dimly lit apartment, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and stale whiskey. She clutched the nearly-empty bottle, the burn in her throat barely a distraction from the turmoil inside her. The argument replayed on an endless loop, your words echoing louder with each pass.

“Let me help you.”

“It’s… care.”

“Why can’t you see that?”

She scoffed at the memory, tipping the bottle to her lips. Care. That look in your eyes—raw, genuine—refused to leave her alone. Why did you care? Why couldn’t she shake the way it made her feel, equal parts furious and exposed?

You had lied. For months, you had kept secrets, building something she thought was real on a foundation of half-truths. And yet… you cared. The contradiction gnawed at her, each sip of whiskey doing little to dull its bite.

By the time the bottle was drained, Sevika was pacing her cramped apartment, the floorboards creaking under her heavy boots. Her jaw tightened as her thoughts spiraled, landing on someone she never imagined she’d willingly seek out for advice. Jinx.

She found the manic powder monkey perched on a railing at Sevika’s hideout, balancing with unnerving ease as though gravity was optional.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Jinx began, twirling a stray strand of blue hair around her finger. “You love her, but you’re mad ‘cause she’s from Piltover, and now you don’t know if you wanna forgive her?”

Sevika ran a hand down her face, her metal fingers clicking against her skin as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not that simple, Jinx. She lied to me. She hid it for months. What else could she be hiding?”

Jinx flipped off the railing with a laugh, landing in a crouch before standing to her full height. Her grin was wide, toothy, and entirely unhelpful. “Sounds like you’re overthinking it. Look, if you love her, you love her. Doesn’t matter if she’s from Piltover or the freaking moon. Look at Cait and Vi. They’ve got all kinds of reasons to hate each other, but they don’t let it stop ‘em. ‘Cause love, Sev, is messy and stupid and worth it.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed, her arms crossing defensively. “Messy and stupid,” she muttered, her tone dripping with skepticism. “You don’t get it, Jinx. She was pretending to be someone she’s not. How am I supposed to trust her again?”

Jinx tilted her head, her grin fading just enough for a glimmer of sincerity to shine through. “You don’t trust her yet. Fine. But does she make you feel alive? Does she make you wanna fight harder, even when you’re ready to give up?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Sevika hated how much they resonated. She didn’t answer, but her silence was enough for Jinx.

“Thought so.” Jinx twirled her gun absentmindedly, her grin snapping back into place. “Look, I’m not sayin’ it’s easy. But sitting here sulking? That’s not you, Sev. Go fix your mess before you’re stuck staring at walls and bottles forever.”

Sevika shook her head, half-exasperated, half-contemplative. “Since when did you become a romantic?”

Jinx winked, her wild energy back in full force. “I’m full of surprises. Now go!”

As Jinx bounded off into the darkness, Sevika stood rooted to the spot, her thoughts no longer a whirlwind but a razor-sharp conviction cutting through the fog. She wasn’t one to run from a fight, and this wasn’t any different. But could she fight for something she wasn’t sure she still deserved?

Her fists clenched at her sides, the faint ache in her bruised knuckles grounding her. She didn’t have the answer yet, but for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t drowning in doubt.

Maybe Jinx was right. Maybe love really was messy, stupid, and worth every damn risk.

The next day, you woke to a single notification: Sevika had unblocked you. And there was a message.

-Meet me at The Last Drop. We need to talk.

Read 9:48 PM

Your breath hitched, the words igniting a whirlwind of emotions—hope, fear, and dread all at once. As the day passed, the weight of the message settled deeper in your chest. By the time you started getting dressed that evening, your hands were trembling.

Your mind raced as you stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with buttons. What would she say? Would she hear you out? What if this was just to end things for good? Each thought seemed to constrict your chest further, your breathing shallow and erratic.

Get a grip, you told yourself, gripping the edge of the sink. You focused on the cool porcelain beneath your fingers, counting your breaths until the pressure in your chest eased. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to get you out the door.

When you arrived at The Last Drop, the air inside was thick with smoke and the hum of distant conversation. Sevika sat at a corner table, her broad frame half-shadowed under the flickering neon lights. She didn’t look up immediately, her posture guarded but lacking its usual sharp edge.

You swallowed hard and made your way over, sliding into the seat across from her. Your nerves buzzed, but you forced yourself to meet her eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” she said gruffly, her tone neutral, though her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass—a small tell of unease.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice thin but steady. “I’m just… glad you’re giving me a chance to explain.”

Her gaze snapped to yours then, sharp and unyielding. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice low but edged with steel. “That you were from Piltover?”

The weight of her words pressed against your chest. You drew in a shaky breath, your fingers curling against the edge of the table. “Because I was scared,” you admitted. “I knew how you felt about people from the upper city, and I didn’t want to lose you before we even had a chance. I… I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Her eyes narrowed, frustration flickering across her face. “So, what? You thought lying was the better option?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice cracking slightly. “I know it wasn’t. I should’ve told you the truth. But Sevika… you mean so much to me, and I was terrified you’d walk away if you knew. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, the silence stretched unbearably. Then she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You think I haven’t had people lie to me before? Hide things? It’s a damn pattern in my life.”

Her words stung, but you didn’t back down. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And I hate that I added to that. I didn’t want to hurt you, Sevika. I thought I was protecting what we had, but I see now I just made it worse.”

Her gaze softened, just a fraction. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not about Piltover,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “Hell, I’ve got plenty of reasons to hate that place, but this isn’t about that. It’s about trust. And you broke it.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “I know. But I want to earn it back. If you’ll let me.”

Another tense silence lingered, but as it stretched, Sevika’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly. She uncrossed her arms, leaning forward ever so slightly. “You really think this is gonna be easy?”

“No,” you said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I don’t. But you’re worth it.”

Her lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fill you with a cautious hope. Slowly, as the conversation continued, the space between you began to shrink—first figuratively, then literally.

Sevika’s chair inched closer, and she leaned her elbows on the table, her gaze less guarded. The edge in her voice softened as the two of you navigated the minefield of emotions. By the time she let out a quiet laugh—at what, you couldn’t even remember—the tension had melted into something warmer, more familiar.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she looked at you, her expression softer than you’d seen in weeks. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said, her voice low, “but if you’re willing to stick it out… maybe we can try again.”

Your chest tightened with relief, a smile breaking across your face. “I want that. More than anything.”

For the first time, Sevika smiled—a small, hesitant curve of her lips that held more weight than words ever could.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said, leaning closer, her voice almost a whisper.

“I won’t,” you promised.

And as she closed the remaining distance, brushing her lips against yours, the world seemed to still. The kiss was tentative at first, a delicate testing of boundaries, but it quickly deepened, filled with unspoken forgiveness and the promise of a new beginning.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, this time full of her familiar confidence. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for stubborn people.”

You laughed, the sound light and free for the first time in weeks. “And you’re lucky I’m stubborn enough to stick around.”

The future was uncertain, but as you sat there with Sevika, closer than you’d been in weeks, you knew it was a fight worth having.

WOOOOO WAR IS OVER. I set up my inbox so PLEASEEEEEEEE send me requests or anything’s atp hope u liked it mwah.

Unofficial taglist: @lizziecanrailme @lovemoneybtw @seggskink @jukka08 @sagegreensage @jannesyjane @gracie-gloom @mall-fountain-daydream @theirlaliengirl

#sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane season two #arcane #sevika #jinx #viktor arcane #jayce talis #big mama

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queenshelby · 4 months ago

Text

Massage Therapy (Part Two of Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut, Prostate Massage

The following week , you found yourself waiting anxiously for Cillian's arrival. You were eager to see him again and test your boundaries further but, as he walked in that day, you could sense his nervousness. His eyes darted about and, despite his confident demeanor, he didn't seem entirely at ease.

"Hello, Mr. Murphy," you said warmly, taken aback by the expression on his face. "Are you feeling okay today?"

"Yeah, I am," he replied quickly, a forced smile spreading across his chiseled features.

You exchanged pleasantries as usual as you showed him to the massage room and it was then when he spoke up quietly.

"I, uhm, just so you know, I have not done this kind of thing before," Cillian admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "I am curious though...how does it work? I mean, what will you do?" he reiterated, fidgeting with his hands.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you prepared yourself for this intimate session.

"Well, I will start by having you lay down on your back," you began to explain, trying to steady yourself and ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks. "And I'll need to put a pillow underneath your hips to tilt your pelvis at the right angle," you went on to say. "I will then start by massaging your thighs and intimate regions, just like I did last week. This will help prepare your body for the internal massage. Once you're nice and relaxed, I'll proceed to using my finger to gently find and massage your prostate."

Cillian gulped, visibly taking in each word you said. The thought of being touched there was nerve-wracking yet thrilling all the same.

"I understand that it may feel a bit unusual at first," you continued soothingly. "But, believe it or not, it's actually an incredibly pleasurable experience, once you get past the initial weirdness."

"Alright," he nodded, taking another deep breath before he commenced to undress while you prepared the massage table.

You put a soft, clean sheet onto the bed, warmed the massage oil and adjusted the lighting to make the room feel more relaxing.

Once Cillian was ready, lying down on his back, he looked at you expectantly. You took a long moment before meeting his gaze, feeling the anticipation grow thick in the room.

You placed a pillow beneath Cillian’s hips, tilting his pelvis at the right angle as he took a deep breath and sighed loudly.

"You are erect already and I haven't even touched you yet," you smiled, your voice low and soft as you looked at him, lips slightly parted.

Cillian blushed, looking away for a second before muttering, "Yeah... I can't help it... you have this effect on me."

"It's okay," you reassured him, placing your hand on his thigh. "I feel flattered," you said with a smirk and, with that, you started massaging his thighs again, using long, slow strokes that seemed to make Cillian groan in pleasure.

"I am going to massage your intimate area now," you whispered to Cillian, not expecting the shiver that coursed through his body as he nodded in agreement. You didn't waste any time before wrapping your hand around his thick shaft, as a bead of precum formed at the tip.

You were becoming increasingly turned on by the sight of the famous actor lying before you, submitting to your every touch. A fierce desire to pleasure him even more intensely took hold and your movements became bolder and more sensual with each stroke.

Your hand slid up and down his shaft like a well-oiled machine, making him shudder and moan with every movement before you eased his legs apart to gain better access to the netherspace.

Using some lubricant , you first began massaging his perineum with your free hand, applying pressure to the correct spots while your other hand kept pleasuring his manhood with slow but deliberate strokes.

"Jesus!" he grunted, head tilting backwards and jaw clenched as pleasure racked through his body in never-before experienced waves.

Your lubricated finger then found his entrance and gently probed in and around the tightly puckered muscle while you continued to stroke him with your other hand.

"I will insert my finger now," you murmured, feeling him tense slightly as you slowly pushed past the initial resistance. "Deep breaths. There is just a little pressure," you told him, as you gradually sank your finger deeper, seeking out his prostate gland.

Cillian let out a low groan as the pad of your finger glided across the slightly ridged surface. "Holy fuck," he swore under his breath.

You stifled a grin, and instead focused on exerting the right amount of pressure, maintaining an erotic tempo of strokes on his shaft and massaging his most intimate spot with the pad of your finger.

Cillian's chest was heaving, the fine muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing as his pleasure intensified. He started panting heavily, throwing his head back while clenching the sheet in his fists. You could see goosebumps of arousal rippling over his skin.

A clear liquid was steadily leaking from his tip, glistening in the soft light seeping through.

Your grip on him tightened in response, causing him to buck his hips upwards into your hand and gasp in pleasure.

"Oh god, keep going," he groaned, almost pleading.

You complied without question, knowing that the end result would be worth the effort. The prostate massage was going well and Cillian was both visibly and audibly into it. His muscles were twitching as you circled his sweet spot with with your finger.

You could sense that he was close, his moans becoming increasingly louder.

"Do you want to come?" you asked in a heavy tone, already knowing the answer.

He nodded emphatically and bit his lip as an expression of pure delight took over his face. The question was just for formality's sake as you knew he was about to explode.

Without another word, you sped up your stroking on his shaft, focusing more attention on his tip as salty pearls of pre-cum oozed out for your grasping touch.

His hands gripped the table edges tightly, clearly struggling against the inevitable.

"Oh god, fuck!" he groaned, hurling his pelvis forward to push himself further into your grip.

For a moment, Cillian closed his eyes, and his mouth gaped open, letting out a series of throaty growls that sent shivers down your spine.

He was trembling uncontrollably as the final wave of pleasure coursed through him, and then it happened.

Cillian's orgasm erupted from the tip of his cock in thick, ropy strands that splattered your hand, his stomach, and the sheets below. You weren't prepared for the sheer volume of his release, and there was something inherently erotic about the primal way it unfolded. It was as if a dam had burst.

"Oh god!" he cried out, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips jerked spasmodically beneath you.

His cock was still leaking cum, that warm, wet sensation coating your palm as the last of his orgasm spent itself over your fingers.

Panting and flushed, he opened his eyes to find you smiling down at him, satisfaction radiating from your gaze. "Feeling good?" you asked, your voice dripping with satisfaction as, slowly, you pulled your slick fingers away from Cillian's sensitive prostate. He was still breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut, sweat glistening on his forehead.

He flinched slightly when your finger left his tight cavity , letting out an involuntary gasp as you gently rubbed the tip of your finger over his pursed hole, spreading the warmth outside.

"Are you okay?" you asked, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Cillian opened his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it. "Wow," he breathed, still sounding stunned and amazed. "Definitely okay."

Tags:

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@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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prettygirl-gabi · 18 days ago

Text

Just a lil taste

Rating:Mature Audiences Warning:Smut,fluff, mingi being a munch!!, pet names:baby;ma, fingering, oral sex (f reseving), Mingi cums in his sweats, dirty talk...mainly from Mingi

Category:F/M

Fandom:ATEEZ (Band)

Relationships: !idol Mingi x ! Black make-up artist f reader

Summary: You’re ATEEZ’s makeup artist and Mingi's girl...so it's only right he eats you out before the concert right....

The makeup room buzzed with the usual pre-soundcheck energy. I glanced at the clock, mentally reminding myself we had about an hour and half until Ateez was due on stage. My kit was spread across the vanity in front of me—foundation, powders, brushes, everything meticulously laid out to make sure Mingi looked flawless under the lights.

But of course, Mingi was determined to make things difficult.

He was perched on the couch behind me, long legs sprawled out as he twirled his phone in one hand. His gaze, though, was fixed on me. He had that mischievous smirk that always made my stomach flip, like he was up to something.

“You know,” he drawled, his deep voice like a warm hum against my back, “you look way too good to be stuck doing my makeup right now.”

I turned and raised a brow at him. “Mingi, don’t start. We don’t have time for your shenanigans.”

He sat up, leaning forward, and suddenly, he wasn’t just looking at me—he was watching me. His eyes dragged slowly from my faux locs tied up in a loose bun, to my pleated skirt that ended just above my knees. When his gaze settled on my thighs, I knew I was in trouble.

“Thick thighs save lives, huh?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

I groaned, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. “Focus, Song Mingi. Face. Makeup. Now.”

But instead of getting up, he slid off the couch and knelt on the floor, his tall frame making the move look almost absurd. At 6’1", he was towering even when on his knees, while I—at a very proud 4’10"—couldn’t help but feel ridiculously tiny in comparison.

“Mingi!” I hissed, glancing at the open door. Thankfully, everyone else was busy, but still. “What are you doing?”

He grinned up at me, hands resting on my knees. “You taste like cinnamon, you know that?”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Excuse me?”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against my bare thigh just above the top of my knee-high socks. His voice was lower this time, more intimate. “Last night. Remember?”

Oh, I remembered. And that was not the point right now.

“Mingi, we do not have time for this!” I tried to sound stern, but my voice wavered, betraying me.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Baby, we’ve got plenty of time. Just a little snack before you start?”

I slapped his shoulder lightly. “I am not a snack!”

“You’re right,” he said, his tone completely serious now. “You’re the whole damn meal.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of me. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you.” His lips brushed against my skin again, this time lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch.

“Mingi…” I whispered, torn between pushing him away and letting him continue.

“Hmm?” He looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes that always got him whatever he wanted.

I sighed, defeated. “Fine. Five minutes. Five. Then you’re letting me do your makeup.”

His grin widened as he gently pushed my knees apart, making space for himself. “I won’t waste a second, baby.”

his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my lace panties, his touch setting my skin on fire.

I let out a shaky breath as his middle and ring fingers worked their magic, his touch both gentle and deliberate as he drew soft whimpers from my lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips pressed just above my clit, never leaving my skin sending vibrations as his fingers moved in a rhythm that made my head spin. “So soft, so perfect… all mine.”

“Mingi,” I gasped, my grip on his hair tightening as he brought me closer and closer to the edge.

He pulled his now plump lips away from my still needy pussy only to rest his head on my inner thigh looking up at me.

“That’s it, ma,” he said, his voice low and full of pride. “Let go for me. Hmm, I know you can. Feelin your pussy clenching my fingers.

I left out a soft gasp feeling him blow cold air on my soft, puffy pussy bright before attaching his mouth back to my clit and pumping his fingers fast.

"C'mon baby, mm cum f'me yeah." I said through mumbles mouth still attached to me.

And I did, my body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over me. Mingi held me steady, his strong hands keeping me grounded as I rode out the high on his fingers and tongue.

As I came down, he looked up at me with a satisfied smirk, his fingers still resting gently on my thigh. “Feeling better now?” he asked, his tone teasing.

I nodded, my cheeks flushed as I tried to catch my breath. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my inner thigh. “And you smell so good. Like cinnamon with a hint of vanilla to baby, like a fuckin cinnamon roll.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I repeated, but my voice was breathy now, and I couldn’t stop my fingers from threading through his hair.

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, glancing up at me with a look that made my heart skip a beat.

He shifted, getting off his knees fixing his now stained sweats and standing between my legs. Burying his head in the crook of my neck giving me some slightly wet kisses while suckling harshly in some spots.

Gripping the back in my head to get more access to make room to mark more areas.

“Mingi,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re gonna mess up my locs.”

He chuckled, the sound muffled against my skin, before pulling his head from my neck, he tilted his head to kiss the top of my faux locs, lingering for just a moment. “There. All fixed.”

“You’re impossible,” I said, resting cheek on his chest, as his finger found my chin making me look up at him.

“And you love me for it.” He leaned down to kiss me softly, his lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon even after licking his lips clean of my cum.

I sighed against his lips, knowing I’d lost this battle but not entirely upset about it. “Alright, munch. Sit down so I can do your makeup.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a playful salute, settling into the chair in front of me, after helping me off the vanity.

I picked up my foundation brush and started working, he watched me with a soft smile, his hands resting on my thighs pulling me close between his legs.

“Stop trying to distract me more,” I muttered, though I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said innocently, squeezing my thigh lightly.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t move his hand. Maybe he was impossible, but he was my impossible, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

#kpop #support the writers!#oneshot #gabi writes #ateez ambw #ateez fanfiction #ateez scenarios #mature audiences only #ateez #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #8m1t #mingi hard hours #mingi x black reader #black reader insert #black reader x mingi #black fem reader #ambw scenarios

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missnancywritesfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Grocery Shopping ft. Anemo Boys

(Based On Stuff My BF and I Have Done)

Characters: Venti, Xiao, Heizou, Kazuha, Wanderer(Scaramouche), Aether

Contains: Modern AU, Everyday Life, Fluff, Swears

A/N: I was at the grocery store and the idea popped in my head 🥰

VENTI - Humming Along To The Music

From the moment you stepped inside to the moment you leave. He will be humming. Tapping his finger to whatever royalty free song is playing over the speakers. You used to asked him why he never listened to his own music when you were shopping.

"But if I did that, then I'd be ignoring you. Isn't it better to be together in the moment?"

"Yeah, in the moment of Funky Town for the thirtieth time? I'm flattered."

It gets worse with every trip. It slowly evolves into mumbling the lyrics, then singing the lyrics out loud, swaying along to the music, and sometimes full on dancing with no remorse. Not a single bone of shame in his body, and you have to watch your boyfriend shake his ass while you facepalm.

"I am never taking you shopping again."

"We both know that's a big fat lie, babe. You love having me around~"

God, you hated his smug grin. Let this shopping trip be done as soon as humanly possible.

XIAO - Carry All The Groceries/Steer The Cart

He will always man the cart. Don't you dare take it away from him, he has pouted at you before when you absentmindedly grabbed one and started shopping.

You seriously have no clue why he enjoys it so much, but you can't complain, it gave you time to actually focus on picking what you wanted. And you didn't have to worry about navigating traffic in the aisles. But he will nudge the cart into you when you're taking too long, you'll always turn back to meet his glare.

"Are you done yet? We need to get a move on."

"Hey, I am the chef of the house. If you don't like how I pick the ingredients, you can cook for a change."

That'll usually shut him up. He'll still silently nudge the cart into you though, after a while you get the idea and pick up the pace. When you finish shopping, he will always take the heavier bags. Even when you offer, he insists that it isn't an issue and leave you with the lighter bags. Sometimes nothing at all.

You appreciate his help, not like you wanted to carry them anyways. You still have to scold him about being delicate with the eggs.

KAZUHA - Cannot Decide On What To Take

"Baby, for the love of god, please pick a thing and stick with it!"

You've been in the aisle for over five minutes, he can't decide on what kind of rice to buy. This isn't a price issue. Kazuha's stuck thinking in the longterm: What kind of rice is best? Should we buy a bulk bag to last longer? Which type will work best with dinner tonight? (It's Jasmin. Always Jasmin. Cheap and reliable.)

You don't care! You just want to be in any other aisle but this one! But you're being hypocritical, you've done the exact same and everytime he'll give you a specific look. Nothing else, not a frown, not even a smug grin, just a look.

"Okay, but why does this package say sugar-free but it has the same level in the nutrients on the back?" You pause and glance over, you frown. "What?"

"I haven't said anything, dear."

"You don't need to. I know that look, it's Kazuha for I'm Judging You."

HEIZOU - Comparing Item Prices

He's the type of person to lay out all his options and pick the cheapest one with the best quality. There may be meat on sale today, but he knows it's only because they're going to expire soon. This can be useful at times, no need for bottom tier food in your household.

But that's not the worse of it. Like many middle aged home owners, he will deliberately check for mistagged items so that he can get them at a discount price. There's an air fryer he's been eyeing for months that's too expensive for a leisure purchase, until the day he spots that it's been mistagged for thirty dollars cheaper than normal.

"Heizou, honey, we can just wait until it's actually on sale..."

"Ah ah~, the price labelled is the price offered. I will be taking my prize!"

"You're insufferable."

You're at the checkout, silently apologizing to the cashier and manager that are trying to find a way out of this predicament. Unfortunately for them, he gets the airfryer. And unfortunately for you, he doesn't stop using it for a loooong time.

WANDERER - Buy Old People Snacks

He doesn't like sweets. He visibly cringes everytime you pass by the bakery section or candy aisle, and you have a horrible sweet tooth that can never be quelled.

However, he's gotten into the habit of picking up dried cranberries of all things. Now, usually you don't pass judgement on his choices, despite him making it clear he doesn't care if you. Regardless, you can't help poking fun at him every once in a while.

"Pfft, nice choice granpa."

"Shut up, you shovel junk down your throat like it's your day job."

"Yeah, but at least I act my age."

"You mean five?"

If you ever, and I mean ever, try to take some for yourself. He will smack your hand away and give you the nastiest glare. Don't bother with whining or fake tears, you should've thought about that before insulting his food choice. You won't be able to steal any of his food for a good month.

AETHER - Asking Permission To Buy Stuff

You have no clue where it comes from. Before you started dating him, he and Paimon were impulsive spenders. They used to empty literal shelves and have more food then they knew what to do with (Paimon usually ate most of it in record time). But now, when you're heading down the aisle, he'd sheepishly hold a box of cereal, maybe cookies, or even fruit snacks- and give you the biggest puppy dog eyes possible.

"Aether, you are a grown man. You can buy whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Yes! Buy ten of 'em if you really want to!"

Okay, maybe that's a bit overboard. But you needed to exxagerate to make your stance clear. Maybe he was trying to be considerate of you? But you always split the bill when it came to paying for groceries, a couple extra dollars wasn't going to kill you. Especially not with your shared salaries.

But if you're not careful, Paimon might end up eating you out of house and home. So maybe he had the right idea about clearing these choices with you first.

#reader insert #genshin impact #fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #heizou x reader #kazuha x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #aether x reader #traveler x reader #modern au #swearing #domestic

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thefemmefatalexo · 7 days ago

Text

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 3 - Case Study: Nanami

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: Are you guys excited for the charity ball? I know I am… hehe.. not saying anything but chapter 5 is going to be interesting! As always: please let me know about your thoughts and opinions. Your comments are what keep me going! Smooches 💋💋💋

{chapter 2} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The café was quiet, with only a handful of patrons scattered across its small, dimly lit space. Soft music hummed in the background, mixing with the faint clink of cups and saucers. You were already seated at a corner table when Nanami arrived, right on time.

“Hey! You made it,” you greeted, your smile bright as you gestured to the seat across from you.

He gave a polite nod and sat down, setting his watch on the table where he could see it. “Thirty minutes,” he reminded you, his tone even but firm.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, Mr. Efficient. Thirty minutes. Let’s just enjoy the tea.”

A server appeared, and you quickly ordered a chai latte, while Nanami requested plain green tea.

“So,” you began once the server left, leaning forward slightly. “What do you think of the place? Cozy, right?”

“It’s quiet,” he said, his eyes scanning the room briefly before landing back on you.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a grin. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d even come. You don’t really seem like the tea-and-chat type.”

“I’m not,” he replied plainly, lifting his cup to his lips.

You laughed softly, not surprised. “Then what made you say yes? Just felt bad for me pestering you?”

“No. I thought this would settle your persistence,” he said, glancing briefly at his watch.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Oh, so you think one cup of tea is going to stop me? Bold assumption.”

He didn’t respond, taking another deliberate sip of his tea.

“Well,” you said, undeterred, “I hope I’m not making you regret it. This is a lot better than sitting in a library staring at spreadsheets, don’t you think?”

“The spreadsheets would be more productive,” he replied without missing a beat.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Ouch. I’m hurt.”

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t bite, his face neutral.

“Alright, new topic,” you pressed, refusing to let the conversation die. “What’s your favorite thing to learn about? Like, if you could study anything without worrying about time or money, what would it be?”

He paused, setting his cup down. “Something practical. Likely economics.”

“Of course,” you said with a soft laugh. “All logic, no fun. But I’ll give you credit—at least you answered.”

He gave a slight nod, his way of acknowledging your point.

“Okay, follow-up question,” you said, leaning forward. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to learn just for you? Like, something completely unrelated to work?”

“I don’t have hobbies,” he replied bluntly.

“Nothing at all?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“No,” he said, his tone as clipped as ever.

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, completely unfazed.

You huffed lightly but smiled to yourself. He was frustratingly closed off, but at least he showed up. That counted for something.

The server returned to clear your empty cups, and you realized with a pang that he was already glancing at his watch.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward. “Before you escape, just one last question. Promise it’s harmless.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop you.

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Somewhere quiet.”

“Of course,” you said, laughing softly. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Consistency is important,” he replied, standing and adjusting his watch.

You watched him push in his chair, already preparing to leave. “You know, you’re allowed to say this wasn’t so bad,” you teased, folding your arms.

“It served its purpose,” he said, nodding politely. “Thank you for the tea.”

You blinked at him, surprised by how abruptly he ended the conversation. “Oh, sure. Anytime!”

With a polite nod, he turned and walked out of the café, leaving you sitting alone at the table. Despite his walls and his detachment, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. He’d shown up, and for now, that was enough progress to keep you smiling.

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk smau #college au #modern au #lawyer au #kento x y/n #jjk kento #kento x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #x yn

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konigsblog · 6 months ago

Note

I’d like to direct those sending hate to people simply writing dark content to holding adult video sites accountable if they want to achieve some kind of moral victory.

There have been multiple instances of sites like 🌽 hub taking genuine footage of rape/SA and refusing to remove it even when requested multiple times by the victim. Some of their heavier ‘consensual’ bondage vids etc have been said to involve deliberately pushing expressed boundaries by female actors that have do things they didn’t originally agree to for fear of loosing their job. These are real people- their experiences are REAL and have a lasting physical, social and mental effect.

Ghost, König etc are not real. Y/n, is a reader insert of course, but you are never in genuine danger. Everything you ‘put yourself’ into in these fics, can stop at the press of a button. You can hate it, hate the author and never interact with them again- problem solved (If only y’all would do that). In real life? A SA/rape survivor has lived through it, suffers from it forever and might have the disgusting burden of having to see their assaulter in the flesh at work, home etc.

To insinuate that a piece of fanfic that can be ignored, that you CHOOSE to engage with is as equally abhorrent as the real act is disgusting. It’s downright offensive. It’s a great discredit to us victims and shows you don’t actually give a damn about us at all.

You’ll be silent when it’s time to hold a harmful industry accountable/silent in the face a thousand men saying that 🌽 actresses ‘deserve it’ but will continually send hate to what is a largely femme community for typing words on a screen that you could avoid so easily. Yeah, I know why, there’s a word for it starting with M :)

On that note, most of these people are dead silent on other fandom issues which proves it’s vendetta, not justice based. They don’t actually care about making it a ‘safe place’ (which is impossible, that’s no one else’s responsibility but your own). Not a peep about racism, for example- can’t be assed making fandom more accessible and less exclusive to POC, gotta go out of their way to harass authors though!

You don’t have to like dark content, or even the authors. You can have limits, disdain bad tagging practices, question respectfully why someone might want to read/write such content, but don’t you dare use victims as a scapegoat or insinuate that you are in any way justified if you choose to harass or bully. Do better; focus your energy somewhere actually productive and deserving of criticism, or shut up and move on.

I agree with absolutely everything you said. These are the same people that consume pornography via porn sites, then sit and complain about people having rape fantasies and consuming dark fiction (key word: fiction). They care more about people's kinks and fantasies and decisions in the bedroom (where both parties have consented beforehand), then they do about the REAL rape tapes on porn sites. It's not just rape either, there's a lot of incredibly fucked-up, illegal, and sickening things on these sites that I won't get into. People have their trauma published, profited off of, and are violated for money, and these sites never take these videos down either.

They care too much about their comfort character being portrayed in a way they don't agree with to focus on the poor souls who have had their trauma uploaded online – and to make money off! Are the COD characters real, or am I missing something? They're fictional characters. Just because you don't agree with a headcannon doesn't mean that everyone else also disagrees. It doesn't determine their morality. And honestly, do I really think these hateful and spiteful people are victims of some form of assault? No, I don't. Because victims of SA/rape (who cope differently) filter things out to prevent themselves from getting triggered. I don't think that these hate anons are actually triggered by the content I upload and just want to judge others for coping differently. They just want to seem more moral – as if your mortality depends on your coping mechanisms/fantasies are. If you don't want to watch a video, you wouldn't choose to watch it anyways. You wouldn't force yourself to watch the entire thing, then come to the comment section and cry about how you're not interested in the topics featured in the video. You watching that video was a decision you made, a choice. You wouldn't take a kid to a horror film that's clearly 18+, then scream at the film directors for creating it in the first place. If you're not the intended audience, then don't stay. There is an audience of people who do enjoy dark fiction, and just because you don't, doesn't mean that it can't exist. The world doesn't only revolve around you. It's selfish and small-minded.

You get taught about fiction and non-fiction in Primary school, and yet here we are, have to tell adults (or at least people who claim they're 18+) the difference between the two. If you can't draw a line between fantasy and reality, then you shouldn't have access to the internet. That's irresponsibility. It's people wanting to be saviours, act as if they have the moral high ground because they disagree and think that it makes them a better person, when it doesn't. If anything, them constantly harassing innocent writers is worse than what they try to portray us dark content writers as. These are the same people wishing rape, death, and doxxing towards writers who have done nothing but be respectful and give out warnings before a story. Dark fiction writers have more empathy and sympathy than these puritans who think they're on top of the world for coping differently, because we actually understand that there are different mechanisms to cope after being sexually assaulted.

I will never apologise for writing what I write. I refuse to walk on eggshells around these anons simply because they can't act mature and manage their own triggers. These people won't bother reading the articles that I've linked countless times, or listen to this entire post. Because they're narrow-minded, that's what narrow-minded folk do. They don't hear other opinions or think for a second, that maybe, just maybe, they're being disrespectful. They claim we're romanticising rape by writing it, but don't bother learning what romanticising actually is. I've said countless times that rape is a disgusting, violating crime that deserves years of punishment. I don't describe what these characters do as IDEAL or something to WANT, if anything, I describe them as horrible people because that's how I see them. They're in the military for God's sake...

When they send hate to an author's askbox, do they think for a second about the effect it'll have? Victims go through years of self hatred and disgust after being traumatised, and when they find a coping mechanism, do you think they want to be told that they deserve to be raped again, or that they're disgusting, or that they're supporting the vile crime? Of course they don't, because they don't support victims at all.

These people are too illiterate to read this entire post. If anything, it'll go right through them. In one ear and out the other. Am I also responsible for the media they consume? As in, horror films? Will I hold their hand and cradle them, rock them to sleep because they don't want to take responsibility? That's life. You have responsibilities. You can't just drop them because you feel like it and then put it on a writer's shoulders because YOU weren't thinking.

And sure, I can see how dark fiction can possibly affect reality. But, that's not my responsibility. If someone is has the urge to rape someone, that's an issue on their behalf, caused by mental illness. I can't control what people do, just like how film directors can't control the effect that their work will have. If people get themselves off to my content, that's not my responsibility. Writers and film directors aren't responsible for the effect it'll have on others, because there are a plethora of factors that can change a reaction towards certain content, like mental illness, for example. Mental illness plays a huge factor.

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queerian · 6 months ago

Text

in response to the call for discussion on stone identities

prompted by last week's stream with @drdemonprince and @testdevice

this post is about sex and it's very personal! feel free to ignore if very personal essays about sex from your internet friends or strangers is not your idea of a good time

What does sex look like for you, and what brings you the most pleasure or gratification from it?

It starts with a sensory warmup. My partner touches me gently and slowly in a way that wakes my body up to pleasure. I do not get aroused without either being touched this way or thinking about some extremely specific niche freak kink shit. I tend to be nonverbal during sex, unless I need to break "scene" and communicate something specific purposefully, but sometimes it's hard for me to find my words again. Even without speaking I am very expressive. My partner can tell from my reactions when an escalation would be enjoyable. They use their hands and toys. They are very good with their hands, and we have a LOT of toys and other paraphernalia. I had never had an orgasm, at all, in my life, til we did things this way. It is an intense physical pleasure extended to far longer than I can manage by myself during solo activities, sometimes for hours. It allows me to stop my over-analytical thinking brain for a while and sink into sensation and feeling and being in my body, which most of the time I feel disconnected from (thanks alexithymia!) or troubled by. I do think of it as a somewhat meditative state. This kind of sex is also extremely collaborative and intimate. There is a huge amount of trust and being "in tune" with each other.

Is your stone identity related to sensory issues, neurodivergence, or trauma?

All three! I was never coerced into sex by individual partners, but "sex positive" culture (if you were with me you'd see the face I make while doing the scare quotes) has been coercive enough to traumatize me into believing that I am a bad person if I don't "give as good as I get" and that I'm a terrible person if I don't want to reciprocate stimulation in sex. I've been working on this one for years. It still has its claws in me.

Sensory issues make certain sex activities unpleasant or not enjoyable for me, and I appreciate now being able to choose to not do them. For example open mouth kissing. I like kissing skin in some body places, I like having some of my body parts kissed, but I do not like sharing saliva or breath. I've always been very picky about what goes in my mouth for sensory reasons, and that's not just a sex thing. On the other hand, other kinds of sensory stimulation in sex can be extremely pleasurable for me. I also tend to keep my eyes closed the entire time (I avoid eye contact at the best of times but in sex it's uhhhhhh even more Too Intense) and this lets me sink into other sensory experiences more intensely.

The neurodivergence bit I think is pretty clear from everything else I've said in this piece of writing.

How did you figure out you were stone?

I once turned to aceness as a way of trying to validate myself at the same time as problematizing my own lack of "appropriate" desire. "It is it wrong of me to not want to touch someone's genitals, whatever they may be, to not want to get them off, to not even let them get themselves off using my body, and it's wrong of me to not desire them carnally, to not be obsessed with and fulfilled by them romantically. Thus, I must be ace and aro, because that means it's okay to not want all that sometimes or all the time."

I've come to call myself a "stone bottom" in a deliberate effort of self-acceptance and self-validation. I was long aware of the idea of a stone top, a touch-me-not, someone who derives pleasure and gratification from getting her/their partners off but does not want to be fucked or gotten off. I don't recall seeing anyone else identify as a stone bottom, but as a mirror image of a stone top it makes perfect sense to me: someone who derives pleasure and gratification from being gotten off, from being touched or fucked, but does not want to get their partners off. I think I've only ever seen that called "selfish" unless it was in a power exchange scenario and part of dominance and submission.

Are you a gay man who identifies as stone, or a stone bottom, or some other identity that's less often talked about?

I'm non-binary/agender and generally perceived by society as a woman. I have a vagina. I've only ever had sex with people who have penises. I feel like it's pretty unusual for me to be a person with a vagina having sex with a person who has a penis and the penis is not involved at all in the sex. With previous partners, it's not just that it was expected that at some point they would be sticking it in me, it's that I never got to opt out of someone else using me, even gently, lovingly, and with attention to my pleasure. See aforementioned cultural trauma, lol. Reciprocation simply was not something I could abstain from without being a Grade A Asshole. Back then, I didn't even "actively want to not reciprocate". I wanted to be "good, giving, and game", like Dan Savage wrote you should be in his column that I read in my hunger to know more about sex and be having it a "correct, right" way. I wasn't yearning to be a stone bottom. I didn't know that was even an option. I didn't know it was possible to be a pillow princess and to have a partner that enjoyed this kind of sex, for it not to be a chore or imposition on them, and for this kind of sex to be a mutual sharing of intimacy.

Plenty of people buck the stereotypical straight cis sex scenario of "man (penis haver) does a little "foreplay" for the woman (vagina haver) to get her ready for the main event (penis in vagina), which they do til he ejaculates, and if she's lucky he'll eat her out or rub her clit and she might also get an orgasm." There's a thriving counter-culture where "reciprocal sexual gratification" is emphasized, all sorts of books and guides and tips and porn showing how important it is that "she comes first" or whatever, but most of it still centres around the point that "reciprocity is essential to not being an asshole". If he's an asshole for not appropriately tending to her pleasure, surely she would be, too, for ignoring his. And I really, really strongly internalized the belief that if I am not reciprocating, I am an unforgivable asshole. There's something, too, about the lack of "balance" that has long made me feel morally incorrect. (Points again at the neurodivergence.)

Is it a struggle to get partners to respect it?

I have not dated much, and I have not fucked much, mostly because I did not want to do either of those things enough to do less interesting or more tiresome things in order to achieve sex or dating. I also rarely experience what I'll call "sufficiently motivating attraction". I currently identify as nebulously "somewhere" on the asexual and aromantic spectra, and this is inseparable from the stone bottom/pillow princess situation. All of this is also wrapped up in my one ongoing relationship with my partner. I honestly don't know how differently things would be with another partner. I suspect I have facets that come out in different contexts, in response to different people and my feelings about them. What I do know with confidence is that my partner respects me, understands me quite well, and we communicate openly and frequently about things. I trust that if they have an issue with the current situation, they'll bring it up and we can talk about it and work on things. I trust that every time we have sex, they're initiating because they want to just as I can decline if and when I want to. I particularly appreciate the fact that I don't have to be an object of desire. That they can enjoy making me feel good, and it's not about "having" me. The very fact that someone just wants to make me feel good, over and over again, is pretty mind-blowing.

#autevi sexblogging #queerian

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j-k-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Doomsday

Summary - (Y/N) just wants to spend his senior year with his head kept down and his best friend at his side. But like always, his wants mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, and not even a week into his second to last semester things come crashing down.

Warnings - General Gen V warnings, heavy drug use, blood and violence, child abuse (mostly just implied and discussed nothing graphic), canon character death(s), suicide, murder

12 Years Ago

His joints screamed at him as he scaled his way up the side of the house, his cut-up hands leaving behind crimson stains on the light brick as he went. He’d slipped halfway up; the resulting near-fall had left his left knee skinned and his jeans ruined, but he just ignored it and continued to climb. He was out of breath by the time he managed to crawl the already open window of his best friend’s room, and he’d been crying since his back door slammed behind him on his way out of the house, leaving him a panting, sobbing mess.

He didn’t bother turning around before he began his rant, wiping harshly at the tears rolling down his cheeks, “I can’t live with them anymore- they’re- they’re the worst! My dad threw a bible at-”

He turned around and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a stranger standing in Luke’s room, the boy himself nowhere to be found. His hackles were immediately raised at the sight of the man. Especially because he could feel the all too familiar tingle under his skin that meant his skinned knee was knitting itself back together, he took note that it started quicker this time and pinned the observation away for later.

The man raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly to himself as he took in (Y/N)’s appearance. “Hello.”

“Where’s Luke?” (Y/N) frowned, and the man laughed, which only caused (Y/N)’s frown to deepen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, (Y/N) thought as Luke burst into the room. Whatever the pre-teen was about to say died on the tip of his tongue at (Y/N)’s appearance, and his face flushed with anger or embarrassment; (Y/N) couldn’t tell.

“Again?” Ah, anger then. (Y/N) nodded, looking down at the floor. “What happened this time?”

(Y/N) shrugged, “‘s not that big of a deal. I can come back later.”

Luke shook his head, pushing past the mysterious man, “And go back?”

Again (Y/N) shrugged.

“I’ll ask my parents if you can stay over,” Luke said, lowering his voice as if he just remembered they were in the presence of company. “You know if you just let me tell them they could-”

“No.” Luke just sighed at his friend’s stubbornness, turning around- probably to go find his parents- and stopped at the sight of the man. “Oh. Sorry, (Y/N), this is Professor Brink.”

“Nice to meet you.” (Y/N) said before his father’s nagging voice entered his head, and he added a “Sir.”

Professor Brink looked amused at the boy and turned to Luke. “Do you mind if I talk to- (Y/N) was it?” (Y/N) nodded, and Brink smiled. “Do you mind if I talked to (Y/N) for a moment, Luke?”

“Uh- yeah sure.” Luke made a hasty exit leaving (Y/N) alone with the strange professor. Brink motioned for him to sit and after a few seconds of deliberation, (Y/N) took a seat on the edge of Luke’s bed, eyeing the man up warily.

“You’re a supe.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“What can you do?”

“What’s it matter to you?” (Y/N) snapped, clenching his fists at his side. He tensed as soon as the words escaped his mouth, but the man simply laughed.

“I’m a professor at Godolkin University.” Brink said. “Do you know what that is?”

“I’m not dumb.” Again the man laughed.

“I never said you were, in fact, I can tell you’re quite bright. Am I right?” (Y/N) just shrugged. “How long have you had your powers, (Y/N)?”

“A couple months”

“And how old are you?”

“Nine.”

“Same age as Luke then.” (Y/N) nodded, and Brink seemed pleased with his answer. “I am going to tell you why I’m here, and then after you’re going to tell me why you are. Got it?”

“Fine.”

“I’m here because your friend Luke is going to be bigger than Homelander,” Brink said, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened at the statement. His Luke, his Luke who couldn’t sit on furniture for too long unless you preferred your chairs charred and blackened, bigger than Homelander? No shot. “Now, you haven’t told me what you can do yet, kid, but based on the little show I just got-” (Y/N) flushed. “-I can take a pretty good guess.”

“It’s nothing special.” (Y/N) mumbled, Brink’s gaze made him squirm in his seat. “I can just heal, and they- they uh say I’m pretty smart, but I don’t know- it’s lame.”

“Nonsense,” Brink said, and (Y/N) took a proper look at the man for the first time since climbing in through the window. “Luke has told me a lot about you, (Y/N).”

“He has?”

“Oh yes.” Brink’s smile widened. “In fact I think you two can become quite the team. What do you think?”

Present Day

(Y/N) jolted upright as the ice-cold water came crashing down on him, the momentum of his body causing him to tumble out of bed, hitting the floor with a loud crash. He groaned as his face smashed into the floor, feeling the bones of his nose crack and reset just as quickly as the man above him laughed.

“What do you want?” (Y/N) said, picking himself off the floor. He stripped, throwing the now wet clothes across the room.

“I have training.”

“Exactly-” (Y/N) said as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head. “-you have training.”

“You said you’d come watch.” Luke picked a pair of jeans off the floor and tossed them at him.

(Y/N) laughed at the pout on his friend’s face, catching the jeans easily and sliding them on. “When?”

“A few days ago?” Luke said, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

(Y/N) shrugged, picking a hoodie up off the ground, and Luke only frowned. He watched as Luke walked over to his desk, taking a look at the clutter of substances from the night before that (Y/N) had no doubt forgotten to put away before crashing into bed. Luke ran his finger in a line down the desk, and when he pulled away, his fingertip was dusted white.

“As if you’re one to talk, Riordan.” (Y/N) snapped, hackles rising before Luke could even open his mouth to speak.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything.” Luke brushed his finger off, walking over toward (Y/N). He grabbed (Y/N)'s face, forcing the young adult to look him in the eyes as he spoke. His eyes flicked up and down (Y/N)'s face as if studying him and (Y/N) couldn’t help but flush under his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Luke’s grip tightened, “Don’t lie to me.”

“Just some bad dream ‘s all.” (Y/N) said, and Luke relaxed. “Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

“And whose fault is that?” Luke laughed, swinging his arm over (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulling him in close as they exited the room.

(Y/N) put his hood up, drawing the strings tight as soon as they stepped outside. He was vaguely aware of Luke’s snide comment about his reclusive nature, but the loud sound of the people around them drowned him out. (Y/N) cringed and stepped away as people came up to take selfies and chat with Luke, but Luke held on tight to his shoulders the entire walk to the gym as if he was scared (Y/N) was going to disappear if he let go for even a second. (Y/N) wanted to smile at the gesture, but the tight grip on his shoulder began to hurt the further they walked. When (Y/N) lit a cigarette, and Luke didn’t pause once to make a sarcastic comment about his self-healing lungs, (Y/N) stopped in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Luke looked startled by (Y/N)'s question, taking in their surroundings before speaking.

“Nothing.” (Y/N) scoffed, and Luke immediately crumbled. “Just a nightmare. I’ll tell you later.”

(Y/N)'s brows furrowed, but he accepted the explanation in stride. Mimicking Luke’s gesture from earlier (Y/N) wrapped his arm around Luke’s neck, smiling to himself when it forced a laugh from the brunette's mouth. They walked the rest of the way like that, arms thrown over each other and laughing.

(Y/N)'s smile fell as they entered the gym, and Luke adjusted his stance to cover his friend from the prying eyes of their audience.

“Just ignore them,” Luke whispered, moving closer to (Y/N) to be heard over the crowd. And (Y/N) stepped out from under his arm when he felt Luke’s lip graze his ear. Luke frowned at the action, chalking up (Y/N)'s sudden nervousness to the crowd around them, “Hey, they’re just a little rowdy. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m fine.” (Y/N) gave him his best attempt at a smile. “They’re just loud and I’m hungover.”

(Y/N) couldn't tell if Luke believed him as his best friend’s eyes fell on a figure behind him and his face lit up. (Y/N) turned to see what Luke was looking at, and as soon as his eyes fell on the blonde he froze.

Luke made his way over to Cate, grinning from ear to ear, and (Y/N) took a step back, hoping to fade into the crowd surrounding them. He wrinkled his nose as the two kissed, a bit too obscene for PDA, in (Y/N)'s opinion, but before he could voice his thoughts on it, he felt an arm make its way around his shoulder, and he jumped.

Andre laughed at (Y/N)'s reaction, causing (Y/N) to shove him off. “Dickhead.”

“Shocked to see you here,” Andre said, “I was betting on you bailing.”

“Didn’t even get the chance.” (Y/N) sighed, and Andre laughed.

“Alright tongue in your head, head in the game. Yes, you.” Andre approached Luke and Cate, who were still swapping spit. “Thank you, and thank you.”

“Uh, dude, I am not sweating The Incredible Steve.” Luke said as he approached Andre and (Y/N), throwing his arms around both of them. “Or anyone that has ‘The’ in their name.”

“I hope not. I got ten grand on you.” Andre said, and (Y/N) snorted softly.

“Alright, well, we’ll split it fifty-fifty, huh?” Luke said. “Or else I throw the match.”

Andre froze, before laughing when he realized Luke was joking. “Fuck you. Asshole. Kick his ass.”

“Loveable asshole.” Luke said as he approached the man waiting for him on the other side of the mat, and Andre and (Y/N) took a step back.

(Y/N) tried to pay attention to the fight, but the noise of the crowd, the brightness of the sun, and Andre’s odd glances in his direction distracted him throughout. He spent most of the fight squinting at the ground and feeling the beginnings of a migraine. A robe was thrust into his hands as the crowd began to chant his best friend’s name, and (Y/N) finally looked up.

Luke walked over to them, completely starker, and (Y/N) practically threw the robe at him. He got a small thank you for his troubles before Luke and Andre walked toward where Steve was laid out on the ground sans arms. Luke and Andre reattached Steve’s arms before helping him up. With a pat on the shoulder, Luke sent the man on his way and made his way back over to where (Y/N) was standing with Cate.

“Lunch?”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling over in search of the sudden warmth that filled his bed. He wrapped his arms around the body, smiling softly to himself at the laugh he felt vibrating through their body. It took him about fifty seconds to remember that he went to bed alone last night and that there shouldn’t be another person in his bed, and when his brain processed the thought, he shot upright.

His face burned as Luke doubled over, laughing at (Y/N)'s flustered sputtering.

“I didn’t know you were a cuddler,” Luke said, and (Y/N) flopped back down on his bed with a groan. He grabbed the covers to cover his face, but Luke caught the other end. (Y/N) tugged at his end, but Luke simply tugged once and (Y/N)’s grip broke.

“Fuck off.” (Y/N) turned over, hiding his face in his pillow.

“Come on,” Luke threw himself over (Y/N), who grunted at the new weight on top of him. “I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me then.” (Y/N) said, his words muffled by his pillow. “But ‘m not moving.”

Luke laughed, his breath hitting (Y/N)’s ear and causing gooseflesh to run down his neck. “If you weren’t so lazy you could have beaten me out of my number one spot years ago.”

“‘M not lazy.” (Y/N) said, “And I doubt that.”

“Well,” (Y/N) could feel his smile against his neck as Luke spoke. “It’s a good thing you didn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re about to be best friends with a member of The Seven.”

At that, (Y/N) turned over, confused. Luke adjusted his position on top of (Y/N) as the boy turned over onto his back, falling off to lie next to him, his head propped up on his hand. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Luke just continued to smile at (Y/N), and slowly but surely, the pieces began to connect in the boy’s mind. “You’re going to The Seven?”

Luke nodded.

“When?”

“Straight after graduation.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“Holy shit, congrats.” (Y/N) threw himself at Luke, wrapping him up in a tight hug and causing his best friend to laugh. He pulled back, “That’s amazing, I mean, this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

At that, Luke’s smile dimmed. Just for a second before it was back in full force, and Luke agreed with him, but it was enough for (Y/N) to notice and frown. Luke noticed his frown and paused, “What?”

“You’re not happy.” (Y/N) said.

Luke froze, “What? Of course I’m happy. Like you said, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah, but-” (Y/N) paused, he took in Luke’s agitated stance and decided against finishing his thought. He had months to pick apart Luke’s insecurities and inner workings before he was fully committed to The Seven, so he put the conversation in the back of his mind for another day. “Never mind, I’m being stupid. Do the others know?”

“No.” Luke smiled again. “Just you, me, and Brink.”

“When are you going to tell them?”

Luke shrugged, “I don’t know yet. Probably tonight- we’re going out, and you’re coming, by the way.” (Y/N) groaned at the idea, and Luke lightly swatted his shoulder. “I mean it, no excuses this time.”

“I have work from Brink.” (Y/N) started, and Luke scoffed. “I mean it! I do!”

“Well, finish it quick,” Luke said, rolling over and off the bed. “You’re coming out with us tonight, no matter what.”

(Y/N) opened his mouth to argue again, but Luke cut him off. “I never see you anymore man. I miss you.”

Like a house of cards, (Y/N) immediately folded at Luke’s words. He nodded, already planning his day in his head so that he could finish Brink’s assignment before leaving for the night, and the way Luke’s face lit up as he exited the room made the extra stress worth it.

(Y/N) groaned as the wind blew his lighter out again, and he huddled further in on himself, cupping the flame as he desperately tried to get his cigarette lit. Two new hands cupped the flame, and (Y/N) looked up, making eye contact with Jordan. He gave them a nod of thanks when the flame caught on the end of his cigarette. Jordan walked away from him after that, back to where Andre was talking about some freshman he’d invited to come out with them.

(Y/N) had learned to tune the metal-controlling boy out within weeks of meeting him, so his words were going in one ear and out the other. (Y/N) didn’t care much about what poor girl Andre was trying to pick up this time, he didn’t care much about any of the people Andre, Jordan, or Cate brought along with them, in fact. He was only here for Luke.

He watched the four supes pass the flask back and forth, laughing to themselves as they did. These were Luke’s friends, not his. They were on the same path as Luke, on their way to being big shot supes for Vought. (Y/N) was on his way to an early death or spending the rest of his life as a recluse on the edge of society, either one was fine with him. There was no love lost between him and Vought. He was content with being Luke’s childhood best friend who got dragged along because he knew realistically, one day soon, he wouldn’t even be that.

“Oh! Told you.” The sound of Andre’s voice (Y/N) diverted his full attention to the people around him. “This is Marie. She’s the one that I was telling you guys about.”

“Hey. I’m Luke.” Luke approached the girl. “Uh, this is Cate.”

“I know who you are.” (Y/N) almost laughed at the starstruck look on the girl’s face. Her eyes drifted from Luke to Cate and then shockingly to (Y/N). “I know every- nice to meet you.”

“Uh, that’s (Y/N),” Luke pointed to him, and he gave Marie a nod of acknowledgment. “And that’s Jordan.”

“Yeah, we’ve met.”

“You gonna reject me from this outing, too?” Marie said, and at that, (Y/N) did laugh.

“I’d love to.” Jordan snapped, but Andre stepped in between the two of them.

“No, play nice.” Andre said. “Or I will not share my drugs with you.”

Andre opened the door of Luke’s car for Cate, and (Y/N) finally moved from his spot in the darkness to approach the group.

“Come on, we’ll take my car,” Luke said to Marie, and as soon as (Y/N) was in touching distance, he reached over and grabbed him. “You’re with me too.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

Luke just smiled at him, pushing him toward the car before opening the driver-side door to get in. (Y/N) didn’t bother with the seat belt as Luke drove off but was pleasantly amused that Marie had. He opened the window, lighting up another cigarette.

“Put that shit out,” Luke called from the driver's seat, and (Y/N) simply took a drag blowing it in Luke’s direction with a smug smile. Marie eyed the two carefully, but Luke just laughed off (Y/N)'s action. “Not everyone’s lungs can heal on demand, (Y/N).”

“Pity.”

Marie was quiet throughout the drive, only speaking when directly spoken to. (Y/N) almost pitied the poor girl, and he hoped he was wrong about Andre’s intentions with her. She was too quiet and innocent by the way her eyes widened when (Y/N) broke out a baggy of white powder to just be another notch on Andre’s bedpost.

When they pulled onto the block where Seven Tower stood tall, (Y/N) caught Luke’s eye through the rearview mirror. Luke shrugged, smiling, and (Y/N) just shook his head. If (Y/N) thought Marie was starstruck before, it was nothing compared to the look in the girl’s eyes as they climbed up to the roof of the tower.

“Holy shit.” She said under her breath, and (Y/N) let out a soft laugh.

“It’s something alright.” (Y/N) said, and Marie was startled, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She gave him a small smile and a nod, walking to the set of stairs that led to a small elevated platform near the ledge.

(Y/N) let her walk off, making his way over to where Andre had started taking bottles and baggies out of his bag. (Y/N) watched as Luke spotted Marie and left the group to walk in her direction. He frowned to himself, but his attention was quickly caught by the bottle being shoved into his hands by Andre.

“I can’t believe you’re here, dude,” Andre said as (Y/N) tipped the bottle back, gagging slightly as he did so. Andre slung his arm over (Y/N)'s shoulder, making the bottle spill slightly on Jordan, who was standing next to him. “I bet Jordan a hundred bucks that you would make up an excuse not to come.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at Jordan who just laughed, “I did not take the bet.”

“I tried.” (Y/N) said, passing the bottle to Cate. “Luke wouldn’t have it.”

“Thank god for that.” Andre shoved a bagging into his hand.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur to (Y/N) between the booze and the drugs. There were times in his life when he was grateful for the Compound V flowing through his veins, and every single time was when he’d consumed enough substances to kill an average human.

He doesn’t remember how they got to the club, and he vaguely remembers Cate pushing the bouncer into letting them in with no questions asked. His memory kicked back in as soon as Luke got him to take a seat on the mysteriously sticky club chairs. (Y/N) gave a grateful hum as his ass hit the leather, sinking in and letting his head fall back against the back of the chair.

“You guys in?” Andre asked, waving around yet another baggy.

“Is that cocaine?” Marie said, and once again the word innocent popped up in (Y/N)'s mind.

“(Y/N) finished all the coke-” (Y/N) smacked them on the arm. “It’s Molly.”

“Hey, I don’t really fuck with powders.” Luke said, leaning in close to Marie. “ “But I do microdose shrooms.”

“So what do you say freshman?”

“Um.” Marie gave an awkward laugh. “No thank you.”

“You know I could take my glove off and make you.” Cate said, “I won’t. Cause I’m all about consent. But I could, so you should.”

(Y/N) thought he made a comment at Cate’s statement, but he couldn’t remember if it was in his head or if he managed to say it out loud. It didn’t matter as Marie nervously licked her finger and stuck it in the open bag, taking the drugs to the delight of the young adults around her. Before Marie could process what happened, Cate dragged her away to dance.

“I told you.” Andre said.

“Yeah. She’s cool.” Jordan smiled, and (Y/N) gave a hum.

“She’s innocent.” He said, and all eyes turned to him as if they’d forgotten he was there.

“She’s just a freshman.” Luke said. “We were innocent once.”

(Y/N) gave a noncommittal shrug, and Luke frowned at the motion. Jordan stood up, giving them all an excuse about getting drinks, and (Y/N) let himself fall back into his hazy bliss.

Andre and Luke continued to talk around him. (Y/N) was included in this conversation, but he doesn't remember if he said anything, and if he did, he doesn't remember what. He remembers Luke telling Andre about his upcoming move into Seven Tower, and he remembers Andre practically tackling Luke off the seats in excitement.

“There she is,” Luke said as Jordan sat back down, and (Y/N) opened his eyes, taking in Jordan’s new appearance.

“You changed. Why?”

“Cause I fucking felt like it.” Jordan said, and (Y/N) whispered a small “Good for you’” that Jordan chuckled at. “Also free drinks.”

“True. Cheers.”

“To the Seven.” Andre said, and Jordan’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion before it clicked in their head. “Fucking Seven.”

“Quiet down. I just told you.” Luke tapped his glass against Andre’s anyway.

“You gotta invite me to the Tower.” Andre said, leaning back into the leather. “Cause I crush hard on A-train. A speedster in bed?”

“Making a mental note right now to never invite you.”

“It is the least surprising surprise ever, but congrats. When do you start?”

“You mean when do I leave so you can finally be ranked number one?” Luke joked, but Jordan just scoffed.

“Please. That’d be great but the trustees think I’m too confusing. No way I’ll be number one.” They said, bitterness lacing their tone like venom.

“The trustees put you in the orientation video.” (Y/N) rolled his eyes at Andre’s statement.

“Yeah, so they could suck their own dicks about how progressive they are.”

“Okay, well Brink does carry a lot of weight with them and he loves you.” Luke tried to reassure them. “I mean you’re like his favorite son/daughter. I think you got a shot.”

“You’re thinking of (Y/N),” Jordan said, pointing at the man in question as they did so. “His actual son.”

“Adopted.” (Y/N) mumbled, unsure if his voice was carrying across the table with all the noise around them.

“Still, if he’s gonna make anyone number one it’ll be you.” (Y/N) made a face at the statement which got him a few laughs from the people around him.

“(Y/N) will have to be sober for more than three hours if he wants to be number one.” Andre said, and (Y/N) just flipped him the bird. “Plus he’ll have to actually start attending his combat classes.”

“Fuck combat.” (Y/N) said, and Andre simply pointed at him as if to say ‘See I told you so.’

“Still, it’ll be either (Y/N) or Andre, as much as that pisses me off.” Jordan shrugged, and (Y/N) could see that it bothered them more than they were letting on. In a more stable state, and if it wasn’t Jordan Li, he might have tried to offer words of assurance. But as it was, he was losing his battle with the fog that was threatening to overtake him completely at any second, and he really only tried to use his words with Luke.

“That- that responsibility and having to work with my dad.” Andre shivered. “Fuck that. That’s all you. I will cheer you on as I continue to suck and fuck my little heart out.”

(Y/N) hummed in agreement, an all too familiar blackness softening the edges of his vision.

“But you, you worked your fucking ass of for this. And I’m proud of you.” Andre said to Luke. “I love you man.”

“Love you.”

Andre left them after that, someone catching his eye from across the room, and (Y/N) let himself fade further into the fog. He vaguely registered Luke talking to him, but he doesn’t remember what about or if he even managed a response. At some point, Jordan had relaxed into his side, mumbling something nonsensical into his ear. But the next thing he truly remembers is being hauled off the couch urgently, the sound of screams echoing around him.

The incident itself is blurry, overshadowed by the screaming and sudden dizziness that came with being hauled to his feet way too fast. He remembers people calling out his name for help, and Jordan telling them-

“No way. He’s too high to try and do something. He’ll just make it worse.”

And he remembers watching Marie kneel to the ground, hand outstretched towards a girl lying on the floor bloody. There’s cheers and murmurs as she stands up, outfit ruined by blood, and the group of them rush out of the club into the chilled air.

After that it all goes black.

He coughed, chest twinging in pain, as the alarm went off. He threw back five painkillers and kept the lights off as he dressed. As he gathered his papers for Brink, throwing them haphazardly into his bag, he decided two things-

One: He was never blindly agreeing to anything Luke asked him ever again.

Two: He was going to kill Luke’s friends, Luke, and then possibly himself if his head didn’t stop pounding by the time he walked over to Brink’s office.

He’d hoped that years of near constant substance abuse would train his abilities into curing hangovers as fast as they did cuts and bruises, but it seems his powers hadn’t quite gotten with the program yet. Still he was grateful that the longest they ever seemed to last was a few hours.

He made his way through campus like a dead man, hood up and eyes down. His research wasn’t due, if one could call a favor for their adoptive father due, till later in the day, and as the sun blinded him, he considered just going back to his dorm and waiting the hangover out in the darkness. But (Y/N) didn’t plan on being sober come four o’clock, and he was hoping to push any lectures Brink had on how a supe should present themself in public till later in the semester.

When he reached the crime fighting building he really wished he’d just given into his whims and gone back to his dorm.

“What the fuck? Luke?” (Y/N) shouted, rushing over to where Andre and Marie were standing across from his best friend. His very much on fire, best friend.

“Fuck everyone else. It’s just me and you.” Andre said as Luke looked around them frantically. Andre didn’t even notice (Y/N)'s approach, his eyes solely focused on the man in front of him. “You know I love you.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Luke responded.

“Hey.” Andre caught sight of (Y/N) as soon as (Y/N) reached him. He grabbed (Y/N)'s arm, forcing him to take a step closer to Luke whose eyes were frantically looking between his two best friends. “Look (Y/N)'s here, whatever happened just tell us and we’ll get through it.”

Luke’s flames went out, and he rushed the two men. (Y/N) barely registered Marie’s shout behind him before Luke engulfed Andre in a hug. The two men spoke lowly to one another, and as quick as he had rushed Andre Luke pulled away, looking to (Y/N).

His cheeks were stained with tears, and he began to sob even harder when he made eye contact with (Y/N). Luke collapsed into (Y/N)'s arms, causing him to stumble back.

“Luke, what’s going on?” (Y/N) whispered, a lump forming in his throat.

“I am so sorry. I love you, and I’m so sorry.” Luke sobbed into his shoulder, and (Y/N) held him tighter.

“I love you too.” His eyes watered as he spoke. “Luke, you’re scaring me, what the fuck is going on?”

“I am so sorry, but I had to,” Luke said, and (Y/N) felt tears begin to slip down his cheeks. Luke turned his head, whispering something in (Y/N)'s ear that made him freeze. He loosened his hold on Luke, pulling away just enough to look Luke in his eyes.

“Luke?”

“I am so sorry,” Luke said one last time, pressing a kiss to (Y/N)'s hair. (Y/N) watched, eyes wide, as Luke took a step back. He ignited himself, pushing off the ground and into the air. He watched as he flew higher and higher, getting brighter the higher he went until (Y/N) had to close his eyes to shield them from the light.

When (Y/N) opened his eyes again he was covered in blood. Luke’s blood.

#gen v #x male reader #x reader #x y/n #gen v x male reader #gen v x reader #gen v x you #luke riordan #jordan li #marie moreau #cate dunlap #andre anderson #marie moreau x reader #marie moreau x male reader #marie moreau x you #jordan li x male reader #jordan li x you #jordan li x reader

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iamqueenpotato · 2 years ago

Text

I Hate That I Love You - Part Five

Azriel x Reader

A/N- Here is part five! Took a bit longer than I planned, life decided to get crazy out of nowhere but what is new haha Anyways here ya go! I hope you guys enjoy it and thank you again for being amazing!

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Angst

Part one

The thread taunted you. The iridescent glow within you felt like needles underneath your skin. You knew it was meant to feel different, but in this moment there was not an inkling of joy across your entire being.

That mating bond had brought back all your fear and anxieties. That pain you fought so hard to beat, grew back within seconds. What if he knew and never told you? What if he deliberately ignored it because he could never have such feelings for you. The new bond only made your heart ache more. You had ran far from the camps, from the cabin, the trees began blurring together, the damn tears that hadn’t stop since you left the training ring. Your lungs burned as you tried to breathe, but each sob was followed by a heart shattering breath. You collapsed onto the ground, clutching your chest as you let out your cries. It was a moment that felt all too familiar.

You knew life was unfair, that you were meant to face obstacles and choices that could break you, but this past year wasn’t right. How could the cauldron damn you so? What did you ever do to deserve such agony?

You wanted to scream, to curse the life you were given. You were content with staying in this forest, letting the cold take you away, numbing everything that had caused you so much pain.

But the sound of wings above you sent you into a panic, causing you to scramble to your feet. No no no. You couldn’t see Azriel right now, he can’t be here. Even though you said you wouldn’t run, that you would face your problems, it all changed in an instant, because this-

This was a different form of fear.

You broke out into a sprint once more, hearing whoever it was land, but you didn’t look back, you were panicking, you knew this. All the sensible logic seemed to have left your head.

“Y/N!” The voice broke through the silence, your legs slowed as you turned to face the male.

“Surin.” You choked out, running back toward him. He approached you carefully but with open arms. And you hastily jumped into them. Your arms shook as you wrapped them around him, clutching the leathers he wore as if you were afraid to let go. Afraid to be left alone with your thoughts.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice echoed in your head as you held on to him, but softly he pulled you away from him, his green eyes searching your body for any injuries. You knew he would find nothing, part of you wished your pain was caused by a physical wound. Perhaps it would hurt less. “Azriel said you ran off, he thought you were with me. But when I said no he looked even more frantic, it got me worried.”

No words fell from your lips, not as your mind drifted to Azriel, you didn’t mean to worry him, to make anyone worry in that matter. The poor male in front of you got dragged into your issues, it was the last thing you wanted to do. You didn’t need someone else’s concerns, you had enough of your own.

“I am fine Surin, you didn’t need to come look for me.” You looked up at him with swollen eyes and the way your voice cracked with emotion contradicted your statement. And you knew Surin was smart enough to realize.

“You can cry in front of me, I won’t judge.” Surin offered you a kind smile before speaking again. “And if you aren’t ready to talk, that’s okay too.”

You let out a small laugh through your choked sobs, Surin pulled you against him, letting your tears fall onto his chest. “Is this about Azriel?” He asked while rubbing soothing circles along your back. Surin was the last person you expected to be here for you, but it made you all the more grateful for the male. You nodded against his chest. You wanted to confide your reality to him, to whisper those words that felt so foreign along your tongue. But the second you spoke them, it would all become too real.

Another set of wings sounded above the two of you, and in an instant Surin wrapped his wings around you as if he were protecting you from whoever was approaching.

“I assure you, Y/N does not need protection from me.” You knew that voice.

Cassian.

Surin pulled his wings back, and all you could see were the red siphons glistening against the fresh snow, Cassian had landed in front of you and Surin.

Cassian’s face was full of concern and he quickly moved toward you.

Pulling away from Surin, you dropped to your knees in front of Cassian. Tears streaming down your face once more. Perhaps it was the relief of seeing your dear friend, but your body gave out entirely. These last few days had drained you, not just physically but mentally.

“Y/N!” Cassian exclaimed as he slid across the ground, catching you in his arms. “Are you okay? What is going on? Kiddo talk to me.”

“Cassian.. please get me out of here. Please. I can’t be here Cas, please take me home.” You sounded so broken, the emotion catching in your throat.

Cassian’s gaze softened. He knew you weren’t going to say much else. “Okay let’s go.”

You were grateful for his understanding, but before Cassian could gather you in his arms, you turned back to face Surin, embracing him tightly. “Thank you. For looking for me.”

Surin placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Never hesitate to reach out if you need anything.” He brushed his thumb across your cheek. “And I mean anything Y/N.”

You nodded, embracing him one last time before reaching for Cassian, who gathered you in his arms before launching into the sky. And you could’ve sworn you saw the reflections of blue against the ground below.

The trip back to Velaris was silent, and by the time the two of you arrived, your tears stained your cheeks. You knew Cassian had an idea of why you were upset, he had always known of your feelings for Azriel, and though he had been supportive of it, telling him that Azriel was your mate felt entirely different. You pushed your thoughts and emotions aside when the river house came into view. You still needed to report back to Rhys, your current problems would have to wait.

“Thank you Cassian.” Your words were barely a whisper as he placed you down at the entrance.

“Are you okay?” He asked, not letting you go just yet. You gave him a shy smile.

“No.” You gently removed yourself from him. “But I will be.” Lying was the last thing you wanted to do to Cassian, but the truth seemed so uncertain, you had no clue if things would ever be okay. Before he could respond you pushed through the entrance, leaving him to stare blankly at you through the closing doors.

On your way to Rhys’s office you passed by the portraits that hung along the walls, each one painted beautifully by Feyre. But only one seemed to taunt you, mocking each movement you made. You stared at Elain, her large brown eyes staring back as if she was watching you in this very moment. Judging you. She was undeniably beautiful, no wonder Azriel had taken a liking to her. You always wondered what she offered him that you couldn’t, what he preferred in her, maybe it was her innocence, her body that wasn’t marked in scars. He had enough darkness of his own, perhaps he didn’t want the burden of yours.

You tore your eyes away from the painting, unable to bear the painful thoughts much longer.

When you approached Rhys’s office, the door opened for you, and you found the highlord leaning over his desk, scribbling across multiple pieces of paper. Off to the side, Feyre had an easel set up in front of her. She smiled at you as you sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“How were the camps? Eventful?” Rhys asked, pushing the papers to the side.

“You could say that.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back into the chair, ready to leave and disappear into your room. “There was this Illyrian, he was older, dark eyes, brown hair, his demeanor was very unnerving. He was curious about the inner circle. And the second I took my eyes away from him, he was gone before I could ask anymore questions.”

Rhys sighed, running his hands through his hair. Feyre moved over to him, tenderly rubbing his shoulders. You only wished to someday have the understanding they shared. “His name is Madok. He is one of the older Illyrians there, and the only one that never moved up in rank.”

“Why?”

“Because I forbade it.” You stared at him, lips slightly parted, waiting for him to continue. “As you know, my brothers and I have put a lot in to change how the Illyrian camps operated, the horrid ways of the past were to be no longer. And as usual most refused, but eventually they slowly came around. But not Madok. I caught him on multiple occasions training men under the old regimen, reprimanding those who refused.” He paused, as if the memory was too much to relive. “I did my best to punish him, but at the time I was new to being highlord and he had more respect in that camp than I did. But after catching him, things fell silent, I assumed he backed down. I now see I was wrong.”

“So you think he is behind these threats?” You asked, moving to rest your elbows on your legs. “If that’s so, can’t we find him and bring him in?”

“We haven’t been able to locate him since. But hearing he showed up and approached you, is no mere coincidence. Where was Azriel?”

You clenched your jaw tightly at the mention of the shadowsinger. “Not around. I left without him that day.” You avoided looking directly at Rhys and Feyre, but you knew they sensed the stiffness in your tone. You felt the claws within your mind, that you had left unguarded. You pushed them out, needing to leave before any more questions could be asked. “Well if there isn’t anything else needed from me, I will retire to my room. Please inform me of any developments.” You stood from your seat motioning to move but Rhys’s voice caused you to halt your movements.

“Is there something else you would like to share?” Rhys asked, a knowing expression across his face. But his eyes were filled with sympathy.

Damn daemati. “You’re a nosy ass, you know that?” You sat back down in the chair, Feyre came over to hold your hand, she wiped away the silent tears that fell. You were so tired of crying. “Azriel is my mate.” Why did it feel so wrong to say that word out loud?

Feyre inhaled sharply, looking back towards her mate. “Does he know?” Rhys questioned.

“I don’t think so.”

“You have to tell him.” Feyre exclaimed and maybe she was right, perhaps you should’ve but it didn’t feel right, you were never the one he chose, if he was happy, then it was not your place to interfere.

“How? He’s getting married to Elain. To your sister. He never once showed interest in me. What if he rejects the bond. Am I supposed to just live with that pain? Watch as he has a happy life with another female?” Your words quickly turned into sobs, Feyre moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, causing the sobs to increase. You didn’t want to hide this from him, you knew it wasn’t right but that fear consumed you, made you feel pathetic.

“But still he has a right to know, he believes the cauldron cursed him with no mate, this changes everything.” Feyre added.

“Don’t you think I know that? I know he deserves the truth. But Feyre I am in pain. I cannot face him without feeling my heart breaking into a million pieces. He has had my heart for years and he knows this. But yet he has done nothing.” You inhaled deeply, the tremble following your exhale. “I want to be with him, but I am not his choice. Who am I to get in the way of his life. I can’t take that from him. Maybe the cauldron should have kept it that way, he seemed to be fine finding love on his own.” You stood up once more, freeing yourself from Feyre’s embrace. “I need to think about this. I can’t walk in there and declare he is mine. He is not an object to be claimed.”

“Tell her.” Feyre spoke up, staring directly at her mate.

“Tell me what.”

Rhys stood from behind his desk, moving to stand in front of you. “Elain has informed us that they plan to marry in the next week. They were going to announce it at the party tonight.”

It felt as though all the air had left your lungs, the numbing pain filling your chest cavity. “Great.” You forced out, turning away from your friends as you held back your emotions.

“I am so sorry, Y/N.” Feyre whispered back, but you didn’t want her apology.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” You sauntered to the door. Avoiding the sympathy you felt that you didn’t deserve.

“But-” Feyre started.

You looked over your shoulder at the two of them, giving them a pained smile. “I will see you guys at the party.”

It was a beautiful night for an outside party, they had dedicated a small part of the land next to the river house to host the gathering of tables and decorations. Lights floated above the area, it looked like a scene pulled from a fairytale. There were more people than you would have thought, but that was for the better, it would be easier to hide in the crowd the entire night. But you wouldn’t show weakness, you needed to remain strong, even if your soul felt as though it was falling apart.

“You look stunning.” Surin spoke up behind you, turning you admired the black dress clothes he had exchanged his training leathers for, he had slicked his hair back, exposing more of his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. You felt his eyes rake over your body, the emerald green dress you had settled on clinging to your skin, it left little to the imagination.

Surin placed his hands on your hips, placing a small kiss on your exposed shoulder. You quickly convinced Rhys, well more like guilt tripped him into letting Surin be your plus one. “As do you.” You whispered.

You led Surin into the party, his hand held firmly on to yours, it seemed the both of you were equally nervous. You walked around to greet each and everyone of your friends, and you had yet to run into Azriel, it was probably better that way but that didn’t stop your gaze from searching for him each second that passed. You ran into Helion, who gathered you in his arms, his hands always lingering for far too long. Normally you enjoyed his company and the long talks the two of you conversed in, but tonight you forced a smile to him, and the look he gave you was all knowing.

You excused yourself before he could say anything about it, and as you walked away Surin quickly pulled you aside. “If there is something bothering you, if anything we can leave, maybe I can show you my superb baking skills.” He whispered in your ear, enticing a laugh from you. And you understood he was only being nice, trying to be helpful when he didn’t truly know what bothered you, he was certainly a good male, Surin had a good heart, he deserved someone amazing. And perhaps you could love him, find happiness with him. Maybe he could be the male that helped you move on, forget all about the bond you shared with Azriel. But you had so much more healing ahead of you. You could never burden Surin with that. “Where did you go right now?” His voice tore you away from your thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” You blinked a few times at him.

“I can tell you get lost in your thoughts, the way your eyes drift downward. Are you sure you’re doing okay love?”

“Yes.” And the second you spoke, you saw him, standing near the front entrance, his arm was draped around Elain, but his eyes were on you, not focused on the conversation his fiancé was having with the people in front of them. His gaze sent shivers throughout your body but you forced your eyes away from him and back to the male in front of you. You needed a distraction. “Would you like to dance?”

Surin smiled brightly. “Lead the way.”

The two of you danced the night away, the alcohol you had consumed boosting your courage and taking away your care for anyone else around you. Surin held you close as he spun you around, and you knew there was a genuine smile across your face.

The two of you fell into a slow sway. “I never thought I would be here.” Surin whispered as he kissed your hairline.

“What, attending an inner circle party?” You questioned as your head rested on his chest.

He laughed. “No, dancing here.” He paused and you met his gaze. “With you.”

“I am certainly enjoying my time with you.” There was no lie in your words, the time spent with Surin greatly bettered your mood.

“I want to spend more time with you Y/N. I know this is very random, but I think you are a beautiful female with a great heart. And I would be honored to get to know you more.” Surin stared down at you, his cheeks flushed with a light pink, as if it took some courage to admit his feelings to you.

You stared at him, contemplating whether it was the right choice. But maybe it could be for the best. There was no harm in figuring that out. “I would like that too.”

Surin smiled widely before bringing his lips to yours, his smile never faded as your lips moved with one another, you closed your eyes, holding Surin close, until you were abruptly pulled away from him.

You opened your eyes to find Azriel standing between the two of you, his shadows encasing him like a fog, the people around you staring at the scene in front of them. Hushed whispers and gasps echoed throughout the air.

“Azriel!” You heard Elain scream, but Azriel never moved his eyes from you, he was breathing heavy, fists clenched tightly at his side. Surin was pushed onto the ground behind him, Nesta and Cassian trying to help him up. You moved to reach for him but Azriel had grabbed ahold of you before you could, transporting the two of you into the river house.

“What the fuck Azriel?” You yelled, noticing he put the two of you in his bedroom. “Who gave you the right?” There were no words to describe the anger you felt.

“Where did you run off to that day Y/N? I was worried sick.” Azriel looked at you, his shadows still frantic, you leaned against the chair within his room, knowing you wouldn’t be able to leave without a conversation.

“Nowhere in particular. You don’t need to worry about me, maybe you should go check on your party, you left with quite a scene.” You spoke with no emotion. The image of everyone's horrified expressions replaying in your mind.

“What happened?” He asked, ignoring your words entirely.

You stared at Azriel, the obvious concern he had for you was prominent in his tone. But you couldn’t tell him the real reason. Not yet. “I had a panic attack.” A statement that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Why?” Another question. You sighed, straightening your posture.

“Why does it matter Az?”

“Because it does!” He snapped, you were taken aback by the sudden change in his voice. “Because I was worried that something happened to you.”

“I really should be getting back to Surin.” You moved toward the door, but Azriel stepped in front of it.

“Please don’t go. Every time I am near you, you disappear. I just want to talk to you. Ever since you got back I have barely gotten a word in.”

“If you haven’t noticed but I left my date out there. After you rudely interrupted us. Again. Whatever it is you need to talk about can wait.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Azriel lowered his voice, moving a few steps closer.

“Where the hell is this coming from Az? I don’t understand anything with you anymore.” He didn’t respond, letting the eerie silence take over the room surrounding you. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You said you hate that you love me? Did you really mean that?” Azriel questioned, his tone desperate, as if that question had been sitting on his tongue since the last time the two of you truly spoke, but perhaps it had been.

You gasped softly, the memories haunting your mind. “Yes.” You breathed. Moving further away from him. If he wanted to have this conversation than so be it. If he wanted honesty you would give it to him. “I cannot think without my thoughts being of you. I live each day with the regret of not telling you sooner. So yes I hate that I love you because if I didn’t, if I never had these feelings in the first place, than I wouldn’t have to live my life with this affliction it has caused.”

“I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted you to leave.” He admitted and you could tell in his voice that it was the truth, but everything still felt off. He still let you leave, he never once asked what was wrong, if he cared, he had an odd way of showing it.

“You act one way but speak another. How am I supposed to know what you want Azriel?”

“I want you.” He whispered.

“What?” You must of been hearing things. The words of his confession weighing heavy on your heart.

He kept his eyes on you as he moved toward you. “I want you, Y/N.”

You tried to move away but your back hit a wall. He inched closer to you, his hands finding their way up to your face, resting gently along your jaw. You were stuck between him and the wall, your heart racing as you stared up at him. You placed your hands on his chest, but you didn’t push away, his heart beat rapidly underneath your fingertips, your breaths entwined.

He moved his forehead to rest against yours, his hazel eyes solely focused on you. “I have always wanted you,” His voice was hoarse and his touch sent shivers throughout your body, the way his chest was firmly pressed against yours. You knew this was wrong. “Tell me to stop.” And as much as you needed to, as much as your mind was screaming to push him away, you couldn’t. Your eyes shut as he closed the remaining distance between you and him, your lips touching ever so slightly. And when you didn’t move away, he wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer, deepening the kiss that should have never happened in the first place.

But yet, neither of you could pull away.

Taglist (I crossed out the ones that tumblr wouldn’t let me tag, I am still trying to figure out why :/) : @honestlywtfisgoingon @fanfictioniseverything @marina468 @positivewitch @maviee @blurredlamplight @bookslut420 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elle10 @dragonstoneprincess @holywolfsstuff @reiincarnatiion @valeridarkness @feiwelinchen @sv0430 @kennedy-brooke @emturtles @nightcourtwritings @zephyg-06 @chantalleke91 @katherinereid @loulou0101 @shadowsingersmate24 @tcris2020 @shadowsinger-654 @nobody00sthings @lucyysthings @turkishgirlslife @rachelnicolee @mich0731 @tobifeemo @kristeristerin @sinnful-darling @hannzoaks @zoe2 @strangersunghoon @bangtanbecks @juneangel21 @hanatsuki-hime @acourtofmarvels @cmay25 @its-sam-allgood

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #Azriel #azriel fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar fandom #reader insert #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster

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