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astraystayyh · 7 months

Text

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul.

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

"I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you.

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond.

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode.

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that.

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes.

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed.

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance.

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet.

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber.

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free.

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself.

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down.

"Okay, will you count down for me?"

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future.

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han.

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song.

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head.

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words.

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing.

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them.

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed.

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out.

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones.

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses.

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness.

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks.

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you.

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han.

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

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loveshotzz · 1 year

Text

fboy!eddie x fem!reader

Rude Boy

Summary: Alone in a basement at Reefer Rick’s party, you finally catch Eddie’s attention.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18 + obviously this is an fboy!eddie fic so prepare for him to be smug, mocking and hot. Fingering (f receiving), dry humping, finger sucking, weed smoking, mentions of partying and a slightly angsty ending.

Authors Note: this is for @newlips #milestoneoflove celebration. I wanted to try something new in between working on bigger fics, I also just wanted to write something for you, cece. Thank you for always bringing us writers together on here 💗. Shout out to both cece and @carolmunson the queens of fboy!eddie. If you haven’t read The Sheep or Baby, As If I highly recommend.

Scanning the party over the top of your drink, your eyes search for the only reason you came to Rick’s in the first place. The rumor mill had let it be known that Eddie Munson and his main girl Cece had finally broken up, and you’d only dreamed of having that top spot.

Tugging down the short hem of your dress that you wore just for him, you were starting to get impatient. You had watched his messy head of curls disappear into the basement that was off limits for anyone that didn’t work for the man whose house you were in. No one had followed him in, and you didn’t notice anyone go before him. Sitting pressed against the wall you weigh the consequences of the choice you were about to make.

Pushing yourself off the wall you make a beeline for the door, weaving through the crowd you’re side tracked by a yank on your arm, falling slightly into the sea of dancing people you shove your empty cup into the chest of a handsy man who was trying to get you to dance. Ignoring the way he slurred ‘bitch’ after you yanked yourself free, all you focused on was keeping your breathing steady as you dared to be bold enough to get what you wanted for so long.

A manicured hand on the door handle, you got dark red just for tonight. The girls around town had always gossiped that color was his favorite. It doesn’t make any noise when you open it, the music upstairs immediately clashing with what he was playing downstairs. Closing the door the lighting is dim at the bottom of the stairs. A thick cloud of smoke creates a haze around the yellow glow and it tightens in your lungs with every breath you take all the way down.

The long wooden table with a lush bag of weed and a couple scales is what you see first, dark green crumbs dusting what was clearly a makeshift weigh station in the middle of it. Neon beer signs add a pink coloring to your forbidden surroundings as your eyes land on the worn couch in the center of the room.

The man you’d been looking for sitting right in the middle.

His long legs are spread wide with ease, and you catch a glimpse of the pale skin hidden underneath through the rips in his black tight fitting jeans. His simple white shirt wraps around his torso and arms the way you see on the models covering the packages at the store. The crisp cleanliness of it makes the ink that covers every inch of his toned arms stand out even more.

His face is hidden by a large hit blowing from between his plump lips adding to the fog that coats the room. You can still feel the heat of his stare and it makes your thighs press tighter.

“Lost?” His voice comes out deep with a teasing edge to it — a harsher rasp from smoking. Leaning forward - his elbows press to his knees, his handsome features reveal themselves to you when he pushes through the cloud of smoke. Straight white teeth shine on display in the kind of smile that ruins the thin fabric of your underwear. “Or just looking for trouble?”

It takes you a minute to find your words when the chestnut of his eyes darken as they take in the way the material of your dress hangs just right off every curve of your body. Thick ringed fingers come up to rest on the plush pink of his lips when they spy the dark red adoring your long nails, his smile widening even more almost like he knew you picked that color just for him.

“Trouble’s my middle name actually.” Biting into the sticky gloss of your bottom lip, mischief flashes behind his hungry gaze when he slowly extends the half smoked blunt in your direction. Daring you to take the bait.

He eats you alive with his eyes as your hips sway and your heels thud muted against the carpet carrying you towards him like a lion’s prey walking right into his den. The sound of Chevelle’s Send The Pain Below drowns out the noise of the party upstairs only intensifying the growing slick between your legs. Nerves vibrating from your fingertips the second hand smoke was already starting the job the blunt was going to finish.

You end up between his legs when you come to a stop and he doesn’t make any effort to leave your personal space. His hot breath fans on the exposed skin of your thighs when your delicate fingers brush against his when they take the blunt from his hand.

Your cheeks hollow when you take a drag, despite trying to keep a confident demeanor you can’t meet his eyes from this close. Black and hungry he doesn’t try to hide how his eyes roam all over you. The scent of his cologne is stronger than the weed burning, swirling around you it overpowers your senses.

His fingertips run a slow path up the back of your calf catching the way it makes you rub your legs together in search of friction. His lips ghosting against your skin as he starts toying with the hem of your dress.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to talk to strangers?” He looks up at you from under his lashes and you try to ignore the sting to your ego that he doesn’t remember you.

“We went to High School together, Eddie.”

The squeal you let out when his teeth nip at the spot his lips had just been hovering covers the disappointment in your voice.

He just hums to himself giving you no indication if you jogged his memory or not. Squeezing rough with big hands at the doughy meat of your thighs he was focused on getting what he wanted, not the words coming out of your mouth.

Leaning back on the cushions of the couch, he watches you with narrowed eyes. Giving you another once over, he licks his lips watching the way yours wrap around the tobacco.

“Those cute feet of yours are probably sore from standing in those pretty lookin’ heels all night sweetheart.” Patting his lap, the smile on his lips twists like the devil before adding “Why don’t you take a seat?”

You exhale your last drag as he spreads himself out in anticipation for the choice he knows you’re going to make. With the blunt tucked between your fingers, you lean forward, hands gripping his shoulders letting him get a look at the lace that pushes your tits up earning you a squeeze on your sides in approval.

Straddling him with your knees against his hips, the heels of your shoes hang over the edge of the couch. Your dress sits rucked up at your waist — the new position giving him a view of the matching panties underneath.

“Wearing these ‘cause you wanted someone to see ‘em huh?” Plucking at the elastic edge near where you needed his fingers most, his smirk told you he could feel how they were already drenched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking abo-“

“Don’t let the blunt go out.” His tone is harsher than before and you hated how it only turned you on more. “You wanted my attention and now you got it princess, don’t be rude and waste my weed.”

You don’t argue with him bringing it back to your lips, putting your full weight down on his lap you could feel how hard he was underneath you despite his indifference. The silent victory has you smirking around your hit. The callouses that cover his fingertips catch against the smoothness of your skin as they grip and massage over the fat of your thighs.

The silver of his rings gleam against the soft light, the cool metal of the chain that wraps around his wrist leaves goosebumps in its wake with every glide against your heated flesh. Slow and teasing his hands make their way higher, clenching around nothing — he keeps his eyes trained on your face. Playing with the edge of your panties close to where you can feel a second heartbeat, he tuts when your hips give the slightest rock.

“Smoking my weed, breaking the number one rule in Rick’s house, and now you think you can be greedy while you soak my lap?” He lets out a low whistle before snatching what’s left of the blunt from your mouth. The glitter from your lip gloss stains the end when he puts it out.

Big hands on your ass, he pulls you forward when he leans back. A single grunt escapes him when your heat hits where he’s pressing against his zipper. A harsh smack followed by a kneading grip, he keeps one hand on your reddening ass while the other goes back to playing with the seam of your completely ruined underwear. He lets his two fingers dip inside, the fat tips tracing once over your slick lips.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” Pulling the offending material to the side his gaze darkens when he sees how you glisten for him, running the pads of his fingers down your slit he’s only partially satisfied when you mewl in response. Your long nails dig deeper into his shoulders when he does it again.

“I asked you a question, trouble maker.”

He doesn’t give you any time to respond before he pushes inside. Despite the lack of warning your walls give him little to no fight as they pull him in until he hits his rings. Eyes screwing shut at the stretch, all coherent thoughts get lost when he curls them to the side. Reaching your g-spot like he knew where it was the whole time.

“Yes! — Fuck, Eddie!” The coil in your stomach tightens when he starts setting a pace that has you clawing at his shirt, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he uses the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit.

There’s a pang of jealousy when you think of all of the practice it took him to touch your body like he’d done it a million times before, but it’s short lived when he adds a third finger stretching your walls even further a pornogrpahic moan rips through your chest.

“Yeah? It’s like that huh?” His smooth voice is condescending as he mocks the way your mouth hangs open and your brows pinch together but you're too close to seeing god from just his fingers to care. The thought of how his dick would make you feel has you gushing all over him again, walls fluttering with a new wave of arousal. God, you hoped he’d let you find out.

All you can do is nod, your hips starting to meet the drag of his knuckles chasing the high that was threatening to consume every part of you. Too lost in the intensity of being so close you don’t see him lean in until you feel his lips on where the tops of your breasts are exposed from the low cut of your dress. Tongue lapping against the curve of your cleavage he bites down hard enough to leave a bruise, sucking for good measure he was marking you. No one else at this party was gonna touch you.

There’s a flicker of pride that ignites inside you at the thought of being one of his girls, and when the hand that's been firmly gripping your ass starts pushing your hips forward it’s just enough to send you flying over the edge.

White hot heat flashing behind your eyes, his name falls from your mouth in a way that will have your voice horse in the morning. Shuddering on top of him, you don’t think anyone has ever made you cum this hard before.

“Made such a mess of me darlin’, gonna need you to clean it up.” He doesn’t give you time to recover before the fingers that have you still trembling on top of him are shoved in your mouth.

The rough pads of his fingers press down on your tongue, the taste of your release coating your tongue — sweet and tangy. Wrapping glittering lips around them he inhales a shallow breath when you eagerly start sucking them clean.

“Such a dirty fucking girl, I’ve got something else you’d be good at suckin’ just like that.” Rutting his hips up, the over stimulation has you whining around his fingers. He pulls them out with a loud pop and a trail of spit still connects you, wiping the remains on the side of his jeans he gives your ass another spank before ushering you up.

“I’m gonna go get us something to drink then you can return the favor like I know you want to sweetheart.” Flashing you a smile that somehow has you hungry for more, you nod obediently with hot cheeks and a flushed grin on your gloss smeared lips.

“I’ll be waiting, Eddie.” Your voice is shy despite what just happened moments before, and it makes his dimples poke the sides of his cheeks.

You watch him head up the stairs you’d dare to come down, waiting to hear the door click you let out a little squeal. Falling onto the couch with a pleased smile, you toy with the bottom of your dress doing your best to ignore how soaked your were.

It had been ten minutes when you looked down at the mouth shaped bruise on your chest, and another ten when you opted to just lose your underwear for your own comfort. It was when it started pushing forty that the fear he might not be coming back finally set in.

Huffing with a shake in your throat, you finally will yourself to stand. Taking one last look around you finally decide to leave with whatever dignity you might have left after waiting almost an hour.

Your heels feel heavy with each step, the bruise to your ego from before growing ten fold. Turning the handle, it feels like all eyes land on you when you cross the threshold. Whispers and murmurs and stares falling to the mark on your chest, everyone knew who did that to you.

His loud laugh catches your ears and you should have known better than to let the lovesick smile light up your face like it was meant for you. It doesn’t take you long to find him halfway out the front door with his arm slung around a pretty brunette you’ve seen before. His main girl.

Throwing you a wink and less than guilty grin he knew he’d be able to see you again. You owed him a blowjob after all.

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #fboy!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson angst

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srjlvr · 6 months

Text

꒦꒷ enhypen ! going on a tour without you<3

idol-ot7!enhypen x fem!reader .. fluff & slight angst .. no warnings<3 not proofread!!

ε ї з — heeseung

being away from you was such a pain to him. he hates the fact that he’s not able to see you every day.

also the fact that your timezones might be different made him hate this whole tour thing more. it’s not like he doesn’t love his fans, he does, he really does.

but it’s really hard for him to continue his day without hearing your voice once a day, and when the timezones are different, it’s hard for the both of you to make a call in the right time.

without noticing it, heeseung started talking about you whenever he could, even his members felt like they already know everything about you because of him.

he started mentioning you in every concert day. holding back his tears while talking about you caused the fans to cry too, hoping they’d have a relationship like yours and heeseung’s.

“i really miss y/n. we haven’t been able to catch up lately and it makes me miss her so much, i hope she’d watch this concert and feel proud of me, i love you y/n!!”

ε ї з — jay

a day before he had to leave, you jokingly told him to buy you something from every town he’s going to. not expecting him to do something about it at all.

he can’t help it, he thinks about you 24/7 and ever since you asked him to buy you something from every town, he’s been more than serious about it.

you told him it was a joke, but jay thought it’d be a good idea to keep his mind occupied by the thought of you.

you haven’t been able to keep in touch, but jay always sends you pictures of cute things such as teddy bears and so much more and asks you which ones you’d like. it’d be like that in each place he’d go to.

when he’s out of ideas of what to buy you, he starts to ask fans for recommendations on their send offs.

he misses you more than ever, and buying those cute little gifts is another way of him to feel you by his side, if not physically then mentally.

“i have to get something for y/n! do you guys have any recommendations on what i can get her?” he’d ask his fans.

“i got you some cute matching phone cases, so it’s actually a gift for the both of us, i can’t help it, i love you too much” he said once he got to talk with you over the phone, and both of you giggled and joked about it.

ε ї з — jake

jake, being the affectionate he is, actually cried on the day he had to leave. he can’t be away from you for long and it made him sad and unmotivated.

you told him he has nothing to worry about and you’d be able to call him every day or even leave cute messages.

he held some hopes in that, although he knew it’s going to be hard and challenging for the both of you.

he didn’t want to be much of a burden to you but he couldn’t help it.

he calls every day. and if you’re not able to answer then he’ll leave cute phone messages or even cute texts.

if a day will pass by without you getting a text or a call from jake then you’d start to get worried.

even if he was exhausted and overworked, he’d take out his phone and send you a long paragraph of how much he loves and misses you. he’d actually also go through your old texts just because he misses you so much.

“it’s been a while since i heard your voice over the phone, how are you doing? are you doing okay? taking care of yourself? i miss you and i love you, i can’t wait to see you”

ε ї з — sunghoon

a few days before he had to leave he asked you to come over and you found yourself knocking on his door ten minutes later.

we all know sunghoon’s a narcissist and his ego is quite highly up in the sky, so without even thinking about it too much he opened his closet and gave you some of his favorite hoodies.

being away from you for long scared him that you’ll forget about him, especially when he knows you two won’t be able to talk a lot, so he thought giving you his hoodies will make you think about him all the time.

he also bought you some penguin plushies and sprayed his perfume on them. you can’t blame the poor boy, he loves you so much that he’s afraid you’ll leave him.

when you try to argue and tell him you don’t feel like he trusts you, he tells you it’s the complete opposite, he trusts you wholeheartedly, and he knows you’ll probably miss him anyway so giving you his hoodies will make you feel less lonely.

“this is my favorite one and i wore this for so long, you better keep that and take care of it, i won’t take it when i come back just please don’t forget about me, i love you”

ε ї з — sunoo

since sunoo knows how much you love to watch his vlogs, he thought it’d be a great idea to make a mini vlog every day, and send it to you instead of calling you in the late late hours.

he didn’t want to bother you, he knows your timezones are different and he doesn’t want to wake you up at midnight just because he misses you so much.

so he keeps distracting himself by doing mini vlogs to you, with the thought of your reaction about each one of them.

he acts as if you’re on a video call with him and sometimes forgets that you’re not on the other side of the line.

he would obviously call you a lot, but those mini vlogs are his way of telling you in shortly how his day was, and he knows you miss him anyway so making those vlogs would make you happy. and what makes you happy, makes him happy.

his longings for you is present in every vlog he makes, and he’d always finish his vlog with a cute note.

“we’re actually practicing for the concert today and getting ready to— oh? here’s ni-ki! ni-ki say hi to y/n!!” he points the camera to ni-ki who waves.

“i wish you were here with me right now, i miss you a lot. don’t forget to eat your meals and take care of yourself, or i’d be very sad and disappointed. i love you! end.”

ε ї з — jungwon

jungwon is one of a kind when he’s away from you for long. as soon as the tour started he also started the countdown, to count the days till he gets to see you.

he thinks about you 24/7, which causes him to think that you’re always waiting for him in the backstage after every concert, he gets so upset when he realizes you’re miles away from him.

he misses you, a lot, and it’s breaking him that he’s not able to see you and hug you and kiss you.

sometimes it’s too much for him that he starts to get annoyed, he’d start fights with you even when he doesn’t mean that at all. he can’t explain that, but the thought of missing you so much bothered him especially when he couldn’t see you for long.

after the small fights you both have, he’ll realize his mistakes and would even send you flowers as an apology since he doesn’t really know what to do or if you’re mad at him. you’d always end up forgiving him anyway.

“three more weeks until i get to see you and hug you. i’m sorry for being so upset with you today, i miss you so much and it hurts, i love you”

ε ї з — ni-ki

a few days before their tour, ni-ki came over and both of you played around a bit. he knows he’s going to miss you a lot, he already got used to being away from his family, but not away from you.

he looked around your room and took your favorite plushie. when you tried to take it back he stopped you and teased you about it.

he needs to take a memory of you with him, that’s the only way he’d feel better about the whole tour thing.

he asked you if he could take the plushie with him and you understood why right away, this time you were the one teasing him.

he’d take not only the plushie, but a few more things you gave him before, you also bought him a plushie once so he took it too, and even bought you two matching bracelets, that way he’d be able to feel you by his side no matter when.

“i’m going to need something that will remind me of you” he pouts, “i’m going to miss you and won’t be able to sleep good without hugging your plushie, i love that plushie, and i love you too”

PERM TAG-LIST ; @sungwhoonz @ohdudehesflirting @unlikelysublimekryptonite @deobiis @manooffline @miumiuoi @in-somnias-world @lovelovelovebts

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b-o-e · 1 year

Text

promise Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: cuddling!!! just some late night conversations and some half asleep you :) mutual feelings have been established!

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #7 :)

Wally convinces you to sleep over for the night.

“Stay with me?”

You were unsure if they were purposeful, but the puppy eyes and shy, pleading smile Wally wore had you bending to his will.

“Maybe you’ll be able to sleep,” he pitched.

And so, you had agreed to his offer, finding yourself settling in his bed after he insisted you take it. Exhaustion was beginning to hit you after your adrenaline crash, persistent yawns escaping you.

“Won’t you join me?” you mumbled.

“Would you like me to join you?” Wally questioned in return, standing by the bedside.

“Mhmm,” you hummed in reply, lifting up the covers, welcoming him. “It's not like I haven’t used you as a pillow before,” you joked, offering a weary smile while scooting a little further into his bed, allowing him more room. “Plus, I’m not making you stay on the couch in your own house,”

“... Okay,” he agreed, laying down next to you. He laid on his side, his body facing yours, as yours did his.

“Do you have enough space?” You asked, gazing into his eyes. He nodded, glancing down, his hand finding yours.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes returning to yours as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “And you?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, turning your head into the pillow as you yawned. Wally’s smile grew, amused by your body’s display of your tiredness.

“You’re a little extra cute when you're sleepy,” he chuckled, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles soothingly. “It’s funny. You do silly things,”

“Like what?” You asked, eyes falling shut as you pulled the covers a little higher with your free hand.

“Yawning,” he hummed, “your speech becomes slurred and lazy,” he added, “and you talk when you’re asleep,”

“Yeah, yeah,” you giggled, remembering the last time you fell asleep on him and supposedly spoke.

“I never told you what you said,”

Your eyes shot open, focussing on him.

You stared.

“You said it was unintelligible,” your brows furrowed a little.

“Mostly,” he smiled. “But, you did say something I heard clearly,”

“And what would that be?”

“‘Wally’,”

Your eyes widened.

“You’re pulling my leg,”

“No. Only holding your hand,” he joked, giving it a squeeze.

“I said your name?” you groaned, hiding your face as it flushed with redness.

“Yeah, ha ha,” he gently pulled the blankets away, “I thought it was adorable,” he teased with a grin, tapping his finger to the tip of your nose.

“You’re being mean,” you grumbled embarrassedly, tugging the blankets back over your face. He laughed, scooting a little closer.

“Ha ha, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“You should be, you liar,”

“I never lied,” he hummed. “I just didn’t say it. You were shy enough as is,”

“... thank you,”

“You’re welcome.”

“But you’re still mean,”

“I can accept that. I’m sorry,” he tried to compensate with an amused smile, watching you peek out from your hiding. “Apology accepted?”

“... apology accepted,”

“I’m glad. Thank you,”

You huffed lightly, scooting a little closer to him. He shifted to accommodate you, turning onto his back.

You released his hand, laying your arm over his body instead, his own coming to rest on top of it and gently hold it in place. His other arm rested behind his head, keeping him propped up a bit.

“I’m so tired,” you grumbled, forehead pressing lightly against his side. Wally hummed in thought.

“Is there anything I can do to help you fall asleep faster?”

“Mm… can you just talk, please?”

“Anything in particular?”

“Anything,”

“This sounds awfully familiar, ha ha,” he chuckled. “Hmm… what to talk about…” he wondered aloud.

“I think…” he began, “I’ll tell you about the time I realized I was in love with you,”

“Yeah?” You whispered.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, thinking back on the day. “It was quite a while ago. I noticed that I had started to feel a little funny around you, like I was all… squishy, on the inside,”

“Squishy?” You giggled.

“Squishy,” he nodded, his smile growing. “I found that my eyes would wander to you whenever you were around. I’ve been told I zone out a lot, I know, but I never realized until it came to you, and I just couldn’t tear my eyes away,”

You shifted slightly to get more comfortable, staying silent, allowing him to go on.

“So, I went to Frank. He’s smart and reads a lot of books, so I figured he’d know what’s going on with me,” he continued. “He and Julie were with each other at the time I went to see them. I told them what was going on, and they started to interrogate me,”

“How do they make you feel when they're around?” Frank queried, arms crossed before his chest.

“I feel… warm and fuzzy inside,” Wally explained.

“Hmm… does it feel like your tummy gets tied up in knots?” Julie pressed.

“I suppose it does, yes,” he slowly nodded. That seemed like an accurate way of describing his feelings.

“I think that… you have butterflies in your belly!” Frank speculated.

“Butterflies?” Wally questioned. He looked down at his stomach, gently poking at it.

“Why, how did they get in there?” He wondered, worrying. “I hope I didn’t eat any caterpillars…”

“No, silly! It’s a metaphor!” Frank continued, shaking his head.

“It’s when you feel all fluttery inside, all giddy and shy!” Julie said, “Or maybe you get the heebie-jeebies when they're around?” She proposed.

“The heebie-jeebies?” Wally became even more befuddled than before.

“I know! The collywobbles!”

Were they just making up words now? It was hard for Wally to tell anymore.

“The point is, you have feelings for them.” Frank concluded, “Romantic ones!”

“Feelings of love! Stronger than friends! Like how Frank is in love with Eddie!”

“Well, I think I must be… in love with them, then,”

“Congratulations! I also think that you're the last person to find out,” Frank remarked sarcastically, poking some fun at him.

“Says you, Mr. Hopeless pining.”

“That’s different!”

Wally retold the story to you, his thumb rubbing up and down in little circles on your arm. He was enjoying the feeling of you being right there with him, your body so close to his.

“That’s how I came to terms with it, I suppose,” he finished, glancing down at you, checking out what kind of state you were in. You were certainly drifting now, the ghost of an entertained smile playing at your lips.

“That’s so cute,” you mumbled. “I think B just told me one day. I was talking to him about you and he just looked at me and said, ‘y’know you’re like, in love with him, right?’” you mimicked Barnaby’s deep voice, giggling a bit at your own attempt. Wasn’t bad, in your opinion.

“Spot on,” Wally chuckled.

“Thank you, I try,” you grinned. “Anyways, it sorta just hit me like a ton of bricks. I was like, ‘huh. I am, aren’t I?’”

Wally went quiet for a moment, until he asked a question. “Do you talk about me a lot?”

You stayed silent, thinking, debating how flat out you wanted to answer. Eventually, you settled.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Yeah, I do.”

“I think I talk about you a lot, too. I’m pretty sure Frank is tired of it, ha ha,” Wally said. “Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, though.”

“He probably thinks it’s sweet,” you chuckled, sighing, only for it to turn into another yawn. “Could you keep talking, please?” you grumbled.

“Let’s see…” Wally thought, wracking his brain for more stories he could tell. “Ah, I know,” he hummed, peering down at you.

“The other day, Barnaby and I were going to Howdy’s for hotdogs. Along the way, we…” he continued along, his voice in a gentle murmur as you slowly drifted off.

He continued to speak as you had requested, talking a bit about this, and a little about that, up until he was positive you were asleep.

Even when Wally noticed you had fully succumbed to slumber, he proceeded to go on, now, his topic shifting.

“I’m still in disbelief to have you here in my arms,”

He murmured sweetly, thumb gently sweeping along your cheekbone as he adored your peaceful features. No matter how you looked, you were always so breathtaking to him.

“I don’t think I could be more content, with you by my side,” he admitted. “I will do my best to make you happy, whatever that may take. I’ll shower you with a storm of the affection and care you deserve, and swear my love to you, for as long as you’ll accept it,” he vowed, pressing his lips to your temple.

“That is my promise to you, my love.”

hi!!! here is something, bahaha!! I don't think I'm the biggest fan of this one, but I hope you've enjoyed, nonetheless B)

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

likes and reblogs are very appreciated!! I hope that you are doing well today. have a good one, and see you next time B) MWAH!!

Posted Monday, May 8, 2023, at 1:26 PM

#wally darling x reader #wally x reader #wally darling #welcome home x reader #welcome home #ugghhhvghjsn #i crave slumber #have a song #listen to lovers do by the brummies

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hvlplvss · 6 months

Text

| welcome to the moulin rouge

summary: in which colby’s girlfriend stars in the hit broadway musical, moulin rouge. with little knowledge on the musical, he’s surprised when he first watches it.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, fingering, shower sex, praise, slight degradation, cream pie, hair pulling, slight edging. lmk if i missed anything !!

authors note: for those who haven’t watched moulin rouge, i recommend searching ‘welcome to moulin rouge-west end cast’ to get an idea about it. but if you don’t want to, it’s a musical based on a cabaret club and y/n plays one of the main girls from the club. i highly recommend it if you have never watched it!

y/n had recently been casted as ‘nini’ in one of her top three musicals of all time. moulin rouge. ever since the musical had come out, she’d adored it. knowing that she would love to be in it herself one day.

and that day was here. it was the opening night for the new cast of moulin rouge. she was also performing amongst some of her most favourite broadway performers.

her boyfriend colby and his best friend sam, who she were also really good friends with, had bought tickets for the first public opening show. they decided they might as well buy the most expensive tickets, which were the ones right at the front of the stage, where you got your own little table for two.

in true honesty, y/n had barely spent any time with colby recently. she’d been so busy at rehearsals and taking promotional pictures. so the only time she saw him, was once she arrived home, which was usually later than 11pm.

the boys sat at their table at 7:28pm, waiting for the show to begin. sam turns to colby, “so you have no idea, what this show is about?” sam asked.

colby shook his head in response, “nope. i’ve watched loads of other shows with y/n, but she won’t let me watch this, cause she wants me to see her in the show first,” he explained. “have you seen it?”

sam nodded, “yeah. y/n told me to watch it before we came to see this,” he answered. colby rolled his eyes, but a small smile stuck on his face. but he was slightly confused. how come sam could watch the movie, but he couldn’t?

the lights slightly dimmed, taking colby out of his confused state. aaron tveit, who y/n had spoke about, walked out onto stage and past the two boys, where he stood to the left of them.

aaron looked around the audience, then he looked back to the bright glowing red ‘moulin rouge’ sign. aaron lifted his hands slightly and the sign lifted up, clearing the view of the stage. the music began, a low thudding noise, with a drum every few beats.

aaron disappears off of stage, and a spotlight flashes on the back wall, where there is a silhouette of four girls. colby could recognise one of them immediately.

‘hey sister, soul sister, flow sister’

the curtain they were standing behind lifted, revealing his girlfriend. colby’s eyes widened in shock at what his girlfriend was wearing.

y/n stood there in barely any clothing. it was all lingerie. black to be specific. her hands and arms adorned red velvet gloves which stopped at her bicep. she wore black stockings, which were connected to the black corset like bodysuit by a thin piece of fabric. the corset revealed a great deal of cleavage, and left little to the imagination.

as the four stepped forward beginning to dance, colby didn’t know what to do with himself. his girlfriend dancing half naked on stage in front of hundreds of people.

the dance was as sexual as you could get, grabbing onto your own waist, dropping to the floor. doing anything that was vaguely provocative. and colby still didn’t know how to react.

what really riled him up though was when another character came on stage, someone called ‘the duke’ something like that anyway, colby wasn’t in the right mind set to even focus on that.

y/n had gone over to said character, and in simple words, had to rub herself against him. colby’s eyes stared dead at y/n. he wasn’t mad or annoyed. but he was so jealous.

the interval had just begun and colby still couldn’t stop thinking about you. sam spoke up, “you good there, colby?” he asked.

colby nodded, looking over to his bestfriend, “did you know all about that?” colby questioned.

“what your girlfriend being half naked on stage?” he answered, colby nodded, “well yeah, she’s been showing me behind the scenes things for ages. she wanted all of it to be a surprise for you,” sam added. colby hummed in response, turning back to look at the stage as the show resumed.

colby and sam walked out of the theatre and round to stage door, to meet y/n after the show. when they arrived there was a slight crowd stood there, asking for photos and signatures and what not.

y/n was amongst them, signing playbills and taking photos with fans of the show. colby and sam stood back from the crowd, allowing y/n to take her time. but colby didn’t want to wait. he was desperate for his girlfriend.

after what seemed like forever, the crowd had dispersed, meaning y/n could make her way over to the boys.

“there she is!” sam smiled, hugging y/n and telling her congratulations. she thanked him and then turned to her boyfriend.

y/n reached to kiss colby on the lips. and just from that, she could tell. she knew colby was riled up. y/n grabbed onto colby’s hand, as sam led the way to the car.

the three arrived home not much later, as they opened the door, y/n spoke up, “i’m gonna go shower real quick,” the boys nodded and y/n ran off upstairs.

“i’m probably gonna go to bed now,” colby stated, “it’s already pretty late,”

sam nodded, with a slight eyebrow raise of disbelief. he knew his friend wasn’t going to sleep, he knew exactly what was going on with the boy. but he wished him a goodnight and walked off into the kitchen.

colby walked up the stairs and into his room. he could hear the shower running from the en-suite, which was connected to their room. he could also hear y/n’s light humming of some of the songs from the show.

colby began undressing himself and walked into the shower with y/n. “you know, what you did to me, y/n?” colby suddenly asked.

y/n jumped in shock at the boys voice, “shit colby, you scared me,” y/n smiled, turning to face her boyfriend, taking him all in.

“you know, how i felt? when i was sat there watching you,” he repeated, “seeing you dance against everyone,”

y/n bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. but colby could tell. it was a habit she always had.

“you think it’s funny? that your boyfriend was sat in the audience with a hard on?” he asked seductively, “it won’t be funny soon,” he said lowly.

colby grabbed his girlfriends cheeks and brought his lips to hers roughly. he held her face with one hand and her lower back with the other.

colby wasn’t playing nice at all. the rough yet passionate kiss was clear enough to say how frustrated he was.

colby’s mouth left hers and began making it’s way down her neck, biting harshly, causing y/n to let out a whimper. “come on, let me hear you,” colby said.

y/n had only seen her boyfriend like this a couple of times. usually when he’s jealous or wound up by something.

“don’t tease, baby,” y/n pleaded.

colby hushed her, “i’m taking my time. just like how i had to sit there for two whole hours, watching you dance about with barely anything on,”

colby grabbed her tit, going back to roughly kissing his girlfriend. y/n let out a moan, but it was sealed by colby, who’s mouth covered hers.

colby let go of her tit and reached down, letting his fingers cascade down y/n’s sides. she arched into his touch, “so needy,” colby spoke against her lips.

his fingers finally reached where she needed him the most. his thumb pressed firmly on her clit, rubbing in circles.

y/n moaned out, leaning her head on colby’s chest, letting the water from the shower run down her back. colby removed his fingers, causing y/n to let out a small whine.

“you’re such a desperate whore, aren’t you?”

“only for you,” y/n answered.

“only for me, huh?” colby smirked, “you’re mine, aren’t you.” y/n nodded, “say it, y/n. say you’re mine,”

y/n removed her head from colby’s chest and looked him directly in his eyes, “i’m yours, colby,”

colby nodded in approval, “good girl,” y/n’s head went back onto colby’s shoulder, as two of his fingers pressed inside her cunt, stretching her out.

y/n stifled a moan. as her boyfriend worked his fingers inside of her, she latched her mouth onto his lower neck, causing colby to groan.

she littered dark purple bruises across his neck and chest, admiring her work after each one. she knew he’d eventually get her back for the mess across his neck as he couldn’t show it all over social media, or else people would talk.

colby could feel y/n approaching her orgasm, so he removed his hand. causing y/n to remove his mouth off of colby, “what-”

colby hushed his girlfriend, “want you to cum at the same time, baby,” he answered.

he aligned his cock with her pussy, letting it glide against her folds, teasing her.

“please colby,” she begged.

“awh, you’re begging now? that’s cute,” he answered.

colby slid his cock in slowly. y/n moaned out and colby let out a low groan, watching the pleasure that washed over his girlfriends face.

he wrapped one arm around her waist and placed his other arm on the back wall of the shower.

after a few seconds, colby began moving his hips. snapping up into y/n, causing her to moan out loudly. her arms clung onto colby’s shoulders, staring directly at him.

she grabbed onto colby’s wet hair, and slightly tugged, causing the boys head to loll back.

“you getting close?” colby asked. y/n nodded, her bottom lip coming between her teeth, “thought so. feel so tight, baby,”

y/n pulled colby in by his hair to kiss him roughly, which made him speed up his hips. colby mumbled against her lips, “cum for me,” he looked at his girlfriend, who stared directly back at him.

colby felt y/n release around him. he wouldn’t last much longer himself. his hips stilled, realising himself inside of y/n.

after a few moments, he removed his cock from her. placing a kiss on her forehead and then a soft one on her lips.

“you okay?” he asked.

she nodded, “are you?”

“i’m more than okay. and i’m so proud. so incredibly proud of you,”

“well, if when you come and watch me perform and it ends up like this, you might have to come watch me a few more times,”

#colby brock x reader #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #colby brock #sam golbach #smut #moulin rouge

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 1 month

Note

hi, covey can you pls write a platonic nico x daughter of persephone where the daughter of persephone makes nico, hades, and persephone go see hadestown on broadway with her (also if u haven’t heard hadestown highly recommend amazing musical)

wait for me? / i will; platonic! nico di angelo x daughter of persephone! reader blurb

content: platonic! nico di angelo x daughter of persephone! reader blurb (ft. mom and dad - er, persephone and hades) warning: language but we keep it silly up in this bitch author's note: i dunno if i can even call this a blurb anymore- holy shit its so fucking long but i dont wanna call if a fic bc that feels like favoritism lmao also i haven't listened to the whole play bc i haven't been a theatre kid in many many years and im trying to leave that behind me as i go to college but i do remember absolutely loving the concept and a few of the songs!!

"everyone say 'hi' to the vlog!!" you cheered as you walked in front of you family, spinning the camera around to get you all in view. upon your parents request (demand), you all were dressed in your sunday best. suits, or the closest to a suit nico was willing to put on, midi-length dresses for the girls. all designer, as hades wouldn't be caught dead not in designer. zeus would mock him for eons. nico threw up a middle finger that persephone was slapping away, before turning the camera with a sugary sweet smile.

"hi vlog!" she cheered, wrinkling her nose, attempting to be suave and hip, but not really getting close as nico and you cringed slightly.

"hello vlog," hades added, which had you and nico wheezing and hades desperately asking his wife what was wrong with what he said.

"youre- youre so cordial," you managed to get through you giggles, pointing the camera at hades, who puffed his chest out with a roll of his eyes.

"that would be because i'm old, my sweet girl," he huffed and you beamed a smile at him, spinning the camera onto yourself as the four of you continued down the streets of new york city.

"he's not that old," you smirked, nico snorting next to you.

"anyways, we're off to see hadestown. mom and dad haven't seen it yet and have no idea what it's about. but will took you last week, right, nico?" you asked, leaning into nico's side so he'd be in view. he nodded his head, darting his eyes away at the mention of his boyfriend.

"yup."

"awww! he's getting all blushy!! im gonna tell will-"

"go to hell, y/n-"

"been there, done that. boring!"

"hey, watch it!" hades cut in, with a glare, which you responded wit ha roll of your eyes.

"stop distracting me, im trying to vlog," you huffed, turning your eyes back to the camera with a wide smile, "obvi i can't film inside, but i will take a pic and tally every time one of us cries and whoever cries the most picks what we have for dinner."

"wait, wait. my blossom, you didn't mention this one was sad?" hades hissed to his wife, who shrugged in uncertainty but patted his forearm comfortingly. you and nico shared a knowing glance, tiny smirks playing on your lips.

"okay, okay," you whispered to your camera, bending over in your seat to hide it from the watchful eyes of security despite the fact that it was intermission, "we've hit intermission and i've only cried, like, twice. nico, the rat bastard, managed to stay strong so far. mom's cried, what, four times?"

"nah, closer to five. remember? right at the beginning?" nico whispered and you nodded in agreement before turning to the camera, laughing as you struggled to get your words out.

"but dad, gods bless his heart, he's probably cried twice for every song-"

"no, no, he cried, like, four times, during 'come home with me'," corrected nico and you discreetly tried to hide your giggles with nico, the two of you leaning into each other before persephone reached over, smacking at their arms.

"knock it off. your father is a very sensitive man and you didn't warn him this play was about us. and so sweetly written too," persephone mused to the pair, sniffing near the end, causing you and nico to point over at her.

"that's another one! you're up to five, mom!" bit back nico, clearly proud of himself as persephone glared at the pair, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"it's not like it matters much, your father will certainly lose- oh, welcome back, my darling, just in time," the queen of the underworld quickly changed her tune, beaming a smile as her husband returned with drinks and snacks.

he glanced at her suspiciously but let it go as he gently presented her with some fruity cocktail he knew she'd like without needing to ask. a blush flushed across her cheeks and hades was clearly proud of himself as he continued to pass out snacks. junior mints and licorice for nico, who took it with one hand while texting will with the other. you bit your lip, trying to zoom in with the camera and see what he was saying but nico caught on quick, shoving the camera away with a huff. then hades set bag of m&m's down in your lap before ripping open his own bag. instantly, you were leaning over to his seat and inspecting his bag, nawing gently at your lip as hades glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

"yes, princess?" he asked and you shyly smiled at him.

"could i have some?" you asked and hades frowned, looking pointedly down at the ones that rested, untouched, in your lap.

"you have some."

"they're better from your bag," you gushed and hades melted instantly, pretending to grumble as he presented the bag to you, small cheers escaping your lips as you dug your fingers in. and hades smiled despite himself, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before reaching over and ruffling nico's hair just as the play was about to continue.

the vlog abruptly jumped to a shot of your little family standing outside the theatre in visible distress. nico had his head hung back, waving at his face, trying to avoid tears that he knew will would mock him for. persephone and you were actively clinging to each other, fully sobbing in the middle of new york, mutters and gasps about being doomed by the narrative and love somewhere among the sobs. hades was in shock, tears streaming down his face, and his hands clasped in front of his lips. how he managed to get shocked by a play he lived through, he had no idea. you detangled yourself from your mother, who instantly went to her husband, who welcomed her into his arms without a second thought. you picked up your camera, sniffling as you attempted a smile while holding a thumbs up but the happy effect was lost with the black mascara running down your cheeks.

1.2 k comments:

@/will.solace: awww he blushes when you mention my name 🤭

@/underworlds-favs: die and see if i blush then

@/underworlds-favs: do not use our shared account for your lovers quarrel - y/n

@/underworlds-favs: die and it won’t be a shared account anymore

@/user.1: why your mom kinda...😏🤭🤤😮‍💨

@/underworlds-favs: STOP THIRSTING FOR OUR PARENTS YALL ARE WEIRD KNOCK IT OFF

@/user.2: wait, wait- i need to know who lost and i want, like, full receipts of how many times you guys cried

@/underworlds-favs: in order from least to most: nico - 2, the perfect and stunning y/n - 6, mom - 7, and our emotional king, dad, cried a whopping 36 times 🤩🤩

@/underworlds-favs: do not use out shared account to spread your propaganda - nico

@/user.2: AINT NO WAY- 36 TIMES?????

@/underworlds-favs: i wish i was joking. we had some really good italian that night tho 🤘😋

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #hoo #nico di angelo #hadestown

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miwtual · 9 months

Photo

PHOTOPEA GLITCH TRANSITION TUTORIAL by kai @heroeddiemunson

howdy! so i’ve recently come to realize that i haven’t come across any tutorials for creating a glitch transition on photopea. as someone who has done this transition many times in photopea, i figured that i should create a tutorial to show how i personally do this effect!

what you need:

photopea (basically photoshop in your browser, completely free!)

basic giffing knowledge, because i won’t cover it in this tutorial (other tutorials: tutorial by @benoitblanc, tutorial by @ashleysolsen)

i also recommend watching this youtube video for a real time visual of what i’m going to be describing in this tutorial. this video is what taught me how to do this glitch effect, so if how i’m describing it is at all confusing, check out the video to see it in action!

without further ado, make sure you save your psds regularly and let’s begin the tutorial :)

step one: making your gifs

before we do anything, you have to first make the gifs that you are going to doing the glitch in between. for the sake of this tutorial, i will be transitioning between two gifs, but this tutorial works for however many gifs you want to glitch between for your edit. here are my two gifs that i will be transitioning between:

i highly recommend keeping these individual gifs small in their frame count to make sure your final gif doesn’t go over tumblr’s size limit. the gifs i am working with are both 22 frames; you dont have to make the gifs have the same amount of frames, but i do it because i think it looks cleaner.

with your two gifs, edit them however you would like. if you have a specific order you’d like the gifs to look/a way that your finished product will look like (ex: black and white with a transition to fully colored), then you should color them accordingly. here are what my gifs look like after fully editing them:

once you’re happy with your editing, go to file > export as > GIF and save your gifs. now that we have our gifs to transition between, let’s make our canvas!

step two: making your gifs’ canvas

now that we have the gifs we’re going to be transitioning between, we need to make a “canvas”, or place where we put these two gifs in order to transition between them. so, going to file > new…, create a new canvas. here are the specifications for my canvas (size of your canvas may vary, depending on your cropping for your gifs):

the background for this canvas doesn’t really matter like it does when you’re blending two gifs, but i still made my canvas’s background black because it contrasts the brightness of the gifs i’m placing onto it.

with your canvas now created after clicking “Create”, open up the two gifs that you will be transitioning between. right click the gif’s folder in the layers panel on the right, and select duplicate into… and choose the canvas you just created. once your gifs have been duplicated into the canvas, your layer panel should look something like this:

if you didn’t duplicate your gifs in order, arrange your gifs however you want them to appear. from here, we can now get to the purpose of the tutorial, creating the glitch effect!

step three: creating the glitch effect

generally, with any transition effect, i like to make my gifs seem like they are endlessly looping. while this is a little more work when it comes to giffing, i do think it gives the gifs a nice polish and doesn’t make it feel like there’s a harsh transition between the gif’s looping cycle.

click the eye next to your top most gif(s) in order to make it invisible, as we will worry about it later. scroll down to the layer titled “_a_frm0,50”, right click, and select “duplicate layer”. this should create a new layer, “_a_frm0,50 copy”, on top of the original layer. double click on the copy, and you should see this pop up:

below the fill slider, you should see something titled “channel” with three checkboxes with R, G, and B next to each checkbox. you can uncheck any one of these checkboxes for a different effect; unchecking the R box creates the stereotypical red/blue glitch effect, unchecking the G box creates a green/pink glitch effect, and unchecking the B box creates a blue/yellow glitch effect. for my transition, i have chosen to go with the blue/yellow glitch effect by unchecking the B box. however, you can play around with whatever effect you prefer for your gif.

once you have chosen what checkbox to uncheck, click “OK”. with the “_a_frm0,50 copy” still selected, make sure you have the move tool selected (the curser at the top of the left toolbar), and choose the direction you want your glitch to go and move the layer using the arrow keys on your keyboard. it can move as much or as little as you want, whatever looks good to you! i chose to move this first layer 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up, which creates this effect for my first layer:

which looks cool, right? now, you could stop here with the glitch effect, but me being me, i’m extra, so i’m going to include the next half-step that you don’t have to follow unless you want to.

step 3.5: the glitch effect, advanced

with “_a_frm0,50 copy” still selected, go to the left toolbar and find the rectangle select tool (right under the move tool from before). this part is a bit tedious, but i like the results, so i feel that the work is worth it.

using the rectangle select tool, make a shape around part of the layer, and then go back to your toolbar and select the move tool again so we can move the selected section. do you remember how many clicks you used to move your layer and in what direction it goes in? well, now, do the opposite; since i moved 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up, my selected section needs to go 10 clicks right and 5 clicks down. below is what this looks like before and after moving the selected area:

once you’re happy with the moved selection, go to the top bar and go to select > deselect so that you are no longer selecting the section you just moved. repeat this step however many times you like; i tend to do this about 5 times for each layer of varying sizes/lengths to allow variety. here is what the final product looks like for this first layer:

and viola! your fully glitched layer one. now we can move on with the rest of the tutorial.

step three, continued: creating the glitch effect

now that you have finished this layer, make sure you have selected both frames “_a_frm0,50” and “_a_frm0,50 copy” by left clicking while holding down CTRL on your keyboard. with both layers selected, right click and choose the “merge layers” option in the popup; this ensures that the glitch effect that you have created stays as one frame.

now we get to do this many more times! make your next layer, “_a_frm1,50”, visible by clicking the little box next to it in the layer panel, and repeat the before steps. i personally alternate between what direction my glitches go in to add more variety and interest for my gifs. so, for example, with my “_a_frm0,50” frame, i moved it 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up; this means, for “_a_frm1,50”, i’m going to move it 10 clicks to the right and 5 clicks down, so on and so forth.

i do this for the first 3 frame layers and the last 3 frame layers for both gifs. when your gifs are finished with their individual gif transitions, they should (individually) look like this:

and together, they should look something like this:

and that’s the hard part done! congratulations, you just made a glitch transition!

step four: finishing touches

now, this entire step is optional, as if you already did stuff like add text to the individual gifs you are using this transition with, you’re probably already done. however, if you’re like me and you’re making a gif where the text remains stationary on top as the gif itself transitions underneath, take this time now to do so.

i will also note that if you want your gif transition to match with the rest of your gifs, you can do that in this layer. for example, i want the blue in the transition to be purple like in the rest of my gif; to accomplish this, i will use a combination of a hue/saturation layer and a selective color layer to make the blue be purple (which does change the purple a little from how it was originally, but i don’t mind). i would put these layers on top of both of my gif layers so that the transition layers in both gifs get the same coloring. doing so creates this effect:

(that isn’t a step that’s required by any means (nor do i do it all the time), but in case you wanted to do that, now you know!)

now that i am fully happy with how the gif looks, i will add my finalized text and end up with this as my final product:

now, if you run into the problem of your gif being a little too large for tumblr’s size limit (for example, my finished gif was 10.7MB, and the limit for 540x540 gifs is 10MB) and don’t want to redo all of the process of doing the glitch effect after deleting some frames, i recommend using ezgif’s gif optimizer. it helps shrink the size of your gif without costing you the quality of your gifs. :) i dont normally recommend that for other types of gifs where it’s easier to delete frames, but in this case i know that deleting frames and having to recreate the glitch effect may be annoying!

other than that, this is the end of the tutorial — congrats, you know how to make a glitch transition in photopea! good for you! :) if you ever need any help with photopea, or have a request for how i have done an effect, please feel free to shoot me an ask and i’ll do my best to explain or make another tutorial to help!

#photopea tutorial #photopea gif tutorial #gif tutorial #glitch transition tutorial #photopea #dailyresources #allresources #completeresources #usergif #userars #tusergeo #userlace #tusersai #mystuff #mytutorials #eyestrain #pulsing lights

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firstkanaphans · 3 months

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Hello Sarah sorry to bother you. I'm a new fan kinda but I'm done with watching all the firstkhao dramas (together and individual) but tbh I'm kinda lost on how I will get to know them better. I have no idea about their irl personalities that much. Maybe you can give a little introduction for me if it's not too much of a bother? Also like how they met and why are they doing so many projects together? And are they good friends irl too (my friend told me a lot of time pair actors don't really get along with each other which is why I got curious about their dynamic) Sorry if these questions are a bit dumb I'm altogether very new in bl fandoms so don't have a lot of ideas.

Oh, Anon. I don’t think you know what you’ve signed up for here. If you want a FK primer, I can give you a FK primer!

Both First and Khaotung started working for GMMTV back in 2018. I’m pretty sure talent agents simply slid into their DMs, so there was no formal audition process, but I could be wrong about that. They were both in university at the time. I’m not quite sure what they were doing that attracted the attention of the talent agents. I know First had been in at least one commercial prior, but I don’t believe Khaotung had done any acting. He had, however, had a picture go viral because he’s just so stinkin’ adorable. I think maybe this one?

Or it could have been one of these…

Either way, they ended up in an acting workshop together right after they joined. Khaotung talks about how he didn’t like First at first because he was too friendly and talkative, but I think that must have only lasted for like a day because it was during this same workshop where he discovered that his heart beats to the sound of First’s name—“FirFirFir”—and yes, that is a real thing that he has admitted out loud on multiple occasions. They have been best friends ever since.

From there, the two of them began to act in individual projects—mostly BLs—and although I have no proof of this, I am entirely convinced that they were playing a long con to get themselves partnered together. They did way more fanservice before they were partnered than they do now. Feel free to watch this live from 2020 where they alternate between staring lovingly in each other's eyes and just outright flirting for an hour straight.

Look, they’re smart boys. They knew that their best path to success in this industry was to be in a fixed pair and they wanted that pair to be each other. How do I know? Because these two adorable idiots were showing up to events in matching outfits.

This picture was taken in January 2021 when Tonhon Chonlatee was actively airing! There's a picture from this same event of them with Podd, who Khao was paired with, and Podd looks like the odd man out.

They were finally paired together for The Eclipse in 2022 and spent the entire press tour either talking about how excited they were to finally work together or crying about the possibility that they might never be able to work together again. I would highly recommend you watch The Eclipse special episode if you haven’t already. In it, First talks about how there was one scene where Khao wasn’t supposed to cry but he kept crying anyway because First was crying and he cared about First so much.

And speaking of crying, if you want to watch a compilation of FK crying about how much they love each other (and other things!), you can find that here.

One thing I would recommend if you want to get to know FK better is to watch a bit of Safehouse Season 4. It’s unscripted, so you’ll get a sense of their personalities, but First was also in an arm cast at the time, so you’ll get to watch Khao dote on him for seven days straight.

Oh and you have to watch this! If you ever see people talking about the voices in First’s head, that's why.

Obviously, we can never truly know what goes on behind closed doors for any of these BL couples, but I feel pretty confident in saying that FirstKhao are genuine besties. They literally do everything together. You can find a collection of some of their lovestagram pics here although there are so many more now. It never stops.

Actual things they have said to each other un-prompted:

First to Khao: I want to build a house with the same fences as you.

Khao to First: As you grow up, you will meet many new friends. Leave them and stay with me.

I’m wracking my brain for anything else that feels important for a new fan to know and am coming up blank, but I’m sure I’ll probably think of something right after I post this. They’re both just super sweet individuals who have never been involved in any controversy and I think what people love most about them is just how much they care about each other. They’ve got that whole platonic soulmate thing going on and we're all super jealous.

#asks #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #firstkhao

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pedrointofolklore · 8 months

Text

Long story short

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks had passed since your steamy kiss with joel, and you wanted more. sequel to this is me trying.

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, joel miller has a big dick, emotional sex, brief mention of sex as currency (as part of reader’s backstory), allusions to depression and suicidal ideation, lots of fluff with a bit of angst, enemies to lovers (they’re in their lover era), extremely soft joel, joel is so disastrously in love, self-loathing due to a guilty conscience, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, ellie era (ellie is only mentioned)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: hey y’all. so part one did way better than i ever expected. thank you to everyone who has supported it. if you haven’t read it i highly recommend you do before reading this. if you have read it: enjoy part two! the title is once again a taylor swift song.

It had been weeks since you kissed Joel.

Neither of you acknowledged it. After the shitstorm that was Kansas City, your focus was making it to Wyoming on foot. Addressing one kiss wasn’t high on the list of priorities.

But you still thought about it. A lot. And it seemed like Joel did too.

Joel Miller wasn’t nice as a rule, but he was good to you. He confided in you, asked for your input, and did what he could to make you feel like your presence was important. Whether or not it was actually important, you just appreciated that he was trying.

And you were trying too. You were doing your best to be present, focus on the positives, and take a breath before sprinting headfirst into danger. Just as Tess would have done.

You couldn’t have predicted that Ellie would end up inspiring you. There was something about her that reminded you of yourself (which was ultimately cause for concern), but she was different in the ways that mattered most. She was funny and resilient and excited about things, even in this vile world she was living in.

You wanted to be more like her.

There was an abandoned, isolated cabin somewhere between Kansas City and Kearney—you weren’t sure exactly where at this point. It was a corroded, rotting structure, with shattered windows and wooden panels threatening to collapse, but it was better than sleeping outside in the middle of nowhere.

There were two beds and a couch inside. Ellie passed out almost immediately after calling dibs on the bed upstairs. The poor girl was exhausted. Meanwhile, Joel laid down on the couch and shut his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. This was clearly an act; he wasn't going to sleep, he was going to keep watch.

You hadn’t slept in a bed since the QZ, and though this bed was old and musty and probably infested with microscopic bed bugs, it somehow felt like the most comfortable thing in the world. This was the first time in so long it didn’t feel like you were in a rush. You could just exist and let your mind wander.

Letting your mind wander was something you typically avoided, but instead of your thoughts leading you down a trail of despondency, they led you to Joel. You pictured him sitting upright on the couch, scanning the area through fractured windows, clutching a shotgun and trying to stay awake. You wondered what he was thinking about.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

That was what he’d said to you. It was such a new feeling; wanting Joel, wanting anything. You thought about the kiss again, and a warm, tingly sensation spread throughout your entire body like ink seeping into wet paper.

It was later, and you still wanted it.

Joel was awake.

This wasn’t new. Joel hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in 20 years, but it had gotten worse lately.

He’d failed everyone in Kansas City, but most of all Ellie. It left him in a constant state of unease, just waiting for something else to go wrong. Even sleeping stressed him out now.

Then, there was you.

As everything around him gradually fell into shambles, it felt like he needed you more everyday. You were good and clever and really the only person in the world who made Joel feel like he could do this, and that terrified him. You were trying so hard, but he still had this paralysing fear of losing you.

Joel hadn’t forgotten what happened, and he hadn’t forgotten what he said.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

He wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was referring to. Was it that he’d fuck you if you asked? He would, but he didn't think that was really what he meant.

He also wasn’t sure if you wanted it. Maybe the kiss had been just a random moment of weakness for you. Maybe you woke up the next morning and realised that Joel was the last person in the world you could ever want. The thought gnawed at him; infected him like some faceless monstrosity with razor-sharp teeth.

But if by some chance you wanted it—wanted him—he would give you everything he had. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and certainly not your admiration, but you deserved to get whatever you wanted out of him. He would let you come to him, and he would do anything you asked if it meant keeping you here.

The sound of your door clicking open jerked Joel from his anxious ruminating. His eyes followed you as you sauntered over to the couch and plonked yourself down next to him, crossing your legs with an air of forced nonchalance.

“What are you doing up?” Joel asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “You’re also up.”

“Just keepin’ watch.”

“We’re indoors in the middle of nowhere, Joel,” you replied. “I think you can sleep for a bit.”

Joel didn’t say anything. He couldn’t get into this with you. He didn’t want to ruin the newfound trust you had in him by letting you know what a mess he was.

“Unless there’s something else keeping you up,” you spoke in a nervous whisper, like you were testing the waters to see if Joel would actually entertain this conversation.

Of course he would. There were things Joel didn’t want to talk about—anything that had ever happened to him, for example—but the only thing stronger than his propensity to never let anyone in was the urge he had to never deny you.

“Just been worried about you, I guess.”

Your mouth formed a constrained smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We talked about this. I’m fine now, Joel.”

“One talk can’t solve everything.” Or one kiss, for that matter.

“I’m not asking you to solve anything,” you replied, your tone becoming heightened. “Worry about the important things, like Ellie and finding your brother and—"

“You are important.”

He felt a rush of anger, but not at you. Never at you. He was angry at himself. Of course you felt unimportant when he’d spent so long making you feel that way. It wasn’t fair that he got to wake up one day and decide to stop being an asshole while you still had to live with the consequences of his assholery.

You sat there not saying anything, and Joel was certain that you were about to walk away from this conversation. The irony wasn’t lost on him; for two people who hated heartfelt discussions, you couldn’t seem to stop finding yourselves in the middle of them.

“Joel…” Your voice came out breathy and desperate. It was completely unexpected. He couldn’t describe the feeling of hearing you say his name like that. All he knew was that he wanted to fall to his knees at your feet.

“What do you need?” Joel asked. He hoped that he already knew the answer.

“I need you.”

He let out a shaky exhale—relieved and nervous all at once. “You have me, sweetheart. You know that."

Being naked on a grotty mattress with a fully-clothed man above you should have been horrifically vulnerable, but you couldn’t muster up any uncertainty with Joel. All you felt was an excited kind of anticipation.

You never expected Joel to be so affectionate, but he held you like you were something worth caring for. He took his time, kissing you slow and undressing you bit by bit until you were bare for him. You felt the same heated intensity you had that night in the woods, but without the crushing sense of urgency.

Your breath hitched when Joel trailed kisses from your chest down past your navel. He stopped at the lowest part of your belly, looking up at you with lustful, imploring eyes. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please…” You already sounded embarrassingly wrecked.

Your body jolted when Joel dragged a finger through your soaked slit, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness that was dripping out of you and spreading it over your aching clit.

Then, without a word, he pushed himself up and off the bed. You looked at him in dismay, about to berate him for teasing, but your voice caught in your throat when he crouched down at the end of the bed and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until your ass was lined up with the edge of the mattress, and your legs were thrown over his shoulders.

The sound that escaped you when Joel sucked your clit into his mouth was borderline feral. You didn’t know you were capable of making a noise like that—something between a pathetic gasp and a wanton moan.

“Oh f—Joel! Feels so good. What the fuck.” You were breathless and shaking and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Ssh, sweetheart,” Joel hushed. You clenched around nothing when his warm breath hit your drenched core. “Need you to be quiet. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He didn’t even wait for you to try and compose yourself before devouring you again. He had a lot of audacity to think he could tell you to be quiet as he tongue-fucked you senseless. And then, like he was trying to get you to scream, he prodded a finger at your entrance and slipped it inside.

“That feel good?” Joel asked, curling his finger as he pumped it into you.

You whined and pulled his hair harder. He let out a low groan and continued flicking his tongue over your clit, and it dawned on you that he wasn’t just doing this to make you feel good—he was doing it because he liked it.

He added another finger, and this time you did scream, but not before clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. It was too much now. His mouth and fingers were unrelenting, as if worshipping your cunt was his only purpose on this earth.

“Joel—F-fuck—I think I’m gonna come.”

“You can come, baby. I got you.”

Those three words were all you needed. You came hard, sobbing and writhing and crushing Joel’s head between your thighs as you tried to clamp them shut. He could not have given less of a fuck—he continued his onslaught between your legs until you were twitching with overstimulation and pulling him off by his hair.

You threw an arm over your eyes, trying to catch your breath and recover from that earth-shattering orgasm. You heard the faint clink of a belt, followed by the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor. You opened your eyes when the mattress dipped, revealing a very naked Joel Miller.

This took you by surprise more than anything else. You never thought that Joel would take his clothes off for you, and you wouldn’t have asked him to—he’d done it of his own volition. He wanted to bare himself to you like you had to him.

Plus, he was hot. You would have been attracted to him no matter what, but he was so undeniably sexy. His arms looked like they were carved from marble. He was broad and strong, but still had a wonderfully human softness about him. And his cock. Your mouth salivated at the sight. It was thick and long and beautiful. You wanted to drag your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft and taste the leaking precum at the tip.

“You done starin’?” Joel asked, blushing at the way you were blatantly ogling him.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, your knees settling on either side of his hips. “Stop being so pretty if you don’t want me to stare.”

Joel let out a genuine, light-hearted laugh—something you’d only witnessed him do a handful of times. You wanted to bottle the sound and keep it forever. “I’m pretty, am I?”

“So pretty.” You leaned forward and kissed him, painfully aware of his hard cock pressed against your inner thigh.

You reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, teasing the slit with your thumb and spreading the dribbling fluid. You pumped him a few times, noticing the way his belly tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so good, sweetheart," he spoke with a low, sultry tone, "but I really need to fuck you now.”

Joel had you pinned under him in a second, hiking your legs up around his hips while his cock bumped your entrance.

“Ready?” Joel asked.

You nodded eagerly and repeated what you told him earlier, “I need you.”

Joel lined the head of his cock up with your wet heat, stroking it through your folds and teasing your sensitive clit. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on your lips as he finally pushed into you.

The stretch stung even with how wet you were. You dug your nails into his back and tried not to wince, all while Joel planted comforting kisses around your face.

“It’ll feel good in a second, baby,” he whispered against your cheek. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you assured him. “Don’t stop.”

He paused when he was buried to the hilt, giving you a moment to adjust. You weren’t completely inexperienced, but the sheer size of Joel was a lot to take.

But it wasn't long before the sting started to morph into pleasure. You felt keyed up and desperate and so incredibly full. “You can move now.”

His hands settled on your thighs as he pulled his cock out and slowly pushed it back in. Your walls fluttered around him, spurring him on. He did it again, this time plunging it harder and faster.

You gasped at the feeling, gushing around his cock and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. He set a steady, delicious pace, pounding into you the way you hadn't even known you'd been craving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Shit. So good. So fuckin' perfect.”

You moaned at his slurry of praise, angling your hips up so he reached even deeper. You ran a hand over his back and down to his plush ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Joel chuckled fondly and traced affectionate nibbles along your jaw.

It hit you all at once that you had never been this happy before. Having Joel in your arms, buried inside you, giving you everything he could was beyond euphoric. You didn't know if you would ever feel this good again.

And suddenly, he stopped. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Fuck. You were crying. “Nothing. Just don’t stop.”

“I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.” He made a move to pull out, but you panicked and tightened your legs around his waist to hold him there.

“It’s nothing bad. I just can’t believe this is happening,” you told him. Warm, pearly tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, but you smiled in spite of yourself. “It feels so good, and I’m just…really happy it's you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel cooed, kissing your tear-stained temples. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? So fuckin’ sweet. Gonna keep you forever, baby. Don’t worry.”

His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was both fervent and impossibly romantic. He tongue slipped past your lips, licking into your mouth with a tender intensity that had you mewling.

Joel resumed thrusting into you. His pace was slower, but his cock was hitting deeper. The warmth in your belly was quickly turning into a burning fire—a fire you wanted to keep on raging.

You were so close, and you knew Joel would never come before you did, but you were determined to hold out; to hold onto this rapturous intimacy as long as you could.

“It’s okay,” Joel said, as if he was reading your mind. “You’re okay.”

You couldn't stop it. Your walls tightened like a vice. You arched and trembled and clawed at Joel, muttering broken curses as he fucked you through your orgasm.

His hips faltered, his thrusts lost their rhythm, and you knew he was about to come. He probably needed to pull out. You probably needed to tell him to. But he just kept plunging his cock into you, and you kept letting him. His eyes were dark and pleading—he was begging you to let this happen.

You wanted him to do it. “Please, Joel.”

He growled a deep, rumbling ‘fuuuuck,' cock twitching and painting your walls with thick ropes of come.

He let out a contented sigh once he recovered and collapsed on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck while your fingers sifted through his damp hair.

This would be over soon. Before Joel could give in to his exhaustion and fall asleep on top of you, he would remember where he was: in a decaying cabin at the end of the world with two people who needed him. Soon enough, he would stand up, dress himself, and go back to keeping watch.

You wished you could have this with him all the time. You wished you could fall asleep with him, wake up with him, and spend your days together with some semblance of peace. You didn’t want much, but you wanted that.

“Was that your first time?”

The thought only occurred to Joel when everything was said and done and he was cleaning you up. It made sense—you were young when the outbreak happened, you’d been relatively alone until you met him and Tess, and he could tell by the way your body reacted to him that it wasn’t used to such an intrusion.

“No, but it felt like it,” you replied. “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to.”

Joel’s heart plummeted into his stomach. His mouth went dry, his jaw clicked the way it did when he was enraged, and he felt just about ready to kill someone.

“Not like that, Joel,” you said quickly. “I agreed to it. It was...I didn’t have anything else to trade.”

Joel was destroyed, but it wasn’t even a shocking revelation. He didn’t judge you for it—he’d turned to a lot worse in the name of survival—it just made him feel sick that you were ever in that position. You deserved to be cherished and taken care of, not used and discarded.

“Do you still do that?” He almost wanted to ask if you’d ever done it for his or Tess’s benefit, but he feared the answer would crush him.

“No. Not for years,” you replied. “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. It was only a couple of times.”

That’s still bad.

Joel held you close, stroking your hair and kissing your lovely face. Maybe it was because you had told him all of that while you were both still naked, but he felt like he needed to remind you that he adored your body, as well as the soul it carried.

He also felt like he needed to apologise. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“What for?”

“Just…everything. I hate the way I treated you.”

“I already forgave you, Joel.”

Your words should have been a relief, but they felt like a hot knife piercing right into his chest. “Why?”

“You apologised, and you changed.”

“And that’s enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I hurt you. I made you feel like you shouldn’t be here.” His throat ached as he swallowed down the emotion rising in him. He didn't want to sound as devastated as he felt, because he knew you would comfort him if he did, and this wasn’t about him.

“You didn’t make me feel like that, Joel,” you spoke with gentle reassurance. “I felt that way for a long time. Before I met you.”

“Okay, but I didn’t help.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s over now. I don’t want to keep harping on it.”

“What do you want?” Joel asked. It was a heavy question, and one you hadn’t considered in so long—he knew that because he hadn’t either.

You snuggled into him, so cute and cosy it made him ache. “Just this. Can we have this?”

Truthfully, Joel was terrified, and he knew it wasn’t going to stop. He used to think that having you close like this would make it harder, but there was a strange sense of relief in having this with you. He didn’t have to worry from afar anymore. He could hold onto you, and look after you. He had you right there with him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Joel laid with you until you fell asleep. He wanted to stay like that all night, sleeping with you curled up in his arms. He hoped that one day he would get to.

Right now, he needed to keep watch.

a/n: im so awkward about writing smut so if that came across while reading pls forgive me. im overall pretty happy with how this turned out. i might write some drabbles about this relationship down the road, but im leaving these two here for now. thanks for reading! p.s. in order to stay true to part one, im sick again posting this. (why do i keep getting sick??)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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its-time-to-write · 6 months

Text

i hold it like a grudge - ch. 2

I forgot to mention, the chapter titles/series name comes from the song, “the grudge.” I’d highly recommend listening to it at least once to get the feel I was going for in this fic, or at least what influenced parts of it.

table of contents try to be tough

It’s raining, not completely unusual for early August, and it feels like a reset. The air smells clean and fresh, and you know that it’s going to be a slow workday. You pull out your computer and check up on your online orders and update some posts on social media. You’re gaining serious traction, with reposts and likes from some American celebrities. Shit, with the way things are going, you could sell your flat and buy an actual house.

The grudge you hold against Jamie doesn’t seem so huge at the moment. It’s still there, but it no longer feels as though he pulled the rug out from under your feet. For the first time, you’re allowed to think about other things than the struggle he left you with. For example, why did he leave you in the first place? You hadn’t considered about it since cutting up everything he ever gave you, too busy with the all-consuming thought how will I survive?

It hurts, hurts much more than you think it still should.

The two of you grew up together in the same council estate, right next to each other. You terrorized the neighbors while your mothers discussed money and shared food and scrounged together what they could to support both of you.

When you got older and he was scouted for footie and headed for the academy, you still called him almost every day. He’d listened when you cried about your mum and watched her fade away right in front of you.

He’d gotten leave and come home for her funeral, and helped you pack everything up to either sell or to move next door with Georgie.

Jamie had been there for every part of your life, just as you’d been there for him when his dad came around, or he got yelled at by his teachers.

He knew you, knew how much it meant that he stayed. Knew how much the support meant, and the way you both had clawed your way to get at least close to the top.

This plagues you as you wrap pickup orders for the day and place them in their spots behind the counter.

You’re coming to the conclusion that he did it on purpose, that he must have known exactly what he was doing and somehow decided you deserved it, when a customer comes in out of the rain.

“Morning!” you say. “I have your order all ready for you. And it’s all paid for, so nothing else is needed on your end.”

Keeley says “Thanks,” with far less energy than she showed the other day with Jamie.

You ask, “You alright?” before you can stop yourself.

She huffs out half a laugh. “Yeah, fucking great. Life’s just peachy at the moment, as I’m sure you’ve read in The Sun.”

You hadn’t, but you’ve a good guess what it has to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say as she takes the earrings.

She just laughs again, short and grating. “Yeah. Y’know, I’ve been on all your socials. Read your website about empowering yourself and all that. Part of the reason why I wanted to come here, actually, y’know, fucking… girls supporting girls.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

“I’m glad you’re getting the success you deserve, babes. Your bio said you went through a lot of shit to get here. Guess I’m still in my ‘lot of shit,’ part of life, you know? Anyway.” She goes to leave, jewelry tucked safely into her purse.

You think, fuck it.

“Keeley?” you ask hesitantly. She turns back around to face you.

“I just- I’ve been with someone who didn’t value me. Who didn’t hold himself accountable. It didn’t start that way at first, it was a lot of fun, but it ended up hurting me. I haven’t been able to trust anyone like that since, and I don’t want you to end up like me. You don’t have to stay with him. You can have a whole life all on your own, you know?”

Keeley gives you a small smile, says, “Thank you,” and heads out the door.

—

I deserved it.

Those words ring in your head as you walk home. You don’t bother to open your umbrella, opting to let the rain fall as it will in some form of absolution.

I deserved it.

You shut the door to your flat and drop your clothes on the way to the shower. You turn the knob to scalding, and let the suffocating steam fill the bathroom.

I deserved it.

The rain hits the roof with more force as you drink half a bottle of wine in lieu of dinner. It’ll hurt you tomorrow, but you don’t work tomorrow.

I-

No. It’s 3am, and you’re awoken from vivid dreams of your mum and Georgie and Simon, of Keeley, and of fucking Jamie.

No. You didn’t- you don’t deserve it.

“No,” you say aloud. “I know how to swim. I made it.”

With that pronouncement, you pull your blankets tighter around you, slipping easily into a dream where your mum holds you and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

—

It’s another rainy day in Richmond. The sky is dark and cloudy, and you can hear the sound of drops hitting the pavement as soft music plays in the shop. You haven’t seen Jamie or Keeley in a while, but his face is stuck all over Richmond, just like you predicted.

Every time you see it, you think a calm, fuck you and continue walking. You didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you.

You’re working on an order when the door chimes and Keeley Jones breezes in.

“Hi, welcome back! Jamie buying you more jewelry?”

Keeley grimaces. “Broke up with him a bit ago, actually. Thought a lot about what you said about accountability, then a friend of mine used the exact same word. It’s a little bit shit, but like you said. I can have a whole life all on my own, yeah?”

“Yeah!” you hastily reassure. “I promise you, it’s fucking brill without him. Hard at first, but you have to know your value.”

She grins a little half-grin and places the Keeley earrings on the counter.

That’s not unexpected, people often want to get rid of gifts from their ex, but you do still have a business.

“I’m so sorry about your breakup, but we can’t really do returns. Everything’s custom, so…” you trail off.

“Oh!” Keeley says. “No, I actually came back because I really fucking love these earrings, and I want something else to go with it. What d’you recommend?”

“Oh!” you parrot. “Well, we have necklaces. The charms are the same style, I can make a mockup for you if you give me a minute.” You turn around to pull out some boxes, and hear the door jingle. The air in the room changes ever so slightly and you know without looking who has just stepped in.

Jamie looks back and forth between you and Keeley, like he didn’t expect to see either of you there.

That fucking drowning feeling, the one you worked so hard to get over, comes back in full force.

“Hey,” Jamie says hesitantly, “um, I’ll just-”

He leaves as quick as he came.

Keeley gives you a strange look. “What the fuck?” she laughs. “Was he looking for me? How the fuck did he know where I was?”

You tear your eyes away from the space Jamie just occupied. It’s been what, a month since the first time he came into your shop? Longer? It feels right and wrong somehow, like it’s both at once; you and him, in the same room, just like it’s always been. Like no time has passed.

But time has passed, and more importantly the time for you to respond to Keeley has passed. You’ve been quiet a beat longer than normal, and she catches it. Keeley’s a smart girl, smarter than she’s given credit for. She’s puzzling out all the information she has, and you can practically hear it all bouncing around in her mind.

Something clicks into place. You see it in the way Keeley’s entire expression changes. She claps a hand over her mouth and exclaims, “Oh shit!”

You don’t have a a chance to say anything because she looks at you with horror in her eyes and says, “It was Jamie.”

“What do you mean?” you ask carefully.

Keeley’s still processing. “It was Jamie,” she repeats. “That’s your ex. The one who didn’t hold himself accountable, the one you said cheated on you. Oh my god, I’m the other woman! How could I do that to you?”

Keeley is having an epiphany mixed with a heart attack.

“You didn’t know!” you argue. “You didn’t know, and you never would have done it if you had.”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she moans.

You grab her arm. “Keeley. You. Didn’t. Know. It’s been over a year. I’m fine.”

She snaps out of it a little bit, but still looks dazed as she says, “Why the fuck have you been so sweet? You knew exactly who I was.”

You lift a shoulder. “Jamie… he’s like a magnet. I dunno. I get what it’s like when he looks at you, it’s like you can’t believe that someone that wonderful even notices you. And I guess I understand why he dumped me, you know? We’ve known each other since we were kids and it’s fine if you have a regular job, but if you’re a fucking Premier League footballer… probably best to stick with models.”

Keeley walks over to the door and flips the sign to “closed.”

You look at her quizzically, but she just leans against the door and whispers, “I didn’t know you knew each other that long.”

There’s no good response to that statement, so you chew on your lip. For a long moment, you two just stare at each other.

Finally you say, “Okay. Fuck this. We’re going to my flat and we’re going to eat a shit ton of food and get absolutely smashed.”

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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spookyspecterino · 8 months

Text

Grunt Work

Sam Coe x GN! Reader

GN! Reader. No pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used. Reader is referred to as Captain sometimes, like in the game.

Canon typical violence: blood, injury, mentions of death, guns, language, romance, kissing. All PG-13.

Spoilers for the “Grunt Work” Quest

It’s the very first UC Vanguard quest. If you haven’t played it yet, I highly recommend it. Out of my 20-ish hours playing it’s my favorite so far.

No spoilers for the end of game (I haven’t even gotten close to it yet) or anything to do with Sam Coe’s romance questline (I haven’t finished that either).

Non-spoiler summary for this fic/quest:

Reader and Sam Coe go to Tau Ceti II to check up on the settlers in the Tau Gormet Production Center.

More descriptions of the fic with a more specific summary below the cut. I’m being very specific about spoilers because for most people, myself included, we’ve only had the game for a week.

More specific summary of this fic/quest:

The UC Vanguard sends you on a routine mission to check in on a settler colony on Tau Ceti II—it turns out to be anything but routine. With Sam Coe at your side, your first Vanguard mission is a baptism by fire.

Characters: Hadrian, Sam Coe, Vasco (mentions of other characters: Cora Coe and Barret)

“Vasco, do a quick comms check for me. I want to make sure it’s working after it glitched out on the last planet.”

The tall robot makes some beeping and whirring noises. The way it stares into nothing bothered you at first, but after some time you’d gotten used to it—even appreciating how it followed commands without hesitation. Over by the ships on and off-boarding ramp, Sam says goodbye to Cora. A smile spreads across your face as you watch them.

The Frontier’s external lighting illuminates the surrounding landing site. An otherworldly moon hangs in the night sky. You take one more moment to do a last check of your pack’s contents. This was going to be a routine check-in mission, but it never hurt to be safe than sorry.

“Comms are operational, Captain.”

“Thank you.” You wave goodbye to Cora who smiles and waves back before returning to the Frontier. “Comms are good Sam, ready to go?”

Your companion saunters over with that signature ranger’s confidence. “Always.”

“Great. I think I’ve got everything. Vasco, have I got everything?”

“Scanning now.”

Sam shifts from foot to foot. “Storm’s rolling in.” He comments, looking into the distance. “I’d like to get there before it starts raining.”

Sure enough, muted thunder rolls on the horizon and the wind picks up a touch.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, cowboy.”

“I don’t even know what a horse looks like.” He mumbles.

Vasco beeps affirmatively. “The necessary items are present, Captain. However, you are carrying more than the recommended amount.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder with a grin, ignoring the second part. “Thanks Vasco. You know, for a second there Sam, I thought you were going to say something about your joints hurting.”

“Ha ha. I’m not that old.”

You make a teasing face at him as you start heading toward the compound’s lights in the distance. The trek isn’t bad, mostly flat terrain with a few rocks here and there. The wind continues to pick up, carrying the scent of rain.

Sam hops over a rock, taking his place by your side. “Not to sound too over-eager to get this Vanguard busy work out of the way, but, where’s our next stop after this?”

“I was thinking we could explore the rest of this system. How’s that sound?”

“You know me, no complaints here.”

A radio tower comes into view, red lights along the sides flashing periodically. Beyond it is the main compound.

“Oh, Cora asked to keep an eye out on books specifically about ship reactors. She thinks she can fix ours.”

You hike your pack higher on your shoulder, already feeling the soreness. Blast your incessant need to carry every type of weapon part with you at all times. “I’ll be on the look-out. If she can save me a few credits and fix it herself, she’s welcome to try.”

“She’s a brilliant kid, but let’s do it on a planet with an actual mechanic who can make sure it works after. I have faith in her, but she’s 11 and you can’t learn everything from books—”

“Hold up. Sam. Stop.”

He freezes, noticing your stock-still posture, eyes fixed on the wide-open doors of the radio tower. Bright light filters out into the night.

“Does that look like a body to you?” you ask him, pointing toward a slumped over shape laying against a supply crate.

“Sure does.”

Unholstering your pistol, you both crouch and move closer. The grass underfoot sways in the wind.

It’s a grisly scene. Multiple bodies litter the area. All settlers—dressed in civilian working clothes. Blood splatters dot the concrete, some trail back to a body. Sam whistles, short and low, to get your attention. He’s looking inside. On the table is a settler, face up, arms splayed out and gutted. Clothes stained a vibrant red. Deep claw marks gouge out sections of the floor.

“No bullets, no casings in sight.” He murmurs close to your ear. “And it’s all fresh.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he shares your particular anxiety. “Let’s check out the main compound.”

Moving out of the small building and down toward the tar mac, you’re about to say something about the wrecked ship when an alien scream interrupts you. It sets every hair on end. Never have you heard a sound like that, even on the many planets you’ve explored.

In little to no time after the scream, a sharp static crackles over your comms, making you jump. Sam shuffles closer, crouched low next to you. If the situation wasn’t so tense, he may have chuckled, but he stays frozen and somber faced.

“I am so glad to see you.” The voice, a woman’s, sounds heavy with relief. “I think it knows you’re here. Hurry up to the second-floor office, I’ll unlock the door.”

As you make your way into the compound, it feels like walking straight into the lion’s den. Every sense is on high alert. Lightning flashes, making you see things in the shadows that aren’t really there. Only Sam’s presence behind you keeps you level-headed.

The brightly lit, glass windowed office only makes you feel worse, like a sitting duck on display.

“I’m Hadrian.” The woman introduces herself curtly while holding her side. “Are you my saving grace?”

“Not exactly. I’m UC Vanguard—sent to check in on the settlers.”

“Well shit.” She leans against the table, eyes closed in pain.

“Please don’t tell me we’re dealing with a Terrormorph here.” Sam asks, beating you to the punch.

She sighs. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Shit. That’s bad news, Captain. Real bad.”

“Listen,” Hadrian starts, moving away from the table, “I know you’re just two people, but you have to help me kill this thing.”

“And why’s that? Why don’t we all just leave now?” You ask.

“It’s unique. It showed up way too early. Tau Ceti’s only been colonized for 20 years. If this is a new kind of Terrormorph that matures faster and shows up earlier, we need to know.”

“Damnit.” You hiss. “Terrormorphs that show up after only 20 years of colonization could wipe humanity off the map.”

“Exactly.”

Rain begins to fall on the large windows with a clatter. The rolls of thunder were becoming booming clashes now. Visibility was already reduced at night, but now the storm made things worse.

You relent, giving up any notions of leaving. “Alright. I’ll help. Got any ideas on how to kill it?”

Sam’s eyeing you particularly hard from where he stands.

“Yeah, turrets. But we need to bring them back online and get them powered up. The terminal’s on ground level at the far end of the warehouse.”

Sam grunts. “So, closer to the Terrormorph?”

“I’m not sure where it is right now. My best guess is it’s still around the outer edge of the facility. But there’s a tracking system you can use on one of the terminals.”

You run a hand over your face. “Ok. Tracker and turrets. That’s better than nothing. I can make do”

“Radio me when you’ve reset the system and I’ll calibrate it from here. Thank you for helping and good luck.”

You and Sam sneak out one of the office doors into the warehouse. Fat raindrops fall on the metal roof, amplifying the sound into a loud drumming. It doesn’t come close to the volume of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Vasco, come in.”

“Reporting, Captain.”

“Initiate full lockdown on the ship. Tell Cora we ran into some trouble and are taking necessary precautions. If she seems worried, give her a book from my locker.”

“Yes Captain.”

You shut off comms and sling your pack from around your shoulders, attempting a commanding tone that you’ve always needed to fake. “Sam Coe.”

His usual raspy, low voice is layered with apprehension. “Captain?”

You’re pulling out weapon pieces from your pack for your rifle. They’re big—heavy duty—and add a decent amount of weight to the gun. “Go back to the ship.”

“I had a hunch you were gonna pull something like this. No. No way.”

“That’s an order—”

“Don’t try that with me. You know it ain’t gonna work.”

You pause, just as you’re changing out the rifle’s .50 Cal magazine with a 9x39mm eight round clip. “Sam.”

“I’m staying.”

His eyebrows are furrowed. Mouth slanted in a stubborn, almost angry frown. You’d have to dig deep. “Cora can’t lose you.”

“You always pull that card. It’s lost its affect.”

“…I can’t lose you either.”

You’ve never used that before and quite frankly are surprised to hear it come out of your mouth. Maybe it’s too soon. Up until now, you and Sam have only been flirting—no real feelings or moves have been made. It’s a bit of a jump, but you’re sincere.

His eyes hold yours unflinchingly. The crease on his forehead lessens a little. “Then you know how I feel and why I’m staying right here.”

He’s one-upped you and you weren’t prepared for it. You murmur a “Damit Sam” and go back to modifying your rifle. Fighting is pointless, and his admission has your nerves shaken more than you’d like. “Stay glued to my side unless I say otherwise. If things turn sideways and I order you back to the ship, you’d better listen. Got it?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“I mean it.”

A hint of his familiar smile returns. “I heard ya.”

“And Sam…”

“Hm?”

“No heroics.”

He doesn’t respond, his brows pinch together again. It’ll have to do.

Moving through the warehouse went excruciatingly slow. At all times you wished you could just get up and run instead, but it would signal the monster almost immediately. The whole situation made you feel like you were prey, scared and small. The addition of Sam’s presence put a heavy responsibility on your shoulders and that made you even more careful.

Hadrian was on your comms as soon as the system was reset. She directed you to the tracker frequency tuner in the same room. While finding the frequency, the system went into high alert—detecting the major threat. Your watch begins beeping steadily, and then rapidly speeds up. The Terrormorph was getting closer to your position.

Your eyes met Sam’s just as the alien appeared on the roof of the building outside. Right in sight from the room’s windows you were in. A rough hand yanks you down to the ground. Sam is crouched damn near on top of you, shotgun aimed up at it. However, it doesn’t notice you two in the dark room. You slowly cover the watch face to try and muffle the beeping sound. Maybe it was the rain, or the creature was just playing games, but it moved on past to a different part of the facility. Loud footsteps fading as it leaves. The radar lessens to a low, steady beat.

“Hadrian, come in.”

“I read you. The turrets are going to need their power sources reset with the security system in lockdown.”

“Great.” Sam sighs, lowering his gun. His shoulder leans into yours as he gets closer.

“We’ll find them. Out here.”

Reaching for your rifle, your hands visibly shook. You can feel Sam’s watchful gaze.

“Last chance to leave.” You whisper, aimlessly checking over your gun. You feel his hand squeeze your shoulder reaffirming.

“Not happening.”

The first power source wasn’t hard to find. You took the slow route, keeping an ear out for any changes in the radar frequency. The power switch was like a beacon, a big red switch on a yellow panel—it stuck out like a sore thumb. When you flipped it lights came on, loudspeakers announced to stand back…and the radar went nuts.

“Out, out, out!” You hiss, pushing Sam toward the far end door. He doesn’t need to be told twice as he beelines it.

With Sam leading, you follow him, scrambling up onto the roof of the building near the turrets. Two of the six are online now. Two more switches and you’ll have a fighting chance. Maybe.

Behind you, further in the facility, things crash. For now, it seems you’re safe.

You huff, lightening the death grip you have on your rifle. “Ok, here’s the plan. We’re going to split up.”

“I’m not gonna like this am I?”

“Take the watch. Find the power sources. I’ll create a distraction.”

“No.”

“Sam…” you exhale, closing your eyes. Despite the sheer terror you feel, you manage a chuckle. “We’re not going to get anything done if you keep arguing with me.”

“Let me create the distraction.”

“No.”

“Now who’s arguing?”

“Your shotgun has no range—it’s effectively useless, you’d be dead in two seconds.”

“Fair point. Then give me your rifle, I’m a good shot.”

You’re already unclasping your watch’s band from around your wrist. “I’m not taking the risk.”

“What if I wanna take the risk?”

Shuffling over while still crouched, you bring his arm closer. The watch slides on and you make sure to fasten it tightly. “You already know I won’t let you. At least now you can radio Vasco if…”

It didn’t need to be said.

He looks at the device and back to you. “Why is this startin’ to feel like you’re on a suicide mission?”

You can’t look at him or you’d lose the last of your nerve. “I’ll be on that walkway over there. It’ll have to run through the turrets to get to me and they’ll still have a shot when it tries to climb up.”

The way Sam chews his cheek really underlines how unhappy he is with this plan of yours. “Remind me to have a word with you about your savior complex when this is all over.”

“Hm. I’m looking forward to it.”

A gentle hand wraps around your arm. His eyes are soft, pleading. His other hand cups your face, it’s rough and calloused, but warm. “If you need to run, then run. You don’t have to die for some Vanguard that sends you on a ‘routine’ mission they were too lazy to check first—or for a colony full of dead settlers. Ok? I want you back, with me, alive, and in one piece.”

You don’t trust yourself enough to speak, something sappy or cheesy may decide to come out, so you simply nod.

It isn’t enough for him. “Please, say you’ll come back to me. I need to hear you say it.”

If he wasn’t so close, he may not have heard you through the pounding rain. “I’ll come back to you.” You pretended that you meant it, that you believed it.

“Thank you.” His hand falls away to hold his shotgun. “Now let’s kill this thing.”

“Be safe.” You manage before turning and heading toward your position. The chill of the rain creeps through your spine, but the warmth from Sam’s hand lingers on your cheek. You try to hold onto that feeling.

The steel walkway is sturdy and grated, giving you a good vantage point of the surrounding area. Once in position, you set up your rifle and lay flat, adjusting the scope. Lightning flashes, the crash of thunder isn’t far behind it. Water runs down your face and you wipe it hastily to keep it from your eyes.

The bright fire of the flare casts everything in red. With a good toss, it lands directly in the middle of the kill lanes. Bringing out your pistol you shoot once, twice, up into the air. The alien screams and the sound of wrenching, tearing metal draws near.

The hulking creature appears at the far end of the kill lanes, focused on the flare. It’s huge, big enough to fill your scope’s sights. You breathe deep and exhale slowly as you take your first shot.

The round hits the Terrormorph square in the back leg, crippling it for a moment. Blood leaks out onto the ground below. It lurches before regaining balance on its five other legs, letting out an enraged roar.

More lights come on in the facility. Sam’s already found one power breaker. Two more turrets begin to flash and come online.

The monster’s head swings in a different direction. Toward Sam, no doubt. The realization fuels you with a cold fury. You crank the rifle’s bolt-lever, a long bullet casing flies out of the chamber with a cling. Sliding the lever back with a heavy clunk you even your breath and prepare to take another shot.

You take it, aiming for its other back leg, but miss—the shot glances off the ground. Six shots left.

The thing’s giant head swings back to stare at you directly. Through your scope it’s as if you’re staring it directly in the eyes. Its front legs stomp the ground, and it roars. It ambles forward right into the kill lanes. Four turrets open fire, knocking it off balance and sending it sprawling momentarily. You take another shot, this time severing its thinner front limb.

The thing howls, ear splittingly loud and shrill, but claws its way back onto its feet. The turrets are doing damage, but it isn’t enough. It lurches toward you with surprising speed. The turret fire follows. You take a shot and miss. You exhale and your breath comes out shaking.

It's at the base of the building your walkway is on as Sam flips the final switch and the last of the turrets power up. The Terrormorph slows down a little, struggling to climb the building with two of its limbs missing. You have another 130 seconds, maybe, before it reaches you.

Your fifth shot hits it in the back, effectively doing nothing. The thing is bloody and losing steam from the constant onslaught of all six turrets. You start to feel hopeful. There’s movement to your left. It’s Sam on one of the rooftops. You’re about to give him a thumbs up when lightning flashes—some of the facility machines spark, an alarm sounds, and all lights except for auxiliary backups flatline. An unlucky power surge from the storm.

The Terrormorph has reached the base of the walkway below and is trying to make its way up, now free from turret fire. This would be your chance to run, but something holds you there. A false hope maybe.

You hold your breath, take a shot, and hit it square in the face. It doesn’t stop, clawing at the thin metal for purchase. Pulling the bolt lever and sliding it home, you fire again, chipping its other back leg and causing it to stumble. Metal rails groan and collapse under the monster’s weight. It falls to the ground with a metallic crash. You don’t fire, yet.

Sam is still on the other roof. You wave him off, pointing to the ship. Trying to make it clear that this was the order to run. A clashing sound below snags your attention back to the monster. It’s testing out the strength of the rail supports.

You’re aiming again as it springs up and begins throwing its weight at the steel rods. The vibration of the metal groaning and shifting with each impact reverberates through you. This is your last shot.

You fire and miss entirely as a section of rails to your right collapse and bend, tugging your section down. You’re forced to let go of your rifle to hang on. It clatters to the ground below.

More support beams collapse and you can feel the structure groan before you even hear it, vibrating hard enough to numb your hands. Trying to climb up the tilting walkway was a mistake as the shift in weight caused the whole thing, with you attached, to fall entirely. The feeling of falling was short-lived, something sharp sliced at your leg as you fell into the railing and walkway debris below.

For a moment, you lay dazed and in pain. The sound of rain patters around you on metallic surfaces. The whole walkway and railing fell over, the area was littered with jutted angles and metal parts. Something shifted under the debris. Something big enough to toss heavy metal away with ease. Any hope of the Terrormorph getting crushed by the impact was gone as it reared back and screamed. Its eyes, all six or seven of them, landed on you.

There was no way of escaping, debris had fallen over you. A particularly large beam held you in place on your back. Your pistol, the last line of defense, dug into your hip uncomfortably.

Sensing it had you trapped, the creature took its time closing the distance. Your leg was devoid of all feeling except a vague sensation of warmth spreading around it. The rails on top of you pinned you down, but you managed to free your measly pistol.

Only three or four of your shots made contact, others glanced off the Terrormorph’s armored shoulders or missed entirely. Either way, the low caliber did nothing to it. With an empty mag, and nothing else to defend yourself with, your arm fell to your side. You just hoped Sam was smart enough to listen and go back to the ship.

A loud blast caught the monster on the side of its head, snapping it away from you, and causing it to stumble.

Apparently, he wasn’t.

Sam emptied three more shells into the creature before reloading with cool, practiced ease. One blast dislocated the Terrormorph’s other back leg. Chunks went flying.

It howled and thrashed as he kept unloading shells into it. When he was completely out, he dropped the shotgun and picked up a long rod of metal with a jagged, broken end. The sharp tip sliced clean into its ribcage. When the alien still tried to pull itself up on its remaining two feet, Sam pulled it out with a yank and drove it home into the thing’s head, right above the mandibles. It gave one final spasm and finally fell dead.

At last, the only sound around you was the rain.

Sam dropped the crude spear with a clatter, eyeing the body a few times as he rushed over through the debris.

“You ok?” he panted, kneeling down. His hands cupped your face, bringing the familiar warmth with them.

“Holy shit.” Was all you were able to say.

It made him laugh with relief as he moved to check you over. “And you said a shotgun wouldn’t do anything.”

His hands moved debris from your legs, and he hovered as you yelped in pain. “You’ve got a nasty gash here. We need to get you back to the ship for medical attention. Let me see if I can get this off you.”

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the beam up enough for you to pull yourself out. Your leg was bleeding badly, but nothing you couldn’t fix with some TLC and bed rest. The pain hadn’t set in yet, thankfully.

Near you was a chunk of the Terrormorph’s leg. Feeling oddly disconnected from yourself, you grabbed it, staring at the gross thing, and put it in your pocket for Hadrian.

Sam started taking out bandages and doing what he could to wrap your leg. You could see his hands were shaking now.

Against all odds you both were alive; you started to laugh.

Sam gave you an odd look. “Don’t go loopy on me.”

A giant smile broke across your face. “Wasn’t expecting to live. There goes my chance at a cool memorial or bragging rights.”

“Going face to face with a Terrormorph and only losing a chunk of your leg gets bragging rights. Believe me.”

“Nah. All the credit goes to you on this one. That was just badass.”

He grunted, throwing more debris out of the way, and trying to clear a path. “Wasn’t thinking about how cool it looked when I did it. I was just trying to save you.”

“You know I’ll be telling this story forever, right?”

He chuckles, helping you up, slinging your arm over his shoulder and wrapping his around your waist. “I can see Barret’s expression now.”

“‘Sam Coe, my hero’ is how I’ll start it.”

He groans playfully. “Please don’t.”

“It’s true.” You looked at him as your feet touched even ground. Your faces were close. You could see the rain drops clinging to his hair and beard. “You saved my life.”

When he looked over, his nose nudged yours from close proximity. He didn’t shy away from the contact. Your paces slowed to a stop. “I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, either.”

Your grin was slow to spread as you glanced at his lips more than once. “Would you prefer a quippy one line as thanks?”

“Mm—no. Maybe something else though.”

You feigned ignorance as his eyes trailed down your face. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I’ll let you think of it.”

“A hero’s song?” you joked, voice softening.

“Nope.”

“How about a poem?”

He faces toward the room Hadrian’s in with a low laugh and begins to walk again. “You know, if you were as much of a smartass to that Terrormorph as you are to me, it would have keeled over on the spot.”

You put your good foot down and hold it, halting any forward progress. “Ok, ok. I think I’ve come up with something.”

He’s still smiling as he looks at you. Your noses nudge again. “If you suggest a book or a short story—”

His surprised breath as your mouth presses to his is an award in itself. He stays motionless for a moment, as if his brain had short-circuited, before his lips move and mold to yours. Slow and tentative at first, exploratory. Soft and gentle as if he’s afraid of hurting you. His hand on your waist moves to your lower back, gripping your clothes. He leans into you, beard scratching the skin of your face. Your fingers slide through and tangle in his wet hair. It makes him pant into your mouth before kissing you again, more eager this time.

Breaking apart, you both linger close, hot breath mixing together. His forehead leans to yours, eyes still closed.

That raspy voice of his you love so much is the first to break the silence. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that.”

“You could have made the first move. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Was never sure if you were just being quippy and flirtatious for fun or not.”

“It is fun, but it’s also because I care for you.”

He hums, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Good to know, we’re going to have to find time for this more often.”

You close the distance enough to ghost your lips over his. “We have time now.”

He hesitates, so tempted with the offer, but exhales instead. “You’re hurt and bleeding all over the place, I need to get you some medical help. Plus, Hadrian needs her damn samples.”

“Pshh. I’ve got plenty of blood left—and she can be patient.”

He starts walking again, bringing you with him, and pressing the gentlest kiss you’ve ever felt against the corner of your mouth. “Just wait until you’re healed. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

#Sam Coe x Reader #Sam Coe #starfield #gn reader

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missmaywemeetagain · 3 months

Text

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love,

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

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notsoattractivearenti · 8 months

Text

Goodbye, Summer (Christian Pulisic x Reader)

Song Inspo: Summer Love - One Direction (listening to the song while reading is highly recommended!)

WC: 2.7K

Warnings: cursing, angst

A/N: after a few months i finally finished this fic!!! this is my first christian angst it felt kinda strange to write one for him lol and just so y'all know i haven't been able to write angst with a happy ending so, be aware. and the start of the ‘summer love’ is a lot different than usual hopefully not too weird for your liking tho. also this wasn't proofread, sorry if this turns out to be shit. anw hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 💗 apologies for any grammatical errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍

–

“Cause you were mine for the summer

Now we know it's nearly over

Feels like snow in September

But I always will remember”

—

Summer has come to an end. Well, technically summer hasn’t ended yet – but Christian had to move to Italy and this move wasn’t exactly planned but quite expected – so yeah, to me, summer is about to end. And the moment Christian hops on the plane, there goes my summer of love. It was fun while it lasted – though I wish it would never end.

Christian told me he was leaving just a few days prior. He had been back to the States two days after the end of the Premier League season and ever since we had been spending the summer together. I knew this was coming as we agreed we would only be together for the summer but I didn’t think it would be this hard.

—

I met him through a mutual friend last year when he was briefly in Florida to visit his family and friends for Christmas. I still had a boyfriend at the time – even though my relationship ended the very next day, it was already broken to begin with – so we became strictly friends and I had no intentions on dating him. Jokes on me, because I had caught feelings for him but I was so wounded by the heartbreak I wasn’t even aware of it. He did catch feelings too, though he thought I needed time to process the breakup so confessing his feelings wouldn’t be appropriate.

I didn’t want a serious relationship for a while – or so I thought – therefore I didn’t even think of dating since my last one. Christian and I would sometimes text each other, but it wasn’t a constant thing. We hadn’t really seen each other in person since because of the distance, but I watched every match he played and usually texted him to give my support before the match.

One night within the second week of May, he told me by text that he was going back to Florida for summer break and looking forward to spending the rest of the summer with me. I thought to myself: why would he spend his short break with me? I responded to him by asking why just me and not his friends and family, hoping he would say something funny and odd like he always does and instead he said something I didn’t see coming.

“Because I like you and I want to be with you.”

My heart stopped the second I saw that text. Christian… Likes me? My goodness, what an oblivious idiot I had been. I was deeply wounded by my past I didn’t see what was going on in front of me the whole time. I didn’t know what else to say and I accidentally left his text on read that night.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I’ve freaked you out haven’t I? Fuck I’m sorry!!!”

Oh shit. I woke up to those unread messages from Christian – I just remembered I hadn’t texted him back last night. I immediately tried to reply but as my thumbs touched the screen to type, no words came to mind. I honestly didn’t know how to react, if I tell him I’m not looking for a relationship would it hurt him?

“I…”

“Christian…”

“If you want a relationship, I don’t know if I’m the right person for you…”

I locked my phone screen right after I sent those messages. I hoped I wasn’t being too harsh to him, but being put in this position was so overwhelming and I didn’t know what else to say. I just… I wasn’t ready. And I couldn’t tell when I would be. Not to mention he lives thousands of miles away from me and I didn’t think I could handle the distance.

An hour later, I finally heard back from Christian.

“I get it and I respect that.”

“What if we just… Be together for the summer?”

“We don’t have to think about what’s gonna happen after. Just be in the moment… You and me.”

I gave that idea of his a thought – a not-so-long thought because I was assuming I didn’t have enough time. I’d admit, while I found it interesting, I couldn’t help but wonder: would it be worth it? Would someone get hurt at the end?

Before the day ended, I finally made up my mind.

“Okay. I’m in…”

“But just for the summer.”

“And only if nobody is gonna get hurt.”

—

When he arrived, I was the one who picked him up at the airport. We absolutely spent our summer together everyday – there wasn’t a day that went by without him by my side and vice versa. He invited me to spend some time with his family and friends on their boats, and I had him spending time with mine on either the beach or my family’s home.

We were well aware we only had each other for the summer, thus we made sure every moment counts no matter how little or big it might be. We knew once this summer ends it also marks the end of our time together and go back to live our own separate lives. I didn’t want to think about what will happen next – I just want to live in the moment.

The more I spend my time with him, the stronger my feelings grow. It’s been messing up my mind, but I couldn’t let it ruin my summer. This was the best summer I’ve ever had in a long time, and I would not take it for granted. The memories we were creating throughout will forever live on in my head.

—

In the middle of our “summer of love”, Christian came to an agreement with AC Milan, and by that his time in Chelsea had come to an end and he had to relocate to Italy. And the club wanted him to join them for preseason, meaning his summer break had to be cut off sooner than he planned.

When he broke the news, I was stunned – not that I wasn’t happy about his move to Milan, I just needed time to process it. I also wasn’t ready for our summer to be over, but the circumstances forced us to cut our time short. It was pretty saddening for us that we unfortunately had to burst our little bubble.

“So… That’s it for us then?” I carefully asked.

“Let’s just not talk about it.” He refused.

I didn’t want to cause a fight at the time, so I agreed to let it go.

The entire time, I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around him. But eventually I couldn’t do that forever. You can't escape the reality no matter how much you want to.

—

Christian was packing his bags as he had a flight to catch the next morning. Yes, I couldn’t emphasize enough that we know our whatever-you-called-ship is coming to an end. In every hello there is a goodbye, right? But why does this feel so hard?

We have tried really hard not to mention anything about the fact that our summer love will be over soon but it is an inevitable topic. There is no way we can escape the conversation, especially on our very last day together. And I have to be the one to bring this up because Christian clearly didn’t want to – he might be the one who suggested the idea, but he is the one who is more in denial.

“Chris, you know we both have to say something, don’t you?” I tried to start the conversation.

“Can we not? Please.” He whimpered.

“We have to.” I insisted.

He kept packing in silence, not wanting to talk about the painful reality. I was sitting on the corner of his bed while he was standing across from me, avoiding eye contact since I started talking. He was looking down all the time – organizing his belongings – and not once he took even a little glance at me. I looked closely at his face, paying attention to every little detail I could. His face was red, eyes were puffy and watery, lips were tight – it was obvious to me he was trying so hard not to cry.

“So are you just going to freeze me out the entire time or?” Still no answer from him.

I went and sat a lot closer to him and he tried to look away.

“Stop it, please! At least just look at my fucking eyes if you don’t want to fucking speak!”

And suddenly I saw tears running down on his face. He couldn’t hold them back anymore – his heart was completely shattered and it was obvious he was nowhere near ready to face the harsh reality.

“Chris… Listen…”

“Why can’t you change your mind?”

He asked a question that got me startled.

“What is it about me and the time that we had that made you certain you still don’t want a relationship?” His voice was trembling.

It took me a while to even say one fucking word to him. I felt like the worst person on earth for breaking the sweetest man’s heart. And to be honest, I broke my own heart too – and I was really trying my hardest to conceal it from him.

“Chris, you were the one who said, and I quote, “just be together for the summer”! I was being so clear I didn’t want a relationship yet you still offered me that. There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s just… I’m not ready. And I don’t know when I will be again.” I desperately tried to explain myself to him but I seemed to upset him even more.

“Yeah, right.” He shook his head and smacked his lips. “Whatever you say.”

I sighed.

“Chris… Please, why won’t you believe me?” I asked him quietly.

“I don’t buy your bullshit anymore.” He replied coldly, while wiping his tears.

Now done packing, he grabbed the car keys and put most of his belongings in the trunk.

I still wanted to have more conversation – about us, specifically – but after he was done with his stuff, he refused.

“I’m tired and I have an early flight to catch tomorrow. I think I should just go to sleep right now.” He said as he walked into his room.

“Yeah, of course...” I responded.

I tried to softly grab his hand but he swung his arm further away from me.

“See you tomorrow, Chris. Goo-”

He slammed the door on my face before I got to tell him goodnight. At the moment, I thought to myself: oh no, he really hates me.

—

The next morning I drove Christian to the airport. He was going to Milan with his dad and he was meeting him at the airport. On the way there, we didn’t really talk much. There was so much silence – and somehow it made everything even more painful.

I couldn’t handle the tension any longer, so I tried to break the ice.

“Hey, thank you for spending the summer with me. It was the best I’ve ever had.”

He only nodded.

“Umm, I’m sorry this only lasted for a short while...”

He looked down, he sniffed and rubbed his nose and sighed.

“Well, have fun in Milan! You needed a fresh start and you’re about to get one… Christian, I am proud of you.”

I tried to be supportive and not say anything that could be perceived as “something wrong” because I knew he was in a fragile state at the moment, though it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond the way I hoped he would. I was genuinely proud of him by the way – always have and always will.

He looked up but still avoiding eye contact, let out a slight smile and chuckled a little bit.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And uh… Maybe you’d forget about me with all the girls you’re going to meet there...”

I immediately regretted what I just said. Shit. What the fuck did I just say?

He finally looked directly into my eyes – a look full of disbelief and disappointment. There was a moment of silence between us. This time, I was the one who couldn’t see him in the eyes.

“Chris, I’m so, so sorry I didn’t m-”

“How could you say that, Y/N?” He cut me off before I finished talking, by the tone of his voice I could tell he was mad at me.

I froze for a minute. I knew I had fucked up but I never thought it would be so much worse – at the moment I was really, really fucking shit up.

“Do you think my feelings for you aren't real enough so other girls can easily make it go away? Do you really think I can forget you just like that? Are you implying that what we had all summer will not stick in your memories?”

“Wha- no, Chris, that’s not what I mean!”

What a mess I had made... And before I knew it, tears started to fill my eyes.

“Well to me it sounded like that. I’m appalled to know you don’t see whatever we were as something real and meaningful. Maybe it was a mistake to even ask you to give us a chance in the first place.” He sounded like he was truly aching and filled with regrets.

I glanced at him for a bit and I saw him biting his lip and his face was already all red. I never wanted our goodbye to be this heartbreaking but well… In this situation it’s bound to happen, isn’t it? Because I didn’t want to escalate our situation any further, I decided to shut my mouth and stop talking altogether. I was aware that whatever I said might hurt him deeper. Fuck, why can’t things be easier?

—

After what felt like a very long ride, we finally got to the airport. We met Christian’s dad, Mark, at the front gate as I helped Christian with his belongings. Mark greeted me and gave me a hug.

“Hey, Y/N! Thanks for dropping Christian off, if only you could come with us to Italy!” Mark excitedly thanked me, not knowing what happened between Christian and I.

I shook my head and slightly laughed to cover my discomfort. Then I saw Christian looking at his watch, and whispered to his dad: “let’s go.”

I took it as my cue to leave, so I said my farewell to both of them.

“Well, have a safe flight, Mr. Pulisic.” I smiled and nodded at Mark.

Then I turned to Christian. He was still visibly upset – I didn’t have the heart to say anything, really. I had caused him a lot of pain, and I was afraid to open my mouth. But at the moment I knew I had to, since I didn’t know if we would ever see each other again.

“You too, Chris. Good luck over there.” I softly tapped his arm.

I waved at them and was ready to walk away when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned around and it was Christian. He pulled me in for a hug – a very, very tight hug, like he wouldn’t let me go. He rested his head on my shoulder and I rubbed his back the whole time. It was a long hug – probably the longest ever for both of us – and we could no longer keep our overflowing emotions inside anymore.

“I’m sorry…” I whimpered.

“I know.” He whispered.

He stroked my head and kissed me in the forehead. His lips stayed there for a while.

“Y/N, I have to go...”

It was the hardest thing to do but I pulled away from the hug. Before he went inside, he took my hands and looked me in the eyes.

“Y/N, you will always be my greatest summer love… I will never forget you.” He said under his breath.

And the moment he walked through the gate, that was the last time I saw him in person. What we had might be short, but I will forever be thankful Christian made my summer unforgettable.

—

“You were my summer love

You always will be my summer love”

–

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x y/n #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic imagines #christian pulisic angst #footballer fic #footballer fanfic #footballer imagines #footballer angst

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

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{20} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Seonghwa)

Words: 9,169

Warnings: Talks of mental illness: depression, suicidal thoughts, and suicide. Insecurities. Heavy angst. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, this chapter is still pretty angsty in my opinion, but it does get fluffy near the end. It’s meant to really encapsulate both sides of the story and their emotions, so I hope that all comes through. I highly recommend listening to, or even searching up the lyrics to the songs in this chapter when they appear, as it will really put the songs I chose into perspective and provide more context/meaning to them in the moment. I really want to emphasize how the OC is really two sides of the same coin with all of them. I also really hope you enjoy it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Mini Masterlist

For two whole days, you see no sight, nor hear no sound of Seonghwa. Probably because you’ve opted to confine yourself to your room again, worried one of the others will bring up the topic of talking to him before you’re ready. At least the separation has given you time to think.

Sure, you’re still upset with what he said, but Jongho’s words from the other day in the library keep repeating themselves inside of your head.

He was scared.

You know first hand what fear can do to your emotional response. All logic simply can, and will, fly out of the window.

Still, that does not excuse what he said to you.

On the third day, you brave traversing outside of your room for a little while.

The encounter you have with him is brief. You walk into the foyer on the way to the library when you see him coming from the opposite hall. Of course, he froze as soon as he saw you, eyes going wide as that same look of regret and sorrow takes over his features.

You say nothing, but you meet his gaze, blinking once at him as you continue to walk past.

For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t immediately beg for your forgiveness. No, this time, he simply watches you until you disappear from his sight. Still, he cannot keep his hands from shaking.

A fact of which you notice.

The rest of the week passes by exactly like this. Whenever you see Seonghwa, you acknowledge his presence either by meeting his gaze briefly, or nodding subtly in his direction. He makes no attempt to push you to listen to him anymore, nor does he dump countless amounts of apologies onto you. It’s still tense, but at least it’s bearable for you now.

Finally, you feel as if you can breathe again.

A week after that talk in the library with Hongjoong and Jongho, you decide to call your sister. You haven’t spoken to her in a little bit, and considering everything that’s happened, you could really use a good familial connection right now. Your mother is always an option, but as soon as you let on that you’re not in the right headspace, she’ll start asking you a million and one questions, and do whatever is in her power to find you and comfort you.

Not that you would complain, you just would rather have someone to listen to you for now, instead of wanting to take direct action. Besides, you could really go for hearing your sister’s familiar and comforting voice.

“Hey boo, what’s up?” She greets you with a smile after two rings of the video call going through. “How’ve you been?”

Currently, you find yourself sitting out on your balcony, the doors open wide behind you. You rest on one of the chaises, stretching your feet out in front of you as you hold your phone in your hand, elbow propped up on one of the arm rests.

“I’ve been okay,” you smile briefly, nothing more than a tense pull of your lips upwards. “I just wanted to call and check up on things with you. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been great!” She replies, eyes instantly lighting up. “Work has really been picking up, so I’m happy about that.”

Fifteen minutes later, and she’s told you all about her personal business finally gaining traction, and bringing in more clients. You can tell that she’s super excited about everything, and that excitement rubs off on you. You find yourself smiling genuinely along to everything she has to say, and replying when appropriate with your encouragement and praise. You are really proud of her and how far she’s come, considering everything that she’s been through the past few years.

“Oh, and the next time you come to visit, we have a surprise for you!” She grins.

“A surprise?” You quirk a brow. “What is it?”

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?” She chuckles.

“No, I suppose not,” you chuckle along with her, a soft smile adorning your features.

“Speaking of, when do you think you’ll be coming home to visit?” She asks, blinking curiously at you. “I know you’re all tied up with that new mystery lover of yours.”

At the suggestive wiggle of her brows, you can only sigh and shake your head.

“Still on about the mystery lover, huh?” You almost tut. “Will you cut it out?”

“Alright, alright, sorry,” she giggles, grinning knowingly.

“To answer your question,” you reply, somewhat pointedly with a teasingly firm look on your features, “I don’t know. Hopefully, soon.” You blink, the corner of your lips twitching upwards faintly. Almost sadly. “As soon as I can.”

With everything with Miyeon going on, and the fact that you were attacked the last time you went out, you think you just want to stick around the house for a little while. Besides, the guys all briefly filled you in on the fact that Miyeon does have allies now. Allies of which are two of the most dangerous men outside of the eight of them.

Needless to say, you have no plans on dying any time soon the next time you leave the house. Though, the first chance you get once this is all over, you’re going to visit your family. You miss them. A lot.

“Are you okay, boo?” Immediately, her brow furrows in worry. “You seem kind of down lately, and you zoned out on me there for a good little bit. Did something happen?”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you shift in your seat.

“Just-“ you blink, rubbing at the side of your face as your expression falls, shoulders drooping once more, “having a little bit of a rough time lately, that’s all.”

“Oh no,” concern is clear on her features, and you notice her lean slightly forwards in her seat. “Is it your depression again?”

“Part of it,” you nod. “Though, it’s a bit more complicated than that, I guess. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was, though. Well, you remember.”

A hint of fear flashes in her eyes. “I do.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that,” you share a knowing look with her, a faint twitch of your lips upwards. “I promise.”

“You and I both know that as soon as those thoughts come back, you don’t let them consume you anymore. You immediately get help.” She reminds you, and you nod along with her words. “We are not who we used to be. We’re better than that.”

“Yes,” you readily agree, eyes flashing in acknowledgement. “Yes, we are.”

“Do you have any outlets you can use to work through your emotions right now?”

You tilt your head slightly side to side, humming, “yes, and no.”

“What about that one hobby of yours?” She inquires. “I’m sure the hotel, or whatever you’re staying at, has one somewhere in a lounge or something, given the extravagance of the place. Perhaps you can just ask one of the staff to let you use one after hours, or something.”

“I haven’t touched one in years, honestly,” you reply, shifting your gaze out across to what appears to be the open desert stretching out in front of you.

“It helped you before,” she says, knowingly.

“I suppose it did,” you hum, a small nod to your head.

“Speaking of, how are you still able to afford staying at that place? It looks so fancy, and you haven’t been working lately, as far as I know. Have mom and dad been helping?” She quirks a brow, that teasing spark back in her eyes as she looks at you. “You keep saying there’s no mystery lover, but-“

“Oh, for crying out loud, Crystal!” You cut her off. “Will you knock it off?”

She laughs, boisterous and content. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Your lips tighten into a tense smile.

“Anyways, we’re going out for dinner soon, so I’m going to have to let you go to get ready,” she says. “If you ever need me, or even if you just want to talk, I’m here for you. Don’t hesitate at all.”

“I appreciate that,” your smile turns genuine once more. “Same goes for you.”

“Of course,” she returns your smile. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree wholeheartedly. “Have fun at dinner, and say ‘hi’ to everyone for me.”

“Will do!” She replies. “Bye, boo! I love you!”

“I love you, too.” With a final wave and goodbye, you’re ending the call with your sister.

Another sigh escapes your lips as you place your phone beside you on the chaise, tucking it halfway beneath your thigh as you tilt your head back momentarily. Closing your eyes, you allow your whole body to relax.

A soft mewl draws your attention to the floor beside you, noticing Kuroo jump onto the chaise you’re resting on in the next second. He craws over your lap, settling onto your thighs as he begins to purr.

“Well, hello there, Little One,” you chuckle, scratching at his chin as he curls into you. “Did you come to check on me?”

At the way he exposes his belly for you, paws in the air curled above his chest, you’re letting out another chuckle.

“Oh, how sweet you are,” you coo, petting his tummy lightly as you look down at him.

Absentmindedly, you continue to scratch at his belly softly, combing your fingers through his fur. Kuroo is more than content to lay here like this with you, quickly falling asleep as he continues to keep you company. At least it gives you time to think.

Yes, you’re still upset at what happened, but keeping up this type of anger isn’t good for your mental health. Plus, you do miss spending time with Seonghwa, talking to him and joking around. You miss that cute pout of his that will tug onto his features when you tease him, and you miss the comfort of his voice.

Perhaps you’ve been a little too harsh on him with not letting him explain himself to you. You know for a fact that you’ve regretted those words you spoke in annoyance when exiting the library last week as soon as they left your lips.

Perhaps this is exactly how he felt.

At least you’ve now had time to process things.

Still, you’ll give it another day or two before you’re ready to talk to him. You don’t think you’re quite ready, or in the correct headspace to have that kind of conversation with him yet.

The very next day, luck seems to be on your side, for they all get called to an emergency council meeting. Seems as if someone has a new lead for them about Miyeon, or something.

It’s a bit odd, seeing a raven squawking around the house, but Wooyoung quickly explains to you that they’re the fastest messengers they have that travel between the realms. Though, you can tell both he and Jongho aren’t too pleased when the raven lands on your shoulder and stands like a sentinel, watching them with narrowed eyes.

“Are they flirting with me now, too?” You quirk a brow teasingly.

“Yes, she is,” Jongho replies, clearly irritated.

Your brows raise in amusement as you turn to look at the raven on your shoulder.

“Always a pleasure to have you, Stella,” Wooyoung gets out through gritted teeth.

The raven coos, almost mockingly back at him, making you laugh.

“Well, Stella,” you chuckle, noticing how a few of the others appear in the front foyer in the next second. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

Once again, she coos, but much fonder this time.

“Are all animals usually this friendly with you?” Yeosang inquires, nothing but curiosity reflected in his gaze.

“Most of the time,” you reply casually. “I don’t know what it is, but ever since I was small, they’ve always had an affinity towards me.”

A caw greets your ears, followed closely by a mewl as Kuroo makes an appearance from down the hallway. Instantly, Stella is taking off of your shoulder to circle the cat before landing gracefully on his back. Not that Kuroo seems to mind at all. In fact, he looks rather smug. Cheeky bastard.

Yeosang’s eyes shine, “I see.”

You look at him expectantly.

“They’re saying that you have a kind presence to you, so they’re drawn to it.” Jongho fills you in just as the remainder of his brothers enter the room.

You hum as you nod slightly in understanding, turning your attention to watch as Kuroo trots around happily with Stella on his back. That is, until Hongjoong is clearing his throat, then she’s quick to fly over to rest on his shoulder.

“We should be back in an hour or two,” he replies, meeting your gaze.

“We’ll try to be as quick as we can.” San assures you, drawing your attention to him in the next moment.

You nod your understanding once more.

“Okay, well, be careful,” you reply, eyes scanning over each and every one of them. “All of you.”

With a small smile, you’re turning around and heading back down the hallway, Kuroo in tow.

You fail to see the way they all turn to look at the eldest, who stands visibly frozen in his spot for the moment. Yunho manages to pull him out of his thoughts by clapping him once on the shoulder in the next second, the eight of them transporting themselves (and Stella) to their throne room.

Seonghwa cannot deny the way his heart swells, but this time, with hope. You looked at him again. Actually looked at him, with something other than disgust or disdain on your features. Perhaps things really are starting to get better. Little by little, he’ll make things right, no matter how long it takes.

Meanwhile, as they handle the urgent summons, you continue to make your way down the hallway and towards the music room. You figure there’s no time like the present, considering they won’t be around for a little while. At least you can play in peace.

Flicking on the lights, you notice Kuroo immediately making his way over to the large bay windows and hopping onto the window seat, laying down and making himself comfortable. You, on the other hand, walk over to the grand piano, an instrument of which you haven’t played in about two years.

You can still hear your sister’s words echoing in your mind as you open the lid, propping it on its stand as you walk over to the keys. Your hand gently brushes over the ivory before pulling out the bench and taking a seat.

Music has always been an escape for you, whether it be playing, or listening. Last time, when your depression got really bad, you found comfort in the familiar press of the keys, letting out all of your emotions and thoughts through the songs you would play, sometimes singing along in the privacy of your own home. Perhaps this time it will help, too.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hands to begin to play.

For a full minutes, your fingers hover over the piano, eyes staring blankly over the top of the instrument as you blink. Despite the fact that you’re alone now, and you know that you’re alone, you’re still cautious of beginning. You’ve never really liked playing in front of other people as you got older, and only very specific people, like your friends and family have heard you play in more recent years. So, to say you’re a little nervous to touch the keys after so long would be an understatement.

Well, there’s no time like the present, so you might as well start with the piece you’ve been playing since you were small.

Closing your eyes briefly, you let the tips of your fingers rest on top of the ivory as you take another deep breath. A moment later, you begin to play.

The sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata slowly fills the air, and despite the few minor slip ups at first, either you rushing the timing or a wrong press of the keys, you begin to lose yourself to the music. One song blends into the next as you play a few classics that you’ve known since childhood, allowing the notes to surround you and offer you a comfort like they always have.

It’s one of the reasons hearing Yeosang play his violin for you meant so much, and even now, you cannot help but think back on that moment. Smiling to yourself, you look back down at the ivory keys below your hands, starting a new melody. One which you have not practiced in years.

It’s a little rough to start, considering it had been one of the newest songs you learned before being unable to play for quite some time, but once you get into the flow, you cannot help the way a giddy grin takes over your features.

Slowly, a medley of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack rings throughout the room, offering you comfort in your own way. A medley you had created yourself with all of your favourite songs from the movies. Each part flows into the next, and once you recall all of it, you find yourself sitting a little straighter in your seat, a pride swelling within your chest at the memories.

Though, nothing will ever mean as much to you, or sound quite like Yeosang performing Rohan’s melody for you on his violin. You don’t think you, or anything for that matter, could ever top that.

As soon as the medley finishes, you notice Kuroo staring at you from the window bench. His wide, golden eyes shine with nothing but curiosity and awe, causing your heart to warm in your chest.

“No tattling on me, now, okay?” You tease him lightly. “Especially not for the next few songs.”

A small coo is all you receive in response as he rests his head back onto his front paws.

“Also, if you don’t like my singing, that’s on you,” you chuckle, and you notice how his ears seem to perk up at this. “Fair warning, though: it’s been a while.”

Again, another soft coo greets your ears, almost as if he’s reassuring you. You smile.

“Let’s see,” you hum to yourself, “how did that one part go again?”

Briefly, you go over the bridge of the song, letting your memories resurface as you recall the melody. Once you do, you nod to yourself, starting at the very beginning.

The opening notes of Taemin’s Under My Skin begin to echo around the room. The familiar melody surrounds you like a warm embrace, feeling as if this song can perfectly describe your emotions at this time.

You open your mouth, and begin to sing.

With each lyric, your voice gets louder, stronger. It’s as if a piece of you that has been missing has finally returned, gaining confidence with every note that you hit. The emotions that you pour into your voice allow you to work through them, embracing every part of yourself and this situation as the meaning of the song overtakes your every sense.

With every word, with every note, you feel even better than before. Finally, you can release some of this stress, this pain holding onto your heart from over the past few weeks.

Before you know it, over an hour and a half has passed by with you getting lost in the music you create with the piano once more. It feels as if a weight has finally been lifted from your shoulders. With each passing second, you find more of yourself, grounding you once more to the person you are, the person that you have become, and the person you are always meant to be.

After another song, you pull out your phone. There’s one you have yet to learn the instrumental for that you’ve been meaning to, so you figure doing so now won’t be too bad. It’s not a difficult song by any means, so you’re sure you’ll be able to find either a basic outline for the sheet music online, or even if you listen to it enough times, you should be able to figure it out on your own. Besides, you feel as if this particular song relates quite well to your current situation, especially with Seonghwa.

That’s one thing that you’ve always been good at. If you listen to a song enough times, you’re usually able to distinguish which notes are being played, and copy the main melody enough for you to perform it.

Sure enough, not even twenty minutes later, you’ve taught yourself the song. It’s not very long, anyways, and from what you’ve leaned, it’s only really a few notes and chords. Well, here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to play from the very beginning.

The steady sound of a repeating, echoing note and its accompanying chords can be heard throughout the room as you lose yourself to the music once more. There’s a heaviness to your heart now as you begin to perform Bang Chan’s i hate to admit, voice sounding the slightest bit more strained as you allow your emotions to consume you.

Every thought you’ve had over the past three weeks surrounds you, coming through in the words you sing as tears begin to line your vision.

“I don’t know, I can’t give up on you,” you may not be in love with him yet, but that doesn’t mean your heart still cannot break. It’s the people that you care about that can always hurt you the most.

Your voice rings out throughout the room, and you notice Kuroo raise his head, staring at you with his wide, golden eyes.

You close your own as your first tear falls.

“I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you,” the steady press of your hands into the keys grounds you for the moment, the repetitive notes seemingly blending into one. “Just stay with me.”

The silent tears continue to fall down your cheeks, and you do whatever you can to not allow your emotions to fully control your voice for the moment. Unfortunately, it does not seem to be working, the final lines trembling as your voice drops to a near whisper.

“How could I forget?”

The next breath you take is shaky, your lips trembling as you slowly get out the final lines of the song.

“I might as well forget…”

The final notes ring out throughout the room, and you finally open your eyes. That’s when you notice, Kuroo isn’t looking at you, but at someone behind you.

The sound of someone falling to their knees echoes throughout the room. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

Wiping at your tears quickly, you swallow the remaining emotions in your throat. As much as you didn’t want to be overheard playing, or singing right now, you realize that you can use this opportunity to your advantage.

Before either of you two can say anything, your back straightens, and you’re beginning another song. You don’t want to face him right now, anyways. Besides, you don’t think that you can.

The gentle trickle of notes fill the air, and you find yourself not even worrying about if you’ll remember the entire melody or not. Each press of the keys is almost second nature, despite how long you’ve gone without playing this song.

It was one of your favourites, after all, especially when you had been going through some rough times. Though, now that you think about it, the meaning has significantly changed. Again, you cannot help but marvel at how fitting this song is for your current situation as you continue to play the introductory notes of Try by Pink.

Taking a deep breath as your lips part, you begin to sing.

You don’t know how many of them are in the room with you, or if it’s just him. Given how you seem to only feel one intense stare locked onto your back, you believe it’s just the two of you. Besides, Kuroo hasn’t taken his eyes off of him since he’s entered the room.

“Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame,” you can hear the way his breath hitches behind you as you hit the first chorus. “Where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned.”

He holds his breath.

“But just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die,” your eyes close briefly. “You gotta get up and try, try, try.”

Your voice echoes around the room, and you notice a stillness unlike ever before settle around you as you continue on. You know you have his complete and utter attention. Especially as you sing the next line.

“Why do we fall in love so easy,” he doesn’t fail to miss the catch in your voice, “even when it’s not right?”

The second time you hit the chorus, you can feel the tears once again prickling at your eyes. They pool in the corners, and as soon as you blink, you can feel them begin to fall.

This song is for you as much as it is for him.

“Ever worry that it might be ruined,” your voice is much softer now, and it’s like you’re speaking directly to him, “and does it make you want to cry?”

You don’t even need to turn around to know that he’s just as much of a mess as you are right now. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, and you do whatever you can to fight off the lingering emotions that threaten to choke you out at any second as the final chorus echoes throughout the room.

You can do this. You can make it through this. You’re almost there. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Though, you’re pretty sure as soon as you turn around to see his broken expression once more, you won’t be able to control your emotions any longer.

“You gotta get up and try, try, try,” your voice is the softest it’s even been as your eyes fall shut. “Gotta get up and try, try, try.”

The final notes ring out through the room, and your hands fall into your lap. All you can do is stare at the keys in front of you as that still silence settles around the both of you. The only sounds you can hear are his muffled sobs, and your uneven breathing.

Taking a deep breath, you steady your nerves. Wiping at your tears with the back of your hand, you slowly turn around to face him while still sitting on the bench. Sure enough, you see him on his knees, about halfway between you and the open doorway.

Of all the previous times you’ve seen him cry in front of you, never has the eldest looked so broken. There is a deep sorrow held within his gaze as he stares into your eyes, fresh tears trailing down his face. His hands tremble as they hang limply at his sides, palms facing upwards in your direction in a display of utmost surrender and submission.

Painfully, Seonghwa’s heart squeezes. The worst suffocating feeling that he’s ever felt in his entire life surrounds his entire chest as he continues to stare at you, sobs wracking his entire body the longer you go without saying anything.

So badly does he want to hope, but he doesn’t think he’ll survive that loss if it turns out to be false.

You swallow your emotions for the moment as you meet his gaze.

“Give me an hour or two, and once we’ve both calmed down,” you stand from your spot, “then, we can talk.”

Seonghwa can only nod his head vigorously, worried that if he opens his mouth all that will escape him will be a choked sob. Still, he cannot deny the way his breath catches, no longer being able to stop that glimmer of hope from shining within his gaze.

Without another word, you walk passed him and out of the room.

You don’t come across any of the others on your way back to your own room, and for that, you’re grateful. You can still tell they’re around, hearing sound coming from both the home theatre, and game room as you pass by. The fact that they’re being respectful enough not to swarm you for the moment helps to warm your heart as you wipe at your lingering tears once more.

Making it back to your room, you shut the door behind you once you step inside, leaving it open only the slightest crack incase Kuroo decides to join you later. You could really go for a nice warm bath right now; you just need to calm down for a bit and relax.

An hour later, you find yourself sitting in the exact same chaise you were in the previous evening. This time, you sit crossed legged as you gaze out into the desert before you.

The stars glimmer like jewels in the sky above, and a gentle breeze caresses your heated skin. Kuroo sits on the railing of your balcony, tail swishing behind him as he looks out over the space in front of the both of you. Silently, he keeps you company, standing guard and offering you comfort in his own way.

Again, the balcony doors rest wide open behind you, but you’ve opted to keep the door to your room closed for now. You doubt he’ll use the door anyways, once you call for him. Besides, you do not wish to be disturbed.

Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes.

For the next half an hour, you calm your mind.

Occasionally, you have used meditation to help you relax, and you find yourself leaning into those few times that you have, recalling the breathing exercises that you’ve used previously that have worked before, and using them now.

Taking a deep, steady breath in, you open your eyes.

Finally, you are ready to talk to Seonghwa.

The very moment you brush up against that royal blue string within your mind, Seonghwa is beside you in a second. His hands pause halfway in buttoning up his shirt, and you notice his hair is damp. He must have just gotten out of the shower.

The soft call of your name from his lips has you meeting his gaze, even if only briefly.

“Sit,” you motion to the chair beside you. “We have a lot to discuss."

Instantly, he’s in the seat beside yours, sorrowful gaze locked onto your figure. From the corner of your eyes, you can see how bloodshot his own are, and you can just tell he’s probably been crying for a lot longer than you have been.

A moment of silence passes over the both of you as you stare forward, and out into the desert.

“Would you like to go first, or should I?” You pose the question gently, forearms resting over your knees.

You hear him take a deep, shaky breath in.

“Whatever would make you more comfortable.” Comes his soft reply.

You nod your head only once, slowly at that.

“Alright,” you blink, eyes transfixed on the way Kuroo’s tail continues to swish back and forth over the railing in front of you. “Then I would like to hear what you have to say.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you recognize this as him collecting his thoughts.

“I-“ he begins, before stopping short, staring at his intertwined hands as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I have no greater regret than the pain my words have caused you. I promised you that I would never speak to you in such a manner again, and I broke that promise to you. I swore I would never hurt you, yet that’s all I seem to be doing.”

Taking a deep breath, he swallows the sudden dryness in his throat as he keeps his voice low.

“I find that I never know how to control myself around you: my emotions, my actions, my words.” His fingers tighten around each other. “I know it’s no excuse for how I acted. I let my fear control me that day. I let it control my anger, which subsequently controlled my words. It was misdirected, and unacceptable on my part. I took it out on you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Looking up, he meets your gaze, and you see fresh tears lining his eyes.

“I will spend every day of the rest of our lives making this up to you; proving to you how sincere I am is the only thing on my mind. I cannot live without you; you’ve more than proved your point.” He continues lowly. “You’re right. I could never just get over losing you. You mean too much to me.”

This time, it’s your turn to swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. You had only thought he had heard you the other day, but this just confirms it.

“Losing you is my greatest fear,” his voice catches, as if the mere thought of it is simply too much for him to bear. At the way his eyes shine with a newfound horror, you know that it is. “Seeing you bleeding out like that, with- with-“ his whole body begins to tremble as he squeezes his eyes shut, the first of his tears falling as the memory consumes him once more, “with arrows piercing your back terrified me. I thought-“ he rubs his face with his hands, taking a deep breath to attempt to calm himself as his eyes remain closed for the moment. “When I saw you hunched over like that, I thought you were dead.”

Your expression falls as you watch his whole body tremble before you.

“All I could think was that it was my fault. I couldn’t protect you. I failed you.” He chokes on his breath. “Then, you moved, and all I could think about was that you could die at any moment. The fact that you seemed to care so little for your own life drove me insane.” He takes another shaky breath in as he meets your gaze. “How could you not realize how precious you are? Not just to me, but to all of us?”

You remain quiet, allowing him to finish his own thoughts for the moment as he looks back down at his intertwined hands.

“Seeing you laying there on the table, bleeding out with that damned poison running through your veins only made it worse. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and all I could do was blame myself for ever letting you get in harms way,” he says, eyes falling shut once more. “I couldn’t help but to think that maybe, if I had just suggested doing something else, or even if I had just kept my mouth shut, you wouldn’t be greeting death like an old friend right in front of my very eyes. You would have never been in danger. You would have never gotten hurt.”

“And then to hear you say that,” his whole body tenses. “To hear you brushing everything off as if you were fine, and that you weren’t minutes away from death had me terrified. How could you be so calm? Why would you use your energy to reassure us when you could collapse at any moment? Were you not worried for yourself?”

“So, I got angry. Angry at the lack of care you seemed to have for yourself. Angry at the way you seemed to not want us to worry about you, despite everything going on. Angry that you would seemingly be okay with throwing away your own life, and not recognizing how important you are to us. To me.” He blinks, shifting his gaze to meet your own once more. “I wasn’t angry that you protected a child. I was angry at the fact that you got hurt protecting a child when I was supposed to be the one protecting you.”

“I never meant a word I said to you, and I have regretted them ever since,” he stares deeply into your eyes, tears falling from his own. “I had no right to speak to you how I did. I had no right to allow my fear to control my anger like that, and take it out on you. You are not stupid, and you most certainly are not a burden. You never were, and you never will be.”

You swallow thickly.

“I hate knowing that I ever made you feel that way,” his voice trembles, and suddenly, he can no longer meet your gaze. “I made those voices return. I did that to you.” His whole body begins to shake as more tears escape his eyes as he squeezes them shut once more, hands coming up to tangle in his hair. “I’m sorry.” He chokes on a sob. “I’m so, unbelievably sorry.”

“From the bottom of my heart, and with everything that I am,” meeting your gaze right now is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his entire life as a shame unlike any other washes over him, “I sincerely apologize for everything that I have done that has hurt you.”

“There is no greater regret in my entire life knowing that I’ve ruined everything, and I will spend however long it takes making it up to you. I will never stop wanting to make things right. I am so, deeply in love with you, that I cannot survive without you.”

You stretch out your legs in front of you, turning your body to sit on the edge of the chaise as you face him fully.

“So, please-“ he falls to his knees, scared that you’re about to up and leave him again for the time being as he reaches across to you, hands clinging desperately onto your sides as he collapses on top of your thighs. “Please, do whatever you want with me. Hate me. Yell at me. Hit me until you are satisfied. Just whatever you do, please don’t go back to ignoring me.” More tears spill down his cheeks as he inhales a shaky breath, voice muffled as he presses his face further into you. “I don’t know if I can survive that.”

A moment of silence settles over the both of you as he sobs into your stomach, arms coming to wrap around your torso as he clings onto you for dear life. You say nothing, opting to take a deep breath in to steady your nerves.

Only, Seonghwa perceives it as a disappointed sigh, sobbing harder into you as he tightens his grip around your waist.

“Please,” he begs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, My Divine, please-“

Like a broken record, Seonghwa keeps repeating those few words to you, pleading desperately for you not to go. To not leave him, or go back to ignoring him. He wants you to know how sincere he is in both his words and actions, knowing that he would even cut his own beating heart out of his chest as long as it meant your happiness.

“Seonghwa,” the way you breathe his name sets a whole new round of sobs wracking his chest. The moment he feels your hand come up to begin threading your fingers through his hair, his whole body begins to shake. “You didn’t ruin everything. You did not ruin anything.”

His whole chest shakes with the weight of his sobs, and you can feel him pressing his fingers harder into the skin of your back. Almost as if he’s grounding himself to you in this moment, like you may slip through his grasp. As if to prove to himself that this is real.

“I appreciate your honesty,” you say, continuing to softly thread your fingers through his hair in comfort. “Now, are you ready for mine?”

Again, he nods vigorously against your stomach, eyes squeezing shut as he prepares himself for the worst.

You take a deep breath in.

“First of all, I would like to apologize to you-“

“My Divine, you have no reason to apologize to me-“

“I have just as much reason to apologize to you when I purposely hurt you in the same ways that I got upset at you for hurting me.” You reply.

He remains quiet.

“I was frustrated, and upset,” you continue, staring straight ahead as you feel him shift his gaze to stare up at you for the moment.

“You had every right to be.”

“That doesn’t make what I said okay, Hwa,”

He cannot help the way his heart stutters a beat in his chest. You called him Hwa again.

“I didn’t mean it. I want you to know that,” your fingers still in his hair. “I was being my typical, extremely hypocritical self, and I knew it. Yet, I still said it to hurt you.”

You take a moment to pause.

“I-“ you exhale a long breath through your nose. “It’s the people that we care about the most that can shatter us the quickest.”

His breath hitches.

“The reason, Seonghwa, that I broke down the way I did after what you said to me is because I care.” You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat as you feel him go completely still in your grip. “I care about you. All of you, and every logical part of me tells me that I shouldn’t, given the circumstances, but I still do. I have never had someone treat me, let alone desire me as you all do, and if I’m being honest with myself, it fucking terrifies me.”

Finally, you spare a glance down into his eyes, and you notice his wide gaze staring completely captivated by you for the moment.

“It terrifies me because, selfishly, I do not want to lose any of it.” Your voice drops to a mere whisper, as if ashamed of what you’re admitting to him at this very moment. “I have gone through most of my life with those voices in my head telling me that I am not good enough. I have never believed anyone could ever want me, let alone love me as unconditionally as you all do. I have always believed that I’ve had to earn people’s affection, lest they see me as a burden.”

Fresh tears spring to your eyes as you attempt to keep your voice from shaking.

“I-“ your voice catches in your throat. “I have always felt alone because I never wanted to burden others with my problems, or my presence. It’s gotten better over the past few years, but-“ you swallow, averting your gaze to the side to see Kuroo already staring as intently at you as Seonghwa is. You close your eyes. “That is not the first time I have almost greeted death like an old friend.”

Seonghwa’s reaction is immediate, that same fear flashing in his eyes as he’s instantly sitting on the chaise beside you and pulling you into his arms. Your head rests on his chest as his one hand comes to support the back of your head, cradling you to him gently.

A tear lands on your cheek that is not your own as your hand clings desperately to the material of his shirt.

“After my sister lost her child, I can’t count the amount of times I found her close to her own death,” you whisper, afraid that if the words are any louder, your voice may crack. “I blamed myself each and every time. How could I not notice the signs? I wasn’t there for her enough when she needed me. Not to mention how those voices just made everything worse. I was useless, stupid, and my family was already stretched thin enough with my sister that I couldn’t burden them with my own problems. Mine seemed trivial in comparison, anyways. If I didn’t even care about myself, why should they?”

You can feel his grip tighten around you, pulling you closer into his chest.

“My own death does not scare me, but seeing that same fear I know has always been reflected on my own face paint itself over my sister’s features when she found me terrified me unlike anything before.” The first of your tears begin to fall. “To this day, I am the biggest hypocrite I know. I made her promise me that she would continue living, to continue fighting, and I couldn’t even keep that same promise to her.”

“That’s when we both swore to each other that we would get through this together, and we did.” Your eyes fall shut. “To this day, she was the only one that knew, and I cannot help but still think about if she didn’t find me that day, or if I didn’t find her all those times first. So, of course I’m going to prioritize someone else’s life over mine, especially if that someone is a child. I know the effects first hand of what losing one could mean. Besides, my life will never be as important as someone else’s.”

Seonghwa goes so still that you swear he’s stopped breathing.

“Do you-“ he swallows his emotions, throat going dry, “do you really believe that?” His chest tightens, heart squeezing painfully as another tear falls from his eye. “Do you really believe that your life is worth less than someone else’s?”

Your lips part briefly with a response before you promptly shut them. Your silence speaks volumes.

Then, you’re uttering the words that break Seonghwa’s heart anew this evening, voice barely above a whisper, “It always has been.”

“My Divine,” he chokes on a sob, “you must know that that’s not true. Not even in the slightest.”

You remain silent.

“Please,” he practically whimpers, “you have to realize that your life is just as important as, if not more important than anyone else’s.”

“I understand that I should realize that, and I do at times,” you reply softly. “It’s just when it comes down to it, I cannot help but prioritize others over me. If I can save others from pain, I would rather take it all than see someone I care about get hurt.”

“But what about how we feel when we see you in pain?” His whole body shakes, grip tightening once more around your body. “Do you not realize how that hurts us?”

“I realize that now,” you respond earnestly. “Believe me, I do.”

“Then why-“

“I have gone my whole life following this mentality, Seonghwa. You cannot expect me to change a fundamental part of who I am just like that,” you sigh. “My insecurities are every bit a part of me as my confidence, just as my depression is every bit a part of me as my happiness. Some days are better than others, and I can reason with myself. Other times, the voices win. I can manage them a lot better now, but my biggest insecurity, my biggest fear is always at the back of my mind. It’s why I cannot go back there again.”

You can tell he wants to ask. So badly does he want to know, to be able to comfort you and reassure you in every and any way he can. Only, you’re speaking before he gets a chance to.

“Listen, Seonghwa,” you let out another sigh, “I know you want to know, and I’m always a strong believer in reciprocating vulnerability when it is shown to me. However, this is a part of me that I am not ready to share with any of you yet. It’s not an easy subject for me to talk about with anybody, and I don’t readily do so often. I need you to understand though, that it’s not because I do not trust you. I do trust you, Seonghwa. I trust all of you. I trust you all with my life. I am simply not ready to share such a part of me with any of you yet.”

“I want you to know, though, that there is a reason I always reply with ‘I believe you’ to you all.” You tell him. “As much as that phrase if for you, it’s also for me as well.”

“I understand, My Divine.” You feel him nod against your head. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, feeling a small weight lifting off of your shoulders. Then, after a moment, you add, “for everything.”

He blinks, squeezing you tighter to his chest as he places his lips onto the top of your head. Allowing his eyes to flutter shut, Seonghwa inhales deeply, breathing in your scent and revelling in this moment here with you.

“Of course, My Divine,” he mumbles against the top of your head. “I love you, and I will always care for you. Even if I don’t always know how to properly express it sometimes.”

You chuckle at that, lips twitching upwards in the corners. “I believe you.”

You can feel him smile against you, whole body nearly relaxing until you feel him stiffen beneath your hold.

“I, uh,” he stammers, shifting slightly as his grip loosens around your body, “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Did what?” You quirk a brow, tilting your head up to look at him as you wipe at your dried tears with the back of your hand.

“This,” he replies, eyes flicking down to your form wrapped in his embrace as he chews on his bottom lip.

You chuckle, “Hwa, if I didn’t want to be held, or even touched by you, I would have told you to get off of me a long time ago.”

“Oh,” his lips part slightly in mild surprise, a bashful smile stretching across his features. “This is okay, then?”

Really, it warms your heart more than you care to admit that he’s taking the time to consider your comfortability right now after everything.

“Of course,” you nod slightly. “Though, can we lay down, my back is getting kind of stiff-“

Instantly, you’re laying down in the chaise, his arms wrapped securely around your body as he holds you to his chest.

The giggle that you release is music to his ears.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease, curling yourself further into him to make yourself more comfortable.

“I will not lie to you, My Divine,” his voice is a bit breathless as he replies to you, ‘I have been fantasizing about holding you in my arms for quite a long time.”

“Well, if it wasn’t obvious before,” you smile faintly, hearing the way his heart begins to race within his chest, “you may stay. At least, for a little while.”

“I promise you I won’t fuck things up this time,” he responds earnestly.

“You better not,” you tease him, poking at his chest quite firmly with your finger and noticing once more how not all of his buttons have been done up. “Next time, I definitely won’t be as forgiving.”

His breath hitches in his throat, eyes shining as he looks down at you in his arms, noticing how you’re already staring up at him with a knowing look.

“You mean…?”

“Yes, Mars,” you hum, and you feel his whole body go still beneath you. “I forgive you.”

“I-“ he blinks, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Do you not want me to forgive you?” Your brow quirks as you continue to stare up at him.

“Of course I do, I just-“

“Do you think I would perform for just anyone, Mars?” You tilt your head slightly as you smile up at him softly. “It will have to be an effort on both of our parts, but I am willing to try if you are.”

Once more, his lips are back on the top of your head, gracing the skin of your forehead as he presses you as close to his body as he can. A soft rumble shakes his chest, and you already know his answer without him saying it.

“Thank you,” his voice is raw, strained from the intense emotions he’s feeling in this very moment. Gratitude, happiness, but more than all of that, love floods his veins as he holds you to him. “My Divine, thank you.”

Slowly, your one hand slides beneath the opening of his shirt to rest directly over his heart, feeling the way it thunders beneath your touch as a pleasant shiver caress his spine. You meet his gaze, fresh tears shining in his eyes as you smile up at him softly.

“I swear to you I will not let you down,” nothing but sincerity is reflected in his fond gaze as he stares deeply into your eyes.

“I believe you,” you hum, settling back against him with your head on his chest.

A small silence surrounds the both of you, and you notice Kuroo looking back out at the desert once more. His tail swishes languidly as he sits, perched on the railing of your balcony as you are more than content to rest in Seonghwa’s arms for the moment. You even go so far as to gently rub your thumb against the skin of his chest, loving the way you can feel his heart still racing beneath the palm of your hand.

A pleasant shiver runs up his spine.

“My Divine, you must know how such a simple touch from you tests my every last bit of control,” his voice rumbles out, the subtle hints of a growl to his tone.

You giggle. “Then, I guess we’re even.”

You can tell your words catch him by surprise at the way he says nothing in response.

“You’re the one who showed up tonight looking like this,” you emphasize your words by trailing your hand a little further along his chest, causing his shirt to fall open the slightest bit more. “Not to mention you smell incredible.”

Taking another deep breath, your eyes flutter shut, practically moaning as the scent of mahogany teakwood invades your every sense.

“Nothing is more attractive to me than someone who both looks and smells nice,” you sigh wistfully, a smile tugging onto your lips.

Seonghwa cannot deny the way his whole body heats at your words, a low growl building in his chest as your praise washes over him. Finally, he’s done something right.

Now, if only he could cover you in him. Oh, how he longs for the day where he can absolutely drench you in his scent, and him in you.

“I always live to please you,” his voice rumbles out, low and sultry as his eyes hood over.

You do not fail to catch the double meaning of his words.

“All in due time, Seonghwa,” you chuckle, a grin to your lips as you settle against him. Your eyelids flutter shut. “All in due time.”

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