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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

omg now im jealous about all of the breaking up and making up stories!!! they're all so wonderful but is it okay to ask for a steve/tony one? i know you've made one inspired by ts (amazing) and this time, maybe they meet/bump in a coffee shop? idk angst potential but also hopeful/happy ending aahhh. your stories are amazing esp ivy!!! thank you! <3

thank you so much!! it ended up being more cute than angsty, but I hope you like it!

Steve's pencil drifts idly across the page of his sketchbook with no end vision in mind. He's killing time until Nat shows up, which could be anywhere between the next five minutes and the next two hours with her vague text that simply said running late. When he looks up to reach for his near empty coffee cup, he freezes with his hand in the middle of the air.

At first he thinks it might not even actually be him. Tony's hair was never quite this well styled before, always a tangled mop on his head that sometimes fell into his eyes. Steve used to spend hours sometimes running his fingers through those wild curls while Tony slept on his chest. It's been tamed since then, cut shorter and held into place by some type of product. The facial hair is new, too. He remembers a time when it would always come in patchy and uneven, and Tony would pout as he shaved away the latest attempt at looking older than he was. The eighteen year old boy in oversized hoodies and stained jeans he met years ago has been replaced by a man in a well-pressed, expensive looking suit with a leather briefcase, like he just stepped out of a boardroom a minute ago. From what Steve has read about his life since they broke up, he probably did.

Steve stares without fully meaning to and for much longer than he would have if it was intentional. He watches him order his drink and smiles when the barista’s eyes widen at what he knows is an overly complicated order, wondering if Tony ever did finish his quest to find that perfect combination of syrup flavors, sugar, and cream that only he would ever like.

He catches the double take when Tony notices him there, right as he’s taking his first sip of the iced drink, and the cough when he chokes on it is anything but subtle. Steve looks away with red cheeks and tries to pretend he wasn’t staring, but it’s a futile effort. He can’t say he minds, though. Not when it means Tony walks over to him and unceremoniously drops himself into the chair across from him.

His mouth forms a familiar smirk, and he says, “You seem to have a staring problem, Rogers.”

Suddenly, Steve is nineteen again, falling hopelessly in love with the boy in his introductory chemistry class. It felt sort of like fate at first when they were paired together for the final project, and Steve remembers thinking that his chances were shot to hell when Tony sat down next to him and said those exact words. He never was any good at being discreet.

Back then, for that first time, all he could manage was a stuttered apology in response. But eventually it became their thing. Something just for them that no one else could ever understand. When Steve would watch him from across the room at parties, because he knew how much Tony loved having his eyes on him, and Tony would saunter over with that same smirk and those same words, there was only ever one reply.

“Guess I just really like what I see,” Steve says, and Tony’s face splits into a grin that matches Steve’s own. He’s still beautiful, even if it’s different now. Less softness to his appearance and more defined edges and sharp lines, but heart stoppingly beautiful nonetheless. He doesn’t quite say as much, but he does comment, “You do look good, by the way. Different, but good.”

Tony’s smile softens into another familiar one. It’s his smile for compliments, when he’s thinking self-deprecating thoughts that he won’t voice. Instead he’ll turn the attention back around, shifting the spotlight.

“So do you. The good part, but not really the different part.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, contemplating if not looking different contributes to the good or not. He should look different somehow, shouldn’t he? After two and a half years not seeing each other in person and what feels like a lifetime’s worth of heartbreak in between then and now, he should look as changed as he feels. As changed as Tony looks now, like he’s someone new entirely. He’s pretty sure the t-shirt he’s wearing now is one he owned back then.

“Thanks,” Steve says anyway, for lack of anything better.

Just before it has the chance to fall into awkward silence, Tony says, “I didn’t know you were in New York these days. I would’ve called or something if I’d known.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Would you have?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I would’ve thought about it, at least. You know, stalked you online, found your number, dialed and hung up a few times.”

Steve laughs, fiddling with the straw wrapper from earlier to give himself something to look at other than Tony. “I moved back last year. Thought about calling, but I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to waste your time.”

It’s only a partial truth. He did think about calling when he came to Brooklyn after his year-long internship in London ended, but he didn’t want to know what Tony would say if he did. If he would have some sort of transparent excuse to avoid seeing him or if it would be an outright rejection.

“I would’ve made time for you,” Tony says, so painfully sincere that Steve has to look up again to meet his eyes.

He wonders if Tony is thinking of that last fight, if it’s a purposeful or coincidental reference to some of what Steve said. It was by far the worst fight they’d ever had, all over the phone with an ocean between them and so many things that Steve still wishes he could take back. Accusations flew on both sides until the entire thing was blown so completely out of proportion, yet impossible to reel back in. He should have just hung up the phone before it went that far. Before he could tell Tony that he always felt unimportant compared to everything else in his life, which was sometimes true but entirely unfair. Before Tony could say that Steve talked about Peggy in the same way he used to talk about him, and he didn’t have to finish the thought for Steve to understand the implication.

“Are we talking about it?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs, feigning casual, but just the corner of his lip is between his teeth in that way that means he’s nervous and trying to hide it. “I guess that depends on what this is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we said back then that maybe it was just bad timing. You were in London, and I was in Boston until graduation, and it was always going to be a bit of a mess, but there was always that someday chance, right? So maybe this is someday, and we talk about it, and try to get it right this time,” Tony says. “Or maybe that was just something we said and didn’t mean, and I ask you about your life, and you ask about mine, and we talk and laugh and pretend that we’re friends again for the next half hour or so before we go our separate ways.”

It’s an easy choice, really. If there’s one thing that Steve’s sure of, it’s that it’s always been him and always will be.

“I don’t want to go separate ways,” Steve says. “The first time was hard enough, and I never really moved on. I got better, but I don’t think I’ve been more than just fine in a long time.”

Tony nods slowly, “I kept thinking you would call, you know. Back then. I thought you would call and tell me that it was a mistake and it would be okay again, but you never did. Although, I guess I could’ve called, too.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“For the same reason as you, probably. I couldn’t risk it if you didn’t want me again. Couldn’t risk getting back together just to break up again, either. We weren’t exactly the poster children for making long distance work.”

“We were terrible at it, weren’t we?”

Tony’s smile is tinged with the pain of the past. “It’s kind of funny because I remember thinking that it might be a good thing for us when you told me about London. Can’t get sick of somebody if they’re not always around.”

“You thought I would get sick of you? You never told me that.”

“Why would I?” Tony laughs. “Just put all my insecurities on display like that? Come on, Steve, that doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

Steve laughs with him briefly, “No, but I could’ve told you back then that it wasn’t possible. Told you that I wanted you around all the time and I missed you every second you were gone. I might’ve even stayed if you had told me. I was thinking about it, you know? I almost turned the internship down. Probably would’ve if you’d asked even once for me not to go.”

“It was your career. I never would’ve asked you to give that up for me.”

“There would have been something else. Another job somewhere closer to you.”

“I still wouldn’t have asked,” Tony says. “And I would have told you to go if you’d said you were staying.”

Steve knows that, which is why they never talked about it much before he left. Tony pretended to be happy for him, and Steve pretended to be happy for himself, when really it already felt like the beginning of the end. A year apart is longer than it seems, and it didn’t take more than a few months to realize it.

“I never…” Steve starts, trailing off when he doesn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. “There was never anyone else. Not while we were together, and never with Peggy.”

“I know. I knew back then, too, that you were never that kind of person. Jealousy’s just a real bitch sometimes.”

“There’s really not been anyone since, either,” Steve adds, and Tony’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “I mean, a couple of people here and there, but nothing like what we were.”

“There’s not a whole lot out there like what we were, is there?”

Steve smiles, leaning back in his chair, “No, there’s really not. But I do remember reading a rumor that you got engaged.”

Tony groans, and it’s so much like he used to sound when he was nine pages deep into a ten page essay at three in the morning that Steve has to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh. That rumor haunts me, Steven,” Tony says, belied by a grin that he seemingly can’t control. “Do you know how I found out about my supposed engagement? When my mother called and asked why I hadn’t told her I was planning on proposing.”

“So I’m still the only person you’ve ever proposed to,” Steve teases, just for the way he knows Tony will get indignant about it.

“How many times do I have to tell you that one didn’t count?”

“You were on one knee, you asked a question, and you had a ring. All the boxes are checked, sweetheart.”

“It was a blue raspberry ring pop, and you ate it,” Tony argues. “Not to mention that I actually asked you to marry me someday in the distant future. That’s not a proposal.”

Steve laughs again, thinking about that day in the middle of their living room, just a few weeks before Steve got the call that would take him to London and change everything. It was almost like a joke, and for anyone else it would have been. Not for them, though, because Steve remembers the look in Tony’s eyes when he dropped down in front of him, spur of the moment and impulsive like almost everything was back then. He remembers how it still felt like a promise, even if it wasn’t the real thing.

“But I said yes, which I think technically means we’re still engaged.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony scoffs. “It’s going to be a production when we get engaged. Elaborate and planned and romantic as hell.”

“When, huh?” Steve grins.

Tony’s cheeks pinken a touch, but he doesn’t take it back. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table. “Yeah, when. Is that alright with you?”

Steve threads their fingers together, holding on tight. “That’s alright with me.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompt fill

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volleychumps · 4 years

Note

Can I request a scenario with Kuroo, Bokuto, and Kageyama where their s/o is getting harassed by some creep but when their s/o stands up for herself, they're thinking " oh thank god I don't need to kill anyone". BUT when the creep lays a hand on her, all bets are off and they just punch the dude in the face!Cause there's jealousy and then there's pure protective rage!!!

S/O Who is Getting Harassed w/ Kuroo, Bokuto, and Kageyama

Warnings: cursing, mild nsfw themes

--------------------------------------------

Kuroo

“Kitten, I’m waiting~”

“Keep it in your pants for a second, will you?” You laugh, your shoulder supporting your cellular device as you hold it up to your ear, shuffling around in your bag to find your wallet with your occupied hands. “I still cannot believe you put me in charge of ice cream duty.”

“It was to prove that me calling you up in the middle of the night means cuddles and anime!”

“So not a dick appointment?” You joke as your finished getting rung out, the woman behind the counter giving you a strange look as you flinch at the fact that you had actually said that in front of another person as Kuroo’s laughter is heard audibly at the other end of the call. Bowing deeply in apology, you rush out of the convenience store as you breathe in the air of the late-night soothingly to calm your embarrassment.

“I’m gonna come to meet you halfway, alright kitty?”

“In your car?”

“No, in a fucking spaceship. Yes, in my car.”

You roll your eyes, a smile still on your face as you begin your trek in the desired direction as your sassy boyfriend seemed to be getting impatient.

“I can just skip and not meet you for this appointment you know-”

“It’s nOT A-”

You hum in satisfaction as you end the call, walking along the street in search of Kuroo’s vehicle when an instant feeling of being watched sends a shiver down your back. Your hands straighten your clothes as you glance behind you, unsurprised yet uneasy at the sight of a man seeming to stare you down, eyes raking shamelessly upon your figure.

Kuroo’s brows furrow as soon as he turns the corner, not having parked far as he sees you looking behind you worriedly, seeming to engage in a uneasy conversation with the stranger before you.

The greasy grin on said stranger’s face had Kuroo’s feet moving before he could think, but the captain stills when he sees you scoff, crossing your arms heatedly at whatever he had said. Now within a hearing range, Kuroo smirks as he leans against the wall as you tell the creep off, hands finding home in the pockets of his red jacket.

“Can you maybe go crawl back into whatever dump you and your nasty-ass teeth came from?”

Kuroo’s grin only widens as you roll your eyes and walk past him seeming to be fearless, even shoving your shoulder against his in the process as Kuroo goes to call out to you to enforce the leave of that creep immediately-

“You bitch!”

but red flooded his vision as soon as a hand was lain on your bare shoulder, spinning you around roughly as an audible squeak of fear and surprise slips your lips, reeling his arm back-

And then Kuroo’s feet were really moving.

Kuroo shoved the guy off you with a snarl on his features, eyes spinning dangerously as your boyfriend delivers a sharp knee to his stomach, sending your attacker to the ground in less than a minute. The smile that spread on Kuroo’s lips was anything but kind as he lifted the now fearful man up a few inches by the shirt, mock-kindness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, care to repeat that for me again?” The polite words held such a menacing edge as Kuroo grit his teeth, feeling you place a hand on his back soothingly.

“Kuroo, let’s go.”

“No. Someone’s gotta teach this prick what happens when people lay their hands on my girl.” Kuroo lets go of his shirt, grinning when he hits his head on the street before lifting him back up again, ignoring his groan of pain. “And that someone’s gonna be me.”

“Tetsurou.”

Kuroo groans at your strict tone as if you had interrupted his playtime, fist unclenching around the stranger’s shirt as he makes a hasty escape, tripping himself over in the process before dashing away.

“Look at me listening to you, princess.”

Kuroo’s eyes held a pissed-off edge to them as he takes a strand of your hair, running his fingers through it before kissing the strand with closed eyes. Your mouth goes dry when his cat-like eyes open again, staring at you as if you were his favorite posession before cupping your face, leaning closer with a grin that wasn’t happy.

“Just how tight do you have me wrapped around your little finger?”

You clear your throat, shifting in place as the moon seems to illuminate Kuroo’s stare, feeling his eyes bore into you as the strand slips from his fingers, his breath beginning to mix with your own.

“Tight enough, apparently.”

“Just... come cuddle and watch anime with me?”

“Yeah, we’ll have our appointment, whatever- but kiss me first.”

And so he did, anger fading away in the movement of his lips against yours, draining away completely when he feels your smile against his.

Even if it wasn’t an appointment.

Bokuto

“Bo, I’ll be fine, I promise!”

“Do you pinky promise?”

“I- there’s like a 7% chance something will happen to me in the five minutes you’re gone.”

“That’s 6.9% too much.”

“Bo, I’m hungry.” You whine, grinning as you win the argument that was hardly an argument, seeing Bokuto’s eyes widen a little in worry before puffing his cheeks out, spinning on his heel in the direction of your desired food stand.

“You win this one!”

“I usually do!” You call back, shaking your head at Bokuto’s protective tendencies. A rare off day the two of your shared had wound the two of you at the mall, a day’s worth of shopping sitting at your feet as your golden-eyed boyfriend bought you lunch from the food court. You hummed, scrolling on your phone as you patiently waited until the sound of someone clearing their throat caused you to lift your head.

Well, looks like you’re going to need to recalculate that percentage.

“Someone as pretty as you should never be sitting alone in a place like this, hm?”

“I’m not alone, though!” You chirp fakely, unknowingly causing the boy to press on, taking the seat that was reserved for your spiker boyfriend as you blanch.

“Nice excuse, sweetheart- but that won’t work on me.”

You clench your jaw, praying Bokuto wouldn’t return just yet and throw a fit you knew he was bound to throw as you offer a strained smile at the smirking boy.

“I’m actually waiting for somebody-”

“I don’t see them, though?”

Bokuto stills, hands tightening around the tray holding your food subconciously at the scene before him, scenarios drifting through his head on what approach would make you the least mad at him. Cursing him out? Perhaps spiking the lunch tray at his head? That is, until-

“Do you not understand what waiting means, or does nothing occupy that space between your ears?”

“Feisty.”

“Grow the hell up.” You plaster a smile as you flick him off, crossing one leg over the other for effect, causing your pursuer to rise to his feet in a now ticked-off manner as Bokuto grins, eyebrows raising in surprise.

The grin fades as the asshole uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch your cheeks together harshly, the uncomfort apparent on your expression as you glare heatedly up at him, a crowd beginning to form.

“Pretty girl with a dirty mouth, huh? That can be arranged-”

A tap on the shoulder.

“Do you know what else can be arranged?”

“Who the hell-”

He never gets to finish his sentence as Bokuto grabs him by the shoulder, ripping him off you and reeling his own arm back before delivering a punch so hard to the guy’s jaw you swear you could hear a few cracks. The crowd was definitely beginning to get bigger as Bokuto pays no mind, cracking his knuckles as the guy who put his hands on you looks up into the golden eyes of a pissed-off ace, the grin on Bokuto’s face borderline deadly as gold begins to darken.

“Who am I?” A humorless chuckle that could have been almost considered kind. Bokuto tilts his head innocently as he ignores the bruising on his knuckles, leaning down to ask an equally innocent question.

“Take a fucking guess.”

You gasp at the headbutt delivered next, causing your pursuer to groan and fall backwards, Bokuto unfazed before realizing you were now holding him back before grabbing your hand, collecting your bags and your food in a hurry as he tugs you along, ignoring the flash of the cameras and gasps of the crowd. You have to hold him back from turning around for more in your effort to leave.

“Just one more punch-”

“Trust me, that was plenty.”

It isn’t until you reach the parking lot when Bokuto finally stops, holding your hand so tightly it almost feels icy numb, not knowing what to say as his golden eyes turn to you, as if he was trying to hold his anger back. You hear him drop all the bags he’s holding as you hug him quickly, burying your face in his chest as the ace immediately relaxes.

“God, stop being so pretty.” He finally mumbles into your hair, and you let out a laugh of relief as he calms down.

“Right. So maybe not 7%-”

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Bo?”

“Never leave my sight, please?” Your heartstrings tug at the crack in his voice, now determined to prevent his emo mode on your day off.

“That’s a lot to promise.” You find yourself whispering back, pulling back a little to cup his face gently as Bokuto’s forehead touches yours. “But I’m so thankful you showed up when you did. You know what I can promise, though?”

You smile at Bokuto’s head tilt, feeling the ace impatiently trace his lips along your neck as you giggle, feeling the atmosphere lighten as Bokuto pouts when you pull back with a question-

“Car sex?”

Bokuto’s pout is replaced with an excited grin, for this boy worships your body 10000%.

“I thought you’d never ask, baby! Get in for the ride of your life!!”

“Just because I feel bad for your bruised knuckles- I’ll let that pun slide.”

Bokuto smirks as he kisses your forehead, winking at you through the window after closing the car door for you as the day’s events already begin to fade-

being replaced with something much more important.

Kageyama

“...you sure you’re okay?”

“Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m dandy.” Kageyama snaps, causing Hinata to back off with both arms raised in the air as a sign of meaning no harm. The blue-eyed boy grits his teeth from his spot on the sidelines of the court, pissed that the game was starting and he had no way of defending you from the creep sitting by you in the stands.

Kageyama relaxes a little when he sees you switch seats with an offering Kenma, thankful for his fellow setter for once as his blue eyes meet your bright ones.

The tension in his face and body drains at your smile, mouthing an I’m okay, do your best! as Kageyama returns his focus to the match just as it starts. Knowing he can’t lose concentration, especially when you’re watching, is hard- considering you were wearing his jersey number and the shortest skirt he had ever seen on you- a promise for something special you had mentioned if he won today’s match.

He had a little bit of a clue what that could be.

The match went smoothly with your genius-setter boyfriend playing at his top-game for a reason no one would ever pinpoint as you can’t help but giggle from the secret behind his determination today.

What you were wearing was for him, but a certain someone didn’t seem to understand that.

Kenma cast you a worried glance as he raises from his seat as he looks amongst the filled seats, trying to find one for you to sit in as he has to go start to warm up.

“Y/N-san, what if you go to the other side?”

“I’ll be fine, Kenma!” You assure him, ignoring the smirk of the guy who had previously started to talk you up. “I’ll probably go stand at the railing.”

“Mm. That’s probably best- stay safe.” Kenma nods, sparing a warning glance to the scum next to him as if to enunciate his point before taking his leave as you walk up to the railing that was mostly unoccupied. You cheer for Kageyama as he scores quick after quick, thinking you were now in a safe manner.

But you weren’t.

Kageyama tilts his bottle upside down to drink down the liquid as soon as the match’s victors are declared Karasuno, the raven-haired boy wiping his mouth as he scans the crowds for you and your expected cheering form for his win, but what he saw had the setter moving quickly despite the ache in his legs. His teammates look on in worry before realizing the situation from a distance.

“Please leave me alone, sir, I came for one of the players today-”

“Why have one of these boys when you can have a real man?”

Kageyama jogs into hearing distance- stopping at the rare, cold edge your tone took on before starting again.

“Did you not hear what the hell I said, or are you hard of hearing you old geezer?” You keep your smile on, failing to notice the familiar raven-haired boy beginning to deadass climb the railing. “And real men leave girls alone when they ask.”

“Come on, play nice~”

You barely have time to flinch when his hand goes up your skirt, and it’s suddenly gone as soon as it does.

Kageyama was surprisingly calm as he pins the man to the railing, blue eyes spinning with an emotion you had hardly seen before as he holds both hands behind the guy’s back, using his other hand to bow his head down to the ground.

“Just where the hell do you think you’re touching?” Kageyama seethes as you smile at his sweaty appearance, seeing the man struggle as the rest of the Karasuno team jogs up to the stands as a commotion begins to break out, Suga asking if you’re okay as Daichi and Asahi both take the pervert from Kageyama before the setter can do something rash-

“Oh, before you take him-”

You flinch when Kageyama reels his fist back to clock him right in the nose, gasps filling the stands as Kageyama wipes the blood off his knuckles with the end of his jersey, whistling lowly at the cuts on his fist.

“Alright. You can take him now.”

Kageyama ignores the scold of his captain as he grabs you by the forearm, tugging you away as you wave a hasty goodbye to Suga as you follow him all the way into the empty hall, spinning you around so he can hold your wrists together with one hand.

“I’m really, really pissed.” Kageyama whispers, blue eyes hardened as you swallow when your back touches the wall, your eyes darting everywhere but on him. “Do you mind?”

“D-Do I mind what?” You stutter when the setter’s lips touch your neck, sending chills down your spine when he speaks against it, his own hand sliding up your thigh.

“Use my anger in the little reward you promised me?”

You laugh out loud, taking a handful of his raven hair before tugging it back with a smile on your features, kissing him sweetly with other intentions.

“Get me alone first, dummy. Good job on winning!”

“And-” Kageyama’s voice drops an octave, uncaring of anyone entering the hall as his other hand slides up under his jersey that was adorning your body.

“I want to cover anything that bastard might have left on you.”

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General works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @yams046

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #bokuto #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios

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starlightsearches · 3 years

Text

His Pilot Ch. 6 (SFW)

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

NSFW Version of the chapter can be found here.

Warnings: Language, angst.

The fire paints with dim, golden streaks on the ceiling above your bed—not bright enough to keep you awake, if you could manage to close your eyes.

You should be tired, exhausted. You should have fallen into the deepest sleep of your life before you even managed to crawl between the sheets. But you can’t. And you’re not.

Rest stays elusive, no matter how hard you try. After everything that’s happened, every promise and commitment you made in the blazing heat of the moment, it would be wise to take this time alone to think about what’s been done, and what cannot be undone.

And instead you're thinking about how it would feel to have Armitage's lips against your neck.

You huff at yourself, turning once again, the sheets in a tangle around your legs from your restless movements.

The knock at the door is so quiet, you’re sure you’ve imagined it. You want him to be there, but finding the hallway empty would be unbearable. The sound comes again, slightly louder, and you close your eyes, offer your hopes to the universe, and slip from between the sheets.

It takes effort to keep from running—even on your sore and tired legs—your footsteps marking an even beat against the floor, not loud enough to drown out the rapid strike of your heartbeat as your fingers curl around the cool metal of the door handle.

It could be Day, checking to make sure that you’re alright. Or Alida with fresh clothes for tomorrow or more wood for the fireplace.

The door opens; all your fears go quiet. It’s him.

“I . . .” Armitage hesitates, eyes gone wide when he sees you, shoulders positioned away from the door, like he's ready to run, “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought . . .”

Thank gods. You manage to keep your excitement to yourself, stepping out of the way so that he can enter.

The fire burns low in the hearth, casting more shadows than light at this point, bringing the walls in closer and shrinking the room, small enough that you can’t help but stand close to him.

He’s still in his clothes from before, except for the jacket—the fabric stiff with rain. His hair has lost any of the gel he had put in it that morning, and it falls across his forehead in soft waves—longer than you expected it to be—before he brushes it back with one ungloved hand.

“I— I didn’t mean to bother you,” he says, his throat jumping slightly when he swallows, eyes on the mess of sheets and blankets on your bed. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back when you rest your hand on his arm, the skin of his knuckles turning white.

“You’re not bothering me, I couldn’t sleep either.”

His eyebrows raise, the breath he was holding brushing your skin when he finally releases it. “Really?”

“Yes." You continue to shrink the space between you, looking up at him through your lashes.

He frowns, confused. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He can't not know what you're waiting for at this point, standing so close you can feel the heat from his skin through his clothes, staring pointedly at his lips.

He holds your hand to his face, and you think you've finally gotten through to him, letting your eyes flutter closed, but he doesn't come any closer, and when you meet his eyes again, they're full of pain.

“I’m— I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for all of this. I’ve ruined—”

You kiss him with an exasperated sigh—kiss him to shut him up, kiss him because you can’t wait any longer. It stuns him, but he kisses you back, his hand at your jaw, lips moving seamlessly against yours.

It’s exactly what you wanted—uncomplicated, pure connection. He won’t listen to you when his own insecurities are so loud, but he can feel this: the urgency of your mouth against his, the sincere desire in your sighs.

There’s no forethought, no planning, just need—every movement motivated only by desire. He stumbles back on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, pulling you down against him with his arm at your waist until you’re a mess of shifting legs and desperate, roaming hands.

It’s need that presses your hips against his thigh, warm and solid between your legs, need that has you sliding your core against the firm press of his body, sighing into his open mouth.

You reach for his shirt collar, pulling him closer, the buttons slipping easily from their hold under the strength of your hands until you can grip at the skin beneath—his neck, his collarbone, each valley and ridge mapping itself beneath your touch, searching lower, deeper, for more.

You’re left staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and empty hands.

Armitage turns to you, half his face in shadow as he sits on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the silk covers methodically, as if he’s trying to make sure that there's something real beneath him.

“Is everything . . . alright?” you whisper, apprehensive. There’s a sinking pit in your stomach, a terrible strain between your need to touch him and your fear of pushing him away.

He waits a moment before answering with an unconvincing nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m— I apologize.”

He looks so broken, defeated, and you don’t even know what you’ve done to make him this way. With no other options, you shift closer, stroke your fingers over the back of his neck in what you hope is a soothing gesture. His shoulders relax minutely, pressing closer against your hand, and even this little sliver of contact makes your stomach soar.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffs, turning away from you, and it's only then that you realize the anger in his eyes is directed inward.

Your chest collapses, folding in on itself in shame.

“Armitage,” you hook one finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes, “it’s alright. I’m not upset, or angry. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

His jaw tightens, eyes heavy with an unspoken pain. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to worry about me, Armitage.”

He pauses, quiet, shifting in his seat, clearly still embarrassed despite your assurance, “I should return to my room.”

You stop him with a hand on his chest, “Don’t, please, stay with me.”

He flushes, red from his temples to his cheeks; his shame only just overpowered by the desire to stay with you. “I’d need a change of clothes.”

You press your lips together, biting away a smile, “I think I can help with that.”

The trip to his room and back is uneventful, thankfully. The hallways are dim and empty, and the house is large enough that you don’t have to worry about waking anyone, or having to explain your trip to Armitage's quarters in the middle of the night.

The refresher is off when you get back, the room swallowed by silence, and you knock on the door to let him know that you’ve returned from your little mission.

“Come in.”

He speaks quietly but you still manage to hear him, bracing yourself before you enter the refresher, greeted by a wall of steam that clings to your skin and collects in your lashes like tears. Armitage stands, bare from the waist up, staring at his hazy reflection in the fogged glass.

His back is to you, pale white skin pulled tight over sharp shoulder blades, dotted with freckles and occasionally marred by the white stripe of a long-healed scar. There’s another mark, an unexpected one on his left shoulder, just below the junction of his neck.

He watches your approach through the glass, no longer covered in mist now that you’ve let the cold air in, the leftover condensation dripping down its surface like rain before pooling at the edge of the counter.

It’s not a very large tattoo, about the length and width of your thumb: a small sprig of flowers, like the ones you saw on your trip to the market. You trace the lines—the dark green of the stem and where it fades into the soft, white petals—with the tip of your finger, memorizing the pattern.

“It’s Halia,” he says with a cough, “they’re the flowers that grow on the mountains along the shoreline. She was named after them. It was the first thing I did after leaving the academy, in her memory when—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “—when I thought she was dead.”

You nod, stroking your thumb over his shoulder, unwilling to speak just yet, in case it breaks whatever spell has overcome him.

“It scared me, for most of my childhood. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a few moments I’d be terrified, thinking I’d forgotten her name. My father, he told me the truth when I was very young. Maybe he thought I’d be ashamed, but I couldn’t be. She was the only thing that separated me from that man, and I worried that if I forgot her, like he had, I’d end up like him, too.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to you in a single sitting, bared to you not just physically, but emotionally as well. It's the moment you've been waiting for.

“If she knew the truth,” you whisper, kissing the bend right above the tattoo, “she would be proud of you.”

His hand covers yours, pressed tighter against his skin. “I hope you’re right.”

He glows in the darkness beside you, skin bright and reflective as a moon, and you stroke your hand over his cheek as he slumbers, brush the dark, still-damp hair from his eyes, your other hand firmly held in his own.

You rest your head against the pillow, laying on your side. He'll be the last thing you see before you drift off tonight, and the first you'll see when you wake up.

You fall asleep knowing that you made the right choice.

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