my man on willpower ♡̼ ݁. ۫ ▭ׂ▬ׅ ᪣ pt2
luke castellan!bf x fem!reader
words: 2.9k
content: angst, fluff
warnings: cheating, brief mention of suicide.
author’s note: happy valentines day! so this took me a little longer than usual but i wanted to make it special. i didn’t think y’all would actually like it this much i’m actually so excited for u guys to read it 𑙕 ͚.ིྀ ݂ . ͚ ݁১࣭ ࣭ ｡ ♡︎. ໋˖ hope it was worth the wait!
the next morning, your lashes fluttered before your eyes even opened as you gained consciousness. there was a faint awareness of the room, the weight of the blankets, the cool air brushing against your shoulders. you shifted slightly, still half dreaming, still tangled in the last fragile pieces of sleep.
your hand drifted across the mattress before you even turned your head, moving lazily at first. fingers brushing over rumpled sheets, searching for him out of instinct, muscle memory.
you reached the way you always did without thinking, expecting to meet warmth, skin, the solid reassurance of his body there.
except you already knew what you’d find.
your fingers pressed down slightly, as if the heat might be hiding deeper in the fabric. but the sheets were cold, fully cold. not recently abandoned.
just.. gone.
that’s when you finally turned your head toward his side of the bed. your eyes opened eventually, slightly, adjusting to the grey light filtering through the curtains.
eyes staring for a second, blurry at first before they adjusted, and it slowly came into focus. the pillow was empty, slightly creased. no trace of him except the faint disorder of the blanket. the space beside you looked bigger in the morning light, wider, wrong.
morning after morning you would wake the same way. reaching, searching, finding nothing but cold sheets and the faint outline of where he used to be. it became routine. your body would look for him before your mind could prepare for the disappointment.
and still, it never hurt less.
you would think that after so many empty mornings, the ache would dull. that your chest would stop tightening when your fingers brushed over untouched cotton. that the shock of it would fade into something manageable. it didn’t. every time, it struck sharp and sudden, like the first morning all over again.
you tried to remember if he’d even held you during the night. if he’d reached for you in his sleep like he used to, tangling your legs together, mumbling your name against your shoulder.
you couldn’t. it was easier not to think about it.
then, your hand fell back to your side. of course.
your throat felt tight, but you swallowed it down before rolling onto your side and pushing yourself up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist.
the lace from last night still clung to your skin, delicate and intentional, something you’d chosen carefully, something meant to be noticed.
in the dim morning light, it felt ridiculous.
like shouting across the street, knowing no one was close enough to hear you.
you slid your feet onto the floor, the wood cool beneath your feet. walking towards the closet, you caught your reflection in the mirror. smudged mascara, tousled hair, lace against bare skin. hopeful, from a few hours ago.
you didn’t look at yourself for long. it wasn’t like you looked bad, it just felt.. wrong.
as you reached your closet, you peeled the lace off slowly, letting it fall to the floor in a soft sound. it looked smaller there. insignificant. before pulling out something softer from the drawer, something that didn’t cling or demand attention.
something that didn’t try so hard to be wanted.
you didn’t even remember the exact moment you got here. tangled in sheets that were your own, but without luke.
it hadn’t been dramatic. there was no slammed door, no screaming confession, and definitely not another presence that slowly split your life in two.
it was quieter than that. it had been weeks.
weeks of cold sheets. weeks of watching him drift further and further away, like he was already halfway out the door but too unbothered to close it behind him.
the first time it happened, it wasn’t supposed to.
that’s usually how it starts, right?
it was an accident in the way that slow car crashes are. you had seen this one coming, you just hadn’t had the urge to turn the wheel to the other side.
he had been there. the other boy. steady where your boyfriend had become distant. attentive in ways that felt almost humiliating, because you hadn’t realized how starved you were for attention until someone fed you it.
it started with coffee that went on too long, hands brushing and not pulling away fast enough. that kind of eye contact that lingers a second past friendly.
you told yourself it was harmless, feeling wanted by another man. you told yourself you deserved conversation, deserved laughter, deserved to feel like you weren’t disappearing in your own home.
the first time he kissed you, you didn’t even think about it, you just breathed. and for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, you felt something other than that echoing ache inside your chest.
it wasn’t even about him at first. it was about feeling wanted, about feeling seen, and then it kept happening.
hotel rooms with curtains drawn, his hands warm against your waist, your name said like it meant something again.
every time you left, guilt followed like a shadow you couldn’t shake. but so did relief.
because when you were with him, your mornings didn’t feel so heavy. they were.. peaceful. the silence didn’t feel like it was swallowing you whole.
and now, here you were, sheets tangled around your body, same sheets, same bed, but a different guy.
his head rested against the headboard, sheets pooled low around his waist, rumpled and careless. you were stretched across him, body laid horizontally over his stomach as you reached past his shoulder for your phone on the other side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight.
his arm thrown loosely over your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of your hip.
you could feel it before you turned your head, already smiling.
“what?” you asked softly, a quiet laugh slipping out.
“nothing. you’re just…” he hesitated, searching for something more meaningful than the word he had. his hand lifted from your waist, knuckles brushing your cheek gently as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “so beautiful.”
you felt it, the way his words made your heart race. how it kept that smile in your face, only this time, it softened, becoming something warmer, something real. you looked at him properly then, his eyes were bright, almost glassy in the low light, fixed on you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing. you hadn’t noticed before. how he looked at you, as if you were something fragile and precious and entirely his. and it killed you inside to see someone else that wasn’t your boyfriend look at you that way.
the realization settled heavy in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. your smile faded at the edges as you looked away, swallowing hard against the tightness rising in your throat.
you placed your phone back on the bedside table, more carefully than necessary, just to give your hands something to do. anything but meet his eyes again.
“do you love him?” he then asked, quietly. not sharp, not jealous. there really was no accusation in his tone. just something dangerously close to honest curiosity, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer but needed it anyway.
you turned your head slowly back to him, meeting his eyes. holding his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “of course i do.” you replied.
“then why are we here?” he asked, confusion finally surfacing. “why are we doing this?”
the words slipped through his lips, not harsh, but uneven and heavy. like if you listened closely, if you paid enough attention, you would find the guilt there. it lingered in the way his brows pulled together, in the way his shoulders seemed to fold inward like he was bracing for something. he wasn’t cruel, wasn’t selfish.
he just didn’t understand.
the room suddenly felt smaller, the air thickened. and you tilted your head slightly, really looking at him now. at the conflict written across his face. at the softness he tried to hide behind confusion before answering.
“because i don’t want to wake up one morning with the sudden urge to blow my brains out.” you finally muttered out, your voice not even shaking when you replied back.
and for a second, he just stared at you, like he hadn’t expected the truth to sound so steady.
his hand loosened on your waist slightly. you weren’t hysterical, you were calm. saying it the way someone would admitting they’re tired. the way someone admits they’ve been carrying something heavy for too long.
and that was the worst part.
“you think he’d rather have this?” he asked softly, his fingers tracing slow circles over your bare shoulder.
“i don’t know, dan. but for the moment, i do.” you said, simply. tired, almost. but truthfully.
there was another stretch of silence.
“come on,” you said after a moment, wrapping the sheets around yourself as you pushed upright. the fabric soft against your skin.
you leaned forward just enough to press a gentle kiss to his lips, soft and fleeting, like something borrowed, before you smiled at him.
“you gotta go before he comes back.”
he hesitated, but you were already reaching for your clothes. you moved slowly, unhurried, like this was routine. as if it didn’t take effort to slide your arms through your sleeves. as if buttoning your shirt didn’t feel like sealing something shut inside your chest. you dressed the way you always did, careful, composed, like none of it cost you anything anymore. but it did. it cost you every single time. because you did love him. that was the tragedy of it. loving him, and still choosing this. loving him, and still being here.
but you were still here, and even after everything you wouldn’t imagine a world where you walked away.
a world he wasn’t in.
by the time your boyfriend came home, it had already settled into a strange, almost artificial quiet. no music. no television humming in the background. just the faint scratch of the nail polish brush against your thumb and the soft tick of the kitchen clock.
you were curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn to your chest, one bare foot tucked beneath you for balance. the small bottle of burgundy polish resting carefully on the coffee table, its cap between your fingers as you leaned forward, concentrating.
the color was deep and glossy, almost wine-dark, and you watched it bloom across your nail in slow, careful strokes, trying not to smudge it.
the door clicked open. your hand faltered for half a second before you steadied it again. you didn’t look up right away. you could hear him step inside, keys dropping into the bowl by the entrance, the soft exhale he always let out when he finally got home.
the house was totally empty, untouched. no sign of the betrayal that had unfolded within these walls just hours ago. the air smelled faintly of acetone now, not unfamiliar cologne. everything put back in its place. like nothing had happened.
only when his footsteps moved further into the living room did you lift your gaze.
“hi, honey,” you murmured softly, offering him a small smile. your voice lighter than your chest felt.
you looked back down, carefully screwing the cap back onto the bottle, twisting it tight.
but then silence hit. he didn’t even reply.
your smile didn’t falter all at once, it thinned first, then faded, until your lips pressed together in something smaller, more guarded. being busy was one thing, being distant was another. but pretending you weren’t there at all while he was only steps away from you? that was new.
you were just about to look up again, maybe to say something else, to confront him about it. when you heard his steps shift direction. closer, slower this time.
you felt him before you fully saw him, the warmth of his presence at your side, the dip of the couch cushion as he leaned down. his hand found your waist, thumb brushing absent-mindedly over your skin. that made you look up.
“hey,” he muttered quietly, his voice softer than other times before he leaned in, placing a kiss on your lips.
the kiss was slow, his lips warm against yours, lingering just long enough to say more than the silence had. it was soft and familiar and careful in a way that made the tightness in your chest loosen, just a little.
your hands reaching for the sides of his face, thumbs brushing just beneath his cheekbones.
when he pulled back, he was already smiling at you with that small, crooked smile that reached his eyes. you felt yourself mirroring it without thinking, mumbling a small “hey,” before he backed off out of reach again, your hands leaving his face.
“happy valentine’s day, beautiful,” he murmured. only then did he move his other hand from behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of flowers. your favorite flowers. he held them out to you, like he’d been waiting for the right moment.
for a second, you just stared at them, at him, the earlier silence dissolving into something warmer, softer.
you gave him a wide, unguarded smile, the kind that made your cheeks ache, before carefully setting the small bottle of nail polish back onto the coffee table. it made a soft click against the wood.
then you reached for the flowers he’d handed you, cradling them gently in both hands like something fragile. you glanced down at them, taking in the color of the petals, the way they curved at the edges, still fresh. out of habit, you brought them closer and breathed in their scent, sweet and with a hint of dirt, letting it settle in your chest.
“these are so lovely, luke,” you said softly, voice filled with warmth. your head lifted, eyes finding him immediately. you followed him with your gaze as he let himself fall onto the empty space beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight.
“thank you,” you murmured again, quieter this time.
you leaned toward him, one hand rising to cup his cheek. your thumb brushed gently over his skin, slow, before you pressed a small, lingering kiss to his lips. soft and sweet, just enough to make him smile against your mouth.
“happy valentines day,” you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand placed on top of his. a soft smile curved on your lips. warm, certain, meant only for him.
“i reserved a place for us tonight,” he said, a hint of something softer guarded beneath his usual grin “dinner. like old times.”
the words settled warm in your chest before you could stop them. his fingers slid between yours, slow and deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every second of it. his thumb brushed over your knuckles. then he lifted your intertwined hands and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of yours, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“it’s at 9pm though,” he added, tilting his head with a teasing glint in his eyes. “you think you’ll be ready by then?” you glanced at the clock on the wall. 5pm.
your eyes narrowed at him in mock offense before you smacked his shoulder lightly.
“you’re so stupid,” you muttered, fighting back a laugh that betrayed you anyway. the smile refused to leave your face, stretching your cheeks until they almost hurt. “i’ll be ready by then.”
“okay, cool.” he stood up from the couch, hands pressing against his knees before he straightened fully. “i gotta go take care of a few things first. i’ll be back at 7, yeah? we’ll leave together.” he leaned down, one hand cupping your jaw instinctively, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed. it was familiar, warm and sure and steady. the kind of kiss that felt like home again.
“see you then,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away. you watched him as he moved toward the door, your eyes following. something tugged at you suddenly, mpossible to ignore.
“luke?” his name slipped out before you could second guess it. your voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. meant for him.
he paused mid step and turned around, brows lifting slightly.
“yeah?” he asked, softly.
for a second, you just looked at him, really looked at him. at the faint curve of his mouth, the scar that cut along the right side of his face, tightening when he smiled, softer when he didn’t. at the way his eyes held yours.
a small smile crept onto your face, slow and inevitable.
“i love you.” you then let out. the words felt both fragile and powerful as they left you. like you were handing him something breakable and trusting him not to drop it.
his expression shifted — just barely. but you saw it. the way his jaw softened. the way his lips curved into something quieter, something real. the smile didn’t stretch wide, but it reached his eyes. it tugged gently at the scar along his cheek.
“i love you, gorgeous.” he replied back. it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t dramatic. but it was certain.
“i promise i’ll be back at 7” he added before turning around, the door shutting behind him.
you stayed there, staring at the door long after he was gone. feeling your heart swell as you exhaled.
only then did your gaze drift down to the small bouquet resting in your hands, delicate, petals soft beneath your fingers.
he really couldn’t stop surprising you.
and somehow, he never stopped making you feel like you were falling for him all over again.
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