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that gold mine changed you | s.r.
in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point
margovember
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warning: post prison/prison arc, lack of communication, chemist!reader, slightly proofread word count: 2.13k a/n: love this song. both the original and the phoebe bridgers cover.
i don’t wanna be here anymore; it all tastes like poison
You rifled through the dish that you kept on the entryway console, looking for your car keys so that you could get out. It was hard to describe the way you felt like a spinning top, not dizzy but out of control. Everything felt so out of control.
How could you let it get this bad? You breathed heavily as you fished your keys from the pottery and looped your finger through the key ring. Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, your eyes caught onto some movement in your periphery.
“You’re leaving?” Spencer asked from down the hallway; his work clothes were rumpled and creased like he’d fallen asleep in them.
You had hoped that he would have the ability to ease himself back into society after three months of prison, and you always took the time to assure him that you would be there for him. Desperately, you tried to be a pillar of support, but you had reached your breaking point.
He’d been given six weeks to readjust. When that didn’t seem to be working, you thought maybe he needed to find his rhythm again, but going back to work at the BAU didn’t seem to help him either. It wasn’t until his first sabbatical hit that you finally considered the fact that things would never be the same between the two of you again.
When you didn’t answer, Spencer put his foot out but hesitated to take a step toward you. “Are you going to come back?”
Swallowing thickly, you looked down at the keys in your hand, “I don’t know.” You eyed the key to your lab, the one place you could always go to escape when you needed to, but you never imagined needing to escape from Spencer.
You weren’t even sure he had been sleeping in the same bed as you, and if he was, he was getting in after you and getting up before you. There was once a moment when you and Spencer shared every minute detail of your lives with each other, at least the parts you weren’t together for, but now you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was teaching in his lectures, and he couldn’t guess which projects you were working on.
When Spencer was in prison, you thought that was the loneliest you would ever be, but now you were living with the ghost of the man who you once loved, and you had never felt more alone.
Last week, you had practically begged him, very nearly gotten on your knees and pled with him to have a substantial conversation with you. He didn’t seem interested.
you believe that you love me
Looking back up, your eyes widened at the revelation that Spencer had made his way to you in complete silence; he was standing in front of you, “You’re sneaking out?”
Your nostrils flared in frustration; you were sneaking out of your own apartment, a space that you and Spencer were supposed to share, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked him, studying his brown eyes as they appeared until the cool light of the moon.
He set both of his hands on your upper arms, and you pulled away from his touch. Spencer flinched back as surely as if you’d struck him. If you pulling away from him hurt, then he wouldn’t be able to fathom how you were feeling right now—how you had been feeling for the last seven months.
“Is it because of your mom?” You tried again, silver lining your eyes as you looked up at him, mercurial tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for an answer. “I was at work when she was abducted,” you reminded him, having thrown yourself into work while Spencer was in prison. “Is it because I didn’t help her?”
Spencer’s lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself for that.” His arms hung limply by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release nervous energy.
Blinking tears from your eyes, your shoulders slouched at what felt like a rejection, “How would you? You don’t talk to me,” you told him, your tone wholly accusatory.
“We talk every day,” he rebutted, the energy in your conversation veering toward hostility. That’s not what you wanted; you just wanted to feel at peace.
Three months in prison, six weeks of mandatory leave, one hundred days with the team, twenty days into his first sabbatical, and Spencer was refusing to face what you had already run into headfirst. “We haven’t had a real conversation since February, Spencer. It’s September.”
His eyebrows pinched together as he studied your body language, profiling you to deduce what you wanted from him instead of just asking you. “What do you mean ‘a real conversation?’”
You pressed your lips together in a thin line, and you searched every part of your brain for something to say that wouldn’t contribute to taking your life apart brick by brick. You couldn’t. The words simply weren’t there anymore. Maybe you had left them behind months ago, but right now, you shrugged helplessly, “You’re different, Spence.”
He peered down at you as if you had offended him, “Did you expect me to stay the same?”
It was pathetic. You felt pathetic. Staying in your entryway and begging for someone who previously kissed the ground you walked on for a reason to stay. You never had to ask him before. “I’ve never expected anything but love from you, and you know that,” you told him, pulling the truth from the depths of your soul and putting it on display for him.
Spencer took a step back, stumbling as if his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. “You don’t think I love you anymore?” His own tears welled in his eyes, glittering saline along his lash line that made your chest ache.
You blinked, letting more tears fall down your cheeks. You heard the droplets as they fell on the vinyl decal of your sweatshirt, the only noise in the midst of an otherwise deathly silence. “You have given me no reason to believe that you do,” you admitted, your voice tight with emotion.
so, lose your faith in me
“Don’t leave,” he gasped, struggling through his tears. He held a hand out to you, too hesitant to touch you because of the way you reacted earlier.
You felt like you were tearing your own heart from your chest. You held the organ in your hands, blood dripping to the floor and seeping within the woodgrain, and you asked him to put it back where it belonged. “I can’t do this anymore,” you told him.
He set a hand on the side of your neck, and this time, you didn’t pull away from him. Instead, you savored his touch, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin as the two of you waited for something to give. Three months in prison had been a test of your relationship; you had very little contact with each other. Nothing face-to-face, and after a while, Spencer’s mail started to go missing—interference by a prison guard who had it out for him. You thought that getting him back would fix everything.
Spencer was exactly the same, but somehow, he was completely different after his release. You couldn’t fault him for what he had gone through in prison, but you refused to continue your pattern of dancing around each other.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice so faint that you would’ve missed it had you not been searching for it. His breaths were quickening, and if it weren’t so dark, you’d be sure that his pupils were dilated in fear.
You pursed your lips, “Say it again.” You wanted to hear him. You needed to hear him. You so desperately wanted to hear him repeat himself so that you could throw your arms around him and let him know that everything was perfectly fine.
He panted, “I love you,” he echoed. “Please,” his voice broke, “I love you so much.”
“I want to believe you,” you breathed, looking back down at the keys that remained in your hand. As far as you were concerned, Spencer was the Patron Saint of Liars. He had the intelligence and the experience to become a master manipulator. He’d lied to you before. What was stopping him from doing it again? He knew that I love you was what you wanted to hear. When faced with telling a lie and losing you, the choice was laid out in front of him.
He nodded as if he understood, but you weren’t convinced that he possessed the bandwidth to fully comprehend why you were so unhappy. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he whispered.
You lost your balance, your back slammed against the wall, and your eyes widened as a result of his apology, “Why?”
Spencer’s brown eyes widened as you slid down the wall, waiting until you were sat on the floor to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mexico.”
“You could’ve told me,” you told him, “I could’ve helped you, Spencer. Then we could… Then maybe…” your voice trailed off, lost in a sea of hiccuping sobs.
Gingerly, Spencer lowered himself to the ground and took a seat next to you, “Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to jail. You’re right,” he admitted, “but maybe they would’ve killed you too. Maybe there would have been the same outcome as the one we got, or maybe it would have been much worse.”
Releasing a shuddering breath, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Lorenz,” you murmured, closing your eyes to relieve some of the burning.
“The Butterfly Effect,” Spencer commented, “Small changes can have large consequences. I made a decision that had massive ramifications and negatively impacted you, and I haven’t been doing enough to fix it.”
You sighed, “You can’t fix it, Spence. It’s like a band-aid over a bullet hole.” You thumbed the hem of your sweatpants, opening your eyes just to stare straight ahead at the wall.
He hummed in what you sincerely hoped was understanding, “I took six years of building trust with you and destroyed it, and now when I tell you I love you, you don’t believe me.”
“You told me you were going to Houston,” you whispered.
“I told everyone I was going to Houston,” he said softly.
Your head snapped in his direction, “I deserved more than what everyone else got. I deserved an explanation, and instead, you lied to me. You lied to me, and then you wouldn’t even let me see you while you were in prison.”
The corners of his mouth downturned, “I didn’t want you to see me in there, and I didn’t want anyone else to see you in there.” You’d heard second hand from JJ that the men at Millburn had ogled her the entire time she was visiting Spencer, and maybe he had explained himself in one of the missing letters, but he hadn’t mentioned it since coming home.
“Spencer, I just want to talk with you,” you whispered. “I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend that doesn’t end with him creating some arbitrary mental block because he doesn’t think I can handle it.”
There was a moment where you thought he was just going to let you go, but Spencer Reid liked to keep the things he cared about close. “It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because I can’t handle it,” he admitted.
You turned your body to face him, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to tell you about prison,” he clarified. “I barely want to tell my therapist about prison, but you—” his voice broke, and your heart went with it. “If I tell you everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t want to be with me anyway.”
You frowned, “Try me.” Your heart was racing; this bit here was decisive. His response would either mean letting go or moving forward.
He looked down at his lap, “Come to therapy with me tomorrow. It’s… there’s something about the leather couch that turns me into an open book.” He told you, nervously running his palms up and down his cloth-covered thighs. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed his hands, putting a stop to his compulsive movements. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “Please don’t leave.”
Shaking your head, you sniffled through your tears. If you’d had more energy, maybe you would’ve given him a soft smile, but for now, you answered him, “I won’t.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid angst#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds angst#spencer reid x fem!reader#written by margot
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DIDN'T GIVE UP 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
pairing; rafe cameron x sweetie!reader
summary; after getting out of rehab, rafe is desperate to be intimate with you, so it feels like his whole world falls apart when he’s unable to arouse himself. but with plenty of commitment and a promise not to give up, he finally manages to succeed, even if it’s not in the way that you’d both wished for
content; talk of addiction and rehab, brief mention of overdose, erectile dysfunction, masturbation, brief handjob
author's note; inspired by a few conversations had over on @starfxkrinc about post rehab rafe. I'm super happy with how this one turned out, I really love exploring these sides of rafe
you hold rafe’s hand as you both walk inside. tonight has been so special, your first date since rafe got out of rehab. it had been intimate and quiet and comfortable. a lovely meal at the local gourmet restaurant filled with gentle loving touches had left you both wanting more, a more that neither of you had had for a while.
even before rehab, rafe had just stopped having sex with you. you’d thought you might get somewhere but then the od happened and he’d needed to go to rehab which meant you didn’t even see him for months.
you’re both so touch starved, no words need to be spoken before you’re both making your way up to the bedroom, kissing and fumbling with each other’s clothes, quickly and desperately.
“god— missed you so much,” he murmurs, hands on your hips as he backs through the bedroom door, turning and kicking it shut like he always used to when you first started sneaking around together.
you moan softly “me too. missed you rafe.” one of your hands wraps around his neck and the other comes down to palm at him through his pants, his bulge is noticeable but he’s not hard yet. you undo his zipper and touch him through his boxers.
you both move back towards the bed and you pull his dick out, taking it in your hand and starting to jerk him off, but you both notice something. that something being nothing, nothing is happening. his dick isn’t doing anything.
rafe frowns and you do the same, both of you look down as your hand keeps moving for no reaction. after about thirty seconds rafe steps away, “shit I– I didn’t know that would happen.” he rubs the back of his neck, “shit… shit.”
you step forward and place a hand on his arm, “oh rafe… hey I’m sure its normal.. you did just get outta rehab,” you try to pull him to look at you but he doesn’t, he stares straight at the floor and shrugs you off.
“no… I.. this happens when I’m high not– I’ve been sober for two months.” he exaggerates, you can hear his voice beginning to break. you had considered that this might be an obstacle but you weren’t expecting him to react like this, surely all it’s going to take is a bit of trial and error until he can get it up with as much ease as he used to.
though you suppose this must be hard for him. finally getting some normality back and he can’t even properly enjoy it. and you know how much he hates to feel emasculated. maybe it is a big deal for him. even though it’s not guaranteed to happen yet, the imminent possibility must have shocked him into a panic.
that’s fine, you’ve dealt with rafe under much more serious circumstances.
you step forward, more confident now that you have an idea of what the problem is and how you can solve it. “rafe, sweetie don’t panic,” you speak gently, “we’re gonna sort this out okay?”
rafe looks down at you, “sorry– sorry I’m.. just wasn’t expectin’ it..” he scratches the back of his neck, looking down at his uncovered self. you nod, understanding his distress.
“that’s okay, it was a surprise huh?” you stroke his arm gently, “you wanna try again?” you ask gently and he nods shakily, taking a calming breath before letting you guide him to the bed. he sits down first and then you climb on after him, straddling his lap and quickly managing to retain the mood you were in before.
you grind down a little and his hands come to your hips to help your movements like he normally would but he’s quickly letting out an agitated noise and pushing you off. “it’s not working,” he groans in frustration.
you pull yourself up to sit next to him. your hand comes to his chest, “oh baby,” you coo as you notice the tears welling in his eyes that he’s so obviously trying to hold back. in his mind not being able to get aroused is bad enough, crying would just make him pathetic.
“what do you wanna do huh?” you pry, stroking his chest now and coming up to kiss his shoulder. “I’m sure that there are things we can try… it’s only been a couple of minutes.” you try to reassure him but you’re pretty sure he’s going to be inconsolable until he can feel confident in himself again. in his mind, a couple of minutes should mean you’re already halfway through round two.
“I– I don’t understand,” he sniffles pitifully, not daring to make eye contact with you as he instead stares down at his completely motionless dick. “this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.. I- I got sober.”
you kiss him again, “you did baby, you got sober,” you smile sympathetically, “and this is normal, its normal to have erectile dysfunction after stuff like this.” though that reassurance sets him off more.
“don’t– don’t call it that,” he snaps ever so slightly, shoulders tensing and momentarily shrugging your hand away, “I don’t– I can’t have a dysfunction, okay it’s– it’s gotta work.” his voice breaks just a little.
you nod, “okay… okay then we’ll make it work, okay?” you move your body so that you can look him in the eyes, you bring your hand up to cup his face. “you just tell me what you need, okay? we can do whatever you want, whatevers gonna help you.”
he thinks for a moment, you can see the cogs in his brain turning behind his eyes as he tries to find something that he thinks may help him. his lips are parted and his cheeks are slightly pink. he eventually seems to come to a conclusion, he hesitates for a moment before speaking tentatively, “can uh.. can I try doin’ it myself?”
you nod, “yeah, course baby.” you smile, proud of him for being able to articulate his need, “where do you want me? should I give you some privacy or–”
rafe shakes his head, “can you stay,” he asks, “please… just.. I really need you to be here.” he tries to avert his eyes, he’s embarrassed, you can tell, he reeks of humiliation and you wish that you could just take it away from him. after all that he’s been through in the past few months you feel this is the last thing he deserves.
“I’ll stay here,” you affirm, “I’ll stay here as long as you need okay? you just do whatever you need to do.” you move with him as his hand comes to grasp yours whilst the other supports him while he shakily manoeuvres himself to half sit half lay against the headboard.
you stay on the edge of the bed, keeping a hold of his hand as that is evidently what he wants you to do. his chest rises and falls slowly as he pushes his pants further down and then gently grasps his soft dick.
he begins to move tentatively, doing his best to throw his head back and not think about it. you stay quiet, just letting him figure it out for himself.
he manages to get it up, a little, you notice a look of clear relief on his face as he relishes in the sensation he’d worried that he wouldn’t get back. his movement quickens and then his face falls as he loses it.
you stroke his thumb with your own, “it’s okay baby, just take your time.” you murmur softly as his face scrunches up in annoyance. but he perseveres, hand going back down to try once again.
he tries, he really tries. he tries so many times, over and over again, and to both of your increasing dismay he keeps losing it over and over again too.
poor rafe, tears slip down his cheeks and he groans from sadness and surely a little pain at the fact that he’s basically rubbed himself raw down there. his tip is pink and angry, you have half a mind to tell him to stop but you fear he may hurt himself more if he can’t manage or stop on his own terms.
he huffs sadly. he knows he needs to stop too, “just– just one more try.” he says, “one more.” he nods decisively before looking up to you, almost as if to ask for your blessing to just try one more time.
of course you nod, “yeah, one more time. you’ve got this rafe,” you tell him, squeezing his hand reassuringly with a loving smile, hoping to encourage him to finally get it.
rafe starts again, slowly at first and then he builds up his movements, it takes a long few minutes but he manages to get himself hard, fully hard. he grunts and groans and you have to stop yourself from slipping a hand under your own underwear so as not to distract him from his moment.
after another long few minutes he practically cries out, then whimpers and then tears of relief fall down his cheeks as he finally cums. it’s not a lot, and it doesn’t last long, but it does him good. the feeling simply overwhelms him and he finally feels reassured that he can be normal again.
once he’s ridden it out you wipe the tears from his cheek with your free hand, “hey.” you smile down at him, “well done, you did so good.” you speak gently, “I’m so proud of you, you didn’t give up.”
rafe smiles, his previous humiliation replaced with pure bliss and relief, “yeah,” he nods, sighing breaths of relief, “didn’t give up.” maybe this evening didn’t go exactly as expected, but you think, with the circumstances, it turned out okay.
#rafe cameron prompt#sweetie!reader#cw addiction#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron
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Fable - After
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Your wings were gone. The healing process would teach you much about yourself, but it would teach Azriel, too. Does it matter, in the end?
Word count: 7k
Warnings: Angst, injury, symptoms of depression (including difficulty eating)
a/n: This is part of a mini-series and the other parts can be found in the link below. Sorry this is literally so long lol. Debating on adding another chapter to the end because I obviously have a lot to say! Also, I won't be posting an update for about a week because I'll be traveling, so I hope this long chapter holds you over. Thank you :)
Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)
~~
You woke as the sun did. Yellow light made an imprint behind your eyelids and the grogginess that immediately followed let you know that this was not the first time you had been awake. Sleeping through the night had become a luxury not afforded to you.
You clenched the pillow at your cheek between your fingers and tried to pull at the loose threads of sleep that were escaping you.
Someone was in your room.
Someone was always in your room these days, but this morning, you knew it was Azriel. You could feel the whisps of his shadows making barely-there strokes along your back, and his scent was unmistakable. If it was Azriel today, they didn’t expect you to talk. When they wanted you to try and speak, they sent Cassian or Mor or even Feyre on the odd occasion.
They didn’t expect you to talk when it was Azriel.
You supposed everyone thought you were mad at him. Truthfully, part of you was mad at him. If he had just opened his eyes once over the last hundreds of years, he would have seen that you were right there—that you were more than a responsibility for him to look after. That you were a woman in love with him and he was a fool for taking so long to notice.
But another part of you felt that you couldn’t blame him. Azriel had never had much luck in the romance department, and you’d always chalked that up to self-sabotage. He seemed to go after women he knew he couldn’t have and only assumed late-night trysts with those he could, so you couldn’t expect much out of him. And how was he to know that you pined after him? It wasn’t as if you’d ever made any kind of move.
But Elain had so enamored him and you were so angry at that part. Because you had been there and he had never taken the leaps and bounds he had with her.
He had left you in that camp, so ready to believe your lie to appease her.
You were the biggest fool of all.
In actuality, neither of those parts mattered. There wasn’t some internal strife that fought against your sleep and made you question your feelings. You weren’t mad at Azriel. You weren’t mad at anyone or anything. You felt empty.
You gave up on sleep, breathing heavily through your nose and squinting your eyes into the sun that peaked through your curtains. Your back ached, and even more, the insurmountable pressure on your chest was amplified by the bandages that wrapped around from behind you. They made it difficult to breathe.
No infection had set in. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and Madja cleared you to begin moving around a few days ago and noted that you were “out of the woods, medically.” Everyone looked relieved as if that news had changed anything. To them, you supposed it did. You would live. That was good.
Azriel knew you were awake, you were sure of it. You heard his chair groan as if he were leaning forward in it, and his shadows had begun to traipse around your head, weaving in and out of your hair and blocking the light from your eyes.
He would try to get you to eat, look at you with those pitying eyes, and apologize when you could barely sit up and hold out a plate as if you were going to eat it. You hadn’t met his gaze since you woke up and there was more than just resentment behind that. There was shame—you were so ashamed of what you had become. What you had let happen.
Maybe that was another reason why you felt so empty. How could Azriel even look at you as anything other than broken? When you were whole—when you had your wings—there was an irrational part of you that considered you had a chance with the Shadowsinger if he would just see you.
There was nothing to see now.
“Are you awake?” Azriel asked, keeping his voice low in the quiet room. You nodded against the pillow, face still turned from his view. The chair groaned once again. “Are you hungry?”
No head shake. It was a frequent question that you hated being asked.
Azriel’s footsteps were soft against your carpet. He kneeled beside your bed and attempted to catch your fleeting gaze, but you found a spot on the floor and kept it there.
“Can you try?” he prompted. His textured fingers brushed the hair from your eyes. “Not even at the table. I’ll have the House bring you something here.”
You pressed your lips together and fought off the burning in your nose.
“Please, y/n. I know you’re angry with me—I know. But please, just try to eat something.”
Angry at him—anger wasn’t even in your repertoire at the moment. But he sounded so desperate, as did every other member of your family, and you didn’t want the let them down more than you already had. You shut your eyes and nodded, resigned.
You built up the strength to prop yourself up on your arms, but that’s where you stopped. Your center of gravity had been completely ripped from you. Anytime you moved without your wings, it felt like free-falling from a mountain. Madja had offered—several times since physically clearing you—to come and get you back on your feet, but the motivation wasn’t there.
You couldn’t imagine walking without the weight at your back.
And you had avoided every reflection known to man; seeing yourself would be too much.
“I have you,” Azriel encouraged, holding you at your waist as he twisted your body up. “Almost. There we go, angel” —he positioned you between pillows that hadn’t been on your bed before— “How’s that? Is it alright?”
Humiliation felt like a hot knife. You nodded and found a spot on the bed to focus on. You could feel Azriel’s lingering gaze and he hesitated before placing a bowl of broth on a small platter before you.
“Is that okay?”
You nodded again, biting the inside of your lip. Your back ached.
“Do you want me to leave?”
You nodded.
Azriel hesitated once more, rocking back on his heels before clearing his throat and letting the door softly shut behind him. The tears came then, and you were so tired of crying.
~~
Azriel’s POV
Outside of your room, Azriel’s forehead was pressed against the wood of your door. The intricate carvings imprinted his right palm as he kept it pressed there as well, and Azriel had to breathe through his nose to calm himself.
He was at a loss.
He didn’t blame you for not speaking to him, but you wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was Mor or Feyre lifting you for a bath and you wouldn’t leave your room at all. They had all expected this—planned for a long healing process—but you were so… lifeless.
Gods, he was helpless. You wouldn’t even look at him.
Azriel clenched his jaw and tried to listen for the clink of the spoon against the bowl when a hand on his back startled him. Because that was another thing—he’d been off his game since you got hurt, completely useless as a spy.
“How is she?” Cassian. Cassian was just as worried as Azriel, but Azriel was pretty sure you were looking him in the eye at least. “Get her to talk?”
“No,” Azriel breathed through a constricting throat. He turned to meet his brother’s face. He was sure Cassian still held some resentment towards him, but he’d apologized for his outburst when you arrived at the House. Apologized, but not entirely forgiven.
Cassian sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “Is she at least eating?”
“She agreed to eat. I left her with some soup. She wanted me to leave.”
“She say that?”
“I asked and she nodded.”
Cassian kissed his teeth and curled his wings in tighter. “Have you… talked to her?”
Azriel had to fight the urge to scoff, throwing his brother an incredulous look. “Obviously I talk to her, Cassian. I don’t stand in her room and motion at things.”
In response, Cassian did not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean actually talk to her, Azriel. About what happened. You finding her. Her lying and you not being there. I know it was one of the only missions at the camps she’s been at without you there. That means something, no?”
“I don’t think she wants to talk to me at all—let alone rehash all of that.”
“Azriel,” Cassian started, stepping forward to place a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Give her a chance to push you away. Let her be the one to do it. If you play into this fear, it might confirm things for her, and you know her mind isn’t in a good place.”
Azriel winced. “I think you might be better to—”
“No, Az, you. Let her eat her breakfast, give her an hour or two, and then go back in there and talk to her. I’ve already been talking to her and she won’t say a word to me. I think you’re the only person who’s been too afraid to.”
Azriel sighed and then leaned his head back until it knocked against your door. In another life, you might’ve called out and asked who was there. But there was only silence.
Cassian sent Azriel a look with raised brows and patted his brother twice on the shoulder before backing into the hall. He had taken four steps towards the dining room before Azriel called, “What did you mean then, about me being blind?”
Cassian paused but didn’t turn. Azriel watched his head tilt to the side and a deep sigh escaped him.
“Shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian muttered. He started walking once more. “Just—think a little more.”
~~
Original POV
Breakfast was fine; you kept it down and that was the goal.
Following breakfast, you thumbed through the books Nesta had sent to you. The action was lackadaisical and without purpose. You weren’t going to read them.
You took breaks from staring at the wall to stare out the window instead, but that only sent waves of something heavy through your chest. The skies looked so open today, with only a few clouds and endless rays of sun. Maybe if it were raining, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look out the window.
You were being left alone far more than usual today.
Perhaps they had grown tired of being around a stubborn mute who refused to see the bright side of things, the “well, with your injuries it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” talks not entirely working on you. You were sure that was true, but you didn’t particularly care about the marvel it took to put you back together.
This miracle felt hollow.
As you were about to shut your eyes and drown the rest of the day in sleep, a small knock and the creak of your door stopped you. You snapped your gaze forward and quickly averted it when you recognized Azriel stepping in, his shadows preceding him and rushing you in circles.
You expected him to take up his post in the chair beside your bed with a simple greeting—as he had done every visit to your room in the past weeks—so when he stood at the door and spoke, confusion and anxiety filled you.
“Um, hello,” he began. You watched his hands fumble around each other before he cleared his throat and brought them behind his back. “I realize I haven’t given you a full opportunity to be angry with me. I’ve only offered pleasantries and… well, moved you around. I wanted to speak to you if that’s alright?”
You fixed your gaze on the wall behind him and twisted your lips to the side in the show of a grimace.
“You don’t have to say anything back—unless you’d like to. It would just—Can I just sit and talk?”
You had no idea why he was asking. Everyone else in the House sat in your room and talked your ear off, asking questions they wouldn’t get an answer to and telling you about the happenings in town. Azriel was the only one who stayed silent and, now, was the only one to ask permission to speak.
Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows.
“Does anything hurt?” he began, stepping forward with a hesitant hand reaching towards you. “I could fix—”
You shook your head. He sat in the chair.
There was a beat of silence—uncomfortable silence, which was odd because Azriel had always been the one you felt most comfortable being quiet around.
When he spoke, the torture in his voice had you finally whipping around to look at his face, but his gaze was downturned.
“This is my fault,” he said, strained and cracked as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees. “I know I’ve apologized to you since you woke up, but it’s never really been for that. You have to know how sorry I am, y/n. How much I wish I had just come with you. I always come with you.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I—I don’t understand why you’d lie about Lucien going with you. Or Cassian, for that matter. I thought it was always obvious that I’d do anything for you—that you were more important to me than a date.”
Something twisted and pulled inside of you. You were getting the devotion you so desired from him, but it was cast behind a layer of something ugly. You were more important than a date—then why did it hurt as he spoke the words to you?
“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry that you felt you had to lie for my benefit. But, y/n, I thought you were dead. I walked into that camp and I heard you scream, and I thought—I thought you were dead when I held you in my arms. There was so much blood and—”
Azriel’s words choked and stopped in the air. He pressed his hands in prayer over his mouth and when he looked up, he caught you in your stare. You sat paralyzed, wide-eyed, as he looked at you directly.
“Why did you lie?” he asked weakly. “I would have been there. And I’m sorry I believed you so easily, but we’ve always been honest with each other. You’ve always had me.”
Your chin trembled. You were tired of crying, but the irony of his words hit you with full force and your wings were gone. Your wings were gone and nothing would ever be the same again.
Your trembling jaw quickly morphed into the too-quick intake of breath that made your shoulders tremble as well. And then you were heaving in ugly sobs that hurt to let go of. You clutched at the blankets beneath you until your knuckles turned white.
Why did you lie?
Why did you—
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Azriel hushed. He was on the bed now. You hadn’t heard the chair when he got up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He held you at your shoulders and pressed your face into his chest. This was the most anyone had touched you. Madja only healed with brief skims of her hands and everyone else moved you with panicked touches.
“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
When you spoke—for the first time as this new person—your throat made the words unintelligible. Everything was scratchy and hoarse from misuse, but Azriel heard it. He gently pushed you back and found your eyes once more, his gaze wide and encouraging.
You tried again, and again, each time more coherent but also filled with the tears the Shadowsinger continued to wipe from your cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to lie,” finally ripped from your chest. “I only—only—” You hiccuped and Azriel’s face crumpled. “I just wanted you to be happy.”
Azriel’s eyes were already glassy, but when your voice finally rang in his ears, the tears fell. He pressed your face into his chest once more. This time, you brought your hands up to clench his shirt between your fingers. And, because you were already vulnerable and because this was the first time in weeks you no longer felt numb, you whispered out, “My wings are gone,” and Azriel held you tighter.
~~
You woke to speaking, a voice seeming to rattle in your head. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, only knowing it must have been a productive sleep because you did not feel weighed down. Your back throbbed, as it typically did after sleep, but there was no heaviness at your chest and you felt rested.
Another voice in the room sounded off, and you kept your eyes shut as you tried to piece together the words.
“—to walk. Important for her health—too much time—”
The voice rumbling your head then said, “She might not be ready. We shouldn’t push her.”
“She will never be ready, Azriel.” Rhysand, you deduced, the conversation in the room becoming more clear. “But, as Madja has said, if we don’t try to get her at least out of this room, she’ll be stuck in her head. Just try to get her to the balcony. Start with that.”
“Rhysand—”
“Don’t Rhysand me. It’s almost been three weeks. Her back is nearly healed. That’s not what we’re worried about now.”
“And what are we worried about?” Azriel bit back. You were on his chest. Hands were on your waist.
The room lulled into a tense pause, the echo of Azriel’s near growl punctuating the silence.
The door opened and closed, someone’s footfall departing.
“You’ve scared off our healer, Azriel,” Rhysand noted with a mock scold. Azriel let out a small scoff. “We are all worried about her, Az. I know it feels… maybe like it’s you against the world, but it’s not. We need to get her up and moving. Her headspace isn’t good.”
Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.”
“And Madja needs to come back in to change her dressings.”
Your hair was moved behind your ear. “Fine.”
Rhysand let out a tortured sigh.
~~
Azriel’s POV
Azriel was going to try today.
He said that yesterday, but yesterday, you had let him coerce you into sitting by the window instead of in bed, and you had talked to him the entire time, so he forgot to bring it up.
A large part of Azriel was afraid of pushing you—afraid that you would close up again and refuse to look at him. But he knew Rhys and Madja and everyone else in this House was right. You needed to start making progress. You needed to be able to live some semblance of a normal life without your wings.
It was strange to see you without them. The pit in his chest grew each time you moved to accommodate them. You would shift in bed or reach around to reposition the fantom limb and realization would come before the dread. Sometimes that was it for the day, you wouldn’t speak anymore. Azriel would read to you when that happened.
You had started to talk to the rest of the circle, which Azriel was mostly glad for, but the smallest bout of protectiveness had somehow dug its way into his heart. When he would walk into your room to find you chatting with Cassian or listening to Rhys, Azriel would have to pause at the territorial feeling that temporarily consumed him. He figured it was only because you were still hurt. That would fade.
When he came in today, you were alone, and Azriel felt relieved. For a moment.
You were already awake and looked well-rested, which was detrimental to his plan of asking you while you were half asleep. You set your book down to stare up at him, and even the fact that you were reading was not lost on him.
You were making progress. This was part of progress.
“Good morning, y/n,” Azriel greeted, standing at the foot of your bed.
The action already made you nervous. You eyed the chair beside you and glanced back at him. “Hi, Az.”
Azriel’s lash fluttered at the sound of your voice, still so fresh after weeks of silence. You were meeker than you once sounded, unsure and small.
Azriel took in a breath before asking, “How’s today?”
“Today is good,” you replied, words slow.
Azriel spied the remaining badges peeking out from the top of your shirt. You needed this. “I think we should walk today.”
Silence consumed the room. Your lips parted as you stared at him, and Azriel immediately wanted to eat his words. Another beat of silence. And then another. He tried desperately not to shift weight between his feet lest he look antsy or unsure.
You blinked, twice, and then stared down at your fingers as they rested in your lap.
“I know it will be difficult,” Azriel tried, speaking low. “But I’ll be here. We don’t have to go far. A few steps, that’s all I’m asking.”
You pressed your thumbnail into your palm, brows furrowed. You hadn’t smiled, Azriel realized, not since before. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you spoke.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Azriel asked, bending down to catch your gaze unsuccessfully.
You blinked back up at him. “Okay, I’ll try.” And then, in a much lower tone, as Azriel walked to your side, you grumbled, “Not as if I could get any lower than I am now.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” you replied, reaching for his outstretched hands. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
Azriel decided to revisit that later. He wouldn’t pass up this opening you had provided, even though his heart ached at what you’d insinuated. He held your hands in his own and leaned forward as you shifted yourself to the side, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.
Already, the disorientation on your face was difficult to stomach. You swayed backward with a pinched expression and your nostrils flared in frustration, but Azriel only held your hands firm and steady.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted, allowing his thumb to brush your knuckle. “Anything hurt?”
You shook your head, your lips pressed in a tight line. Azriel forced himself into your field of vision and nodded, softly counting to three as your eyes darted quickly between both of his. As your legs straightened and Azriel’s hands held you up, you refused to break the connection. Azriel wouldn’t be the one to break it.
You were shaky on your feet and completely unbalanced, but you were standing, and that was all Azriel could ask for. He gripped your hands tighter as your breathing deepened, the struggle evident on your face.
“Feel okay?” Azriel asked.
“No,” you grimaced. “But keep going,” you breathed out.
“Okay, okay. Start with your right. I won’t let go of you.”
And you did as he asked, albeit with a small groan and a look up at the ceiling. You abandoned the frustration in favor of staring directly at your feet and white-knuckling the grip on Azriel’s hands as you swayed and brought your right foot forward. The moment you placed it down you wobbled on it and had to right yourself three times, causing one of Azriel’s hands to come around your waist.
You gritted your teeth but continued with your left foot with some encouragement from Azriel. He stepped back with each step you took forward, his hands glued to your body to correct the mistakes from your core. You made it six steps and Azriel was elated. He let out a small, breathy laugh.
“You’re incredible,” he deemed.
And it was so, so small, but the scoff-like laugh you offered was accompanied by a minuscule half-smile, and Azriel was over the moon. You looked up at him, a sarcastic upturn of your eyes lighting them up, and Azriel was struck then.
Mate.
Mate.
It was so obvious, so clear. There was never anything but this. But you.
You were meant to be his and he yours. Years of this pull to you, and he always thought it to be one of friendship. He’d always loved you, always, but he’d never humored the possibility of anything more. You’d seen him in his teen years. Gods, you’d seen him in his twenties when he was terribly full of himself without the credentials to be so.
And he’d seen you through the decades of your life as well.
But everything was so much clearer now. He’d always been protective of you, always been the first to follow you. That was part of why this had been so devastating—he’d let you down, left you alone. For another woman.
Azriel felt his stomach lurch and then something rotten was left in his mouth.
His mate—he’d let this happen to his mate.
And what had he said in the store that day? When you’d asked him what would happen if he’d found his mate?
He’d said it wouldn’t matter, that Elain was bigger than a mating bond.
Elain.
“Azriel?” Your worried tone snapped him back to the present. To the way your legs shook and your body swayed before him. He quickly scooped you up at your waist and held you close as he walked you back to the bed.
“That’s enough for today,” he said, tucking you back into the bed. His hands were shaking. “Does anything hurt?”
“Are you okay?” you asked, and when you looked at him with your wide eyes, he was so angry at himself.
Nothing made sense, but everything did.
“I’m alright,” he reassured, placing a hand on the top of your head. “We need to take that slow. Your muscles need to be rebuilt along with your balance.”
He needed to get out of this room. He needed to—
“I promise I’ll be able to do more tomorrow. You’ll… come back tomorrow, right?”
Something was screaming at him. His shadows. They twisted and struck his ears before coming down to rest gently at your shoulders.
“Of course I will.”
~~
Original POV
Azriel did not come back the following day, or the day after that.
Mor came on the first day, a smile plastered on her concerned face. She held her hands out as Azriel did and got you to walk ten steps before exhaustion made your legs shake. She sat beside your bed and went on and on about some shop in Velaris and you laid back and listened.
You loved Mor, but it became hard to swallow when she was the one to walk through your door that morning.
The next day, it was Cassian.
He grinned and boasted about being the best person on the job, rounding your bed and heaving you up by your hips until you were pressed against his front. Cassian took a different approach to you relearning how to walk, placing your feet on top of his to move as he did. He was joking at first, laughter fresh in his tone, but he got serious as your brow twisted and your body swayed.
“You got it,” he assured. He stepped back, his hands now just hovering over your hips as you balanced against him. “You’re doing great.”
You gripped the sleeves of his shirt. “I should know how to walk,” you said through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have stayed in bed so long.”
“You were healing. Resting. No one expected you to hop up and be fine, y/n.”
“I moped for too long. This wouldn’t be so hard if I had started earlier.”
“Hey—”
Frustration had accumulated, building since realizing that you really were only a fraction of yourself, and that was probably why Azriel hadn’t come back. You clenched your teeth once more and pushed from Cassian’s body, finding the ground beneath your feet and ignoring the protest from the Illyrian before you—the one with his wings so tightly pressed to his back that you almost could forget they were there. Almost.
But the action was short-lived. Cassian grappled for your waist as your body only allowed you two steps forward before you shot backward, an ache permeating down your spine as it tried to accommodate the movement.
“Cauldron, y/n, warn a guy,” Cassian scolded, stepping you back to sit on the bed. “Did you do this with everyone or am I just special?”
Frustration burned behind your eyes. You stayed silent as you scrubbed your hand down your face. You couldn’t even fling yourself back against the bed as you wanted, knowing that pain would radiate down your back if you did.
You couldn’t do anything. The extra time you’d spent with Azriel had created a false sense of… something you needed to let go of. He was pitying you—that was all. You were a broken creature, and he felt responsible.
“What was that about, huh?” Cassian asked, kneeling before you and looking up below a raised brow.
“I’m broken,” you admitted, resolute and small. “That’s why Azriel won’t come back, isn’t it? I can’t walk. I’m not how I was. I let this happen to me. I should know how to walk.”
Cassian’s tongue clicked as his head tilted to the side. “No, y/n, you’re not broken. You didn’t let anything happen to you. This is all—Gods, this is all a fucking mess. But the one thing you can know is that you aren’t broken. And Azriel—he’s dealing with something right now. He’s not avoiding you because you’re broken.”
You stared back at him, the empty feeling slowly creeping back into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded when Cassian gave you an expectant look. You would act as if you believed him, and the following day, when Azriel stepped through your door, maybe it felt a bit easier to lie.
“Did you handle what you needed to?” you asked him, your hands cemented against his own as he guided you around your room. The words came out strained as your balance faltered.
Azriel took a moment before responding, “You could say that.”
“Was it Elain?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the bitterness in your tone was new to even you, but it came out all the same. You avoided Azriel’s gaze as it snapped to your face.
“Some of it,” he admitted. His eyes burned into you. You stared at your feet as you stepped. “But only some.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Y/n.”
You stepped again. And again. It was easier each day, but that also spelled a more difficult future. The further you walked, the sooner you would have to come to terms with your wings being gone. Staying in bed helped you avoid that truth.
You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again.
“Look at me. Please.”
You shifted your jaw to the side but glanced up through your lashes and gave in to his request. Azriel’s beseeching expression made you falter.
“I can never apologize fully for not being there that night. With Elain—“ Azriel paused, wincing. “I’ve been blind to what’s important. You tried to tell me. Everyone tried to tell me. I was so caught up in a chance at happiness. It was never about Elain.”
You had no reply. Your legs were shaking.
Azriel seemed to take a different approach. “I meant what I said before—that you’re incredible. You’ve pushed yourself so hard and we’re all proud of you.”
“Is that why you didn’t come back when you said you would?” you asked. The tinge of bitterness remained. “Because you’re proud of me?”
“I had to—y/n, there were things—“
“Just say you’ve been visiting out of pity, Azriel. That would make this easier.”
You gripped his hands harder as your wave of frustration made walking more difficult. You grunted slightly and Azriel took that as a sign to shift your weight from your feet, holding you to his body even as you struggled against him, even as you averted your gaze.
Gods, this was better when you kept your mouth shut.
“I do not pity you. Y/n—y/n. I don’t, do you hear me?”
“Why?” you stressed, pushing your hands against his chest in a futile escape attempt. “Why, Azriel? Too busy running after Elain to make room for it?”
“Don’t say that. I already told you—“
“Just let me go.”
“No.”
“Oh, so now you listen to me.”
“Y/n—“
“This was already humiliating, Azriel. And then you said you’d be back and you weren’t,” you accused. “You got weird when I finally started walking and I know you only came in here because Cassian told you about yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” he questioned.
You rolled your eyes. It was so much easier to be angry than hurt. “When I asked about you. I know he can’t keep a secret.”
Azriel only shook his head. “He hadn’t told me anything. I needed a few days because I’m the weak one. Me. I needed distance because I’m reminded, every time I see you, that I could have prevented this. Im selfish.
“And Elain,” he trailed off, hazel eyes flicking between yours. “I had to tell her that I’ve been a fool. I won’t be pursuing her anymore.”
Your brows furrowed. You gave up fighting against Azriel, but he kept both of your hands in a grip at his chest, his other arm locked at your lower back. This felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but it wasn’t that easy. None of this was easy.
“Why?”
Azriel paused.
Something flashed across his face, indecipherable to even you, but he covered it just as quickly.
“It wasn’t supposed to be her. I’ve always known that.”
More silence blanketed the room. Your earlier anger melted into a white-hot embarrassment that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You’d never been one quick to anger. Azriel hadn’t even blinked an eye.
“Can I help you back to your bed?”
You pressed your lips together.
“I want to read with you, if that’s alright?”
Your head turned down. You nodded.
~~
Azriel’s POV
Azriel couldn’t tell you.
He couldn’t.
It was clear that no bond lit up your chest as his did, and that made sense to Azriel. You’d been through a loss few could ever imagine. You were stuck in your head for most of the day, and then angry or numb for the rest of it. The only time you seemed to find reprieve was during conversation that had nothing to do with anything of meaning.
Azriel would take what he could get. So he read beside you and helped you walk and he didn’t tell you that a bond connected your souls.
How could he even broach the subject, anyway? When he had so openly pined after another woman?
This was not the time.
You needed to focus on yourself. He would focus on you and you would focus on yourself.
It had been about a month since you began walking again, and two since your injury. He counted each day. On the second week of the third month, Azriel saw you in the hallway. Feyre walked alongside you as you trailed your fingers on the wall, and while it gave the air of a casual stroll, he could see his High Lady’s hand hover behind you. While he took effortful breaths to calm his excitement, his shadows did not.
“Azriel, what terrible timing!” Feyre scolded, batting away the shadows as they stormed you. “I finally got her out here and you're going to knock her over with air.”
“I apologize,” he spoke, but he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. Despite your unsteady gait, you lit up as his shadows swirled around you, displacing your hair and clothes as you went. And then you laughed; a small sound, but one that Azriel felt in his chest.
“Call them back,” you giggled. Azriel’s face warmed along with his chest. “I’m going to collapse into this wall if you don’t.”
“Azriel,” Feyre called, and Azriel hadn’t noticed he was staring. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and tried to call his shadows back. And then tried again.
They were stuck to you.
“I really am trying,” he explained, taking a step closer. “They seem attached.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Feyre groaned. She shot the Shadowsinger a look and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side. “Idiot bats.”
As the pair walked past him, his shadows still whispering along your arms, you hooked your chin over your shoulder, casting him a lingering gaze. It was odd to see your face with such clarity, no wings clouding his view. Even more odd was the uncomfortable way you walked; the leaning into Feyre’s side was more necessary than for the show.
The strangest thing, however, was the tug in his chest that left him breathless. Every time you looked at him, that thread in his chest tugged and yanked and begged him to get closer.
But this wasn’t the time.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the time for several decades.
Not after he let you down in such a way.
He would spend the rest of his life making up for that, even if you were none the wiser to the bond between you. He would protect you for the rest of your life, as he was meant to do from the beginning. That feeling, the urge, only swelled as you turned forward and continued your walk with your High Lady, Azriel still hearing the remnants of your laugh in the hall as you went.
A shadow broke away from your figure and lopped around his ear, reminding him that he actually did have a destination before he became so enraptured by you. It whispered to him hurriedly and Azriel had to break his gaze from your retreating back as he made his way to Rhysand’s study. Each step had him increasingly irritated; he should have been with you the day you decided to leave your room.
He bit back his vexation when he felt the tension in the room.
“Azriel. Good,” Rhysand greeted. The door swung shut. “Sit. We need to talk.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” Azriel remarked, shifting his leathers as he took a wide seat on the chair across Rhysand’s desk.
From the couch beside him, Cassian let out a humorless chuckle. “I think you’ll find this quite promising, brother.”
“As long as it’s quick. I have other things to attend to today.”
Cassian sent a wry grin in Rhysand’s direction. “I told you he’d see her in the hall.” He turned back to Azriel. “Packed schedule today, Az?”
“You know better, Cassian,” Rhysand chided, the lightness in his tone betraying the scolding nature of his words.
“Is there an actual point to this discussion?” Azriel deadpanned.
“Bond feeling a little loose?”
Azriel threw him a dirty look. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the change in Azriel the day the bond snapped, his heightened aggression paired with the scent of you still lingering on his clothes had Cassian immediately clocking the Shadowsinger. He’d looked surprised—gaurded and surprised. Rhysand looked as if he’d been the one waiting for the bond to snap, and Azriel had sent him a myriad of questions.
Namely: Why the hell wouldn’t he tell him he thought you were his mate?
“Don’t taunt him, Cass.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Are we getting to the point?” Azriel drawled. The desire to get back to you itched beneath his skin. Maybe you’d made it to the kitchen and he’d sit at the table beside you.
Rhysand sighed. He tapped his finger against a piece of parchment laid on the desk. “I have correspondence from the northeast camp. From the spies you have placed there.”
Azriel sat up in his chair. “Why wouldn’t they speak to me directly?”
“I had them turn all communication over to me. You’re too close to this and I wouldn’t have you acting rashly and putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”
“They are my spies—”
“I didn’t do it to undermine you, Azriel,” Rhysand interrupted, raising a hand in surrender. “You can’t tell me that if you got word her attackers were found you wouldn’t immediately rush into that camp without a plan or even a weapon.”
Azriel breathed hard from his nose and clenched the wooden chair arms between scarred fingers.
In the silence, Rhysand continued. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, brother. But you understand why that was a risk I couldn’t take.”
“What did the correspondence say?” Azriel gritted out, his mood depleted of the lightness you had brought.
Rhysand eyed Cassian on the other side of the room before fixing his gaze on his Spymaster. “The escaped attackers have been identified. They aren’t contained, and no one even knows where they are, but we know who they are.”
Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.
If only he knew of the terrors that would continue to fall.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x female!reader#azriel x y/n#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel fanfic#azriel angst#azriel#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader
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In Front of Me (1)
cause i was blind to see that you were right in front of me ₊˚
⊹ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader ⊹ genre: bestfriends to (?), angst, smut (R: 18+ mdni) ⊹ wordcount: 40.6k (part 1) (part 2: here)
⊹ summary: jeon wonwoo has spent most of his adolesence and early adult hood unable to understand why he can't seem to stay in a relationship for more than a few months. as his best friend, you allowed him to vent about his worries without judgment. so what if you're in love with him? your friendship with wonwoo meant more to you than having your feelings reciprocated. that is until you hit your breaking point, while wonwoo finally realizes what has been in front of him this whole time.
⊹ tags: non-idol!au, uni!au, unrequited love (for the most part), pining, toxic!wonwoo, toxic!reader, both in wonwoo and readers pov, questionable protagonists, mentions of other svt members, happy ending (?), emotionally constipated characters (wonwoo), flashbacks, slight seokmin x reader, a lot of emotions thrown everywhere. (content warnings under the cut)
⊹ note: this story was meant to be posted for wonwoos bday, but if you know anything about me by now, i never really stick to my self made deadlines lol. thank you to my cutieful, big brained beta readers: ♡ @junkissed @chocosvt and @sunniques ♡ everyone in @svthub and @highvern and @gyuswhore who helped me w this fic as well ! if u look closely this is pretty much just a sugar coated version of real life events lol... anyways i hope u enjoy and lmk what u think thru the replies and reblogs :) !
⊹ masterlist, fic playlist.
⊹ smut tags: no smut in this part :p ⊹ warnings: alcohol, reader is downbad for wonwoo, stalking, slut-shaming, evasions of privacy, if i missed anything lmk! cuz ik i did i just can't think of what hehe :p
⊹ what i would like to note about this story before you read it: you're not meant to like these characters (for most of the story at least lol), they are flawed in many ways, thats the whole point of this story tbh. tmi--but this story is pretty much my free therapy lol. and i love a messy plot! wonwoo and reader are just two normal people in this story and i wanted to write something a little more raw than i'm used to. so just take what i say with a grain of salt before reading ♡ i still want you to enjoy this story because i poured my soul into it. so thank you for your support and kind asks and comments about the teaser!
prologue.
Despite your age, you’ve never been in a serious relationship. There was always something holding you back, or rather, someone.
In all the years you’ve known Wonwoo, you’ve always thought maybe one day, he would look at you in a different light. Hoping that he could reciprocate the feelings you’ve harboured for him since the eleventh grade.
He was the one who constantly moved out of relationships. You couldn’t even count the amount of late-night calls where he asked you what his “next step” should be. The doting best friend that you are, you’d gladly stay up all night trying to help him fix his girl problems.
“I just, I don’t have feelings for her anymore. Is that wrong?” he asked you over the phone.
Tossing and turning in your bed you let out a deep sigh. One thing is always guaranteed with Wonwoo: in a relationship, he loses feelings quickly. No matter how much he likes the girl, no matter how obsessed or possessive he feels for them at the beginning of it all, it diminishes by the time the six-month mark hits.
Although he may be a great friend to you, relationships were never his strong suit.
“It’s not wrong to fall out of love, but how many times are you going to break up with someone before you decide to stay?” you ask him, and he pauses to think.
“I don’t know, but I can’t stay, that would make things worse,” he sighs. “It’s better to just stop this whole thing now.”
“I agree, but are you sure?” you continue to ask him the same questions you’ve been asking since you were sixteen.
“I’m sure,” he replies with a heavy sigh.
“Okay, then goodnight. It’s almost one in the morning,” you try to cut the call, but he continues to speak.
“I’m not the bad guy, right?” he asks you for reassurance.
“No, you’re just human Wonwoo. There’s nothing wrong with losing feelings for someone,” you affirmed.
“Alright, thank you, good night and sweet dreams,” he whispers listlessly.
“Good night, Wonwoo.”
Your phone beeps indicating that he’s hung up and you can feel the heartstrings pull inside your chest. How many times will it take for Wonwoo to find someone he actually wants to be with? And why is it never you?
act one, favorite crime.
chapter one.
“Wait, what? You and Wonwoo aren’t dating?” Seungcheol asks you, forcing you into the hot seat.
The rest of your friend group is boring holes into your face as they all sit around Jeonghan’s living room. The blood rises in your cheeks, but you shake your head anyway.
It feels like every time you’re with your friends, they ask you the same set of questions. Constantly wondering why you and Wonwoo haven’t thought about dating, or why you two haven’t decided to take the chance and just be together.
“You guys need to stop asking that. A guy can befriend someone of the opposite gender,” Wonwoo defends the two of you.
“You’re telling me in all the years you’ve known her, you haven’t developed feelings for her once?” Cheol continues to instigate, and your eyes go wide.
Looking over at Wonwoo, you anxiously wait for his answer, your chest blooming with hope, only for those buds to be washed away in a millisecond.
“No, c’mon, we’re just friends. That’s it, right?” Wonwoo turns to you, trying to get you to back him up.
Your mouth runs dry as he stares at you, his eyebrows rising in anticipation.
“U-uh yeah, Wonwoo’s right, we’re just friends,” you blurt out, not being able to handle all the expectant eyes on you all at once.
“See? Now can you all just get off our backs?” he chastises.
The chatter starts up again, moving past the topic of you and Wonwoo’s friendship. But you sit there, with your heart crushed in your hands, lifeless and shrivelled. Like his words and actions had the power to tear the life out of you. The worst part was that he did all this without knowing. He’s completely oblivious to your feelings, and you only have yourself to blame.
You understand your relationship with Wonwoo is different from most people’s, but at the same time, it should be normal for a girl and a guy to just be friends. And at least you respect Wonwoo’s feelings, and you also respect that whenever he’s dating someone the dynamic between you two shifts.
He becomes more detached when he’s in a relationship, and you’re okay with that. His priorities change and you’re okay with that. Despite your feelings for him, you know that you can’t force him to feel the same way. And you should be okay with that.
You’ve never tried to get in the way of his love life, or purposefully give him bad advice to ruin what he has with someone else. Not since you were seventeen, and at that time in your life your frontal lobe was a measly speck of dust, but it's different now. Now, your morals don’t change just because you love him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less to see the person you’re in love with, fall in love with someone else.
two.
“Hey, you okay?” Seokmin approaches you, and you turn your head, acknowledging his presence.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m alright,” you mutter, but you know you don’t look that way.
Seokmin has known you since high school and has seen you through everything, probably more than Wonwoo. He knows when you’re not feeling well. A sympathetic permanent on his lips as he continues to observe you play with the food on your plate, pushing around the food aimlessly but never taking a bite.
The sounds of people conversing throughout the dining hall never die down. But luckily, the commotion keeps your thoughts of Wonwoo at bay, or at least that’s what you like to think. But your heart can’t seem to let go of that moment from the other day. Having Seungcheol confirm that Wonwoo has never felt anything romantically for you was like a stab in the stomach, and him getting you to back up his words was just him twisting the knife.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You can tell me,” he sighs, pushing the hair covering your face and placing it behind your ear.
You can feel the tears start to pool, but you try your damndest not to let them spill—not like this, not in front of so many people.
“It was just something Wonwoo said when we were all at Hannie’s house,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact with your friend.
“What did he say?”
“That he’s never liked me before,” you sigh, feeling a tear slip from your eye.
Cursing yourself in your head, you hate how much your feelings for him affect you. You hate how he doesn’t have to even be in front of you, yet he can still cause your emotions to fluctuate.
“It’s alright,” he coos, pulling you into his strong arms.
It felt weird, to hug Seokmin so tightly in the middle of your university’s dining hall. But you’re thankful for how aware he is, how he actually cares about your feelings. You felt melodramatic sitting there crying in the fucking dining hall of all places, but you couldn’t help but let your tears flow as Seokmin comforts you with his soft voice.
“You deserve more than this, I hope you know that,” he whispers in your ear.
three.
Over the next few days, the words Seokmin had whispered to you kept replaying in your head. You did deserve better and looking at all of Wonwoo’s past relationships is the perfect example. He’s not exactly the ideal boyfriend, so why did you even have feelings for him in the first place?
You could feel a migraine coming on from how hard you were thinking, but Wonwoo still seems to be the only person you can’t let go of. No matter how many times you’ve tried.
A knock on your door brings you out of your thoughts. It was late, and you don’t remember anyone messaging you saying that they were going to come over, but you open the door anyway.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t text,” Wonwoo moves past you, takes his shoes off, and plops on your couch.
“It’s okay, what’s up?” you move to sit beside him.
“I broke up with her,” He says, shrugging.
Taken aback by his nonchalance, your eyes widen. He seems calm for someone who has just broken up with his girlfriend. But you try not to think too hard about it, or you might just have to take another Advil to remedy your already growing headache.
“Well, how did it go?” you ask with a bit of apprehension.
Knowing Wonwoo, you knew that he probably just dumped her over the phone or something. He’s never been bothered to really break up with someone.
You have all these examples of why he would probably be the worst boyfriend ever, yet your heart still belongs to him. It’s pitiful, to say the least, people probably would think that you’re a masochist because you subject yourself to staying by his side when he has feelings for another.
“She was crying, but at least it’s over now,” Wonwoo informs you as he eats the snacks you had left on your coffee table.
“Oh.” You could feel the guilt start to seep into your veins.
It never felt good to hear Wonwoo talk about his breakups, but you’re not sure how to react. There’s a part of you that’s happy to know that he’s single again, but the majority of you pities the girl who had just gotten her heart broken.
Wonwoo continues to munch on the snacks left on your table while your mind tries to process the information you’ve been given. Hearing him talk so casually about his breakup leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you decide to switch topics instead of asking any more questions.
“Are you still going to Seokmin’s thing this weekend, though?” you ask him, trying to fill the air with something to drown out your rapid heartbeats.
He shrugs his shoulders, “If I feel like it. Are you?”
The bottom of your stomach tightens. You were hoping that he would go, even looking forward to it. Is that pathetic? To want to see him everywhere you go? Maybe you were pathetic to the point where you only felt like hanging out with your friends if he was there.
“I mean, I don’t have a ride so…” you trail off, pretending to pay attention to whatever was playing on the T.V. screen.
“I’ll go since you’re going, that way you have a ride,” he mumbles, adjusting his posture to lean back on your couch.
He sighs as he sinks into the plush cushions, spreading his legs while he puts his arms up. You’re very aware of his proximity, and you try not to let it show. But the smell of his cologne invades your senses, knocking the breath out of your chest.
Wonwoo’s arm circles your shoulder, pulling you closer to him and forcing your head to rest delicately on his broad shoulder. Exhaling, you let yourself enjoy his way of showing affection. Although to him it means nothing, and to you, quite literally everything.
“Thank you for agreeing to go to Seokmin’s so I have a ride,” you whisper but still avoid eye contact so he doesn’t notice your flustered expression.
“Thank you for letting me barge in here just so I can talk about my breakup,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head.
“Of course, what are best friends for?”
four.
Most people fall in love gradually, slowly growing feelings for the person before they can even call it love. Like the way the seasons steadily turned from winter to spring. Green grass peeking from underneath the melting snow, or flowers gently blooming and unravelling their new set of stems and petals. For you, it was different.
Falling in love with Wonwoo wasn’t gradual at all.
If anything, falling in love with Wonwoo felt like a snowstorm in the middle of a sunny day. Your affection for him grew rapidly, and before you knew it, your mind was clouded with him and him only. It became hard to stay rational as if you were driving down a snow-filled road without any control over the steering wheel. Swerving into different lanes, your brakes malfunction, making it hard to bring your car to a full stop. Falling in love with Wonwoo was not gradual or easy.
When you met him on the first day of your junior year of high school, your sixteen-year-old brain couldn’t fully comprehend your crush on him. He was the shy, scrawny new kid in your class, and no one paid mind to him except you. But that didn’t stop you from liking him. Despite his interest in collecting pokémon cards and his crooked glasses that were too big for his face, you were in love.
You were like two peas in a pod that whole year, and the only time you and Wonwoo spent time apart was when he had to leave during summer break to visit family in Korea.
When he returned for your senior year, you could barely recognize him. Suddenly the nerdy Wonwoo you knew was gone. His glasses complimented his face, his hair was styled differently, and most of all, he got hot. A lot of your classmates must’ve seemed to agree because now your best friend and the man you’re in love with gained attention from people who didn’t even bat an eyelash at him last year.
It annoyed you to see all these people suddenly interested in him. You were angry that just because he grew a few inches and learned to do his hair didn’t mean he was that much different from how he was last year.
Even though Wonwoo was in a relationship, he still stayed true to your friendship. He still hung out with you, ate lunch with you, you even came over on weekends to have dinner with his family. Day by day, your love for him strengthened, and you ignored that his attention had been divided between you and his girlfriend at the time.
When their relationship hit three months, it seemed your friendship had come to an abrupt halt. He didn’t invite you for dinner as often, you two didn’t talk on the phone every other night. He started to invest more of his time into her until he decided she wasn’t worth his energy anymore. Then the calls would come, his contact name flashing across your phone screen to ask you for advice.
“I feel like I need to break up with Haein,” his deep voice flowed through your phone speaker. A sigh left his lips as he faced the truth.
Haein was Wonwoo’s first girlfriend. She was nice, almost too nice. Wonwoo definitely had a type for girls with a bubbly personality. Ones that were effortlessly beautiful, reminiscent of a freshly made porcelain doll. That was Haein to you, unblemished in every way possible. Everything that you weren’t.
You couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. She was too nice to hate, but your younger self was so angry at how much of Wonwoo's time she took up that you envied her. Seokmin once jokingly mentioned that you looked especially green when she was around, and you remember how quickly you checked your appearance on the nearest reflective surface because of what he had said in passing. You remember vividly how nervous his words made you, was it that obvious?
Wonwoo’s first time calling you about his breakup plans was a delightful surprise, and you were too in shock to sputter out a proper response.
“Oh. Why?” was all you could say, still stunned that after a week of no contact, this was the first thing he said.
“‘Dunno, I just don’t like her anymore,” he admitted effortlessly.
You didn’t know how to respond. Your heart was screaming at you to encourage him to break up with his girlfriend at the time, while your brain was telling you to think logically.
“Well, if that’s what you think is right,” you mumbled, trying to hide the fact that you felt a sense of relief at Wonwoo potentially being single again.
Others may have tried to rationalize with Wonwoo, but you didn’t care. You wanted your friendship with him to turn back to normal. Your adolescent brain ignored that it was wrong to encourage him, as long as he was fully yours again.
History repeated itself over and over, and the older you got, you learnt to not be so selfish with his attention. Mostly out of guilt for the person he was going to break up with, but also because you didn’t want Wonwoo to realize your true feelings.
Although being in love with Wonwoo was brutal, you constantly wished that things were different between you two, but they weren’t. He’s never seen you as more than a friend, and as your friendship with him progressed, you had begun to learn to mask your romantic feelings for platonic ones.
five.
By the time you entered university, you had mastered the art of pretending. As if your feelings for Wonwoo didn’t exist. You are quite meticulous in ensuring that he never realizes that you are profoundly in love with him. The mere thought of him finding out how you truly felt frightened you.
You’ve already envisioned countless scenarios on how it could go. The idea of being rejected by the one you love most. It would change everything about your friendship with him. The look of pity in his eyes, the apologies that would spill out of his mouth. You can't bear even the thought of rejection. Not from him.
Two voices are constantly at war inside your mind. Your brain, acting as the voice of reason, constantly reminds you that it’s better to preserve your friendship. To keep the dynamic you’ve always had with Wonwoo guarded where it could last, thrive. While your heart persuaded you with deluded, fake scenarios.
‘What if he likes you back?’
‘You never know until you try.’
‘Take the risk or lose the chance.’
What if.
Like a siren to a sailor, your heart sang with deep imagery. Filling your thoughts with illusions of you and Wonwoo finally together. But your mind doesn’t let you go without a fight. It knows that beyond the deep waters where your siren-voiced heart lies is nothing but a bottomless pit.
The possibilities are endless, and you’d rather stay safely grounded in your boat of rationality.
A notification brings you out of your thoughts. Although you already knew that it was Wonwoo, you scramble to pick up your phone. There’s excitement laced in your veins as you look down at the screen.
7:06 p.m. [wons <3]: be there in 5.
There was no reason for you to be so ecstatic but you couldn’t help it. He had already texted you prior, notifying you that he was leaving his place to come pick you up, and yet every time your phone buzzes, you still hope that it’s something completely different. But that was your heart talking; you knew that it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary.
Everyone had planned to meet at Seokmin’s place today, just to have one last celebration before midterms began again. You had happily agreed, enthusiastic that you could spend more time with Wonwoo, although it wouldn’t be a one-on-one thing. You were more than elated to see him while also being able to hang out with the rest of your friends.
Throwing your phone back on the bed, you change into an outfit that is both cute and comfortable. There wasn’t a reason to dress up when the vibe at Seokmin’s was just going to be sitting around his living room, drinking cocktails and eating pizza.
Wonwoo texts you once more to let you know he’s outside, causing you to race down to meet him. A lump in your throat arises, as he comes into your field of vision, appreciating how breathtakingly handsome he is.
The chilled breeze brushes through the strands of his hair, glasses perched on his tall nose. He looked amazing, just like he always had, but you never get bored of admiring him. Even if it’s just from afar.
“Hi! Sorry if I kept you waiting,” your voice resounds into the night.
“It's never a problem if it’s you,” he chuckles as you dawdle over to the passenger side of his car.
Trying not to read too deep into his words, you snort at his cheesy line instead of giving a response. Watching Wonwoo move to the side as he opens the car door for you. His actions make you blush, and you know you’ll think about it for the rest of the night.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, smiling at you.
The ride to Seokmin’s house is fairly quiet, the sounds of music filling the silence instead. Your thoughts are overflowing with scenarios once again, wondering how different the car ride would be if you and Wonwoo were in a relationship. His fingers would probably be laced with yours, or rubbing soothingly against your thigh while his other hand gripped the steering wheel. Planting kisses on your cheeks at every red light. It seemed like heaven on the other side. But you knew reality would crush your delusions soon enough.
…
The clock on Seokmin’s pale white wall is nearing midnight and you don’t want to be here anymore. Not when the only thing you could focus on was Wonwoo flirting with a girl whose name you didn’t catch. She’s Joshua’s childhood friend and he only brought her along because she’s visiting from out of town. Whoever she was, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to you was the fact that she was able to bring out Wonwoo’s deep laugh. The kind of laugh that only befalls upon your ears when he finds something genuinely funny.
The ugly swirl of jealousy sits in the pit of your stomach and you couldn't help but scoff at your wretched situation. It made you sick watching them, and you could throw up any minute now. At this point, you weren’t sure who to envy, Wonwoo or the girl he was flirting with. You find it unfair that he doesn’t realize how greatly he can impact your feelings.
Just a few hours ago, you were in utter bliss. Sitting in the front seat of his car, listening to the music softly playing on the ride to Seokmin’s apartment. Making stupid jokes and pointing out the random sights that you had seen while driving down the bustling city streets. You envy how easy it is for Wonwoo to make all those feelings of delight vanish. And he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, and that’s what hurts the most.
“You doing okay?” Seokmin comes up to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing it affectionately.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah I’m okay,” you chuckle, but there’s nothing humorous about your laugh at all.
His eyes soften, he knows that you’re not okay. Seokmin always knew. After all these years, he can tell when you’re trying to save face. There’s a lump in your throat, and if you didn’t have a drink to sip on to distract you, you probably would’ve gone to the bathroom to cry.
“You wanna talk in my room?” he offers, and you’re grateful.
Seokmin knew he had to get you somewhere other than the living room. You were practically torturing yourself, sitting on the couch and watching Wonwoo talk to everyone but you.
Instead of agreeing vocally, you nod your head before standing up to follow Seokmin to his room. The door shuts softly, muffling the sounds of laughter and allowing your uneasiness to finally subside.
As you sit on Seokmin’s bed, you feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks. It feels pathetic, crying over something so trivial. Why does it have to be you who feels this way? Why can’t you just be a normal friend and see Wonwoo in a platonic light? The whole world could turn upside and he’d be the first person you search for.
Everything just seemed so unfair, how could you possibly be happy if your feelings for Wonwoo were constantly in the way of it all? It’s tiring, worrying about him, yearning for him. You could do so many other things with your time, and when you look toward the future, you know that you’ll regret how much of your life you wasted loving someone who doesn’t love you back.
“It’s okay, just let it out,” Seokmin whispers in your ear, embracing you in a tight hug.
Crying felt good. You rarely cry over your situation despite how upsetting it is. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to finally indulge in your sadness and let go of everything you were too afraid to say or feel.
“I know it sucks right now, but honestly, it might be time to get over him,” Seokmin continues to comfort you while trying to help you face the reality of your situation. “You’re so hurt, and it’s taking a toll on you. Please, I can’t bear to see you so sad.”
His words hit you hard because you know it's true. But all you can do is apologize. Saying sorry for feeling this way, even though it’s not your fault, you cannot control your feelings, you still apologize. To Seokmin, to your friends, but also yourself.
“I-I’m sorry,” you hiccup, tears staining Seokmin’s white shirt.
“Why are you sorry? You did nothing wrong,” he mutters, his large hand patting your head, trying to soothe your fit of emotions.
“Because, if I was normal, you wouldn’t have to worry about me, about why I’m always upset, you and the others, my feelings are burdening all of you,” you continue to weep softly in his arms, gripping onto his shoulders as his hands encircle your waist.
“Hey, look at me–” he grabs your face, gentle as a mouse, rubbing away the tears from your cheeks. “You are not a burden. We care, that’s why we worry, and I just want to be there for you.”
“Thank you, Seokmin. I’m so happy that I have someone like you in my life,” you pull him into a hug again, knocking the air out of his chest, but he’s still somehow able to hug you even tighter.
Seokmin is like your favourite childhood blanket, keeping you warm and away from everything that could possibly hurt you. He’s always willing to hear you rant about things that you know you could never tell Wonwoo.
“I’m so tired, I’m tired of feeling like this,” you admit to him.
Running his hands through your hair, he gives you a reassuring smile.
“Maybe it’s time to distance yourself from him a bit, you two have been glued to the hip for so long. Maybe that distance can help organize your feelings better,” he mutters, catching the stray tears that pool at your chin, and wiping them away for you.
“I want to feel better,” you agree with him, still trying to recover from how hard you were sobbing into his chest.
“I care about you, okay? We all do. Wonwoo cares about you, too, but there’s a point where you’ll have to be okay with whatever outcome happens if you decide to tell him how you feel. Or you just have to find a way to get over him,” he speaks softly, trying not to crush your heart with reality, but you know he’s right. “In the Future, you will thank yourself for making whatever decision you have to make, but trust me, holding all these feelings in won’t do you any good.” He ends his pep talk there, and you sigh, trying to process everything he said.
“Thank you, Minnie, I’m so thankful I have you,” you sniffled.
“And I you.”
…
Seokmin explained to Soonyoung and Jihoon that you needed to go home after your talk in his bedroom. They were more than happy to take you along with them before heading back to their place, not wanting to force you into a car with Wonwoo at the end of the night.
“Of course, it’s really no trouble at all,” Soonyoung reassures you after you had asked about a million times if it was okay to ride home with them.
The car ride is drastically different from the one you had taken on the way to Seokmin’s, Soonyoung being the number one reason why. He’s not the best at reading the room, although Jihoon is constantly telling him to shut up. He knows you are upset over something, but Soonyoung’s way of cheering you up is getting you to laugh. While Jihoon believed that you may want a more peaceful environment after everything that happened.
As Jihoon drove, Soonyoung sang along with the lyrics of the current song playing. Loud enough for anyone outside the car to hear him. You could tell he was a bit tipsy after the few beers he had earlier, but you didn’t mind the noise. Jihoon begged to differ.
“Soon, can you tone it down? Please. People are looking at us,” Jihoon grumbles, trying to focus on the road ahead.
“But you love it when I sing,” Soonyoung whines, and you can’t help but laugh.
“I do, but our friend has had a long night,” Jihoon counters.
Soonyoung turns to face you from the passenger seat. “If you want me to be quiet, I will.”
“No, it’s okay, I’m actually enjoying it, thank you very much,” you giggle, and that was all the confirmation he needed, going back to his antics.
Jihoon groans as Soonyoung practically breaks out into full song and dance, causing you to sing along with him. This distraction from all the conflicting thoughts gives you a refuge from the war inside your mind.
The whole way back to your place was filled with singing and laughter, allowing you to finally feel at ease for once. Albeit Jihoon pretended to act annoyed the whole time, you knew he secretly loved how Soonyoung tried to bring the mood back up to help you.
Once you got home, you thanked the two before bidding them farewell. Apprehension flowed throughout you, and you didn't want to be alone with your thoughts after being around someone as cheerful as Soonyoung. But you didn’t know where else to go or what else to do.
Laying in your bed, you think about how today went from beginning to end, and you’re scared of what will happen in the future. Sighing to yourself, you allow yourself to at least get some rest instead of staying up all night thinking about the possibilities of tomorrow. Turning your phone on "do not disturb," the stillness in your apartment lulls you to sleep.
1:09 a.m. [wons <3]: seokmin said u went home early? u ok?
ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?
chapter one.
Wonwoo’s ride home was sombre, yet desolate. Your absence from his passenger seat irked him. Street lights whisk by his vision in a blur, but he’s too lost in his thoughts as he drives on autopilot, wondering why you went home so early. You didn’t even say goodbye. It’s the first time you went home from Seokmin’s place without him.
By the time he got home, his curiosity had started to claw at him, but he didn’t want to be irrational and assume the worst. So he texted you, hoping that there would be an explanation awaiting him in the morning.
Not a single notification from you came that very next morning. No matter how many times his phone went off, no matter how many notifications popped up from his screen. None of them were you. Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon slowly turned into night. Still nothing.
He feels dejected. Everything seemed to be going okay just last night. That was until you abruptly left without telling him you were going home. What changed? Why did it feel like there was a shift between you two?
Rejection is foreign to Wonwoo. Most times, it’s him that’s doing the rejecting. He was the one to always initiate the breakup and lose feelings first; every decision he made was made by him. He has no control over whether you’re going to text him back or not, and to put it simply, he can’t stand that feeling.
Wonwoo hates not being in control. Whether that be his future, his relationships, and especially his feelings. At least that’s what he forces himself to believe. That it’s not fair of you to ignore him when he’s worried about you, because he’s your best friend. You should answer him when he texts you. When he calls you, and especially when he shows up at your door, seeking your comfort. In his mind, that is what he believes the foundation of your friendship is. To comfort each other, just like it always has been.
Sure, maybe Wonwoo is entitled, perhaps he’s conceited and selfish, but he doesn’t care. Because in his mind, you’re his best friend. There was no way in hell that you were ignoring him. His ego doesn’t even consider it a possibility. You were busy, that’s it. That has to be it.
…
Less than forty-eight hours in, Wonwoo couldn’t stop himself from texting you once more. Nimble fingers practically itching to open your contact to update you about the most mundane things. Maybe if he pretended that this moment of silence was perfectly normal, then maybe you would eventually end up answering him.
12:36 p.m [wons <3]: class just finished. lunch at our usual place?
Nothing. Not even a thumb’s up reaction. Wonwoo had become antsy, guilt and slight annoyance gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Where the hell are you? What are you doing that’s so important that you couldn’t even open his message let alone read them?
1:27 p.m. [wons <3]: this random girl asked for my number after class lol. weird right? i didn’t give it to her though 😁
Cursing at himself, he regrets pressing the send button on that text. Double texting you is already out of the norm for him, but triple texting? He can’t believe how desperate he looks right now. He wishes he could bring himself to unsend it, but he just hopes it’ll be the text that finally gets you to respond.
2:10 p.m. [wons <3]: saw a bunny running thru the oval today u should’ve seen it! reminded me of u. [1 photo attachment]
Absolute radio silence from your end. Wonwoo is starting to think that you had him blocked, but his messages are still delivering. Unsure of what’s worse, you ignoring him or blocking his number, Wonwoo still tries his best to remain calm.
4:00 p.m. [wons <3]: im about to head home soon. r u riding w me today?
The sight of you getting into Seokmin’s car made Wonwoo scoff. Since when did you start getting rides home from Seokmin? And why was he the one opening the door for you? Buckling your seatbelt instead of his own? Wonwoo is completely dumbfounded at what he has witnessed.
4:30 p.m. [wons <3]: saw u get into seokmin’s car, lmk if u need a ride tmrw.
Seeing you laugh and smile while walking to the student parking lot with Seokmin, of all people, solidified the fact that you are actively ignoring his texts. And he just can’t stand the thought of it. How dare he be ignored? Especially by his best friend, the one person who had always responded to him, no matter the time or how busy you were, you always texted him back.
Wonwoo initially thought that even if the world ended, you would be there within arms reach, enough to hold you close, where he could keep you safe. You were predictable in that sense. But if the world decided to burst into flames, or swallow itself whole tomorrow, he’s unsure if you would be there right next to him by the time he woke up.
two, wonwoo’s summer before senior year.
The school year flew by with the speed of light. And before Wonwoo knew it, he was home back in Korea for the summer. The dreaded fifteen-hour plane ride over was excruciating. There was an ache in his lower back, and his knees felt like they were being struck by a hammer with every step he took. But at least the worst part was over.
Sixteen-year-old Wonwoo was quite naive, thinking that he’d be welcomed into his home country with loving arms. That hadn’t been the case at all, and for the two months that he spent in Changwon, he couldn’t help but count the days till he could come back home. Where you had been patiently waiting for him.
He despised being away from you, and he had yearned for you every moment he was gone. With you by his side, Wonwoo had finally understood the true meaning of solace, a peace of mind that couldn’t be replicated. Not even the fresh air that breezed through his fingers or the scent of the salty water misting its way onto the shore of his hometown could outweigh the feeling of tranquillity that he got when he was with you.
Every year that Wonwoo was dragged back to Korea by his parents was excruciating. Especially because he had a certain distaste for his relatives. Maybe it was disrespectful to loathe them the way he did, but he couldn’t care less. Their scathing comments would flow out of their mouths just to pierce daggers of judgement into his back. To insult Wonwoo was second nature to his aunts, and he couldn’t do much but sit back and listen.
Much to his dismay, his parents hadn’t even bothered to book an Airbnb for their stay, informing him and his brother that they would be staying with his aunt. He couldn’t stand his aunt Seo-Ah in particular, and he swore the feeling was mutual. Unsure of why he had to withstand her crude remarks in front of his family without much protest, he forced himself not to dish out rude rebuttals to everything she had to say.
There was a time when Wonwoo tried to reason with himself on why his aunt was filled with so much bitterness, but he gave up on that long ago. He was about to be seventeen now, and he couldn’t bring himself to empathize with the older lady anymore.
“Wonwoo! You’re all grown up now, and I can’t believe it,” Seo-Ah forced him into a bone-crushing hug as he tried his best not to push her off of him. She pulled back to take a closer look at him and he could already see the scrutinizing gleam in her eyes, “You know, you’re still so skinny for your age. Do your parents not feed you enough?”
Wonwoo wanted to scoff at her, but he kept a neutral expression.
“No they do, I don’t know maybe it’s my fast metabolism or something,” he refuted her claims. He couldn’t wait to get out of her sight.
“You know, maybe you should start going to the gym, get some muscle on you or something,” she patted his lanky arm and laughed that dreadful laugh. The ones that have no real humour behind it, just to cover up the obvious dig she took at his appearance.
“Yeah maybe,” he dismisses her to head into the house. Setting his luggage down to check whether or not you’ve texted him yet.
It was about five in the evening in Changwon, but he knew you wouldn’t be asleep. Faintly recalling how you were planning to stay up late every night to watch BuzzFeed unsolved videos, or until your mom yelled at you to go to bed.
[4:15 p.m. kst] [you: i stayed up all night watching buzzfeed unsolved] [you: im going crazy i keep getting paranoid to the point i’ve turned all my mirrors backwards] [you: hope ur flight was ok tho!!! 🫶]
He chuckled to himself, remembering your wide eyes and elaborate plan to sneak snacks into your room in the early hours of the morning behind your parents’ backs. Wonwoo missed you, and your stupid obsession with horror podcasts and YouTube shows. He missed the way your smile would shine so bright as you talked about all the haunted places the hosts would visit.
Wonwoo did not care for horror or anything scary, but if you were to ask him to stay up all night on Facetime binge-watching your little Buzzfeed videos, he would do so in a heartbeat.
Two days down, about another 89 to go, Wonwoo thought to himself as he looked through your messages with him. You had already spammed the chat mercilessly about your first two days of summer break, and your intricate mission to stay up without accidentally falling asleep in the middle of it all.
[6:00 p.m. kst] [1 photo attachment] [you: currently trying to sneak snacks into my room without my mom knowing] [you: u better not snitch 😾] [you: its so boring w out u here btw SO COME BACK SOON PLSS] [you: ok thats enuff…txt me when u land!]
Wonwoo really missed you.
…
One more week and Wonwoo would finally get to see you again. The ability to talk to you in person, hug you, and spend time with you gave him something to look forward to, and thankfully, summer break went by fast because of it.
He had spent most of his time in Korea eating at local food spots, going to the gym, and trying a lot of new things with his brother, Seongho, giving them time to bond before he went off to University again. Wonwoo had missed his brother dearly during the school year, but at least they were able to pass the time together during summer break.
It was initially his brother’s convincing that got him to go to the gym for the very first time. The idea of going to a place with a lot of sweaty, adrenaline-filled people kind of frightened him, but the more he went, the more he started to like what he saw in the mirror. Wonwoo’s shoulders had broadened, and his lanky arms finally started to show signs of muscles. He was satisfied in knowing that all of his hard work, and Seongho’s encouragement had finally paid off.
Seongho told him he looked a lot more carefree now that he wasn’t so worried about his appearance all the time. And it was then that Wonwoo realized that he wasn’t all that bad-looking, after all.
Wonwoo had begun to take pride in his vanity. He searched for different ways to style his hair, bought glasses that better suited his face shape, and, most of all, did his best to act more confidently. The sudden change made him wonder how you would react. He had been anticipating your reaction, wanting to see the look on your face once he returned home.
“You got it. Just one more rep, and we can switch,” Seongho encouraged Wonwoo as he tried to push the bar up from his chest.
His muscles were aching in the most addictive and satisfying way. He almost wished he had started working out earlier because only good things seemed to have come ever since he stepped foot into the gym.
“Okay! You’re done, that was good,” his older brother high-fived him, a proud smile dancing along his lips.
“Thanks, but my arms feel like jelly now,” he huffed a chuckle before gulping down the contents of his water bottle.
Seongho chuckled along with him before setting himself down on the workout bench. His actions faltered, and he slowly observed the mirror in front of him, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
“Uh, don’t look now, but I think that girl is staring at you,” Seongho tilted his head in the girl’s direction and Wonwoo couldn’t be more confused.
“Huh? Are you sure it's me they’re looking at and not you?”
“I’m serious! You should go talk to her,” Seongho grinned, pushing his younger brother in the direction of the girl who was supposedly eyeing Wonwoo.
“Hyung!” Wonwoo calls out but it falls on deaf ears as his older brother begins his bench presses.
Wonwoo turns towards the girl in the most awkward way humanly possible. He was completely dumbfounded and not sure what to do in the situation he’d been put in. The girl who was staring at him waved flirtatiously, and before he could even think about his next move, his feet had begun to move on their own accord.
“Hi, I saw you working out over there, are you new here?” she asked him, batting her eyelashes.
“Uhm, I guess? I’m only here for the summer though,” he spoke with apprehension, because what the hell was he even supposed to say?
“Oh! Me too. My name is Haein, by the way.” Haein’s smile reached her eyes as she giggled, and her hand extended to shake Wonwoo’s.
Wonwoo’s actions were practically robotic, rubbing his sweaty palms on his gym shorts before taking her hand in his. He remembers thinking about how soft her hands were, and how pretty she looked with her hair tied up in a messy bun.
“I’m Wonwoo.”
“Wonwoo, hmm, that’s a cute name. But I think I would like it more in my contacts,” she flirted shamelessly, her fingers squeezing his sweaty bicep.
Wonwoo’s mind short-circuited, and he took out his phone from his pocket so fast it almost slipped out of his grasp. Haein found it endearing though, and happily gave him her phone number.
They talked for the rest of Wonwoo's time at the gym and promised to hang out more before they both went home at the end of the summer.
To put it simply, Wonwoo was on cloud nine for the first time since he’s been here. Suddenly his aunt Seo-Ah’s words weren’t so hurtful, his confidence had skyrocketed, plus he had a beautiful girl to talk to for the rest of his vacation.
By the end of summer, Wonwoo started to miss you less and less. Even though he still saw you as his best friend, he began to find peace in other things, like the fresh air that breezed through his fingers or the scent of the salty water misting its way onto the shore of his hometown. Finally, for the first time in his life, Wonwoo felt serene, and that made him a little more whole than he was when he first landed in Changwon.
…
The after-effects of Wonwoo’s surprisingly pleasant summer vacation hadn’t worn off just yet. The gift of Haein appearing in his life seemed to just keep on giving. Not only did she live overseas, she had told him that she was actually from the same city as him. It was a little hard to believe at first as if he was the main character in a cheesy rom-com, but he couldn’t find it in him to complain. Haein made him feel wanted, excited, and cared for.
Wonwoo wasn’t entirely devoid of those feelings, especially with you as his best friend, but it was different coming from Haein. Every time he saw her, he felt like he was going to throw up, in a good way of course, but she also boosted his confidence. He liked that she made him feel like he was a man worth depending on.
Haein was his first real relationship, and although he was still young, he could see himself being with her for a long time.
…
Quite like the seasons, Wonwoo’s feelings for Haein changed drastically by the time school was back in session. Although he and Haein lived in the same city, there was a lot more than just distance that separated them.
Six months into their relationship, Wonwoo began to doubt himself. He was less eager to meet her or even text her. He could only blame himself for how things turned out with Haein. Despite his adolescence, he believed he loved her; he just got tired and disinterested.
On a subconscious level, Wonwoo could not stop comparing Haein to you, and as fucked up as that was, it was completely out of his control. Why didn’t Haein ever want to talk about what Wonwoo was interested in? Why did she seem bored out of her mind when he would delve into his theories about his favourite shows? Or anything about himself and what he liked. As though she didn’t see him for the Wonwoo he was, the personality he had behind his looks.
“It all makes sense now! Eren had Zeke fooled!” Wonwoo couldn’t contain his excitement about the newest episode, but Haein didn’t seem interested in hearing her boyfriend geek out.
“I'm sorry babe, but I gave up after the first episode,” Haein sighed into the phone, and if Wonwoo could guess, she was probably picking at her cuticles out of boredom. “I just didn’t get anything that was happening.”
“Wait, really?” He was a little offended, how could she not be obsessing over the beautiful intricacies of his favourite anime? Wonwoo didn’t understand.
He didn’t understand because when he introduced you to the show, you texted him the next day saying you were caught up to where he had left off. It amazed Wonwoo how fast you were at binge-watching shows, especially because he had told you about it on a weekday.
You came into school the morning after with dark circles under your eyes, but even with that tired look on your face, you ran up to him with so much eagerness while thanking him for urging you to watch his favourite show. You two were obsessed and never missed out on watching the weekly episodes together. It had become you and Wonwoo’s thing, and even though he wanted Haein to join in on the fun, he found himself more entertained by your theories than by talking on the phone with his girlfriend.
It dawned on him that he wished that Haein acted a little more like you. And it made him feel guilty. He knew he should’ve loved Haein no matter her interests, but he wanted someone who could understand his nerdy side. And that was only something that you were able to do.
“Honestly, I’m really tired, I’m gonna go to bed now okay?” Haein’s voice brought Wonwoo out of his thoughts.
“Oh okay. Night.” He said before ending the call so quickly that Haein’s ‘I love you’ was cut off mid-sentence.
Haein probably had thought he had forgotten, but Wonwoo just didn’t want to say those words if he didn’t mean it. He had grown annoyed, and a little bored of practically talking to a wall all night.
Comparable to the light switching off in his bedroom, he decided to do the same thing with Haein. He pushed his guilt aside and decided it was probably best to leave Haein and Changwon in the past. The memories of his last week of summer with her would become something he would look back on in the future and smile. But he didn’t want to pretend any longer, it would’ve just hurt her more if he stayed, he couldn’t help that he fell out of love with her. The least he could do was not lead her on.
Wonwoo’s relationship with Haein was merely a catalyst and a peek into what the rest of his relationships were going to look like in adulthood. He was never able to comprehend why he couldn’t keep feelings for anyone after the six-month mark, and it almost frustrated him. Something was missing in every single relationship he had been in, and he wasn’t sure what that was. But he was determined to find an answer.
three, present time.
The answer was you. But of course, Wonwoo didn’t know that.
“Are you gonna keep checking your phone every five minutes or are you gonna do your homework?” Mingyu lectures him.
The two were studying in the library before their stats midterm, but Wonwoo’s mind couldn’t help but wonder. He hasn’t been acting like himself since the night of Seokmin’s party.
“Oh, right.” Wonwoo clears his throat, putting his phone face down on the table.
Wonwoo drags his palms against his face, trying to not let sleep overtake him. It is not his fault that every time he tries to close his eyes, your face comes into his mind. The memory of you smiling with Seokmin made his insides twist. He hasn’t seen you smile that hard in a while, and he almost misses how your eyes crinkle whenever you do so. You were practically haunting him and he had no idea how to make it stop.
“Not to be rude, but you’ve been looking like shit lately. What’s wrong?” Mingyu questions him with furrowed eyebrows.
Wonwoo rolls his eyes at his friend, he didn’t have to be insulted to know how crappy he looked, but Mingyu seemed to only be telling the truth. Wonwoo did look and feel like shit. With the amount of near run-ins he’s had with you and Seokmin on campus, he’s begun to sense that it’s some sort of karma. Whatever that karma may be for, he fully believes that it’s completely unwarranted.
Forcing a hand through his dark locks, Wonwoo contemplates whether or not he should just go up to you in person and demand answers. It’s uncommon for the two of you to fight, or ignore each other for that matter. But he can’t help but presume that if he were to confront you about your silence, there would be no rightful explanation. Or at least not the explanation that he wants from you.
Every time he even fathoms the thought of barging into your apartment and asking what the hell is wrong, there’s a lingering nervousness that he wishes would dissipate, leading him to lay awake with his thoughts for hours on end.
“Thanks for that, asshole, I just haven’t been getting much sleep,” Wonwoo huffs.
“Okay, obviously. You practically look like a zombie with the way you’ve been moping around. What has been keeping you up?” Mingyu presses.
It’s not every day that Wonwoo indulges in his problems with Mingyu, that’s what you were for. However, he can’t talk about his problems about you, to you, so he’ll have to settle for the next best thing.
“Y/N has been ignoring me since the night we all hung out at Seokmin’s,” Wonwoo confesses, and it feels nice.
For the past two weeks, he’s been keeping his frustrations to himself, and now that he can freely speak about it lifts the weight off his chest.
Mingyu snorts, obviously finding his friend’s situation humorous. Wonwoo sneers at Mingyu’s reaction, clearly not finding anything about you ignoring him funny.
“Serves you right, you’re a dick to her, man.” Mingyu shrugs without any remorse to spare.
“What?” Wonwoo sputters, since when was he a dick to you? His best friend?
“How blind are you? You have glasses and everything but you can’t see how mean you are to her sometimes? Really?” Mingyu almost sounds offended on your behalf as he stares at Wonwoo with an incredulous expression.
“I am not a dick to her. She would definitely tell me if I’ve ever said something to hurt her feelings,” Wonwoo defends himself.
Attempting to rack his brain of all your moments together, he can’t seem to pick out a memory where he has been especially rude to you. Of course, you two teased each other from time to time, but he wasn’t a complete asshole. He knew when to not take a joke too far or purposely try to upset you.
“You’re a dumbass.” Mingyu lets out a frustrated sigh which only aggravates Wonwoo even more.
“Could you stop with the insults for one second and just tell me what’s going on?”
Shutting his laptop, Mingyu’s posture becomes serious, a deviation from his usual carefree and smiley self. He cares about you just as much as the next person, so if he had to reality-check his friend, then so be it.
“She cares about you a lot. And you treat her like shit. It’s not about what you’ve said to her, it’s your actions. Ever since we were in high school all you’ve done is use her to solve your problems. I can’t even blame her for wanting to cut you off. I don’t know what happened at Seokmin’s place for her to realize that, but you don’t deserve her,” Mingyu confesses.
Soaking up each word that left Mingyu’s mouth, Wonwoo sat in a pool of perplexity. There are so many questions flying through his mind, yet he can’t seem to utter a single word. Is that really how everyone perceives his friendship with you?
Wonwoo is going to throw up. There's a tightness in his chest and a burning sensation behind his eyes. He wants nothing more than to hear all of this coming from you, not Mingyu. The frustration of wanting to talk to you about this is taking a toll on him, he doesn’t want to believe that Mingyu is telling the truth.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Mingyu gets to know these things about you while Wonwoo is just left in the dark. Did he make you feel like you couldn’t tell him anything?
Ever since Wonwoo met you, it was evident that he can be quite merciless when it comes to his relationships, but that’s romantic, not platonic. Wonwoo was convinced that he treated you equally because that’s how it's supposed to be.
Hearing Mingyu talk about his friendship with you in that way caused Wonwoo’s whole world to crash down. And the only thing he can do in moments like these is seek out your comfort, except he can’t anymore. Not only has he been a terrible friend without realizing it, but he’s pushed you so far to the brink that you’d rather ignore him than attempt to hash out what’s been troubling you.
“I-I didn’t know that's how you guys saw our friendship,” Wonwoo falters, clearly taken aback, and still attempting to fully comprehend what’s been said to him.
“It’s not that we see your friendship with her that way, it is that way. If I was her, I would’ve cut you off a long time ago.”
“Well, thanks, Gyu. I feel like this could’ve been said before she started ignoring me,” Wonwoo huffs, trying to come up with the words to explain his side.
“It was kinda obvious, man,” Mingyu shrugs.
“Was it, though? If I had known, I would’ve at least tried to be better,” Wonwoo attests, tired of feeling like the bad guy.
“How about you just talk to her about it instead of sulking,” Mingyu suggests.
Desperation hijacked his rational thinking, making Mingyu’s advice sound plausible. Talking to you seemed out of the equation since you started ignoring him; he feared you wouldn’t even answer if he tried to call or show up at your door. But he can’t go on like this, especially now that he knows there is more to your friendship than he had initially thought.
four.
For the first time in Wonwoo’s life, he’s unsure about what decision to make. Although he wants nothing more than to knock on your door, his feet stop him from even entering your building. So instead of mucking up the courage to talk to you face to face, he waits inside his car. Without a solid plan, he continues to sit there, biding his time.
Never has he acted so pathetic in his life, not even for the sake of his relationships. He knows that nothing will come from sitting there, just watching, but before he can even comprehend what he is doing and where he is going, he is already across the street from your place.
Gripping on the leather of his steering wheel, he just couldn’t help himself. He can’t help but watch your silhouette from your window. The curtains are drawn, but there are glimpses of you walking around. He’s such a fucking loser. What type of person has Wonwoo become that he resorts to stalking you from the front of your building?
After all that Mingyu has enlightened him on, Wonwoo’s attitude has become less angry and more apologetic. There was a line he pondered crossing, and it practically mocked him. Stepping over that line would mean getting answers from you, demanding to be brought into the light that you had snuffed out from under him. But his uncertainty of the outcome outweighed his decision to do so.
That same apologetic attitude died a fiery death after watching Seokmin leave your apartment. There you were in all your glory, the tiny sleep set clinging onto your body as the wind forced its way into the door of your building. Then there was Seokmin, grinning like a fucking idiot as he waved goodbye.
“Shit!” Wonwoo grunts as he ducks down, not wanting to blow his cover. His car was visible from where the two of you stood, hoping that you weren’t able to recognize it in the dead of night.
Boring holes into the back of Seokmin’s head, Wonwoo's guilt diminished, floating away with the cold night breeze. You were fine, and he should’ve known that the root of all his problems started with the name Lee Seokmin.
The shape of your figure had faded into the confines of your building. Yet Wonwoo can still make out your body through the glass window of your door. He can’t help but gawk at your skimpy attire, your ass practically on display for the whole world to see. The deathly twist in his gut intensifies the more he ponders on what may have happened during Seokmin’s visit. Wonwoo desperately wants to stop thinking about the possibilities, especially because your lack of clothing only fueled that inferno inside his mind.
He’s never been more annoyed at Seokmin in his entire life, not until today.
Wonwoo allowed himself to ignore the signs, but only for a moment. But this, this he can’t ignore. Not after what he witnessed. He allowed himself to stay ignorant when it came to your silence because he had been so naive to think that it was your decision. Now that he knows Seokmin had somehow weaselled his way closer to you, Wonwoo had to make sure this plan of his didn’t go on any longer.
…
There is a heat inside Wonwoo that, for some reason, he cannot extinguish. The curve and outlines of your body burn in the back of his retinas. No matter how many times he’s tried to put himself to sleep, the image of you is clear as day in his mind. Sparks crawl their way up his spine, and he desperately wishes that it would just go away.
There’s a point where Wonwoo gave up on trying to sleep altogether. Thoughts of you, your body, and the oh-so-painful reminder that you’re still ignoring him. How can he sleep with everything going on? What made things worse, was the fact that the one person he wanted to call most likely wouldn’t pick up.
Wonwoo wasn’t the type of person to let his emotions get the better of him, but this abrupt rift that has been torn between you two has him acting out in ways he’s never acted before.
The urge to grab his phone, to text you, to give it one more try, grows perpetually every second he lies awake.
One more time. One more attempt. What does he have to lose?
Wonwoo stands up, pacing around nonsensically, trying to think of what to say. For all he knows, you may not even answer, but there is the urge to hear your voice one more time and see your name pop up on his screen. Wonwoo yearns for you so much so that it supersedes any part of common sense he has left in him.
[12:52 a.m.] [wons <3: darling. can we talk? please?] [not delivered]
The silence within the four walls of Wonwoo’s bedroom is harrowing. Out of all the outcomes he had considered before he texted you, the outcome of you blocking him was not even on the list.
Before jumping to some sort of conclusion, Wonwoo’s finger hovers over the call button with skepticism. If you don’t pick up, then that’s it. That would be the definitive answer to all his qualms.
“The number you have called is not available, please leave a message at the tone,” an automated voice affirmed his suspicions.
The notification is gut-wrenching, but he can’t just sit here and pretend like it’s okay for you to do this. To decide without any of his input. What kind of friend were you to just drop him like he was nothing but an old toy? How unfair did you have to be to not even try to talk it out before you completely cut him off?
five.
Pacing outside the door of your apartment, Wonwoo hasn’t been this nervous in years. He has always been so sure of himself, but it’s almost two in the morning and he’s still continuing to weigh his options.
It’s either you’ll let him in, and talk for the first time in almost two weeks, or you’ll kick him out before he can step a foot past the door. Desperately, he desires that it be the first option. Losing you over this would break him, and not in the way you would expect.
He’s already lost his mind. This shouldn’t be the way you two break it off. It won’t be the way you two break it off. Not if Wonwoo has a say in the situation.
Sweaty palms and white knuckles rasp against the dark oak that barricades himself from you. There’s nothing that Wonwoo wants more than to see your face glowing in front of him. And before he can even get a word out to you, the door whips open. The person on the other side is someone Wonwoo is starting to get really sick of seeing.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Both Wonwoo and Seokmin speak in unison.
Scoffing, Wonwoo rolls his eyes at his so-called friend, “I think I should be asking you that. You clearly don’t live here.”
“Minnie? Is someone at the door?” your voice is as sweet as a glass of lemonade on a hot summer’s day.
Minnie. Wonwoo almost threw up in his mouth.
Minnie. The nickname is parallel to nails scraping against a chalkboard.
“Yeah! Your neighbour just needed to borrow something,” Seokmin goads through a sickly sweet smile, eyes never leaving Wonwoo’s. Without as much as a word of mockery, Seokmin’s expression had said more than his words ever could have.
Despite his soft demeanour, Wonwoo knew there was something vile hiding under Seokmin’s thick skin.
A rebuttal to his deception is on the tip of Wonwoo’s tongue, but your melodic voice echoes throughout your home once more. The refute dies within his throat, and he hopes you will come out and see what your “neighbour” is looking for.
“Okay!” is the only response you give out. The reverberation of the water hitting the shower tiles causes Wonwoo’s stomach to practically lurch out his abdomen.
“Whatever you’re doing, she’s not gonna fall for it,” Wonwoo jeered, staring at Seokmin with looks that should kill, if he could.
Seokmin chuckles bitterly, “She already has.”
There was no need for Wonwoo to put two and two together; he already knew what Seokmin was alluding to. It left a dreadful taste in his mouth.
Puffing out his chest, Wonwoo takes a step closer towards the man he once considered a close friend. Sizing him up, he knew that Seokmin was the reason for the wedge in your friendship. And Wonwoo had no problem treating him as such.
“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” Wonwoo practically spits in his face.
“I could say the same thing for you,” Seokmin mutters, unperturbed, “I didn’t have to do anything you know? Just a little push and she fell into my lap, voluntarily.”
“I’m not just going to let you get away with something like this. She’s my best friend.”
“I think the correct tense is was. She was your best friend,” Seokmin taunted.
He was wrong about Seokmin. Even though he had known about his friend's crush on you for years, Wonwoo didn’t expect the lengths Seokmin would go to in order to cut him out of the picture.
Before a breath could even escape his lips, Seokmin cuts him off, “I think it’s time for you to leave. She doesn’t want to see you.”
The last few words that he heard come out of Seokmin’s mouth nearly fell on deaf ears. It was practically a whisper, laced with enough malice to almost kill the fighting spirit inside him. Almost.
“By the way, don’t text her anymore. I’ve made sure she won’t get any more notifications from you.”
The realization had struck Wonwoo hard. He knew you well enough that you wouldn’t just block him so carelessly, without a word no less. Yet he was no match for Seokmin, not after the fact that you allowed him into your home, your heart, so willingly.
…
Lying in wait, Wonwoo observes the door of your building once more. The distinct difference this time was that Wonwoo had no guilt left in him to care. Whether you see him or his car across the street didn’t matter to him anymore. The only thing Wonwoo wanted to make sure of was whether or not Seokmin would be leaving your place.
After what had felt like hours, he watched the same scene from last night unfold in front of him once more. The abhorrent hug goodbye that is exchanged between you and Seokmin is nothing but a cue for Wonwoo to make his move.
With as much grace as a bull in a china shop, he slams the car door shut, not even bothering to lock it before he stalks his way to your apartment. The anticipation caused the hairs on his neck to stand straight up. As he presses the button to your floor, he can only deliberate whether any of Seokmin’s words hold any truth behind them.
Certainly not, right? Not after all the years you spent together. His friendship with you couldn’t end on this vague note. You were always the sentimental type, holding onto trinkets, memories, and even people for far too long. It should be the same with Wonwoo; he believed it would be the same.
If there is a chance, you should allow him to talk and voice his opinion. No, Wonwoo will voice his opinion; there has never been a time when you haven’t let him speak.
As the elevator ascends to your floor, anxiety begins to weigh down his shoulders. The feeling is atypical and Wonwoo hates how his throat constricts. He hates how his clothes feel too tight and stuffy despite his casual attire. Is this how it feels? To actually care about someone and whether their decisions might affect him later on?
Footsteps echo within the hallway, and with each step he takes, the illusion steadily becomes more vivid. Your front door almost looks like it’ll take a mile before Wonwoo can reach it, rather than a few feet away.
After what felt like years, Wonwoo stands before the entrance of your home once more. The foreboding tension won’t vanish and it’s starting to make him itch. Without another thought, Wonwoo forces himself to knock on the door knowing it’ll be you who answers this time, not Seokmin.
“Minnie? Did you leave something agai—,” Abrupt silence engulfs your words, leaving nothing but an echo to resonate within the expanse of your long hallway.
“Wonwoo…” your voice falters, like you genuinely didn’t expect to see him, let alone have him standing outside your door.
“Did you fuck him?” Wonwoo cuts to the chase, not leaving any room for you to ask questions.
His blunt words caused a frown to grace your soft pink lips, and Wonwoo almost felt bad for being so frank. But he doesn’t have time to beg for your forgiveness, the anger surmounting to nothing but harsh words and a push past you and into your home.
“Did you fuck him? Yes or no?” Wonwoo continues to press you for answers, agitated that you have the audacity to stand there dumbfounded. As if you don’t know who he's talking about. “C’mon, you know who I’m talking about,” he can almost laugh at the situation in front of him.
How is it that all the rage he built up for Seokmin is being taken out on you? Wonwoo had no clue, but the thought of his friend-now-enemy defiling you, tasting you, while Wonwoo desperately waited for your call caused him to direct all his anger to you. Perhaps it’s undeserving to do so, but Wonwoo’s frustration spoke for him before his brain could even register what he was saying.
“The past two weeks you’ve been ignoring me, spending your time with him, do you know where his true intentions lie?” Wonwoo continues to rant with unpreparedness.
He didn’t plan what he was going to say because there was a moment of doubt, he had expected you to open the door just to slam it right back in his face. The look you gave him almost brought him to his knees. Your doe-eyed expression could’ve broken down every wall he’s built if only he hadn’t let his anger proceed him.
Wonwoo should’ve cried, to plead for you to take him back. To go back to the way things were. He knew he fucked up the moment he uttered a single word. The hurt flashed across your face as though Wonwoo turned your world upside down.
“Seokmin doesn’t care about you, and I’ll tell you that now because you need to hear it. He just wants to fuck you! And you just gave that to him?” He can’t stop talking.
“Stop. Just stop fucking talking Wonwoo. Do you hear yourself right now?” You cut off his rant. “Out of all people, who gave you the right to tell me who I can and cannot fuck? Especially knowing the type of person that you are. It doesn’t matter if Seokmin and I had sex. What matters is the fact that you think you can barge in here at two-thirty in the morning interrogating me over a situation that doesn’t involve you.”
“No. I’m just trying to help you. Seokmin isn’t the person that you think he is,” Wonwoo seethes, annoyed at how you’re twisting his words.
The bile in his throat rose further, as you stood before him like he had just kicked your dog. Wonwoo’s extremely aware of the hole he had dug for himself, but he couldn’t stop. His urge to self-sabotage overrides his common sense.
“That is exactly what we’re not going to do right now. Seokmin has been a better friend to me than you have been in all the years we’ve known each other. I have been by your side for years, bending over backwards. I was at your beck and call and I’m tired. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and warn myself about you. I fell in love with my best friend, and the worst part was that you didn’t care enough to notice.
“I gave up so much for you, Wonwoo. I lost myself trying to please you. But I give up. I was drowning in my love for you. It consumed every part of me to the point I couldn’t even come up for air. And I’m just sick of it. I know there’s a part of you that cares about me too, but it’ll never be equal. I’ll always love you more than you love me, and I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”
“What hurts me the most, is that you thought it would be okay to accuse me of things I didn’t even do. I did not sleep with Seokmin, but why is that what you care about? He respects me and just wants to be there for me. And that’s a lot more than I could ever say about you.”
Your voice was terrifyingly calm, with neither a lilt nor a hiccup during your speech. The heft of your declaration crashed back down onto Wonwoo, leaving him at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth after a long pause.
“Please. It’s late, you should go home,” you sigh, but Wonwoo couldn’t move an inch. He refused.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats himself, looking into your eyes, searching for the look of endearment you had always given him.
“Wonwoo…” there it is. Your voice had broken for the first time since Wonwoo stepped foot in the place.
“Please. I’m so fucking sorry. For getting angry, for doubting you, for not realizing how badly you were hurting,” Wonwoo resorted to pleading.
A look of desperation mixed with agony was the only thing you could exchange for his apologies.
The stare of grief you had given him caused a shooting pain to swell throughout his limbs. The one that begins at his fingertips, creeping up to tug at the strings that held his heart together. He wanted this nightmare to end, and he was sure you did too.
“It’s time for you to go. I’m tired, Wonwoo.” A single tear slips and trickles down your cheek.
He regrets not wiping it away for you at that moment. It was the first time he had been so unsure of his actions. So, instead, he walked out of your apartment, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his cologne and a piece of his heart.
Wonwoo's world was crumbling underneath him, and there was only one person he refused to let go of. He should’ve known.
He should’ve known that you were in front of him this whole damn time.
end of act one.
⊹ a/n: if you liked this story pls dont be afraid to let me know thru a reblog, comment or ask! also a big ty to my beshies forever @vapidlynn and @bunnyjjongie who i've texted multiple times in the wee hours of the morning for reassurance abt this thing hehe.
#jeon wonwoo#seventeen smut#wonwoo smut#svthub#Hiraya-M#thediamondlifenetwork#seventeen fic#wonwoo x reader#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic#svt fic#svt smut#svt fanfic#wonwoo#seventeen scenarios#seventeen angst#wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo seventeen#svt imagines
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plot ── tasked with interviewing actor drew starkey about his latest movie, you unintentionally steal the spotlight, leaving him blushing and lost for words under your mesmerizing gaze.
content ── reader being toooo pretty that drew is just like woah, drew being so observant ugh love him, reader not even trying to get his attention at all but ure just so alluring to him
authors note ── yea FUCK my series even tho i made that poll tbh im just so unmotivated. i saw this pic of drew n had some ideas for this lil oneshot of reader interviewing him post-premiere or something and him literally falling in love n reader noticing the little things n he becomes soheart eyes for u omg
you were a little nervous, to say the least. it was supposed to be a one-on-one interview, which somehow felt more intense than group ones with an entire cast. at least in those, the attention wasn’t entirely on you. but now? now it was just you and drew starkey, a handful of questions, and an awkwardly large camera crew standing just out of frame, watching everything. no pressure, right?
your boss had insisted that this interview focus on drew’s performance in his latest film. fair enough, but it also meant no backup—no costar to bounce off of or share the spotlight. it felt intimate in a way you weren’t entirely comfortable with, no matter how many times you’d done this. at the end of the day, it was just you sitting across from a celebrity while everyone else quietly judged your ability to hold a conversation.
you had almost turned this job down when you first started, not because of the nerves (though there were plenty) but because of the sheer vulnerability of it. still, the exposure wasn’t bad, and the paycheck? even better.
as you stepped into the room, clipboard in hand, the tension in your chest tightened just a bit. drew starkey, an actor you were only somewhat familiar with, sat casually in his chair. outer banks, hellraiser, the other zoey—you’d done your homework, skimming through his projects like your career depended on it. because, well, it kind of did. and he was . . . well, better looking in person, if that was even possible. the kind of face that made you forget you had questions to ask in the first place.
meanwhile, drew had been at this for hours. interviews were basically part of the job, but after a while, they all blended together. same questions, same conversations, just with different faces. he was tired but not miserable, holding onto the thought of dinner plans with some friends later that night.
interviews weren’t bad—he liked the connection when it happened, like the guy he was first interviewed by had laughed when he cracked a joke—but there was only so much charm drew could muster after a full day of talking about himself and the same film.
when you walked into the room, he barely glanced up at first. another assistant, probably, or someone from the crew running around to keep things moving. he didn’t pay much attention until you stopped right in front of him, introducing yourself and the network you worked for, arm extended for a handshake.
his gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, he forgot how to move, but he pulled himself together quickly, or at least he hoped it looked that way. he shook your hand, smiling the kind of easy, practiced smile he’d perfected over the years, but there was something a little shaky in his voice when he said, “nice to meet you.”
he sat back down, reminding himself to focus. you were a professional. he was a professional. this was just another interview. but it was hard to ignore the way his heart picked up every time you looked at him like that—focused, curious, maybe even a little nervous yourself. he wasn’t sure what it was about you, but for the first time that day, he couldn’t wait for the next question.
his hand went to his earlobe almost instinctively, a nervous habit he hadn’t really noticed until now. yeah, you were . . . stunning, in the kind of way that made him feel like he should stand up straighter or check his hair. if someone had told him you were a celebrity, he wouldn’t have questioned it. but the fact that you were here to interview him? that just felt unfair.
but the interview was smooth, the kind he’d done a hundred times before. the questions were predictable again, circling around the same themes: his character, the challenges of filming, the energy on set. drew answered easily, slipping into that familiar rhythm, but every so often, his focus wavered—not on the questions, but on you.
you glanced down at your list, scanning it for the next prompt, and then back up at him with those eyes. god, those eyes. drew swore they could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the room, even though he knew there were at least ten crew members just beyond the cameras.
he noticed it, though—how bored you seemed, even if you were too professional to let it show. your smile was polite, your tone unwavering, but every now and then, you hesitated just slightly before asking him a question, like you were already tired of the script you’d been given.
and then there was him, barely able to hold eye contact. it was almost embarrassing when he caught himself smiling at you, just a small, almost shy curve of his lips, but it was enough for you to pause, tilting your head slightly as if you were studying him.
"are you okay?" you asked softly, your own lips quirking into a smile that practically knocked the wind out of him.
it was such a simple exchange, but drew could feel the heat creeping up his neck. “yeah. yeah, i’m . . . awesome,” he managed, clearing his throat and looking away for half a second before his eyes found their way back to yours. he had to play it off, had to stay professional, but the way you smiled back at him, like his answer had made your day a little brighter? it felt like a win. still, he reminded himself: there was only so much time left. you were on a clock, and he couldn’t afford to waste it, even if you made it almost too easy to get distracted.
you just laughed, accepting his answer, but the moment lingered. your smile lingered. and the questions rolled on, one after another. nothing groundbreaking, but you kept it light, adding just enough to make it feel like a conversation. drew appreciated that. but eventually, after a particularly shared laugh—he couldn’t even remember what the joke had been—he leaned in slightly, his voice carrying a hint of playful curiosity.
“okay, so what did you think about the movie?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. it caught you off guard; he could tell by the way your posture shifted, your pen stilling over your notes.
and then you started talking.
at first, it was simple—a few observations, some praise for the direction, the performances. but the more you went on, the more animated you became, your voice lifting slightly, your words flowing effortlessly. you dove deep, unraveling moments and emotions from the film like you’d been holding them in since the premiere. drew leaned back, one hand resting against his chin as he watched you, utterly mesmerized.
you talked about the subtlety of his character, how his guarded exterior felt like a shield hiding something raw and vulnerable. you mentioned the tension between the characters—the way their connection felt like a push-and-pull dance neither could fully commit to but couldn’t walk away from either. you dissected the music, the cinematography, how it all wove together like a symphony of yearning and restraint.
and the way you talked about his performance . . .
you didn’t gush, which he appreciated, but your words were thoughtful, specific. you spoke about his quiet expressions, the way he held so much in his body language—the hesitation in his glances, the way his character seemed to pull back just when you thought he’d lean in. it was like you’d been watching with a magnifying glass, picking apart moments even he hadn’t considered.
he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. not just because you liked the movie, though that didn’t hurt, but because it was you. you, sitting across from him, completely unaware of how captivating you looked while tearing apart his work in the best possible way. if someone had asked him to focus on anything other than the way you gestured, your fingers brushing lightly against the edge of your clipboard, or the way your lips curved when you spoke, he would’ve failed miserably.
drew just sat there, watching you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you weren’t just pretty—you were sharp, insightful, and clearly so much more than the routine questions your clipboard suggested.
“you’re good at this,” he said when you finally paused for a breath, and he meant it. but he couldn’t help the slight teasing edge in his tone, the way his smile softened just a little as his eyes met yours again.
#drew#drew starkey#drew starkey x you#drew starkey smut#drew starkey blurb#drew starkey fic#drew starkey fanfic#drew starkey fanfiction#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey imagine#drew x you#drew blurb#drew smut#drew fic#drew imagine#drew fanfic#drew fanfiction
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Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever
Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.
Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”
I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon
Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities
Word Count: 5.7k
A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T
Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.
Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler
gif by @a7estrellas
→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY
The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.
You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.
“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.
“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.
He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.
“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”
The day unfolded in bursts of joy.
Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.
Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.
Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.
You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”
Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”
“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.
Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.
“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.
“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET
The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.
Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.
“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.
Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.
You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.
“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”
Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”
Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”
“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.
Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”
“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”
“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”
Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”
“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.
Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”
You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”
Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.
“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”
“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.
“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.
You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.
“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”
“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”
Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”
“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.
Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.
Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”
Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”
“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.
“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”
“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”
Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.
The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.
You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.
THE NEXT DAY
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.
Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.
His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”
“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.
“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.
It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.
The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.
“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.
Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”
Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.
Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”
Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”
You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”
Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”
“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.
Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”
Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”
“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.
“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”
He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”
The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”
You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”
“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”
Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”
“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”
Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”
Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”
Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”
You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.
OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING
The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.
Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.
“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.
Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.
You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”
Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.
He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”
“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.
“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.
“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.
Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.
“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.
Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”
“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.
The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.
“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.
“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.
“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.
As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.
“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.
“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”
“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.
Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”
“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”
Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.
“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.
The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.
As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.
When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.
You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.
Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him.
L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING
The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions.
“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”
You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”
“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”
And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more.
“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.
“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.
“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”
Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.
“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”
“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”
Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.
“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home.
Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”
You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”
He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”
There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close.
This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up.
“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”
You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”
“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”
His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”
Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”
You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.
Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave.
Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.
“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.
You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.
“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.
Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”
You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.
He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”
His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.
“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.
When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.
“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.
“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.
The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.
The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.
A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.
“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.
Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.
“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.
Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.
Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.
“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”
Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.
He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”
You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”
Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”
You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”
Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.
You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”
“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”
You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”
“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”
Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”
Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”
The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.
Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”
Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”
You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.
The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.
Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.
In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal art#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#joel miller x reader#gladiator#gladiator 2#paul mescal#real people fiction#marcus acacius#general marcus acacius#gladiator ii#pedrohub#pedro pascal x reader masterlist#pedro pascal masterlist#marcus acacius x reader
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GHOST AS A DAD [ simon riley ]
part two
- Never wanted kids, he was so careful not to get you pregnant but with the amount you guys fuck, it was bound to happen.
- You’re scared when you get that positive test… you cry out of fear that you’ll have to get rid of the thing you had always wanted.
- It took you a week to gain the courage to tell him, you just left the pregnancy test on the kitchen table and left for work. You wanted to let him sit with it for a few hours.
- When you did return home, he sat on the sofa- elbows to knees looking down at the test. How long had he been like that?
- You waited for him to speak, while you shuffled around with that nauseous feeling bubbling in your stomach.
- It was late in the afternoon so you started chopping some vegetables for dinner, “I’ll call the termination clinic in the morning…” Your voice mulled over the slices weighing down on the wooden chopping board.
- Fingers crawled along your waistband as he rested against the sink. “No. You’re not.” You rested the knife down.
- “I thought you didn’t want kids…?” Your eyes on the verge of tearing, looking back at him. Your cool, mysterious man… finding purchase in those deep dark eyes.
- His bare hands wrapped around you- resting under your shirt. “I can’t put you through tha’,” His light hair tickled while his chin rested on your shoulder, “You’re the only person I’d wanna do this with.”
- He was there for the first and second of your pregnancy. Simon held your hair back while you threw up almost every day and he rubbed your back.
- Simon is very careful when having sex with you, but he soon realised that you feel everything 10x as much. And your sex drive is through the roof, he’s never been so needy in his entire life… you were so desperate for him and he wanted you just as much.
- Simon gets deployed during your 7th month. He doesn’t want to go… nearly refuses. Unfortunately he can’t do that.
- You’re stressed after he leaves. But his family takes care of you- he asked for them to.
- When he lands back on British soil, he immediately phones you. You pick up, and the cry of a baby is all he hears before he drops the phone and falls to his knees.
- He’s crying, actually in tears. “Is Y/N alright, LT?” Of course Soap was the one to see him like that.
- Simon nods, laughing, “I’m a dad…”
- He’s never driven so fast in his life, and you’re there on the sofa he had been 8 months ago with that test in his hand. This time you cradle a little human in your arms, swaddled like a bundle.
- He drops to his knees once more, ripping his mask off. And your warmth covers him with the little sighs coming from the now awake baby.
- Simon fell in love. He didn’t know if he was looking at a son or a daughter.
- You two didn’t want to know the gender.
- “Simon Riley… meet your daughter…” He melted again, face red and brown eyes bloodshot as he cradled the little one in his arms. Dotting into the identical eyes staring up at him.
- That’s when he held her close, head against his chest. “My little princess…” He hummed so gentle, rocking her slightly.
- He is so girl dad coded. He’ll be so sweet with her and she’d always come to her dad if anything was wrong
- Your little girl would play with his masks all the time, it never annoyed him- only making him giggle. Telling her to stop so playfully and boyishly, that you’d never seen him so soft-hearted before.
- You most likely have at most two more children after your daughter- maybe one girl and a boy.
- Simon definitely teaches your children self defence from a young age. Safety was everything and he wasn’t always around to protect them.
- He’s there every award ceremony he’s on leave and is the most doting father ever.
- Your children’s friends are terrified of him, until they get him talking- then they’re like ‘your dad’s cool.’
Did you want a part 2 of this?
Part Two is posted!
———
masterlist
#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#headcanon#cod smut#cod x reader#cod modern warfare#cod
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𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔨 | Seonghwa x reader
♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Owner Seonghwa x Bunny Hybrid Reader ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Park Seonghwa was truly the most amazing owner ever, who knew exactly how to take care of the little lusty bunnies. Or Seonghwa knows he should be harsher with you and maybe even punish you for your disobedience, but the sugary, whiny tone of your voice as you keep babbling incoherent apologies and your eyes full of unshed tears can't help but make him melt and show some leniency to his naughty little bunny princess. ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Hybrids!Au, Established Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.4k ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Soft dom / daddy !Seonghwa, Bunny / sub!reader, unprotected sex, daddy kink, pet names, fingering, power play, dirty talk, oral, pillow humping, dry sex, сreampie, squirt, scent kink, collars, praise kink, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more. ♡ 𝔫𝔢𝔱: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more ♡ 𝔄|𝔑: Something absolutely dirty sweet, depraved and insanely comfortable (if you know what I mean) ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post. 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉
A soft, airy moan escaped your open lips and became lost into the pile of whipped silk sheets beneath you as you pressed your needy pussy harder against Seonghwa's puffy, impossibly plushy pillow. Every time your swollen, sensitive clit made contact with the luxurious, smooth fabric, your long velour ears twitched slightly and your fluffy cotton tail clenched and quivered with the all-consuming euphoric feeling of pure pleasure that overwhelmed your body at that very moment.
Your sweet, round cheeks flashed with a scarlet blush, and you buried your pretty, blushing face even deeper into the aromatic, fluffy blankets, inhaling deeply and greedily the thick, rich, milky scent of vanilla and powder that belonged to your awesome owner. Your cute front bunny teeth dug into the thick material of the blanket in a futile attempt to stifle your loud whimpering as a new wave of slime poured out of your quivering hole. The pinkish-red marks of your thick, clammy lip gloss glistened on the material, reminding you of the sweet, crushed strawberries that Seonghwa loves so much.
You sob pathetically as you continue to slowly rock your deliciously thick thighs, pressing your leaking pussy against the cooling silky surface of the pillow again and again in the hope of getting more of that desirable and sweet release. You know that good girls shouldn't behave like this and that your handsome, loving owner wouldn't approve at all and might even punish you for behaving like this, but you're doing absolutely nothing to stop you. It was the part of your nature that was being stronger than you.
Seonghwa had always told you that you couldn't touch your pretty princess-pussy without his permission. But lately it had been so hard for you to resist the temptation to run your little fingers into your lacey panties and caress yourself between your legs. Your heat was fast approaching, and each day your craving for affection and touch was becoming more and more palpable, causing the knot of excitement at the bottom of your belly to grow tighter and tighter, until this morning your heat finally hit you with full force.
You told yourself that you would be able to handle this like a big girl and that you would wait until Seonghwa came home. You'd be a dutiful little princess that your daddy would be proud of, you told yourself over and over again, and it worked for a while, until you found yourself on your stomach, desperately rubbing your aching, slimy, wet core against the mattress and, however ashamed you were to admit it, on your favourite plush toy.
Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your cunty was so wet and sticky, your tiny clit was swollen and throbbing weakly with excitement, and a viscous, sweet-smelling slime gushed out of your hole, soaking the sheets beneath you and filling the room with the delicious smell of whipped cream and caramel.
Until now, you have never tried to satisfy yourself in this way before. You have always found it very embarrassing, uncomfortable, and even a little weird. Even though Seonghwa had offered you several times to try rubbing your pretty, princess pussy against his bare, muscular thigh or a plush cushion, you had never decided to do it, too embarrassed by this unusual way of masturbating. Hwa even showed you some videos where a girl was rubbing her cunt on the soft fabric of the sleeping pillow while playing with her hard nipples and occasionally slapping her clit, and something about it really turned you on a lot, but still you remained adamant.
But, God, you were so wrong to have denied yourself such unexpectedly delightful stimulation for so long. And you were even more convinced of this when, as an experimental, you hesitantly shoved Seonghwa's plump, silk pillow between your legs and slowly rubbed your needy cunt against the smooth material, which completely soaked in the scent of your adoring owner. You couldn't deny the fact that it felt really good. So pleasurable, in fact, that the little feeling of guilt you felt about breaking one of your handsome daddy's rules vanished without a trace along with your rapidly growing pleasure.
After so many weeks of wanting caresses and touches, you were in desperate need of them, and as you didn't expect your daddy to be back from work anytime soon, he wouldn't be able to find out about it, so it would be your little guilty pleasure. Or at least it was what you wanted to believe so very much. Your long, doll-like lashes fluttered, and you covered your eyes, enjoying the way your sticky, plump labia parted lustfully, exposing your delicate, quivering folds and small, super-sensitive clit as you rubbed against the fabric of the pillow and pressed harder against it. The hot sensation of euphoric pleasure that you were craving came closer and closer with each frantic movement of your succulent thighs.
The tugging sensation of impending orgasm at the pit of your stomach became more and more tangible with each passing second, and you began to thrust yourself into the pillow with even greater force.
Everything around you was nothing more than a cacophony of the wet, squelching sounds of your pleasure-seeking, mixed with pathetic sobbing moans and high-pitched squeaks, punctuated only by the occasional loud squeal of Seonghwa's name when the pillow roughly grazed an especially delicate and sensitive area of your pussy. You were so lost in that sinful, voluptuous sensation of burning, forbidden pleasure that you could think of nothing else but the orgasm you wanted as you rubbed your swollen, throbbing clit harder and harder against the damp silk fabric.
With each shuddering movement of your fleshy, slime-smeared thighs, the force of the friction became more and more overwhelming, pushing you over the edge and sending shocks of intense, electric pleasure straight into your heated, quivering core, causing your tiny, oozing little hole to contract with the desire to be filled with your daddy's thick cock and your fluffy cotton tail to quiver. Damn it, you'd give anything right now to feel Seonghwa's fingers gently squeezing your sensitive, sweet tail, like he used to do it when he was deep inside of you. You were so close, so fucking close, you could practically feel the intoxicating flavour of long-awaited release on your tongue, until the sharp clicking sound of the doorknob brought you back to reality in an instant.
'Princess, I thought it would be nice if tonight...' Seonghwa's deep, velvety voice trails off halfway through the sentence as he walks into his bedroom and sees his adored bunny princess rubbing her sugary, glistening cunt lewdly against his puffy bedroom pillow. Even from his seat in the bedroom doorway, he could see the thick slime of sexual arousal dripping from your quivering petalfolds, and your labia were swollen and lewdly parted by your rubbing on the surface of the pillow, exposing your quivering hole to his dark gaze. Damn, you looked so perfect to eat, and in any other situation he wouldn't have thought twice about immediately pressing his mouth to your cunt and feasting on it for hours, sucking and licking until you squirted, but not now. "I'll come home early." Seonghwa finishes and you squeak shamefully, burying your flushed face in the crumpled sheets and blankets.
To make yourself look more decent, you instinctively squeeze your legs together, forgetting that the puffy silk pillow is still between your thighs. Because of your sudden move, the smooth fabric once again clings to your clit, making you moan lingeringly. An embarrassed strawberry blush spreads across your round cheeks as you feel your gorgeous owner's large palm on your bare bottom.
"Mmm, Daddy... I'm... I'm so sorry." You whimper pitifully as Seonghwa deceptively sweetly caresses the soft, juicy flesh of your butty, lightly digging his fingers into it before roughly squeezing it and pulling your buttock aside, opening your pussy even more for him. There's no doubt in your mind that Seonghwa can see the viscous, sweet-smelling mucus oozing out of your little hole, which is clenching around nothing as a result of his actions.
"Ah, so you feel sorry about that, Princess, isn't it?" Seonghwa says in a condescending tone and digs his fingers even more roughly into your buttock. "Will you be a good girl and turn your pretty face towards your daddy, little bunny, and explain to me what you've been doing here in my absence, or are you going to continue shamelessly rubbing your plump, sticky cunt all over my pillow, like a real slut?"
'Daddy...' You sob helplessly, fidgeting awkwardly in your spot and clumsily pulling the pillow out from under your thighs, which are still trembling from your missed orgasm. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to upset you." But despite all your pleading, Seonghwa only responds with a loud hum and clicks his tongue contemptuously when he sees the large, wet stain of your slime on the luxurious milky silk of his pillow. Without any soft support under your body, you fall onto the bed and immediately roll over onto your back, pressing yourself against the headboard. Your long velour ears sluggishly flopped back against your head, and you sank your front bunny teeth into your plump lower lip. "I just missed you so much, but Daddy's never home lately. And my heat… It was all so sudden, I felt like I was on fire and daddy wasn't there…I was just in need of some relief."
Right now you look so dishevelled and flushed; your juicy, fleshy thighs are still trembling slightly, covered in a thick, shiny layer of slime oozing from you, a trickle of saliva dripping from the corner of your pretty doll-like mouth, and your tender pussy is all swollen and quivering, just begging for his cock and tongue. And damn it, Seonghwa knows he should be harsher with you and maybe even punish you for your disobedience, but the sugary, whiny tone of your voice as you keep babbling incoherent apologies and your eyes full of unshed tears can't help but make him melt and show some leniency to his naughty little bunny princess. And as hard as it was for Seonghwa to admit, you were right about one thing—he really hadn't been home much lately.
His new position as editor-in-chief of a fancy fashion magazine took up most of his time and energy. Of course, Seonghwa's promotion had brought him a lot more money, which was immediately reflected in you—luxurious lingerie made of the finest French lace, expensive jewellery, silk sheets, and even gem-encrusted sex toys were presented to you on a golden platter, but with all this, Seonghwa was almost never at home. His constant absence made you so sad and yet so needy at the same time, especially as you were very spoilt sexually and not used to going without sex or heavy erotic caresses for long, but in the last few weeks Hwa had been so busy with work that he hardly touched you, which of course couldn't help but affect your behaviour.
He sighed heavily and pursed his sensual, overly plump lips slightly, admitting that he had indeed neglected with attention and caresses for you and that it couldn't help but upset him as much as it did you. Seonghwa has always been a very loving and caring owner, and he absolutely hated to see you depressed and frustrated. His sweet bunny should always need to be quality fucked and your pussy warm and fully filled with his cum.
"So what should I do with my princess bunny?" Seonghwa asks you as he gently runs the tips of his fingers over your knee, sending a slight shiver through your entire body. You sob loudly, shrug your shoulders as you squeeze your thighs even tighter as you feel a new batch of deliciously viscous slime ooze out of your little hole at such a minor touch. "Come here, my little fluffy one." Hwa kneels down elegantly beside the bed and licks his perfectly formed lips lightly. "Daddy, will make it better for you."
You don't need to be told twice; you slowly crawl over to the edge of the bed and let your feet sink down onto the cold parquet floor. You squeak softly, unconsciously stamping your heel, causing the diamond stars on the bracelet around your ankle to jingle softly as your feet touch the cold, polished wood. The sound Seonghwa likes to hear when he fucks you in the mating press position with your legs practically pressed against your shoulders and your face all wet with tears and saliva.
"That's my good girl." He praises you, and your chubby cheeks burst into a rich, berry-coloured blush. His beautiful hands begin to stroke your thighs, lightly massaging your plump flesh and purring low at how always soft and warm you are. "Come on, Fluffy, tell Daddy what you've been doing here."
"I've been thinking about you." You confess shamefacedly, biting your lower lip. Seonghwa's touch on your body sends shivers down your spine and makes your pretty dark pink nipples tingle. "I have missed your touch so much, Daddy, your lips, and your cock. I didn't think my heat was going to come today, but I woke up all wet and hot, and I felt empty and frustrated. I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself, and I touched my princess's parts without Daddy's permission. I'm so sorry, Daddy. I really didn't mean to upset you at all."
"Oh baby, it's Daddy who should apologise to you; I'm really sorry for not paying enough attention to you lately." Seonghwa starts to purr velvetily as he spreads your legs in a gentle but insistent motion so that he can get more comfortable between your juicy thighs. "Now Daddy's here, and he'll look after his little sweetheart. Do you want this, fluffy?" He will ask you as he begins to plant hot, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs. Your sugary honey slime sticks on his plump lips and tongue with every exquisite movement of his mouth as he continues to kiss your tender, thin skin, leaving dark purple hickeys on it.
"Please, daddy." You say, pouting sweetly, which glistening with saliva and strawberry lip gloss, your long, doll-like eyelashes fluttering. "Touch me, Daddy. I'm going to be so good for you." You press your hands to your heavy, plump tits, squeeze them together a little, and offer them to Seonghwa, knowing how much he loves kissing and licking your breasts and nipples. Hwa can't help but notice how adorable you look right now, all soft and fluffy and already completely fucked for him. That's what he loves most about you—your luscious sweetness and the natural sluttiness that comes with all bunny hybrids. And you've always been so easy to get excited by even the most innocent touch.
"Do you want Daddy to kiss the pretty princess' pussy?" Your breathing accelerates, and you slap your heel against the floor a few times, squirming impatiently in your seat as Seonghwa's gorgeous face practically burrows into your pussy. His hot breath washes over your silky folds and sensitive clit and you moan loudly, squeezing your breasts harder and massaging the soft, juicy mounds with your tiny palms. Seeing your body's enthusiastic response to his touch, a soft, smug laugh escapes Seonghwa's throat, and he blows lightly on your pussy to tease you even more. "So, baby, should I kiss your beautiful pussy? I'm still waiting to hear if you want a kiss."
"Yes, please kiss my pussy daddy; I need it so badly. You moan, pushing your hips closer to Seonghwa's beautiful face, and his feline eyes darken as he sees a thick trickle of mucus oozing from your tiny hole before rolling down between your lush, juicy buttocks and dripping onto the silk sheet.
"You're so beautiful, bunny, you're driving Daddy crazy. Do you know that, pretty thing?" Seonghwa whispers in a reverent tone and begins to shower your tender mound with short, airy kisses. "You are always so soft and so wet for me. Your sweet little cunt is just begging to be played with and to be filled with Daddy's sperm; do you know that, little bunny?"
"Mmm, daddy, don't say that; it's so embarrassing." Your tone is so terribly whiny, and you look up at him with your big innocent eyes, and from the outside you could really look embarrassed. But in reality, you spread your legs a little more for him and start slowly stroking your hard nipples with the pads of your thumbs. No matter how sweet and adorable a girl you were, your inner slutty bunny nature would always make itself known, and that made you all the more delightful in Songhwa's eyes.
"There is no need to be embarrassed, my little bunny. Go and show your daddy what a good slut you can be for him. I want to see how you fall apart when I touch you, Princess." Seonghwa says. A thrill of pleasure runs through your body as he reaches out and squeezes your swollen, gooey labia together. He squeezes your tiny, sensitive clit between the soft, peachy halves of your pussy and massages it gently. Such erotic, lascivious stimulation causes a pleasant tingling sensation to run through your most intimate part, and you might feel a hot throbbing inside your vagina, the slippery walls of your cunt quivering with the desire to be filled by Daddy's thick cock.
You sob softly as Seonghwa runs the tip of his long tongue along your smooth, slippery with sugary slick slit, pushing it lightly between your clenched labia, making the touch even more intense. Your eyes roll up in pleasure as you feel his tongue lick the wide strip of your cunt from your little hole to your swollen clit, dirtying your pretty pussy with his saliva and making it even more wet and messy. His fingers continue to sensually massage the tender, soft flesh of your cunt, and a loud, intermittent moan escapes your throat as Hwa quickly flicks his tongue over your small, throbbing bud. Intense pleasure shoots through your entire body, causing you to arch your back on the bed and tugging at your pretty nipples to intensify the sensation.
'Please, Daddy, I need you so much... Please give me more.’
‘Oh bunny, look at you; you already need me so badly.’ The corner of Seonghwa's sensual, lush lips curves up in a lecherous smirk, and he wetly smacks your clit a few more times before letting go of your labia and instead rubbing the puffy, tender halves with his long, elegant fingers. ‘My bunny has the most beautiful cunt. I'm insanely glad I chose you as my pet, fluffy.’ And he really meant it, not only about being delighted to have you as his little pet baby bunny, but that you had the cutest cunt he'd ever seen.
Seonghwa always liked to get drunk on pussy. He was the kind of man who could lick you for hours, lost in the feel of the silky folds on his lips, savouring the rich, creamy taste of sticky, honeyed secretions and the wet, sucking sounds interspersed with loud moans and whimpers. And your cunt was the sweetest and most delicious he'd ever tasted; you really were something special, his slutty princess bunny.
"Daddy, please..." You whimper again, looking up at your owner with big, pleading eyes through of your long, trembling lashes, and squeeze your ample, milky tits together again, hoping that this will seduce your owner to finally fuck you with his tongue and then with his thick, wiry cock until your cunt is swollen with his rich, warm cum and your mouth is drooling.
And it seems to work, as Seonghwa growls low and finally presses his hot, insatiable mouth against your quivering, oozing cunt. His long, deft tongue slips out of his mouth and swirls between your folds before sliding down to your wet, heated centre, sending waves of intense bliss over your body.
Seonghwa's hot breath dances across your wet skin, making your lower lips tingle with excitement and your cunt quiver with need. Your juicy thighs trembled slightly as Seonghwa's thumbs pressed against your slit, widening it as he tasted your pussy. The sound he makes as your mucus drips into his mouth is almost pornographic, dark, and hungry—a constant hum of pleasure that vibrates against your clit and echoes deep in your core.
You moan loudly, arching your back and wiggling your ample hips to press harder against his face as his tongue plunges deep into your quivering hole. His movements are wild, sloppy, and hungry as he digs greedily between your trembling thighs and dripping folds as Seonghwa selflessly sucks the sweet nectar of your arousal from your shrinking hole.
Your owner's hot breath dances across your damp skin, soft, plump lips sucking roughly at the edge of your swollen pink flesh, your wet insides clenching with frustrating emptiness. Streams of viscous slime pour from you like a waterfall into that beautiful, insatiable mouth, and your entire body shudders in short spasms.
The scalding heat of lust blossoms with renewed vigour beneath your flushed skin, and you feel the tight knot of pleasure begin to tighten inside you, telling you that orgasm is coming.
"Ahhhh... Daddy". Your sweet voice trembling with intense excitement, you remove one hand from your chest and instead tangle your fingers in Seonghwa's long hair, clutching the luxurious, thick strands in your fist and pulling lightly at the roots.
"It feels so good...' Seonghwa whispers drunkenly. "Daddy can never get enough of the sweet little cunt of his precious princess." His sensual, kissable lips stretch into a lazy grin before his mouth closes on your clit and he begins to mercilessly suck and lick it with his hot tongue. The slow, languorous licks quickly pick up speed, making you squirm on the silk sheets and pulling Seonghwa's hair even harder. He's so insatiable, possessively devouring the arousing cunt of his beautiful bunny, his divinely beautiful face practically drowning in your cunt.
Seonghwa, making you feel so good, giving you exactly what you have been craving so desperately for the past few weeks. Every muscle in your body was ready to burst from the sweet, overwhelming pleasure you felt from every deft movement of that long, slippery tongue and the sensual rubbing of those overly plump lips against your cunt.
"Daddy... I... I...' You snort between stifled, panting moans, unable to form a coherent sentence.
As soon as the words escape your trembling lips, Hwa pulls away from you, causing you to whimper loudly and frustratedly. As his mouth pulls away from your pussy, thin strands of saliva and mucus stretch from your folds to his lips before breaking apart and falling to his chin.
"P-please, indulge me... I-I'm-I'm begging you, I need you so badly. Please, I need you so badly...' At this point, you are openly sobbing. Tears begin to flow down your soft, round cheeks, and you lewdly arch your hips, trying to lure Seonghwa back to your pussy.
"You are so pretty in your begging, fluffy." Hwa chuckles, his lips still hovering just above your cunt, teasingly blowing his hot, wet breath over it with every word. "Daddy would like to play with you for a little while longer before you come for him. Think of this as a little punishment for your disobedience, my little bunny." The vibrations of Seonghwa's velvety voice caress your cunt, and even this slight stimulation makes you tremble. You're so lost in the sensation that you almost miss the sound of your belt unbuckling and the rustle of your fly, but your keen bunny hearing picks it up. The sound sends a new wave of excitement through your body, hoping that Daddy will give you more than just his magnificent tongue, and so you push your hips closer to Seonghwa in anticipation, spreading your legs wider for him, shamelessly offering him your swollen, messy cunt.
"Oh, baby, what are you doing?' Hwa asks. His soft, deep voice is tinged with amusement as he looks up at you and touches the inside of your thigh with his fingertips in a light-hearted way.
"Please, daddy...' You whimper loudly. 'I need you so much!"
"Bunny, you know that only obedient girls get special treatment from Daddy, and I don't think my little girl was on her best behaviour today, was she? Daddy has given you enough already, don't you think?"
'I'm sorry, please...' You whine pitifully. "I'll be a good girl for you. I'll be the best bunny you've ever had." Your whole body twitches in a painful need for your long-awaited release. 'Please...'
An approving purr escapes Seonghwa's sensual lips as he hears your pleas. You look completely fucked and so seductive; how can he resist you?
"Don't worry about it, Fluffy. Daddy will take care of everything." With these words, Hwa buries his face between your legs again to run his tongue over your drool and slime-smeared cunt.
Lick, lick, lick. A hot, nimble tongue flicks skilfully between your labia, causing a loud, bawdy moan to escape your throat and your velour ears to twitch slightly. You can hear the ragged, hoarse breathing of Seonghwa as he caresses himself; the slippery, squelching sound of a graceful hand sliding up his thick, wiry length, punctuated only by his low, jerky moans and soft purrs between the splashes of his tongue across your folds. You can hear him driving his cock into his fist again and again, his heavy, straining testicles slapping against his crotch each time he pushes his magnificent hips into his hand.
To intensify the stimulation, Hwa presses a finger against your slit and begins to stroke it up and down, from your clit to your little twitching hole and back again. Your hole tingles with anticipation every time the pad of his finger rubs the delicate, thin edges of your vagina.
Lick, lick, lick. It felt so good, your clit throbbing with warm, sparkling pleasure, and you couldn't hold back a loud squeal as he gently pushed his finger into your pussy. Your cunt welcomed the sweet sensation of being filled, the slippery walls quivering and contracting around the long appendage, oozing hot, sweet juices. His tongue picked up speed again, the gentle, light movements becoming fast and aggressive, intensifying your pleasure, sending powerful waves of bliss over you, wave after wave, echoing the pace of Seonghwa's relentless tongue.
He slides his finger deep in and out of you several times, letting you feel the sweet sensation of fullness and full stretching without for a second interrupting the quick, jerky movements of his tongue on your twitching little clit. Before you can get enough of the sensation, Hwa turns his wrist and presses his fingertips right against your sweet spot. You squeal, jerking your hips and kicking the polished floorboards with your heel as stars explode behind your closed eyelids from the insistent, rough stroking of the tiny, spongy lump of nerves inside you. With each movement of Seonghwa's finger, pressing harder and harder against your G-spot, electrifying, wild bursts of bliss shake your entire body.
You're both breathing hard, ready to explode in ecstasy. His tongue flicks across your clit, strong, quick strokes as he roughly slides his finger in and out, satisfying the all-consuming hunger you've felt for so long, deprived of sex and pleasure. You can feel Seonghwa's lips curl devilishly as he slides another finger into you, stretching your hole so that more and more of your sweet nectar oozes out of you, coating his fingers. A steady stream of 'please' and 'daddy' mixed with soft squeaks, squeaky squeals, and the disgusting squelching sounds of your cunt and Seonghwa's hand sliding wetly over his cock fills the bedroom, driving Seonghwa crazy. He has you exactly where he wants you to be and will continue to torment you with his tongue until you pass out from the bliss.
"Oh God!" You cry out, your voice hoarse, high, and whimpering. "I'm so close! So close, Daddy!" You feel a stream of moisture gushing out of you, forming a huge puddle of sticky slime on the silk sheets beneath you.
Your pussy clenches rhythmically around the long fingers; the sensation of being filled makes the contractions more intense. Wave after wave of euphoric pleasure washes over you, taking your breath away. The intense bliss continues to grow, filling you until it has nowhere else to go and you explode in an overwhelming, squirting orgasm. Your head throws back, your back arching, and your hips convulsively shaking as you press harder against your owner's beautiful face as the gentle movements of his tongue and the fierce sucking of his hot mouth prolong the sensation of pure ecstasy. The overwhelming sensation of orgasm runs through your bones and nerve endings. Barely breathing, you scream Seonghwa's name over and over again, bathing in your delicious bliss as he greedily drinks every last drop of your mucus. Your juices splash all over his face and the sheets as Hwa helps you come down from your high with light, airy kisses around your swollen labia and still twitching clit.
"That's my girl. Look at you, Princess; you've done so well for me." You're still trembling, the residual spasms of your orgasm still running through your body, tingling every inch of your skin, making your legs tremble and your hips shake as you try to become aware of your surroundings. So you don't notice Seonghwa pulling away from you to rub your pussy with his thick cock.
You scream, overly sensitive from your previous orgasm, so much so that it almost hurts. Your eyes go wide, heavy, and swollen with tears, and you meet Hwa's dark, feline gaze that is fixed on your face as his cock slides between your labia, the swollen, dark pink head resting against your tortured clit with every smooth roll of his hips. Hwa smiles smugly at you and rubs his cock against your folds.
"Here's your favourite treat, bunny." Seonghwa moans lewdly, jamming the head of his cock into your tiny hole, causing your whole body to shake in the ecstasy of repeated orgasm, shuddering in sexual relief at the sensation of fullness as thick, milky cum begins to spurt from the swollen, throbbing head, staining the quivering walls of your cunt and claiming his rights over you.
'Daddy...'
'That's it, bunny...' Hwa let out a hoarse breath as his balls emptied and the wonderful contractions slowed down and then stopped, leaving him satisfied and relaxed. 'Your favourite treat, my little bunny. Daddy has been feeding this cunt a lot. I know how much you are in love with your owner's sweet, hot cum. Lusty little bunnies need to be stuffed with sperm until their little tummies swell up, don't you agree with me, fluffy? You like the feel of my cream inside you, don't you, Princess Bunny?" Seonghwa squeezes your thick, slippery thigh really hard one last time before letting you go. He pulls his cock out of you, and a thick stream of his cum follows out of your hole. Your little cunt continues to twitch in the afterglow of your intense orgasm, winking at him and pushing more of his load out of her. "Perfect.' He whispered, captivated by the mesmerising sight. Seonghwa reached out and began to rub his cum into your slit. "You are so beautiful, baby girl, well used, dripping with my cum, marked as my little favourite pet'.
All you can do is whimper in response to his words as you feel amazingly fucked and fed. Yes, Seonghwa was indeed an amazing owner who knew exactly how to take care of his lusty little bunny.
❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess
❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94
❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part III @yyaurii @infrenchexit @sanniesbum @jaxyy219 @lostxxgirl @m1sss1mp @manipulatedstars @cotton-candycloudz @kienhawon @flowerxsin @londonbridges01 @fluffyyongbokie @sang-09 @hobarihope @sanniesaur @luvbit3z @sanriomilk @s4erin @sanhwalvr @mallielovssyou @slytherinslays @your-bloodbag @cherricola-star @passionandsuga @hwasangel
#kvanity#cultofdionysusnet#ateez smut#kpop smut#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez fanfic#atz smut#smut#seonghwa smut#hongjoong smut#san smut#yunho smut#mingi smut#jongho smut#wooyoung smut#yeosang smut#seonghwa x reader#hongjoong x reader#mingi x reader#san x reader#wooyoung x reader#yunho x reader#jongho x reader#yeosang x reader#ateez unholy hours#park seonghwa smut#ateez fanfiction#ateez scenarios#ateez hard thoughts
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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]
in holy matriphony ch5. child's play
ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 5/x
ᰔ words. 4.8k
a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)
Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.
Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you.
There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.
The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.
“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.
“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.
“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan.
He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”
“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”
His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”
You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”
“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”
You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”
He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”
“Well who else should I be?”
His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”
You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”
“What?”
Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”
“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”
You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”
“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”
“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”
His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.
“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.
“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.
Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip.
You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress.
The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips.
With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.
“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.
“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”
“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.
His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.
You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”
He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”
“You are breaking the rules.”
“You never said no kissing.”
“I said no touching.”
“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”
“You sound stupid.”
“I always sound stupid to you.”
The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down.
Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.
You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.
He blinks at you. “Huh?”
“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”
He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”
You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”
“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.
“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.
He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.
He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.
“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.
“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.
You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”
He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”
“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”
He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”
“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.
With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”
You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”
He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”
“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”
“Two seconds ago, you did.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”
“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”
“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”
“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”
“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”
He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.
“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.
A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”
His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”
“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”
Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.
You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.
When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.
“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”
She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.
“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”
“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”
“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.
“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”
Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”
Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?
You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”
You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.
“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”
“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”
At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”
Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”
“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone.
“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”
“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”
“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”
You sit.
Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.
“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.
“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”
“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”
“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”
You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.
Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed.
Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”
With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.
“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.”
You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.
“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.
Sana gives you a pointed look.
“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”
“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”
Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old.
Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”
“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.
“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”
“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”
“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.
Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.
Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.
You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Mm? For what?”
She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”
Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”
Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?
“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”
Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door.
The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.
He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”
You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”
He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”
“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.
“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.
You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”
You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.
My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.
An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.
Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.
You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.
“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”
He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”
“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together.
Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…”
You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.
“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.
“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”
Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”
“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.
“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”
“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.
You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.
You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him.
He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:
“I’ll get used to it.”
.
.
.
[end of chapter 5]
a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie
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Could you go an request for Leah Williamson x Reader.
Leah has a crush on reader, no one knows except for Alessia who caught her watching edits of reader. The team are in the gym, doing pulls up, weights all that stuff. And Leah can’t keep her eyes off you. Getting turned on by the movements and flex muscles. Alessia seeing this teases her through-out the whole time.
-
The gym reeks of dedication, effort, and that specific brand of post-workout musk that no amount of designer deodorant can hide. It’s all heavy bass music, the metallic clang of weights, and the occasional grunt from someone pretending this is their 15th rep, not their fourth. You’re mid-pull-up, arms flexing in a way that looks almost unfair to the human eye. Leah, meanwhile, is failing miserably at playing it cool.
She’s not even trying, really. She’s perched on a bench with a dumbbell that’s more decorative than functional, staring at you like you’re the last goal in stoppage time. Her gaze keeps flicking from your biceps to your shoulders, her jaw tightening whenever you move.
“Subtle,” Alessia whispers from the treadmill beside her, not even pretending to hide her smirk. She’s seen this before—caught Leah at 11 p.m., huddled over her phone, watching a fan-made TikTok edit of you scoring last season. Leah had looked up, panicked, and slammed her phone down like a teenager caught watching something decidedly not safe for work. Alessia hasn’t let it go since.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leah hisses, trying and failing to keep her eyes on her dumbbell. She gives it a half-hearted curl, immediately setting it down because apparently, five kilos is suddenly too heavy.
“Right,” Alessia drawls, upping the treadmill incline just to feel something. “You’re just admiring the… technique?”
“Exactly”
Your laugh cuts through the gym noise, and Leah flinches, like she’s been caught red-handed. You’re joking with Katie McCabe, something about the pull-up bar being too high for her. Leah swears she’s never been jealous of metal equipment before, but here she is, wishing she were that bar.
“Look at her,” Alessia says, low enough for only Leah to hear. “Flexing, laughing, being all… sweaty”
Leah glares. “Stop”
“Stop what? Observing?” Alessia bats her lashes. “Honestly, it’s inspiring. You should go tell her she’s doing great. Maybe offer to spot her?”
Leah shakes her head, panic flashing across her face. “I’m not that obvious”
Alessia’s grin widens. “Mate, you’re a blinking neon sign. I half expect you to start holding up a banner that says, Please notice me, Reader”
Leah clenches her jaw, staring fixedly at the ground like it’s personally offended her. You’ve moved on to the bench press now, lying back, the muscles in your arms and chest taut as you push the barbell up. Leah makes the mistake of glancing up.
“Christ,” she mutters under her breath, her ears turning red.
“Christ can’t help you,” Alessia quips, leaning forward on the treadmill handles. “You’re done for”
You finish your set, sitting up and wiping the sweat off your brow with your shirt, inadvertently flashing just the tiniest sliver of toned stomach. Leah, already fighting a losing battle, looks like she might combust.
“Alright, that’s it,” Alessia announces, stepping off the treadmill and grabbing a water bottle. “I can’t watch you suffer like this anymore. Either talk to her, or I’m telling the entire team you’ve got a crush the size of Wembley on her.”
Leah’s eyes widen, and she grabs Alessia’s arm in a death grip. “You wouldn’t”
Alessia just raises an eyebrow. “Try me”
Before Leah can argue, you saunter over, a casual smile on your lips and a towel slung around your neck.
“Hey,” you say, glancing between the two of them. “What’s all this about?”
Leah’s brain short-circuits. Alessia, unbothered and enjoying herself far too much, grins. “Leah was just saying how impressed she is with your form. Weren’t you, Leah?”
Leah stammers something incoherent, her face flaming, and you tilt your head, amused.
“Well,” you say, smirking just enough to make Leah’s pulse spike, “I’m more than happy to book you in for a one-on-one to show you the ropes, if you’d like?”
You walk away before Leah can respond, leaving Alessia in stitches and Leah questioning every decision that led her to this moment.
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hey elleeeee
could i pretty please do 🐻 the sharing a bed prompt, “cuddling in their sleep” + “waking up with their faces centimetres apart”. with remus but theyre not together just pinNING for eachother and this happens.
consider it done
Remus Lupin x roommate!reader who cuddle for warmth and that's totally it [641 words]
CW: fem!reader, Remus sort of pining, but maybe it's not one sided!?!?, fluff, sort of a continuation from this post
Remus thinks he should perhaps feel a little guilty having taken advantage of the current situation; his original offer certainly hadn’t been a selfless one.
Was the flat sodding freezing? Yes, it was. Would he have been up worrying all night that you’d died of hypothermia in your own bed? Absolutely. Was it indeed warmer having consolidated every blanket and pillow the two of you owned into one bed and sharing body heat to stay more comfortable? Damn right it was.
But, it was because of all these aforementioned reasons that Remus felt it was perhaps a touch unethical to be enjoying his current situation as much as he did.
The two of you were gripping each other’s hands and arms as if you were both afraid the other would simply float away had you not been holding on for dear life. The soft, cloud filtered light bathing your face in its glow; your head resting on one of his pillows he hoped to god smelled like you, now, that was but a few measly centimetres away from his own face.
He found himself nearly holding his breath as though he was afraid to disturb the peace of this moment, one that he'd been fighting against yet secretly yearning for since he realised how much he enjoyed your presence; perhaps a bit too much to be simply considered roommates, or even just friends.
He catalogued the way your eyelashes fanned from beneath your closed eyes and kissed the tops of your cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly when something would happen in your dream. He revelled in the way that you seemed to be smiling, even in your sleep; your lips relaxed and pursed ever so slightly as you breathed through your nose.
Your nose - it was stupid and foolish and silly, but fuck - he loved your nose.
And this might well and truly be the one and only time he got to enjoy you like this, so sue him for what he did next.
He hardly had to move at all, really, he simply pushed his chin forward so that his nose bumped into yours. He was checking, you see, because he knew his nose was cold from the cool air surrounding your nest of pillows and blankets and body heat, but he needed to see if yours was too. He couldn’t in good conscience sit here and admire your nose if you were about to lose it to frostbite, now could he?
Remus found himself smiling at the fact that your nose, for whatever reason, was slightly warmer than his. Good, he thought, I’d like her to keep her nose.
“You’re supposed t’be sleeping.” You blurt rather suddenly for Remus’ tastes, still never opening your eyes as Remus rears his head back, though you strengthen your hold on his hands and arms so that he can’t actually move away from you.
“How long have you been awake?” He accuses you instead of admitting he was being a creepy fuck and watching you sleep.
You don’t answer him, though. Instead, you let out a languid stretch before releasing your hold of his hands in favour of wrapping your arms around his torso and slotting yourself against him; legs tangled with his and your nose - colder than the skin of his collarbone - pushing into his neck as you tucked yourself under his chin.
“Go t’sleep, Rem.” You order him, tightening your hold around his chest as he allows his arms to cautiously encircle you in his own embrace; one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, and the other cupping the back of your head lovingly.
He didn’t follow your order, unfortunately. But he did spend the rest of the morning wondering, hoping, nearly begging the universe that perhaps this might not be the last time he gets to enjoy you like this.
#elle's hibernating#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#remus lupin#roommate!remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#marauders#the marauders#mauraders#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fic#remus lupin ficlet#remus lupin fluff#fem!reader#ellecdc fics
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KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS
Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!
Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:
A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.
This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.
Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.
Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS
VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)
Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images
A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.
Things I suggest:
Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses
Familiarity with boolean operators for searching
Investing in a backup drive and external drive
A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it
Adapter cables
Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.
Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*
Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.
Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.
Be intentional
Ask questions
Talk to people
Remember that you can lurk all you want
Things that are fun to check out:
BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.
Neocities
*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.
MMM.page
Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:
Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj
Things I’m looking into:
The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection
VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.
How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:
This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!
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this is my first time hearing of this so i dont know if theres like some other context related to this im missing (or if this message just happened out of the blue) but i dont really wanna know either way.
^^^ but all points in this are valid (the reblogged post i mean)
i would like to at least hold out hope that nothing bad happened until it is confirmed (do not ask them what happened, im sure its stressful as it is) but that is not to say that i invalidate the people who spoke up because im sure they have their reasons too but we do not know what happened and we cannot know what (again do not ask what, we are not entitled to that information)
i want to believe in both sides. i don't want to end up being the kind of person who doesn't believe in a victim or is against a person who didn't actually do anything wrong, so im going to be patient and if nothing ever gets said about it thats fine too
do not speculate. what comes out of it could be aiming pitchforks at someone who didn't do what you think they did, or bringing out someone's trauma over something all over again because you want to know or you think oh maybe this could be why so and so happened
this is my own opinion, but id say to withhold any judgment and thought you might have on this until we get a confirmation. this is not to say that you can do whatever you want with this information after, because that is not true at all.
feeling uncomfortable regarding it is valid, im not saying you cant have your own opinions over it, id just prefer it if people could treat this sensitively, and with respect for the other members to not try to find out more then what has been shared, nor overly target people over something you do not have confirmation over
im sorry as ive been repeating points a lot, but ive seen people acting really disrespectfully to all the people involved in something similar to this because they want to know, but they do it with zero regard for the person on the other side of the screen
(this is more referring to people asking those who were friends to that person about it but it was a really bad situation overall, and they were attacking them when they didn't get a response out fast enough without considering that they'd just learned that someone they cared about was a terrible person and needed time to process that. now in this case its not fully confirmed but i really dont want to see that happen again.)
^ updating my response above, as there is a doc with information about what happened which i noticed in one of the comments on the original post. i just wasnt sure if something really bad happened considering the vague statement in the twitter post but considering its been spoken out now of what happened i can safely conclude that hes probably not innocent (understatement). (again, please do not hound the victims nor the hermits on information about this)
i just didnt wanna assume anything. this isnt to say that i didnt trust in what evidence they saw that made them conclude that the accusations were credible, it was just worded in a way that sounded very vague, and as a person who would like to see the goodness in everyone i tend to stay in denial about these kinds of things because i want to believe that they are not that kind of person, at the very least until its either admitted by the guilty party, or theres a credible statement from the victim
also it might feel like im understating things with how i describe them, thats my bad. i usually describe things in swear words but considering hermitcraft has a mainly young audience im trying not to and it also feels a little inappropriate over a serious topic. but it means i default to referring to something as 'bad' or 'not so good' which can come off as like im trying to make it seem not as bad as it actually is which isn't true at all. im just trying to be really careful about how i word things or what i say considering this is a serious topic but it means im not sure how to describe it so i end up going with what i default to outside of swears.
um. also please dont go asking for proof from the people affected nor the hermits cause i really dont think its appropriate and could lead to triggering them further. its also very personal.
i emphasize my point as a person who has also gone through bad things, and trying to look back through those old messages were really triggering and it was just not a good time. i imagine it was rough enough to get screenshots of what they did get so please leave it alone. they went through the trouble of sharing it in public, you are not entitled to more
and i get it might be rough to trust CCs after having your trust broken with one being revealed to be a bad person but PLEASE do not accuse other CCs of the same behavior. they are just as shaken as you that someone they thought they knew could be like that. please leave them alone, thank you.
PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND:
we, as fans, do not have a right to private information. anything shared with us on this is a privilege. please do not abuse it. the cc's could shut down and never talk about it if we overwhelm them.
also, please keep in mind that ONE HERMIT and THE ENTIRETY OF HERMITCRAFT are NOT THE SAME THING. the entire fandom is not 'ruined' or 'completely unsafe' because of the actions of one person.
PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE OTHER HERMITS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT WHATEVER'S GOING ON WITH ISKALL. this is not some big conspiracy, it's the consequences of one person's actions. they weren't hiding this from us, that's not how hermitcraft works, they truly didn't know. they probably knew as much as us about this, so making it an 'us against them' situation is immature and shortsighted.
ALSO, I AM BEGGING EVERYONE TO PLEASE NOT SENSATIONALIZE THIS. PLEASE DO NOT TURN HATING ISKALL INTO A MEME OR A JOKE.
mcyt'ers being revealed to be less-than-great people is not a rare thing, sadly, but i've seen it turned into a joke/meme/trend in other fandoms. this both minimalizes the actual people's/victims' struggles, makes the entire situation feel less serious than it is, especially to outsiders looking in, and makes everyone in the fandom look immature, petty, unable to take anything seriously, and genuinely harmful.
this server, fandom, and community are not dying, it is not ruined forever, this is one (major, i'm not trying to minimalize it) issue that we're currently dealing with. it will be okay. we will move on. this is not the beginning of the end. please calm down. i love this fandom, god bless all of you. <3
edit: doc has said on stream that we will likely get more information as time passes. like i said, this is a PRIVILEGE. we are not OWED information. please be grateful for what we're given, and POLITELY ask questions if you must. if a cc doesn't give you the answer you want, or doesn't answer at all, LEAVE THEM ALONE. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO HARASS PEOPLE. the hermits are likely just as stressed out as us, if not probably more so, so please keep that in mind when contacting them.
don't freak out, we'll be okay, this is not the end of the world, nor is it the end of Hermitcraft. we will be okay.
second edit: please remember that (at least as far as we know) ISKALL AND STRESS WERE NOT KICKED OR BANNED. THEY LEFT OF THEIR OWN VOLITION.
ALSO!!! VERY IMPORTANT!!!
WE. DO. NOT. KNOW. EXACTLY. WHAT. HAPPENED.
PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING SIMPLY BASED OFF OF OTHER MCYT'ERS PAST ACTIONS/SCANDALS. WE DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE MIGHT NOT EVER KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE NEED TO BE OKAY WITH THAT AND NOT DRAW OUR OWN CONCLUSIONS.
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Bradford Has a Princess
I used one of the amazing Tim Bradford ideas posted by @nevereclipse for this!! I hope you like it and it's along the lines of what you were thinking!☺️
Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader
Summary: Tim Bradford is whipped for you, treats you with nothing but the best princess treatment, and when his fellow officers call him out on it, he realizes how he truly feels about you.
Warnings: fluff! princess treatment and Tim being a SOFTIE™
Word Count: 1.6k+ words
You blow your hair out of your face before you tug it painfully behind your ear.
“Easy,” your boyfriend mutters, reaching over carefully. He gathers your hair much gentler than you had, pulls it loosely behind your ears, and uses the hair tie he wears around his wrist to secure it. “Better?”
You hum before you say, “Thank you, Tim.”
His hand moves down your back, resting comfortably against the base. After you finish your project, you take a paper towel from the nearby roll and wipe your hands.
“Need anything else?” Tim asks.
You smile over your shoulder as you rest against Tim’s chest. He’s older than you, and though some people might frown upon your relationship, you love him, not only because of the selfless way he treats you. Tim places his arm around your shoulders, then uses his free hand to pull your hand closer to him. He traces his thumb over your knuckles, then looks at your nails as his calloused palm holds you like you are the most precious thing in his life, in the world.
“I can make you an appointment at the nail salon you like,” he offers. “Tuesday?”
Tim shifts his hands, running his fingertips up and down your palm as he smiles.
“I can wait,” you answer. “I actually saw a kit online that lets you make your own nail art. Maybe I should try that next time.”
“Send me the link.”
Tim kisses your temple, then twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers. He decides he could spend forever here and wouldn’t even care what his friends thought about it.
“Tim!” Angela calls. “We’re all going to Andre’s.”
“Actually,” he begins.
“No, you skipped out the last three times, you’re coming with.”
“No arguments,” Nyla adds. “We might even make you pay.”
Tim sighs, his shoulders dropping as he nods. He follows them out of the station and is unsurprised to see Lucy, Nolan, Aaron, and Wesley waiting in the parking lot.
“Tim, you’re coming too?” Wesley asks. “I thought you’d finally sworn off fraternization.”
“Ha ha,” Tim deadpans.
“Can I ride with you?” Aaron asks. “My car’s getting a new wrap and Wesley’s backseat is a little tight with the carseats.”
Tim doesn’t answer but doesn’t say no, so Lucy nods and encourages Aaron to go. Aaron climbs into Tim’s passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt without a word.
“Oh,” he exclaims as Tim backs out of the space. “Who’s the Dior lip gloss belong to?” He lifts the tube out of the floorboard and recognizes it as part of a set his mom has. “This is expensive, they must be missing it.”
“She knows it’s here,” Tim grumbles, extending his hand to take it.
“Your sister?” Aaron guesses as Tim places it in the center console. He sees several other items, like a scrunchie, a receipt, and powder.
“None of your business,” Tim snaps. “Why are you getting an expensive car wrapped, anyway?”
“Because I can.”
Tim and Aaron fall silent, Tim thinking about you as Aaron wonders if the others know about the woman taking up space in Tim Bradford’s truck and in his life.
During your next date night, Tim opens the door for you, then wraps his arm around your waist as you enter the restaurant. He moves to his left to stand slightly behind you as you wait to be seated, and you smile over your shoulder at him.
At your table, Tim pulls your chair out for you, but you stop before you sit when someone says his name. You turn, and Tim’s shoulders tense beneath his blazer.
“Angela,” he greets tightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a date,” she answers with a smile. She looks at you before she asks, “And you?”
You sense the tension and interrupt to introduce yourself. You provide your name and shake her hand, then look to Tim.
“My girlfriend,” he tells Angela. “We’re on a date, so…”
“I’ll ask more later then. I mean that Timothy, you have a lot to tell me.” She turns toward you again and says, “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Alone, you take Tim’s hand across the table and apologize for interrupting him and his friend. He promises that he wasn’t bothered by that and assures you that he wasn’t avoiding introducing you on purpose but was just surprised. You fall into easy conversation, as usual, and the date is over far too soon.
When the waiter leaves the check on the corner of the table, you ask, “Going Dutch?”
“Going insane if you think I’m letting you pay for a date,” Tim mumbles before speaking up to say, “My treat.”
Tim offers his blazer before you walk out into the windy Los Angeles night, and you wrap your hands around his arm as he leads you to his truck. You’ve never felt as loved and as cherished as you do with Tim Bradford.
As you enter Tim’s house, he uses your joined hands to pull you back toward him. He dips his chin, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, then lowers to the table before it. With a gentle touch, Tim runs his hands down your leg, from your knee to your ankle. After he hooks his finger under the strap of your heel, he pulls your foot up, resting your calf on his knee to unhook the small buckle against your ankle and remove your shoe. He repeats the process with the other shoe, then lays his hands on your knees and leans forward.
“Hi,” you whisper with a smile.
Tim smiles in the proximity, then runs his hands up your legs to rest on your thighs.
“I love you,” you add.
“I love you,” he replies before he moves beside you on the couch, cups the back of your neck in his hand, and pulls into a kiss that proves it.
Tim stops mid-step as he enters the roll call room the following morning. Angela and Aaron are perched atop the tables to watch him with matching looks.
“What?” Tim asks.
“You have a girlfriend,” Angela says.
“That I’m thinking you bought Dior for,” Aaron adds.
“Who are you and what did you do with Timothy Bradford?”
“Yes, I have a girlfriend, and I bought her some makeup,” Tim admits. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” Aaron repeats incredulously. “You, Tim Bradford, are whipped.”
“He took her to an expensive restaurant last night,” Angela tells Aaron without looking away from Tim. “I bet he footed the bill, too.”
“There is no reason to be discussing this at work,” Tim points out. “So, drop it.”
“Drop what?” Lucy asks from the doorway.
One word, Tim mouths to Aaron. Aaron nods, but Angela smiles. Tim knows he has no power over her, but when she changes the subject, he sighs and nods once. She’ll bring it up again when he least expects it, but for now, the ‘news’ of his ‘being whipped’ for you is contained. He isn’t ashamed of you, of course, but some things need to be private.
Immediately after walking into Tim’s house, he kisses you so hard that you can feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss as it smears from the corners of your lips and onto your chin. When he pulls back, holding you up as you blink at him, breathless, he uses his thumb to wipe away the shiny mess he made.
“I missed you too,” you say.
“I was told today that I’m whipped,” Tim replies.
You furrow your brows, and Tim taps his knuckle against your forehead and smiles as he shakes his head. You relax but hold his side as you wait for more information.
“Aaron and Angela know about you, and he told me I was whipped. I realized that he’s right.”
Terrified that Tim is about to break up with you after this realization, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He huffs and tugs it free.
“I am more in love with you than I ever dreamed of being capable of. So…”
Tim is clearly trying to find the right words, and you smile as you offer, “Incandescently happy?”
“Completely and incandescently happy,” he agrees. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Tim smiles, then notices he disturbed your outfit with his sudden affection. He tugs the ridden-up fabric down over your hips before dragging his fingertips along your upper arm to fix your top.
“Remember when you bought me the makeup wipes?” you ask.
Tim nods and inquires, “Do you need them?”
You try to contain your smile but fail. “No, you just proved you can take off lip gloss without them.”
Tim tugs you closer, hooks his arms under your hips, and lifts you up. You gasp in surprise before gripping his shoulders. After he carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the counter, he takes your shoes off and stands between your legs.
“Should I make dinner or are you going to keep distracting me?”
You tap your finger against your jaw and pretend to ponder the question. “That depends… will your friends still be okay with this relationship when they find out you’re a cradle robber?”
“Maybe I should give you back then.”
You pout, and Tim kisses your forehead before he turns away. He passes you a bouquet of red roses, then sets a glass of your favorite beverage beside you. It’s the response you hoped for, and after you gently place the flowers aside, you pull Tim closer by his collar and smile against his lips.
#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x y/n#tim bradford x you#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford fic#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford#tim bradford fluff#fem!reader#hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader#the rookie abc
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your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm
post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier
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Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?
It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.
Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.
Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.
It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.
They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.
Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.
Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.
When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.
“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”
Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.
“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.
“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”
Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.
“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”
Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”
Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”
Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.
Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.
“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.
It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.
And what a time to have a realisation like that.
Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.
“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.
Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”
Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”
“I will.”
Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”
Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”
Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.
He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.
~
He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.
“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”
He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”
“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.
Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.
“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.
Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.
When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.
He’s going home after all.
~
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AHH HII!!! saw the mr crawling fic u posted and it's adorable :(( can i please have a mr crawling x reader where they have a condition that makes them sleepy? andAND because of this, sometimes they do strange things like, for example, talking non coherently, sleeping in weird places and having tics while sleeping!! i really want some fluff with this man...... *holds my hands out like a poor victorian child*
As always, take your time!! your aesthetic and work is genuinely really good!! you are great at this <3 mwahmwah. 🐁
Mr Crawling and Narcoleptic!reader
A/N: *shakes you violently* OMG ANON YOU'RE A GENIUS you just made my day with this btw — ask and ye shall receive >:)) As for the condition I think you might be asking for a Narcoleptic reader or something of those lines but YEAH I can totally do that, here you go, mini oneshot for you 🫵🏻🫵🏻
Summary: Mr Crawling’s been noticing some weird behaviours from you lately for the past few days and it’s both funny and worrying, are you okay???
WARNING: This is set after the Blissful Love Life ending, if you don’t want spoilers then keep scrolling!
It’s been little over a few days now since you and Mr. Crawling escaped his world, and the two of you were perfectly settled together at your place. Mr. Crawling so far’s been pretty happy overall, getting to stay home with you in your world and has grown pretty attached to you. But, as of lately, he’s been noticing some…'strange' behaviours from you.
You seemed to be more sluggish when moving around the house and sleepy, he even found you crashed in the bathroom, at your desk, and other places in the house. He found the sight to be cute but at the same time it was also getting a little worrisome.
Were humans always this sleepy?? He’s never seen you this sleepy when the both of you were still in his world. Well, maybe he did a few times without realizing it, but he failed to pick up on it.
He even caught you mumbling incoherent things and twitching in your sleep while the two of you were cuddled up in bed. He thought you were hurting somewhere whenever he felt you quivering in his arms, which made him hug you tighter and run his fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you. It was another day done of hours of work when you came back home, had food, and shortly went to bed with Mr. Crawling following after you like a lost puppy. Considering how exhausted you were from work, you passed out in seconds the moment you flopped onto the bed.
Later in the night, Mr. Crawling was curled up under the covers, with you spooned in his arms, the bedroom completely pitch black with the curtains drawn closed and there was a comfortable silence that filled the room. His arms were wrapped securely around you in a comforting squeeze, he nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent for a moment and he instinctively squeezed you a little tighter. Relishing in the warmth your body radiated...
The silence then was suddenly broken when he heard you mumbling things in a slurred tone, (unfortunately he picked up little words he could understand considering he still had a lot to learn with your language), and he could feel your muscles twitching once in awhile. Mr. Crawling however grew worried again, he lied there uncertain if he should try to wake you up or not. He didn’t want you getting cranky or annoyed for waking you up, but this was really starting to bug him and he wanted to help.
Mr. Crawling began to shake you gently to rouse you from your slumber, but you weren’t budging much, so he shook you a tad harder. “Human? Wake?” He murmured quietly. It took him another few tries until you started to stir from your sleep and you shifted in his arms to your discomfort.
“Mmn?… Mr. Crawling?….” You mumbled out quietly, your words sounding slurred in your half-asleep state.
Oh, good, you’re not mad. “Human hurt? Why twitching in sleep?” Mr. Crawling questioned, his fingers curled into the fabric of your night shirt. “Me worry, me want to help.”
You shifted under the covers again and you turned over to face Mr. Crawling, stretching your legs in a sluggish manner and your muscles relaxed. “I’m okay bud, I’m not hurt,…” Your words trailed off for a moment, straining back another yawn and your fingers found their way into Mr. Crawling’s hair, gently patting him. “It’s just my narcolepsy acting up, nothing to worry about…”
Narcolepsy?
Of course the term sounded unfamiliar to Mr. Crawling’s ears, “Narc-lep-see?…” He repeated, confused. As you could feel yourself slowly slipping in and out of unconsciousness, you did your best to try and explain your condition to Mr. Crawling. Mr. Crawling failed grasp much of it (in complicating terms-wise), but he seemed to understand it was something that made you very sleepy throughout the day. He also had the look of disappointment when you mentioned it was incurable, surely it could be fixable. If Mr. Silvair was here he might’ve found a way!
Before Mr. Crawling could even ask more questions about it, you were now unresponsive and had drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t be mad at you (not like he would anyways), he did abruptly wake you up after all. So he decided to keep quiet and save the rest of his questions for the morning, his arms fastened around you again and he rests his chin on the top of your head. Intently listening to your soft breathing and the dark noise of the bedroom that filled his ears. From this point on starting tomorrow, he’ll do the best he can to help you out…
#OMG YAY MY FIRST ASK FOR REQS#LETS GOOOOOOOOO#I hope this is to your liking anon 😌#thiejfjsb I’m not entirely sure if I portrayed narcolepsy right but I do apologize if it’s wrong#I did my best and I tried looking more into it before I did my writing lmao#this took awhile I’m so sorry I was busy for a little gnskbdj#dead’s asks#dead’s writing#oneshot#homicipher#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling#gn reader#fluffies
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