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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

Text

Set Me Off || J.Wooyoung

Pairing: Wooyoung (ATEEZ) x Actress.Idol!Reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 7242 words : Reading Time: 26-ish mins

Trope: Idol x Actress | Slow Burn to Lovers | Hidden Relationship | He Falls First and Harder

Warnings: Mild language, mentions of hate comments, slow-burn tension, eventual mild intimacy (towards the end)

Synopsis: Everyone knows you as the queen of K-dramas, always cast in sweet romance roles. But your gritty new action film flips the script—and catches the attention of ATEEZ’s Wooyoung, who’s instantly obsessed. What starts as admiration turns into something deeper as secret messages, live chemistry, and late-night confessions unfold. Fame might complicate things… but love? That’s the real headline.

Author’s Note: This is my love letter to powerful women, supportive men, and the chaos that comes when celebrity crushes turn mutual. Expect flirty tension, viral moments, soft love, and a lot of heart.

Request are open <3

The award show pulsed with manufactured euphoria. Sequins shimmered under the relentless assault of camera flashes, a galaxy of idols clustered beneath the stage lights, their attention divided between the ongoing performances and hushed predictions of who would clutch the coveted trophies. It was the usual orchestrated spectacle: saccharine romance trailers that elicited polite applause, glossy cosmetic brand ads promising unattainable perfection, dramatic teasers hinting at future on-screen turmoil. Fluff and glitter, meticulously curated for maximum impact.

Then, the manufactured brilliance fractured.

The house lights bled out, plunging the auditorium into sudden darkness. A collective murmur rippled through the crowd, a momentary suspension of the carefully constructed reality.

The colossal screen, which had moments before showcased smiling faces and glistening products, dissolved into an absolute, consuming black.

And then your trailer began.

A cacophony of sound ripped through the silence: the sharp, concussive reports of gunshots, the high-pitched whine of tires fighting for traction, the chillingly distinct shick of a blade being drawn from its sheath. And then, you materialized. Stepping into the frame as if conjured from the shadows, clad in a black leather jacket that seemed to absorb the remaining light. Your eyes, sharp and assessing, cut through the darkness. Your lips, painted a defiant blood red, curved into a dangerous smile, a flicker of untamed fire dancing in their depths.

"Target acquired," a voice, low and husky – hers – drawled from the screen. The camera shifted, revealing her perched on a rain-slicked rooftop, a silhouette against the artificial twilight. Black leather molded to her form, a gun holstered with lethal grace against her thigh. Her eyes, lined with a stark precision, mirrored your own intensity. Her lips, too, were curved in a knowing smirk.

The entire auditorium held its breath. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a profound, almost reverent silence. The collective memory of your previous roles – the sweet ingenue clutching a notebook, the girl blushing over a tentative first kiss – seemed to evaporate into the charged atmosphere.

The images on screen shifted with brutal efficiency. You, a whirlwind of controlled violence, flipping a man twice your size with effortless ease, sending him crashing through a pristine marble table. You, a figure of fierce determination, shooting your way out of a towering high-rise as lightning split the stormy sky. You, smirking, a smear of blood a stark crimson against your flawless cheekbone, your beauty amplified by the raw power you exuded. You were terrifying. And undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

"Tell heaven I sent you," she murmured, her voice a silken threat before the deafening roar of an explosion ripped through the sound system. A car erupted in a fiery inferno behind her as she turned and walked away, her silhouette unwavering against the blaze. And then – another explosion, closer this time, the screen erupting in a blinding, white-hot flash. “Blood Petals” – A Netflix Original. Coming Soon.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a beat, two beats, an eternity.

Then, the dam broke.

A collective gasp swept through the auditorium, a wave of pure shock rippling through the assembled stars. A smattering of hesitant cheers broke out, quickly swallowed by the dominant sense of stunned disbelief.

ATEEZ? Their usual boisterous energy seemed to have been momentarily suspended. They sat frozen, eyes glued to the now-blank screen.

Wooyoung? He was a statue carved from disbelief. Utterly silent, his eyes blinked slowly, as if trying to process a reality that had just violently overwritten his expectations. It was as if his entire definition of an ideal had just materialized on screen, holding a grenade and a vendetta.

“Bro,” San whispered, nudging his arm gently. “Was that… her?”

“She just killed five guys and licked blood off her thumb,” Mingi muttered, his eyes wide and unfocused. “I didn’t know I was into that, but apparently, I am.”

Wooyoung remained unresponsive, his brain seemingly undergoing a complete system reboot. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he breathed, “She’s so hot I think I blacked out for a second.”

And then – your cue.

Blinding spotlights flooded the stage, cutting through the residual darkness. You stepped into the incandescent glow, a vision ripped straight from the aesthetic of your trailer. Your gown, the color of deep red wine, clung to your figure like liquid night, sculpted to every curve and angle. The gloves reached past your elbows, adding an air of dangerous elegance, while the slit in the skirt climbed high enough to steal the breath from every lung in the room. Your hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of your face, your expression a study in cool, lethal grace.

Every single eye in the auditorium was fixed on you.

Including his.

Wooyoung watched, his mouth slightly agape, as if you had indeed descended from the ceiling on a wire, a real-life embodiment of a Mission: Impossible fantasy.

You smiled – a cool, collected curve of your lips that somehow managed to convey both power and amusement – and your voice, smooth and confident, filled the stunned silence. “Best Performance Group: ATEEZ.”

A ripple of movement went through their section. They rose, a wave of applause finally breaking the spell. But Wooyoung? He moved as if through water, a dazed expression still clouding his features.

As Hongjoong stepped up to the microphone to accept the award, the unforgiving eye of the camera captured everything. The genuine gratitude on Hongjoong’s face, the supportive smiles of the other members – and Wooyoung. Wooyoung, who couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. His eyes followed the line of your dress, the sharpness of your jawline, the knowing glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smirk. Your entire aura seemed to have him ensnared.

And then, as you gracefully handed over the gleaming trophy to Hongjoong, your eyes flickered in his direction. Just a fleeting glance. Just one subtle, almost imperceptible smirk.

It was over.

He was done.

Dead.

Buried under a mountain of newfound fascination.

Twitter exploded within minutes.

🎥 “wooyoung folded like a lawn chair watching her walk out I CANNOT.” 📸 “she smirked. he malfunctioned. we all saw it.”

Later that night, back in the familiar chaos of their dorms, the boys were starting to unwind, the adrenaline of the award show slowly dissipating. Everyone, that is, except for Wooyoung.

He was curled up in his bed, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his head, the glow of his phone illuminating his face as he watched your trailer on repeat.

Click.

You walked out of the inferno, the flickering flames casting dramatic shadows across your face, a gun held loosely in one hand, the sharp snap of your heel against the imaginary concrete echoing in his ears.

“Target acquired.”

He exhaled, a long, shaky breath, as if he had indeed glimpsed something divine.

Yeosang cautiously peeked his head around the doorframe. “Are you… okay?”

“She blew up a car. In HEELS.”

“That didn’t exactly answer the question.”

“She’s so cool, guys,” Wooyoung continued, his voice a hushed reverence. “She used to be in all those fluffy romcoms, and now she’s killing people and being sarcastic and walking in slow motion away from explosions. I didn’t know I had a thing for powerful women who could destroy me.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’ve fallen. Hard.”

Mingi punctuated the statement by throwing a soft pillow at Wooyoung’s head. “Confess already.”

“I can’t even breathe,” Wooyoung whispered into his blanket, his voice muffled. “She smirked at me. I think I transcended.”

Soon enough The Premiere night descended upon the city like an electric storm, the air crackling with anticipation. Paparazzi, an organized frenzy, lined the velvet ropes like a high-powered firing squad, their flashes a relentless barrage of light. Fans, a roaring wave of adoration, pressed against the barriers, their screams a fervent symphony of excitement. The rapid-fire click of camera shutters punctuated the night, a relentless soundtrack to the unfolding spectacle.

And then, the sleek black car pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows a final veil of mystery. The collective breath of the crowd hitched. The door swung open, and you emerged.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The carefully orchestrated chaos outside the theater erupted into pandemonium. Shouts of your name ripped through the air, drowning out everything else.

You were a vision sculpted from darkness and fire. Custom black silk, impossibly fluid, cascaded around you, embroidered with intricate gold threads that seemed to writhe and shimmer like molten lava. The dress, a masterpiece of design, clung to your form as if painted on, a second skin crafted by mythical beings. A dramatic slit revealed a tantalizing glimpse of leg with every step, while the low back hinted at a hidden strength. Your hair, swept up into a sleek, architectural style, framed your sharp features. Gleaming gold ear cuffs, like miniature sculptures, caught the red carpet lights, adding a touch of fierce elegance.

And your expression? Imperturbable. Powerful. The same captivatingly dark femme fatale aura that had sent shockwaves through the internet after the trailer’s release now radiated in person, amplified tenfold. You were a living, breathing myth, a fire-walking siren who had stepped out of the screen and into reality.

Even as you moved, the digital world was reacting in real-time. Edits began to coalesce on social media, capturing your every step, every glance. Tweets poured in, breathless and awestruck.

💬 “This isn’t a premiere. This is a coronation.” 💬 “She didn’t come to slay. She came to rule.” 💬 “Y/N is literally a Bond villainess and the Bond girl at the same time. My brain can’t comprehend.”

But it wasn't just your otherworldly glamour that held the crowd captive. It was the unexpected glimpses of the person beneath the formidable facade.

As you posed for the relentless cameras, a young female staffer behind you stumbled, her simple blouse slipping awkwardly off one shoulder. In a seamless movement, without a flicker of hesitation, you shifted your position, subtly placing yourself between her and the unforgiving lenses. Your head dipped slightly, and those who were close enough saw your lips move, a whispered word of comfort as the flustered staffer quickly adjusted her top, her face flushing with gratitude.

Moments later, as you made your way towards the theater entrance, a small gasp rippled through the nearby fans. A little girl, her bright pink frock a little too long, had tripped, her face crumpling in distress. Without a second thought, you knelt down in your breathtakingly expensive gown, your movements graceful and unhurried. Your long fingers gently smoothed the ruffled fabric of her skirt, and you carefully adjusted the tiny strap of her heel, offering a warm, genuine smile that melted away her tears.

Halfway up the grand staircase leading into the theater, you paused, your sharp eyes catching a minor imperfection. Your co-star, a usually impeccably dressed actor, had a crooked tie. With a playful shake of your head and a soft laugh that carried in the sudden lull of noise, you reached out and straightened it, your touch light but precise. A blush bloomed on his cheeks, making him look endearingly like a teenager caught off guard.

The internet, already teetering on the brink of collapse, finally shattered.

🎥 “She’s gorgeous, graceful, and kind? This woman’s a SIMULATION. There’s no way she’s real.” 🎥 Fan art, vibrant and immediate, flooded Twitter. TikTok edits set to soaring symphonic music, captioned with the simple, powerful words ‘Queen Energy,’ dominated FYPs. 🎥 # Y/NsEra surged to the # 1 trending spot worldwide, a testament to the captivating force you had unleashed.

And somewhere across the sprawling city, within the familiar, slightly chaotic haven of the ATEEZ dorms, Wooyoung was staring at his phone screen as if it had personally delivered a devastating blow.

She was perfect.

She was unreal.

And she had just posted a picture from the premiere – the black and gold dress shimmering under the intense lights, her gaze direct and magnetic, captioned with two stark emojis:

“🖤⚔️ Blood Petals, now streaming.”

He didn’t pause to consider the implications. He didn’t overthink. His fingers moved with a speed born of pure impulse. He just hit ‘follow.’

And three seconds later, in the small, interconnected universe of social media, the world seemed to tilt again.

💬 “WOOYOUNG FOLLOWED Y/N???” 💬 “We have contact. I repeat. We HAVE CONTACT.” 💬 “Not Wooyoung folding on MAIN like this. I’m deceased.”

Even his own group chat, usually a steady stream of memes and inside jokes, erupted into a flurry of panicked messages.

Mingi: BRO San: no way you just followed her like that Hongjoong: bold. very bold. Yeosang: should’ve made a finsta first lmfao Jongho: you’re so obvious it’s painful Wooyoung: leave me alone Seonghwa: she was really pretty though. and nice. and cool. Wooyoung: I KNOW. I KNOW SHE WAS AND SHE IS.

The next morning, the news broke with the quiet confidence of undeniable success. Netflix officially announced that "Blood Petals" had soared to the # 1 movie spot globally. It had cracked the Top 10 in over eighty countries within the first twelve hours of its release. Critics, who had once pigeonholed you, now lauded your performance, praising the stunning cinematography, the visceral choreography, and your terrifyingly captivating grace. Audiences were spellbound by the transformation, the seamless shift from the soft-spoken sweetheart of romantic comedies to the high-heeled harbinger of doom.

Wooyoung became a dedicated disciple of "Blood Petals." He watched it again and again, dissecting every scene, every nuance of your performance.

But it wasn’t just the movie that consumed him.

He delved into the archives of your public appearances, binging interviews where your witty, sarcastic answers were delivered with a playful smirk that sent a shiver of something he couldn’t quite name down his spine. He watched behind-the-scenes footage, charmed by your easy camaraderie with the stunt team, your genuine laughter at your own bloopers.

And then there were the fan edits. Oh, the fan edits. Compilations of your most striking moments – you in slow motion, flipping gleaming knives with deadly precision, a knowing smirk thrown over your shoulder as you walked away from fiery explosions, all set to a soundtrack of haunting melodies or pulse-pounding club beats.

He was whipped.

Fully.

Entirely.

Completely.

Even the sharp-eyed fans, masters of observation and deduction, sensed the shift in the cosmic balance.

💬 “They haven’t even breathed the same air publicly but I just KNOW he’s head over heels in love.” 💬 “He’s fighting for his life in that dorm right now, trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly.”

And they were right. Because even without a single shared glance captured by the cameras, without a single public interaction…

The ship, fueled by a shared smirk and a single, fateful click of a ‘follow’ button, had already irrevocably set sail.

A month had passed since the explosive premiere of "Blood Petals." Your face was plastered across magazine covers, your interviews were dissected frame by frame, and your social media notifications pinged with the relentless energy of a thousand buzzing bees. Your movie reigned supreme, a global phenomenon that solidified your transformation from rom-com darling to action icon. You were booked solid with appearances, endorsements, and talk show circuits.

But through the whirlwind of newfound fame, nothing – and absolutely no one – had managed to truly ruffle your carefully constructed composure. You were a seasoned professional, adept at navigating the chaotic landscape of celebrity.

Until today.

Stepping onto the brightly lit set of a reality show felt different. The studio lights blazed with an almost aggressive intensity, the screams of the live audience were a physical force, and a knot of pure, unadulterated nerves tightened in your stomach, pulling it taut like a drawn bow.

Because today, you were filming with Wooyoung.

Yes. That Wooyoung.

The one who had casually followed you on Instagram weeks ago, triggering an internet meltdown of epic proportions. The one whose award show fancam, capturing his utterly besotted gaze as you presented ATEEZ with their trophy, had inexplicably garnered four million views in a mere seventy-two hours. The one you had, in the quiet corners of your mind, secretly, foolishly, undeniably been crushing on since his debut days.

You’d handled the online frenzy with your usual cool detachment, offering a wry comment here and there, expertly deflecting any direct questions. On the outside, you were the epitome of unbothered grace.

But seeing him in person, sitting across from you at the brightly lit panel table, his fox-like smile radiating genuine warmth, the silver rings on his fingers catching the studio lights, his dark hair artfully messy in a way that somehow only looked perfect on him?

Yeah. Game over. All your carefully constructed walls crumbled like ancient ruins.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a smooth, slightly breathless murmur as you finally settled into your seat. His eyes held a spark of something… intriguing.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice betraying none of the internal chaos, maintaining your signature cool even as your heart rate decided to stage its own private rave.

He leaned in ever so slightly, a conspiratorial air about him. “You look… dangerous.” His gaze flickered over your outfit, a sleek black jumpsuit that hinted at the lethal grace you portrayed on screen.

A familiar smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s kind of the brand now, isn’t it?” You met his eyes, holding his gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary.

The show kicked off, a whirlwind of bright lights and enthusiastic energy. Games were played with varying degrees of success, laughter echoed through the studio, and the usual delightful madness of variety television unfolded. You found yourself surprisingly at ease, bantering with the other guests, your sharp wit on full display.

And then, the host, a seasoned entertainer with a mischievous glint in his eye, turned to you mid-segment, a wide grin spreading across his face. He thrived on creating memorable moments, and the palpable energy between you and Wooyoung hadn’t escaped his notice.

“So, Y/N,” he began, his voice laced with playful curiosity, “people were absolutely obsessed with your bike scenes in Blood Petals. The way you handled that motorcycle in those incredible heels… Do you think you could still ride in heels in real life?”

Without missing a beat, you smoothly crossed your long legs, the movement drawing attention to the very heels in question – a pair of impossibly high stilettos. You casually flicked a loose strand of hair over your shoulder, your gaze steady. “Of course. I could ride in stilettos if I had to. Though I might prefer a slightly more… aerodynamic model than what I usually wear to premieres.”

The audience erupted in cheers and whistles, thoroughly enjoying your confident response.

But the host wasn’t finished stirring the pot. He clapped his hands together dramatically, his eyes twinkling. “Amazing! Absolutely amazing! Well, we have a bike right here on set for our next segment… Anyone here wanna volunteer to ride behind our action queen and, you know, test out her skills?” He punctuated the question with a wink at the camera, clearly intending it as a lighthearted joke. The cast members chuckled, anticipating the usual playful refusals.

Except for one person.

“Yes.”

Wooyoung’s voice cut through the laughter, clear and unwavering. He didn’t even blink, his expression utterly serious, calm, and brimming with a quiet confidence that sent a fresh wave of unexpected butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The entire room seemed to freeze mid-breath. The camera zoomed in on the audience, capturing their collective gasp of shock and burgeoning excitement. Screams started to bubble up from the fans, a sound that was rapidly escalating into something bordering on feral. The other cast members exchanged bewildered glances, some wheezing with suppressed laughter, the staff members behind the cameras cackling with glee at the unexpected turn of events.

And you?

You turned your head slowly, deliberately, to look directly at him. His gaze was intense, a playful fire dancing in his dark eyes. He was smiling at you like the damn devil himself, an irresistible invitation in his expression.

So, of course, you said, your voice a low, challenging purr, “Let’s ride.”

The live segment instantly became legend.

A sleek, black motorcycle was wheeled onto the stage, gleaming under the studio lights. You swung your leg over it with an effortless grace that suggested you had indeed been born on two wheels, the sharp click of your stilettos against the pedals echoing in the sudden hush. Wooyoung hesitated for a split second – just enough to play it off as a moment of playful apprehension – before swinging his own leg over and sliding in behind you, his movements surprisingly fluid.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air behind you, a palpable tension radiating from him.

“Is it okay if I—?” he started, his voice a hesitant murmur.

“Yes,” you said, cutting him off before he could even finish the question, a hint of amusement lacing your tone.

His hands settled on your waist, lightly at first, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your jumpsuit. Then, as the camera zoomed in for a close-up, his grip tightened subtly, a silent acknowledgment of the close proximity. His breath warmed the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low rumble.

“You sure you’re good?”

“You’ve asked me ten times,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. “You nervous?”

“Just trying not to pass out,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

You pretended not to hear the slightly flustered admission, but the knowing smirk playing on your lips said otherwise.

The internet, predictably, imploded. Again.

💬 “The chemistry is NOT just acting. I refuse to believe this is just for the show.” 💬 “They’re touching like it’s a first date AND their third date at the same time. The awkwardness is endearing and the underlying tension is… palpable.” 💬 “Someone check on Wooyoung’s blood pressure. I think it just spiked into the stratosphere.”

After the exhilarating chaos of the live broadcast, as you finally had a moment to yourself, you opened Instagram. Your fingers hovered over his profile for a fleeting second before you made the decision.

And finally – finally – you tapped the ‘follow’ button.

Within mere seconds, the eagle-eyed fans noticed the digital acknowledgment. The news spread like wildfire.

💬 “Y/N FOLLOWED HIM BACK. WE’RE WITNESSING HISTORY UNFOLD BEFORE OUR VERY EYES.” 💬 “This isn’t just a ship anymore. It’s a luxury yacht sailing through international waters.” 💬 “They’re gonna get married and I can FEEL IT in my bones. Save the date!”

Meanwhile, back at the ATEEZ dorm, the atmosphere was one of bewildered amusement.

Mingi burst into the living room with theatrical flair, phone clutched dramatically in his hand. “YOU SAID YES ON LIVE TV?! TO RIDING BEHIND HER?! ON A MOTORCYCLE?!”

Yunho followed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide, slightly incredulous grin on his face. “You looked like you were about to propose on that bike, hyung.”

Wooyoung simply shrugged, a goofy, lovesick grin plastered across his face – the grin of a man who was clearly, irrevocably, way too far gone. “I meant it.”

Mingi and Yunho groaned in perfect unison, collapsing onto the nearby couch.

“You’re down bad,” Mingi declared with mock solemnity.

“Embarrassing,” Yunho added, though the teasing tone lacked any real bite.

Wooyoung just flopped back onto the cushions, his phone already displaying a rapidly growing collection of fan edits from the show – snippets of your confident smile, his awestruck gaze, the charged moment on the motorcycle.

And he smiled, a soft, genuine expression that reached his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet contentment. “I know.”

It starts the night after the variety show.

Your phone buzzes at 1:12 a.m. with a DM request.

Wooyoung.

You open it without hesitation.

@ wooyoung_official Hey… I hope this isn’t weird or too much but I just wanted to say I had so much fun filming today. I meant what I said about the bike thing, by the way. You were incredible. If I came off too strong, I’m sorry—I was just really nervous and trying not to make it obvious I’ve been a fan of yours forever lol. You’re insanely talented. And hilarious. And kind. I don’t usually DM people like this but… I didn’t want the day to end without saying thank you. Hope I wasn’t too much.

You stare at the screen, heart thudding. Not just because it’s sweet. But because it's real.

You reply faster than you probably should.

@ you That wasn’t too much at all. I had a great time too :) I’m glad it was you behind me on that bike. And if you were nervous, you hid it well. We should do that again sometime. (Maybe without the cameras.)

There’s a pause. Then another ping.

@ wooyoung_official …wait was that flirting Are we flirting now Because I’m ready

You laugh, then send your number as he had sent his.

From that moment, it takes off.

Texting every day. Morning check-ins. Late-night venting. Voice notes filled with sleepy laughter and dramatic reenactments of chaotic schedules.

You send each other memes, inside jokes forming faster than you can keep track.

He tells you about the stress of comeback season, the pressure to stay sharp, the ache in his bones from back-to-back rehearsals.

You talk about the constant need to be “on,” the way you sometimes feel like a product instead of a person, the weight of comments that cut deeper than they should.

And through it all, Wooyoung listens. Never tries to fix you. Just sees you.

And hypes you—loudly.

When you land another guesting on a show with him, fans immediately clock the shift.

The way he looks at you when you speak. The inside jokes mid-interview. The not-so-subtle way his hand brushes yours during games.

Clips go viral.

💬 “They’re literally in their own world.” 💬 “Why does Wooyoung look at her like that 😭😭” 💬 “Not him fixing her mic like a boyfriend.” 💬 “HE SAID SHE DESERVES TEN OSCARS??? GET HIM A RING.”

It gets worse (or better?) when he starts defending you online.

Any hate comment?

Deleted.

Any fan shading your acting?

He’s replying with full essays about your talent and work ethic.

He comments under your posts with things like:

💬 Queen behavior. 💬 She acts, she slays, she saves lives. 💬 Where’s your award? No seriously. 💬 No one’s touching her. I mean that.

And when you text him—

💬 you You really don’t have to defend me like that all the time, you know. 💬 wooyoung Yes, I do. You deserve someone who shows up for you. Always. I want to be that.

One night, after a long shoot, you break a little.

You text: “Some days I feel like I’ll never be enough no matter how hard I work.”

His reply comes thirty seconds later.

You don’t have to earn the right to rest. You’re enough just as you are. And I know this world is loud and cruel sometimes. But when you need quiet? I’ll be your quiet. When you need noise? I’ll be your loudest.

You cry.

And when he sends a sleepy voice note later saying:

“Just wanted you to hear my voice. In case it helps.”

—you fall asleep smiling.

One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of whispered messages that painted the dawn, late-night phone calls that chased away the shadows, stolen secret coffee runs in disguise, the comforting rhythm of shared playlists weaving through your days, matching hoodies bought on a whim and worn in the privacy of your own spaces, a silent testament to a connection only you two understood.

You and Wooyoung had cultivated a world just for yourselves, a sanctuary built on stolen moments and shared laughter. It wasn't about hiding from the relentless glare of the public eye, though that was a necessary byproduct. It was about cherishing something precious, something untouched by the often-brutal scrutiny of public opinion. It was yours, and his, and belonged to no one else.

He had become your unwavering safe place, the calm in your often-turbulent storm. You, in turn, had become his soft landing, the quiet reassurance in the demanding world he navigated. You had shared everything – your fears, your triumphs, your silliest jokes, your deepest vulnerabilities.

Except for this.

Your next movie. A project shrouded in secrecy, filmed during snatched moments over the past six months. A bold, breathtaking action-romance that promised to redefine your range, where you played the lead opposite a talented rising actor. And yes – there were intimate scenes. A handful. Tastefully shot, with a closed set and an intimacy coordinator ensuring everyone felt safe and respected. Carefully choreographed, like any other dance sequence.

Necessary for the story, your director had emphasized, his artistic vision unwavering. And executed with professionalism and respect, you knew. You believed in the script, in the message it conveyed. You loved the complexity of your character. You just hadn’t… told him.

You had envisioned it as a surprise, a new facet of your artistry to share when the time was right, perhaps at the official trailer drop. But when the first press article landed, its headline screaming the word “intimate” in bold, accusatory letters… it wasn’t the carefully curated reveal you had planned.

Your phone began to vibrate incessantly, a relentless buzzing that echoed the growing unease within you. Notifications flooded your screen – concerned messages from your team, speculative comments from fans, and then, his name flashed across the display.

💬 Wooyoung: Can we meet? Just us. Please.

The café was a hidden gem, tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street in the familiar bustle of Mapo-gu. The early afternoon crowd was sparse, mostly locals lost in their own conversations. No one paid you a second glance as you slipped inside. He was already there, seated in your usual corner booth, the familiar soft grey of his hoodie pulled low, the brim of his black cap shadowing his usually bright eyes.

As you slid into the booth opposite him, he looked up, and a sharp pang of something akin to guilt and worry twisted in your chest. He wasn't angry, not outwardly. But an almost palpable anxiety clung to him, a restless energy that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. It was as if something was crawling under his skin, an invisible itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice a gentle anchor in the tense atmosphere.

"Hey." He offered you a tight, strained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he exhaled sharply, the sound filled with a nervous energy. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you out like this, I just… I couldn't keep it in. Not for another second."

Without a word, you reached across the small table, your hand finding his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, his grip surprisingly tight, as if he needed the physical connection to ground him. He took another shaky breath before the words finally tumbled out, quick, nervous, raw with vulnerability.

"I trust you. You know that, right? God, you have to know that. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met. But when I saw those articles, the way they were talking about it, the… the emphasis on those scenes… I—I just panicked. My head went somewhere I didn't want it to go. I know it's acting. I know it's your job, your art. But I couldn't stop imagining it, replaying scenarios in my head. I hate that I felt this wave of… of jealousy. It's so stupid. I hate that my brain spiraled like that. I just—God."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing small, agitated circles on your skin.

"I think… I think I love you so much it scares me sometimes. It makes me… irrational. I don't ever want to be the guy who tells you what to do, what roles to take, what not to film. That's not who I am. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make this awful knot form in my stomach, like I was losing you. Or worse… that I didn't deserve you, that someone else… someone else would see that side of you, that intimacy, and… and that I wouldn't be enough."

Your own chest tightened, a wave of empathy washing over you. You understood his vulnerability, the quiet insecurities that even his bright stage presence couldn’t always mask.

Without a word, you slid out of your seat, moved around the small table, and knelt down in front of him, your knees pressing gently against the worn wooden floor. You reached up, your hands framing his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones.

"Wooyoung," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "You're allowed to feel all of that. Every single bit of it. You're not wrong for being scared, for letting your mind wander. It just proves how much you care. But you're not losing me. You've never even come close."

His dark eyes darted across your face, searching, questioning, glassy with unshed tears that made his eyelashes look impossibly long. “I just… it’s just that the way they wrote about it…”

"I love you." You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, the contact a silent reassurance. "I love you. Jung Wooyoung. Not anyone else. Not any character I play. Not any co-star I share a scene with. Just you. Always you."

He blinked slowly, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. “You… you do?” The question was barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of disbelief and a fragile hope.

"I have for a long time," you confessed, your voice soft but firm.

Then you kissed him.

It was a tender kiss, slow and deliberate, a silent language of reassurance and unwavering affection. It deepened gradually, becoming a heartfelt expression of everything you had ever wanted to say, everything that words often failed to capture. His hands, which had been gripping yours so tightly, now moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his own lips finally responding with a fervor that spoke volumes of the restraint he had been holding onto.

You broke apart just enough to breathe, your lips still brushing against his.

"The scenes in the movie?" you said gently, your gaze unwavering. "They're choreography, Wooyoung. They're storytelling. They're a performance. Not emotion. That has never, and will never, be a part of what I feel for you."

You pressed a soft kiss against his jawline, feeling the slight tremor beneath your lips.

"My heart doesn't perform for a camera. It beats for you, and only you."

You stood, taking his hand, your fingers lacing together as if they were meant to be intertwined. You left the quiet café hand in hand, two figures melting into the anonymity of the afternoon shadows, a shared smile gracing your lips – the quiet, knowing smile of two people who had just reaffirmed something precious and unbreakable.

And maybe you had stolen something from the universe. The unwavering certainty of each other's love, a bond forged in vulnerability and trust. And that, you knew, was a treasure beyond measure.

Two years. Seven hundred and thirty sunrises witnessed through sleepy eyes, countless whispered "goodnights" across continents, an immeasurable tapestry woven from secret smiles exchanged across crowded rooms, stolen moments tucked away from prying eyes, phone calls that stretched into the velvet depths of midnight, sharing the quiet anxieties and exhilarating triumphs that came with navigating your extraordinary lives. It was about fiercely protecting something real, something fragile and precious, in a world that seemed determined to twist every genuine connection into a sensational headline.

But love, as it often did, bloomed in the quiet spaces, making you both a little braver, a little more willing to step out of the carefully constructed shadows.

So there was no dramatic announcement, no carefully worded statement released through official channels. No grand, orchestrated gesture, no notes app apology for… well, for simply finding happiness. Instead, you both eased into the public acknowledgment of your relationship with the same gentle tenderness that defined your private world—slowly, softly, like the first blush of dawn.

A seemingly innocuous selfie, posted amidst a flurry of solo shots, where a familiar black jacket was just-so-casually draped over your shoulders. A behind-the-scenes video from a shoot where a distinct, joyful laugh echoed in the background, a laugh that sharp-eared fans instantly recognized. A fleeting glimpse of a hand, undeniably his, resting near yours in a group photo.

The fans, those astute observers of every pixel and every shared glance, already knew. They had suspected, theorized, and meticulously documented every potential clue for months. Edits set to romantic ballads, intricate timelines of your subtle interactions, and countless “I swear they’re secretly dating” comments had flooded every corner of the internet you both inhabited.

So when it finally became “official”—just a casual, almost offhand, "yes, we’re together, and we’re really happy" during a lighthearted interview about your recent projects—the internet didn't explode in scandal. Instead, it melted with an outpouring of genuine joy and heartfelt congratulations. It wasn't a shocking revelation; it was a confirmation of something beautiful that they had already sensed. It was a celebration of a connection that felt real, honest, and earned.

And Wooyoung? He never stopped being your biggest fan, his unwavering support now blossoming into something even more profound. Every post you shared, no matter how trivial, received his immediate like, a digital affirmation that always brought a small smile to your face. Every press junket, every interview you gave, he watched with an almost reverent pride. Every stray negative comment, every whisper of doubt from the darker corners of the internet, he seemed to drown out with an even louder, more radiant display of his affection.

You weren’t just a fleeting “celebrity crush” in his eyes anymore. You were his. His partner, his confidante, his equal. His favorite person in a world filled with dazzling lights and fleeting connections.

And he was yours. The steady anchor in your often-turbulent sea, the warm hand that always found yours in a crowded room, the comforting voice that whispered reassurances in the quiet hours.

The premiere night of your latest film was, as always, a dazzling spectacle. The relentless flash of cameras, the chorus of voices calling your name, the crimson carpet stretching out like a runway leading into the starlit sky. You stood tall, radiating confidence in a gown of rich crimson velvet that seemed to absorb and reflect the light, your poise a silent testament to the journey you had navigated.

Wooyoung didn't walk beside you, his arm linked with yours for the cameras. That wasn't your story. But he was there, a steadfast presence tucked away in the guest section, the hood of his jacket pulled up, the brim of his baseball cap low, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made you feel like you held the very moon in your hands.

Every time your eyes met his across the crowded theater, a fleeting, private moment amidst the public frenzy, your smile softened, a genuine warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the flashing lights.

Later, as the buzz of the after-party began to fade, the air thick with congratulations and champagne bubbles, the two of you slipped away unnoticed, seeking the quiet solitude of a rooftop overlooking the sprawling cityscape.

The city hummed below, a symphony of distant traffic lights flickering like fallen stars, the faint wail of sirens a melancholic counterpoint to the gentle breeze that kissed your skin. You leaned against the cool metal railing, the vastness of the night sky stretching above you. He stepped up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close until your back rested against his chest, his chin finding the curve of your shoulder.

"You killed it tonight," he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned in his embrace, your hands finding his. “You always say that.”

He smiled, a soft, genuine curve of his lips that you knew so well. "Because it’s always true. You shine so brightly, you know that?"

A comfortable silence settled between you, the city lights twinkling like a silent audience. The air tasted like something sacred, a shared moment of quiet intimacy amidst the surrounding chaos.

“I don’t want to lose this,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability of the past two years momentarily surfacing.

His grip tightened gently on your hands. “You won’t,” he replied, his voice firm, filled with a quiet conviction. “Not if we keep choosing each other, every single day. Not if we keep protecting this, our own little world.”

You nodded, a small, understanding smile gracing your lips. You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, the familiar scent of his cologne a comforting balm.

And in that quiet space, between the distant hum of the city and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, you both silently reaffirmed the promise you had made to each other long ago – to never let the relentless demands of the world, the intrusive glare of fame, the insidious tendrils of fear and doubt, or the deafening noise of public opinion come between the fragile, beautiful thing you had built.

The next morning, as the world began to stir, a blurry, zoomed-in shot surfaced on Twitter, quickly going viral. It was an imperfect capture of a perfect moment. You were laughing, your hand playfully covering your mouth, your head tilted towards Wooyoung, who stood close beside you, his hand gently, possessively, holding yours. The background was indistinct, the focus soft, but the emotion captured in that single frame was undeniable.

The caption, simple and heartfelt, resonated with millions:

“When your celeb crush becomes your person.”

And just like that, the world kept spinning, the endless cycle of news and gossip continuing its relentless churn. But for once, it felt like the universe was tilting ever so slightly in your favor, bathing your quiet, hard-won happiness in a warm, gentle light.

-- THE END

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thefantastician · 2 years ago

Text

guys I figured out the teaser trailer’s hidden message

Ian jr masterpost

#thefantastician #my art #comic #sonic frontiers #sonic #sth #super sonic #super sonic 2 #ian jr

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lonely-ey3s · 14 days ago

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Heartlines | Chapter Five

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : After an eventful night and morning between you and Harry, a bit of a surprise appearance takes your feelings for him to a whole new level - as well as his.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), SMUT (18+ MDNI), praise kink, mentions of a child having health issues, soft!harry, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 9.7k

a/n: ya'll that new trailer that came out thursday for materialists - i will not survive... he looks so god damn good. ughh. enjoy 💗

also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

You woke slowly, sunlight stretching in lazy stripes across the ceiling, the faint hum of the city below barely audible through the windows. Harry was gone — his side of the bed empty but his scent still there, filling you with warmth.

You smiled when you saw the folded clothes left neatly at the foot of the bed: a worn Fleetwood Mac T-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweatpants, both unmistakably his. A quiet message: Sleep in, I’ve got you.

You pulled them on and padded barefoot out into the apartment, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

The stillness felt different without him, but not lonely. The space was lived in, comfortable, and understated — a perfect reflection of him. And as you wandered through, you began noticing the little intimate details.

Framed photos dotted the shelves and side tables. Harry and his brother at what looked like a lake cabin, beer bottles in hand, laughing hard. Another one of him with a toddler strapped to his chest in a carrier, both of them wearing matching sunglasses. You chuckled and assumed that was his nephew, 'little Harry.'

Another with two little kids — a boy and girl — curled up in his lap asleep, ice cream melted on their shirts. You smiled. These must be his niece and nephew… Anthony and Esmerelda.

As you rounded the corner into the living room, your eyes landed on something unexpected — a sleek wooden panel on the built-in shelf popped open just slightly. Curious, you pulled it open the rest of the way, revealing a hidden toy basket tucked neatly inside. And not just any toy basket — it was full to the brim.

Barbies, G.I. Joes, building blocks, small dinosaur figurines, race cars, even a few slightly worn storybooks with sticky notes marking favorite pages. Your heart warmed. It wasn’t thrown together — this had been gathered over time, with love. Harry didn’t just watch them… he knew them.

You were still crouched by the toys when a sudden sound made you jolt — the click of the lock.

Your eyes found the clock on the stove,

'There's no way he's home already...'

The front door opened.

A man stepped in quickly, holding a set of keys and looking down at his phone. “Hello? Anyone home?” he called, before glancing up and spotting you.

You stood quickly, heart racing for a beat. He froze too — startled, but not unfriendly. His brows raised as he took you in.

He looked enough like Harry to make your breath catch.

“Oh—God, sorry,” you said, taking a step back. “You scared me.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“I'm sorry, didn’t mean to,” he said with a quick smile, holding up his keys in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I’m Simon. Harry’s brother.”

Your eyes widened. “Ah, you’re the man in the picture!” You let out a chuckle of relief. “That makes sense. You look just like hi—”

Before you could finish, two tiny, giggling bodies darted into the apartment behind him, barely noticing either of you as they bee-lined to the hidden toy basket like they had radar for it.

“UNCLE HARRY!” Savannah called out, already pulling a Barbie out by the hair.

Little Harry followed right behind her, eyes sparkling as he grabbed a G.I. Joe figure. “Where is he?” he looked around the room like he was scanning for his uncle.

Simon closed the door with his foot and chuckled. “Not here yet, guys. He just texted me that the meeting ran a little long. Said he’d be home in fifteen.”

You blinked. 'Shit. Did he text me?'

You stepped forward, hands shyly held in front of you. "Shoot, I'm um, I'm sorry. I didn’t check my phone when I got up.”

“No worries,” Simon said easily, then turned to you with a grin and extended his hand. “So… you must be the girl my brother can’t stop talking about. Y/N, right?”

You took his hand, smiling shyly. “That’s me.”

“He talks about you a lot,” Simon added, his tone warm but with a teasing lilt.

“Oh no,” you groaned playfully.

“No, no—don’t worry. All good things.”

Before you could respond, Savannah popped her head up from the toy pile. “Are you Uncle Harry’s girlfriend?”

You looked at Simon, who shrugged with a grin. “6-year-olds, no sense of boundaries…” he mouthed like that explained everything.

You laughed and crouched beside her, not knowing how to answer. “Maybe. Would that be ok with you and your brother?”

Savannah nodded seriously. “You’re really pretty. Do you know how to braid hair?”

Little Harry chimed in from beside her. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

You felt yourself ease, the nerves melting at their innocence and curiosity.

“Um, yes and obviously yes,” you said, smiling wide as they scooted closer to show off their treasures.

Simon let out a low whistle and looked at you. “You’re a natural.”

You glanced at him, then back at the kids. “So… what’s the plan for today?”

Simon’s smile softened a little. “I’ve gotta take Lindee to a doctor’s appointment. It’s a long one — some tests we’ve been waiting on.” His tone dipped, just slightly. “She’s been having a rough couple of months, I’m not sure if Harry’s told you anything… but, we’re still figuring it all out. We didn’t want the little ones there… too much waiting, too many questions, you know?”

Your chest tugged at that as you didn't know about her condition.

You only knew little parts about his family. Enough to know these two by name. But something unexpected made you want to help, be involved with his family, and life. You wanted to do what you could to help.

You nodded gently. “Of course.”

“We don’t know how serious it is,” Simon added quietly. “We’re trying to keep things light around these two."

He put a few things on the counter, some snacks and notes about the kids it looked like.

"I think Harry forgot he offered to sit them or messed up the days, he sounded pretty anxious about messing it up when I talked to him earlier — but honestly, if they’re with you for a few minutes, that’s probably going to be the highlight of their week.”

You smiled, touched, but understandably a little overwhelmed. “I’m happy to keep them company until he gets home.”

“Appreciate it,” Simon said, then gave a pointed glance toward the toy explosion already happening on the living room rug. “And good luck.”

You laughed as he slipped out the door — and just as it closed behind him, Savannah crawled into your lap, holding a Barbie and a hairbrush, humming to herself.

Something about the simplicity of this cracked something else down in your walls. The domestic warmth blooming deep inside you made you excited and hopeful.

‘I could get used to this…’ you thought happily to yourself for the first time in a very long time.

You sat there, cross-legged on the living room rug, surrounded by a kingdom of chaos — blocks, dolls, dinosaurs, a few puzzle pieces that had absolutely no business being where they were, and two very curious little humans who were now firmly attached to your orbit.

Savannah handed you a Barbie dressed in a ball gown and a sparkly purple shoe on only one foot. “She’s getting married today,” she said very seriously. “But Ken is late because his car broke down and he had to ride a T-Rex to the church.”

Little Harry popped his head up from behind a toy Jeep. “No, she’s not getting married yet. She has to fight the lava monster first!”

You gasped dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. “She didn’t prepare for lava! I thought this was going to be a romantic comedy, not an action movie...”

Both kids burst into giggles as you acted out Barbie swinging a plastic sword with terrible sound effects. “Hiiii-yah! Take that! For love and sparkles!”

Savannah flopped against your arm. “You’re funny. Can you come over every weekend?”

You smiled. “Only if I get to voice the lava monster again.”

Little Harry looked up at you, wide-eyed. “Are you gonna marry my Uncle Harry?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “That’s… a big question, buddy.”

Savannah tilted her head as she got off your lap to come sit in front of you with her brother. “Do you kiss him?”

You grinned and pulled your knees to your chest shyly. “Sometimes.”

They both made the most exaggerated gagging sounds you’d ever heard, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you have kids?” Savannah asked next, completely undeterred.

You shook your head. “Nope, not yet.”

“Do you have a dog?”

“No dog.”

Little Harry looked scandalized. “Not even a turtle?”

“Not even a turtle.” You shrugged with mock drama.

Savannah gave you a long, assessing look. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”

You chuckled and picked up the Barbie, fixing the dress. “I’ve got a family dog, though, but he lives with my parents… does that count?” You looked at the two sitting eagerly in front of you.

They looked at you and then each other and grinned in unison before turning back to you.

“Does the puppy get to visit you?” Little Harry tilted his head.

You nodded, “He does, once in a while…”

Savannah perked, “What kind of puppy is it?”

“He’s a mix, but he’s big and fluffy!” You smiled brightly.

“His name is Grizzly because he looks like a big ol’ bear!” You put up your hands like bear paws, then lunged forward and tickled their bellies. Loud squeals and giggles filled the apartment.

After they caught their breath, Savannah leaned in with the wide-eyed look of someone about to share a very important secret.

“Uncle Harry talks about you all the time,” she said, voice hushed like a little conspirator. “When he calls Daddy, he always says he misses you. He said you might be the one the other day!” then she got up and walked away to get another toy leaving that bombshell.

Your heart skipped, and you let out a small chuckle at the abrupt remark.

“I’m sorry, he said what?”

Little Harry nodded enthusiastically. “He said it on FaceTime! I was in the car and he said, ‘I don’t know, man… I think she’s it.’ Then Daddy told him to calm down,” he added with a proud giggle.

You blinked, stunned. “He really said that?”

Savannah turned and gave you a serious nod. “Yup. And after you met him at the wedding, he wouldn’t stop talking about you at family dinner. He told Mommy you looked beautiful, like a princess. And he said he couldn’t wait to see you again. He was smiling really big when he said that.”

“Like this!” Harry added, stretching his mouth wide and goofy.

You laughed, flustered and deeply, secretly moved.

“I… didn’t know he felt that way,” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

Savannah shrugged in that way only a kid could and came back over to sit by her brother. “He even told grandma and grandpa about you, and daddy said to mommy, ‘It must be serious, he never tells my mom and dad about someone this early in the relationship. This girl must be someone special for him to open up about it this early'...”

That did it — your heart was officially a puddle.

You brushed a strand of hair from Savannah’s face and smiled. “You two might just be the best little gossip reporters I’ve ever met.”

Little Harry puffed up proudly. “We hear everything.”

—

Harry walked to his front door at a fast clip, raking a hand through his hair as he approached the door.

He hated being late for anything, but especially today.

The meeting had run longer than expected, and though Clarkson had been impressed, all Harry could think after getting a call from his brother this morning, was how he’d forgotten he promised to watch the kids — and how that now fell on you.

He had talked to Simon — told him you were there — but he hadn’t heard back from you since texting earlier to let you know.

And now, nerves stirred low in his stomach. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because the idea of throwing you into chaos without warning made him feel like a complete ass.

He opened the door quietly, bracing for a mess or the aftermath of two tiny humans against well — you.

However, when Harry stepped inside, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand, he paused when he caught sight of you on the floor — a Barbie in one hand, a G.I. Joe in the other, voicing a dramatic monologue about lava monsters and true love.

He blinked once.

Then smiled.

Nothing could have prepared him for the swarm of emotions and feelings rushing through his mind and heart at the sight of you.

Savannah and little Harry turned at the sound of the door clicking shut and gasped excitedly.

“UNCLE HARRY!” they shouted, scrambling over pillows and plastic blocks to throw themselves at him.

He caught them easily, crouching to their level, sunflowers still clutched in one hand as he hugged them with the other.

“What’s goin’ on here, huh?” he asked, chuckling. “Looks like I missed all the fun!”

“Uncle Harry, she’s really good at dolls,” Savannah said breathlessly. “And she knows how to do Barbie’s warrior voice!”

“But... she needs a turtle,” little Harry added solemnly.

Harry looked up at you over their heads and grinned, shaking his head. “You’re magic, you know that, right?”

You chuckled and shrugged, “Nothin’ too complicated when it comes to playing Barbie and GI Joe…”

He smiled and held up the bouquet. “These are for you. For… throwing you into the madness…” his big brown eyes looking at you apologetically.

You stood and came over, accepting the sunflowers with a warm smile.

“They're perfect, Harry. And you’re forgiven... maybe.” you teased.

He chuckled and then turned to kiss each of the kids' heads, "I'm so happy to see you both. Give me a big ol' squeeze..."

They both wrapped their arms around him and hugged him tightly and squeezed him tightly. He acted like it was too tight and strained his breath, "Too tight! Too tight!"

They both giggled and let him go. He let go of his breath dramatically and chuckled at their reactions.

You chuckled watching him with them and squatted in front of him to meet everyone else at their level. Watching him with these two made you start to feel things that you don't think you've ever felt with someone before — and that made you a bit nervous, but in the best way.

Savannah turned and looked at your flowers, leaning in to smell them.

You looked at her smiling, “Did you know that your Uncle Harry is so sweet that he gets me a different type of flower every time he sees me? Just so he can figure out my favorite flower is?”

They both giggled and shook their heads.

Savannah turned back to Harry, gently placing a hand on his cheek and tilting her head. “What flowers are you going to get next time, Uncle Harry?”

He leaned into her hand and softly said, “I was thinkin’ maybe daisies or lilies… what do you think, nena?” (Baby girl)

She gave you a long, thoughtful glance, then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. His smile widened, eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“Got it,” he whispered back, pressing a playful kiss to her forehead. “I’ll make it happen.”

He stood, which you followed, setting the flowers on the counter nearby. His eyes became a little softer. “Thanks for watching them. I know that wasn’t the plan.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, “I didn’t mind. Besides, they kept me very informed.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the kids. “What secrets have you unleashed?”

Before you could answer, he lunged, scooping Savannah up with a gasp. “What did you say about me, huh?” he teased, tickling her sides.

Savannah shrieked with laughter. “Nothing! We didn’t say anything!”

Little Harry clung to his leg, trying to climb him. “My turn Uncle Harry! My turn!”

Harry tossed Savannah up gently and caught her as she kicked her feet mid-giggle. “Tell me!”

“Never!” she laughed. “It’s our secret!”

“I’ll get it out of you!” he growled dramatically, setting her down then launching a tickle attack on little Harry, who collapsed in a fit of squeals.

You were laughing so hard you had to lean against the counter.

When Harry finally lunged for Savannah again, you stepped in, gently grabbing his arm.

Savannah squealed and took off running down the hall. Little Harry wasn’t far behind.

“No! Leave the children alone!” you said dramatically, digging your heels in playfully. “Hurry, guys, run away! I can only hold him back for so long!”

The kids cackled with laughter as they disappeared down the hallway, and Harry grinned down at you.

You waited to hear them away from you before you looked up at him and grinned.

“I missed you this morning,” you said softly, your voice still tinged with amusement, but now threaded with something a little more tender. “Waking up without you after the night we had…”

His expression changed, warm and serious all at once. “That won’t ever be happening again,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Your breath caught, just a little, and your cheeks turned pink.

You slid your hands from his arms up to his shoulders, smoothing the fabric of his shirt. “So tell me, how’d the meeting go?”

“Well,” he said, his hands settling on your waist. “It went well. We finalized the paperwork, and Clarkson didn’t drag it out too long. But honestly?” He leaned in a little closer. “I would’ve rather been here, with you… especially after this morning…” He pulled you closer by your waist.

Your smile softened, and you bit your lip playfully. “Were you late? You had to leave in a bit of a hurry…” You blushed, remembering how he left in a rush after you two got quite distracted by each other.

He grinned, his voice dropping just a little as he leaned in, eyes flicking to your lips. “Just by a minute or two.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Before or after Clarkson showed up?”

He smirked. “Still made it before Clarkson — so, win-win for me.”

He was about to kiss you when the kids ran back up and tugged at Harry’s sleeves. "Uncle Harry! What are we doing today?!”

Harry glanced at you and raised a brow, asking wordlessly if you were up for it.

You nodded, already enchanted by the tiny chaos monsters. “I’m in for whatever...”

He looked down at them. “How does the aquarium sound?”

Savannah gasped. “FISHIES!”

Little Harry screamed, “SHARKS!”

They both bolted back to their toys to plan their sea-themed outfits.

He took that opportunity of being alone again and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, leaning in, forehead brushing yours. “I was freaking out in that meeting thinking I’d left you in the middle of a hurricane.”

You smiled, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “It was a little unexpected…”

His brows pulled together, apologetic.

“…but honestly?” you added, brushing your lips against his, “It was one of the best first mornings I’ve ever had.”

He blinked, heart in his throat. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Your niece and nephew are adorable. Your lava monster voices need work though I heard.”

He laughed, and that sound—low, sincere, entirely his—vibrated between you. “I’ll make it up to you later. Properly.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning into his warmth as the kids shrieked over something in the toy bin.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, right in the middle of the chaos, before pulling back and whispering, “For the record, I missed you this morning too. I hated leaving you alone on our first morning together.”

You hummed and smiled warmly, “Today was only our first Saturday morning together… you’ve got six more days of the week to make up for today, yeah?”

He nodded and leaned back in, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss before pulling back and nudging your nose against his, “So, does that mean you’re here for the remainder of the week?”

You lightly giggled and shrugged teasingly, “I guess that depends on how this aquarium date goes…”

He cupped your cheek and smiled adoringly at you, “Indulge me on how I can make that happen?”

You pecked his lips lightly, “Now, where’s the fun in that, Uncle Harry?” You smirked, then turned around towards the kids.

“Alright, who’s got dibs on feeding the stingray’s first!?”

They both gasped, turning around towards you and raising their hands, squealing, together, “Me! I want dibs!”

The aquarium was buzzing with weekend energy — the distant echo of children laughing, the hum of bubbling tanks, and a soft blue glow cast across your face from the massive wall of swaying jellyfish.

It was alive with color — deep blues, greens, and flashes of neon swimming in vast, glowing tanks. The gentle sound of water moved through the air, punctuated by excited voices and the occasional splash from a stingray tank. It smelled faintly of salt and something oddly comforting, like childhood field trips and wonder.

Harry’s fingers laced with yours as you walked through the first gallery, the coolness of the glass displays offset by the warmth of his hand. Every now and then, he would gently bump your shoulder with his, or tug you closer when the crowds pressed in, and you found yourself leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Savannah skipped ahead a few paces, clutching the “Scavenger Hunt for Kids” pamphlet the front desk had given her like it was sacred treasure.

“Uncle Harry!” she called over her shoulder, “It says we have to find a fish with spots! That means we have to look at every tank!”

Harry grinned and kissed the top of your head. “If you'll excuse me, I've been recruited for a very important mission...”

You chuckled and reached for little Harry, who had started wandering the other way toward a glowing wall of jellyfish. He took your hand easily, small fingers curling around yours with total trust.

As you walked together, you could feel Harry’s gaze drifting to you — soft, thoughtful, a bit like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, like he couldn't believe this was real.

You met his glances with the same unspoken warmth, the glow of the morning still fresh in both your bodies. The night before had opened something — the kind of emotional closeness that felt real. Today was only deepening it.

The two of them moved to the next gallery together. You and little Harry followed close behind.

At the touch pool, Savannah squealed when a stingray slid under her fingertips.

Harry crouched next to her, one arm around her back for support, the other guiding her hand carefully. “Gentle fingers, Savi. Just like I showed you, remember?”

The way he said her name — calm, affectionate, patient — made something stir in your chest.

Then little Harry climbed into his lap unprompted, tiny arms wrapping around his uncle’s neck. “I wanna touch it too...”

You stood a few steps back and watched the scene play out, your heart aching in the best kind of way. The way Harry whispered encouragement in his nephew’s ear, held him steady, and smiled wide when he succeeded — it was instinctive. Soft. Fatherly.

You could see it. See what he’d be like with his own child one day.

And that image, him with a tiny human who shared his messy curls and dimpled grin — made you fall just a little harder.

He looked up then and caught you watching.

His expression changed instantly — something warmer, quieter, blooming across his face.

He mouthed, "What?" like he didn’t know he’d just broken your heart open.

You shook your head with a soft smile and mouthed back, "Nothing."

When he stood and walked toward you, he slipped his free hand into yours again, thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“You okay?” he whispered, bending to kiss your cheek.

“More than okay,” you said, brushing your fingers along his jaw, looking up at him adoringly. “You’re… kind of amazing with them, you know that?”

His brows lifted slightly, eyes filled with something unspoken. “Yeah? You sure it’s not just the jellyfish lighting messing with your head?” He joked.

You laughed and leaned in, brushing a kiss to his lips. “Pretty sure.”

As the kids raced ahead toward the penguin exhibit, Harry leaned close and whispered into your ear, “Thank you for the last 24 hours… I–” he looked down shyly as you both continued to walk. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long while.”

You squeezed his hand and glanced at him. “Me too.”

He looked at you and smiled, but there was something else in his eyes, something deeper, something that you saw last night but for a brief moment.

Savannah ran up and grabbed his hand, shaking it eagerly, making you two stop in your steps.

“Uncle Harry, can I borrow your phone, please? I want to take pictures of the baby penguin to show Lindee and Mommy!” She pointed back to the exhibit, where a cute little baby penguin was sitting between its parents' legs.

Harry chuckled, gently letting go of your hand to fish his phone from his pocket. As he opened the camera app, the lock screen flashed for just a moment — and your breath caught.

It was you.

Last night. At the masquerade ball.

You were seated across from him, in that deep red satin dress, the candlelight catching the curve of your smile. A champagne flute was lifted just barely to your lips, your eyes sparkling with something only he had seen. You hadn’t even known he’d taken it. It was candid, soft, and real — and the fact that he had chosen that moment as his lock screen made your heart flutter wildly in your chest.

A slow smile spread across your face. “When did you take that?” you asked softly, your voice dipping below the hum of the aquarium crowd.

Harry looked down at the screen and grinned. “Snuck it at dinner. You looked... breathtaking. Couldn’t help myself.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away.

He handed the phone to Savannah, who took off excitedly toward the penguin exhibit. With his now-free hand, Harry slipped his fingers back through yours, and the two of you followed behind at a slower pace, watching her giggle as the baby penguin waddled across the rock platform.

“You sure you’re okay with all this? I’m sure you weren’t expecting to be on babysitting duty today…” he asked under his breath.

You squeezed his hand. “Are you kidding? This is the best day I’ve had in a long time. I don't care what I’m doing, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” You smiled over at the kids who were giggling as they took photos.

Harry looked over at you, his brow softening, like he didn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to hear you say that.

Savannah came skipping back with Harry holding her hand, both beaming. “Uncle Harry, can we take a picture together now? All of us!”

Harry grinned. “Only if I get to pick up you, mister!” Then looked at Little Harry.

Little Harry let out a cheer and immediately clung to his uncle’s leg.

With practiced ease, Harry hoisted him up onto his shoulders, little legs swinging over his chest. You laughed as Savannah ran to you and lifted her arms to be picked up.

“Me too!”

You bent and scooped her up, giggling as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Harry handed his phone to a woman standing nearby. “Would you mind?”

“No problem,” she grinned, angling the phone.

You stood side by side against the shark tank — Harry’s arm looped around your back, Savannah in your arms, little Harry on his shoulders — and smiled wide as the first click echoed.

Another photo.

Then another.

Just before the last one, Savannah whispered something completely unexpected and hilarious in your ear, “Do you think the penguins kiss with their beaks?”

You burst into laughter, turning your head to look at her. And that’s when the camera clicked again.

In the image, you’re mid-laugh, eyes sparkling, your hair slightly wind-tossed. Savannah’s cheek is pressed to yours, both of you joyful and completely in the moment.

And Harry? He’s not looking at the camera.

He’s looking at you.

His head slightly tilted, lips curved in the softest smile, eyes full of something deeper—something quiet and steady, soaking you in like he can’t believe you’re real and his.

When he glanced down at the photo afterward, he hesitated — just for a second — before locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket with the softest smile on his face.

You sat together near the otter enclosure after that, the kids mesmerized as two otters floated by holding hands.

You leaned into him gently, your voice quiet. “So… Lindee? Tell me about her, what’s going on?”

Harry’s jaw tightened just slightly, and he nodded. “She’s… been having headaches for a couple of months now. We thought it was just stress or allergies or, you know, kid stuff. But then a couple weeks ago…”

His voice caught.

“She had a seizure. During her dance recital. It was terrifying. Full room. Lights. Everyone watching. She just… collapsed.”

You felt your chest tighten as your fingers found his again, holding tight.

“Simon and Liv took her to the ER. Got her stabilized. She’s been home from school the last few weeks in case it happens again. But today, she’s seeing a specialist — a neurologist. They’re doing scans. EEG, MRI. Trying to rule out epilepsy… or something worse.”

“Cancer?” you whispered.

He nodded once, jaw clenched. “That word’s been hanging in the air like smoke ever since. They’re trying to keep it from the younger ones until they know what they’re dealing with. Trying not to scare them. But…” his voice cracked.

You reached over and touched his cheek, gently turning his face toward yours.

“I’m here,” you said softly. “Not just for days like the masquerade or lazy mornings in bed. I want to be here for this too — your family, your real life. I’m here for it all...”

Harry stared at you, stunned for a beat.

“I’m really grateful you’ve let me in like this,” you added. “You didn’t have to, I know it’s not easy letting people in when things are this difficult and sensitive… but I’m so glad you did. I’m glad I can be here for you, I can take care of you…”

He reached up and covered your hand with his, pressing his mouth to your palm.

“I want you to know all the parts of me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Not just the man you kissed last night, but the parts that love fiercely. That protect. That laugh and cry and screw up sometimes.” he let out a soft chuckle.

Then he looked toward the kids giggling as they tapped the glass excitedly, completely oblivious to the weight of the conversation nearby.

“That means letting you meet the people I love and cherish the most.”

You followed his gaze—Savannah clutching the stuffed unicorn she’d brought from home, little Harry pretending he could speak otter.

And then he looked back at you.

And the way his gaze softened as it landed on your face confirmed that you were slowly becoming one of those parts he cherished too.

By the time you all made it back to Harry’s apartment, the kids were buzzed with aquarium energy and begging for pizza with “extra cheese and dinosaur nuggets”, which Harry diplomatically negotiated down to just extra cheese.

After placing the order, he had been swept up into their whirlwind with a grin that hadn’t left his face since this morning.

You excused yourself to catch up on a few messages and work emails that needed your attention. You sat on the couch and began catching up while listening to the chaos around you.

“Uncle Harry!” Savannah called from the living room, clutching a book she’d fished out of the toy bin — a picture book with a faded spine and glittery stars on the cover. “Can you read this one? You do the funny dragon voice!”

Harry groaned dramatically but with a smirk. “The dragon voice again? That voice hurts my throat, sweetheart.”

Little Harry popped up from behind the couch. “Pleeease?”

He sighed in defeat, flopping onto the rug in the middle of their growing nest of pillows. “Fine. But only because I like you two.”

You smiled from the couch, glancing over your phone as you hit “send” on a short work reply. Harry met your eyes just briefly, and gave you a wink — like he knew you were watching. And then, without hesitation, he dove right in.

The dragon voice was absurd. Deep and gravelly, with a dramatic flair that made both kids squeal with laughter. He switched between characters effortlessly — a prince with a posh accent, a queen with a fake British lilt, a tiny mouse who spoke in squeaks.

You laughed quietly into your sleeve as he performed.

Then came the part where the princess confessed her love to the knight — complete with illustrated sparkles and cartoon hearts.

Harry read it in the most over-the-top romantic tone possible, fluttering his lashes as Savannah clutched her chest in mock swoon.

“And then,” he read, “they got married under the stars, surrounded by dragons and cupcakes. The end!”

Savannah gasped. “Uncle Harry! Would you ever get married under the stars?”

Harry chuckled, closing the book slowly. “I mean… sounds kinda nice, doesn’t it?” He looked at her, smiling adoringly.

“Would you marry her?” Little Harry asked, pointing right at you, eyes wide with the innocent boldness only kids could get away with.

You froze, still on the couch, pretending very hard to check something on your phone even though you were listening to every single word.

Harry let out a soft breath, his voice gentle. “She’s pretty special, kiddo,” he said. “If someone like her wanted to marry someone like me? I think I’d be the luckiest man in the world.”

There it was again, that feeling creeping back up. That feeling that can only mean one damn thing.

“Are you gonna kiss her again?” Savannah asked, giggling.

Harry leaned in, lowering his voice slightly — just loud enough for them, and maybe you, to hear. “That’s between me and the pretty lady, okay?”

“Do you love her, Uncle Harry?” she whispered back almost instantly, cupping her hands around her mouth like she was whispering a secret, even though it wasn’t quiet at all.

Harry paused, glancing once toward you.

You kept your eyes on your phone, but your heart was thudding against your ribs. You could feel a heat slowly creeping up your spine, butterflies completely going mad in your belly.

“I think,” he said softly, looking back at her, “when someone makes you laugh, and makes you feel like… well… you, and wants to be part of your world… it’s easy to start loving them...” He looked down at the book in his hands shyly.

Savannah and little Harry exchanged a knowing look — the kind that only tiny humans with very big feelings could give.

There was a tiny pause.

“Will she come to Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary trip with us next week?” Savannah asked, her voice bright again. “We need another person for Uno because Grandpa cheats.”

That made Harry laugh, full and real this time. “That’s true, nena... Grandpa does cheat." he settled his laugh and nodded. "And you know what? I’ll ask her later about the trip, how 'bout that?”

They both nodded excitedly and giggled softly.

He must’ve turned because suddenly his voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if trying to keep it between just them. But your ears picked it up anyway.

“She’s special, you two. The real kind. Maybe hold off talkin' about our wedding... we don't want to scare her off, yeah?”

Little Harry whispered something you couldn’t hear, and Harry let out a low laugh that made your chest ache.

You sat there on the couch, with a soft smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, not really. But you also didn’t want to move and miss a single word. Hearing him with them — patient, playful, and so full of gentle love, it made something in you shift again.

Just as you fell into your thoughts, a knock came at the door for the pizza, and the chaos resumed.

Paper plates were passed out, juice boxes opened, and the kids settled in with slices twice the size of their heads.

You stayed on the couch for a moment, watching it all — Harry kneeling on the floor, passing napkins to sticky hands, laughing when Savannah got sauce on her nose.

He was so good at this. At them. At all of it.

And it made your chest ache in a way that felt like falling. It made you think back to just a few weeks ago when you were walking down the aisle with him – you had no idea this would be where you would be, that you'd be feeling this way.

You had no idea you’d be falling in love with your brother-in-law’s best man after knowing him for less than a month.

It was crazy, right? There’s no way he felt the same way.

Later, after the pizza had been devoured and the sugar crash began to set in, the kids returned to their mountain of toys, chattering about which movie to watch. It was between Peter Pan and Aladdin. The two of them were battling it out in a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide.

While that went on, Harry stood and crossed the room toward you, his steps slow and sure.

He came up behind the couch and leaned over gently, his lips brushing your cheek, then trailing lower to your shoulder, where he let a soft kiss linger.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and full of affection. “You still working, or… do I get to steal you now?”

You looked up at him, smiling. “Steal away.”

He grinned, that boyish one that reached his eyes, and nodded toward the growing pillow pile. “They want to build a fort. I told them it’s only possible with an expert architect.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased.

“And I told them,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “I happen to be dating one...”

Your heart swelled as you slid your phone aside and stood, letting him pull you into a warm hug. You rested your forehead against his, both of you quiet for a second as the kids giggled behind you.

“You,” he whispered, “You are a huge reason today has gone so well for these kids. You’ve been my rock. Thank you…”

You looked at him and smiled, “I’ve enjoyed being with you… seein’ you in your ‘uncle’ mode,” you teased.

He chuckled and leaned in, gently kissing your lips once before you hummed and pulled away, speaking softly, “But wait to thank me… at least until after I’ve built the damn best pillow fort these two have ever seen.”

You touched his cheek and grinned, kissing his nose. “One so fantastic – they get a second burst of energy that we will both regret…” You joked.

He chuckled and leaned back in to capture your lips, kissing you slowly and softly once more, lingering on your lips before grinning as he pulled away, “Then it’s a good thing they are going home in a couple of hours, isn’t it?” then winked and started walking back over to the pile of pillows, your hand in his.

The glow of the TV bathed the blanket fort in soft light, flickering over sleepy cheeks and tangled curls. Both kids had finally given in to exhaustion — Savannah curled into a pillow, one sock half off, her stuffed unicorn tucked under her arm; little Harry lay sprawled beside her, his tiny foot resting against your thigh.

You and Harry had shifted into a quieter part of the night. He was stretched out beside you, his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, fingertips brushing soft circles on your hip beneath the blanket.

His breathing had slowed, and yours matched it — a steady rhythm of comfort and quiet.

You hadn’t said anything for a long moment, watching the movie together, letting yourself simply feel the warmth of him next to you… but something in your chest stirred. Not just from the softness of the evening — but from what you’d felt watching him earlier.

You turned your face toward his shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I tell you something?”

Harry looked down at you, his expression immediately attentive and soft. “Always.”

You swallowed softly, your hand trailing along his chest. “Back at the touch pool… when Savannah was scared to touch the stingray, and you knelt down with her and talked her through it so gently—like it wasn’t about the stingray, but about making her feel safe…”

He gave a faint smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded, something tight and wonderful forming in your throat. “It... It kind of broke something open in me...”

His brow furrowed slightly, not out of confusion, but with that careful focus he always gave you when you were trying to say something real.

“I’ve been… hesitant about a lot of things,” you admitted. “About letting someone in that far. About letting anyone in, period. About what it’d look like… long-term. About whether I could really picture all of it — marriage, family, all that." You softly sighed and a warmth filled your chest, "But today, with you… I didn’t just picture it.”

You turned, looking into his eyes now.

“I wanted it.” You paused for a moment, watching his eyes soften. “Harry, I want that with you.”

Harry’s lips parted, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw as if he needed to touch you to anchor himself.

You smiled through the sudden pressure behind your eyes. “I want forts on the floor. I want more aquarium dates and sticky fingers and bedtime books in silly voices. I want all of it… But only if it’s with you.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare at you — like he was trying to remember every single word, every blink, every curve of your smile.

Then, gently, he leaned in and kissed you — tender and slow, his hand tangling in your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered. “And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than being with you.”

You were about to speak again, about the ache in your chest, when the front door creaked open quietly, followed by the soft rustle of keys and hushed footsteps.

Simon’s voice came low from the entryway. “Harry?”

Harry gently eased away from you, crawling toward the edge of the fort and lifting one of the blankets aside to peek out at his brother.

“Hey,” he whispered back with a wide smile.

Simon stepped in with Liv just behind him. She looked tired but smiled warmly when she spotted you curled up among the blankets, and even more so when she saw her sleeping kids, at peace and content.

“Sorry we didn't knock... we didn’t want to wake them,” Liv murmured, crouching down beside Savannah, brushing her hair away from her face gently.

“You can let them sleep a bit longer,” Harry said softly. “We can carry them down.”

Simon nodded, but something in his face had changed — a stillness, a weight.

Harry stood slowly. “What is it? What happened at the appointment?”

Simon glanced back at Liv, then met his brother’s eyes.

“We got the results,” he said, voice tight.

You sat up at that, your chest suddenly hollowed out by the shift in the air.

Harry’s voice dropped. “So? What’d they say?”

Liv took a slow breath. “They confirmed it’s a rare form of epilepsy. Not a tumor. Nothing surgical. It’s… manageable.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped with visible relief, but Simon continued.

“They think it’s genetic — a rare juvenile type. We’ll need to meet with a neurologist and work out a treatment plan. Medication, maybe diet changes. But it’s not cancer. She’s gonna be okay.”

Harry exhaled sharply, running both hands through his hair before stepping forward and pulling his brother into a tight hug. Simon clapped a hand on his back, jaw tight as he blinked quickly.

You felt tears prick your own eyes — a complicated, swirling relief.

Liv moved to gather Savannah, murmuring softly as the little girl stirred. Simon lifted little Harry, who barely blinked before settling against his dad’s shoulder again.

“We’ll get out of your hair. Thank you so much for today. I’m sure they had a blast…” Liv whispered, heading to the door.

You smiled and nodded, “It was lovely getting to meet them...”

Simon smiled at you and then nodded towards his brother, “Have a good night, you two. Thanks again for this.” Then he closed the front door behind him.

When Harry turned back to you, you were already standing, eyes soft and warm.

He crossed the room in two steps, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his face buried in your neck. You held him just as fiercely, your eyes slipping shut.

“She’s okay,” you whispered. “They’re okay... It's going to be ok...” you comforted.

He nodded into your skin, a few tears falling from his eyes, feeling completely safe to feel these overwhelming feelings with you.

And for a long moment, the two of you stayed like that — wrapped in a hug that said everything neither of you had the words for yet.

The two of you worked together to clean up the living room. Quietly chatting about soft moments today between the kids, picking up the toys, pillows, and blankets as you reminisced. The movie's credit music played in the background, and the warmth of the kitchen lighting created a soft atmosphere.

You leaned against the kitchen counter after bringing the dishes to the counter, arms crossed loosely as Harry stood across from you, running a hand through his hair.

“Can you stay tonight?” he asked, voice gentler than it needed to be — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hope.

You smiled, nodding once toward your shoes at the front door. “It’s late. And I think my shoes already made that decision.”

Harry smirked, eyes flicking down toward your socked feet. “Good. I uh, I didn’t really feel like watching you leave...”

You tilted your head, your voice softer now. “Even after today? The chaos, the impromptu babysitting, the emotional rollercoaster?” You teased.

He chuckled and stepped closer, resting his hand on the counter's edge beside yours, voice becoming more sure and soft. “Especially after today.”

You looked up at him, heart already warmed, and something a little more vulnerable settled between you.

“I know it wasn’t what you probably pictured,” he said, voice low, “your first full day here.”

You watched as his eyes danced over your features. “I wanted to cook for you, put on music, maybe convince you to dance barefoot in the kitchen with me..." He hummed as he found your eyes. "Not throw you into pizza-and-bedtime madness.”

You hummed softly and softly sighed before smiling. “But, I liked today,” you said, honest and firm. “I liked all of it. Even the madness.”

He smiled, gaze softening.

“Still…” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, “... let me make it up to you.”

You leaned into his hand slightly. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Let me take you to bed… start there.” He gently kissed your cheek.

You blushed and felt butterflies stir in your stomach at thinking of what he'd do to make things up to you.

You smiled and turned toward the sink to gather the used plates and glasses from the counter, “Let me finish these up so we don’t have a mess in the morning, then I’m all yours. I promise…”

He stepped up behind you, slow, quiet — until his chest was flush with your back. You stilled, the dishes becoming forgotten in your hands.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his lips to your neck. The kiss was soft at first. Barely there.

Then another, just below your ear.

Then lower, to your shoulder, as his hands splayed over your stomach, pulling you gently against him.

“Harry…” you whispered, the breath catching in your throat.

“I’ve got someone hired specifically to do my dishes, hermosa…” he said, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. “Now come to bed.”

You set the plate down in the sink, heart suddenly racing.

And when you turned in his arms, he met your eyes with that same quiet intensity that always seemed to undo you completely.

Neither of you said anything – but you didn’t have to.

You simply stepped closer — close enough that your hands slid over his shoulders — and he swept you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature. His hands gripped your thighs, firm and sure, and he didn’t break eye contact as he carried you through the quiet apartment.

The hallway blurred as you leaned down and kissed him, slow and hungry and aching now, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The soft ambient light from the city spilled in through the windows, casting long golden lines across the sheets. His eyes never left yours as he hovered over you, the weight of the day melting into this single, still moment.

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and his voice came low, velvet-warm. “I thought about this all day. You. Here. Us, like this.”

You reached up, fingertips grazing his jaw. “I thought about it too.”

Your eyes fell to his lips like you were under a spell. “I missed you in bed this morning… I wanted more of you...”

“I wish I could’ve stayed…” Then his lips met yours, gently at first. A kiss made of soft sighs and lingering warmth. He kissed you like you were the answer to every question he didn’t know how to ask, slow and steady, deepening until you were breathless beneath him.

As he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, he took a moment to just look. His gaze traced every inch of you, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them softened — not just lust, but awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Not just like this. You… You are everything to me.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time — his hand moving across your side, like he needed to feel every part of you to make sure this was real.

That warmth simmered low between your bodies as you explored each other slowly, softly. His mouth found your collarbone, your shoulder, trailing kisses as if mapping every curve with intention.

You sighed his name, curling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to your body.

But then, his body shifted, not rushed, but more certain. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, his kisses deepened, and that softness between you began to smolder.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, voice dipping. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling now with something more primal. “All of you.”

That’s all it took. His mouth met yours again, but this time it was different — hotter, hungrier.

His hands slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down with a low groan. He kissed down your stomach, slowly, reverently, then came back up to hover above you, his chest heaving slightly.

“I need to feel you,” he said, voice gravel now. “Need to be inside you.” He cupped your cheek gently.

You nodded, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed against you — skin to skin, breath to breath.

When he finally slid inside, you both gasped at the sensation.

He moved slowly at first, grinding his hips deeper with each stroke, his lips brushing yours, your jaw, your neck. He whispered your name, his hands anchoring you to the mattress as the pace between you built — slow burn to wildfire.

Every thrust, every moan, every whispered praise sent sparks shooting through your body.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against your throat, kissing it gently. “I've got you, mi vida.”

You held him tighter, head tipped back as the rhythm built, pleasure curling at the base of your spine. The way he moved inside you, deliberate and overwhelming, making you feel everything all at once.

“Please… keep going…” You mewled, back arching upwards, gripping his bicep.

“Yeah? Right there, baby?” He kept up the pace, sucking love bites into your neck.

When it finally broke — that tidal wave crashing over you, it was nothing short of electric.

You clung to him, shaking, gasping his name. And he held you through it, murmuring things into your skin you barely registered through the haze of release. Soft, reverent words like, ‘so good, so perfect, I’ve never wanted anything more like I want you.’

And when the world stilled again, when the only sound left was your mingled breathing, he kissed your forehead, temple, and lips, grounding you back to earth.

“I want every night like this,” he whispered into your hair before pressing his forehead against yours.

You touched his cheek, gathering your bearings, and grinned as you panted softly, breath still uneven against his. “God… if this is what every night with you is like, I’m in so much trouble.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he looked down at you, completely wrecked and totally in awe. “Trouble, huh?”

You nodded slowly, teasing and breathless all at once. “The kind I wouldn’t mind drowning in, of course”

He kissed your lips once gently. “Then let me ruin you every night.”

He murmured after a beat. “Every night. Every morning. I want them all with you.” before he leaned back in for your lips.

He stayed there, inside you, kissing you slowly, deeply, letting your legs fall from his waist only to adjust, wrapping an arm under your back and shifting you gently, rolling you until you were straddling him.

He looked up at you, hands finding your hips as if they belonged there. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, do you?” he asked, breathless and grinning.

You leaned down and kissed him slowly. “I’m beginning to understand based on how you’re lookin’ at me.” You smirked against his lips.

Your bodies found a new rhythm — slower now, but deeper, more connected.

You moved against him, your fingers laced through his, pinning his hands to the bed beside his head as your lips brushed his jaw, his throat, your name like a prayer on his tongue.

He groaned as you rolled your hips again. “Fuck, baby… you feel unreal like this...”

You moved in time with him — your forehead resting against his, your lips brushing his every time you moaned, like breathing each other in was the only thing that mattered.

His hands slipped free to touch you again, one cupping your jaw, the other sliding up your spine to hold you close, anchoring you to him.

“I don’t ever want to come down from this,” he breathed, his voice a ragged edge of longing.

You put your hand over his and moaned his name before breathing, “Neither do I… I can't ge— fuck…” you gasped feeling him start to thrust against your g-spot.

Your forehead fell against his as you started to whimper, “Oh god, you feel so good… right there… don’t stop…”

He nodded frantically and whispered as he felt himself close to climax as well, “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?" then grunted feeling a deep pull behind his navel. "Fuck... where? Where do you want me?"

You nodded and your hips stalled as his continued to thrust up into you, breath quick and shaky, whispering. "Inside me..."

When you fell apart again, this time together, it wasn’t loud. It was felt. Felt in the way his hands held your hips still as he groaned your name. Felt in the way your lips pressed to his shoulder as you gasped into him, trembling with aftershocks.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you sticky with sweat and breathless, wrapped in a tangle of sheets and warmth of each other.

His arms held you there, one hand stroking your back, the other brushing through your hair.

“I meant it,” he whispered after a few moments of quiet, kissing your temple. “I want every night like this… every morning after. All of it.”

You didn’t lift your head. You just smiled into his skin.

“Me too,” you whispered, your fingers lightly drawing slow circles against his chest. “Especially if they all end with you beneath me, looking at me like that.”

He chuckled, sleep already tugging at his voice. “I’m sure I can arrange that, mi cielo.”

You felt sleep pulling you under it’s spell as you hummed in agreement before murmuring, “Will you be here in the morning? No early morning meetings?”

His eyes fluttered shut slowly as he hummed sleepily and murmured back, deep and low in his chest, “I’ll be right here, my love…”

It took you a few seconds to register those two words. But when it clicked, your head shot up from his chest and looked up at him, eyes wide and heart pounding. Except sleep had already taken him as he began lightly snoring.

Your thoughts began to swarm you with a number of questions:

‘My love?’

‘Did he really mean that, or was that just sleep mincing his words?’

‘Was it a term of simple endearment? Am I overthinking this?

'He says things in Spanish… does it mean something different in Spanish?’

‘Does he love me? He said he was falling – but does he actually love me?’

‘Shit. Do I love him?’

You slowly laid your head back down on his chest and thought about that last question for a moment.

After a few moments, a warmth spread through your chest, and a smile spread across your face as the realization hit you:

You love him, and you think he might love you back.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @sp00kymulderr @brittmb115 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927 @spacelatinos4life @pedge-page @pedropascalfab @readingiskeepingmegoing @sincerelywithheartt @youusunshineyoutemptress @lilasskicker-23 @melsuns00hine @wencontre @pedrofan @suzysface @orcasoul @misstokyo7love @bitchyfestnight @galotti7 @locaparapedrito @harrysrosetatto @bluenightmarepost @mukeovernetflix @pascal-mynightlyobsession @maryfanson @pasc4lfuzz @fancypeacepersona @crlsummer @iloev-heris @picketniffler @christinamadsen @persiar9 @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrohub #harry castillo #harry castillo fanfic #harry castillo x you #harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo smut #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x f!reader #harry castillo materialists #the materialists #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagines #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #harry castillo fluff #pedro pascal fandom

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rye-bread-soda-iceberg · 6 months ago

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I saw some light discourse going around hsrtwt about Ratio being bad/good/morally ambiguous

I'm not gonna comment on that too much cause I wanna talk about smth else but clearly he's a good person, probably one of the nicest people we meet compared to the war criminals and murderers. his major crime is that he's blunt, mean and makes his students cry (which is something about him I don't particularly enjoy for personal reasons, but still)

what I like, something that i feel like people tend to forget, is that he's very openly kind and caring

of course there's the basic stuff, like the fact that he pours his whole heart into making the universe a better place, has eradicated a whole illness called 'the king of illnesses' (so, supposedly, very deadly) and the entire not getting into the genius society because he cares about humanity too much. but also, you know

first of all, he has canonically made various statues depicting himself making a heart with his hands while smiling warmly. I've always found it endearing how he mildly prides himself on 'keeping the world at bay' and just being generally mean while also doing this so casually. I mean, it's a clear message: 'I love you' that's what he's saying, and he's saying it in a silly way

something a bit more hidden is these quotes from hoyolab's post. we all know the 'ignorance is an ailment' quote is directly taken from his character stories, making it canon. that subsequently makes the other two just as canon. obviously it's an official post, but I sometimes see people doubting the validity of these silly little snippets into the hsr universe

I don't particularly know if he is saying those last two quotes in general or to someone/a group of people in particular, but it's like... one of the sweetest (and corniest) things ever, and it makes me giggle a little bit. it almost felt out of character to me the first time I've seen these, but if you think about it, it's always been there

this one is from the valentines day ""event"" on twitter from earlier this year. I like his reaction to the gift for he still has some of his usual, you know, 'I cannot bear to hear such foolish questions'. he's being nice in his own way here, his demeanor is just barely reserved but the sentiment behind his words remains a positive one

another quick thing, though I don't have more examples for this one. he's always going on about how you should always consider whether the question you're about to ask already has an answer (so encouraging you to think for yourself) but he's still Always offering to help. in this and, if I remember correctly, in the mail description you get when you used to receive him for free he's making it clear that he's willing to help you discuss things for you to understand them better and will answer any question as long as it's not a 'stupid' one. he is a teacher, after all. the biggest thing about him is that he wants people to do better. other than this, despite his slight reluctance to help others himself, he does say in his character trailer that sometimes a little encouragement is required

and he does encourage people openly when they do good! no 'I suppose this is acceptable' nor 'I guess you did good'. when someone or something impresses him, he genuinely expresses it. I like to point this out because I see so many people say he's self absorbed or puts himself above others, when that is simply not true. which, I mean, can also be seen in his small little interactions with Herta, Ruan Mei and Screwllum (he literally praises them)

then he also says this a couple times. I don't exactly know what he considers courtesy or discourtesy, but it's clear that at least not all his blunt or mean words are meant to offend. this is something I'd love to look further into, but for now simply want to put here with the rest cause it's an interesting thing about him. he is already described as elegant, which implies a certain level of basic courtesy and politeness when interacting with others, though this just slightly crashes with his 'rude' demeanor

supposedly, you could make the argument that while he canonically realizes how non-endearing he can be (knows his own shortcomings, one of the exact traits he praises) perhaps he actively struggles with coming off as nice. and seeing all I've pointed out so far, maybe all those instances of him being nice are how he'd prefer to come off as (some times). that is unless I missed some bits of canon dialogue where it's implied otherwise

this isn't that detailed or well made of a post, nor the first time someone has pointed out this stuff. in fact I reblogged an incredibly good, lengthy post some time ago that talks more in depth about how nice/kind of a person Veritas Ratio really is

I simply cannot stand when he is described as cold, uncaring, selfish, self-centered or someone incapable of being gentle and loving. and it's not nearly as subtle as people seem to think it is

#i just love him so much #and wanted to yap about him for a while #honkai star rail #hsr #star rail #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio #veritas ratio #can you tell I'm mentally ill?

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andorappreciation · 4 months ago

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There have been times where the struggle seemed impossible... Together, unrested, daunted by the lack of news or trailer, we have waited…and waited…

But the day has finally come when all these edits and drawings, these metas and fics…will help the Andor fandom countdown to the Season 2 premiere!

Sunday, April 6th to Thursday, 17th (ahead of all the Star Wars Celebration excitement) @andorappreciation will be hosting 12 Days of Andor: a fandom-wide event celebrating our resilient, creative, talented community and the long-anticipated return of our favorite rebellious show.

Prompts

April 6th, Day One: Networks Either Change or Die Dive into the interconnectedness of this complex narrative. Find the ties that bind characters, factions, and plots. Parallels, theses, and themes… obvious or unhinged, make your case! Alternate Prompts: Symbolism || Elements

April 7th, Day Two: Everyone Has Their Own Rebellion Themes, politics, messaging--there were many reasons for Andor’s success, but chief among them was what the show had to say, both about our world and the world of Star Wars. Examine Nemik’s Manifesto, or offer your own treatise on Luthen’s methodology, but whatever you do, don’t lose your nerve! Alternate Prompts: Underrated Quotes/Dialogue || Sacrifice

April 8th, Day Three: I Show You the Stone in My Hand, You'll Miss the Knife at Your Throat Mon Mothma was speaking for more than just herself here– dualities and split identities are a throughline in Andor. Whether it’s Vel Sartha playing as the spoiled rich girl or Lonnie Jung literally posing as a double agent within the ISB, explore the world of deception and the webs of lies that hold the Rebellion and the Empire together. Alternate Prompts: Underrated Scenes || Ambiguity

April 9th, Day Four: Kill Me, Or Take Me In The last words of the first season, uttered by the show’s protagonist. With this ominous bargain, we were all left to speculate wildly about the upcoming second and final season. Here’s your chance to share those theories and predictions, from the most sound hypothesis to the crackiest wish fulfillment! Alternate Prompts: Penultimate Moments || Death

April 10th, Day Five: They Don't Even Think About Us But we bet you do right? Everyone has their own rebellion, yes, but everyone also has their very own Glup Shitto. Are you a Time Grappler Stan? A Blue Noodle boy? Show your love for your Andor Shittos! Alternate Prompts: Underrated Side Characters || Nature

April 11th, Day Six: That's Just Love...Nothing You Can Do About That Just like with every good story, the relationships among the characters are what draw us in and keep us hooked. Whether it’s a fraught love story or a complex connection between mother and son, Andor is rife with intricate interpersonal relations and, ultimately, a hell of a lot of love. Share your feelings about the relationships you find most compelling! Alternate Prompts: Doomed by the Narrative || Echoes

April 12th, Day Seven: We Are Healthcare Providers Are you fascinated by the crushing bureaucracy of the ISB? The ponderous gears of the Imperial war machine? Do you simply love Dedra Meero and think she's neat? Share your thoughts about the Empire and the unique way that Andor explores the banality of evil! Alternate Prompts: Character Arcs || Morality

April 13th, Day Eight: "Pilgrim" Are you the biggest Nicolas Britell fan ever? Have you memorized every interview with Denise Gough? Have you watched everything Diego Luna is in? Show your appreciation for the incredible cast and crew that make this show come to life! Alternate Prompts: Favorite Quotes about the show || Behind the Scenes

April 14th, Day Nine: Pockets, Piping, Some Light… Tailoring From the rich costumes to the lavish sets, Andor gave us some truly sumptuous designs to sink our teeth into. Explore the details of costumes, sets or both! Alternate Prompt: Hidden Details || Colors

April 15th, Day Ten: Peezos… The Greenie Green Ones Run up to Arkie’s and pick up some shit posts! Just make sure you don’t look like ‘you’re a part of it’. Alternate Prompts: Favorites (episodes, characters, etc) || Humor

April 16th, Day Eleven: You’re My Ideal Reader Have a fic that you just love? A gifset that you stare at until your eyes water? A manifesto with not enough circulation (in your opinion)? Spread the love and recommend your favorite metas, edits, fan art, podcasts, gif sets, fics, whatever you’d like! Alternate Prompt: Alternate Universe || Time

April 17th, Day Twelve: ONE WAY OUT! You’re free! Hopefully you can swim! AKA: Dealer's choice || Free Day

How It Works

We have included multiple prompts for each day to provide optimal opportunities for fan work creators of all kinds. Pick a prompt and create to your heart’s content! When the day arrives, post your work!

Feel free to tag us @andorappreciation! We will also be tracking #12DaysofAndor2025

Do’s & Don’t’s

Have fun, be creative and follow us for all the glorious content!

Please reblog!

Pop some peezos. The greenie green ones!

DON’T

Repost work that is not yours or work without credit

Post work without proper tagging/warnings

Post offensive material including non-con or bigotry

Any questions, concerns, or clarifications can be submitted via ask.

Sincerely,

@andorappreciation

ALL CREDIT FOR THE INCREDIBLE CASSIAN BANNER AND B2 DIVIDERS GOES TO LOVELY MOD @ninsletamain

#12DaysofAndor2025 #andor #starwarsandor #star wars art #tv: andor #sw: andor

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excusetowrite · 4 days ago

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Let Him In (5)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Summary: On the last day on set, our actress and Jack share a quiet, tender goodbye they can’t quite say out loud. Months apart follow—full of longing, stolen messages, and blurred lines. When they reunite for the film’s press tour, the chemistry is undeniable, impossible to ignore. But just as things start to fall back into place, a single photo threatens to bring everything they’ve kept hidden into the light.

Warnings: JEALOUS Jack, as a few have requested. I was feeling very inspired so here's another chapter, I can't wait to work on the next one hehehe

Out of the Shadows

He was still asleep when I woke.

For a long while, I didn’t move. Just laid there and watched him. The soft morning light filtered through the slats of the trailer window, cutting across the bed in golden lines. It painted him in pieces—his shoulder, the curve of his neck, the dip where his collarbone disappeared beneath the blanket. His hair was a mess, sticking up in tufts like he’d lost a fight with the pillow, and his mouth was parted slightly, breath slow and even. One arm lay heavy across my waist, his hand resting against my stomach like even in sleep he wanted to know I hadn’t gone anywhere.

He looked different like this. Less like the man the world knew and more like the one I was still learning how to hold. Like someone real. Someone who might be mine.

It hit me how many mornings I’d dreamed of something like this. Not just being with him—but the quiet, sleepy part. The part where I didn’t have to pretend. Where I could just exist beside him without hiding, without fear that it would slip away the second someone knocked on the door or called “places.”

My eyes traced his face slowly, trying to memorize the way the light kissed his lashes, the faint wrinkle across his forehead, the angle of his cheekbone. There were still moments when it didn’t feel real—that he was here, in my bed, wrapped around me like I was something safe. Especially when I used to fall asleep to grainy interviews and fan-made gifs of him playing reckless, arrogant Cook—the first boy I’d ever really wanted. It should’ve been embarrassing. And it was, in theory. But he’d laughed when I told him. Said it explained a lot about me.

Maybe it did.

Maybe I’d always wanted something a little dangerous, a little too much. And maybe I was finally learning that didn’t have to mean getting hurt.

I let my fingers drift down the slope of his spine, just to feel the rise and fall of his back. He stirred at my touch, nuzzling into my shoulder with a low groan, his arm pulling me in tighter.

“You staring at me?” he mumbled, voice gravel-rough with sleep, eyes still closed peacefully.

“Maybe,” I whispered, smiling into his hair. “You were being pretty.”

He cracked one eye open, mouth twitching. “You always this creepy in the mornings?”

“Only when I’m in love,” I said, half teasing. Half not. The words hung between us, fragile and a little reckless. But that was the thing about Jack. He never flinched from too much. He just didn’t always know how to hold it.

His brow lifted slightly, like he wasn’t sure if I was serious. Then he closed his eyes again with a sigh and shifted, pressing a lazy kiss to my bare shoulder. “Well now I can’t go back to sleep. That’s not fair.”

“You don’t have to say it,” I told him lightly. It was true. I didn’t care if I got it back. I just wanted him to know while I was still here to tell him.

“I know,” he murmured, eyes still closed. A moment passed, then just above a whisper, “You make me want to say things I don’t know how to mean yet.”

I let that hang in the air for a few seconds, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “You weren’t going to sleep long anyway.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that we’re both leaving in a few hours.”

He let out a long, theatrical groan and buried his face deeper into my neck. “Don’t remind me.”

I held him a little tighter, felt his breath warm against my throat. “I wasn’t going to.”

Because I didn’t want to think about what came next. About the six months of airports and FaceTime calls and aching gaps in my day where he used to be. We hadn’t even said goodbye yet, and already the edges of it were carving into me.

There were things we hadn’t talked about. Questions neither of us had asked. Like what we were going to do with all of this once we stepped off set and back into real life. But I didn’t want to ask those things now. Not while he was still here. Not while the sun was still soft and his hands were still on me. So I lay there and let it be simple. Let myself believe, just for a little longer, as he breathed softly against me, that this version of us could last.

Neither of us moved for a long time after that.

Eventually, it was the knock that broke us. Not urgent—just a soft rap on the trailer door followed by the faint sound of someone calling out, “Any pieces back to wardrobe in thirty!” Like it was any other morning. Like everything wasn’t ending.

Jack groaned into my neck again, less dramatic this time, like he meant it. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to say I died in my sleep and can't make it.”

I smiled, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Tempting.”

We moved slowly. Neither of us said it, but we were dragging our feet like maybe, if we stayed quiet and deliberate enough, the day might forget about us. He dressed with sleepy little sighs, and I watched him tug on yesterday’s shirt like it wasn’t the last time he’d do it in this trailer.

I changed too, still in a haze, brushing my hair in the tiny mirror while he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me with something soft and unreadable in his face.

Then, without a word, he stood.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps, stopping just behind me. His hands found my waist. My heart jumped.

I turned to face him—and he kissed me.

Not fast. Not rushed. Not even particularly neat. But deep. Lingering. Like he was trying to memorize it. Like this was the last time he’d be alone with me—and he wasn’t going to waste it. His fingers curled in the hem of my shirt like he didn’t want to let go. His breath was warm and careful against my mouth. No heat, no pressure. Just ache. The type of kiss that made me feel a deep throbbing sadness at its touch.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I’ll see you before we go,” he said, almost a question.

I nodded. “Yeah. Course.”

But even I didn’t sound sure.

We didn’t kiss again. Too risky, too close to the windows. When I opened the trailer door, Jack reached for my hand—just for a second, just a squeeze—and then let it fall away like he hadn’t touched me at all.

Outside, people were already milling around, tossing call sheets, sipping from paper cups, loading boxes into vans. A few looked up as we stepped out. One of the assistants gave me a long, lingering glance. Not unkind. Just curious. Too curious. Another PA across the lot whispered something into someone else's ear, and their eyes flicked toward us before they both quickly looked away.

Jack noticed it too. I could feel it in the way he tensed beside me, his posture shifting, casual but alert.

“You think people know?” I asked under my breath, as we walked toward our separate waiting errands.

He didn’t look at me. Just kept his eyes forward. “I think people talk.”

And that was somehow worse. There was safety in secrets. But the longer you keep one, the louder it starts to echo.

Before we split, he touched my wrist briefly. “If I don’t see you before—call me when you land?”

“I will,” I said.

And then I watched him walk away. No final moment. Just a quiet, unraveling distance as he got farther and farther from me in the morning light.

I didn’t look back again until I was halfway to costumes with my blouse in my hands. And when I did, he was already gone.

—

It was nearly noon by the time I finished packing.

The trailer looked too clean. Empty in a way that felt deeper than just space. My makeup bag sat zipped on the counter. My jacket was draped over my suitcase. The script—creased and highlighted and dog-eared—sat like a relic on the little table by the window. I kept looking around for something I’d forgotten—something still tucked under the bed or shoved in the back of the closet—but there was nothing left. Not really. Just air and dust and the echo of the last few months humming in the corners.

I crossed to the bed one last time, smoothing the blanket flat.

That’s when I saw it.

A folded scrap of paper, tucked carefully beneath the edge of my pillow.

I knew it was from him before I even picked it up. I didn’t remember him writing anything. But the handwriting was his—slanted and messy, like he’d scribbled it quickly or didn’t trust himself to linger. Still, the words hit like a weight pressed straight to my chest.

Didn’t want to risk the windows. You make it hard to say goodbye. Come visit. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I meant what I said. All of it. Even the parts I couldn’t say yet. Call me when you land. Please. I love you too. –J

I sat down slowly. My throat tightened as I read it once, twice, then folded it in half like maybe that would make it easier to carry. It didn’t. I blinked fast, trying to breathe around the pressure behind my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until a knock at the trailer door jolted me back.

“Hey,” Hailee called gently through the door. “Van’s here.”

I wiped my cheeks quickly and stuffed the note into my jacket pocket. When I stepped outside, the sun was too bright. Hailee squinted at me, one brow raised. “You get to say goodbye?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Instead, I pulled the note from my pocket and handed it to her with shaking fingers.

She read it in silence. Her face softened. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped me in a hug. I buried my face in her shoulder and tried to keep my breathing even, but the tears came anyway—hot and quiet and unrelenting.

She didn’t say anything. Just held me until I pulled away, brushing at my face like I could erase the last five minutes.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I’m fine.”

Hailee gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push it. We loaded into the van without a word, just the two of us and a couple of tired crew members slumped in the back row. The engine rumbled to life, and we pulled away from the lot.

I didn’t look out the window. I didn’t need to. I already knew what I was leaving behind.

The ride to the airport passed in a blur. I heard people talking, but the words didn’t stick. Hailee handed me gum and my boarding pass. I nodded and smiled at the right times. Let her lead me through security, through boarding, through the rows of tired faces and too-small overhead bins.

My body moved through it all like it had a script. But my mind was still in that trailer. Still tangled in sheets. Still on a wooden table. Still in the woods. Still somewhere beside him.

It wasn’t until we were seated on the plane, engines humming beneath us, that my phone buzzed in my hand.

Jack: Did you find the note?

My chest cracked open.

I didn’t reply right away. Just stared at the words until my vision blurred again. Then, for the first time since this morning, I smiled.

And somewhere deep in my stomach, the ache started to feel just a little bit lighter.

—

The first few weeks apart were the hardest.

The silence was too loud. The distance too wide. I kept checking my phone like something might change, like he might suddenly appear on the screen just to say he missed me. And sometimes he did. Sometimes at 3 a.m., blurry and shirtless, with a grin so sleepy it made my chest ache.

We got better at it—eventually. Fell into a rhythm. A routine of morning texts and late-night calls, of sending each other stupid videos just to feel closer. There were weeks where we talked every day, and others where the time zones made it impossible. When the calls were short, we sent voice notes. When the calls were long, we left the lights off and let each other breathe into the phone like it could keep us warm.

We made it work. Even when it was messy. Even when we missed each other so much it turned sour at the edges.

And some nights, it got… creative. The first time was accidental. He texted: “What are you wearing?” I sent back: “Sweatpants. Tank top. Absolutely nothing else.”

His responses came immediately.

Jack: I want to see it. I want to feel it. Bet you’re already wet thinking about me. How long has it been?

I hesitated for half a second before replying: “Too long.”

Jack: Slide your hand down. Slowly. Don’t lie. I want you to touch yourself thinking about the way I said your name last time. The way I held your hips. Tell me what it feels like.

By the time I put the phone down, I was flushed head to toe, heart pounding in the dark. He said he was going to sleep with the image of me in that tank top seared into his skull. I believed him.

There were a few fumbled attempts at phone sex in the early days—calls that ended in flushed silence and nervous laughter. But we figured it out. Or, rather, he got shameless and I stopped pretending not to like it. There were texts I couldn’t open in public. Voice memos I replayed with a pillow over my face. Once, he sent a picture from his trailer—pants suggestively low on his hips, hand braced against the counter, captioned: “Thinking about you. Again.” I didn’t even make it to the end of the workday. That nearly got me fired. It helped. And it didn’t. Because every time I came, I wanted him more. And every time I woke up without him, the craving felt deeper than anything physical.

But it wasn’t just that.

As the months passed, I started dreaming about him. At first, it was soft, sleepy mornings and lazy touches, his arm slung over my waist. But the more time went on, the more intense they got. Louder. Vivid. I’d wake up aching, confused, already reaching for my phone.

We were in a similar time zone once for a few glorious weeks. He called me once after I didn’t answer a goodnight text. Just to check. Said he’d been staring at the ceiling for an hour, thinking he’d screwed something up. I was already half-asleep, mascara smudged into the pillow, but the second I heard his voice, I woke all the way up.

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

“I didn’t want to wait until morning to hear it,” he said. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

We stayed on the line until one of us fell asleep. I’m not sure who it was first, but the next morning, my phone was warm in my hand and the call was still connected.

He texted later to say it was the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks.

There was no label, no big conversation. But we kept calling. Kept showing up. He sent me photos of his dog with captions like, “Told her about you and now she misses you. I guess I do too.” I sent him pictures from my new set—costume fittings, bad lighting, notes scribbled in the margins of a new script. He always noticed everything. Especially the men in the background.

“Who’s that?” “Director.” “Too close.”

It was ridiculous. And kind of flattering. I teased him for it until he replied: “Not jealous. Just observant. If he touches you like I touch you, I’ll kill him.”

I rolled my eyes.

But the truth was, I missed the way he touched me too. Missed his hands. His mouth. His stupid, smug smirk when he knew he’d gotten to me. There were whole days where I’d scroll back through old texts or rewatch interviews just to hear his voice again. I kept one of his shirts at the bottom of my drawer. Didn’t wear it, just… kept it. Like an anchor. Like a promise I wasn’t ready to let go of. It still smelled like him. Just faintly. Enough to hurt.

And in the background of it all, I worked. Auditions. Wardrobe meetings. Early mornings and long, hungry days on sets. I buried myself in new characters, new scripts. I was good at it—losing myself. But sometimes, when I caught my reflection between takes, I’d imagine what he’d say. Something possessive. Something sharp. Something soft enough that I’d feel it in my throat hours later. Once, I wore a neckline I knew he’d like. I sent a picture and he replied in under ten seconds: “You wore that on purpose. You’re cruel.”

Then, finally—finally—the planning started.

The premiere was set. Press tour locked in. Travel booked. And just like that, the countdown started.

We started texting more, making plans. He asked what I was wearing to the first red carpet. I asked if he was going to behave. He said no.

The excitement was buzzing underneath my skin now, electric and jittery. I couldn’t believe we were going to be in the same room again. After six long months. After everything.

I didn’t know that the moment I saw him again wouldn’t be the first surprise. That someone else had seen something they weren’t supposed to. And that it was already out there—just waiting for the right moment.

But for now, I just smiled at my phone and typed: “Two more days.”

And he replied: “You’d better be ready.”

—

The ride from the airport to the hotel was almost too smooth—like everything was trying not to jostle me out of the daze I’d been living in for months. Big city buildings slid past the window like moving glass, and every block closer buzzed a little louder beneath my skin. I sat there practically vibrating with anticipation, my phone clutched in my hand.

Jack: You here yet?

The second I saw his name, my stomach flipped. I hadn’t even checked into my room and already my heart was trying to climb out of my chest. We hadn’t seen each other in six months. Not in person. Not in the flesh. Just blurry FaceTimes and filtered dreams and his voice curling around me through a speaker. And now we were in the same city. The same zip code. The same hotel.

Me: Almost. Don’t start the party without me.

I couldn’t stop smiling. God, I’d missed him. I’d missed this. The fluttery, dizzy, can’t-sit-still feeling he gave me without even trying.

By the time we pulled up to the hotel—glass-paneled and gleaming under the afternoon sun—my hands were sweating. Not from the heat. From everything else. My suitcase thumped onto the curb, and I was barely upright before I heard someone shout my name.

I turned and saw Hailee, hair pulled into a high ponytail, oversized sunglasses perched on her head. She looked exactly the same, like no time had passed at all. We hugged tightly, the kind where neither of us said anything at first. Just that squeeze of familiarity, of recognition, of thank god we’re back.

“You look hot,” she said as we pulled apart. “Famous and hot. I hate you.”

I laughed. “Speak for yourself.”

Inside, the lobby was chaos in a glamorous way. I stood there taking it all in while Hailee went to check us both in. Glossy marble floors, gold accents, too many people talking too loudly. Everywhere I turned, there were familiar faces—actors, producers, assistants, all lit up with reunion energy. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until I was surrounded by it. Until I felt like someone stepping back into a dream.

“Jesus,” Hailee said as she returned, handing me my room key and adjusting her sunglasses on top of her head as she looked around. “Fancy.”

I smiled at her, excitement radiating off both of us as we took everything in. And then I saw him.

Across the room, a window casting a shaft of sunlight over him, Jack was laughing at something someone said, his hand resting casually on the back of a velvet chair. His hair was longer than I remembered, messier and warmer now. Same sharp jaw, short beard to match. Same impossible presence—like the gravity in the room shifted just because he existed inside it. My breath caught. Just for a second. Because there he was. Real. Tangible. Laughing at something I couldn’t hear and still managing to knock the air out of me.

I barely took a step toward him when a voice called out, “There they are!” Michael grinned as he approached, pulling both Hailee and me into a fierce hug before I could react. We giggled as he sandwiched us in, and for a moment I forgot about the nerves. About everything. It was just a friend I hadn’t seen in ages, and I hugged him back tightly.

“You look different,” he said, pulling back just enough to scan me, brow furrowed and teasing. “Like a real movie star or something.”

“Must be the lighting,” I quipped, but I smiled. He was harmless—annoying in the way only friends who used to flirt with you could be. Still, his arm lingered a little too long at my waist. A tiny thread pulled tight in the air.

And when I looked past him, I saw Jack watching. Still smiling. But the edge in it had sharpened. Like his teeth were showing just beneath the curve of his mouth. He started crossing the room before I could say anything.

“Hey,” he said, nodding to Michael, then to Hailee. “Didn’t know we were doing group hugs at check-in.” A smile was plastered across his face, but I saw the emotions simmering beneath. Nearly ready to pop.

“Don’t be jealous,” Michael teased. “I’ve missed your pretty face too.”

Hailee cleared her throat. “Look at us, the gang’s all here.”

“Looks like it,” Jack said, eyes locked on mine now. “You just get in?”

It felt like code. A question buried inside a question. Like: Can I touch you yet?

“Just landed,” I answered.

Jack looked at my bags, then back at me. “Let me carry your bags up,” he said, already reaching for one.

Hailee and Michael exchanged a quick glance. Not subtle.

“You don’t have to—”

He already had the handle of my suitcase, wheeling it beside him like it weighed nothing.

“Not negotiable.”

We headed for the elevator. He stood just beside me, his fingers brushing mine, subtle and fast like he couldn’t help himself. Like he’d forgotten how to behave around me in public. I didn’t pull away. Not even close. I’d been waiting six months for that hand. I smiled as I followed him, only looking back once to see Hailee smirking at me, a little wave playing at the top of her fingertips.

And just like that, we were alone.

The second the elevator doors closed, his whole posture changed.

“Michael’s still friendly, then?”

I didn’t even turn around. “Don’t do that.”

“He had his hand on your waist.”

I turned. “It was a hug.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the floor numbers lighting up above the door. “You think he forgot what he heard at the Mill?” he said finally, voice low. “Because I didn’t. I think about it every night.”

The elevator hummed beneath us, the floor numbers glowing one by one. I could feel him beside me now, sliding up in that oh-so-familiar predator way that I loved. His breath was warm my neck, hands so close he was hovering.

“I missed you,” I breathed.

Jack turned to stand in front of me quickly. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t touch you right now.”

And then he kissed me.

Hard. Desperate. Months of waiting poured into it. His hands gripped my waist, tugging me flush against him as my back hit the mirrored wall. I gasped into his mouth and felt his thumb slide just beneath the hem of my shirt, like he needed proof that I was really there.

“I thought about this,” he murmured against my mouth. “So many times I nearly texted you to fly out just so I could taste you again.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His breath hitched. “Because I didn’t trust myself not to keep you.”

I kissed him again, messier this time, until his hands slid down and he groaned softly into my mouth. His heated kisses trailed down my jaw and to my neck, nipping at the exposed skin there before sucking lightly. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough that I’d feel it echo all night. I roamed his body like it held some sort of answer I’d been desperately looking for. My fingers grazed under his shirt and up his back, scratching lightly when he nipped a particularly sensitive spot, earning a hiss from him that had me biting my lip and tilting my head back harder.

“I’d pull the emergency stop,” he muttered into my neck before letting a deep agitated groan leave his lips, “but I actually have to be somewhere in ten minutes. Fucking suit fitting.”

I laughed, breathless. “You’re the one who offered to carry my bag.”

“Regretting it now.”

The elevator dinged. My floor.

He took a step back, eyes sweeping over me like he wanted to memorize the moment. “Wait up for me.”

“Are you actually coming?”

“I’ll crawl over hot coals if I have to.”

I stepped out, heart pounding. He didn’t move until the doors started to close.

Then he said, “I missed you too.”

The rest of the day passed in pieces. Hair and makeup, wardrobe fittings, press prep. My schedule was full, but I wasn’t really in it. Everything felt slightly off-center—like I was floating just behind myself, watching the day play out while my thoughts stayed stuck in a mirrored elevator, breathless and dazed.

My phone buzzed at least ten times. None of them were Jack.

Dinner was with the full cast, set in a dimly lit private dining room lined with velvet chairs and too many forks. The kind of room meant for pretending everything was fine. Laughter bounced off the walls, champagne sparkled in glasses, and the servers moved like ghosts. I was seated down the table from Jack, but I could feel him anyway. The weight of his stare. The static in the air that only ever prickled when he was nearby.

Every time I laughed at something, I could feel his eyes dragging over me like heat. I tried not to look for him. Failed every time.

Halfway through the second course—something delicate and impossible to pronounce—my phone lit up in my lap.

Jack: That dress is killing me. You know what you’re doing.

I pressed my knees together under the table, biting back a smile as I typed.

Me: Didn’t realize you were paying attention.

Jack: I’m always paying attention when you’re around.

My pulse skittered. I could feel the flush rising in my cheeks, the way my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Dessert arrived—something sweet and airy, barely real—but I could barely taste it.

Across the table, someone raised their glass in a toast to some inside joke I’d missed. Jack's eyes caught mine as he drank, slow and deliberate. I knew that look. I’d dreamed of that look.

By the time I got back to my room, my heart was beating so hard I thought I might pass out. I lit a candle, reapplied my lip gloss, kicked off my shoes, and lay back on the bed like a girl in a romance novel waiting for the story to catch up.

I waited.

The minutes dragged. I counted every sound in the hallway. Every whisper of air conditioning. Every shift in the sheets. I was about to text him.

Then—finally—a knock at the door.

I practically flew across the room, smoothing my hair as I crossed the carpet, heart in my throat.

But it wasn’t Jack.

It was Hailee. She stood in the hallway, backlit by the hotel corridor, holding up her phone with an unreadable expression. Her voice was quiet. “Hey,” she said. “Is this you and Jack?”

My stomach dropped before I even looked.

I stared at the screen. The photo wasn’t perfect, but it caught exactly what it needed to.

Us, tangled in the shadows. Against a tree. My head thrown back. His mouth at my neck. The night in the woods—behind the set. The risk. The way we hadn’t known—or hadn’t cared—who might be nearby. Our faces were blurry, but it was almost unmistakable.

I felt the blood drain from me.

The moment shattered.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

I just stood there and watched the life we’d kept hidden start to unravel in someone else’s hands. Somewhere, someone had turned on the lights. And the shadows we’d lived in were no longer ours to keep.

#jack o'connell #jack o'connell fic #jack o'connell x reader #remmick #remmick fanfic #remmick fic #remmick smut #remmick x reader #sinners #sinners fic

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