#i would listen to this song like every day

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there in irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING  

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.  

You didn’t notice him watching you.  

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.  

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.  

He felt something tighten in his chest.  

God, you made him feel strange.  

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.  

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.  

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.  

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.  

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.  

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?  

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.  

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.  

His response came almost immediately.  

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.  

You: Are you sure? 

Pedro: Obviously.  

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.  

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.  

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.  

Pedro noticed.  

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.  

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.  

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.  

And then, of course, there was the teasing.  

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.  

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."  

He smirked. "Clearly."  

"Don’t judge me."  

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

Your heart stuttered.  

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.  

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.  

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.  

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.  

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."  

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."  

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.  

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.  

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.  

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.  

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”  

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.  

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.  

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."  

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."  

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."  

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.  

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.  

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.  

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.  

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.  

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."  

You told yourself not to react.  

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.  

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.  

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”  

You had only sighed. “I know.”  

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.  

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.  

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”  

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”  

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.  

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”  

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.  

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.  

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.  

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”  

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.  

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.  

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”  

His brows knit together. “You okay?”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”  

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”  

Pedro didn’t look convinced.  

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.  

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.  

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.  

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.  

Neither of you spoke for a moment.  

Then—  

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.  

You hesitated.  

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.  

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.  

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”  

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”  

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”  

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.  

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.  

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.  

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”  

Cecilia.  

You felt your whole body go rigid.  

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.  

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”  

You swallowed hard.  

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it.  

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.  

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”  

The implication was clear.  

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.  

But then—  

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”  

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”  

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.  

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”  

Cecilia’s smile faltered.  

It was subtle, but you caught it.  

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.  

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”  

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.  

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.  

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.  

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”  

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”  

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.  

Warm. Steady.  

Grounding.  

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.  

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.  

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”  

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”  

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”  

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”  

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”  

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”  

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”  

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.  

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”  

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”  

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.  

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”  

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”  

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”  

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.  

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.  

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.  

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”  

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”  

Pedro stopped walking.  

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.  

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”  

You swallowed.  

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.  

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.  

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.  

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”  

A lump formed in your throat.  

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”  

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.  

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.  

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.  

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.  

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.  

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”  

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”  

You snorted. “So dramatic.”  

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”  

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.  

Your stomach flipped.  

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”  

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”  

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”  

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”  

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.  

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.  

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.  

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”  

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”  

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”  

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”  

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”  

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—  

“Do you want me to talk to her?”  

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”  

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”  

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”  

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”  

Something in you wavered.  

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”  

Your breath hitched.  

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.  

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”  

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.  

“Hey,” he murmured.  

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.  

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”  

Something tightened in your chest.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”  

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.  

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”  

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”  

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”  

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”  

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”  

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”  

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.  

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.  

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.  

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.  

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.  

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.  

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.  

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”  

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Song: PotatOS Lament Artist: Mike Morasky (Aperture Science Psychoacoustics Laboratory) From: Portal 2

Listen on Youtube:

When I was 14, I went to a school where most of our work was on computers. During our independent work time I was permitted to listen to music, except I would not listen to music and instead listen to compilations of GLaDOS's voice lines from Portal 2. Over and over again. For months.

I would also draw her every free chance I had when I was not playing Portal 2 just to see her.

My dad saw one of my drawings of her one day and asked me if I liked girls. So, I ended up not having to ever come out to my parents because GLaDOS gave me away.

It took me three more months to figure it out myself.

[spiderb00]

- JUST LIKE YOU

Manon Bannerman x reader 

“There was a reason why you loved your mornings, and the reason was Manon.” 

Genre – fluff     Warnings – Listen to the song, seriously, it's fantastic. 

Now playing – Black Like You, By Joseph Solomon 

The melody of your guitar filled the atmosphere, the sunlit apartment full of energy and love. The smell of coffee hung in the air and Manon's hips swayed to the sensual melody coming from your guitar. Your girlfriend's skin seemed to glow when the sunlight hit it, her braids, which were slightly messy from the night before, were now tied up in a bun.

You got up from the sofa - placing the guitar on the stand next to you - when you heard the coffee machine chime pleasantly through the apartment, signaling that your coffee was ready. Going to the kitchen counter, you missed the little pout that Manon made when the guitar chords stopped sounding. Letting out a snort, the brunette sat down on the sofa where you had been lying before, running her fingers tenderly over the strings of your guitar, almost as if she wanted to feel your touch through the instrument.

As you reached for one of your many mugs from your collection, you put away the almond milk that Manon had left on the counter, knowing that she would complain to you if it spoiled, even though she was the only one who left it out of the fridge.

As you finally took a sip of your coffee, you heard a small protest coming from your girlfriend on the sofa. “I don't know how you like that, like, not even a little milk?” Manon's question makes you laugh, walking over to her without haste.

“What's wrong with it, I like it like this.” You say.

You couldn't believe the sight you saw every morning. Manon was a goddess, your muse, your woman. Her makeup-free face and silk pajamas made you feel so intimate, so comfortable. You know that Manon worked hard to get where she is, and she keeps working harder and harder every day. You knew that she always pushed past all the people who criticized her non-stop, the hateful comments, her inner demons, you knew all that.

But at the end of the day you always remembered that you had managed to create a safe space for your love, you knew that you would always be by her side no matter what, you love Manon. She was one of the strongest women you'd ever met, but you were proud of how she knew that when she was tired, she wouldn't have to pretend anything to you. you love Manon softly, no weight in the way of your love.

“There's nothing wrong, sweetie. Now come here!” Manon said, opening her arms after placing the mug she was holding on the coffee table.

Giggling, you approached, placing your mug next to hers and sitting down next to the brunette. “You're so beautiful.” You said, your hand instantly going to her cheek.

Feeling your caress, Manon closed her eyes, enjoying the softness of your touch. Manon always loved your hands on her, everywhere, she wanted your hands to be on her constantly.

Opening her eyes, Manon had a bright look in your direction, you could see how her pupils were dilated when the sunlight kissed her face, and you swore you had fallen even more in love. “I love you.”

Manon's lips touched yours straight away, not even letting you say it back. The softness of her lips on yours made you feel like you were in heaven, her lips tasted like coffee, but a different coffee to yours, a sweeter coffee.

Slowly, Manon slipped one of her legs under your lap, straddling you and continuing the kiss. Your hands went to her waist instantly, almost as if your muscle memory couldn't let go of the movement in a million years. Her waist was curved and reminded you of the shape of your guitar, the thought making you run your hands down the silk of her pajamas.

Raising your hands again, you squeezed Manon's waist, making your girlfriend sigh into the kiss. Seeing that breathing was beginning to be a problem for both of you, you broke the kiss, only to kiss Manon's lips a few times, moving down to her jaw, her neck, and then to her exposed collarbone.

“I love you, just like I love my coffee.” You said, making Manon look confused. If this were a cartoon, there would surely be question marks in Manon's head. “Black, just like you.”

Manon's face remained serious for a few moments before she smiled and started laughing at your phrase. Seeing your girlfriend's smile, you laughed along, more at the way her smile charmed you than at your phrase.

As her laughter subsided, Manon leaned on you, her hands firmly holding your neck as she smiled openly at you. “God, I really love you.”

“And you have no idea how much I love you.” You said, leaving a lingering kiss on the brunette's lips.

Pulling away from the kiss for a moment, Manon looked at you with amusement, her eyes bright and full of joy. “Do you love me more or the coffee?”

“Do you really need that answer?”

“Then you wouldn't mind letting your coffee get cold, would you?”

Getting up from the sofa with Manon still on your lap, you hurried to your room, making the brunette giggle and cling to your neck tighter, kissing your sweet spot and giggling like a lovesick teenager.

I love her so much!

I had this idea a few weeks ago, but I was so busy with requests that I only had time to do it now.

I love this song and one day while I was listening to it, Manon popped into my head, so BOOM, here we are.

I hope you enjoyed it, stay safe and drink some water

xoxo, spider.

[00valentina-writes00]

Ur take on long distance relationship

(Ellie Williams x Reader)

something soft and sweet!!

Them doing little virtual dates,making each other playlist, playing video games, making funny google slide presentations,then sending each other love letters

But if you wanted to do something with angst and smut.

Ellie or reader has been experiencing major jealousy issues,and because of this they have been distant and annoyed with the other, leading their FaceTime call into an argument over said jealousy issues, and it ending with angsty phone sex.

Gang- the phone sex is just staring at me I’m gonna do it

✞⛧ Ellie with a long distant relationship ✞⛧

(College au ellie btw-)

✞⛧ You and Ellie have a standing virtual date every Friday night. She sets aside time to play video games with you, even though she’s usually buried in textbooks or guitar practice. When she wins, she gloats with a smug “I told you I was better,” but when you win, she makes an exaggerated pouty face and jokes that she let you win.

✞⛧ One of your favorite things is when Ellie sends you surprise playlists. You’ll get a random text from her saying, “Put on this playlist and think of me,” followed by a mix of grunge, indie, and punk that totally fits her chaotic energy. It makes you feel closer to her, even if you’re on opposite sides of the country.

✞⛧ She’s terrible at singing, but she still sends you voice memos of her trying to learn a new song. It’s hilariously off-key, but you can’t help but love how genuine and unbothered she is.

✞⛧ Sometimes, Ellie will FaceTime you with her guitar, strumming along to one of your favorite songs, hoping you’ll sing along. You’ll both end up laughing through the chorus because neither of you can hold a note, but the moment is so sweet, you don’t even care.

✞⛧ Late-night Google slides sessions become your ritual. You both work on silly slideshows, like “The Best Ways to Distract Ellie During Finals Week” or “Top 10 Ways I Would Survive In A Zombie Apocalypse (With Ellie).” Ellie takes it seriously, adding in ridiculous survival tips like “bring snacks” and “find a good Wi-Fi spot.”

✞⛧ Ellie loves sending you random memes, even when they’re not really funny to anyone but the two of you. She’ll say, “I thought you’d appreciate this one” and then give you an in-depth explanation about why it’s funny.

✞⛧ When you both miss each other, Ellie writes little handwritten notes and takes pictures of them to send. They’re simple: “I can’t wait to see you one day,” or “Just thinking about you while I pretend to study.” It’s not much, but it means everything.

✞⛧ When Ellie’s feeling down, she’ll send you one of her old mixtapes she made in high school. It’s a weird mix of angry punk and sappy love songs that she claims “speaks to her soul.” You listen to it and text her back that it’s perfect.

✞⛧ Ellie doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. She’ll text you long rants about how stressed she is with school and her side hustle, and you’re always there to remind her that she’s doing the best she can.

✞⛧ When she’s really missing you, Ellie takes a picture of her bed with your favorite hoodie on it and texts it to you with a simple message: “Wish you were here.”

✞⛧ Sometimes, you send Ellie a video of you singing along to one of her favorite songs, and she can’t help but tease you about it. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” she’ll say, but you can tell from the way she keeps replaying it that she loves it.

✞⛧ On special occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries, Ellie sends you care packages full of your favorite snacks, a mixtape, and a handwritten letter. She makes it clear that she might not be able to be there in person, but she’s thinking of you constantly.

✞⛧ Ellie can never leave you on “read” for too long. You’ll get a text from her within minutes no matter how busy she is, usually something snarky or sarcastic, but it always shows she’s thinking about you.

✞⛧ You both have inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you. Ellie has this one where she’ll send you a random picture of a cat and caption it with something like “this is the only thing keeping me sane right now,” and you’ll both crack up because it makes zero sense, but it’s hilarious anyway.

✞⛧ You love sending Ellie playlists, too, but you make sure they’re different from hers. You’ll send her one full of songs she’s never heard before, just to get her reaction when she listens to it. It’s always the same: “This is weird… but I love it.”

✞⛧ Every now and then, you’ll both spend an hour just texting each other about your dream life together. You’ll talk about the little things, like where you’d go on your first real vacation or what you’d eat for breakfast when you’re finally living in the same city.

✞⛧ When things get tough, Ellie likes to tell you stories about the worst day she’s ever had in college. It’s mostly funny and full of chaos, but you can hear the tiredness in her voice. You always remind her that it’s okay to feel worn out and that she’s still doing amazing.

✞⛧ She’s not the type to send “I love you” too often, but you always know when it’s coming. It’s in the little things, like when she texts, “I miss you, you dork,” or signs off with “talk to you soon, babe.”

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes sends you little sketches of things she’s working on. Whether it’s a half-finished drawing of a band logo or a quick sketch of the dorm room she’s stuck in, it’s something she’s proud of, and she wants to share it with you

✞⛧ She’ll randomly drop voice memos on you just to say something random. “I just saw a dog that looked exactly like you, and it made me think of you,” or “I wish you were here so I could steal your snacks.” It’s always a little weird, but in a way that only makes you smile.

✞⛧ When you both start to feel disconnected, you make a point to schedule a “real” date. You’ll set up a Zoom call, order food to eat at the same time, and just talk about anything and everything like you’re sitting across from each other at your favorite diner.

✞⛧ She’s a huge fan of sending surprise memes to keep you entertained. The more ridiculous, the better. You both end up spamming each other with stupid, unexplainable memes, and it’s the best part of your day.

✞⛧ The moment Ellie knows she’ll see you again, she starts planning. She’ll text you things like “I’m saving all my good snacks for when you get here,” or “I’m picking the worst movie to show you, I hope you’re ready.” She can’t wait to have you near her again.

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes just calls you to hear your voice, even if there’s no big conversation. You’ll talk for hours about nothing in particular, but the sound of her voice makes you feel safe, even when she’s halfway across the country.

✞⛧ You’re both masters of making the other feel special from afar. Ellie will text you little “good morning” messages even when she’s still half asleep, and you’ll send her little updates about your day that you know will make her laugh.

✞⛧ Ellie finds comfort in the small things, like knowing that you’re there to listen when she needs to vent or that you’ll never judge her for being a little messy.

Dun dun dunnn (knew you dirty animals would be looking for the smut, and I have provided)

The screen flickers slightly, the connection unstable, but Ellie’s face is crystal clear. Her sharp green eyes are narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed with frustration, and that ever-present smirk of hers is nowhere to be seen. Instead, her lips are pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight. You can practically hear the tension crackling through the air, even through the distance separating you.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she says, her voice low and edged with accusation. Her fingers tap impatiently against the edge of her desk, the sound muffled but insistent. “What’s going on, huh? You’ve been so distant lately. I feel like I’m talking to a ghost.”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. The dorm room around her is a mess—guitar picks scattered on the floor, a half-eaten bag of chips on her bed, and the faint glow of string lights illuminating her chaotic space. But you’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already decided you’re guilty of something.

“Distant? Seriously, Ellie?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Maybe I’m just busy. Not everyone’s got time to hang out at skate parks or sell weed to freshmen, you know.”

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap back. But then she exhales sharply, running a hand through her messy brown hair. It’s a gesture she only makes when she’s really trying to keep her cool.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, her voice quieter now but still laced with frustration. “I just… I feel like you’re pulling away. Like there’s something you’re not telling me. And I can’t help but wonder if—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

“If what?” You lean forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “If I’m cheating on you? Is that what you’re thinking?”

Ellie flinches, her sharp features softening for just a moment before she hardens again. “Well, are you? Because I’m not gonna lie, it’s been on my mind. You’ve been so… off. And it’s not just me. Even your friends are saying you’ve been acting weird.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you. The girl who spends half her life ‘delivering product’ to random people. How do I know you’re not the one sneaking around?”

Her eyes widen, and for a second, she looks genuinely hurt. But then that smirk of hers returns, though it’s darker now, more defensive. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You’re gonna turn this around on me? Fine. Let’s do this. You wanna know if I’m cheating? Here.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, she’s standing up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She reaches for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it off in one swift motion. Her vintage band tee follows, revealing her wiry, athletic frame. Her skin is pale and freckled, the fern tattoo on her forearm standing out starkly against her flesh.

Your breath catches in your throat as she undoes the button of her jeans, sliding them down her legs with a practiced ease. She kicks them aside, standing there in just her boxers and a black sports bra. Her sharp green eyes lock onto yours through the screen, challenging you.

“Go ahead,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with defiance. “Look. No scratches. No hickeys. Nothing. You wanna know where I’ve been? Here. Dealing with your bullshit.”

Your heart is racing now, your mouth dry. But then something in you snaps, something defensive and raw. “Oh, sure. Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be jealous. You think I haven’t noticed how secretive you’ve been? How you’re always ‘busy’ when I call? Fine. You wanna see? Here.”

You stand up, your chair nearly tipping over in your haste. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of your shirt, but you manage to pull it off, tossing it to the floor. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on you, watching every move. Your jeans come next, sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You’re standing there in just your bra and underwear, your chest rising and falling with every breath.

“Happy now?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and vulnerability. “No scratches. No hickeys. Just me. But maybe you should be asking yourself why you’re so quick to accuse me when you’re the one who’s always hiding something.”

Ellie’s smirk falters, and for a moment, she looks almost… guilty. She crosses her arms over her chest, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of her dorm room. “I’m not hiding anything,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual confidence. “I just… I worry, okay? You’re my girl. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard, and suddenly, the anger that’s been simmering between you both feels like it’s starting to dissolve. You sit back down, your legs feeling shaky beneath you.

“Ellie…” you start, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft now. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I needed to know. And I didn’t know how else to ask.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry too,” you admit. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pulling away. I just… I’ve been stressed. With school, with work… and yeah, maybe I’ve been a little paranoid. But not because I don’t trust you. Because I… I don’t know. I guess I just needed to hear you say it.”

Ellie’s expression softens, and for the first time since this whole argument started, she looks at you without that guarded edge in her eyes. “Say what?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That you’re mine,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “That no matter what, you’re mine.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, she reaches for the waistband of her boxers, sliding them down her legs. Her sports bra follows, leaving her completely bare. Her skin is smooth, her body wiry and toned, the fern tattoo on her arm seeming to almost dance in the dim light.

“I’m yours,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper, something raw. “Always.”

Your heart is pounding now, your body responding to her in ways you can’t ignore. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach for your own bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor. Your panties follow, leaving you completely exposed to her gaze.

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Always.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the tension palpable even through the screen. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches down, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her sharp green eyes never leave yours as she spreads her legs slightly, her fingers moving lower, tracing the delicate folds of her pussy.

Your breath catches in your throat, your own hand instinctively moving between your legs. You can feel the wetness there, the ache that’s been building inside you. Ellie’s fingers slip inside her, her sharp intake of breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Touch yourself,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Let me see you.”

Your fingers move of their own accord, slipping inside you as you watch her do the same. Her movements are slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. You can hear the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips, the way her body trembles with every touch.

“Ellie…” you moan her name, your fingers moving faster now, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room. Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping them as she watches you, her own fingers moving in rhythm with yours.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I miss you. I miss touching you. I miss feeling you.”

“I miss you too,” you whimper, your body trembling as the pleasure builds inside you. “So much.”

Her fingers move faster now, her soft, whimpery moans filling your ears. You can see the way her body tenses, the way her hips lift off the bed as she gets closer to the edge. Your own fingers move faster, the slick wetness between your thighs a testament to how much you need her.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice raw and desperate. “I wanna see you come.”

Your body obeys her without hesitation, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. You cry out her name, your fingers still moving inside you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Ellie’s own orgasm follows moments later, her body trembling as she falls back against the bed, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the only sound the soft hum of the computer fan and the sound of your own breathing. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches for the screen, her fingers brushing against the image of your face.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice soft and tender. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your heart aching with the need to be close to her. “Always.”

[hoonieyun]

now playing...

i'll still be here - leigh-anne

pairing: lee heeseung x reader x sim jaeyun

warnings: i dont think so but pls lmk if i need to add anything, 18+

pls ignore timestamps and possible typos lol - this is partially written, please be sure to read the written portion to fully understand the story <3

wc: 468

your phone was endlessly dinging, making it hard for you to focus but you tried your best to focus on the lady sitting in front of you. she had a sleek bun, wire rimmed glasses, and a pen and paper sat in front of her. 

“do you want to get that, yn?” she asks and you shake your head. 

“no, not important” you say with a smile as you quickly switch the ringer off to mute all of the sounds. 

“what is it, anyway?” she asks and you explain that it’s all of the people reaching out to you regarding your new song and because you kind of dropped it out of the blue; a lot of people were pleasantly surprised. you also added that you were planning to just drop the song and kind of go MIA to stop yourself from obsessing over every single thing that people say about you online. 

“that’s good, i’m glad you’re doing your best to listen to my advice but don’t feel like you need to be so strict with yourself. i know you’re a popstar so being on the internet is a part of your job; just know when to get off when it’s becoming too much, ok?”

she was so knowledgable in everything she said, it always made so much sense and whatever she said to you brought so much clarity. which was a good thing because it was her job at the end of the day. 

the rest of your session with your therapist goes very smoothly, talking about your goals for the week and habits that you’ve wanted to get into that you haven’t and other habits that have been hard for you to break and how you can get to a point of releasing those habits. 

it’s only been a few days speaking with this therapist but since she was a part of the mental health retreat you attended previously, she had your information from the retreat so you weren’t completely starting from scratch. 

you bid her goodbye with a small hug and you make your way to your car, pulling out your phone and quickly scrolling through all of the notifications before driving to your apartment. deciding that you’d respond to your texts when you got home. you listened to your new song on your drive home and you don’t realize you’re crying until your version gets too blurry. it wasn’t tears of sadness but something of release. 

like you’re releasing so much weight off your shoulders without the guilt your old self would feel for putting yourself first. as if you had become a totally new person in the last month and this new era of your life was focused on just you. 

choosing yourself and not feeling guilty for wanting to be happy.

masterlist - back - next

hoonieyun notes: guys u need to listen to this song its so beautiful like truly one of my favorite songs.. the lyrics and overall melodic value of the song is so impactful.. anyways omg now playing is almost overrrrr wahhh

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[licensedproldier]

forever obsessed with brennan's choice to not use porter's legendary resistances on adaine's detect thoughts because he doesnt consider it enough of a threat. like FUCK man. his downfall is literally what makes him a bad fucking teacher. from the very beginning porter has clearly only respected one type of strength. we watch him first day of freshman year dismiss gorgug for singing a song when asked what rage means to him. we watch him hand on shoulder tell gorgug after sophomore year-- who has two apocalypses under his belt by then-- that he's not a proper barbarian because his rage is defensive. he (jace, but, same faction) literally sends two detect thoughts at gorgug and doenst even WAIT to confirm if they worked before retreating because he CANNOT, WILL NOT, believe that gorgug can resist them. and hey listen i know that artificer is an int based caster and detect thoughts is a wis save-- but just think about the fucking foolish, arrogant disrespect that is targeting the kid who multiclassed into an intelligence-based class and being SO confident that it was the wrong choice and made him less effective as a party member that you dont even bother to check if he resisted your MIND-BASED spell. because you believe so strongly that a decision that doenst increase his physical, barbarian strength is a bad decision that made him weaker and lesser in every way. it just makes it all the more poetic when, hey, why would he worry about a measly detect thoughts from the party wizard cowering in the back? he can hit people so hard he crystalizes their blood, and that's the ultimate fucking HEIGHT of power right?

loser.

[323cutie]

10:38 am. | jeong yunho

fluff. 400 words.

a/n im ngl that getting ready with yunho vid made me think of a lovely domestic life with him also i was listening to my man from funny girl a LOT. for whatever my man is, i am his... forevermore

In the mid-morning sun shining through your bathroom window, Yunho looks like an angel. Heaven-yellow and soft, distorted kindly by the blur in your pane.

You think you hear bells. He sways from side to side, lost in the rhythm of whatever song he’s listening to, hair wet and a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Shirtless and still a little pink from the hot shower he took earlier. The steam still clouds the corners of the mirror.

He’s beautiful, and everything you never thought you would get. Everything you never thought you deserved. A vision, a statue, a muse – and when he sees you standing outside the door, he grins (all toothpaste) and pulls you into a bathroom waltz.

It’s hard to contain your laughter, especially when Yunho’s trying to spit into the sink on a sharp spin and you’re slipping off the mat onto the tile. But between giggles and what lyrics you can remember to sing with him, you manage. 

The sun lights him up. You think you’d come back every time, no matter what. Devoted and in love. Yunho stops spinning you around enough to take a second and rinse his mouth off, tapping his toothbrush against the edge of the sink.

“Good morning,” he says, turning around to lean against the counter and pull you between his legs. A spot of toothpaste still sits on his cheek, so you lean forward and wipe it away with your thumb, then muss up his wet hair, mostly because you can. He leans into your touch, and it makes you dizzy.

There are a million beautiful flowers blooming within you, ready to spill out and coat Yunho in your love, your praise, your loyalty. You wonder if he knows just how bad he’s got you. 

“Morning,” you say for now. You’re wearing one of Yunho’s shirts and he seems to notice right as you remember, fingers playing with the hem and a gorgeous smile tugging at his lips. You melt, and swoon, utterly his.

His eyes grow fonder the longer you look at him, a care so tender if almost makes you want to cry. The world around you crescendos with Yunho’s music, a beautiful refrain to start the beginning of your days; soaked in sunlight and covered in love.

[skzdelf]

Hold my hand | Han Jisung

.ᐟPAIRING: Han Jisung x afab!reader

.ᐟSYNOPSIS: On a crisp autumn day, Jisung and you share a visit to a small vinyl shop that sparks unexpected moments of inspiration.

.ᐟCONTENT: friends to lovers; nonidol!han

.ᐟWORDCOUNT: 1,4k (1469)

He knew a lot about music.

In fact, he knew a lot about everything you could imagine.

And you knew everything about him—his favorite color, his favorite band, his favorite author, the chord he played best, and the ones he struggled with a little more.

You knew how many songs he had poured straight from his heart into the notebook you gave him months ago.

You knew he couldn’t see well without his glasses, and you also knew he didn’t like wearing them—except when he was with you

You spent all your time together at his house, mostly studying.

Study sessions at his place always played out the same way. The two of you would sit at his desk, or sometimes on the floor when the notes took up too much space, with music playing in the background from Han’s massive collection of records and vinyls.

After a while, once the calculations were solved and summaries were written, Han would usually stand up and grab his guitar to clear his mind, as if music and his guitar were his safe haven.

He’d start playing familiar melodies or compose something on the spot. He always looked up from his guitar whenever he thought he had stumbled upon something special, searching for your eyes, as if your approval was the confirmation he needed to trust his creation.

In those moments, the world seemed to stop. The music filled the room, and you could feel the weight of his gaze—expectant, eager for a word or gesture from you to reassure him. Sometimes, you’d nod with a small smile; other times, you’d let out a soft “I like it,” or you’d suggest a minor change, sparking an unmistakable glow in him.

With you, he truly felt heard. You paid attention to every little thing he did or said. You didn’t roll your eyes, even if he asked for the seventh time whether you really thought the lyrics to his song were good.

You didn’t lose your patience when, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, he explained the difference between chords.

For you, Han was your refuge, and his was music.

For Han, music and you were his safe place.

So, what could come from a combination of the things he love most in the world?

The cloudy, cool autumn day was perfect for meeting friends at a cozy café or curling up on the couch with your pets. But here you were.

You and Jisung were strolling through the city streets, the brown and reddish leaves painting the gray, gloomy roads with their vibrant colors.

Han had discovered a small, old vinyl shop online and had spent the entire week insisting that he wanted to go with you as soon as exams were over.

When he spotted the shop less than a block away, Han got excited, grabbing your hand in a quick motion and rushing toward the store. Both of your laughs filled the air with an overwhelming sense of joy.

A hand-painted wooden sign, weathered with age, hung above the entrance and read: “Eternal Melodies.”

Crossing through the door, a soft jingling of bells announced your arrival. The interior was warm and welcoming, lit by dim ceiling lamps that cast a golden glow over the shelves. The floor creaked lightly under your feet.

The walls were lined with shelves that stretched to the ceiling, packed with vinyl records organized by genre and artist.

Han immediately started browsing shelf by shelf while you made your way to the section where your favorite artist was. You searched through the records until you found one you didn’t have and decided to take it.

When you turned back toward Han, you saw him holding three records already. Laughing, you pulled out your phone to snap a candid photo of him.

That same day, after leaving the shop, you headed to Han’s home to listen to the new records.

When the second record finished playing, Jisung stood up and grabbed his guitar, apparently inspired. The sound of his dark boots echoed on the tiled floor.

He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against one of his colorful furniture pieces. Taking his pick between his teeth, he started playing a melody that seemed to be etched into his memory—it wasn’t improvised at all.

When he finished playing, as always, Jisung looked up from his red guitar to meet your eyes, but this time, his gaze was more intense than usual.

As the vibration of the guitar faded, you looked up from your phone, focusing on the boy with glasses.

“What did you think of the melody?” he asked, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“It sounds beautiful, like all the others,” you replied, offering him a warm smile.

“Would you like to hear the lyrics? They’re not finished yet” he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Your eyes lit up with curiosity at his question. You nodded softly, letting the anticipation fill the air.

“Of course, I’d love to hear it” you said, shifting closer to him on the floor, ready for whatever he had to share.

Jisung let out a quiet sigh, as though gathering the courage he needed. His fingers tapped nervously on his red guitar before he began to sing. His voice was soft, a little shaky at first, but with each verse, it grew stronger.

He started singing what you assumed was the chorus of the song from the way the rhythm carried it forward.

“Cause all I want is you, not your tears, until the tears dry up.”

As he sang, his eyes stayed locked on yours, conveying every word with a sincerity that moved you. The song spoke of being there for someone, offering unconditional support, and a promise to never let go of the hand of the one you love, no matter the challenges.

The lyrics reflected the depth of your connection, and you realized this song was his way of expressing feelings that ordinary words could never capture.

“I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear. So baby, hold my hand now” he continued singing, his eyes fixed on you. Even without looking at the chords, he didn’t miss a note, as if he’d memorized it completely.

When he finished singing that small piece of the song he had written, he set his guitar aside and held his hand out to you.

“Baby, hold my hand?” he repeated, this time in a questioning tone, waiting for your response.

You lifted your trembling hand from your lap and placed it in his, resting it on his palm. A beautiful, radiant smile spread across Jisung’s face—the brightest you’d ever seen.

He brought your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles without breaking his gaze.

“It’s called ‘Hold My Hand,’ and I wrote it for you. It’s hard for me to express myself with words, but… I’d like to stay by your side forever” he admitted, his face growing redder by the second as he tried to hide it by clasping his hands together.

You couldn’t believe that the boy who had become your safe place was now in front of you, showing his vulnerability through a song written especially for you. Your heart raced so fast you feared he could hear it, but when he looked at you again, with that mix of nervousness and tenderness, a warm sensation filled you completely.

“Did you really write that for me?” you asked softly, barely believing what you’d just heard. Jisung nodded timidly.

“Yeah… It’s just that, well, you inspire me to feel things I’ve never felt before. You’re my safe place” he admitted, glancing away for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

In that exact moment, between the four walls of his room, you realized there was nothing else in the world you wanted more than to make sure he knew how important he was to you.

“Jisung…” you began, holding his hand tighter, as if you didn’t want him to ever let go. “I… you’re my safe place too. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m so happy to have you.”

A wide smile spread across his face again. Without thinking much more, he leaned toward you, resting his forehead against yours.

“So, will you stay by my side?” he whispered, his eyes closed and an expression of pure sincerity on his face.

“Forever” you promised firmly, feeling his lips brush softly against yours in a kiss filled with emotions. At that moment, you knew there would never be a safer place in the world than his arms.

It seemed you didn’t know everything about him after all. You didn’t even know how many songs he had written in the notebook you gave him, because you definitely didn’t know this song.

Your new favorite song.

[delirious-donna]

an: thank you to the anon that requested our beloved king, Kento with this song. It was such a treat to listen to and dream up! <3

starring: Nanami Kento x gn reader

warnings: fluff, fluff and maybe the tiniest hint of suggestive, SFW

now playing -

Romance was not dead. 

You couldn’t quite reconcile that thought with how you had felt prior to that fateful night. Whilst you would never label yourself as a cynic, you also were not one to be easily swayed by the promise of hearts, chocolate and flowers. In reality, love was nothing like how it was portrayed in the old black and white movies of yesteryear. 

Then you met Nanami Kento. 

A chance meeting. A rainy afternoon. Dashing for the shelter of a bakery’s awning as the heavens pelted the streets mercilessly. Tripping and nearly landing on your face only to be saved by a strong arm. Was it that simple? 

He brushed off your embarrassment and stammered thanks with a subtle smile and held out his bright yellow umbrella in offer. 

“Oh, it matches your tie!” The words tripped off your tongue to your immediate mortification, skin heating despite the seasonal chill. 

In honesty, you weren’t sure how you ended up on a date with this dashing man, but fate had clearly decided to smile upon you.  

Kento was reserved but far from impolite. He preferred to listen whilst you answered his questions and you got a sense that he really drank in every word, even when you were certain that you were simply babbling.  

He was a gentleman in the true sense of the word; he held the door for you, offered you his arm when walking along the street, helped you in and out of his car, but there was also an evident respect. When he did speak it was passionately. His beliefs were a fundamental part of him and the more you discovered... the more you fell in love. 

Months later, after a wonderful home cooked meal with copious amounts of wine and shared laughter, you realised just how deeply you cared for him. Only the moonlight illuminated the bedroom, the world seemingly at rest whilst you were wide awake. You lay on your side and memorised his face, relaxed in sleep. 

There was no tightness around his eyes as there sometimes was in the day. No crease between his dark blond eyebrows. His lips were lax as soft puffs of air exhaled quietly. Maybe if you were more daring you would have reached out to trace the bridge of his nose and across the soft expanse of his bottom lip. Instead, you settled for capturing this moment in your memory. 

You loved him, and one day... you hoped he would love you in return. So, yes, whilst love and romance was not as it was portrayed in those old movies, it was still very real and alive today. Thanks to a rainstorm and a yellow umbrella. 

I trace it all back, three-thirty AM  That night, something turned in my heart  While you were sleeping, I fell in love 

Return to the set list

[leupagus]

Please enjoy this section of "A Song of Darkness and Dawn" that's at least three fics into the future (somewhere around season 8?) that I've had in my drafts for literally a year

Happy anniversary?

"Father never talked about the Rebellion," said Lady Stark after a long moment. "At least not with me. Our septa taught us about it, a bit. How King Robert made his claim to the Iron Throne in part through his grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen. She was the younger sister to King Jaehaerys and Queen Shaera."

"You believe Daenerys's claim to be stronger than mine?" He took a breath, wondering at himself even as he said, "It may well be."

Lady Stark gaped at him. "'It may well be'?" she echoed, incredulous. "Whatever happened to 'the Iron Throne is mine by right' and 'all those who deny my claim are my enemy' and 'I alone can unite the realm'?"

"I don't sound like that," he snapped, ignoring her badly-suppressed snort. "Robert won by right of conquest more than birth, and three dragons gives Daenerys Stormborn a better claim than any bloodline. But the more I think on it..." He sighed. "I suspect that there is no such thing as king — or queen — by right. It's simply a pretty phrase for those in power to pursue what they want, at the expense of their duty to their people." He glanced at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, though her expression was odd. "I just never expected to hear such things from you."

"It's your fault, if it's anyone's."

"Really." This expression was more familiar: a glower. "I'm sure this will be interesting."

"You took Winterfell back, despite having no real claim other than the..." He cast about for the right word, "sentiment, I suppose, of the Northern lords."

It wasn't the right word, he soon discovered. "I'm a Stark," she replied hotly. "My family's held the North for thousands of years!"

"But you're not the heir to Winterfell," he pointed out. ". Daughters can inherit — but they usualy don't, not if there's a son living. And your father had three."

"None of whom want to be Warden of the North!" She looked ready to kick him. "And you yourself granted Winterfell to me—"

"And I meant it," he said, stepping back a judicious pace. "You've rebuilt the Keep and brought order back to the North, made it safe for your people. Now you're preparing them for the Great War, and I'd ask for no one better. You're doing your duty. But it was a duty you sought, and a duty that rightly belongs to someone else."

"It's a duty I'm suited to," she countered. "Just as you were suited better to be Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships than to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

Stannis jabbed a finger at her. "That was completely different!"

"Only because King Robert gave Storm's End to Renly outright," she said, raising a finger in turn. "You're the one who considered it a slight, even though Dragonstone was the holdfast given to the heir to the Iron Throne, which you were, until Joffrey was born. Not only that, you were the only man Robert could have trusted to rebuild his fleet. And," she added, pushing his hand down when he tried to interject, "You would have hated being Lord of the Stormlands."

She said it with such triumphant confidence that he was left gaping at her for a moment, before hurredly pulling his hand away from hers. "I admire your confidence, my lady," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But bear in mind that I am Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

"Yes, and if you were there, you'd hate it," she said blithely. "You'd have to deal with people, throughout the day and every day — and not just people who do as you tell them. You'd have to listen to the complaints of smallfolk about their taxed grains, hear out disputes between two holdings that have been fighting over the same half-acre for three generations; you'd have to listen all the wheedling lords and the irascable septons and blustering tradesmen. You'd have to offer comfort to the sickly who come to you for the healing touch of their lord, attend feast days and wave and smile at the crowds, accept the flower crowns the children weave for you at the tourneys. You can't just shout. You have to care, and be shown to care. You—" Suddenly she stopped and laughed. "I wish I had a mirror right now, to show you your face."

"Flower crowns?" he asked, wincing. Shireen would look well in them, at least.

"Good thing I didn't bend the knee, Your Grace," she said, "if the mere thought of daisies wrapped around your head makes you rethink the entire enterprise. What did you think being king meant?"

[sotwk]

How I have been officially infected with Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers brainrot:

I'm about to complete and post my second Bucky one-shot in four days. In case you didn't know, that is record-breaking fic writing speed for me.

Within those same 4 days, I gained 7 new followers that are all Bucky/Sebastian blogs. Hello, New Friends!

Last night, after I slept off a low-grade fever, I woke up with two new fully-fleshed ideas for Steve x Reader one-shots.

I'm listening to Love Song playlists these days, and I swear every other song I hear sparks another Bucky or Steve romance idea. Like, what even is this?!

It's not like this MCU obsession is unprecedented; before returning to Tolkien, I did Marvel roleplay for a solid 10 years. My total creative output would have been hundreds of thousands of words written, just not in fic format.

What does that mean for this blog and my writing?

Let's be absolutely clear that this is still and will remain a Tolkien-centric blog! I'm just running with the inspiration and writing energy I'm getting from these two blorbos. I haven't made any real progress on my Tolkien fics for many weeks, and I just need to write. I'm sure you all get it. :)

I'm sure the brainrot will calm down and I will make it back to Tolkien "regular programming".

My MCU Masterlist is going to grow, and I would really appreciate it if any of my Mutuals who are in the MCU fandom could show the fics a little love. (and thank you to those who already have!)

If I can somehow convert some Mutuals into loving these two characters, that would just be the BEST ACHIEVEMENT!

PS. I've been wanting to get a Corkcicle coffee mug for a while now, and THIS design happened to be on sale, so I snagged it! If that's not a Sign, I don't know what is.

[iceclew]

ok, yeah, so i've been tagged a lot in this actually and missed going for the trend so far. It's kinda hard for me to tell, 'cause guys...if you knew the amount of songs, I listen to, every hour/day... t'is a hard choice to ask for "the one now"

@ashiraismyname funny enough, your turn with CHINCHILLA and Hoshina could be 100% mine. But that would be lame now to add that, but still fully vibe with your choice here <3

@kafkahibinomybeloved love the choice, let me just save this one to my playlist <3

@mechazushi Classic. I like that ( o‿<) Also I need to note down this show O:

@sonicasura uh, this one goes hard, I like that 8D Now I need to look up why I feel like I know the singer of this, lmao

------

I'll send a melancholic duo on the field for ya... It's Monday morning after all and Spike unexpectedly crossed my mind this morning so.... <3

silly tag game!! show us the current (or last) song you're listening to + your fav chara!

npt: @norikuna @gojocon @nkoprra @deathofacupid @aishi-toru @baepsays @moonstonejpg @indiewritesxoxo

[grapesrsogood]

Im bored so here is one head cannon for every character I’ve listened to ( ¯ □ ¯ )

~~~~~~~~~~

- Xanthus enjoys playing the piano for Love whilst they’re reading.

- Andrew can’t tell the difference between AI and real videos/images.

- Dontis decided to try out TikTok to attempt to “connect with the younger generations of human” and accidentally has an (extremely blurry and with an even more confused Dontis) image posted of himself with no tags and the song About Damn Time by Lizzo playing in the background.

- Issac secretly watches 40 min long cat videos before going to bed, he refuses to let anybody find out, but in his defense its only because if he didnt end the day with funny cat videos, the horrors of his job and responsibilities that weigh on him would cause him to not be able to sleep. He’s tried things like CBD and relaxants but its just made him more anxious at the thought of intruders. (Sorry about making this kinda sad i just love Issac and i ignore him way too much).

- Elias’s favourite colour was pink when he was younger, but he got weird looks from his dads colleagues when he wore it so he decided to lie and say his favourite colour was blue instead.

- Asirel has an issue with rolling his eyes, whenever somebody talks to him, he rolls his eyes, if somebody knocks on his door, he rolls his eyes, etc. It’s a huge problem that he’s had his whole life and he cant go a day without rolling his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, i haven’t watched any of the others…

Im a very picky listener okay

Anyways, is this worth a taglist? Idk, pls let me know if you want to be tagged in things like this too or just the longer fics :3

@xxluneilaxxaus @penelopesbaby @claiestve

@onasvigo

[vigilante-3073]

Can you please write a sort of au imagine in which reader is instead of Lydia in the mayfield episode. She meets house when visiting someone and they fall in love but she isn’t married and when he gets the night pass he comes to see her and they do end up together

Interesting

Gregory House x Female Reader

Summary: While admitted to the psychiatric hospital, House encounters a patient's family member that interests him.

TW: Mentions of mental health/relationships.

S/N: Sister's name

House had been admitted to Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital for hallucinations that he had while on Vicodin. He pushed back against the hospital's operating procedures and acted out whenever he could. House was under the assumption that he could get what he wanted by being a menace.

When his approach did not prove fruitful, he gave up and began to steer into the skid. House took his pills, shared in group and surrendered himself to the process. He couldn't imagine what his life would look like without medicine. Doctor Nolan knew that and dangled House's medical license in front of him like a carrot on a stick.

House searched for unexplained phenomenon every day, always looking for an answer to the unanswered.

His fascination of the day was a young woman who came to visit another patient. The patient in question was a relatively young woman with a history of depression and suicidal tendencies.

The patient had been admitted to Mayfield for years with no release date in sight. The girl got better and then got worse, mood dropping even lower than it had been before.

Antidepressants didn't seem to have an effect on her, even with incredibly high dosages.

House discovered that the patient's name was S/N, the person who came to visit her was her older sister. Her sister's name was Y/N and she came to Mayfield every day without fail.

Y/N brought a folder of sheet music, she sat at the piano and played songs for her sister.

House heard the music and managed to sneak back into the building while everyone else was out in the yard. He lingered in the doorway, watching her fingers dance across the ivory keys and listening to the music.

S/N sat on the bench beside the piano, staring out the window as she listened to her sister play. Y/N finished the song, switching her sheet music around.

S/N looked over, spotting House in the doorway, "What do you want, House?" S/N spat. The ice in her tone reminded him that his rude comments were not forgotten when he changed his approach. Y/N turned around, looking between her sister and House nervously.

"I heard the music. Just wanted to see who was playing," House said.

"Sure you did. Get the hell out of here," S/N snapped.

House looked over at Y/N, "Leave the piano unlocked when you go," He said, reluctantly turning around and making his way down the stairs.

House hesitated when he heard a voice, "Who was that?" Y/N questioned softly.

"Some doctor guy, he's been here for a while but he's an ass. I want you to stay far away from him," S/N said.

"Maybe he's just going through a hard time, S/N. It took you a while to adjust when you were admitted here. You should give him the benefit of the doubt," Y/N said.

"I'd rather light myself on fire," S/N scoffed.

Y/N didn't reply, but he heard the piano music resume. She was good, he had to admit it.

House found himself standing on the stairs as he listened to her play. He had been desperately craving something and he hadn't been sure of what it was until now.

House missed music.

After the playing stopped, House walked back out to the yard. He sat on the bench beside Doctor Beasley as he waited for their outside time to come to an end.

"How long has Y/N been coming here?" He asked.

"Every day since her sister was admitted. Why?" Doctor Beasley asked.

House shrugged, "She seems nice," He stated.

"Are you insinuating that S/N isn't nice?" She asked.

"She hates my guts," House said.

"You haven't given her many reasons to change her view of you. Maybe that's something you could work on," Doctor Beasley suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," House muttered.

...

House attempted to improve his relationship with his fellow patients. Some of the patients accepted him easily, but S/N didn't.

S/N seemed to have some kind of sworn vendetta against House. He couldn't believe that one wayward comment he had tossed her way would have such a lasting effect.

It was clearly about something else.

S/N stood guard around her sister like a rabid pitbull, keeping House away. Y/N obviously noticed, but chose not to go against her sister's wishes.

Although, after she played for her sister, Y/N always left the piano unlocked for House.

He wasn't able to have many opportunities to play, but he appreciated Y/N giving him the chance. House continued to try his luck with S/N, but it felt like he was repeatedly walking into a brick wall.

House was determined and eventually an opportunity presented itself. Y/N was playing the piano as she usually did, but her sister was nowhere in sight.

House made his way over, "That's a complicated piece," He stated.

Y/N looked up at him, "Yeah, it took me a while to learn it," She said.

"Can I play you something?" House asked, Y/N nodded and slid over on the bench.

House leaned his cane on the wall before taking a seat next to her. He raised his hands, settling them over the keys with a content sigh as he began to play.

House's fingers moved across the ivory keys with practiced precision, eyes drifting closed as he listened to the music. House opened his eyes and lowered his hands when he finally finished playing.

"I've never heard that song before," Y/N said.

"I wrote it a long time ago," House stated.

"It was beautiful... I can really tell that you have a passion for music," Y/N said.

"I wish I was able to play more, but whenever I try they lock the damn thing again," House replied.

"I'm sorry... I tried to leave it open for you," Y/N said.

"I know and I've been meaning to thank you for that. I would've done it sooner if your sister didn't hate my guts," House smiled.

"S/N is going through some stuff right now. She's not always like that," Y/N assured.

"You spend a lot of time making excuses for the people around you," House stated.

Y/N scoffed slightly, "I didn't realize that was a bad thing," She said.

"It's not... It's just interesting. You're a person who's overly forgiving of others, but enormously critical of yourself," House said.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand why that's interesting," Y/N admitted.

"You're willing to give everything you've got until you have nothing left. It's selfless and stupid," House said.

Y/N reached out and closed the lid of the piano before standing from the bench. She picked up her purse and made her way towards the exit.

"Wait," House called. Y/N paused and turned towards him, "I'm sorry... Please stay," He said.

She hesitated, "Alright, I'll stay. But you have to be nice, okay?" Y/N questioned.

"Deal," House nodded.

Y/N sat back down at the piano, they talked and played for another hour before she had to leave. House found himself waiting for her every day, listening for the music and hoping that he could steal a moment alone with her.

S/N had started a new medication and was sleeping for the majority of the next few weeks. Her mood was turbulent and she didn't want to see her sister. The doctors were working on the dosing for her medications but House didn't care. In all honesty, he was grateful for every hour that he got to spend with Y/N.

House was falling for her and it caught him by surprise. Y/N had become a steady and reliable presence in his life, she radiated the warmth and kindness that House desperately needed.

They spent hours together at the piano, playing and talking until they knew absolutely everything about each other.

House was in love with this woman.

It was a love that had previously been unknown to him. He wasn't being numbed by pain pills and alcohol, he felt everything and he wanted to feel that way every day.

They spent yet another day talking at the piano and House couldn't hold himself back. Y/N was beautiful, hair falling into her face as she smiled widely at something he said. House reached out, tucking the strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek in his hand.

House leaned in, cutting her off by pressing his lips to her's in a gentle kiss. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into him, moving her lips hesitantly against his.

Y/N pulled away suddenly, a panicked look appeared on her face as she stood up and grabbed her bag. Y/N made her way towards the exit, keeping her eyes downcast as she went.

"Y/N, wait," House called, standing up and limping after her. He caught her wrist and turned her to face himself, suddenly confused when he saw the tears in her eyes.

"Why are you running?" He asked.

"We can't do this. You're not healthy right now and I shouldn't be taking advantage of you," Y/N stated.

"What are you talking about? I kissed you. I want this, I want you," House assured.

"You don't know what you want, House, but I do know that it's not me... I'm sorry," She mumbled, pulling her wrist from his grasp and walking out.

...

Y/N hadn't been back to the hospital since and House found himself wondering where it had all gone wrong. He missed her. House missed her more than anything and it hurt.

House found himself watching S/N over the next few weeks. Her medications had finally been stabilized and she was like a completely different person.

S/N shared in group, she finished her meals and she was genuinely happy. House felt a pit form in his stomach when yet another sheet cake was wheeled into the common room.

"Today we're here to congratulate... S/N!" Doctor Beasley said, gesturing to the young woman beside her.

S/N smiled as the room erupted in supportive applause and cheers, "We're proud of her! We wish her well and we hope to-," Doctor Beasley started.

"Never see her again!" Everyone chimed in.

S/N leaned forward and blew out the candle, smiling widely as she looked at the people around her.

House left the celebration quickly, making his way down the hallway and into Doctor Nolan's office. He moved over to the desk, "What can I do for you, House?" Doctor Nolan asked, setting his pen down.

"I want an overnight pass," House stated.

Doctor Nolan stared at him for a moment, "You're going to see Y/N, aren't you?" He asked.

House shifted on his feet, "Why do you care where I go?" He asked.

"I'll give you the pass if you really want it, but Y/N was right to do what she did... You came here to work on yourself and you can't do that if you're leaning heavily on someone else," Doctor Nolan said.

"I know... But I can't let her go," House stated.

"Alright," Doctor Nolan nodded.

House left the office after Doctor Nolan promised to have the documentation ready in under an hour. House quickly located S/N in the common room, he wasn't sure how she felt about him but he still approached her.

House sat on the bench beside her, he stared ahead as he tapped his cane on the ground.

"Is there something you need from me, House?" S/N asked, the lack of malice in her tone was comforting.

"I'm in love with your sister," He stated.

S/N huffed a laugh, "I know, you idiot," She said.

House looked over at her, "She told you?" He asked.

"Of course she did. She tells me everything," S/N said.

"Does everything include how she feels about me?" House asked.

"That sounds really desperate to ask, but yeah. She likes you," S/N said.

"Can you tell me where I can find her?" House asked.

"Did you get an overnight pass or something?" She asked.

House didn't reply and S/N smiled, "Oh my god, you did... And you want to go see my sister, you dirty dog," She teased.

"Can you just give me an address?" House asked.

"Fine, but be good to her, okay?" S/N said, he nodded.

She opened her journal, scribbling down the address and tearing the page out. S/N handed it to House and the next thing he knew, he was standing on Y/N's doorstep.

House knocked and took a steadying breath as he saw movement inside. Y/N opened the door, "House? What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I got a pass and your sister gave me your address," He said.

"She did?" Y/N questioned, House nodded.

"I love you, Y/N... I didn't expect to fall in love with you but I did and I can't imagine my life without you in it," House stated.

"Do you really mean that?" Y/N asked softly.

"I do," House said.

Y/N stepped forward, cupping his cheeks in her hands and pressing her lips to his. House wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close to himself as they kissed.

Y/N pulled away, breathing heavily as she looked at him, "I love you too, House," She said.

"I know... Your sister may have told me that too," He smiled.

Y/N smiled back, "Will you get in trouble if you stay here tonight?" She asked.

"I wouldn't care if I did," House stated. Y/N backed up in her house and took his hand, pulling him inside with her.

The rest of the night was a blur of abandoned clothing and gentle touches, lips against skin as they spent the night together.

House laid on his back with Y/N by his side, her head was rested on his chest and her leg slipped between his. House dragged his fingertips over the bare skin of her back, watching as morning sunlight began to fill the room.

"When do you have to go back?" Y/N asked softly.

"I have a few hours," House said.

"I bring S/N back home today. I can drive you back," Y/N said, House nodded.

"Would you be willing to come and visit me at Mayfield until I'm released?" House asked.

"Of course," She said easily.

There was a part of him that felt guilty. He wondered if he was taking advantage of her kindness, but he wanted to see her and hold her for as long as he possibly could. He could stand to be a little selfish with her.

Life was short and he needed to start living.

"I love you," House said.

"I love you too, House," Y/N smiled.

Things were easy with her and it made House feel like he could handle life without pills. House knew that Wilson would probably not approve of the relationship, but he didn't care. House had finally found someone that he could see a future with and he was excited.

[yeoningz]

FOR LOVERS｡ ࿔✶⋆.˚ 강태현

⧼ 🎐 ⧽ 一 pairing｡ ⸝⸝⸝ kang taehyun ✗ fem!reader genre ｡ ｡ ｡ est. relationship, smut, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

you've never had to call out your safeword before, but during a rough punishment taehyun takes it too far. luckily, he's right there to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.

warnings｡ ⸝⸝⸝ minors do not interact .ᐟ rough sex, explicit language, bdsm elements, established relationship, safeword use, traffic light system, aftercare, dom!taehyun, sub!reader, pussy slapping, vaginal fingering, degredation + dirty talk, lots of pet names (and one use of "whore" and "slut"), cuddles and kisses, sharing a bath word count｡ 1 . 8 k | ⧼ 💿⋆˚࿔ ⧽ 一 to library｡

[notes｡] this is a rewrite + repost of an old fic from last year on my old blog! i care very deeply about this cute sweet lil fic and i hope you all enjoy it for taehyun's birthday <3 caught between the pages will be finished and posted by this weekend, so look out for that! reblogs and feedback are deeply appreciated!

Taehyun was the sweetest lover you've ever had. He just had a knack for making you feel wanted, cherished even in the simplest of moments. It was in the way that he memorized every minute detail about you; exactly how sweet you liked your coffee in the mornings, the perfect song to play when he tries his hardest to get you to dance. What flavor of ice cream was your favorite to your deepest hopes, desires and dreams, and every little thing in between. The way he would leave you notes between the pages of your books, or listen intently to your silly pointless stories, his big dark eyes like portals into his soul as he looks into yours and never looks away. He treated you as if you had hung the moon and the stars, just for him to enjoy as the two of you spend a nighttime picnic gazing up to the sky. Every day he reminds you time and time again that his heart is wholly yours.

He was a much different man in bed. Rough, controlling, mean when he's pounding away inside of you, his strong hands pinning you down and throwing you around as if you weighed nothing. He dominates you completely, body and mind, his nasty words and painful pleasure turning your brain to mush. And God, you love it— love how small and powerless he made you feel, fucked brainless, drowning out all of your worries until all you could think about was him and his cock.

Usually, when you've had a particularly hard day, Taehyun's dominance is just what you need. His big cock and his filthy mouth taking out all of your stress and leaving you sleepy and satisfied. When you had came home home from work and dropped to your knees at his feet, admitting to him that you had touched yourself on your lunch break in hopes that he would punish you accordingly, you were sure that this time was just like any other.

But something just felt wrong.

You've never had to call out your safeword before, never had it even crossed your mind in the countless times you and Taehyun had sex, but the syllables teeter on the tip of your tongue, threatens to fall from your quivering lips with every thrust of his fingers inside your sore, abused cunt.

Sparks of discomfort crept up on the onslaught of pleasure, your pussy overstimulated past it's limit— three times had he made you cum on his thick, deft fingers, and he seems to have no intention of stopping any time soon. You had told him you could take it, but now... you weren't so sure.

"Tyunnie," you hiccup, squirming underneath his broad frame as he pins you to the bed, the wirey muscles of his arms and pecs flexing from the exertion of pumping his fingers in and out inside of you. "Slow down!"

Taehyun tuts, swiftly pulling his fingers out of your wet hole, and for a swift second you breathe out a sigh of relief— but his hand quickly returns with a hard, stinging slap to your puffy pussy lips, right over your throbbing clit. You shriek from the surprise and the pain, writhing against the bedsheets and pulling hard at the ropes that tied your hands up above your head. your wrists stung from the friction, the pain clashing with the ache in your body in a way that made your head pound.

“I said don’t speak unless spoken to, whore. Stupid slut can’t even follow simple directions." Taehyun growls with a smirk, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear "Take your punishment like the good girl I know you are. What’s your color?”

He's so attentive, still completely absorbed in the scene even while checking in on you. Deep in his dominant headspace, punishing you for breaking his rules, he still always put you and your pleasure first. It makes your heart swell in your chest, overcome with outporing love, and it grounds you enough that the feeling starts to ebb away. His calloused fingertips circle your swollen pearl with practiced precision, your body trapped beneath him with one of your shaking legs hiked up over his shoulder.

“G-green.” you whimper despite your growing qualms. You couldn’t bring yourself to even call out a 'yellow'; you’ve done plenty like this before, plenty worse than this, and never once did it make you feel this way, bother you this much. Surely you could take it. You were just being dramatic. 

"That's my good girl." Taehyun purrs, his mask of anger slipping away for him to press a soft kiss to the back of your knee. He looks so gorgeous in the lamp light, honeyed abs shining, dripping sweat, that you didn’t have the focus to prepare yourself for another wet, messy slap to your pussy, this time even harder. 

It was an act you usually enjoyed, begged for even, couldn’t get enough of; but something much different than pleasure was building inside of you. Something you had never felt before... at least, not with him. Instead of hot, untamed desire, there was overstimulation and discomfort… too much for you to bear. 

You thought you would never have to say it, but one more vigorous pass over your clit has you shrieking out from underneath him, “Red!”

Immediately, Taehyun jerks back like he had been burned, dark wide in shock. “Oh god, baby, are you okay?” he gasps, his shaking hands rushing to untie your wrists from the headboard, “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, angel, where does it hurt—?”

You weren’t sure how you expected him to act, but you certainly didn’t expect him to act like this. All of the color had drained from his face, his eyes wide and panicked as he struggles to calm down his breathing. Taehyun was usually so stoic, so composed; you’ve never seen him this anxious before. 

“I’m okay—“ you start, but never get the chance to finish; he gathers up your wrists in his hands and brings them to his face to inspect them for injuries, rope burn; your squirming and pulling had caused the cords to dig tight into your wrists and bite irritated pink marks into your skin. You didn't even notice they were aching until he freed them, too caught up in trying to swallow down your shock. His worried gaze is so intense it burns into your skin, sends your tummy erupting with butterflies. You can’t help but let out a weak watery giggle as he gently soothes over the marks with his thumbs. “Tyunnie, i’m okay, I promise. It wasn’t the ropes.” 

“What was it then? What happened, honey?” he presses still, angelic voice soft and gentle, a high contrast to the wild look on his face. “What do you need?”

“It was just… too much.” you mutter meekly, averting your eyes, your face hot. It sounds so trivial when said aloud— you were beginning to worry that maybe you had overreacted. Taehyun wouldn't get mad at you for that... would he?

“Too much?” he echoes, cupping your cheek in his palm. “What was too much?” 

“…Everything.” you admit after a moment of hesitation. “It was just all... I don’t know. it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” Taehyun retorts immediately, his brow furrowing. Any attempt you make to soothe his worry seems to do the opposite.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, everything just felt off—“

“Hey.” he snaps, cutting you off; he bends his head to look you deep in the eyes, cinnamon honey gaze so sharp and passionate that it takes your breath away. “Nothing is wrong with you, Y/N. It’s okay for it to be too much sometimes. Don’t you dare feel guilty about stopping me.”

“Well, I—“

“I mean it. Please, baby, I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Your bottom lip wobbles a bit as you rack your frazzled brain for something to say. Luckily, Taehyun beats it to you. “What do you need, angel?” he repeats, his fingers carressing your chin.

“You.” you whimper, reaching out to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Hold me, please?” 

You’re enveloped in Taehyun's thick arms in an instant, strong and warm as he cradles you against his chest, tucks your head underneath his chin so you can listen to his heartbeat. You’re completely enveloped by him, the comforting scent of his cologne, his chest rumbling when he starts to hum a soothing melody. Tears wet your eyelashes and you blink frantically to keep them from overflowing. 

“Of course, baby, I love you so much, my strong girl. Do you want me to run you a bath? We can take it together if you’d like— I’ll wash you, take care of you. I’ll take care of you all night.”

And he does.

The warm soapy bath water washes away all of your worries, leaves your mind blissfully blank as Taehyun massages shampoo through your hair; with your back pressed against his broad chest, snug in between his legs in the tub, you've never felt safer, more at home.

His princess, protected from all of the evil in the world. Her face peppered with gentle kisses when she leans her head back against his shoulder and closes her eyes.

“Angel?” Taehyun asks quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. His soft plump lips ghost your temple, feather light against your warm wet skin. It’s difficult to focus on what he’s saying and not just the rough, husky timber of his usually light voice. 

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you stop me sooner?"

You crack your eyes open. “…What do you mean?”

“why did you push yourself like that instead of telling me right when things stopped feeling good? We use the light system for this exact reason.” he goes quiet for a moment before timidly adding “... You trust me, right?” 

“Of course I trust you, Tyun!” you rush to reassure him, the water in the tub sloshing over the rim when you turn to face him. Neither of you pay it any mind. “It wasn’t you, baby, I... I didn’t want to disappoint you. It was a punishment.”

To your dismay, taehyuns face crumples at your admission. He tucks a strand of wet soapy hair behind your ear. “Y/N… using your safeword would never disappoint me. I don't care if it was a punishment-- I want you to use it, honey. Anytime you need to. I want you to let me know how you’re feeling.” 

“…I’m sorry.” you whisper, bowing your head— Taehyun was quick to lift it back up with his knuckle beneath your chin. Looking into his big beautiful eyes was like looking directly into the sun. 

“Don’t be sorry. Don't ever be afraid to use your safewords ever again, okay?” 

“Okay.” you echo, a small smile creeping it’s way onto your face. “I love you.”

Taehyun presses his lips to yours in the chastest, sweetest kiss of any he had given that night. “I love you more.”

𝒯O𝔐ORROW X 𝒯O𝒢E𝒯HER 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼

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[dreamtydraw]

I know it doesn't fit the lore, but every time I listen to "Would You Fall In Love With Me Again" I think of Zamen and Azeen.

I love them so much

first off thank you so much for liking them i'm very not normal about this ship despite being the one who made them- And actually the song fit very well lore wise because Zamen is in love with Azeen, he is just not capable to understand this feelings because of Azeen's curses so he literally fall in lover with her over and over again without realizing while Azeen is waiting for the day she'll finaly be free to possibly have her feelings met too. They make me unwell so much but I'm literally the one who made them so if i want content I have to do it myself and AAAAAAAAAAARGH-

Anywhozie... here some food and thank you so much for remembering this obscure ship.