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mia-maybank · 2 days ago

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I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted: Part 2 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Fem!reader ( 2.2k words)

The sidemen charity match , a gorgeous ex-boyfriend with a mullet and his entire friendgroup scattered around the stands to avoid ... what could ever go wrong?

warnings: angst (they will get their happiness eventually I promise), hints of poor mental health but it's not a heavy focus, arguing.

series | masterlist

Thank you guys so much for the love on the first part! I hope you enjoy this part just as much <3 (also why is trying to write a breakup where both people come out of it looking like a good person so hard help)

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Time feels like it stands still as I shrink under the gaze of the very people I had been intending to avoid at all costs today. I felt like a deer in headlights, a child caught in the act of doing something I wasn't meant to, although I had technically done absolutely nothing wrong, except miss my ex-boyfriend.

The awkward silence stretches on, until Chris, seeming to realise that nobody is eager to be the one to break the silence, clears his throat and turns to look at the crowd of boys behind him.

"Uh, are you guys okay to give us 2 minutes?" he asks, and my stomach drops with a mix of relief at the thought of not being under the scrutinous gaze of all 6 guys any longer, but also dread at the thought of watching George walk away. Again.

2 Months Ago

I sit on the edge of my shared bed with George, picking at my fingers nervously whilst he paces the length of the bedroom, hands intertwined in the ends of his mullet. Usually, when my anxiety heightens and my tendency to pick my fingers raw and red takes over, George is straight over to cradle my hands and soothe my nerves with soft kisses to my knuckles and gentle whispers. Now, however, he can barely look at me, eyes darting around the room restlessly, never landing on one place for too long.

"I just don't like what's happened to us lately" I continue on with the half-conversation-half-argument that has seemed to go around in circles for the last hour, with neither one of us willing to back down, both too stubborn and passionate. It funny, the way the world works; the two traits that once brought us together in the beginning, when times were simpler and we could still dance around the pressures that life threatened to impose, are now the very qualities that may destroy our relationship entirely.

"We've been fine" George argues, sighing from across the room like he's tired of this argument. Usually, he would always hear me out and respect my opinion with the utmost tenderness and follow up with action to prove that he listened to me, however the strain that has loomed over our relationship for the last 2 weeks has taken a toll upon him just as much as it has me. "I've just been busier because I've had shoots with the sidemen - you know I would never avoid you on purpose."

"I know you haven't meant to George, but you have to understand how shit it feels to be pushed to the side suddenly because of work opportunities!" My voice rises now, frustration taking over the rational side of my brain as I felt like I wasn't being heard - something I wasn't used to with George, who was usually so attentive.

"Well maybe you need to understand how shit it feels to be trying to balance constant work commitments, friends, family and a girlfriend when everybody expects you to be perfect!" he snaps back, his face dropping when I flinch back. He tentatively takes a step towards me, and when I don't flinch again, he kneels in front of the bed, grasping my hands in his own and gazing up at me with a look so tender that my heart nearly wrenches straight out of my chest.

"Look, I think we’re trying to love each other in ways the other person doesn’t need.” his voice is tender, so tender that it almost doesn't match the cruel words he had previously uttered. "I think maybe we just need a break."

My heart drops at the dreaded words, tears springing to my eyes. But then I look at George's tear-stained, earnest face and know in that instant that I will do anything for this man, even if it involves ripping my heart straight out of my chest over and over.

"Okay" I whisper, my voice cracking. "We'll take a break." He knocks his forehead gently against mine and I close my eyes, savouring his warmth against mine. I don't open my eyes when he kisses my forehead, slow and lingering, like he doesn't want to let go, and finally look up just in time to see him leave.

A day passes. I mope in bed. Then comes a week. I finally give up hope of any of our friend group reaching out to me. Then a month. I decide to leave the house for the first time since the breakup but can't find the motivation to make it out of the door. Then two months. And I give up completely.

One by one, the guys take Chris' not so subtle hint and leave. Simon looks between the two of us with poorly-concealed curiosity before turning away, patting George on the shoulder reassuringly as he leaves. Ethan and Max follow quickly, muttering between themselves, whilst Tobi offers me a reassuring smile and Harry a small nod before they continue up the stairs.

George doesn't move.

He finally unfreezes, relaxing his posture and turning towards Chris, his facial expression still irritatingly unreadable.

"Are you okay to give us a minute, mate?" he asks Chris, his voice taking on that gentle tone again that takes me back to the last time we spoke. Chris nods, stepping towards George and whispering something into his ear that makes his face crumple in concern before Chris turns back to me. "We will catch up later properly, alright?" the hopeful tone of his voice chips at the cage I've built around my heart the last two months and I nod, watching him break out in a relieved grin before he heads in the direction of what I guess is the changing rooms.

The silence lingers for a moment , both of us unable to stray our eyes away from each other or form a coherent sentence.

"Hi" I finally settle on. Hi? You've fantasised about this moment for the past 2 months and the best you can come up with is hi? I mentally scold myself, but to my relief his face breaks out into a soft, almost fond smile. God, I've missed that smile so fucking much.

"Hi" he echoes, and I melt inside as the sound of his voice greets my ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you on your big day" I apologise, suddenly self-conscious of how psychopathic sneaking around a football match that my ex-boyfriend is playing in seems. "I was planning on just coming to watch quietly and then slipping out without causing a scene, I guess that didn't really go to plan though".

He laughs softly, the sound a soothing melody to my lingering anxieties. "Yeah, you never were the plan maker for good reason". The past tense hurts more than I care to admit, but I force myself to brush it off as he continues to speak. "I'm sorry that you felt like you had to hide from everyone though, we all would have been really happy to see you."

He lets that statement settle for a moment, sitting on a step before patting the spot next to him. I sit down, close enough that our knees knock, and when he doesn't pull away I feel like a teenager with a crush on the boy sat net to her in class. He keeps his gaze steadily trained on mine, continuing with a much more raw, vulnerable edge to his voice now. "We all really miss you, y'know. I miss you".

I can't help the flame of anger that sparks in my chest at the clearly false sentiment, because if they missed me, why did nobody call?

"But...but you didn't call me George" I can't disguise the plain sadness that fills my tone, avoiding his eyes. "Two months and not one person called or text me ... not once."

When I finally dare to look up, I'm surprised to see tears in his eyes and a flare of panic jolts through my chest at the thought that I might of upset him. I apologise quickly, but he shakes his head softly, his expression only saddening further.

"Don't you dare apologise" he finally utters, causing me to blink in surprise. "Chris told me about how you haven't left your flat since the breakup".

The concern and tears in his eyes suddenly make sense. "That snitching bastard, so that's what he whispered to you" I groan in exasperation and embarrassment, hiding my face in my hands.

He giggles gently, tugging my hands slowly from my face, the sudden contact sending shockwaves of electricity through my body, before much to my disappointment he drops my hands and a serious expression takes over his face once more.

"I'm so, so sorry that you felt isolated like that. Everybody presumed you wanted to be left alone and had moved on with different friends and a new life, but that was a fucking stupid assumption to make and we should have known better and reached out. I hate the thought of you all alone this entire time."

I don't know quite when it happened, but one minute I'm staring at him wordlessly as I process his words and the next I'm violently sobbing. He only hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling me in, shielding me in his toned arms as I weep into his shoulder and dampen his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry" he keeps murmuring, and it's not until my sobs subside slightly 15 minutes later that I feel the dampness on the top of my head and realise that he is crying to.

Pulling back just enough to be able to see his expression and wipe the tears gently from his cheeks, I take shuddering breaths and he continues to hold me soothingly, one hand rubbing my back whilst his other thumb draws circles on my waist.

"I missed you" I finally feel brave enough to whisper into the air between us and he instantly pulls me back into a tight embrace.

"That argument two months ago" he murmurs into my hair, rocking us soothingly back and forth. "I've regretted every word I said every single day since. Every. Single. One."

I sniffle into his chest, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

"I wanted to reach out so badly" he admits, continuing to rock me slowly. "I thought you were better off without me, so I didn't. But I know I fucked up now. I carried on with living and filming with our friends like you hadn't just vanished off the face of the earth since our argument and that was so, so fucked up of me to do" his breath hitches and we slowly pull away from each other, assuming our much less intimate positions sat side by side on the steps.

I already missed his warmth, so I knocked my leg against his own, relieved when he pressed his skin against mine like he needed the contact just as much as I did.

"I did miss being a part of everything" I admit into the quietness of the corridor. "My youtube career, my friendship, me and you ... it all felt like it fell apart that day." I can barely stand to look at him, for the amount of guilt and pain his expression holds is almost unbearable.

"I'd like to prove to you again that you still have all that" he mutters almost shyly.

"Huh?" I furrow my brows, not understanding his statement.

"Your channel. Your friends. Me.. we are all still here if you want us." he lets out softly. "I know I sure as hell don't deserve your forgiveness but-".

"George" I interrupt softly before he can fall too far into his self-internalising guilt-fuelled spiral. "I messed up too. I could've reached out and I didn't."

His brow furrows. "Still not your fault" he counters, so familiarly stubborn that I almost giggle giddily despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Want to come say hi to everyone?" he asks almost sheepishly. "I know they all want to see you.. and we are going for drinks after.. only if you want to come, no pressure of course" he tacks on quickly at the end.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make it awkward or weird" I hesitate, doubt clawing at my insides.

"You won't, I promise" he sticks his pinkie out and I smile fondly at his childishness, linking my pinkie with his and allowing him to pull me up towards the lions den.

Well, here goes nothing.

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Part 3 will be out in the next few days wehehe ... also I feel like I suck at writing dialogue so I do apologise

Tags:

@the-internets-girlfriend @madforgeorge @happyclifford @sidemenslver @heyitsmefall @bbygrlllllll @mothersversiononly @dopeysunflowers @kwonhoeshi @ooostarwarsfandom501st @liz140569 @artvscvntymullet @livvymd

Also everybody who asked to be on my tag list in the comments of part 1 is it just for this series or for any george fics/ ukyt fics in general? Just so I know what to tag you guys in :)

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 3 days ago

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the one before the one // joaquín torres

Summary: During a night out with your friends, you run into your ex and find he got engaged. While you struggle with the bittersweet feeling of not being enough, Joaquín is struggling to find the way to tell you you’re ‘the one’ for him.

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, shitty exes, reader feels like she's not enough, yelena (trying to) being a wingwoman, joaquín being adorable, unsaid feelings

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @ladybirdbeewrites for proofreading this!

Inspired by the song 'the one before the one' by Áine Deane

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

The pub buzzed with lively energy, filled with people chatting, drinking, and playing pool. The music played loud enough to create a vibrant backdrop, but not so loud that it hindered conversations.

At the bar, the sound of your friends’ laughter reached you from where they sat in a booth tucked into one of the corners. You leaned your arms on the bar as you waited for Tabitha to finish preparing the drinks you had ordered.

“Y/N?”

You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice calling your name, your heart quickening when you saw the man approaching.

“Tyler?”

The last person you expected you’d run into tonight was your ex-boyfriend. The last time you saw him was nearly a year ago, the night he ended things with you, claiming he wasn’t ready for commitment. To say that seeing him now with his arm wrapped around a stunning redhead was surprising would be an understatement.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just a night out with my friends,” you replied, gesturing behind you toward the table where your friends were animatedly chatting as they waited for you to bring the drinks.

“I see,” he muttered.

“And who’s this?” you asked, gesturing toward the woman next to him, as it appeared he had no intention of introducing her.

“Oh, this is Sylvie.”

The redhead extended her left hand toward you with a kind smile, and that’s when you saw it. The diamond ring on her left hand glimmered as it caught the light.

“You’re engaged.” Your voice unintentionally came out slightly higher than you had intended as it resonated with disbelief.

She nodded, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, Tyler proposed a few weeks ago.”

A knot formed in your stomach, blending surprise with a sharp twinge of pain. Eight months had passed since the breakup, yet here he was, effortlessly beginning a new chapter of his life right before your eyes, which felt undeniably unfair. Tyler, who once seemed certain about his feelings for you, was now prepared to take a step he had previously deemed unacceptable with you.

“Wow, that's... great,” you barely managed to say, each word feeling like a careful balance between politeness and discomfort. “Congratulations,” you added, though your tone couldn’t entirely conceal your unease.

Here you were again.

You'd lost count of how many times this had happened to you.

Sometimes you wonder if you did something bad in another life. Perhaps you refused to give up your seat on the bus for a grandma or rejected the plaintive gaze of a homeless man who simply wanted five dollars, and now karma was punishing you for it.

How else would you explain your never-ending terrible luck in love?

You and Tyler had dated for two years. There were ups and downs, as with any relationship. The honeymoon phase had long passed, but you were in a stable relationship, or so you thought.

You'd given it your all in that relationship, just as you did in prior ones.

And what did you get in return? Lack of commitment and empty promises.

But it seemed, just like the other times before, the problem in the equation was you.

Because if Tyler had envisioned a future with you, he wouldn’t have ended the relationship.

And if Tyler had considered you the love of his life, he wouldn't be engaged right now to a woman he'd been dating for less than a year.

“Here are your drinks, hon.” Tabitha placed the drinks in front of you with a wink.

“Thank you, Tabs,” you replied, attempting to smile despite the whirlwind of emotions shaking inside you.

“Tyler mentioned that you work for the Avengers?” Sylvie asked curiously. “That’s so cool.”

“She doesn’t work for the Avengers; She is an Avenger,” a voice corrected from behind you.

Your savior.

Relief washed over you when Joaquín approached and placed a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

Tyler scoffed as he saw your friend arrive. “Of course you’re here.”

It was worth saying that Tyler wasn't Joaquin's biggest fan, of any of your friends, for that matter. To say he was uninterested in your social circle was an understatement. Even when he met Yelena and Kate, he did so reluctantly. But with Joaquin, it had always been worse; he'd always felt an animosity toward him that you couldn't quite understand, and in turn, Joaquin had his reservations about your ex as well.

Sylvie squealed with excitement. “Oh my god, you’re the new Falcon.”

She was overjoyed to have Joaquín in front of her, her eyes shimmering with glee, lighting up her face. However, Tyler let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“He’s the new Falcon? Yeah, right, and I'm the God of Space.” Disdain oozed from his remark, dampening Sylvie's enthusiasm.

“No. You're just a jerk.” You would not put up with any of his petty behavior tonight, let alone his belittling your friends.

“Always so witty, huh? You never change,” he rebutted. “This is why you're still alone.”

That simple statement hit you with unexpected brutality.

Joaquin was ready to respond, but you gently pressed a hand against his chest, halting him. “It's not worth it.”

Then you turned back to your ex. “Why don't you better go enjoy your night with your fiancée?” You politely smiled at Sylvie before picking up the tray with the drinks that Tabitha had left at the bar a few minutes ago and made your way back to your friends’ table.

“Took you guys long enough,” Yelena complained, her arms crossed as she leaned against the booth when you and Joaquin finally arrived with the drinks.

“I had a little diversion.”

Yelena averted her gaze to the bar and groaned loudly. “Oh no, what’s Fumble McGee doing here?”

“He’s engaged.” You dropped the news casually as you sipped your drink.

Kate's eyes grew wide. “No way! So soon?”

You simply nodded.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You took another sip. “Can't you see?”

Kate looked unconvinced and Yelena was biting her tongue to avoid speaking out of turn.

She looked you up and down for a moment to see how ‘peachy’ you actually were and how much was just bravado. Your poker face never faltered, which she had to begrudgingly give you points for. But that would not deter her. ‘Cause, Yelena never knew when to let something be.

“Oh, look at you, pretending to be all fine and dandy as if you just won the lotto. The only ‘peachy’ thing about that is the fruit salad you’re avoiding.”

“Really? We are going to do this right now?”

“Hey, if you’re going to pretend everything is fine, I might as well call you on it.”

“Yelena,” you took a deep breath, attempting to level your tone, “I’m over it.”

“Honey, you aren’t over it until you stop pretending to drink your feelings away. That is rule number one.”

“I’m just trying to enjoy a night out with my friends,” you said defensively.

“At least you didn't set anything on fire this time,” Kate chimed in, trying to lighten the mood.

Joaquín's eyes dilated in surprise and perplexion when Kate's words reached his ears. This was the first he was hearing of that story. “You did what!?”

“Kate is exaggerating. It was a small fire, nothing too catastrophic. And it was only one time,” you defended yourself.

“Only one small fire. Noted,” Yelena said with a chuckle. “Your track record of poor judgment is improving. But back to Fumble McGee over there— do you want me to go have a word with him?”

“Tempting, but I think I'll decline that offer.”

You cast a glance across the bar; Sylvie was laughing at something Tyler had said, and he was staring at her as if she were the entire universe. Something churned in your stomach, but it wasn’t jealousy, no. You did not lie when you said you were over him.

It was something different. Something you couldn’t find a name for, even though you were familiar with, because you have experienced it before.

He never acted like that with you— he never laughed at your jokes, sent you a birthday card, or called you late at night to ask about your day.

He never made an effort.

But what stung the most was seeing him engaged after he repeatedly told you he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.

Guess he meant that he, like the rest of your ex-boyfriends, wasn't ready to take that step with you.

You averted your gaze and took a long swig of your drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it passed down your throat.

“Offer is still up,” Yelena interjected. “If you let me get creative, I brought my kni—”

“Why did you bring your knife to a club?” Kate asked, although she was unimpressed.

Yelena gave her a deadpan look. “Because you never know when you’ll need it. One must always be prepared for the unexpected. Especially if the target is him.” She pointed back to the bar. “You know how badly I wanted to kick his ass, but she never let me.” She gestured at you with an exaggerated hand motion.

You rolled your eyes at Yelena's antics, though you couldn't help but feel slightly amused.

“Oh, come on. You know I couldn't let you go all... deadly on him.”

“I prefer to think of it as assertive.”

“Sure, assertive like a cat with a hairball.”

Yelena’s eyes widened in mock indignation. “You did not just compare me to a cat with a hairball.”

Kate doubled up in laughter, holding her stomach as she could barely breathe. Joaquín gulped his glass, suppressing his chuckling.

Yelena nudged Joaquín in the arm, her features contorting into a knowing smile. “You’re very silent tonight, Birdy Boy. What’s in your head?”

Joaquín blinked, looking a bit taken aback as if he’d been pulled from a trance. “Uh, well…” He cleared his throat, glancing between you and Yelena. “I mean, it’s pretty clear he’s not worthy of—”

“I wasn’t talking about Fumble McGee,” Yelena cut him in, a cheeky grin spread across her face. “But since you brought it up again… What do you think about our fruit salad here? Don’t you think she deserves someone better?”

Joaquín faltered, the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked at you, searching for the right words. “Yeah, sure. She deserves someone who appreciates her. You know, someone who sees her for who she truly is, not just some trophy to flaunt.”

Yelena smirked knowingly, casting a brief glance at you before turning her attention back to Joaquin. “See? Even Birdy Boy agrees. Our fruit salad deserves someone who not only appreciates, but also adores her.” She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes bright with delight. “Someone who would go out of their way just to make her happy.”

Joaquín’s face heated up, his gaze shifting to you momentarily before returning to Yelena. “Right,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Someone just like that.”

You felt an unexpected flutter in your stomach. You weren't used to feeling this way around him. It was an unusual sensation, unsettling yet invigorating. Joaquín had always been the easygoing, dependable friend who could lighten the mood with a silly joke or a reassuring hug when things got tough. You had never thought of him as anything more than that. However, tonight, as his deep brown eyes locked onto yours, it felt as though layers were peeling away. You had entered uncharted territory. You brushed it off, taking another sip of your drink and skillfully diverting the topic of conversation. But when you met Yelena's gaze, you realized you weren't fooling her; she kept staring at you as though she knew something you didn’t.

“You know you didn’t have to walk me home, right?”

Kate and Yelena had already said their goodbyes by the time you left the club at the end of your night out. Even though it was late, the streets were lit by moonlight and lampposts, and Joaquín insisted on walking you home.

Following Yelena’s insistence, which created a somewhat awkward moment, Joaquín’s heartfelt response, and the unexpected reaction it stirred within you, the tension seemed to dissipate, restoring the familiar and relaxed atmosphere.

“I know. But I still wanted to. It’s a nice night to walk, and I want to make sure you get home safely.”

“I can take care of myself, you know. Remember how I kicked your ass in the ring yesterday?”

“Just ‘cause I went easy on you.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Of course, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Silence settled in, a comfortable one. The night air was crisp, and the chilly breeze carried the scent of pine from the neighboring trees.

After a few moments, you cast a sidelong glance at him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking… about what Kate said. Did you really start a fire?” He looked at you with a gleam in his eyes, letting out a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a lighthearted bump on the shoulder.

“Come on, angel. I need to know that story.”

You let out a small laugh, amusement flooding your chest. “I’m not telling you anything.”

He pouted in feigned despair, his lower lip sticking out playfully. “Come on! You can’t just dangle that juicy story and leave me hanging.”

“You’re just looking for ammunition to tease me.”

He grasped his chest, as though your statement had offended him. “I would never. Who do you take me for?”

You tilted your head and looked at him, your eyes speaking for themselves.

“You wound me. I did not expect this from you, angel.”

You stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow at his overly dramatic flair. You had a smart comeback on the tip of your tongue, but chose to keep it to yourself. Despite enjoying yourself, you refused to engage in Joaquín's banter.

“Very well, I’ll let my heart heal from this sudden betrayal,” Joaquín muttered, clutching his chest as if he were ready to faint. “But know this: the next time the subject is brought up, I’ll be armed with even more dazzling wit to win you over.”

You smirked, trying your best to remain unyielding. “Keep dreaming, Joaquín. You’ll need more than theatrics to make me crack.”

As you kept walking at a steady pace, Joaquín drew closer, his warmth blending with the cold night air. The sound of your footsteps on the pavement resonated faintly in the quiet. You could feel his stare lingering on you.

“And now what?” you inquired playfully. Expecting some more of his antics, which somehow always made you smile.

“Yelena was right, you know?” His tone was soft, yet with a trace of hesitancy. “You really deserve better than someone who thinks you’re… a practice run."

A weary sigh escaped your lips. There went your smile. Running into Tyler tonight was already more than enough, and discovering he was engaged to someone else only made it worse. Yelena and Kate had prolonged discussing the matter far more than necessary—particularly Yelena. And while you knew Joaquín’s intentions were good, and his words from a few hours ago had sparked something within you that you still couldn’t fully comprehend, the last way you wanted to end the night was by bringing it up again.

You halted on your step abruptly, and consequently Joaquín did too.

“All my exes are married by now, Joaquín. As soon as they broke up with me, they tied the knot with someone else. What does that tell you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in scrutiny.

“You think you are the problem?” Joaquín's voice was laced with concern, his eyebrows drawing into a frown.

You took a shallow breath, aware of the weight of your own words. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s something about me that just… doesn’t stick. Like, maybe I’m too much, or not enough.”

“That’s not it at all. You're not too much or not enough,” Joaquín said, stepping closer as if he could somehow shield you from own thoughts. “Some people just don’t really see what’s in front of them. They get caught up in the surface stuff—appearance, status, whatever. But you’re… you.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “You have depth. You're strong, smart, funny, you care about everyone… Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

“Are you saying that because you drank a little too much tonight?” you teased, attempting to deflect the seriousness of the situation.

Joaquín chuckled, the tension easing a notch as he shook his head. “Maybe a little. But I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t mean it.”

That you believed it. In all the time you had come to know Joaquín, you knew the guy was nothing but honest. It was the thing you liked the most about him. So you fought against your urge to dismiss his words.

“Thanks, Joaquín. That’s kind of you to say.”

He shrugged, taking his hands out of his pockets and running them through his hair. “It’s just the truth.”

He took a step forward, the space between you shrinking as he spoke earnestly. “You deserve someone who sees you and chooses you every single day—someone who truly wants to be there for you, not just when it’s convenient.”

You felt something shift when you looked into Joaquín's soft gaze. Everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you in the embrace of the crisp night air.

“What are you saying?” you asked, the tremble of uncertainty returning into your voice.

He hesitated, the soft light revealing the vulnerability in his eyes. “I’m saying… maybe I—”

His words were interrupted by the ringing of your cell phone. Instinctively, your hand dove into your bag, fingertips brushing against the familiar device. You glanced at the caller ID and swiped to answer without hesitation. You listened closely for a few moments before hanging up.

You cleared your throat before speaking. “It was Sam,” you explained. “Something came up. He needs us to go to the base.”

Joaquín’s expression shifted, a hint of disappointment passing across his features before he masked it with a practiced ease. “Okay,” he said, his tone somewhat clipped. “Is it… serious?”

“Yeah, it sounded like it. He didn’t give many details, but we should head over.”

“Right,” he murmured, his hands returning to his pockets in a subtle gesture of retreat. “We should get going then.”

A moment passed between you. The lighthearted feeling from only moments before seemed distant now, as did the impression that something unsaid hovered in the air, making you wish you could rewind time.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres one shot #joaquin torres fic #marvel #mcu #danny ramirez

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laursdomain · 2 days ago

Note

Helloo I very love your work on the lastest Percy! Thank you so much for writing them🫶🏻

I also would like to request Percy x reader as well. Where Percy and Annabeth went down to tartarus. But it will be Percy and reader instead. Where reader decided to let their hand go, so Percy will be ok. That make Percy go wild to find reader.

Thank youu✨

i'll find you

pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

genre: angst

synopsis: Monsters are more deadly and powerful in Europe. You learned that the hard way. Now, you and your boyfriend found yourself in a predicament you wished you weren’t in. Knowing how stubborn and loyal Percy Jackson is, you make a decision for him. A decision that leads to him raging against everyone and everything.

warnings: angst, protective!percy, piper is a brat, annabeth is still on quest, physical altercation, established realtionship

w/c: 1.9k

ྀིpercy jackson masterlist

.ೃ࿐

You were in quite a predicament. Your wrist surely had a red mark from how tight Percy was gripping your wrist. His own hand remained firm around the rocky terrain that led to Tartarus. You knew his hand would start slipping soon, and there was no way for Percy to find purchase on the son of Hades’ extended hand.

“You have to meet us on the other side of the door!” Percy shouted up to Nico, implying you both would free-fall into Tartarus.

You had no choice but to fall into Tartarus. You accepted your fate the moment you were pushed, a result of the deadly monster you faced minutes ago. But, you were not going to let Percy go with you. He’s Percy Jackson, the Son of Poseidon, for gods sake. Could he survive Tartarus? You had no doubt that he could. You couldn’t let him come with you in good conscience, even if it reduced your odds of surviving.

“Are you crazy?” Nico’s voice is firm, and you realize it’s the same tone Hades uses. Like father, like son.

“We don’t have a choice,” Percy grits out, starting to lose purchase. He was running out of time, and he was running out of it quick.

“Percy,” you grab his attention, taking in his beautiful sea-green eyes. “Let me go.”

“Over my dead body,” his words hold truth, he’d rather do anything else than let go of the love of his life.

“Percy, we have no idea where we’re going.” Nico points out, communicating between the remaining demigods and the two of you. Nico was the only one who could withstand the force of Tartarus, maybe it was a child of Hades thing.

“You have Jason, trust him.” Percy’s fingers start slipping on his ledge, and he realizes he only has about a minute, two if he’s lucky, before he falls. With you.

Decisions swirled in your mind as the conversation above you is drowned out. You were stuck—do you let your boyfriend fall with you or do you betray him in order to keep him safe? He’d forgive you for the latter, wouldn’t he?

You may regret this decision, but you act on pure impulse in the next ten seconds. You take your free hand, reaching up as you latch onto his hand. Percy thinks you are just finding more purchase on his hand, not thinking much of it. He couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Percy,” you get his attention again. He turns to you, meeting your eyes. He could tell you were absolutely terrified, and all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and keep you safe. Before he can say a word, you continue. “I love you.”

He smiles, one full of absolute love and adoration. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

When he turns his head back to Nico, you take your chance. You meet Nico’s gaze, mouthing to him. Take care of him. Nico becomes acutely aware of what you’re about to do, and before he can warn Percy—to try and stop you, you beat him to it. Your hand pries Percy’s relenting fingers off your wrist, watching as Percy whips his head back to you, eyes widening. Before he can fight against your fingers, you pry the last finger from your wrist, free falling into Tartarus.

You can hear Percy scream your name, but it soon becomes a distant echo before you’re surrounded in darkness.

Percy wants to jump after you. In fact, he nearly succeeded in doing so before Nico pulls him out of it.

“Percy!” The son of Hades’ voice comes from above, “grab my hand!”

“I have to go after her!” Percy shouts, rage filling his body.

An empathetic look overtakes Nico’s features, “even if you do, you won’t land with her. Tartarus is weird like that—you always enter somewhere different. You could land on the opposite side of the realm, and your efforts would’ve been useless.”

“Useless?” Percy spits out, “she’s down there alone, and you want me to not do anything?”

“She’s stronger than you think, she can survive. She will survive. We’ll meet her on the other side of the doors, you have to trust me. No, you have to trust her.”

Percy grits his teeth, knowing Nico had a point. Every bone in his body screamed for him to go after you, but he relents. He listens to Nico, straining his free hand up as he gets pulled up. He misses the feeling of your wrist under his hand, he misses you. He felt as if his soul has been ripped in half, and he longed for your presence, your voice, your touch—your everything.

Percy didn’t like this one bit. He didn’t like not sharing his bed on the Argo II with you. He didn’t like the way everyone else had a pitiful look on their faces, yet not saying a word about you. Every second that ticked by made him regret not falling after you.

Percy walks into their make-shift dining room, watching as everyone’s heads turn in his direction. “What’s the plan?”

“What?” Piper asked, raising a brow at Percy.

“What’s. The. Plan.” He reiterates his words, watching the gears turn in Nico’s head.

“We need to find the doors of death, that’s the plan.” Nico explained, falling short on where the doors actually were. He knew they were in Rome, but that was it. He was hoping his friends could fill in the blanks, but they all remained silent.

“Where are they?” Percy’s questions are short and snappy, not caring for mannerisms. He didn’t care about anything until he had you in his arms again.

“I was hoping someone had an idea,” Nico glares at the remaining members, noticing the way their demeanor has changed since Percy walked in.

Jason had his gaze firmly locked onto his food. Leo nervously fiddled with his screwdriver, oil smudging his fingertips. Hazel nervously fidgeted as well, accidentally summoning a couple of jewels in the process. Piper had a bored expression on her face, gaze locked onto Jason. Frank had his usual worry line creasing in-between his brows, not sure of the answer himself. Annabeth was the only one who seemed to be thinking.

“We’ll find her, Percy.” Annabeth’s words hold truth, trying to reassure her best friend. “They’re in Rome, you’re right Nico. The doors appear in a different place every time, according to myth. Although, they typically appear in a place that is mythologically important.”

“How much does that narrow it down?” Percy asks, hopeful.

“Not a lot,” she winces, also upset by the outcome. “I’ll keep researching.”

Percy nods, accepting her answer. His eyes fall on the rest of his friends, taking in their expressions as well. He could tell Leo and Hazel were upset, but weren’t sure how to console him. He didn’t want consoling, anyways. He couldn’t tell what was going on inside of Piper and Jason’s mind, but he didn’t like the way he couldn’t tell if they were concerned for your well-being or not. You were a member of the team and they looked like they didn’t care. Aside from Annabeth and Nico, Frank was the only one who seemed to be brainstorming.

“What if it’s in a spot that it hasn’t been in before?” Frank questions, directing his question to Annabeth.

She nods, analyzing the possibility. “I can see if that narrows it down, but it doesn’t say anywhere in myth if that’s true. Actually, there’s practically nothing about the doors in myth. Let’s take that route, it’s our best shot right now.”

“Annabeth, keep brainstorming and try to narrow down the list as much as possible. Frank—help her, you seem to have an idea on Roman mythologies. Leo, make sure Festus and the Argo stay up, get us to Rome as quickly as possible. Hazel and Nico, try to figure out anything you know about Tartarus from Hades.” Orders fly out of Percy’s mouth, using his leader role to his advantage. He refused to sit by and do nothing while you survive in Tartarus, he will find you.

The five demigods nod in understanding, leaving the table to get to work. Percy’s gaze falls onto Piper and Jason, their expressions neutral. Jason could feel Percy’s gaze on him, and reluctantly—he meets it.

Percy cocks a brow at Jason, “are you not worried at all?”

“What?” The question takes Jason aback, appalled he would ask that.

Percy steps closer to the two, “are you not worried that Y/N is in Tartarus all alone? That she could possibly die and our efforts to close the doors was a fail? That our entire quest was a fail?”

“I am worried about her,” Jason levels his gaze with Percy’s, instantly able to tell Percy was upset.

“Then why do both of you look like you don’t care?” Percy snaps, bracing his hands on the table, not caring how rude he sounded.

“I care,” Jason repeats. “I just—I never know how to deal with these type of things.”

“These type of things? I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me, Grace. I’m asking you to be the soldier you’ve been trained to be since birth and help me find my girlfriend. I don’t think I’m asking for a lot—unless you think otherwise.”

Jason understands what Percy is getting at, relieved he doesn’t have to figure out how to be empathetic about the situation. “I have a vast knowledge of Roman mythologies, I will go help Frank and Annabeth.”

Percy nods, eyes following Jason as he walks out of the room, heading in the direction of the room Annabeth and Frank went into. Piper stands, presumably to go follow Jason. Percy intercepts her, forcing her to stop.

“What?” She questions, folding her arms over her chest.

“For a daughter of Aphrodite, you seem to not care.”

“She fell in on her own,” Piper retorted, watching the way Percy clenches his jaw.

“She chose to fall in on her own. It was supposed to be both of us, but for some reason, she wanted me to stay.”

“You two would’ve never been in that mess if she wasn’t clumsy.”

Piper doesn’t see Percy’s fist coming. Percy knows he shouldn’t hit a girl, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it when it comes to you. He’ll always defend your name and actions, especially when you can’t defend it yourself. His fist connects with Piper’s jaw, hearing a crack as she stumbles back. She clutches her jaw, though there’s no blood. She’ll have a nasty bruise and soreness, but that’s about it. The situation Percy found himself in left his anger uncontrollable.

Piper curses under her breath, “are you crazy?”

“If it were Jason, you would be acting the same way as me. Now, stop acting like a pompous brat and help us find the doors so we can get her out of there.”

“Is that a request?” She tilts her head at the son of Poseidon, challenging him.

“No. It’s an order. I was elected leader, so you do as I say. Now go.”

Piper has a remark on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it. She turns on her heel, stomping away. Percy’s not sure where she goes—nor does he care. His mind falls back to your falling frame, the last image he has of you. He prays to every god he can think of, major and minor, that you are safe and okay. He’ll find you, even if it’s the last thing he does. Not even Thanatos can stop him from getting to you.

Percy Jackson will kill anything that stands in his way of finding his way back to you.

You will destroy everything that crosses you in Tartarus—even Tartarus himself—until you find your way back to Percy.

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#percy jackson #percy hoo #percy pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjoverse #hoo #pjo #riordanverse

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dismalflo · 2 days ago

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…it’s me again from the last req. maybe you could do one where it’s like one of the pure blood boys(I was thinking maybe Sirius or barty) and it’s like they don’t realise how deeply rooted like the misogyny of how they grew up is in their brains. Maybe they make an offhand comment or action towards the reader that’s like almost passive aggressively sexist and she like totally calls them out on it and is like y, u can’t talk to me like that. did that make sense? I don’t think that made sense but oh well

thankyou for requesting!! i struggled with this one for a bit but its such a good idea. i hope you enjoy <3

Barty Crouch Jr. x fem!reader where he can't quite understand why you're upset ✩ 1.6k words

cw: misogyny, little bit angsty, hurt/comfort, Barty is a dick (but he tries to learn from it), reader plays quidditch.

an: sorry i made your fave a piece of shit (with redemption) it hurt to write

“ –you agree with me Reggie, surely.”

“I do not, thank you. And do I have to remind you that your girlfriend–”

Regulus cuts himself off when he sees you approaching, but the scowl directed at Barty doesn’t shift. Barty doesn’t seem to care as he, noticing your arrival too, turns to smile so wide, you’re sure it hurts his cheeks, forgetting the conversation all together.

“Treasure!” he exclaims as you sit yourself beside him, before planting a lingering kiss to your temple.

“What were you guys talking about?” you ask before nodding to Regulus, “Heard you mention me.”

"Barty’s an idiot, Y/N, I’m sorry." Regulus sighs heavily, standing abruptly from his seat. "I'll see you at practice, yeah?" His gaze flicks to you, not a single word is directed toward the boy beside you, his arm comfortably wrapped around your waist. The snub feels sharp, though you're not entirely sure why.

“He’s become bloody dramatic since he started seeing potter.” Barty says cheerfully, as if he’s not the most melodramatic man you know. The only times you’ve seen Barty drop his theatrics is when it’s only the two of you. He’s still impulsive and daring but the fire gets dropped for sweetness and he's lovely. You’re his and he’s yours.

“What did you do to rile him up, Bee?” you tease, leaning into his side with a gentle smile.

He squeezes your waist briefly, pulling you in closer before responding.

“We were talking about Quidditch, and he complained about one of your beaters. I said that it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen, poor bloke.”

You blink, processing his words, and a cold chill starts to creep down your spine. It takes a moment for the reality of what he's said to fully hit you.

"What did you just say?" You ask slowly, your voice steady.

Barty doesn't notice the shift in your demeanor. His grin only widens, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watches you. To him, it’s just another offhand remark; playful, maybe teasing, but never meant to hurt. It’s the way he’s always been.

"I said, it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen," he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Y’know because girls never stop talking.” he nods.

Your smile falters, and you pull back from him slightly. His arm falls from your waist, the space between you suddenly feeling miles wide. Regulus’s parting words echo in your mind, but you focus on Barty now. His face morphs into one of confusion, a flicker of amusement still lingering, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand why your mood has shifted.

It’s laughable, really, coming from a boy that says everything that flashes through his mind, always loud and known. That’s just Barty and you’d never complain about it or ask him to change –you love him–but this rubs you the wrong way.

“You’d prefer that I didn't speak so much, then?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Tres, I didn’t say–”

“But you did, Barty! I'm on that team! I'm one of the girls Regulus has to deal with!”

Barty blinks, clearly thrown off. His smile falters for a moment, and he opens his mouth, likely trying to smooth things over with some careless, half-thought-out joke. But when he sees the sharpness in your eyes, the edge to your voice, it makes him falter.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he begins, his tone defensive but still a little unsure, his hand coming up to run through his hair–because he’s frustrated or nervous you can't tell. “It’s just that, well… y’know, girls can sometimes be a bit more, uh, talkative than the guys–”

“Are you serious right now?” You cut him off, your voice not loud, but steady with the kind of controlled anger that makes Barty’s stomach twist.

Barty opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of how to proceed. An uncomfortable feeling taking hold, but there’s also something inside of him—a deep-rooted, unexamined part of him—that wants to dismiss this as you being too sensitive. He’s never really thought about his own words that deeply, never had to. Growing up, he was surrounded by a very particular brand of masculinity.

"I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly," Barty says quickly, his voice softer now, though still with that edge of defensiveness. "I just meant that—"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," you interrupt, voice icy. "But the problem is, Barty, you're so used to saying whatever comes to your mind without thinking about it for one second. You don’t get to say things like that and just get away with it. "

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing again, looking as though he’s trying to piece together exactly where he went wrong. His brow furrows, a flash of frustration crossing his face.

"You're making it sound like I hate women or something. I don’t. You know I don’t. It was just a joke."

“No, I don’t think you hate women,” you respond coolly. "But you clearly don’t get how ingrained some of that shit is.” You stand up suddenly, ready to walk away. “I’ll see you later, Barty.”

It’s just past curfew when you hear the knock on the door of the girls' dormitory. You open it, bleary-eyed and ready to tell whoever it is to sod off—only to find Barty standing there, hair a mess, eyes wide, hands full of... flowers?

They’re awful. Wild, lopsided things that look like they were pulled from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And he’s holding them like they might explode.

“Hi,” he says, voice tight with nerves. “I—I brought these. They’re not from an actual florist or anything, but I thought maybe you’d like them anyway because... well, because I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

You raise an eyebrow, but you don’t close the door.

“I was a dick,” he continues, words tumbling out now like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll shut him out for good. “A stupid, arrogant, loud-mouthed dick who didn’t realise that he’s been spoon-fed this idea that making fun of girls is just ‘harmless banter’. But it’s not. Not when it’s you. Not when it makes you look at me like I’m someone you don’t recognise.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Barty says, voice breaking a little now. “Not with you. You make me want to be—better, not just louder.”

The silence between you stretches.

“I hated how quick you were to dismiss it. To dismiss me,” you say, voice softer now, but still firm. “You’re smart, Barty. You should know better.”

“I do now. I was thinking about it and then I went to talk to Reg about it. He said it's something about the way we were raised, some batshit thing that goes hand in hand with my fathers bullshit, but I know that's not an excuse, tres.” He steps forward slightly, holding the scraggly bouquet out like a peace offering. “Please let me make it up to you.”

You hesitate. But in his eyes, you see none of the easy arrogance you’d grown used to. There’s only sincerity.

You sigh and take the flowers, fingers brushing his as you do. They're prickly in places, uneven, with leaves still clinging to the stems—but they’re honest. Wild and untamed, just like him.

Barty doesn’t grin. Doesn’t make a joke. He just walks in slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, like he’s afraid to breathe too loudly.

You sit on the edge of your bed, the flowers resting in your lap. He stays standing.

“I’m not good at this,” he says after a beat. “Like… not just the apologising part, but the learning part. I've been told I’m clever all my life, and it’s made me lazy. I don't question things unless they get in my way.”

You nod, watching him closely.

“But you’re not just someone in my way. You’re the person who makes all the noise in my head worth it. So if I’ve got to unlearn everything just to not lose you, I’ll do it.”

A breath catches in your throat. “This isn’t just about keeping me, Bee. It’s about being someone better. For you.”

His eyes flicker, glassy for a moment, and he sits down—tentatively—beside you. “I know.”

You glance down at the flowers again and then up at him, lips tugging into a small, reluctant smile. A silence settles between you.

“These are hideous.” you say finally. “You can’t just fix things with flowers and guilt, Barty, It’s not that simple.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, sincere. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Barty reaches over, tentative, and places his hand over yours. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t try to pull you closer. He just stays.

“I’m gonna mess up again,” he says softly. “But I’ll listen. I’ll learn. And I’ll apologise when I do. Properly. Not with jokes.”

You glance at him, heart aching with something complicated and warm and stubbornly hopeful.

“You’d better.”

His smile is small, a little broken around the edges, but real. “Does this mean you’re not going to dump me?”

You pretend to consider it, then lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh. “You’re on thin ice, Junior.”

He huffs a laugh, and for the first time tonight, it sounds like him.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against your hair.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr x y/n #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr fic #barty crouch jr drabble #barty crouch jr angst #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr fanfic #barty crouch jr imagine

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luvchaew · 1 day ago

Text

moonlit lakes, fireflies, etc | yjw

sitting across from a young man on a train, you were sure you hadn't seen him before. not in this life at least. so why did his gaze make you so comfortable? why did his touch feel so familiar, so right?

“we'll meet again, young lady Jeong.” 𓈒𓈒 joseon dynasty prince 양정원 𖹭 joseon dynasty lady!reader, prohibited love, s2pl? wc𓈒 7.9k — maybe proofread ≛ ﹙ft. twice nayeon, idle miyeon, boa, mentions of enhypen jake﹚

here you'll find ౨ৎ fluff fluff fluff, past life, kinda time travel, paradoxes, angst (i tried guys go easy on me), they kiss once, jungwon is kinda obsessed, banter (except it's cute), mentions of kidnapping, killing, and whatnots, jungwon gets ‘spanked’ by his own family, male chauvinism bcs of the time it's based on (i do not support it of any kinds!), potential forced marriage, runaway attempts, ‘open’ ending.

[ ♬ 🏮 ] ——— this idea is something that i thought abt long ago but haven't had the opportunity to turn into words properly before. it is slightly inspired on ‘my demon’ (the past life stuff ofc) and i recommend listening to this song which also inspired me a lot! i really enjoy how this turned out so i hope you like it as much. this is my first kind of ‘long’ fic ever and if i'm lucky you're gonna enjoy it, hehe. xoxo 𖹭

𝑚. 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

Busan Train Station, 2025

immediately when you stepped on the wagon, a penetrating gaze found you.

somehow, it affected you more than the chilling air of trains that you claimed to hate more than anything.

it had been a terrible day. so bad that you were going to your personal escape — the Joseon Dynasty Tombs of a young Yang family Heir or anything you used to go with your godmother, all the time as a kid — at 11pm, to run away from the problems real life brought you.

you expected to find the train empty given the hour, like it had been many times before, but today you had company. normally you would have sat really far from the young, good-looking man that eyed you, but you didn't.

holding your heavy luggages, you sat across from him. your eyes didn't leave his face for a second, scanning his features, admiring his cat shaped eyes, almost feeling how soft his hair seemed to be.

you hadn't seen him before. never.

yet, he looked familiar. he looked safe. he looked like home.

during the two and a half hours ride, both of you didn't speak.

but there was no need to.

because your eyes did all the work, having a secret conversation you seemed to be awkwardly aware of.

you could imagine what his interest might've been, what kind of song he might’ve listened to, how his voice might have sounded, what his name could've been.

Surroundings of Deoksugung Palace, 1752 —— Joseon Dynasty

young master Yang. the start of all your troubles and also the end of your peace. it was a offense to our late King Gwanghaegun how handsome he was, however, you had already created a common sense that charming young masters used to be the pettiest.

“young lady Jeong!” he shouted your name, his tall figure waving in your direction smiling widely. if you weren't surrounded by a dense forest, you would've ran away. literally. “i figured you'd come here, it really is a pretty sunny day, isn't it?”

you were supposed to study today. your father told you that royal ladies had in their duties to understand the world and be aware of what threatened your daily lives — rival families and japanese invasions, for example. therefore, you walked towards the lake with a few texts from your favorite scribes tucked under your arms and your long hair braided simply, a ddanggi keeping it steady.

“i’m here to read today, okay? do not bother me, thank you in advance” you muttered, sitting down on the rocks by the lake with your back turned to him, trying to focus on the water current and how the sun reflected its sunlights on it beautifully, some fishes jumping on the water from time to time.

jungwon stared at you, but continued speaking, his voice coming to your ears like music, “my maid has been looking for me for about an hour, did you know that? thus, it's very thrilling.”

“you do know that my uncle wants to kidnap your father, don't you? haven't you got nothing better to do besides walk all the way here to bother me?”

“no?” he cleared his throat, blinking at you and settling himself closer, the semi-transparent hat that he always wore accentuating the height difference between you. “my mother yelled at me last time saying that if i came here again she'd lock me up, but i like to play with fire, you know?”

“because you'll be the next Joseon King and nobody can disagree with you, isn't that it?” you guessed, turning a page on your parchment, pretending to be interested in it when you were most certainly not. all of your five senses were focused on jungwon: on how close he was, on his warm and minty breath close to your ear, his legs nearly touching yours, his dimples looking so soft you wanted to touch it.

the worst part of meeting him wasn't even the 3-hour-lecture you were forced to hear after in the high-pitched voice that your mother had when possessed, but the way you lost all of your self control near him. the environment also didn't help. birds chirping, acacia leaves falling occasionally from the trees, sun rays reflecting on his skin as they were put there especially for jungwon.

“exactly! see, that's why you're nice to talk to, you comprehend— wait, did you hear that?” he shifted in his place, now suddenly looking behind you, eyes widening.

yes, you had heard it. noises, voices, screams that were closer each time. your heart beat faster, loud thuds in your ear.

“young master Yang, are you here? young master Yang!”

you turned to face him quickly, your head suddenly dizzy. standing up, you grabbed his long, muscular hands and rushed towards the other direction, entering the sea of trees you had in front of you. his fingers were sweaty against yours, and you were able to hear his uneven breathing behind you. from between the light tree trunks, a group of purple-dressed maid servants arrived on the place you'd just been, some of them panted from the jogging, while some were so mad they nearly let smoke out of their heads. they served jungwon’s family. they were after him, not you.

“you have to get out of here. go that way, i’ll distract them” you squeezed his hands, pointing discreetly to the direction he should follow. he looked at you, his pupils small from fear, and nodded silently. the panic was mutual, and even if you didn't like to agree with him, both of you were in danger now, finding out what could happen if you didn't react isn't something you're psyched about.

the occasions where jungwon's relaxed, easy going demeanor changed to a serious, clumsy one, were rare, and they left you wondering how that man would one day be the one to sit at the royal golden throne.

you watched him as he disappeared in the woods, his broad shoulders soon nowhere to be seen. however, the women didn't seem to intend to leave, and after some analysis, you noticed they had your book. they couldn't bring that to the Yang's Palace, or you'd be seriously in trouble.

“oh, hi! it’s a pleasure to encounter you on this alluring afternoon,” you muttered with practiced politeness, offering them an awkwardly-wide smile. the maids seemed not pleased at all to see you, some of them furrowing their eyebrows at you and some, worse, refusing to bow. “you have, um, my parchments, so if i could, by chance, get them back it'd be.. lovely”

you forced yourself to smile so much your cheeks hurt, fake honey dripping from your voice. the shortest maid — which you assumed to be the chief servant — shifted, analysing your books in what felt like an eternity, and finally handed them to you, the contempt in which she looked at you leaving your stomach in knots.

“i’m assuming you weren't at all with our young master, am i right?” she hissed, enunciating her words just enough to tell you she knew.

“y-yes, correct. haven't seen him in several weeks, actually”

some other woman chuckled mockingly, the undivided attention leaving you overwhelmed, a tone of red appearing on your neck. ‘they don't have evidence,’ was what you reassured yourself, despite your awareness that King Yang believed in whatever their maids said. he was known to be a very diligent man, but if there was something you admired in him was the trust he had in people. you could never.

“i guess i'll have to leave, unfortunately. if you hadn't come unannounced i would have invited you to a tea, but we didn't prepare anything whatsoever. au revoir!” you excused yourself, rushingly leaving the lake area and sprinting towards Deoksugung.

they looked at you amused. first, youth was truly lost, where was your respect at when you lied blatantly? second, how could you dare to speak french? your ancestors would be turning on their graves if they heard this.

evenings at the Palace were always monotonous. eunuchs didn't walk as much, royal chefs prepared simpler dishes, servants didn't had so many errands to run.

right now, you were curled up on the floor, a novel — that you shouldn't be reading because ‘ladies should be occupying their heads with something other than romance crap’ — in your hands as you tried to focus solely on those vertical words that no longer made sense.

you were fantasizing again about jungwon's hand in yours, his starry eyes looking in yours, the way he trusted you fully and whether he may or may not have gotten scolded way back home. or if he even arrived home in the first place, when a servant knocked on your door, maid Kwon right next to him.

“there’s an unidentified letter for you, young lady Jeong. i insisted that we shouldn't deliver it, but the eunuch told me to just be by your side as you read it.”

you nodded, fixing your wrinkled skirt and tossing the novel to the side, not even bothering to hide your ‘wrongful’ act. the servant bowed and left, leaving you alone with the friend that had been with you since you remember — perhaps she was the person you liked the most inside the Palace, although lady Cho would be deeply upset to hear that.

you unfolded the thin paper carefully, your heart beating faster than before since you recognized the handwriting immediately.

the same that sent you tiny notes telling about his new punishment or how his father let him do an important royal duty.

jungwon's.

Bo-Ah sat by your side, her blue and white hanbok resting next to your own dress, a suspicious grin adorning her features.

you tried to hide the letter from her, but there was no way she would let you escape this one. not when she understood who sent you that.

“Dear young lady Jeong,

i’m writing to you to express my gratitude for what you did today. can you believe that my mother didn't even question me about where i was? told you she's starting to trust me more!

also, on my way home, i think i found our new encounter spot.

if you'd like to accompany me, i’ll be going there tomorrow at 4.

meet me by the water well behind Deoksugung. see you there,

from the very handsome next King of Joseon.”

the next hours resumed in maid Kwon telling you that it was a terrible idea for you to go, your mind working nonstop to finding ways of leaving the castle in an hour you shouldn't — 4pm was exactly when you had to take a bath, and the last time this routine was delayed was your birthday, because you had a celebration going on — and on your loyal friend, lady Cho, your father's youngest concubine, managing to persuade the royal guards to let both of you out for a stroll around the Palace.

what they didn't know, of course, was that the stroll in question involved you meeting the Yang Jungwon.

the area behind Deoksugung was one of the prettiest, yet it was dangerous.

many hunters had been found mysteriously dead over the years, maybe because the Yang's also had access there.

but you preferred not to think about it, since you were currently entering that same territory to, ironically, hang out with the rivals’ heir.

“when do you want me to return so we can come back together again?” Miyeon gently asked as if she tried recalling it, your arms locked as you jogged around birds and squirrels.

you faced the light-blue sky for a minute, questioning yourself once more, “around 6 would be nice, right before sunset.”

the concubine nodded, her braided-full-of-ornaments hair graciously shifting in the wind. you didn't speak much, the sound of green leaves being stepped on the only thing you could hear.

however, that was until you saw jungwon at the well.

he politely made a reference to lady Cho, who excused herself with a beautiful-educated smile, and walked towards you, a playful grin resting on his face.

“you’re about 3 minutes late. you're well aware that the future King doesn't like to wait, aren't you?” you rolled your eyes, approaching him and walking side by side to his tall figure.

“save it for your servants, jungwon.”

“i beg your pardon?” he nearly choked, raising his tone of voice. you chuckled at the flabbergasted expression he turned to you, an offended sound leaving his throat. “when did i allow you to be this casual, y/n?”

you gasped, dumbfounded, “woah! i'm older than you, okay, jungwon? and since when have you known my birth name?”

“why? shouldn't i?” his hand found the small of your back, by which he guided you through the trees. you felt a shiver running through your spine, but tried to shake it off, muttering nonsense to him as a response.

you kept silent the rest of the way, his long fingers caressing the jeogori of your dress as a reminder that he was still there, steps in sync with yours. somewhere in between it, you raised your eyes to his neck, spot in which you noticed a deep bruise, the dark purple mark idling his skin. perhaps it had always been there or he could have fell on his way back.

“shut your eyes, y/n” he whispered, lips close to your ear, and you willingly did it, fluttering your eyelids close, not before nagging again about why you can say his name and he can't say yours.

jungwon brought another hand to your shoulders, keeping you steady as you walked towards what you assumed to be the aforementioned ‘new encounter spot’.

after a few steps, his feet seemed to settle, and with another whisper in your ear, “we’re here”, you got to open your eyes.

if his firm hands weren't still glued to your body, keeping you standing, you were sure you would have fallen.

it was, by far, the prettiest thing you've seen yet.

a mesmerizing, kilometers long field of daisies of all colors and peonies stood by you. the vast camp of flowers mixed with the grass as the sun lit nature up, clouds adding up to the view with its calm and slow movements.

jungwon tilted his head to look at you, and you closed your dropped jaw, gulping some saliva, “what, do you not like it?”

“no! i mean, yes.. no!” you stuttered, blinking up at him, “it’s perfect, really. how did you find it?”

“well, during my way back to the Castle, i may have gotten lost, and ended up here.” he explained, dimples showing up on his face as he smiled, satisfied. “shall we?”

he offered his hand to you, which, for some reason, you accepted, holding his palm in yours as you ran like kids towards the field, grass getting stuck on the hem of your dress in a so not discreet way. you giggled and yelled at the world, not caring about appearance, and for a second, it felt like you had conquered the world. conquered happiness. you soon got tired, and both of you threw yourselves on the flowers, crushing the petals with your weight, leaving evidence that you were there, for real.

it wasn't a dream, after all.

but here, sat up next to him, laughing out loud about something neither could figure out what, it sure felt like imagination.

“this is, like, my first time seeing a lady with not-braided hair.” he mused, pointing a finger to you, “you’re such a gross princess, Jeong y/n”

you ran a finger through your hair, noticing the disheveled state it was in. it was also your first time having unbraided hair in front of anyone besides your maids and mother. you should have been embarrassed, but you weren't, because feeling natural with jungwon looked so simple. so right. “oh my buddha— look at yourself first, your goreum is literally untied.”

he tilted his head slightly to look at you, the bruise now more visible, your gaze flying to it unconciously. “paying that much attention?” he teased, words light, but didn't move an inch. maybe he was too comfortable to tie it, which was alarming, or perhaps he just didn't care at all.

you rolled your eyes, insects and flies flying over you, making low buzzes that only added to the environment, “i’m already getting under your skin, huh, your royal highness?”

“yeah, you're one of my few pet peeves” he pouted, nodding, visibly content with the name you'd just called him by, looking like he would give you a compliment or something, ‘respecting your Majesty is a very noble act, young lady’

hours passed by, and shortly the sun was setting, its borders fading on the horizon as the sky marvelously adapted to a mix of orange and pink. both of you lay down on the grass, staring into the clouds, in silence for once, enjoying the world pretending there was no violence, no rivalry, no danger.

just the two of you.

Miyeon was briefly back to get you, and you couldn't ignore the eyebrow she raised catching both of you so close, admiring the universe with such calmness of who had years to do so. you gave a last glance at jungwon, who playfully grinned and whispered, barely loud enough for you to comprehend, “see you here again the day after tomorrow, same time?”

you stared at him for a while, but then nodded, a shy “two in the afternoon is better” leaving your throat. after the small change, you ran away with such embarrassment of who had just made a confession.

“no, look, i swear his jeogori undid naturally” you explained to lady Cho, voice strained, defensive, “what? no! i wouldn't sleep with a Yang, for the sake of the queen—”

two days later, you found yourself walking through the same woods, destined to the very same place.

today, you were accompanied by lady Im, who insisted she had to deal with some stuff downtown, though given the way her lips curled into a smirk often, you highly doubted it. she was your uncle's favorite concubine, but was also known for escaping the Castle on multiple occasions. for multiple different reasons.

well, Nayeon had to run some errands, and you wished to meet a person you surely shouldn't, it was a win-win situation, right?

“am i late?” you asked in reaction to his confused face, scanning you a few times, his hair already messy from the field and a small spider climbing his shoulders. you wouldn't tell him about it, though.

around the spot the spider climbed, you were able to have a peek of the soft skin below the thick fabric, and, for some reason, another deep bruise could be seen, this one already yellowish, a recent-looking scar next to it. it was probably nonse, and you should really stop looking, otherwise he'd ask you with that smug smirk why you were staring that much.

“not at all, just— what is that?”

“that what? oh,” you raised the basket you were holding up for him to observe, proudly smiling, “my royal chefs cooked some hodu-gwaja this morning, and as it's a speciality of Deoksugung, i thought i should offer you this one-in-a-lifetime experience”

“love the humbleness” he teased, although he made a sign for you to sit down, and when you did, the dark-haired boy rushed to the snacks you brought, picking up one and handing you another, “i’ve always wanted to taste these. they're pretty famous there, eunuch Park talks about gwajas all the time.”

your eyebrows raised. you were genuinely content with having done something for him, something he'd like. you watched him as he took the first bite, his cat eyes lighting up and dimples making presence on both sides.

“how is it? perfectly amazing?”

“i don't like to admit,” he took another bite, the walnut cream getting stained on his cheeks, “but, seriously, this is so delicious.”

you giggled, playfully punching the air in victory, and also dug in, breaking the walnut’s shell in two with your teeth, “it’s dirty, look, over here”

jungwon put his fingers on the apple of his face, trying to clean up his pale skin, except it was the wrong cheek.

you chuckled at him, nearly choking on your sweet, “no, the left cheek. how will you be the next leader of your reign if you can't even—?”

it would've been fine, but you decided to clean it up for him, your smooth skin rubbing his face softly as the creamy stains falling on the grass. his breath visibly hitched, a weird-kind of hiccup leaving his parted lips when your fingers lingered longer than they were supposed to. your eyes widened too, and you retrained your hand immediately, trying hard to laugh it off, “shy, huh?”

he awkwardly laughed too, though it was audibly forced, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

even if both of you didn't acknowledge it, for the rest of the afternoon, the tip of his ears continued pink and you talked way less, focused on fixing an ornament that stuck wrongly.

weeks had passed, and Hansik had just happened. you were supposed to be happy, because you enjoyed that spring festival more than anything, and moreover, the man your family wanted you to marry would be presented to you that very day.

you wanted him to be handsome, laid-back, easy to talk to, tall but not too much, the pointed black hat fitting his head perfectly, purple durumagi covering his broad shoulder in an unfairly good way, dimples so adorable and cheeks so soft you want to poke it.

perhaps, you wished for Jungwon. or an exact copy of him that you could marry without getting disinherited.

but you were too afraid of letting yourself acknowledge that, since wanting someone you can't have is something you don't want to be trapped into.

the real man wasn't like that whatsoever.

his figure almost matched your height, he was probably twice your age, his face full of wrinkles and a mustache so old-fashioned you swore you'd seen it on an old portrait of some late King.

if it already weren't the worst it could've been, he was extremely rude, and impolite, and didn't treat you like a person at all. you already knew that was your position on society ‘naturally’, however, marrying that man would mean you wouldn't have the opportunity to be heard. to be seen. to be yourself.

and to think that your own father wanted you to marry that, that your own mother was okay with it and even tried extra hard to please that.

you felt nauseous. wished you could punch that and leave a mark of blood on the smirk that had on its face. wished you could just run away.

perhaps that was why you sent jungwon a crumpled letter in the middle of the night, a mere “meet me there in an hour?” written, your rushed handwriting and the way your hands shaked noticeable even if few words were there.

you got off mid-night, earning pointed looks from guards, but you just couldn't bear to stay there anymore.

not when everyone around seemed a traitor, nor when lady Cho — who you trusted deeply — tried to convince you this was for the best.

walking towards the recently well-known woods, admiring how amazingly the moon lit everything up, you tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, because if that great bright light was still shining for you, the only reason was that there was hope, somewhere buried deep inside you.

when you arrived at the field, breathless from walking, jungwon was already there.

you broke down. completely.

your legs moved faster than your brain, the leather pastel-green shoes crushing daisies on their way, leading you to the only place you felt safe.

jungwon.

your heart pounded violently against your ribs, fluttering loud enough for someone to hear it. your lips parted slightly, maybe to say something, maybe just to breathe. your tongue felt too heavy. your mouth too unsure. so you just throw yourself in his embrace, hiding your vulnerable self into him, tears finally brimming down on your face. wrapping your arms around his neck, you touched it firmly, and with the tip of your fingers, you felt a thick scar, not even close to being cicatrized.

his face furrowed a little, mouth closing to a thin line, but he didn't say anything. just held you closer, wrapping an arm on your waist, keeping you grounded, otherwise you weren't sure you would keep standing. his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, chest tightening after seeing your usual confident self in such a broken state. he had no idea what could've happened, but tapped your back lightly either way, comforting you. reassuring you. “y/n, breathe in three with me, yeah?”

your broken sobs soaked his shoulder, a damp of tears wetting his beautiful durumagi, and you forced yourself to look at him, a new knot in your throat threatening to release. slowly, you nodded, breathing in a large amount of air that almost got stuck in your glottis, however, he encouraged you, eyes focused on your face.

“that’s it. good. breathe out now, follow me.” his hand softly stroked your column, so gentle you wanted to cry further. with a frown of concentration in his face, accompanying the movements of your throat, following your gaze and staring directly into your eyes, you noticed what you shouldn't. jungwon was the one to look at you like a person.

not as a trophy wife or an heir generator.

but as you, Jeong y/n, the stubborn person that couldn't tie laces nor cook a simple bowl of rice. that preferred to read romance over politics and secretly wanted to wear pants just once since it looked like it felt nice.

jungwon seemed to comprehend all of that, and in a sudden move, you caught yourself telling him about everything. more than you should.

“and the man, he was—” hiccup, “not even nearly as handsome as you, and—” hiccup, “he called me ‘future housewife’ every single time he wanted to refer to me,” hiccup, “i can't— can't remember his name. my good almighty, he makes me nauseous. he's the worst person ever, he's—”

he just nodded through it, making questions midway to tell you he was listening, engaged. “and can't you tell your mother about it?”

you sadly chuckled, another single tear falling down your cheek, “tell her what? that i loathe the man she sweet-talked to all evening?”

“this whole situation is ridiculous. i don't understand why they'd want to do this with such a.. special girl like you.” he murmured, admitting something more to himself than to you, accepting a fact he never did before.

you mattered. if he was this mad right now, it's because you matter.

“no, it's— i shouldn't be this sensible, all my ancestors went through the same. my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother. everyone” you played with your hanbok’s sleeve, facing downwards, sniffing occasionally after some words.

“that’s what i can't understand. why'd they want to do the same to you? have they been happy?” his voice broke just slightly, anger breaking through his vocal cords, fists clenched. “hey, look at me.” jungwon cupped your chin gently, tilting it up, forcing you to stare directly at him.

the emotions crumbled back at you again, since he was right. halmoni always complained about having to abandon her one genuine love and omma insisted that it ended up being nice, though only because she conceived you. why would they want to make you go through the same thing?

perhaps the lines had started to fade, or you were too tired, but you melted into his touch, eyelids heavy, whispering: “can we spend the night here? i don't want to go back to the Palace.”

he observed you for a minute, paying attention to your features, apparently making a decision, before nodding, expression calm. his forehead relaxed, a small smile curling on the corner of his mouth. with a smooth movement, he took the upper part of his lilac jeogori off, — what left your eyes agape for a split second — laying the coat down on the grass so you could sleep comfortably. he tapped the area with his hand, indicating that he wanted you laid down, and you willingly did it, the tension of the day starting to fade away.

jungwon settled himself by your side, some centimeters of distance between you, still touching legs.

yet, he seemed so far away.

you wanted him closer. and closer.

you were starting to lull when he spoke up again, voice quieter, careful. “may i suggest something? perhaps we could like.. run away, get married, live content together. just the two of us.”

you short-circuited. your almost calm head now full of thoughts, possibilities, doubts, and deep down, a futile sting of hope.

marriage. marrying jungwon. you were aware of those stupid promises, things Young Masters promised to trap Ladies, things they never stuck on. however, he seemed so genuine. so trustworthy.

were you this stupid?

it wasn't a prudent decision, you were sure of it, but the offer seemed so tempting, so right. and jungwon was the only person out there you knew that could make you happier, wasn't he?

in seconds, you found yourself thinking about it. actually pondering it.

“where would we.. go to?” you naively asked, eyes meeting his in a gaze that brought you a million sparks, his pupils a dark tone of brown, slightly dilated.

“there’s this reign that will be inherited by my colleague, Jaeyun, Young Master Sim. it's quite far and he's a nice person. i think.. we could go there.”

you hummed softly, taking into account everything you'd risk. everything you'd lose. but also everything you'd win.

it was foolish, however, before your mind really processed it, you found yourself nodding, “okay.”, he smiled gently, tilting his head to ask — silently, like a confession — if you had thought long enough about it. if you were right about this. — instead of questioning it more, also because you were afraid of what you would've found, you agreed again. “when?”

he stared at the sky above you, the stars, the moon and how it lit you perfectly. how it lets you be even more gorgeous than what you already were. “tomorrow night?”

“right. yes.. that'd be awesome.” you awkwardly said, terrified of the consequences, but hoping that it'd let you finally be free, happy. that it'd prevent you from being trapped forever. that you'd spent the rest of your life with the boy you gave — secretly, under covers — your whole youth.

jungwon eyed you with a determined, firm expression and with a sweet whisper, he wished you goodnight, breath fanning on your skin, long lashes shutting down beautifully.

everything crumbled down on you again, your certainty nearly disappearing the more you thought about it, the evenings writing with maid Kwon or running through the Palace earning new meanings. because maybe it was the last time you'd lived those things. because you'd run away from it to protect yourself. to protect who you were.

the night passed in a blur, insects' sounds on the background fading to let you finally rest, even if it was the last peaceful night you'd had.

the first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth, then, jungwon's body, and only a few moments later you noticed the position you were in.

curled up against him, head buried on his neck, arms gripping his sides as if you were afraid he'd let go. he laid flatly on his back, an arm draped over your figure, tracing absent-mindedly patterns on your skin, caressing it smoothly, announcing that he was awake and chose not to move.

your breath hitched, the rhythm in which you inhaled earlier faltering. you had no clue about how you ended up like this, but it felt good. warmer, safer, softer. slowly, you opened your eyes, the light infiltrating your orbes intensely. when you sighed, he turned all his attention to you, lips hovering just above yours, breath hitting your cheeks constantly.

“ ‘morning, sleepy head”

“what? i didn't sleep that much, did i?” you asked, tilting your head, your faces lining themselves up immediately.

you could kiss like this.

“the sun tells me it's past 11 in the morning, got anything to say?” the air that left his mouth traveled to you, and as if gravity was pulling you, you leaned in further, noses almost touching

“yeah, that you're a very comfortable pillow” you smugly grinned, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the clarity. when you opened your eyelids back, he was closer. leaning in just slightly, giving you a peek of how nice it felt to have him this near.

you didn't back away. didn't flinch. and when his hands held you tighter, bringing you impossibly closer to him?

reaching out to press your lips together felt natural, right, simple.

the touch was exquisite, a surprised gasp leaving his throat and going down yours. both of you remained still, adapting into the new territory. some time later, his free hand moved to cup your cheek, barely there, but pressing slightly when he tilted his head to kiss you deeper.

this time the kiss is slower, softer — his mouth opening against yours with such yearning, you nearly forget where you are and why you were there. his lips trail down to your jaw gently, then back up, brushing agonizingly slow before capturing your bottom lip again with a sigh. you turned your head to give his tongue more access and—

you weren't sure who backed away first, but soon your bodies were distant, both embarrassingly panting, his coat under you moving so much you assumed it could feel the tension.

you kept there, staring at each other for what felt like a minute, and you hurriedly sat up, a flush of soft red creeping up on your neck to the tip of your ears. “see you at the same time as always.. correct? um, bye.”

your legs involuntarily stood up, and in a rush, you ran — tripping and stumbling occasionally — in the direction of the Palace.

jungwon remained there, layed down, fingertip trailing his lips with disbelief, the memory of your lips touching his so vivid he swore to himself he'd never forget it. the first encounter of your lives in such a delicate, deliberate way.

Deoksugung was tidy as always, warm toned walls high and empowered, leaving the impression of a well-known strength you were tired of. the faint coat of arms, the one you remembered by heart, stamping its large gates, inviting you to face its insides one more time. your muscles forced you to continue walking, though your brain was already giving red-signs since you began to see the family royal guards.

yet, here you were again. chin held up, conveying a strand of confidence you didn't have whatsoever. or at least trying. because you were way smaller than the Palace, way weaker than the guards, feared way more than the maids who run through it all the time.

it didn't welcome you so well, either. knowing gazes accompanying you wherever you went, the main hall greeting you with its haughtiness. due to the hour, you assumed your grandma would be busy, thus you followed straight to your room, earning some poorly done bows in the way. already in there, you rushed to pack essential things: three full sets of hanboks, a parchment paper and a pen, emerald ornaments for your hair, some snacks that royal chefs delivered earlier and you didn't properly receive — since you weren't there, of course — and few other whatnots.

it felt weird. unfamiliar. strange.

perhaps the effect shouldn't be so immediate on you, but it didn't look like the place you should call ‘my house’ anymore.

suddenly, your bedroom didn't seem like yours anymore. the roof nearly suffocated you, the room spinning and leaving you dizzy, the memory of why you were doing that back to the center of your brain.

your freedom taken away, the image of the man you were supposed to marry haunting you again. the corner of your eyes burned, a knot forming on your throat and threatening to snap at any moment.

and when the tears formed, watering your eyes, you remembered about jungwon.

the warmth he brought to you, his irises entirely drowning in the dark of his pupils. his voice, that always flew to you like music, so kind it incinerated your heart. his face, that lightened up slightly and was stupidly good-looking even when he told you that you should do something as foolish as run away, or when it was flushed from touching his lips with yours. his touch, gentle and featherlight, leaving your skin burning wherever it made contact with.

you felt the urge to go back to him as soon as possible, escaping for once and forever the place you lived your whole life swearing it was your home even when it didn't feel like it.

therefore, with your heart in your hands and a faux confident facade, you willingly left by the main gates for what should be the last time, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone — mainly due to the great fear you had of getting caught, but it didn't really matter. because regardless, that life wasn't yours anymore.

may we be finally free, right?

sprinting towards the stone well behind Deoksugung and consequently the flower field you'd left only some hours ago, you tried to shake your thoughts off, concentrating on what was beyond your view this instant. what you couldn't see just yet.

you sat down and admired the peonies, sniffing in some of them and letting their scent invade your nostrils until it made you confused, head with a growing ache. looking up at the marvelously lit sky, you couldn't help but noticing that jungwon was meant to be there by this time, but possibly, he could be late, or you could be early, there was no way to be sure unless you'd return to the castle, what you'd rather not do.

as the sun moved to the west a bit more, you sat down on the grass, opening your woven purse and carefully choosing a sweet to eat — after debating, you ended up with the dasik, a charming and colorful cookie that you were supposed to have with tea, such drink you didn't have. you chewed it with impressive disgust, noticing for the first time why those were meant to be consumed with something else.

somewhere between eating dasiks and checking the few stuff inside your bag, panic started to flood into your senses, though you couldn't precisely pinpoint when.

there was a reason for him to not have arrived yet, correct? you shouldn't be having a breakdown, you knew it.

but that boy was the one to be annoyingly punctual. to never not show up. and even if he had something going on and couldn't be there, he'd always warn you. have a way to contact you.

he always knew exactly what you'd do next. where you'd be.

and that's why, like a dumb person in love, you decided to stay, wait for him. every single noise earned a double check, every bird chipping was intensely looked at. there, lay down now on your back, you closed your eyes and counted many times from zero to a hundred.

46, 47, 48, 49..

you opened your eyes, the urge to release tears already there, your back sore from the position. he wasn't there yet.

63, 64, 65, 66..

the hard floor left you wondering how you managed to sleep there, and you missed jungwon a little more, because his heat made these things possible. he wasn't there yet.

89, 90, 91, 92..

the bugs annoyed you a lot, and you promised they were solely the reason why you lost yourself in your count and had to return to 90 once again. and yes, he wasn't there yet.

somewhere in between that process, when the stunning moon was starting to rise, a specially quiet, but loud enough for you to hear sound caught your attention. lifting your head and sharpening your senses, a tall, slim shadow began to appear in your view.

you blinked up multiple times, confused, and when you mustered up all the courage left on you to look up at his face, it shouldn't have, but your heart stung.

it was jungwon.

just a paler, weaker, visibly sick jungwon.

a new bruise appeared right below his eyes, one that looked, if that was even possible, deeper and more serious than the other ones. alongside it, a scar marked the side of his nose, the cut looking profound even from a distance.

you stood up so fast it took seconds to your vision to normalize, and ran towards his figure like a crazy person. your dress spinned and its wrinkled form no longer mattered to you.

“oh, y/n..” he smiled, a grin that didn't reach his eyes but was enough to make his dimples show. his features showed a sign of relief and disbelief altogether, like he couldn't believe you were there. you kept waiting.

“jungwon! my goodness gracious! where have you been? i mean.. are you doing okay?” your hands held his shoulders, and when he made a face of pain, like he would scream loud and hoarse, you moved away from him, eyes widening.

“i’m fine, really. and i'm sorry i kept you waiting.. it's just..” he shook his head, desperate for something to say, and showed you a festive-looking jar, holding it on the direction of your face. “i have.. something for you”

you stared at the pot, and if his voice wasn't lower, hoarser than before, you would’ve fought against that idea. however, soon your fingers reached its lid and you freed what seemed like hundreds of fireflies.

they danced around you, rising on the horizon and lighting up the flowers, making them more beautiful than what they already were. the insects flew gracefully as they were dancing, so in sync it left you wordless, mesmerized. amusement swimmed to your eyes, and with a gasp, you turned your body to face them completely, having the illusion of peace for a minute. exquisite flies also started to join in, the soft buzzing filling your ears, making you leave out a genuine smile.

jungwon kept his eyes on you the whole time. and with a soft sigh, he whispered, confessed: “we’ll never be seeing each other again.”

at first, you didn't react. the words lacking the impact they should have. when it finally made sense to you, you blinked up at him, tilting your head, questioning if you'd heard it correctly.

“what? why? what.. what do you want to say with that? what about getting married, and your friend—”

he cuts you out, voice barely there, “it’s.. i’m sorry. i shouldn't have promised you what i knew i couldn't guarantee.”

you broke. spinning your body to face him again, the fireflies’ light leaving him so beautiful it was a sin, you tried to understand it. comprehend what was happening. but you couldn't.

as if reading your thoughts, he dropped his head, tone laced with guilt, “my mother, she.. she has always known, you know.”

you didn't move. you refused to. your mind didn't get it yet.

“she discovered us when we were little, and according to her, we are getting closer now. she was here when we.. planned all that.” despite the pain, he kept steady, feet firm on the land so he was sure he wouldn't fall on his knees to apologize. to supplicate for your forgiveness.

even if he didn't deserve it.

“and can't we just go? now? you're here now, aren't you?” you tried to reach out for his hands, but he backed away, and you bit your bottom lip in desperation, in disbelief.

you had to keep breathing, but it was almost impossible. your rib cage hurt, and for a split second, maybe you were hiper ventilating

he sadly chuckled, “no.. we can't. they're going to come after you if i'm not the one to go.”

“but—”

“no buts. i'll be moving away, far away. and, if you stumble upon my grief, to protect you, i endure.”

your chest burned. and you shook your head in denial continuously, eyes begging for him to give a second thought. the silent that stretched later was agonizing, and you only break eye contact when he dropped a silent tear, one that said more than what a thousand words could say.

“this is not fair, jungwon—” your voice broke, but you resumed, “you didn't even give me a choice to choose for myself. how could you think about leaving like that and then i’ll continue here, alone? is this because you couldn't bear to live without even having a clue of where or how i’ll be?”

he didn't deny, but didn't use his voice either, his pupils getting redder, the margins filling with water

“i don't even know if you'll be alive, jungwon, please.” your tone was coated in something deeper than sadness, and if he wasn't already being harsh enough in himself, he would've given in to you. he inhaled deeply after your words in an act that left you worried sick, and instead of running away like a coward, in a move of a self-control he wasn't sure he had yet, he touched your wrist gently, stepping closer, heart fluttering inside his body, and put a silver delicate bracelet on your fist, the cold metal a contrast to his burning hot skin. “we'll meet again. it's a promise.”

you looked into his eyes, really looked at him, and there, while he walked further from you, you saw just a terrified, pathetically in love boy.

the last thing you said to him, while stupidly playing with the bracelet in your arm, “those bruises.. they were because of this, weren't they?”

he stopped for a second, and continued, back turned to you.

he let you there, alone, emotions surrounding you and leaving you in a dark solitude. the world around you crumbled, and amidst it all, there was jungwon.

the boy who taught you different languages and fulfilled your life even for a small period of time.

you never spoke to him again.

you never saw him again.

and nobody mentioned him again either, the Yang's now continuing their lives like jungwon never existed.

it was like he had disappeared completely.

Busan Train Station, 2025

the long trip was finally over, and even if the gaze of that stranger seemed comfortable enough for you to want to live in it, you forced your feet to stand up, the heavy luggage swinging in your hand.

you gave him a last good look, remarking his dimples, his soft skin and how he stared at you.

you didn't remember about being stared at like that before.

or maybe you did? the feelings were weird, conflicting.

you loud steps echoed through the wagon, and when you were about to leave it, a warm hand found your wrist, touching right above your silver bracelet. the one you remembered having since forever.

his touch sent shivers down your spine, the contact so different but familiar, like you'd done this previously.

but you were sure you never saw him before.

“hey, um, i think you dropped these”

💭 ik this took me years to be ready but i have my excuses, college has been eating me up (sacrifice reference) & finals are just around the corner. truly not the best time to be a student at an england uni 😭

taglist: @nuggets4lifers @won1yoiz @meowwwon @lavendersloane

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velarisdusk · 2 days ago

Text

The Force That Binds

Azriel x Reader

Day 3: Fate / Choice @sjmxreaderweek summary: Under the glow of Starfall, fate calls—but you don't answer. Azriel reaches for it, the bond thrumming between you, waiting. But the night is long, and you don't reach back. word count: 4.9k content: [ explicit language, alcohol (drinking, intoxication), verbal conflict, physical conflict (grabbing, restraint, mentions of bruising), emotional distress, toxic relationship dynamics ] author's note: this doesnt have anything to do with the main point of this fic but like,, man i'd LOVE to go clubbing with the IC they'd be so fun bruh especially drunk like come on (oh also i know they dont have speakers and subwoofers in prythian but suspend your disbelief for a bit pls thank u)

The night hums with life, thick with the scent of spiced wine and citrus, undercut by the faint acrid bite of burning cedar. Laughter spills through the streets, and the sky glows with distant light, only hours away from the celestial dance of spirits streaking across the heavens. Feyre’s laughter is bright as she spins beneath the starlight, the fabric of her dress catching the glow, shimmering like mist scattered in the wind.

It’s the kind of night that’s meant for forgetting. And maybe, just maybe, for a little while, you can forget, too.

But the air around you isn’t only filled with laughter. There’s an unmistakable weight pressing at the edges of your awareness, thick and inescapable. A presence that lingers, that clings to your skin like an unseen touch.

Azriel.

His shadows shift with restless energy, moving with a mind of their own, as if mirroring the tension coiled within him. Even when your back is turned, even when you’re wrapped up in conversation with Feyre or Mor, you can feel the weight of his stare—unwavering, unrelenting.

The bond hums between you, a quiet, insistent thing. A tether neither of you asked for. It’s been like this for months, this fragile, volatile limbo between what you are and what you refuse to acknowledge. And you hate it. Hate the way it’s changed everything. Hate the way it’s changed him.

Azriel was your friend. Once. The one who would stand beside you in silence when words weren’t needed, the one who knew you better than you knew yourself. There were no expectations, no need to define what you had. He was your constant, your anchor in all the ways that mattered.

But now?

Now, he’s your mate.

And you never wanted a mate. Never wanted to be bound to anyone, least of all him—someone who deserves more than what you’re willing to give. You’ve tried to push it down, bury it, ignore the way it pulls at you in quiet moments, but it’s always there. A whisper in the back of your mind. A weight in your chest. A force neither of you knows how to handle.

Feyre’s fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you into the crowd, into the music thrumming through the courtyard. “Come on,” she urges, her smile wide, breathless from laughter. “You’ve been in your head all night.”

The music vibrates beneath your skin, the press of bodies around you a blur of movement and heat. Mor twirls, golden hair catching in the glow of the lanterns strung high above, her eyes flashing with mischief as she winks at you.

You lift your drink to your lips, the golden burn curling through your veins, smoothing the jagged edges of your thoughts. You let it anchor you here, in this moment, where nothing exists beyond the steady pulse of the music and the warmth of your friends at your side.

For a little while, you let yourself believe it’s enough.

You dance. You laugh. You feel the weight of the night wrap around you like silk, thick with starlight and the taste of freedom. But even as you move, even as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you feel his gaze like a phantom touch against your spine.

Watching. Waiting.

You exhale, tilting your head back, willing the weight of him away.

Mor slides an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “You’re thinking too much again,” she teases, voice loud over the music.

Feyre laughs, nudging you playfully. “Don’t tell me you’re getting all broody on us. That’s Az’s job.”

It’s meant as a joke—harmless, lighthearted—but something in your chest tightens anyway. You force a smirk, shaking your head. “Please,” you scoff, taking another sip of your drink. “I’d sooner let Cassian style my hair.”

Laughter rings out around you, bright and easy. Mor says something that gets lost in the music, but you catch the tail end of it before she walks away—something about finding someone to take home tonight.

And then—

“Did I hear my name?”

Cassian’s voice, warm and amused, cuts through the haze. He steps into the circle, the starlight catching on the sharp planes of his face. His shirt is undone at the collar, his hair mussed like he’s already spent hours reveling in the night’s festivities. He looks every bit the warrior at ease—grinning, easygoing, utterly in his element.

He arches a brow, smirking as he rakes a hand through his hair. “For the record, I’d do a fantastic job with your hair.”

Feyre snorts. “You’d have her looking like she flew through a storm.”

Cassian gasps, appalled. “I’ll have you know, my braiding skills are unmatched.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Feyre muses, tilting her head. “You did do a great job on that doll’s hair for Nyx.”

You blink. “Wait. You braid Nyx’s dolls’ hair?”

Cassian glares at Feyre like she’s betrayed him. “That was classified information.”

Laughter spills from your lips before you can stop it, warmth spreading through your chest, untangling something tight within you.

Cassian lifts his drink, swirling the deep amber liquid. “Wanna try?”

You nod and eagerly take the straw between your lips, pulling a slow sip. The smoky burn lingers on your tongue, and you hum in approval. But the moment it settles in your stomach, something shifts.

Not around you—within you.

A sharp tug in your chest. Low, insistent. A flare of heat threading through your veins.

Not yours.

You don’t have to look to know. You can feel it through the bond—the taut pull of something dark and possessive tightening like a vice.

But you don’t react. Don’t let it show.

Instead, you grin at Cassian, nudging him with your elbow. “Okay, that’s really good. You have to take me to the bar and order me one.”

Cassian throws an arm around your shoulders, steering you toward the glowing bar across the courtyard. “Let’s get you properly set up, then.”

You glance toward Feyre, to ask if she’s coming along, only to find herself wrapped in Rhys’ arms, moving in a way you’ve never seen her dance before. He stands behind her, hands splayed low on her hips, guiding her in slow, teasing movements that match the rhythm of the music. Feyre’s head tilts back against his shoulder, her parted lips curving in a breathless laugh—one Rhys claims in an instant, pressing his mouth to hers over her shoulder. It isn’t sweet. It isn’t chaste. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world shrink to a single point, one that burns low and deep.

You smirk, shaking your head as you turn back to Cassian. “Never mind. I don’t think she’ll be joining us.”

Cassian follows your gaze and groans, exasperated. “Every damn year.” He gestures vaguely at the display. “Like clockwork. I swear they do this just to remind the rest of us that we’re single.”

You snort, letting him lead you through the crowd, where the air is thick with heat, laughter, and the heady haze of alcohol. The energy is electric, a pulse thrumming beneath the revelry. You should be caught up in it, thinking only of the next drink, the next joke, the next dance.

But that pull—that dark, furious thing—only tightens.

At the bar, Cassian leans an elbow against the counter, signaling the bartender with an easy flick of his fingers and ordering before turning to you. “I’m surprised Mor hasn’t dragged you onto the dancefloor yet,” he muses, swirling his drink. “Must be waiting for the right moment.”

You huff a laugh, pressing your back against the bar’s edge. “Oh, she’ll get her turn. I just needed reinforcements first.”

Cassian grins as the bartender slides a drink toward you. “One for the troublemaker,” he says, lifting his own glass in a mock toast.

You take a sip but hesitate as a better idea takes hold.

Glancing at the bartender, you nod toward the rows of bottles behind her. “Four shots, please. Dealer’s choice.”

Her brows rise. “You sure?”

Cassian chuckles, giving you a pointed look. “You sure?”

You scowl at both of them. “Absolutely.”

The bartender just shrugs and starts pouring. Four shots—each different, each unknown. One a deep amber, another crystal clear, the third an ominous shade of red, the last dark as ink. You slide two toward Cassian and keep the safer-looking ones for yourself.

He eyes the red one warily. “That looks like something that should be in a cauldron, not a glass.”

You smirk. “Only one way to find out.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Well, at least Mor and I still have a reliable drinking partner.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers to that.”

You each tap your glass to the bar and knock the first shot back. It burns, coiling deep in your stomach before unfurling through your veins. Cassian curses as he slams his own back, shaking his head like a dog ridding itself of water.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That one had a bite.”

You barely pause before reaching for your second. This one is smoother—almost sweet. You hardly have time to process it before Cassian downs his own, grunting at the taste.

You reach for your mixed drink to chase it down, but before you can take a sip, Cassian’s hand closes around your wrist.

“Whoa,” he laughs. “Take a second. Can’t have you dying on me yet.”

You scowl, but he only grins, nudging your shoulder as the warmth spreads through your limbs like honey.

And gods, you feel good.

Weightless. Buzzing with something electric and bright. The music shifts, fast and reckless, and suddenly—

“I gotta go,” you announce, setting your drink down with an unceremonious thunk.

Cassian raises a brow. “Uh, go where?”

You don’t answer, already turning away. “You can have my drink!”

It takes only seconds to find Mor and Feyre, arms raised, their laughter lost in the pounding bass. You launch yourself into the fray, draping yourself over Mor’s back and squeezing her shoulders.

She shrieks, spinning to face you. “There you are!”

“There I am!” you echo, throwing your hands up like you’ve just made a grand entrance.

Mor cheers, lifting her drink, while Feyre yanks you in and presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

The beat surges, and you move together, limbs loose, movements wild. Mor twirls you beneath her arm, and you take the opportunity to swat at her ass, grinning when she gasps in mock outrage. Feyre cackles, spinning around you both, her golden hair whipping in the night air.

Somewhere in the blur of laughter and bodies, Rhys appears, smirking as he steps into your space, catching your hands and pulling you into the rhythm. It’s effortless—playful, nothing but a game between friends, yet tinged with the same untamed energy coursing through the revelers. His grin is infectious as he twirls you like it’s some grand, gilded affair.

Behind him, Feyre and Cassian spin like fools, bumping into people, laughing like nothing exists beyond this moment.

And gods, you are so fucking drunk.

The world blurs, bright and dizzy, your body weightless, your limbs slow to follow your mind’s commands. The music isn’t just something you hear—it pulses through you, surging like it’s in your blood.

The ground tilts slightly as you throw your hands up, spinning beneath the lights. When you stumble, Mor is there, steadying you.

And then, somehow, you’re in Cassian’s arms.

Feyre twirls away, laughter ringing like a bell as she falls into her mate’s waiting hands. Rhys pulls her close, hands sweeping over her waist, guiding her in an intimate, languid sway.

Cassian’s hold on you is far steadier, his wide palms bracing you against him as you slump into his chest.

“Woah,” he chuckles, adjusting his grip. “I think you might be done, sweetheart.”

You laugh, the sound loose and uninhibited, tipping your head back to grin up at him. “No way. I can totally keep going.”

“Sure you can,” he drawls, guiding your movements with steady hands, keeping the momentum alive between you—more importantly keeping you upright. And you let yourself sink into the moment, losing track of time, losing yourself in the reckless abandon thrumming through your veins.

You are free.

You are untouchable.

And you don’t give a single damn about anything else.

Not the spirits that will streak across the sky at any moment.

Not the jealous, burning gaze you can feel searing into you from across the courtyard.

A warm hand slides around your waist, and suddenly, you’re moving.

Cassian is leading you out of the sea of bodies, his grip firm but careful as he steers you toward the courtyard’s edge, where the night air is cooler.

“Come on,” he says, steadying you. “Let’s get you some water before you end up passed out in some stranger’s lap.”

You roll your eyes but let him guide you, inhaling deeply as the cool air rushes over your skin. “I wasn’t that bad,” you argue, still grinning.

Cassian snorts. “You were a second away from needing me to carry you.”

The air shifts. Thickens.

It’s not a shadow that moves first—it’s silence. A weighted, oppressive thing slipping into the space between you and Cassian like a tide creeping in unnoticed.

Then, a familiar presence steps into your periphery.

Azriel.

He doesn’t speak at first. Doesn’t rip you away. Doesn’t bare his teeth in anger. He simply stands there, dark and unmoving, his expression unreadable.

And yet, there’s something in the way he looks at Cassian—at the arm still braced around your waist—that makes the moment stretch too long, too tense.

Cassian notices it, too. His body tenses, just slightly, though his face remains neutral. He doesn’t let go. Not yet.

Azriel’s gaze flickers to you, then back to Cassian. And when he finally speaks, his voice is calm. Deceptively so.

“I’ve got her.”

A simple statement. No heat, no open challenge. Yet it lands with weight.

Cassian’s hand lingers at your waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes locking with Azriel’s. There’s no mistaking the silent exchange between them, an unspoken language of veterans. It’s brief, but it speaks volumes.

Then, with a small sigh, Cassian lets go, his hand sliding away and bracing you by the arm. But as soon as he steps back, Azriel’s hand is there, firm but not harsh—just…certain. Like he’d always known he would be the one to hold you up.

Cassian’s jaw tightens, his eyes softening only slightly with concern. “You good?” he murmurs, looking down at you with a mix of protective affection and something unreadable.

You blink, the fog of alcohol clouding your senses. “I—yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. It’s Azriel. He wouldn’t hurt you.

Cassian doesn’t look entirely convinced, but his lips curl into a tight, reassuring smile before he shifts his gaze to Azriel. A silent assessment takes place—measuring, weighing, understanding. Then, with a reluctant nod, he turns, walking back into the crowd.

For a long moment, it’s just the hum of music in the distance, the cool air against your skin, and the press of Azriel’s hand, still firmly around your waist. The sound of laughter fades as he leads you away from the revelry, his pace unhurried, but purposeful. No words. Just his presence, a steady force pulling you in the direction he chooses.

There’s no urgency in his movements—no dragging or forcing. He isn’t trying to control you. Azriel’s simply walking, taking you with him.

Whatever is simmering beneath that unreadable gaze of his, it’s not meant for anyone but you.

Azriel’s grip is unyielding as he walks you away from the lights, the laughter, the chaos of the celebration. The street grows quieter with each step, empty save for the occasional flicker of lanterns overhead. The cobblestones beneath your feet are silent, untouched by the madness of the party.

You stumble slightly, your world tilting in a way that has nothing to do with the ground beneath you. Azriel steadies you, the small action somehow grounding in its quiet steadiness. You want to say something—maybe apologize, maybe thank him—but the moment is too heavy, and the words never come.

That is, until you hear the sharp inhale through his nose.

“You think I don’t see it?” His words hang in the air, sharp with a simmering tension you can feel winding tighter by the second. The frustration—no, the fury—carries through the bond, evident in every syllable. You’ve felt it all night, a tension brewing, waiting to explode.

You blink, fighting to focus. “What?” you ask, your thoughts still muddled by the alcohol fogging your mind.

Azriel stops walking, the sudden stillness of the moment sending a jolt through you. His hand tightens ever so slightly at your waist before he releases you, stepping back. His wings flicker in the air behind him, a brief, irritated flare before they tuck back in.

“All night,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me. Running to Cassian. To Rhys. To Feyre. To Mor.” He clenches his jaw, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Anyone but me.”

You stare at him, disbelief flashing through you. The accusation is absurd—entirely misplaced. Before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up from deep in your chest, not out of humor, but out of sheer confusion. “Azriel,” you start slowly, shaking your head as you try to make sense of it, “they’re my family just as much as they are yours.”

His eyes darken, anger flickering beneath something pleading. “And what am I?” His voice is dangerous now—low, thick with the weight of his question.

You falter, something in your chest tightening at the way he says it, at the way it makes everything inside you recoil. But you’re drunk, and you’re tired, and this is not the fight you’re willing to pick right now.

So you roll your eyes, dismissing the entire conversation with a flick of your hand as you step back. “You’re being ridiculous—”

Before you can move further, he’s in front of you, close—too close. The shadows at his feet flare, as if they, too, feel the surge of his frustration. “Am I?” The words are quiet, lethal, his gaze burning into yours. “Because it sure as hell looked like you’d rather be with anyone but me tonight.”

Your frustration flares up, finally breaking through the haze of alcohol. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Azriel,” you snap, the words coming out sharper than you expect. “I wasn’t with Cassian to avoid you. I was having fun.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a step closer. “You were draped over him.”

“I’m fucking drunk,” you retort, barely able to keep your balance. “And he was making sure I didn’t fall on my ass. And even if I wanted to drape myself over him, why do you care?”

That muscle in his jaw tightens, but this time, there’s a flicker of something dangerous deep within his eyes. He looks at you like he doesn’t know whether he wants to argue or shake you, whether he wants to step closer or disappear altogether.

“I care,” he grits out, “because you’re mine.”

The words land like a blow to the chest, hard and raw. Suddenly, you don’t feel so drunk anymore. The fog of alcohol clears, and the weight of his words presses down on you—crushing. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Azriel is closing the distance between you, his presence looming. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is quieter now, but it burns with the intensity of something long buried. “You’ve been avoiding me all night, and for what? Because you don’t want to acknowledge that we’re meant to be together? Because you think this—” He gestures forcefully between the two of you, fingers twitching before curling into fists, “—this bond means nothing?”

You flinch, the sharp sting of his words cutting through you. But even in your intoxicated state, a part of you knows better. You weren’t avoiding him. But now, everything about his anger—the way it wraps around you, suffocates you—makes you want to shout back. So you do. You force the words through your lips, your voice shaking with a mix of confusion and indignation.

“Azriel, I don’t want to be fucking owned,” you say, your voice shaking with confusion and indignation. But your words are firm. “I’m not some possession to be paraded around just because we share a bond.”

Azriel’s eyes darken, and the shadows at his feet stir—then rise, twisting around him, around you, curling over his shoulders and slipping past your skin like a phantom touch. They coil in the air between you, restless, untamed, a mirror of the storm in his voice. “I would treat you well,” he says, voice rough with conviction. “We were family before the bond snapped into place. Just imagine what we could be now.”

Your heart aches at his words, at the rawness in his eyes, but something else rises in your chest—a knot of confusion and frustration too tangled to sort through.

“I’m not afraid,” you say, though even to your own ears, it sounds thin and uncertain.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze remains fixed on you, and for a long moment, the two of you simply stand in the quiet, the only sound between you the distant hum of music, the breeze stirring the air.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, but no less intense. “You’re afraid of what it means, what this bond means… what we mean.” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “And that’s fine. But don’t think for a second that it doesn’t gut me.”

A slow breath shudders through you. “I know it hurts.” The admission barely carries past your lips. “I’m sorry, Azriel. I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t—” A breath. Then, quieter—“I don’t see you the way you see me.”

His body goes rigid. The flickering shadows at his feet recoil, the lash out, mirroring the sudden storm in his expression. “You don’t see me the way I see you?” His voice is taut, fraying at the edges. “You think I wanted this? That I asked for it?” His wings shift, the tension coiling through him visible in every sharp line of his stance. “But you—you’re the one who can’t even acknowledge what we are. You’re the one who keeps pushing me away.”

He steps forward, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re being selfish,” he spits, the words sharp like daggers. “Ungrateful.” The word lands heavily between you. “This bond—this mating—it was decided long before either of us had a say. It’s the Mother’s will. And you think you can just ignore it? You think you can treat me like this and I’ll just stand by?”

The air tightens as he takes another step, crowding the space you have left. His scent—leather, cold steel, and the sting of smoke—clings to the air, sharper now with the unmistakable bite of alcohol. The realization slithers through you too late.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you,” he murmurs, his tone turning something bitter. “The one who’s meant to be at your side, to be with you. And you—” His gaze hardens. “You’ve been treating it like some kind of fucking joke.”

Your breath comes unsteadily. “Azriel—”

He doesn’t let you finish. “You think I’ll just let you walk away from this?” His voice is quiet, lethal in its certainty.

Your instinct flares—too much, too fast. You take a step back.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can move any further. Not gentle. Not cruel, either. Just—unrelenting.

“You’re not going to walk away,” he says, as if speaking it aloud will make it true. His fingers tighten when you try to pull free, his grip firm as iron. “Not when we both know what this is. What we could have.”

Your pulse jumps. “Az, stop.”

He doesn’t. “I care about you,” he says instead, his voice fraying. “I always have. And you—” He exhales sharply, his free hand catching your arm now, holding you in place. “You don’t get to pretend this doesn’t exist.”

Before you can react, you’re being yanked forward—too fast, too rough. His strength is undeniable, unrelenting, as he pulls you up against him with such force that the breath punches from your lungs. His shadows stir, restless and volatile. The sudden impact sends your already unsteady world reeling, your hands shoving at his chest again, but he doesn’t let up. One of his hands leaves your arm only to grab your jaw, his fingers pressing into your skin, forcing you to look up at him. His grip isn’t just firm—it’s bruising.

“You don’t get to stand there and pretend this means nothing,” he grits out, voice shaking with something too tangled to name—anger, desperation, something else. “Not after everything.” His fingers tighten, his thumb barely skimming your throat. “You think you can just ignore it? Ignore me?”

Your pulse thrums wildly beneath his touch, fear threading through your veins. “Azriel, stop,” you breathe, trying to jerk your head away, but he doesn’t let go.

“You have no fucking idea what this feels like,” he snarls. “To have something that’s supposed to be yours, something that the Mother herself decided—and to have it ripped away because you refuse to open your goddamn eyes.”

The pressure of his fingers against your jaw makes it hard to breathe, panic clawing up your throat as his body cages you in, his wings stretching wide, his presence all-consuming. This isn’t Azriel. Not the one you know.

With all the strength you can muster, you shove at him again, twisting in his hold. “You don’t own me, Azriel!” The words rip from your throat, sharp and furious. And for the first time, a crack forms in his expression, raw and wounded. His grip falters just slightly, and you take the chance—ripping your face from his grasp, twisting against the hold he still has on your arm as you pant through the fear gripping your chest. “You’re hurting me,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Do you even realize that? Do you even care?”

Azriel stills. The shadows recoil.

It takes a second—one breath, then another—before his fingers loosen the slightest bit, before the haze in his expression clears enough for recognition to settle in. The realization of what he’s done, of the line he’s already crossed.

And then—

“Azriel. Let her go.”

Rhysand’s voice cuts through the night, even and quiet, but sharp as a blade.

Azriel doesn’t turn. His free hand flexes at his side, his breath unsteady.

Another voice follows—low, warning. “Az.” Cassian.

You see the moment it truly hits him. The realization. The horror. His grip loosens, his hands falling away from you completely, as if burned. His breath comes fast and uneven, his shadows trembling at his feet.

You stagger back the moment you can. Your arms sting where his fingers had pressed, but you resist the urge to cradle them, to rub away the lingering sting. Your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you recoil. You hold his gaze instead—and Azriel stares at you like he doesn’t recognize himself. His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his shadows still writhing at his feet like they don’t know what to do without his command. His lips part, but no words come.

You take another step back. Then another.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper. The words are quiet, but they cut through the space between you like a final severing. “If rejecting the bond wasn’t enough, why would I ever choose to be with someone who thinks they own me? Someone who—who does this?”

Azriel flinches, the words striking deeper than any physical blow. “I don’t—”

“You don’t get to justify it.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

You turn away.

Azriel moves.

It happens in an instant—his wings flaring, his body surging forward, a last desperate attempt to reach you.

But Cassian is there first. He shoves a firm hand against Azriel’s chest, halting him mid-step. The force of it is enough to make him stagger, his teeth bared, his breath coming hard and fast.

Rhys steps in beside them, fury carved into every sharp line of his face. But the authority in his voice is clear. “Enough.”

Something in Azriel’s posture locks. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his shadows writhing, twisting around his feet, but he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t move.

Rhys doesn’t look at him when he speaks again. His attention is on you. “Go find Feyre.”

He’s already reaching for her through the bond. You can tell.

You don’t hesitate. You don’t look back.

Each step away feels heavier than the last, the adrenaline fading, leaving only the bruising weight of everything that has just unraveled between you. Your pulse is still too fast, your skin still stinging where he touched you, but you keep moving.

And then—

You see her.

Feyre stands near the edge of the festivities, scanning the crowd. The moment her eyes find yours, something shifts in her expression. Concern, then something worse.

Pity.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once.

The last thing you see before the world blurs is Feyre moving toward you, reaching out.

And then, finally—

You let yourself fall.

#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic

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scribblecon · 2 days ago

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Your latest Megatron x Reader fic is stuck on my head, thinking about it repeatedly. I love if so much.

I am excited for the next chapter

The wait is finally over!! Here’s part two :)) also want to thank my buddy @peachypede for letting me bombard her with ideas for this and sharing her thoughts on them 💖

SFW, GN reader

part 1

Cultural Exchange Part Two

—

It’s time for another meeting with Megatron. Yesterday ended with you impulsively forming a book club for two and now you get to find out if he actually read a romance novel on your recommendation or not. You take a deep breath and enter the room, taking your usual seat near the doorway, body tense. He’s already sat in his corner of the room, of course. Waiting.

“I read the novel.”

“You actually read Pride and Prejudice?” Blinking in surprise, you weren’t expecting him to keep his word.

“Yes.”

“… What did you think?”

“The fixation on ‘marriage’ makes little sense. Surely there are more important things for the Bennett sisters to focus on than finding a sparkmate.”

“That’s a pretty dismissive reading.”

“What else is there to say? It’s a frivolous story about a group of people with too much time on their hands, shamelessly chasing romantic relationships.”

You stare at him open mouthed, trying to think of a response. He can’t be serious. His expression gives away nothing as he waits for you to speak and you can feel your face heat with frustration. You offer up a potential conversation topic because he isn’t willing to come up with one himself and this is all he has to say? Rude. Extremely rude. The tension in your body increases as you shift from nervousness to indignation.

“I suggested you read one of the most well-known novels in human history and you’re writing it off just like that? Did you actually read the story or did you download it into your brain module and call it a day?” You glare at Megatron, voice sharp. “Because it sounds to me like you didn’t even try to understand the point of the story.”

The corners of his lips quirk upwards in amusement at your reaction, wondering if it’s normal for humans to get so precious over a mere work of fiction. He’s never known his fellow cybertronians to act this way, though he struggles to recall the last time any of his kind published a novel in the first place, let alone one worth fussing over.

You know that getting angry isn’t going to make interacting with him any easier. Reminding yourself that you’re doing a job, that it’s only for an hour, you turn his words over in your mind. Need to think of something constructive to say. It’s true marriage and romance are the main themes of the story, but calling the entire cast shamelessly obsessed is a bit extreme. Either he’s a total prude or there’s a cultural difference getting in the way. You exhale, letting go of your remaining frustration before speaking again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

“I’ve been told that conjunx endurae are your species equivalent to marriage, but is there anything legally binding about entering that sort of relationship for cybertronians?”

“No.” His expression turns to a frown.

“And how common is it for cybertronians to become conjunx?”

“Most of us never do.” Megatron’s frown deepens, the line of enquiry at risk of becoming too personal too fast for his liking. Needs to shut it down. “More importantly, those kinds of relationships are considered private affairs. It isn’t usually something to be discussed openly.”

Come to think of it, you’ve been part of the Lost Light’s crew since before Megatron joined and romance hasn’t cropped up in conversation much, if at all, since you’ve started hanging out with cybertronians. Maybe romance just isn’t a priority for a race that doesn’t reproduce? At least this gives you something to work with.

“That’s so different to humans… a lot of us see getting married as the ultimate symbol of romantic love, but really it’s just a legal contract and the ceremony part is optional.” You can feel yourself relaxing as you continue. Somehow it’s easier to talk when you have something you can teach. “Back in the regency period, marriage was about financial security and social standing over and above anything else. Due to laws at the time, if a woman didn’t find a suitable husband she’d be at risk of becoming destitute. You didn’t pick up on that at all?”

“That’s why Mrs Bennett was so insistent on Elizabeth marrying Mr Collins…”

So he was paying attention after all… you allow a small smile to grace your lips. “She didn’t want her family to be rendered homeless upon her husband’s death, so, yeah in her eyes it was the best case scenario to marry Elizabeth off.”

“By that logic, Elizabeth was naïve and a fool to reject him.”

“Yes, but would you be happy spending the rest of your life attached to someone like that? Their personalities were a terrible match. They’d have been extremely unhappy together.”

Megatron thinks for a moment, snippets of dialogue from the book coming back to him. Something about Mr Collins’s sycophancy towards Lady de Bourghs does feel familiar... He knew there was a reason he stopped communicating with Tarn directly millennia ago.

“In a way, I already have…” He mumbles to himself, barely audible from where you’re sitting on the other side of the room.

“What was that?”

Megatron clears his intake, ignoring your question. “So which is more important to a successful marriage, security or happiness? This is unnecessarily complicated.”

“It depends on the person? I hate to break it to you, but much like cybertronians, humans are very complicated creatures. Consider Charlotte…”

—

“… now do you understand why marriage is so important in this story?”

Megatron nods in confirmation, appearing deep in thought. Having just spent the better part of the hour going over every relationship in Pride and Prejudice with him, you’ve been attempting to make him understand some of the myriad reasons as to why humans might get married. It became fairly obvious to you while discussing Mr Collins that he had, in fact, read the novel more closely than he initially let on. You don’t care if you’re just explaining things he’s already figured out though. A conversation is happening and you finally have something to say to Ultra Magnus. It’s not much, but he’ll probably be pleased with even a millimetre of progress right now.

Megatron is mildly impressed by you. Granted, he’s not exactly trying very hard, so naturally you’d be the one leading the conversation. But with a little provocation and something to focus on, you seem to lose any sense of fear towards him — watching you flare with indignation at his dismissive remarks before shifting to curiosity was nothing short of amusing. So small, yet more than willing to stand your ground, even over something as inconsequential as a work of fiction.

He also has to admit that this Jane Austen’s writing was of a better quality than he expected. The continuous discussions of relationships were initially jarring and uncomfortable, so completely different to cybertronian customs, but the prose and humour were enjoyable enough. He’d even go so far as to call the main dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy compelling, though he has no interest in voicing these opinions out loud for the time being.

The sound of an alarm goes off, interrupting his thoughts.

“Well,” you say, standing up and stretching your arms above your head. “Time for me to go.”

“Not going to suggest I read another human novel before you leave?”

You pause, nose crinkling as you turn to look back at him. “I did pretty much all the talking today so… you pick something.”

Without waiting for a response, you walk out the room. When the door closes behind you, he can hear your footsteps break into a run until they fade into the distance. Clearly, as much as you enjoy talking about literature, you still dislike being around him more. And that’s fine. He hardly knows what to make of you either.

#macaddam #transformers x reader #transformers mtmte x reader #megatron mtmte x reader #megatron x reader

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thepencilnerd · 1 day ago

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Hello! So I'm the same anon asking about delving more into the Robby/reader/Abbot dynamic and protective behavior. Firstly, I'd like to say thank you for giving us more details and doing such a beautiful job at it! I loved reading about how Robby and Abbot are both protective in their own ways, and how that sort of caretaking loops around to taking care of Robby in his down moments... it's just a really beautiful cycle <3. I've also re-read both that response and "seeing double" about a hundred times in the past few days, and I have some further questions from "seeing double" I'd like to ask if that's alright? If not, feel free to skip and I'll try to make the rest of this short so you're not reading an entire essay lol. 1) with the locker convo between Robby and Abbot, in your mind was that solely just them figuring out how to woo reader, or them coming to the conclusion that they'd like to try and both be in a poly relationship with reader? I feel like there's probably an obvious answer there that you spelled out perfectly, and I'm just too dumb to realize it lol. 2) with the flashback conversation with Samira and the IUD, were the guys upset about reader possibly taking out her IUD because it meant her giving up on romance? And therefore letting go of any chance of her being in a relationship with them? Yet again, probably another really obvious answer and I'm just dumb lol. 3) not a question really, but my headcanon/theory of the guys making breakfast at the end is that they would've tried to surprise reader with breakfast in bed b/c I'm a projecting romantic sap and think both of those simps would do something like that lol. 4) if I ever had a random thought of like "how would Robby and Abbot reacting to reader getting sick/passing out/having a panic attack?" or something similar can I send it in because I'm so infatuated with how you've written the triad dynamic and would love to see more, but I also don't want to be pushy and blow up your inbox lol.

babe you have no idea how much i appreciate you taking the time to reread my blurbs and send these questions, i send you all my love <333

Not dumb at all! I love that you asked this, because to me, that locker conversation wasn’t solely about strategy or timing. It was the culmination of weeks of tension, misfires, and quiet realizations on both their ends. In my mind, it was that explosion moment—where everything they’d been circling around finally cracked open. They’d both come to the same conclusion: they want you, but more than that, they care enough about you (and each other) not to let this turn into something that could hurt you. So yeah, it wasn’t just about figuring out how to woo you—it was the moment they both silently agreed to try together. To make it work as three, not two competing sides.

Yes, exactly that! The IUD thing isn’t just about sex; it’s a symbol. To them, it’s you quietly closing a door to any form of intimacy, both physical and emotional. It’s you saying, “I’m done hoping. I’m done expecting anything real.” And that hurts. Because Jack and Robby don’t just want you, they want to be that real thing for you. The safe thing. The steady thing. The one that doesn’t disappoint you like everyone else has. So when they overhear you telling Samira you’re thinking of getting it removed, it’s not the medical detail that hits them—it’s the implication. What they hear underneath all that casual, sleep-deprived banter is that you’re giving up. On romance. On the idea that someone could actually love you the way you deserve. On them before they’ve even had a chance to show you they could. And being the pro-choice kings that they are, they would never be upset about your choice to take it out. They'd support you, no matter what you decide, and would never presume to have a say in your body. That’s not who he is. But this? It's about watching someone they care about so deeply resign themself to loneliness. Robby and Jack aren't angry at you. They're just scared they're already too late.

I'm a sucker for partner waking up morning after to full breakfast cooked and prepped so absolutely

feel free to send in and i can add it to my wip!

#the pitt #jack abbot #dr robby #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #shawn hatosy #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #dr abbot x reader #ask #anon

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kolutshanpress · 2 days ago

Text

as per a request in my local renegade server: here is my process (such as it is) for the stenciled covers i've done for my binds. obviously, huge thanks to everyone in the renegade discord for teaching me most of what i know about bookbinding. this tutorial only exists thanks to the resources they've made available and the conversations i've had there.

material list

vinyl cutter (i have a silhouette portrait 3) + mat + blade

stencil vinyl (i have this one, but have had some adherence troubles with it. unclear whether this is just The Nature Of Stencil Vinyl or whether there's a better brand out there. adhesive vinyl can also be a viable option, although i haven't personally experimented with it yet.)

transfer tape (i have this stuff. it's fine.)

weeding tools (i have this hook and a very fine tip pair of tweezers. i highly recommend getting a hook, especially if you—like me—are haunted by the specter of carpal tunnel. get an off-brand one or get one on sale, though. i only have the silhouette brand one because it was on clearance.)

acrylic medium (i have this one because it was on sale at the time i was buying acrylic medium. when i replace it, i will be replacing it with a matte one. the gloss definitely has a noticeable sheen that i don't love.)

acrylic paint (literally any paint will do. i've been mostly using the decoart extreme sheen because it's $4 at michaels. you may be noticing a theme here.)

stiff stenciling brushes (the ones i have are similar to these but cost even less. again, there's a theme here.)

an iron and some parchment paper (jury is still out on whether using heat to "set" the pattern is necessary, but i do feel like it melts the paint a bit into the bookcloth and lessens the extent to which the pattern sits above the bookcloth.)

your trusty bone folder

instructions and a truly hideous number of words under the cut.

step 0.5: discern what will make a good stencil and what will make you hate yourself, your life, and the art of bookbinding

there are a LOT of different ways to put titling on a book. you could do a paper cover with a printed design or paste paper labels onto bookcloth or foil your title onto your cover with heat activated foil. the best method depends on what kind of design you have in mind, what tools you have available to you, and what materials you're working with (for example, i've had very bad luck getting acrylic paint to adhere to Allure bookcloth, but Allure does foil like a dream).

as far as stencils are concerned, you can kind of sort cover designs into three categories:

BEST for stencils: big, bold shapes on larger format books (think letter folio or letter/legal quarto)

OKAY for stencils, but you might hate yourself: intricate detail at a large enough form factor for it to be cut well by your vinyl cutter

BAD for stencils, you will die and it will hurt the entire time you are dying: lots of intricate detail and lots of fine lines

below are examples of category 1, 2, and 3 (all designed for letter folio). to be clear, category 3 can technically be possible, depending on the design. but only undertake it with the awareness that you will die, and it will hurt the entire time you are dying.

step 1: design a thing to put on your cover

i'm not going to go too in depth on this because cover design is a HUGE can of worms. a few pointers, though:

i never start designing my cover until my text block is done. this allows me to design my cover at "full size" based on the measured size of my text block and cover boards.

i fully lay out my cover in a separate program before exporting a transparent PNG to silhouette studio (or whichever proprietary software you have to use to communicate with your particular vinyl cutter). i use affinity designer. some free options would be inkscape (if you want to work with vectors) or gimp.

i design my cover on a document with dimensions of (HEIGHT of boards + 20 mm) x (WIDTH of boards or spine + 20 mm) and 10 mm margins. the area within the margins represents the actual dimensions of the thing i'm designing, while the area outside of the margins creates a mask that prevents me from getting paint on things i don't want paint on (like the covers, if i'm creating a spine stencil).

i always outline my document with a 3 or 4pt black line. this creates the outer edge of my stencil and provides my vinyl cutter with a cut line. if you're working with a smaller vinyl cutter (like the cricut joy) there are ways to jigsaw designs together from smaller pieces of vinyl, but i'm not the person to ask about that. i specifically bought a portrait so that i didn't have to worry about that.

here's an example of one of my affinity files from a recent cover. i've exaggerated my outline to make it clearer. you can also see that i use affinity to experiment with color combinations. before i export, i turn all my elements black and make any backgrounds transparent, meaning that the PNG i import into silhouette studio looks like the one on the right.

step 2: cut and weed your stencil

again, not going to go terribly in depth here. there is a veritable army of youtubers out there with tutorials about how to use [insert propriety vinyl cutter software here]. but, again, a few pointers:

with my particular vinyl cutter and stencil vinyl, i usually cut my stencils with the material set to "washi," depth at 1, force at 13, and speed at 4. google, experiment, see what works. also, you want to put your stencil vinyl on the mat with the blue vinyl facing UP, and you don't want to mirror your design. with stencils, what you see is what you get.

i cut my vinyl a bit bigger than necessary because i'd rather waste a bit of vinyl than have to worry about a stencil falling off the edge of my vinyl because i misaligned it on the mat.

unlike HTV, you will be weeding out all the black parts of your original image. be prepared to hate the letters "e" and "a" forever, because you will have to somehow keep the little eye of them in place while you pry out the rest of it.

step 3: apply your stencil to your case

alright, now let's get into the meat of it. i always stencil after my case is finished but before i case in my book. this means that if i totally fuck it up, i can trash the case instead of the entire book.

additionally, i completely stencil my spine first (as in lay down stencil, paint, remove stencil) and then stencil my covers. i've found that it's easier when you don't have stencils overlapping and sticking to each other.

OPTIONAL STEP: mark guides onto your cover to help you position your stencil. whether or not i do this step depends on the design. a lot of the time, i just eyeball it. but for some designs, precision is key. for those projects, i use my ruler to mark out guides in white chalk for where i need certain elements of the stencil to fall. (i used guide marks for the "penguin clothbound" copies of the The Weight Collected that i've been using as an example in this post—the black rectangular boarder would've made uneven placement REALLY obvious.)

use transfer tape to remove your vinyl from its slick backing. what i've found is that you really, really don't want your transfer tape to be too sticky. you want it just barely sticky enough to pick up the stencil if you rub it down with a bone folder or your fingernail. i have a piece of transfer tape that i stuck to my jeans a bunch of times and then proceeded to use for 8 books in a row. it is, frankly, still a little bit too sticky. i have rolled it up so that i can use it for the next 8 books, at which point it will presumably be the right level of stickiness.

position your stencil. when you're happy with it, rub it firmly down with your bone folder. then do it again. then use your fingernail to score down over the titling text. then pray. in my experience, stencils prefer to stick to transfer tape rather than bookcloth. ymmv.

start at one corner of your stencil. carefully begin peeling back the transfer tape. i've found that essentially folding back the transfer tape (like, the corner that's been freed from the stencil being folded back away from the stencil) helps the tape to release. go slowly, rubbing down with the bone fold as necessary.

after you've finally manage to pry the tape off, go back and smooth down the stencil and firmly rub it down to get it to adhere to the bookcloth as thoroughly as possible with as few ripples or air bubbles as possible.

step 4: paint time!

here is a secret that the renegade discord taught me that i am now passing on to all of you: before you put any paint on your stencil, put down a layer of clear acrylic medium. the medium will finish the job of pasting down the stencil to your cover, and any leaks that happen in the process will be clear medium instead of colored paint (and will therefore be basically unnoticeable). ergo:

stipple a thin coat of acrylic medium over your stencil. you want to use an up-and-down daubing motion, not a brushing motion. brushing will get paint under your stencil. let dry.

after your medium is dry, stipple a few thin coats of your colored acrylic paint onto your stencil. let dry between coats. (i usually find that two coats is enough.) again, try to keep your coats thin. you don't want a thick layer of paint because that will create a raised surface above your bookcloth.

let your paint fully dry. i usually leave it overnight, but if i'm feeling especially impatient, i still make sure to at least give it a good three or four hours.

peel up your stencil. your weeding tools will once again come into play here to pry up little bits and pieces of stencil (like the stupid eyes of the "a"s and "e"s that were so annoying during the initial weeding stage).

step 5: optional setting stage

again, jury is still out on whether or not this is necessary, and the effects are pretty subtle. but i do it every time anyway. some tips:

use an iron on very low heat (i keep mine at the low end of the synthetic setting) and with steam turned OFF

keep a piece of parchment paper (NOT waxed paper. you want the slick paper that you put under cookies to keep them from sticking to the pan.) between the iron and your cover.

press the iron down, don't rub it like you're ironing a shirt. it's possible to smear your paint doing that (ask me how i know).

i usually lay the iron down on a section for 10-15 seconds at a time, then lift it and move it to another section.

start with less of everything (less heat, less time) and build up. always better to be conservative with this.

i usually continue until the paint is warm to the touch, then move onto another section. after it's cooled, i evaluate if i feel like it's melted into the cloth enough. if not, i repeat the process.

step 6: BOOK

congrats, you have put a design on a book cover. the world is your oyster. go forth and make books. become ungovernable.

#tutorials #bookbinding #fanbinding

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delopsia · 3 days ago

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I love this! Can I go with moonbeam barrel racing ☺️

Character: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd

And title: Home

This was such a cute concept to play with 😭 thank you so much for joining the event! ⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐

Moonbeam Barrel Racing — Choose your rider(s) and a title, and I'll give you a short drabble

"I dunno," Bob's head comes to rest on your shoulder, an arm strewn out across your belly. "This one doesn't really feel like home to me."

Your eyes roll, sighing as dramatically as you can manage. How did you know he was about to say that? "You said that about the last house."

He tilts his head, biting your shoulder. "And you said it about the cute one on the river."

"Because there were faces carved into the trees!" And maybe trees with faces don't fall into his personal definition of 'unnerving', but you are not spending six to nine months out of the year alone and surrounded by trees of unspeakable and unknown horrors. They were creepy enough during the daylight, you'd hate to find out what they look like at midnight.

Grumbling low in his throat, Bob shifts, fully rolling himself on top of you, wedging your phone between your bodies.

"Bob, I can't see my phone."

"Good." Nestling his cheek into your chest for extra measure, comfy as can be. Not a care in the world for the awkwardly shaped device that's surely digging into his chest right now.

Pushing him off is an option. He'll roll away if you target the right spots; you can easily reach the ticklish space on the side of his waist, but your hand comes up to rest on his back instead. Might as well accept it and get comfortable.

But you can still complain. "I can't look at homes if you don't get off of me."

"That's okay," he chirps, "we have a home right here."

"Bobby, we live in an apartment," tapping him on the back of his neck, as if to try and knock a proper thought into him.

"Not that. This," as if to emphasize what he means, he rubs his cheek against you, like a big, funny-looking cat. "This is home."

Cheesy bastard.

"Does my chest have a decent-sized kitchen?" Poking him again. And again. And again. "A lawn instead of an ugly parking lot? Neighbors who don't listen in on your conversations through the walls and ask you about what they heard?"

A lazy grumble resounds through the room. After a moment, he lifts himself, just enough to reveal your long-lost device. "Show me the house again."

#delgato's starlight stampede #delgato's asks #bob floyd x reader #live-love-be-unique

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cvldbones · 2 days ago

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crawling back to you (langdon x mel)

She sounds happy, a little breathless, and Frank feels himself smiling before he can really stop himself. Not that he’s trying that hard. “Can I help you?” he asks, sardonic, and his grin stretches when Mel just laughs in that full-bellied way he so rarely gets to hear. “I told them you’d pick up,” she repeats, and he laughs at the triumph in her tone.

Since getting sober, Frank feels a little like he’s living life for the first time, as if that month he spent shaking and sweating through his detox unspooled some of his other mental faculties, too. Before the ink had even dried on his divorce papers, he put the deposit down for this shitty two-bedroom apartment ten minutes from the hospital, and he realized while standing in the middle of the empty kitchen that he hasn’t lived by himself since he was nineteen and his roommate moved out halfway through the semester, leaving him alone in their tiny dorm.

Socializing is so much more difficult now, too. It’s ten p.m. and he’s sitting on the beaten-up couch he scrounged from Facebook Marketplace, feet propped on a rickety stack of old medical journals he’s never been able to throw out. The Sixers game is on, and he’s watching in an absent, detached sort of way. Before, he might have been drinking a beer while he watched, or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Robby while eating peanuts and heckling the players, or just spending time with Abby talking about something other than medicine or the kids.

Probably not the last thing, though. It was one of the many (valid) complaints she’d levied against him, in the end.

Now, of course, none of those are even options. Alcohol had never been his problem, but addiction is a slippery slope, as his therapist likes to remind him. He can’t even imagine how he would begin a conversation with Robby that didn’t feel like they were both trapped in an HR seminar, and Abby, well. It is perhaps damning in more ways than one that he doesn’t really wish that were still on the table.

He checks the phone in his lap again, huffing in irritation at himself when there are still no new messages.

Mel is out with their coworkers – girls’ night! she’d said, enthusiasm painted across her face, when she’d reminded him this afternoon – and he is trying and failing to not think about what they’re doing, what they’re talking about. His relationship with Mel is fraught in a different way from everyone else. She’s nonjudgemental almost to a fault, and she'd welcomed him back without inquisition, her genuine joy at working with and talking to and knowing him so profoundly relieving he’s been biting his tongue to keep from thanking her too often.

He had been attracted to her that first day almost passively. She was smart and interesting and kind, an open book where he was a firmly locked box, and it had been refreshing. There had been a gravitational pull he’d been able to blame on his general tendency to repress the hell out of stressful situations; she was easy, in a way that Santos and Robby and that whole mess was, decidedly, not. Like a dozen benzos straight to his psyche.

But then she’d visited in rehab, a bad day, by all accounts – he was on day eighteen of withdrawals, and the sobbing had given way to anger, pure and volatile – but she kept coming back, and then she stuck by him, those first few weeks, hovering in a way that didn’t feel passive aggressive in the way Robby was, and then he’d started giving her rides to work, when he saw her walking to the bus stop one morning, and then they’d started spending a few nights a week together, building furniture for his apartment or watching a movie with Becca, and then she started crashing on his couch whenever Becca stayed at the center, because she hated being alone in her place, and –

And suddenly, without really looking, he’d gone and fallen in love with her.

It’s a wildly, horribly selfish impulse, he’s sure. She is unequivocally his best friend – he has spare clothes at her place and she has a key to his and he can count on both hands the number of days in the last year they’ve gone without seeing each other – but she is also Mel, good in a way that is almost distressing in its sincerity. They aren’t opposite ends of a spectrum, because she is operating on a plane so far removed from his own that he can’t reach it. He loves her in a way that is uncomplicated, straightforward, true, and that means he can’t risk sucking her into his orbit of chaos.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting, though. He’s not an idiot, but he’s not a saint, either.

Read on AO3!

#y'all i think i have a parasite in my brain that's just chanting KINGDON KINGDON KINGDON all day long #kingdon #kingdon fic #the pitt #mine #langdon x mel

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drabbles-mc · 14 hours ago

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Invisible Silver Linings (2/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: the amount of love i have for Bob Reynolds???? infinite and indescribable. i adore this mess of a man and his puppy dog eyes so much.

You weren't sure how much time had gone by since your conversation with Bob. It had been long enough for the both of you to fall asleep, though. The only reason that you knew that was because you were woken up by the sound of Bob talking. He didn’t sound the same as he had before, though. His voice wasn't that soft nervous whisper, it wasn't how he sounded when he was simply making conversation with you. It was quieter than that, muttered and almost frantic.

Opening your eyes, you looked over to find him curled up into a ball on the floor next to you. His eyes were shut, and you were assuming that he was asleep, but he was whispering to himself at a mile a minute. He was hugging himself, arms pulled tight across his chest. Even with his eyes shut, his face was still pinched.

Part of you was saying to wake him up. Sure, sleep was a precious thing but it didn’t look like he was having what you'd call a restful sleep. Then again you didn’t know this guy really at all. Maybe this was just what sleep was like for him. You had no way of knowing. His hair was sticking to his forehead from sweat, some of it falling down directly in front of his face due to the position that he was laying in.

The thing that pushed you to finally make a decision was when you saw how tightly he was holding onto the baggy fabric of his shirt. He had it balled up in his fists, the human embodiment of white-knuckling it. That was no way to try and get some sleep.

Taking a deep breath, you reached over and gently set your hand on his shoulder. You tightened your grip just slightly so that you could try and jostle him awake without having to shake him too hard. You weren't trying to scare him any more than he probably already was.

You never got the chance, though, because the second that you tightened your grip on his shoulder he snapped awake. Letting go of his shirt, he focused his harsh grip on you instead, fingers curling around your arm just above your wrist. His blunt fingernails dug into your skin causing you to let out a quiet hiss of pain. Your instinct should've been to hit him, to pull yourself away from him, but you stopped yourself from following through on the urge. The only thing that saved him from a black eye or a busted nose was the fact that when he'd shot upright, the look in his eyes was one that you hadn't seen before. He didn’t look the same as he had, almost like he was a different man now than he had been. You weren't going to punish him for that if you didn’t have to, although if he gripped you any harder you might just have to ask for forgiveness later.

“Bob,” you said, unable to hide the pain in your voice. “Bob, it's me. C'mon.”

He was looking at you but you could tell that he didn’t really see you. Whatever was lurking behind those eyes, it wasn't the same guy you'd been speaking to a few hours before.

Figuring that it could only go so much more wrong than it already had, you reached over and place your other hand on top of his. You tried to get your voice back under control, tried to sound like everything was fine and normal. “You gotta let me go,” you said calmly. “You're the closest thing to a friend I've got in here, so you can't do me like this.”

The next few seconds that passed felt like they dragged on for an eternity. Finally, though, something clicked and he let you go. You weren’t even really that confident that it had anything to do with the words you'd said to him. You'd ask later, maybe, if the opportunity presented itself, but you were fairly certain that whatever that had just been, was one of those things that just needed to run its course. Unfortunately for both of you.

You were gently rubbing your arm where his nails had dug into you, but your eyes were focused solely on him. He blinked a few times against the darkness of the room—it wasn't pitch black, but they'd dialed down the harsh fluorescents a bit from what they'd been earlier. That and the sporadic meal drop-offs had been your only way to try and get any grip on the passage of time in here.

He rubbed at his eyes and then looked at you. There was a tiny upward lift of his lips, not quite a real smile but something close to it as he stared at you. “Hey. What,” he tried to fight off a yawn and failed, “what're you doing up?”

Your mouth flattened into a straight line as you tried to figure out how you wanted to answer that question. You didn’t want to sound accusatory since you had no idea what this guy's deal was, but also you hadn't ever been the greatest liar on the planet either.

Still massaging your arm, you said, “You, uh, you were muttering in your sleep and it woke me up—thought you might've been talking to me.”

His expression fell. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I, I do that sometimes.” He paused for a moment. “Did you hear what I was saying?”

You shook your head. “Not really. You were talking real fast, so it was hard to catch any of it. I tried to wake you, but, uh…” you trailed off, not knowing how to say it.

If the look on his face said anything, it said that he had an idea of what might've happened without you even saying a word. Maybe you were right. Maybe this was just a normal night for him. That'd make the most sense, the more you thought about it. Maybe this is the type of thing that had him signing up for the medical trial in the first place.

“Oh no. What'd I…did I do something?” Even as he was asking, his eyes were scanning you over. He stopped when he saw you holding onto your arm. “Did I—”

You shook your head. “It's fine. I shouldn’t have tried to wake you.” You offered a weak chuckle. “You know what they say about poking sleeping bears.”

He tried to give you a pity smile at least, but even that didn't land. He was reaching for your arm before he could think twice about it. “Can I…” he trailed off as he took ahold of your arm again. This time he did it with a gentleness that made much more sense given what you knew of him.

You were too busy staring at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head, to pull away from him. It was only when you saw the sadness on his face again that you remembered yourself and tried to pull away. He stopped you, not with the same amount of force he had while he was asleep, but enough to make you stop fighting against him.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you looked anywhere but at him. “I told you, it was nothing.”

He was looking back and forth between your face and your arm. Even without looking directly at him, you could feel all that sympathy just rushing out of him and into you as he held onto your arm. It was enough to make you sick, but not enough to make you pull away.

He was staring at your arm again, the divots left behind by his fingers were troubling, and he hated that he'd done that to you. Hated even more that he couldn’t remember doing it. You'd been kind to him, a total stranger in a strange place, and this was how he'd repaid you. He felt bad, but what made him feel worse were the freshly healed scars on your arm. He didn’t have to see your other arm to know that they were a matching set, a deep vertical line down the center of your wrist and forearm.

“I'm sorry.”

You finally yanked your arm away from him. Pulling your sleeve down so that it covered your hand as well, you shook your head. “It's fine. Didn't even break the skin. I just. I wasn't expecting it, is all.” Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes. “Are you good, though? That…that didn’t sound fun.”

There were still a million apologies swimming around in his eyes, but he managed to say something other than sorry. “Yeah that’s ‘cause it’s…it’s not,” he ended his sentence with a soft chuckle. It got tiny smiles out of each of you. Not because it was funny, per se, not in the typical sense. But it seemed you were both the type of people who knew that in some moments, there was nothing else to do but laugh because if you didn’t you’d end up crying. He twisted his fingers in his lap. “I don’t remember what happens when I get like that, though.” He gave a lame shrug. “So I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Just full of silver linings, aren’t you?” you joked.

The conversation fizzled out after that. Both of you were sitting upright now. You were in much the same position that you were before, legs bent and arms draped. Bob on the other hand had his legs stretched straight out in front of him. The one thing that you had in common was that you were both pressing your heads back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

After a few minutes went by, and you were fairly confident that Bob wasn’t about to immediately descend into another episode, you gave into the heaviness of your eyelids. Your breathing began to even out and slow down. You focused on the thumping of your heartbeat, willing it to slow down as well. Just as you were about to sag back against the wall, you felt something pressing against your shoulder. Even before you opened your eyes, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what it was. Who it was.

And you were right. Barely turning your head at all, you saw that Bob's head was dropped down onto your shoulder. A few days ago when you'd first gotten here, you would've tried to shrug him off. Now, though, you were grateful for a tiny shred of connection. The days leading up to coming here had felt so lonely and endless. At least when you'd been tossed in here, the solitary nature of it was expected. It didn’t hurt as much that way. But Bob was the first person in a long time that you'd had anything resembling a real conversation with. Maybe you were just more starved for connection than you realized, or maybe it was the lost puppy look that seemed to be ever-present on his face, but it felt nice to have someone.

You didn’t try to wake him again, didn't try to move him. Your head dropped back against the wall once more. Letting out a long, slow breath, it was the fastest you'd fallen asleep in a long time.

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