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soapybutt17 · 1 year ago

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The Ex and Why's

Summary: No one knows much about Simon’s life aside from what was listed on his files. The family that had died a tragic death, the trauma that came with his actions, and the rank that made him what he was today. No one had realized that behind the balaclava wearing man from Manchester was a man that once had a heart and signed divorced papers he had constantly regretted signing all those years ago.. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Ex Wife!Reader. John Price. Kate Laswell. Johnny "Soap" MacTavish. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Word Count: 9,787 Chapter Warnings: Angst with Happy Ending. Miscommunication. Mention of Minor Character Deaths. Mention of Divorce. Life threatening Injuries. Mention of Simon's tragic past and trauma. Not edited (sorry!) AN: I can now sleep in peace. If you enjoyed it why not visit my mini celebration and post your own requests I can write just like this.

Masterlist || Request are Open || 500 Followers Celebration

When you had learned about this new job, one thing you had so gotten used to doing was letting Simon know about it. But not this time, something about letting him back into your life wasn’t something you should do anymore. You were no longer married to him by your own choice and no one else’s. So you know it was time to wear your big girl pants now and stopped letting him know about it.

You no longer had any reason to give your ex-husband any updates about your life. A more selfish reason was how you just wanted to start a new life, away from him and away from anything that was related to him.

“Ms. Riley?”

You turned smiling at the man that would now be your new boss. You learned his name to be John Price, a Captain.

Being married to a man like Simon Riley once upon a time, you know some thing or two about what goes on inside of a military base. Even when he hasn’t talked much about it with you during your relationship or if he even gone as far as mention your existence to the people he had once worked with. You chalked it up to overprotectiveness and fear that they would get to you, and some night thing that he was simply embarrassed about you. Maybe it’s another reason why you had opted out of telling him about this new job of yours.

“Captain Price, it’s good to finally meet you.” You firmly shook the man’s hand. A good first impression was the best thing for you to do if it meant making sure you work for the man for the foreseeable future.

“Likewise, Laswell as spoke great things about you and I’m hoping to be able to experience it firsthand.”

You nodded with a smile. Working for Kate’s wife for nearly a few years beforehand, you had appreciated the suggestion for this new role as a secretary for the Captain ever since your divorce. She had understood you needed this change in pace in your life and this was much of a welcome change.

“I do hope it’s all good things.” You quipped right back earning a deep resonating chuckle from the older man.

“Well I think now that introductions as over and done with, let me show you to my office. I do hope you’re up for dealing with a handful of documents for me on your first day.”

“More than happy to.” You beamed following the man, his larger hand holding onto the small of your back as you began your journey into the heart of the base.

All throughout the walk, he was giving your directions to where most things were. You were warned how some men could be rowdy at time and he was more than happy to help in the off chance that any of his men would give you problems.

All you could do was smile, not wanting him to know that you were more than well equipped to punch or kick anyone that would get too handsy with you. One of the perks of having an ex-husband working for the military.

He continued on with how things go around in the base. Schedules for meal time and the curfew in the event that you would be staying in the base overnight. He had also showed you to where your new room would be located in.

“You would be a few rooms away from my own as well as the Lieutenant and Sergeants that I trust most. In the event that I’m unavailable, they will be more than willing to lend you a hand if you need it.”

You nodded before you finally arrived in his office. Opening the door for you, you were greeted with a spacious office. Even in the chaos of the military base, the man’s office was pristine, a few knick knacks and photos that littered his walls, as well as a bookshelf that housed an array of military strategies books. But the most alarming thing about his office was the other table that housed stack upon stacks of folders, papers practically spilling out from each and every single one of them.

“I may or may not have underestimated the help I truly need in this situation.” The Captain said sheepishly as you began opening the folders and gasped that most of them weren’t even ordered correctly even with the page numbers printed on them.

“I think I can manage this.” You blinked hoping you didn’t bite more than you could chew in this moment.

For the next few hours, your time was spent removing staplers upon staplers from the papers for each and every single one of the folders while you were inquiring to John the calls you would be fielding for him from now on and how he would want you to deal with it.

You had learned so much about the man in the few hours being in the same room as him. He was a man that wanted to ensure the safety of the world, even if it meant bloodying his hands up a little just to make sure of it. It showed with some of the missions reports that you may or may not have accidentally read too much into. You’ve also learned how much he hated talking to upper ranking officials if not needed, he was a man that hated authority yet he was working in the field that he was in right now from the way his comments about letting calls from upper ranks go to voice mail if possible.

“Will there be anything or anyone that I should be worried about for now?” You inquired making sure that you did not stir anyone in the wrong way if possible.

“I’m sure Laswell has told you enough to understand our work. Some men are more scarred than sane and if possible, I want you to make sure that you do not give anyone the wrong impression if possible.”

You know what he was implying and with your own experience you know far too well that getting yourself involved with another man in uniform would lead into.

“I’ve done my fair share, Captain. I don’t think that would be much of a problem with me.” You reassured him.

“Laswell told me you were divorced.” He began, huh, who would have thought the man would be the gossiping type.

“It’s been a few years,” You shrugged attention solely on rearranging the files at hand. “It took months before my ex-husband signed the papers, I wanted to think it was because he was deployed but I knew otherwise.” You muttered.

When you had made the decision to finally break things off with Simon, it was like pulling teeth with the man and his near avoidance about the discussion or where you would be sending the divorce papers. You had enough of it, leaving the home you once shared instead with everything you owned and left nothing more of you than the divorce papers alongside the wedding ring and engagement ring he had given you all those years ago.

“He was military too?”

“Something like that.” You nodded not wanting to think too much about the man. Even after everything, you still worried about you giving the man too much information in the event that he works for the opposing side if the chance may have it.

“Well his lost is my gain.” He snorts turning his attention back to the freshly arranged folders courtesy of you that were now ready for his signature. “No offense.”

“None taken, Captain.”

Eventually the man had excused himself for a meeting and had instructed you that no one would be allowed inside aside from him. He had also reminded you about lunch which you could head on out first or you could join him once his meeting was done. You’ve decided it would be best to join him for lunch for now, just to get a feeling of anyone that you would get into contact with on your first day.

With a quick goodbye, you were left on your own and you all but groaned at the folders still stacked up and yet to be touched. It truly made you wonder how the man could be so good in his job yet be so horrible with his paperwork. You will never understand.

Your eyes fixated for a moment on one of the pictures on the wall. It was your boss with three individuals. A blue eyed man with a horrible cut Mohawk but the biggest beaming smile on his face, his arm wrapped around a much younger man with darker skin but a bright eyes that twinkled with happiness for whatever was going on when the photo was taken. But amongst the camaraderie and enjoyment was a man in a skull balaclava mask that had such an empty but somehow familiar eyes, the man stuck out like a sore thumb even with the Captain’s hand resting on the taller man’s shoulder and beaming smile and a cigar between his lips. It was an odd mix of people but it was like family—it made you miss Simon for a moment before your attention got right back to the paperworks.

You can’t think of him now. Not anymore.

After the events of Las Almas, Simon Riley had truly fought the urge to call you, to tell you how much you mean the world to him and how he was now more than willing to give you the compromise you had always longed from him. But a part of him, the bigger and much darker part of him had refused, slamming his own phone onto the wall in the sheer anger of everything that had occurred in the moment. You had made your choice because of his own action and he would be cruel to take that away from you.

“Heard Cap had a new Secretary, old man’s gonna finally keep his paperworks in check now.” Soap had ruining Simon’s sulking in the cafeteria.

It’s been a grueling few days. With new recruits he was forced to deal with in the morning and nightmares that you no longer could vanish for him at night. His life was nothing more than misery personified and he has no one else to blame but himself.

“Can’t say I’m surprise. Laswell probably set it up for him.” Simon muttered being more than within earshot when he heard both Laswell and Price arguing about the man’s need for necessary help with files. It was Laswell’s decision above anything else, it’s just a matter of time if the secretary would actually last with how everything goes around here in the base.

“Still, hope we’ll have a new bonnie around. Getting sick and tired of seeing Bampots all around.”

Simon didn’t even had the energy to question the man’s slangs, his attention solely back on his cup of tea and lunch—how horrible it was compared to your cup and cooking, but he never truly appreciated it until it was gone. His tea was too bitter even with the sugar and cream he added and the food that didn’t have the special kick compared to your own cooking. Even years after the divorce he was still so miserable without you in his life.

“Steamin Jesus.”

Simon could practically hear Soap melt from where he sat in front of him, his eyes directed at whoever was behind Simon. His curiosity got the better of him and his head turned and he was welcomed with the last person he would have ever believed to be walking besides one John Price.

“Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.” Soap pointed out breaking Simon from his trance.

“English, MacTavish.”

“You look a lil’ pale, Lt. Like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.”

Simon could have at this point. As you walked besides Price towards the table he sat in. He noticed how unaware you were even at the sight of him only for him to realize that you had never seen him with his mask on, or in anything that has to do with his line of work—until now.

“Right, I think it’s time to introduce this lovely lass.” Price cleared his throat but he should have known by now that both Simon and Soap’s attention were already on them both. “This is Y/N Riley, my new secretary.”

Simon’s brows rose at that little tidbit. You still had his last name. He understood to a degree why you did so—your family that you had long cut off from your life after what they had done to you, but after everything that had happened between the two of you he wouldn’t have expect you to choose the lesser of two evils—being his last name.

“Riley? She a sister or wife to you, Lt?” Soap’s quick remark earned him a glare from Simon before his attention was back to you, how your brows furrowed before your eyes finally widen in realization.

“Purely coincidence.” Simon muttered.

“This is Sgt. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish and Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley.” Price introduced almost realizing at this point the similarity of the last name you both shared in this moment.

“Nice to meet you two.” You smiled, quickly to compose yourself and shaking both men’s hand.

Even with the glove Simon wore, he could still feel the all too familiar electric shock of your touch against his own. He looked at you how easy your eyes dilated at his touch. It scared him still how you had so much of an effect on him even after the years apart from each other.

As you and Price excused yourselves to get lunch, it left Simon wondering if this was the world finally punishing him for everything he has done in his cruel life. Give him the very thing he had wanted the most only to pull it away at every instance.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

It’s been two weeks since you’ve began your new job as Captain John Price’s secretary. Two weeks since you had tried and succeeded in making sure you had avoided the man known in the base as Ghost—or to you, simply known as Simon Riley, your ex-husband. Every single instance that you were both placed in the same room (mostly in Price’s office), you both acted like you didn’t know each other, it was hard knowing just how close the man was after so long of a separation from each other.

But as much of an avoidance you’ve made for the Lieutenant, the same could not be said for the two Sergeants that had been dead set in making themselves both your companion while in the base but as well as your guard dogs from the ballsy few that would dare ask you out on a date. You appreciated the effort as much as it was not needed knowing it earned a dangerous glare from your ex in the process.

“Looks like you’re right at home.”

You jerked your head up from the files you were arranging at the voice of an all too familiar woman. A smile rested on your face at the sight of one Kate Laswell, your former boss’ wife.

“Kate.” You smiled an exhausted sigh escaping your lips at the sight of the woman. Both her and her wife had been the pair that knew what you had been through since your divorce and she was one of the two people that saw behind the façade you had decided to show the world.

“How are you holding up?” She inquired.

“Doing better.” You assured her. “Just a slight problem but nothing I can’t deal with now.”

“Oh no. Is your ex-husband bothering you again? I told you to just say the name and I’ll find some dirt on him in a heartbeat.”

You chuckled, knowing how that would be close to impossible with the man’s stand and rank in the Taskforce.

“Simon Riley.” You said instead and watched the way her eyes widen upon realization.

“Why did I not put two and two together?” She snorted realizing the small misjudgment on her part. “Does John know?”

You shook your head. You didn’t know how, but in the weeks of working at the base, you had been successful enough not to let the small detail spill. It was for both of your sakes and you feared that if you told the man, you would be fired and not him, not that you would want him to choose between the two of you.

“It would be a shame if John couldn’t keep you working for him because of your past with Ghost. I’m actually able to see his files being sent to me on time for once and he’s less stress in this past week for once.”

You blushed, knowing that that was a compliment, something that was rarely spoken by one Kate Laswell in the years of working for her wife.

“I genuinely don’t want to go either.” You spoke honestly. “Even with the situation.”

“Will you keep the information to yourself for now?” She inquired. “What does Ghost think of this?”

“I haven’t talk to him since I’ve gotten here.” You spoke honestly. “And I think it would be better if don’t talk to him about it either.”

“Talk to who about?”

Both of you had jerked your head towards the owner of the voice and it was Price with your husband, Soap, and Gaz in tow. You looked panicked at Kate hoping she could help you out this predicament with the man in the very room with them.

“My wife’s been asking how she’s been holding up since the divorce and if she’s gotten around to talking to her ex.” Kate brushed off and you wanted to face palm yourself, not the answer you were hoping for her to give.

“Wait you were married?” Gaz piped in with surprise.

“Was.” You corrected, eyes glancing towards Simon for a moment before turning your attention right back to the younger man. “But it’s nothing to worry about, you know how Kate’s wife is.” You tried your best to reassure everyone.

“Well that bloke lost something good that’s for sure.” Soap quipped right back with a flirty wink. You’ve learned this was the default with the man. “Right Lt?”

Both you and Kate found yourself looking at the man and it somehow clicked to him that you both were now more than aware of the currently predicament that fell before you and without another word left the office, slamming the door behind him.

To this very day, Simon still can’t understand why he had signed those papers. Why didn’t he just talk with you and made a compromise. Instead he became an asshole that avoided any forms of communications with you until he was left with no other choice but divorce papers waiting for him at home and every single trace of you no longer in the home you two once shared.

In the deepest depths of his bedside drawer was the divorce papers that officially separated him from you, the two ring boxes that housed his wedding ring and the engagement ring he had bought for you. Around his neck, alongside his Dog tag was your wedding ring—the same wedding ring you had left on top of the coffee table of your home, with the divorce papers right under it.

It was his fears that finally came to life and he truly didn’t know why his body automatically signed without even reaching out to you first. To this day, in the years that has passed he still wonder what his life and relationship could be if he fought for your marriage.

Would he still be married to you right now? Would the two of you finally have the family you had always wanted? Maybe by now your first kid would have been three, he had always dreamed of having a daughter. A darling little girl that was a spitting image of you, a daughter he would protect with his life over and over again.

That could have been his life, but he was far too stupid for his own good. He was too much of a bastard that ruins everything good that comes into his life. He pays the price every single night he comes home to his apartment—empty and lacked the warmth that only you could ever give to someone like him.

He made his bed and he was sleeping in tears because of it.

“There he is, good you’ve got your arse here, LT.”

Another one of the mistakes he seems to be making in his life was joining the rest of the team in the pub and realizing that you have come to join them this time around.

Bloody fucking hell you were as beautiful as the first day he had ever laid eyes on you. There was the twinkle in your eyes he had once thought he had diminished as you continued on with whatever conversation you were having with Gaz with Price listening on. You had on your favorite red crepe dress that slightly showed some cleavage but not enough to be indecent, with your favorite locket that he had brought for you while you were still dating, and the first ever expensive Cartier watch you had brought for yourself (which Simon would have more than willingly bought for you if you allowed it) while saving up your checks.

Fate was nothing but a cruel sick man for giving this sight of you in front of him and never allowing him the taste he always craved. A gift that wasn’t his to accept—anymore.

“You know how traffic is, Johnny.” He muttered finding himself sitting beside the man and in the process finding himself sitting right in front of you in the process.

“Bullshit,” Soap snorted. “Stopped by a bonnie we didn’t know about?”

Simon glanced towards you, the momentary hurt that passed through your eyes before you continued on with your conversation with Gaz, now hearing you were both talking about your Uni days and how you found yourself involved with working for Laswell’s wife all those years ago.

“Don’t have the time nor the energy for another headache in my life.” He spoke realizing that it was the wrong thing to say with you in front of him. He could have said it if you were not here, but not in your presence, it diminishes every single thing he had ever had with you.

It wasn’t what he meant but he couldn’t truly take it back.

“I can second that.” You spoke finally meeting his eyes this time. An unrecognizable look in your eyes as you stared right at him. “And this is coming from someone that’s already made a mistake of ever getting married to a man in the military.”

This has opened the floodgate for everyone in the table to question you about your apparent divorce. He had no one else to blame for this than himself. He listened in now as you continued on answering questions about your relationship with him and the eventual divorce, but made sure it was vague enough not to have fingers pointed at him.

“So, you loved the man more than life itself and all that, why divorce?” Soap had asked the million dollar question.

“It’s gets tiresome to love someone that doesn’t want to help himself.” You spoke honestly. “Year of trying to understand him, only to push shoved away over and over again, it hurts and it gets tiresome. I just had to go before the love turns to hate.”

In the years since the divorce, there was never closure between the two of you. The forms of communications that you both had were mostly about him being deployed again or of you and your plans of moving around or changing careers. Never did either of you had the much needed closure that you both deserved—until now, not directed at him.

“If any of you ever attempt getting involved with a guy or girl make sure you’re serious about the relationship a hundred percent, not fifty, not seventy-five, not even fucking ninety. Because that small fraction you’re not giving them might be the very reason why everything falls apart.”

Simon finds himself blinking at the words that now escaped your lips. The downright resentment that still lingered in your tongue even after everything that had occurred between the two of you. He shouldn’t have signed those fucking divorce papers.

Marriage Counseling, they should have had marriage counselling like you had begged from him all those years ago.

He stood, excusing himself to order the next round of drinks. He doesn’t have it in him anymore to listen to your words cutting him to the very core.

One of the biggest mistake about accepting Price’s offer of going out with the rest of the team for a quick drink was forgetting your non-existing alcohol tolerance. As the drink was now swimming through your blood stream, your lips become looser and there were few moments were you had almost spilled the fact that your ex-husband just happens to be sitting in front of you in the table you shared with the rest of 141.

“You sure you’ll be alright to head home on your own?” Your boss has inquired the moment it was announced the pub was closing up for the early morning.

You nodded with a smile, but the warmth that you were certain painted your skin and the dazed eyes, you were all too sure that it would be a big mistake for you to do. Go knows how dangerous it would be for a drunk like you to head home all on your own.

“I’ll take her home.” Simon announced and before you could protest, John had nodded agreeing that it would be the best thing to do and you couldn’t protest or show even a smidge of irritation as you were given a death glare by your ex-husband.

“Thank you for letting me join you guys.” You spoke towards your boss, the giggly duo of Soap and Gaz. “I’ll text once I get home.” You promised them following Simon out of the pub.

You took a deep breath as the cool morning air sobered you up for a moment as you waited for the man with his car. Frowning when you realized the man didn’t have his car with him but rather his death machine known as his motorcycle.

“Here.” He muttered practically shoving an all too familiar helmet towards you.

Like quick work, you had put on the helmet, ensuring to adjust the strap before the man does. You were still unprepared to be in close proximity with the man but here you were.

Watching him pull down the foot peg, he turned to you waiting for you to ride him—ride his motorcycle. With a deep breath you rode behind him, the skirt riding up your legs and he was quick to pull it down for your own decency before revving the engine on.

“Hold on tight.” He ordered and your body was on autopilot as you wrapped your arms around his waist as he sped off.

You know it was the alcohol but you find yourself smelling him, the all too familiar smell of his musk and cologne—the same cologne you had given him when he told you were promoted to Lieutenant. Your head rested on his back, cheek squished against the expansion of his back, feeling the way his back tense at your touch as it had the same effect for you feeling his warmth all over again.

“Where?” He questioned you as the bike halted at the stoplight.

You slurred your words, but you did your best to tell him directions to where your apartment was. Your sober self would have slapped you at the back of the head for letting Simon know about your whereabouts, knowing it wasn’t something he needed to know anymore.

For a moment as the winds blew against your cheeks, you were brought back to the memories of your time together. How you feared his driving and his bike more than anything else in the world but every single time he made sure you were at your safest with him, always did even in this moment.

You remembered the dates you would both have at night when he was at his most sleepless. By the park, your arms wrapped around him as his head rested on your shoulders. How you had carried so much of his nightmare even when you truly knew nothing but what he would let you know which wasn’t much and would only be in the instance that you would have accidentally heard during his nightmares.

You remembered how tired you were as much as you loved him, how much he had meant the world to you in that very moment but slowly but surely it wasn’t the same anymore. You felt the resentment before the anger for everything he wasn’t willing to give you. You gave him everything thing but he could barely give you anything in return.

“We’re here.” Simon announced, pulling away from him you turned and he was right. You were back in your apartment and you didn’t realize how fast time has flown since as you were deep in your thoughts.

Hopping down the bike with the man helping you, you turned to him and your mouth moved before you could stop yourself.

“Want to head inside—for coffee at least as a thank you?”

“I think coffee and a conversation would be the best thing for the both of us to do at this point in time, Love.”

You felt your pulse quicken as everything single thing you had talked about in the pub was coming back to bite you in the ass. Simon has his ulterior motive after all for wanting to escort you back home.

All you did was nod, heading to the door with the man following closely behind. You felt your hands shaking but you had succeeded in keying the door open. Opening the door for him, you walked further inside, opening the lights and toeing off the flats you had on.

You placed your wallet and keys on the coffee table and found yourself sitting on the couch waiting for the man to follow you.

You heard Simon close the door, the sound of the lock being turned and the sound of his leather jacket had you worried for what was to come.

“I fucking take you seriously with the bloody helmet still on your head.” He pointed out as he stood right in front of you, unclasping the helmet from your head and for the first time in a long time, you saw him up close and the way the darkness of his eye bags was the most prominent about him—it had gotten so much worse than when you were still married. Was it because of you?

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you watched him place the helmet on top of the coffee table alongside most of your things.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

You pointed towards you left and the man had made himself at him. The sound of cupboard being opened and the all too familiar muttering of horrible instant coffee you always wanted was heard. You wanted to let out a giggle but the sudden fear of the reality of your decision brought back something you never thought you would ever relive.

You sigh elbows digging onto your thighs, as your slumped your face into your hands. Why did you offer to have him here? Why did you accept the offer of him taking you back home? Why did you accept Kate’s offer of working for John? Why did you decide to divorce Simon?

In your own mini-panic attack, the smell of vanilla latte had you pulling away from your hands and you saw the cup of coffee already in the table and Simon was already sitting in front of you, without the surgical mask and without the figurative mask he was wearing at the base.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He questioned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of all the places you could work why the base?”

“It’s not like I knew you were working for Price.” You snort. “It was Kate that suggested I work there—a new environment for me after everything that happened.”

Kate had called it her own version of exposure therapy. You truly appreciated her help even after knowing your ex-husband was working there in the same vicinity as you.

“You could have left?”

You snort. Aside from everything that came with the military, the money was too good to leave—but that was not something you would want to discuss with Simon knowing his intent to still provide for you even with the ink on the divorce papers were still drying.

“Why would I? You and I have nothing between us.” You spoke, knife sharp as his own words of calling you a headache to him.

“What you said to the team is that the real reason why you filed for divorce?”

All you could do was nod.

“You could have talk to me that you weren’t happy anymore we could have made it work.”

“No you won’t, Si.” You shook your head, arms crossed against your chest, you feared the words that would be thrown between the two of you now especially at your state. “I would have made it work.”

“What do you want me to do then? What could I have done then? You say one thing but mean something else?”

“Because every single time I wanted you to open up to me, you closed yourself up even more!” You spat right at him now. “Do you know how hard it was for me to bare myself to you about the shit in my life and in my family only to be reciprocated with how your family was fucked up but not an explanation for it?”

“That’s none of your business.” His voice grows dark, it was a sensitive topic.

“Then why were we even married if it wasn’t my business?” Your voice growing louder now, exasperated by this conversation. “What was the use of our vows if you would keep the smallest things a secret from me?”

“It’s not fucking small!” He screamed right back at you and you instinctively flinched at his voice then. Why was he being so cruel to you now?

“When I married you, I accepted you for who you are, I accepted that you can’t truly tell me what your missions were about or about whatever details about your deployment were. But even just something, anything that would make me believe that I was something more than a whore you could fuck and a maid that would take care of the house and cook you fucking food would have been appreciated.”

“You were my wife, wasn’t that enough?”

“No it was not, Simon.” You spat. “You never made me feel like I was truly your wife when you shut yourself down after coming home to me. You weren’t the same man that I had accidentally spilled coffee on when we first met.”

“If you knew me for the things I’ve been through you wouldn’t look at me the same way.”

“And how would you know that?” You questioned him. “How could you think for me when you don’t even know what I would think of you after everything we’ve been through?”

“You want to know the truth?”

“Yes. Maybe that way I can finally move on from anything that has to do with you.”

You know that was the wrong thing to say as the man cracked his neck and began to talk. About his life, about the abuse he had to endure at the hands of his father. He began to talk about the new beginning of his life when his father died and everyone tried their best to recover. He told you of his mother that he loved more than anything else at that point, of his brother, of his sister-in-law, and of his young nephew Joseph.

He told you about how he was finally at peace with the trauma of his life back then before things gotten to hell and back. He told you of the man named Roba, he told you of the abuse he had to once again go through at the hands of Roba’s men, physically, mentally, and sexually. He told you why he hated confined spaced after being buried alive in a coffin with a man named Vernon, a rotten corpse that he had to use the jaw of to escape death.

He told you of the death of his family, of Marcus Washington killing his family. Killing his mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his nephew that didn’t deserve being involved in anything the mission was about. He told you how he had to burn the bodies of what was left of his family and his identity in the process. You learned then why he was called Ghost and what it had meant for him and his past that continued to haunt him.

You were left stunned, unable to form words about everything that has happened to your husband. But it was the fact that now everything about him made sense. All the little things about his personality of why he was the man that sat in front of you today. It all made sense and it scared you that he was right. How you truly didn’t know what to say or what to feel now that you’ve learned of his past that he tried so hard to hide from you.

“Happy?”

“Don’t be cruel, Simon.” You whispered now, the tears were slowly forming from your eyes now, you wanted to cry for him, to mourn the family that he had lost and for adding yourself into the pain he was now enduring.

“Cruel?” He laughed, no humor in his words, malice was more evident. “What’s cruel is you still using my last name and airing out our dirty laundry to the men I work with instead of talking to me first.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You shook your head, stung by his words. He was right but you weren’t going to admit it right now. A small ounce of pride still clawing its way out of you. “And you know why I still used your last name.”

It was your family. You wanted to erase was little traces of your family remained. Even in the divorce, you always had it in mind to remain a Riley. It was better than having to be the ghost of your former self all over again.

He stood now, knowing it was all he needed to know. He walked away but somehow a lingering thought had you opening your lips all over again.

“Why didn’t you fight for me, Si? Why did you sign the papers back then if you truly didn’t want to break up?”

“Because no matter how much I loved and needed you in my life, I will always choose your happiness before my own.” He answered, opening the door and leaving.

The sound of his bike echoing as you were left to mourn the closure of your relationship with the man that had meant the world to you. With all the regret finally coming full force you were left knowing that you had broken the man more than he already was and there was no turning back from it anymore.

It’s been well over a year now since you have been hired as Captain John Price’s secretary. Things were slowly but surely getting better for you and your career. Since the day you had talked with Simon, you wouldn’t say things between the two of you were getting better but you were civil with each other. You’ve interacted with him a few times, especially when it came to paper works but nothing more was said between the two of you.

Even with Price’s rule of not getting yourself involved with anyone in the team, it was becoming a mission for both Gaz and Soap to set you up with people on the base. Doctors or medics were somehow their number one target for you, but every single time, you find yourself relenting to just one date but never pushing for something more.

After knowing the truth about your ex, you didn’t have the heart to be so cruel to him more than you already were working in the base as him. Your free time away from base were spent with hobbies you had while still being married to Simon, baking and journaling, it was relief to be able to do it now with a new light was shed to the events of your marriage failing. You’ve also come to accept the offer of Kate’s wife’s therapist. It was a big help to be able to talk to someone else about everything you’ve been through.

You’ve learned to accept that you had your own mistake in the failure of your marriage just as much as Simon did. But your therapist has also come to mention that you needed to begin your own journey of healing from the what ifs of it, and live in the aftermath as painful as it was for you now.

“That dangerous?” You found yourself fearing for the worse at the conversation you were having with your boss as he explained to you the vague details of the upcoming mission him and the rest of the Task Force had for today.

With the chaos of prepping and planning, your boss was constantly on his feet and you were following him every step away for most of it to field calls and handle most of the paperworks to be sent out to sign and shipped to the higher ups. But to know a glimpse of what was happening and how your ex-husband would be involved in all of this worried you more than you would like to admit.

“It is what it is, if it meant a safer and better world, we would do it over and over again.” He explained.

“Just be careful, I still want to keep my job and I can’t if you’re dead, Boss.” You teased.

“Laswell can still be able to deal with you if I’m gone.” He retorted right back earning a quick laugh from you.

One thing that you had gotten so used to was his humor and how you had showcased your own as time went by working for the man. You appreciated him for being one of the two best bosses you had ever had in your career.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the mission?” You quipped right back.

“I should.” He chuckled standing right up in his full height. “Can you go check on the boys for me while I do?”

You could have refused, but a small part of you wanted to check up on Simon. Standing up, you had made your round, first stopping by Soap’s room to check up on him and notify him about the mission. Soap being the man that he was already suggesting you another man in the base beforehand.

“How about Micah? Pretty bloke that just joined the Medic team.” He began shoving the rest of his things into his duffle bag.

“Johnny, for the last time, I’m not into those pretty type you think I’m into.” You tried to indulge him in the conversation for now knowing it would ease him from the mission.

“What is your type so me and Gaz could actually find someone for you?” He pouted.

“Tall, blonde, dark and broody and with a heavy Manchester-accent.” You indulged him with description of the only man you actually loved.

“Why the fuck are you describing Ghost?” He snorts. “You got a thing for him? I thought you swore off anyone from the military?”

“Never said it was Ghost, Johnny.” You quipped right back. You hugged him and have him wrap his arms around you right back. “Be careful for me will you, I can’t live my life here in the base knowing you or Gaz aren’t here trying to set me up with anyone and everyone in the base including the married ones.”

“Hey we didn’t know Wilson was married.” He protested as he pulled away to look at you in offense.

“At this point I’ve already had dinner with half of the base, let’s keep it to a minimum when you get back. I might show you my ex so you can have an idea of what my type is.”

“Deal.” He grinned kissing you on top of the head before leaving to head to the meeting room.

You next stop was Gaz which wasn’t much of a journey with how close his room was to Soap’s. Knocking inside, you were immediately welcomed into the arms of Gaz. Unlike Soap that had been fixated with setting you up with someone in the base, Gaz was more focused on the next get together you could go to after the mission.

“I think me and Soap could convince Price to have a weekend in his vacation house in Cornwall.”

You nodded knowing it wouldn’t take much to convince Price if it meant helping the rest of the team with de-stressing and ensuring everyone has recovered mentally from the mission. But it also meant that you would be in charge of cooking knowing you and Price were the only ones that knew how to cook and you wanted your boss to actually have time to recover himself in the process.

“As long as you help me with grocery and prepping then you got a deal.” You winked pulling away from him with a smile already excited to bake them your famous apple pie they constantly beg you to make for them since the first time making it for them.

“Deal.” He grinned kissing you on the cheeks and just like Soap, finding himself heading out with his bag already at hand.

It now meant you had one last person you needed to stop by before the mission prep. You took your time somehow rehearsing what you could probably say to the man for his upcoming mission. You had your worry and you knew this was a dangerous mission.

Knocking on his door, you heard the gruff response from the other side of the door.

“Simon?” You called and immediately heard the door being unlocked.

You were faced with him wearing his skull balaclava mask. This was the side of him that you never gotten used to see but it was a part of him that you could never truly erase from him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you allowing you to walk inside.

“Price told me to notify you about heading out for the mission.” You explained. “And I just—I just wanted to ask you to be careful on the mission.”

“Always.” He nodded.

A moment of silence has passed between the two of you before you were reminded of your therapist’s words. There was nothing wrong if you extended an olive branch to the man after everything was out in the open.

“After the mission, I would love to have you join us in Price’s cabin in Cornwall for a quick vacation too.” You added. “I know you’re busy with whatever you need to do to distress after a mission, but I would think it would be good to you if you joined. I can opts this one out if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“I’d go.” He nodded. “But I want you to join along and I want you to make me that lovely cheesecake you always make for me after I come home from deployment.”

You smiled knowing that it was always the same, a way to a man’s heart is always through his stomach.

“Anything else you want?” You asked wanting to give in to his all too simple request.

“And I want us to at least be friends, you’re part of the team now and they care for you and it wouldn’t do anyone good for us to act like we can’t stand each other.”

You nodded, heart aching a little at what he wanted. Friends. That was all he wanted and you would gladly compromise this time for him if that was what makes him truly happy.

“Friends.” You smiled, taking a hesitant step towards him for a hug but stopped mid movement as he pulled you right into his arms. The all too familiar warmth that consumed him.

“I wished things would have been different between the two of us.” He whispered kissing the top of your head. “I’d give you the world when I couldn’t give you myself fully.”

You closed your eyes wrapping your arms around his broad back.

“I wished I was strong enough for the two of us.” You whispered the tears slowly forming your eyes. “I wished I stayed a little longer for the two of us.”

“I never stopped loving you, Love. We might not be married anymore but you will be the only woman I will ever love truly with all my life and with all my soul.”

“You too, Si.” You whispered looking up at him allowing the tears to flow freely from your eyes now. “After everything that had happened between us, I will always love you.”

It was the middle of the night when you heard the familiar ringtone of your old phone. The same phone that only Simon knew the number to. You blinked away the sleep as you pulled the phone right out of the bedside table.

An unfamiliar number took you by surprise and for a moment you wanted to not answer it thinking it might be a telemarketer—but something had pushed you to press the answer button and hear whoever was on the other line.

“Hello?” You whispered clearing your throat.

“Mrs. Riley?” The familiar voice of John had you tensing. You found yourself sitting up from the bed as he began to introduce himself and why he had called.

“What happened to Simon?” You questioned checking your bedside clock to see what time it was.

It was just past midnight, three weeks since they had left for their mission and this was the first time you had gotten any contact to any one of them.

“As of right now, we are not sure if he would make it through the night. If you want we could have you someone fetch you to see him.”

You felt your world still at the news. Just when things were finally moving into the right direction between you and Simon.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.” You assured hanging up and changing into some sweatshirt and sweatpants.

The travel to the now familiar base was a daze to you as you drove. You weren’t much of a religious person, but your lips did not stop moving as you prayed. You prayed that your husband would be alright, you bargained that you would make things right with him if it meant he would stay.

“Don’t leave me, Simon.” You whispered over and over again until you arrived to the base.

You had ignored most of the surprise that the soldier on duty had shown at your sudden appearance—the fact that you were in just your ratty clothes was also something you chose to ignore as you made a beeline to where the infirmary was.

Huddled in front of the door was your boss, John, Soap, and Gaz. Each and every single one of them injured in their own way—mostly superficial from the bandages that plastered all over their beaten faces.

“John.” You called having three heads turning to you in question. “How is he?” You questioned as the tears begin to fall from your eyes at the reality of the situation coming to crush you. “How is my husband?”

The realization washed over all of them, of the secret you and Simon had hidden from everyone. The weight was too much as you were wrapped in the arms of the family you had found yourself becoming a part of.

“Will he be alright?” You pleaded, holding onto John’s vest. “Please tell me he will be alright.” You begged falling to your knees in front of him.

“The doctors are doing their best, Love.” John reassured kneeling in front of you, wrapping you into his arms as you continued to sob. “But Simon took most of the impact from the explosion.”

The reality scared you so much. You tried you best to remember the last interaction you had with Simon, the hug, the promise of a new beginning, and everything else in between. It all came crashing down to this very point.

There was a very big chance that you will finally lose Simon and it scared you so much more than anything in this world. You couldn’t lose him, not like this, not when there was so much left between the two of you to make up for.

“He can’t leave me, John.” You whimpered. “He promised me he wouldn’t leave me like this.” You screamed at the top of your lungs.

You were made aware of the vows you had made to each other when you got married at the court house. Of how he had promised to the best of his abilities that he wouldn’t die in the line of duty before he could have the chance to retire. He promised you a family, he promised you the world, and he promised you your happiness. He was your family, he was your world, and he was your happiness that you realize only when it was too late.

For the next few weeks, the world around you had become blur. You were now much of a permanent fixture of the Taskforce’s base. Morning and the afternoon was spent still working for Price, especially with the piling number of paperworks the mission had caused and your nights were spent in the infirmary, watching over Simon that has yet to awake from his slumber.

When the doctors had given you the green light that you can see him—it took you hours before you did. Even after John, Soap, and Gaz had finished with their own visit, it took so much of what little strength you had to finally see him in his state.

Broken bones, laceration, head trauma, blood loss and amongst the other injuries that the doctors has informed you should have killed him but he was still alive even in his current state. He still had fight in him, he was still fighting to keep alive.

“I’ve come to realize that post-mission Price was a whole different breed of a grump, more than he usually is.” You began talking to your still unconscious ex.

The doctor had told you about him being able to hear your voice and you took the opportunity to talk his ear off with him unable to give his usual sarcastic comments or grunts as response. There were days you told him about your day at work, days where you told him about what you had been doing since you left your home and tried and failed to move on from him, and there were days where you apologized to him, regretting the divorce and everything else that been the reason for the demise of your marriage.

“I think since the divorce I’ve realized a lot of shit about us.” You sighed leaning against the uncomfortable plastic chair. “If you wake up, I’ll try to do my best to convince you to take me back.” You mused arms crossed against your chest. “I know you don’t have as much of a happy memory after what happened to your family, but when you wake up, I want to make sure we make as much happy memories as we could together, I want you to tell me about what your Ma was like, what kind of brother Tommy was like, and how adorable Joseph was, I want all of that and more with you.”

You wiped away the tears that have yet to fall, you didn’t want to cry. You thought that you didn’t have any more tears to shed. The gravity of almost losing Simon was the wakeup call you needed and now it was nothing more than a waiting game until he wakes up.

“I fucking can’t be your friend, Si.” You admit. “I can’t be happy with just being your friend. I want you to be my husband again, Si. After almost losing you I know I can’t live knowing we haven’t fixed our relationship. I’ll do anything and everything to make it up to you, all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you.”

“Anything?”

You almost jumped from where you sat at the sight of the man whose eyes were now focused on you.

“Simon?”

“Am I just high or did you say what you did?”

“What?”

“That you would make up for everything?” He muttered groggily.

“I did.” You nodded blinking in disbelief that he was here, awake. Alive.

“Then marry me. Let me make it right this time, Love. I promise I’ll make it work, I’ll do my best to make you happy the way that you deserve.”

“Yes.” You answered almost immediately, finding yourself giggling about how ridiculous his second proposal was with his current state—but you didn’t want it any other way.

He requested for you to take his dog tag around his neck off and only then did you notice that your wedding ring enclosed around his necklace. Even with the years that passed, he still had it with him. The very same ring you two had brought together before you had headed to the courthouse for your marriage.

“Can I add another stipulation?” He held onto your free hand.

“Anything.” You smiled rubbing your hand against the callousness of his hand. “Anything to make it work, Si.”

“No more blind dates from the Sergeants.”

“They could never hold a candle to you, Simon.” You giggled leaning in for a kiss, the weight that rested on your shoulders slowly easing away.

You were home, you were back in the arms of Simon after all was said and done.

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obliviouscxnt · 1 year ago

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Control Azriel x Reader

a/n: I'm so lost, i don't know what I'm doing. Still learning how to use tumblr but in the meantime, welcome to the first fic i feel like posting.

synopsis: feyre's growing curiosity about you sparks some personal questions.

Warnings: mentioned SA, fluff, hints of sexual activities

pt.2 | pt.3

One of the first friends Feyre made in the Night Court was you. You reminded her of the twin wraiths in a way. Never saying much, if anything at all. Maybe that was one of the reasons she liked you so much.

You didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s presence. Feyre had as much fun sitting in silence with you as she did on a night out with Mor.

But as time passed, as Feyre became a constant in the Night Court, she had grown curious. She wanted to know more about you like she did the others.

So she started asking you questions, and to her surprise, you would answer her. Your answers weren’t clipped, or vague. You never sounded annoyed with her, you were completely open and honest with her.

“How long have you known everyone?” Feyre had asked while you gently played with her hair, her scalp tingling at your touch.

You thought about it for a moment. “Over two hundred years now.”

She tilts her head, so apart from her you were the newest member of the inner circle. “How did you meet?” She asks, shivering as the tingles travel down her spine.

You start braiding a few small strands from the front of her face as you speak. “My kind are far different from other Fae.” Feyre practically perks up at the words. She knew you weren’t high fae but she never bothered saying anything about it, she barely even noticed it most of the time not nearly enough to warrant a discussion. “They hail from no court, and bow to no lord, not even the Mother is with their thoughts.”

Feyre tried to imagine what that would be like, how they would act, what traditions they’d carry. She thought of your features, the ones that stood out among other high fae. Your ears didn’t point, your nails were like claws, and your teeth bore long sharp canines on both the top and bottom of your mouth, but the features that stood out the most were the ones you kept hidden.

Feyre saw them once, your wings. The first time she met you. Like they were just there for a formal introduction. They were big, beautiful, and intricate. They looked like moth wings, and fluttered like them too. Opening and closing slowly when you were lax.

Immediately when Feyre saw them, she felt like painting again, she could barely keep her eyes off them, barely keep herself from reaching out a hand to touch them. Maybe that was the reason for their absence in the next visit; all that remained of the glorious appendages was precise ink that lined the whole of your back, a tattoo of folded wings.

From the way they folded, they almost formed a natural cape. She wondered how far your tattoo ran, the extravagant fabrics of the dresses you wore only showed so much.

She pictured a whole colony of people that looked like you and immediately felt like painting again.

“It’s why nobody can do anything about their backward ways, they listen to nobody but themselves. Believe no one but themselves.” All preconceived thoughts of your people turn sour with your words.

“The things they’ve done, they still do…” You release a shaky breath as you finish the small braids and set them aside.

Feyre turns to look at you when your delicate hands part with her hair. She finds you sorting through a box of hair ornaments, but your eyes are clouded. Not even the most glorious of diamonds could shine through that fog. “You don’t have to...“

You blink out of your daze and wave her off as you pull out a few gem-encrusted pins and show them to her. Waiting for her to give you a nod of approval before pulling out a stunning bejeweled silver comb and repeating the same process. Your collection was truly marvelous.

“When I was saved, it was my first Flowering Night.” You spoke the words with barely concealed bitterness. “A night where all mature unpaired females are sent into the woods for any participating males to hunt down and take as they please.”

You tuck back the small braids with the sparkling pins. Feyre listened as you continued, she wanted to say something but what would she say?

“No one could run very far from our community, the woods of the Middle hold no mercy. It was either hide and hope you make it till dawn without being spotted by a male. Or die to the other horrid creatures that live in those woods.”

Feyre’s heart ached for you, her sorrow a tangible thing able to be smelt in the air. And you squeezed her shoulder, you comforted her. Her sorrow only increased. You never deserved any of it.

“I chose the latter.” You carefully place the comb into her hair, finding it in yourself to smile at the final product. You still fiddle with a few strands until you feel pleased. “A close encounter with death led to the discovery of my gift,”

Dreamwalker, Rhys had called you. An ability so rare even Helion’s exquisite library had very little information on it.

Feyre loosely understood that you could enter another person's dream. Could manipulate it as you wish, to serenity or to a blood-curdling nightmare. But what made you so powerful, what made you such a valuable asset to the Night Court was your ability to bring dreams to life. All manner of dreams.

However, your ability was sparsely used for court matters, and only necessary people knew of it. You were their trump card. Something nobody would see coming.

Feyre would never forget the time you had a nightmare, sending half the court in preparation for battle. She’d also never forget the way Azriel had fought off the nightmare incarnate to get to you. How he charged forward without an ounce of hesitation. While Rhys had stood protectively in front of Feyre, and Cassian’s siphons flared from beside her, providing a shield around them.

Feyre had realized then that Azriel would go to hell and back for you.

Feyre turns to face you, to look you in your enchanting eyes now that you are finished playing with her hair. “I was barely a woman, I didn’t know the first thing about defending myself. I didn’t know what this gift was.” She watched you raise a hand, small stars forming and trailing your fingers, blinking and shimmering as you played with them. “What good is a gift this powerful if you don’t know what to do with it? It’s as good as a broken blade.”

Feyre’s breath leaves her body when you pull down the shoulder of your elegant emerald gown, revealing a long jagged scar running diagonally across your chest. The skin puffed up from how deep the gash was. “I would’ve died if it weren’t for Azriel.”

The high fae’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“He heard me screaming. And he came for me.” You pull the shoulder back up and smile. Actually, smile. Feyre had never known someone like you, someone able to flip such a horrid memory around. Someone so able to pick out the good amongst the bad. “It wasn’t until a century later that I finally accepted his invitation to the Night Court and met everyone else.”

Feyre found herself grabbing your hand and squeezing. So grateful you had accepted his invitation.

You squeeze back.

“You’re so strong.” Feyre says, furrowing her brows when you laugh like she had told a joke.

“It wasn’t strength that led me here, Feyre.” You tell her. Once again she wanted to paint you, but she felt like she wouldn’t be able to do you justice. “It was fate.”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Come in.” Feyre calls and you both look to the opening door. Two incredibly attractive Illyrian men stand at the doorway.

Rhys smiles at the sight of you two, eyes raking over the hairstyle you’d given Feyre. “You look lovely, Feyre darling.” Her face heats as you smile in triumph.

“Say goodnight.” Comes Azriel’s voice in that tone he only used on you.

You obey his command without a second thought, giving Feyre a light hug and giving Rhys a small bow before scurrying toward Azriel’s waiting arm.

You fall into step with him as his hand lands on your lower back. But before the two of you could disappear you tug on his shirt, prompting him to stop only long enough for you to turn back toward Feyre and say a final goodnight. “Dream well Feyre!” Then he continued leading you away to your shared chambers.

The mated pair watch you two travel away. Rhys with a look of content for you and his brother. Feyre with a new curiosity.

She couldn’t help but be curious about the dynamic you and Azriel had. The way that dynamic bled into the interactions you had with your friends. How you always asked for permission before doing something and always jumped up whenever anyone asked you to do something. Rhys seemed to catch on to that curiosity.

He decided to save you the embarrassment of Feyre asking you herself. He had enough of an understanding of you to know when something would make you uncomfortable, no matter how much you said otherwise.

You’d always answer any questions asked of you openly and honestly, whether you wanted to or not. It was one of the reasons many were at first against your visits with Feyre, himself included. The newly turned fae was far too oblivious to your situation to recognize when she was taking advantage of your obedience. But you assured Rhysand repeatedly that Feyre never bothered you with her questions. That you enjoyed her presence just as much as she, hopefully, enjoyed yours.

Much to everyone’s delight, Feyre regarded you with gentleness and awe from the very start. It was the effect you had on people. It was the reason Azriel didn’t put up a fight about leaving your visits unsupervised.

“[name] was raised by cruel people, they taught her that in a relationship the male's word is law. Her people think a female is expected to give up any and all control to her male. It’s one of the few things she never was able to condition herself out of, Azriel helps her by providing that control she needs.”

Feyre thinks about that, face heating at the images it created. She wondered what that would be like, to surrender herself completely. “So if he told her to jump off the nearest bridge…?”

“She’d do it, with zero hesitation.”

Rhys smirks, knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze runs over the blush that coated her face.

“But he’d never ask something like that of her. He knows her inside out, knows when something is too much or not enough.” He steps closer to her, delighting in the way her breathing picks up. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think your interest in this topic was more than innocent curiosity.”

“Well, do you?” Feyre asks, making his eyes narrow. “Know any better?”

Rhys’s gaze becomes dark. “Nope.”

****

“Did you enjoy your time with Feyre?” You sigh at his voice, the comfort it brings you. You find yourself leaning into him, and he allows it.

“It was nice.” You say truly. It felt like it was easier to breathe now that Feyre had more of an understanding. “She asked about how we met.”

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him as if he were remembering that day. Remembering what you looked like as that hideous creature held you down, slicing into you. The way you flinched away from him after he’d slayed the creature. The sheer dress that you wore, If it could even be called that. He could still picture everything so vividly.

How you eventually submitted to him, and how that made him sick. How he carried you out of the Middle and into the lands of the Night Court, never taking you into the cities. How for the next century after that he would visit you at the little private cabin only he and his brothers knew about, how he took care of you, and how he grew to love you. How you grew to love him in return.

He shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind as he opens the door to your shared chambers, walking you inside before shutting the door behind you.

His hands move to your shoulders while he guides you to sit on the edge of the large bed, big enough to fit at least three winged beings. Hands brushing down your body as he kneels before you, settling on your ankle. He brings your foot up and rests it on his thigh before slowly unraveling the straps of your heel. Once finished he continued with the right heel, his touch nothing but confident from years and years of practice.

A hand pats your thigh, letting you know he’s finished. Your eyes trail him as he heads toward the bathroom, you’d be happy to just look at him for the rest of your immortal life.

You help Azriel, though he had no problem doing it for you, by taking off your jewelry one by one, setting each extravagant piece on the nightstand. By the time you're done Azriel’s waiting for you next to a full bath.

“Come.” He beckons from beside the large clawfoot tub. Hand outstretched and waiting for you.

You saunter toward him, sighing as you let your brain just rest. Let him do everything for you.

His hands are strong, and gentle, and secure all in one as they guide you out of your gown, his clothes following not long after. You sigh as he brings you into the tub. Positioning you so you sat between his legs, back to his front.

Your eyelids slowly fall shut, coaxed by his soothing touch. Feeling nothing but content when he pushed your head back to lay on his shoulder, a gentle kiss pressed against your temple.

You were soon in a state of barely there, just teetering on the side of sleep but awake enough to move when he told you to.

“Lean forward.”

His hands rub up and down your back, cleaning and massaging the skin there. You shudder in pleasure and he hums soothingly. Like cooing at a pet. You straighten up a bit when he taps the marked skin a few times, moving forward just enough for your wings to slowly peel away from your back. What was once ink on your skin, now real moving wings.

“Spread.” And you do so, wings unfolding and stretching out completely.

You shiver as his hands brush against them, making them twitch both away and toward him. As if they couldn’t decide whether the feeling it brought you was too much or not enough.

As always Azriel handled them with utmost care, humming when small noises of pleasure escaped you. When he was finished he tapped your shoulder to let you know, but you were too tired to summon the magic needed to conceal them.

Though, not tired enough to remember it was his turn.

Slowly with lethargic movements, you turn to face him. Wings folding up again, forming a natural cape on your back. “Can I-“ You begin but catch yourself before you can finish. His narrowed eyes crinkled into a smile. Happy he no longer had to remind you of such a simple fact.

Don’t ask to touch what is yours.

So instead you reach for the soap in his hands and begin to wash him. Taking satisfaction in the way his wound-up muscles, tense from hours of work, relaxed under your touch. The way his hands rested on your hips, squeezing every now and then appreciatively. The hums that left his mouth, no longer with the intent to soothe you but to let you know how pleased you made him.

Your touches became increasingly distracted, sleep slowly leaving your system as your mind filled with nothing but him.

He smirks, a mix of amusement and attraction. Allowing his own touches to become less innocent. His hands move to wrap around your wrists, dragging your hands down, down, and down his body. Soap long ago discarded.

“Touch me.” He commands.

And nothing could keep you from satisfying him.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron

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jjoongstar · 6 months ago

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𝕷𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑

➸pairing: grim reaper seonghwa x innocent fem reader

➸genre: fluff, angst

➸wc: 3.4k

➸warnings: none. mentions of nicknames. death

➸a/n: an apology post for being mia for a while (please forgive me). not proofread!😔🫂

you sat by the window seat in your bedroom, reading a book while you bask in the evening sun. a soft blanket over your lap to keep you cozy and a cushion behind your back. you were so into the story that you didn't bother on what's happening appearing, in your bedroom.

a tall dark figure appeared suddenly in your room and it approached behind you in silence. you sense the presence and looked over your shoulder right before the figure could touch you. its pale hand was near to your shoulder but it halted when you noticed its presence.

silence fills the air as you attentively tried to figure out, who or what even is this peculiar figure. tall and lean with a long black cloak that covers the top of its head and its whole body, only revealing its face and hands. you stare back at the eyes that bore into yours from the start. though he had an intimidating look, you didn't fear him at all. instead, you felt at ease with its aura.

"i really like your eyes,"

"what?" the unknown figure was taken aback by your words and he stumbled backwards a few steps.

its face contorts in a shocked expression and it felt its heart thump when you smile at it. it clutches the fabric of its robe over its chest, feeling the weird sensation. what the hell is this? i don't have a heart!

you marked the last page you read and place the book aside before you make small steps towards the unknown entity. your smile never falter as you reach up your hands and graze your fingers across its cheek. cold. his skin was iced cold on your fingertips. you saw how the entity hitched its breath upon your touch.

"you're so pretty too. who are you?" there was no response as it was still in a stunned state. you gasp when your brain connected the dots.

"are you perhaps… an angel?!"

"huh? EW NO!" it felt disgusted by your assumption of its identity and grabbed your wrist, shoving it away harshly from its face. when you winced in pain, guilty flooded its mind.

"sorry, i didn't mean to hurt or scare you," its raspy voice speaks again.

"you didn't scare me, why would i be afraid of an angel like you," a pretty face like that, who on earth would be afraid?

"first off, I'm not that kind of angel you think i am. also, everyone fears me, so why are you…smiling?"

"there's nothing scary of you angel!" you said giddily and beams a wider smile at him.

"stop calling me that!" it said through gritted teeth and eyes blaring in flame. but you kept that smile on your face, yet you felt more intrigued over this unidentified presence.

"then do you have a name i should call you? oh my name is-"

"i already know who you are. there's no need for introductions when…you're gonna…huh?" the last words from it fades slowly when you wrap your arms around its middle and your eyes full of gleam, looking at it from below.

its shaky hands tried to push you away but the way your face was full of admiration and eyes glimmer in hope, it tugs another string at its non-existent heart. i guess it wouldn't hurt for my name since she's gonna die either way.

"seonghwa. call me seonghwa,"

"hwa!" his name sounded so beautiful too, it matches his face really well and you felt so happy that he finally gave his name to you. you hugged him a bit tighter than before.

"no, seong…hwa," he emphasised every syllable of his name.

"hwa!"

"seonghwa,"

"HWA!" he sighs in defeat and lets you win. however, he felt his body getting relaxed when you have him in your hold. for once, he felt…comfort.

"now dear, the reason I'm here is to-"

"to accompany me!" you cut him off and release him from your grasp as you went to your wardrobe.

he tried to speak up in defense but you ignored him as you dress yourself up in something warm and suitable for an outside occasion. you grab his wrist and drags him towards outside. even though he is bigger and much stronger than you, he felt like he should just let you take him to wherever you wish. that is, to take a walk outside.

he kept on babbling he doesn't want to to this, but he still kept on walking beside you because your hand felt so soft touching his, and you never let go of his hand. after a while, you got used to his skin temperature. cold, but soft.

you pass by your neighbor's house and the owner greeted you. being your usual self, you gleefully greeted back with a wave of your hand.

"I'm here with a friend today," you tug seonghwa to show off to the old lady, but she had a concerned look instead of the expression you hoped for. was she not happy with the new friend?

"oh uh dear, i bet your friend must be as lovely as you are, i hope…. you go get along now," she mutters out the words carefully in a sentence. hoping she doesn't hurt your feelings.

you continued your journey with seonghwa and truthfully, you felt a bit sad that the lady didn't greet seonghwa too. does she not see him?

"no one can see me accept you," you turned your head over him surprised with his sudden response. can he read minds?

"well, let's say, magically, i do can read your mind, but just yours," he chuckles and you felt your heart flutters upon hearing him.

"so you are an angel!" you stopped in your tracks and tugs on his arm.

"not so, well, sort of, actually I'm a…uh…I'm…" he tongue refuses to mutter out the words as he saw the way your eyes sparkles in adoration and hope at him. he didn't have the heart to say the truth when you're like this. but you kept the smile on your face, waiting for his full response.

"yea, i am what you call that," he sighs.

"angel hwa!" you finally release his hand and you skipped your way back home. you've never felt so happier to eventually got a friend, an angel at that. that's what you thought he was.

seonghwa on the other hand, his lips formed into a small smile on his face, his eyes admiring you from behind. she looks so adorable. what the actual fuck? he slaps his own face, realizing his own actions.

you made yourself dinner and even made extra for seonghwa. he doesn't have to eat, but seeing your efforts in the cooking, he force the whole dish down his throat. he sat beside you and prop his chin with the palm of his hand while he admires you enjoying your meal. he likes the way you would squirm in joy and praise the food in every bite.

so cute. what the hell seonghwa?! he snaps himself out and clears up his throat. then tells you to clean yourself up for bed. you happily obliged to his orders with a happy stomach.

once you made yourself in bed, seonghwa tells you to sleep, but you only whine back at him as you were not that sleepy yet. seonghwa sighs and sits down beside you on the bed, he leans his back to the headboard.

"sleep now or you'll be cranky next morning," he pulls the blanket over your chest, tucking you in.

"but i don't get cranky," you whine again with a pout. seonghwa's lips betrays him once again with another smile and he caresses your head gently. yea, a pure soul like yours would never be in that state. a pure soul. SOUL!

seonghwa's eyes widen and found himself in a daze again and snaps out of it quickly. your eyes never left seonghwa's beautiful face. you want to admire it your whole life. you finally felt the drowsiness crept in when you yawned.

"will i see you again next morning, hwa?" you ask him with lidded tired eyes.

seonghwa hesitated at first. should he tell the truth or should he kept on lying? he bit his lip, before responding to you.

"yes, you will. that is if you close your eyes now sweetheart," you scrunch you nose when he boops it.

you felt so safe with him. you held hope in his promise. eager in wanting to see him first thing in the morning, and you force yourself to sleep.

seonghwa waited for you to finally drift off when your breathing fell consistent and your mind at peace. he stood up carefully from the bed, staring down at your whole body. he lets out a long sigh before he brings out the scythe he had kept hidden from your vision.

he needs to take your soul now. he was supposed to do that when he first met you, but he delayed. you were the first person to like him, to admire his beauty, the first human being to actually hugged him. hug. who knew a human would hug a grim reaper that was bout to take its soul away.

seonghwa grips the scythe's holder tighter. hesitate clouds his head. take her soul now seonghwa! he hovers the weapon above your body but his movements faltered when his eyes lands on your face, snoring quietly with a smile. must be having a nice dream.

FUCKING HELL SEONGHWA! he caught himself off guard and threw his scythe away as it disappeared again, back to its safe place. he walks away from you and runs his hand through his hair. frustration. confusion. denial.

he sits down on a chair that was facing you from a far. he decides to calm himself down and maybe wait a just little bit longer, then he'll take your soul. the night went on in silence as he stayed there admiring you from a far.

through the dark sky, from the same window he first laid eyes on you, dark smoke clouds behind it and slips through into the bedroom through a little gap. the smoke then swirls around the end of your bed and it thickens to form two new identical entities.

"fucking hell, look at her san!" said the first dark little figure with horns to the other one that looks just the same just a tad bit bigger.

you twist in your sleep that results in the blanket to be pushes aside, revealing your bare calves.

"wooyoung! she looks so scrumptious, don't you think?" the other one hovered over your body and points out at your exposed plump skin.

"i want to sink my teeth in and savor her…" the one named wooyoung reached out his hands and bare its teeth to you while his other companion, san, was already drooling to the thought.

"don't you two dare touch her, demons." a thundering growl elicits by the grim reaper from the darkness in the corner of the bedroom.

the two little demons shrieked and hugged each other as they were surprised by the sudden interruption of their nice meal.

"damn, seonghwa! calm down will ya. you're always cranky all the time, try smiling for once," wooyoung pulled away from san first and walks over to seonghwa but he only made a few steps before he halted as seonghwa gave him an intense glare.

"I'm a reaper, why should i be smiling you filthy thing. why do you two chose her to disturb tonight either way?" seonghwa stood beside your bed as to protect you from the harm of the two demons.

"well actually we're not here for her, we're here for you. she's just so beautiful we kinda got distracted," san was the one tho explained while wooyoung nodded, agreeing with him. seonghwa only gave a glaring look just for the same demon to further elaborate.

"her soul was supposed to collected, but in the list, its still hasn't, so we we're tasked to go check it out as it was your responsibility, seonghwa," a tight frown forms on the reaper's face. he knew this would happen. he sighs in annoyance before giving his reason.

"give me some time, i promise I'll give it soon. now go back to hell you two!" seonghwa shoos them away but they were whining not wanting to leave and stay with you.

"get the fuck out!" seonghwa opens wide the window before shoving the two outside and closes it back shut and pulls down the curtain.

he heard a soft sound from behind him, you were twisting and turning in your sleep, muttering incoherent words. he steps closer to you and heard you calling out for him, but your eyes were still shut. he lays himself down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

i shall never let anything taint your little innocent soul.

"hwa…" you mumble out his name and he shushes you back to sleep.

"I'm here, you're hwa is here."

your body felt his presence and snuggles into his chest. seonghwa pulls you in tighter and lets you rest under his protection for the entire night.

you felt bright light beaming onto your face and you were woken up by the sun shining from your window. your stretch out your limbs with a soft grunt. you felt sudden adrenaline that morning, it was the most peaceful sleep you've ever had and you wanted to tell seonghwa. you need see seonghwa. you looked all over your room, but no one was there.

"seonghwa?" you heart sinks when there was no response. did he left? but he promised…

"seonghwa!" you voice in a higher octave but cracked as you were on edge of bawling your eyes out.

"my dear, i was out to fetch some food for you," his voice erupted from the opening of the door. you jumped out of bed and ran towards him. he held the tray of a full meal higher in the air so it doesn't bump you when you abruptly wrap your arms around him.

"i thought you left,"

"well, i didn't, now sit down and eat your food, human," you happily made your way to a small table as seonghwa puts down the tray and lets you gobble them all up.

you were hugging in bed and you rest the side of your head to his chest, and you hum curiously as you let your hand wander around his chest.

"i don't have a heart sweetie," he said

"well, i do," you exclaimed and took his frail hand and place it firmly on your chest. he gasped quietly as he feels your heartbeat. the soft thumping felt so surreal to his hands. it felt so soft and beautiful. and he wanted to keep on feeling and hearing this heartbeat forever. to cherish it everyday of his immortal lifetime.

realization of his true demeanor made him snap out of the trance you put him in. he realized he should've end that beating heart of yours, not admire it.

he pushes you away from him. though, his actions never made you think negatively. you giddily grab him back and snuggles back on his chest. seonghwa was easily defeated by your innocence and he lets you get comfortable with him again. another day of spending more time you, and ignoring his true intentions.

days after days, you two spent a lot of time together, actually, the whole time. from morning to night, from dusk till dawn, from midnight to midday. every hour, every minute, every second. you enjoyed his company very much and he was getting more comfortable with you and protected you at all times behind your back without you knowing.

seonghwa sat on your bed with his legs crossed and back leans against the headboard as he listens attentively to your little rambling of the book you're currently reading.

"…and then the queen took in her late husband's mistress into becoming her new slave and they got married in the end! yayyy happily ever after to them!" you throw your hands both up in the air joyfully.

"you're so adorable, come here," seonghwa chuckles and you made your way to him before he pulls you down to sit on his lap.

the longer he stayed with you, you became very familiar of his bold and alluring scent. he smells so rich and seductive. the burst of sweet and spicy, like of coffees and vanillas which gives off a warm and also intoxicating aura.

seonghwa wraps your smaller body with his arms. you snuggle into his embrace as you leaned your back against his chest. his fingers trace undefinable patterns on the skin of your arms. you elicits soft giggle as it tickles you a bit. hearing your soft sounds, also made seonghwa giggles along with you. it tugs the heartstrings of his non existing heart.

you love little moments like this with him.

but luck was not on your side that day. the same smoke that almost haunt you in your sleep came back. though this time, it was only the the demon named wooyoung that appeared.

"yo seonghwa, its been three months. what took you so long to take…her…soul??" you gasp when you laid eyes on the horned devil. seonghwa quickly covered your eyes with his hands and you felt his chest vibrates as he growls.

"FUCKING HELL!! are you hugging…wait…why are you…no wait…have you lost your…wait WAIT…WHAT ARE EVEN YOU DOING PARK SEONGHWA?!!" the little menace widens his eyes. hands pulling the long strands of his hair. shouting. screaming. panicking. shocked? no, he was far more than that. he almost exploded with the sight in front of him.

you tried to release his hand as you wanted to have your visions back but his grip to your face became tighter.

"please leave…" you heard him sigh.

"please? did you just said please? damn, a reaper begging and said the 'P' word to a lowlife like me? that's a first. what have you become…"

"I SAID LEAVE!" the demon quickly disappeared right before the blade of seonghwa's scythe could touch him when he swung it.

the room fell in utter silence when seonghwa retracts his hand back. you looked down to your hands instead of looking to the man behind you.

"I'm sorry, i should've told the truth. that I'm-"

"a grim reaper,"

you felt seonghwa's body getting tense after hearing those words coming out from your mouth. you turned around and held his face in the palm of your hands.

"i already knew from the first time you came into my room,"

"huhh how? then…why did you-"

"you reek death, hwa," your chuckles made him giggle. let's savor this last smile of him before the last breath.

sorrow fills seonghwa's eyes. you couldn't help but feel bad for him. he pulls you closer to his chest, his face on the side of your neck, his hands placed themselves on your back, pushing you as close as he can to you. chest to chest. he felt every beat of your heart. remember and loving every thump. you wrap your arms around his neck and brush along his silky black hair.

"I'm really sorry…i should've done it sooner…i should not have grown attached to you…i-" you shush him and heard little sobs from the side of your ear.

he pulls you away and his hand cups the side of your cheek as his thumb rubs along your cheekbones. he pulls your face closer to his and place his lips onto yours. for an angel of death, his lips were soft and it tasted so sweet.

"forgive me, my little soul," he pulls away from you as his other hand grips the handle of his scythe behind you till it could almost snap in two.

"seonghwa." you trace your fingers across seonghwa's beautiful dark teary eyes for the last time.

you flash him a soft smile and gave him a last kiss on his lips. a tear rolled down seonghwa's face as he felt your last breath on his face and your body fell limp in his hold. he choked on his sobs when he no longer feel your lovely beating heart.

for a grim reaper who has no soul, he felt his non-existent heart shatter to a million pieces.

she finally said my name.

dividers

taglist: @engentiny @seonghw4ffles

network: @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

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fr33time · 2 months ago

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First off? Wow, second off? WOW.

Obviously my thoughts post on episode 16, WOW! That was a ride and I love this episode now, is it on par with the latest Jabberwock episode for me? Maybe.

Spoilers for episode 16 + a couple theories maybe?

I took so many god damn pictures OH MY LORD. First off I want to talk about episode 17 because like????

WHAT DO YOU MEAN “WAVES OF LOVE” AND THE MC IS IN A CUTE DRESS WALKING TOWARDS A LIMO!!! I hope… I hope I hope I HOPE there’s more romance. To speak on that for a moment? A dump of all my favourite moments.

Lyca is so adorable, I’m so happy we got a cameo from him AND the best mini storyline. His rivalry with that fox is so funny, when he leaves and shouts “shaddap! We’ll finish this later, dumb fox!!!” I was giggling. He is just so cute lmao. Don’t even get me started on the formal introduction to Elias, he even calls the mc “dear heart” which is just UGH 💕

Kill me 💀 crying and throwing up at these screenshots. You can’t tell me “waves of love” isn’t going to have more “romance” with photos like these. On a real note, I know there won’t be any romance… but a girl can only dream. I’ll have that Ritsu photo till the day I die.

Aside from my favourite moments, I’m glad there’s more explanation on Hyde as a character. Even outside of this episode, you can tell that Sho does not like his brother or atleast doesn’t want the mc caught in his mess. He doesn’t like it when they mention him at all. This appears in his affinity 10 story I believe, where (spoilers) Hyde wants you to give Sho a gift and Sho just tells the mc flat out that they shouldn’t accept anything from him. I do not like Hyde at all, I saw someone point out in the discussion tab on the episode that Hodge and Podge were mad at Hyde for tricking the mc, so they made a warding card. I want to see his downfall so bad because poor Romeo has to suck up to him.

Also that whole thing with Haru being in Dionysia? WOW. Honestly I’ve been guessing that he was apart of Sinostra for the longest time because he’s just a litttle bit greedy and he knows how to sway customers. After seeing what kind of place Dionysia was, it all comes together. Honestly I think Haru transferred because of Towa… I am a firm believer in the theory that Towa is the male mermaid that Hyde spoke about (I hope there’s more insight into who supplied the mermaid flesh btw, that is reallyyyy interesting). If I were to say anything I think Towa was transferred into Darkwick a year prior, liked Haru because of his whimsy, and Haru transferred to Jabberwock to look after Towa to put it simply. I’m just over here making assumptions so don’t quote me hehe.

I’m writing this very late at night so I will expand on everything if I forget something. Overall I loved the episode, I’m not super hard into analyzing stuff because I go based off of feelings. Trust me I will watch the worst movie ever and still find enjoyment in it.

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #Tokyo debunkers #im so sleepy #This episode made me like Romeo more tbh #RITSU AGHHH #TAIGA AGHHHHH

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the-kingshound · 8 months ago

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Small Kal update

I am very fond of lists and bullet points so I'm going to make this post, and hopefully more if I manage to stay consistent, to update everyone following my WIPs about their progress.

The King's Hound

You might know that the update, which consists of the second part of chapter 2, is 95% done in terms of writing. Unfortunately, it has been for quite a while, and though I had hoped to release it by September, at the latest October, it's clear that I need a bit more time.

The main reason, just so you all are aware and know what to expect from me and my games, is that I started a three year university course, Dietetics, and the lessons alone go from 9 am to either 4 pm or 6 pm (plus, I have almost four hours a day total of commute). It's not difficult per se, but it is physically draining and takes a lot of time and energy out of me.

Personal update aside, last weekend I managed to:

Edit Arthur and Gwyar's first pov scenes in game. I think I am finally satisfied, and hopefully you will be too

Polish the code a bit.

Not much, but still. What's left to do for the update is:

Edit Morien's first meeting with MC in chapter 2

Finish writing the ROs scenes in chapter 2 (part 2)

Code chapter 2 part 2 (😭)

I'll keep you updated if I manage to get some progress done in the weekend!

Golden Ashes (blog)

Last week I finally changed the title and the blog aesthetic, so there's that. I am very happy with the new look. As for the rewrite:

I have been slowly working on it since summer. The total wordcount is around 3k words, and it includes Cherena's first meeting + dragon MC's introduction into society. It's about 30% of the updated Prologue.

I have done a bit of work on the Twine UI for Golden Ashes, but with the Sugarcube update I will need some help to have it all working as it should. Still, it's mostly done so it shouldn't require much additional time

Aand that's all. See you soon❤

#kal update

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cloudcountry · 27 days ago

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attention tokyo debunker fandom! would you like to participate in a genderbent event?

. . . if so, you've come to the right place!

i'd like to host a creative event where the entire fandom can come together and get inspired to create pieces for a niche within the fandom C:

both writers and artists are encouraged to participate! i just want people to have fun, and i myself would like to try something new.

RUN TIME: this event will run from june 7th to june 28th! but you are more than welcome to post your pieces before then if you are finished or after if something came up!

i do not mean for this range to be a deadline, more of a guideline if you would like to start!

when finished, please tag your works with tokyo girlbunker (tag courtesy of my friend amari SDJJSD) so people can have an overview of the event's wonderful talent!

the event rules . . . (there aren't many!!)

no nsfw content, i want minors to be able to participate as well if they want to.

any content is welcome aside from that! it can be romantic, familial, platonic, it can include mc or not!

you are allowed to express genderbent versions of the characters in any way you see fit, i am not policing you here. the goal is simply to be creative!!

the rules are open to be modified if anyone brings up a question!!

(∩^o^)⊃━[ PROMPT LIST !! ] please have mercy this is my first time coming up with prompts im so sorry

FIRST WEEK - INTRODUCTIONS!! takes place june 7th - june 14th.

draw or write a piece (or however many you want) introducing your interpretation of the ghoul(s) of your choice!!

SECOND WEEK - INDIVIDUAL PROMPTS: takes place june 15th - june 21st

How would their fashion sense & style change?

What about room decor?

What’s their relationship with the MC like? How does it change, if at all? (genderbent inspector or not, whichever you want.)

Their reaction to a like dove!

Design a genderbent mission outfit / Write about your choice of ghoul(s) going on a mission + receiving their outfit!

What voicelines do you think would change / Come up with your own voice lines!

WILD CARD! Share any individual headcanon <3

THIRD WEEK - INTERACTIONS WITH OTHERS: takes place june 22nd - june 28th

Who do you think they’d be better friends with (or just friends in general)?

How do they like to spend time with friends on campus?

Create your own campus interaction.

Girls talk! How would they and their friends talk about the inspector? (genderbent inspector or not, whichever you want.)

What kind of outing would she want to take her friends on with an R&R permit?

Who is the number one ghoul you would want your choice to interact with for whatever reason? Make them interact!

WILD CARD! Share any interactions headcanon you have <3

#tokyo girlbunker #please dont flop holy fuck im so nervous about the prompt list ... i was struggling #tkdb #tokyo debunker #<- main tags be upon thee . and now i will hide in a hole

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captain-bubble-wrap · 5 months ago

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As the Canucks' newest rinkside reporter, you're preparing yourself for your first day on the job but things don't exactly start out the easiest. From calling in a favor from your father to interviewing the team's captain, it's bound to be a memorable night.

CW: none

9 October 2024 | Season Opener

Tonight marked the start of the Canucks' 2024-25 season and your introduction to the team's organization and fanbase. This was the biggest day of your career and you couldn't be any more nervous. You had done your makeup twice before leaving your apartment, changed your clothes half a dozen times, and frantically checked your hair in every mirror at least once. You had finally been given the chance to get your feet wet in professional broadcasting and you prayed you didn't fall on your face.

You knew any expectation of your abilities were going to be high just because of the fact that your father was the head coach of the team. Aware that there would be those whispers of favoritism and unfair handouts, you had tried to prepare yourself for such rumors and just wanted to let your work speak for itself. You were a Canucks' Top Prospect graduate and last year, you had reported rinkside for the Abbotsford Canucks as an intern, following college graduation, and it had been a wonderful opportunity. Now, you would find yourself among seasoned veterans and hoped not to feel like a child with numerous babysitters.

You had arrived at the arena around the same time as some of the players, just because if you didn't, you knew you would have found reason to pick another outfit or redo your eyeliner for the third time. Your heels clicked with an echo through the parking garage, your hair swished back and forth in the high ponytail atop your head with each step. You were confident, sure, but beneath that polished exterior was equally as much anxiety and panic.

"Badge?" Demanded the security guard from his post, not familiar with the new face standing before him. You produced the lanyard that was intertwined with your keys from your purse. Once it was in his possession he checked it against a series of papers. Nervousness began to set in within your chest when he didn't give it back quickly. The way he looked at you was like a bouncer checking a fake ID outside a club.

"I don't have you on the list," he replied sharply, handing back your fresh credentials. "No one with your name in Media."

"But I'm reporting tonight," you reassured, eyebrows pulled in from worry. "I was hired back in June."

The older gentleman, portly and with deep lines etched into his face scowled, "I can't let you in. You better call who ever it was who 'hired' you, because I'm not letting in anyone just because they claim to be Rick Tocchet's daughter. Nice try."

"I can show you my driver's licen--."

"Still no one with that name on the list. Now, step aside."

Absolutely taken aback by the rudeness and unbelievable news, you turned back towards where you had walked from and briefly saw two men, dressed in nice suits pass by you. Digging around the interior of your purse for your phone you'd hear the security guard call them by their first names.

"Connor. Quinn. Have a good game tonight, boys," he said to them, far more chipper than he had been with you just moments ago. You knew both players, hell, you knew all of the names on the Canucks' roster. That had been Connor Garland and Quinn Hughes who had breezed past. Too bad they couldn't vouch for you, now you were tasked with calling in a very poorly-time favour.

"Hey princess," said the voice on the other end of the phone once the call was finally picked up. "You alright?"

"No, dad, I'm not," you said, your voice low so to not let anyone overhear your conversation. "Security won't let me in, says I'm not on some media list. Not to mention he thinks I'm lying about who I am."

Your father sighed deeply. He was the last person you wanted to call and whine about someone being mean to you, especially hours before the first puck would drop. You had a job to do, and who better to pull some strings than him? However, it was the timing that was unfortunate.

"What gate are you at?" He asked, the frustration evident in his tone.

"I don't know. I'm at the players entrance or something. Connor and Quinn just went past me."

"Alright. Let me make a call. Sit tight."

"Thanks, dad."

He mumbled a "mhm" before the call dropped, leaving you loitering, hoping the guard didn't threaten to escort you off the grounds for being unauthorized personnel. What a way to start the night, the season, and your career. It wouldn't take long however before the ringing of a phone would echo throughout the garage. It had come from the security booth and you hoped it was someone calling on your behalf. Unable to stifle your curiosity, you looked towards the direction of the booth to see the man looking at you, nodding while he said nothing. He'd motion you over with a wave of his hand and you'd waste no time seeing what it was about.

"Apparently, your name wasn't added to the active media correspondents," he said flatly, hardly that of an apology. "You can go on in."

"Thank you," you sighed, making short work of the remainder of garage that opened up into the bowels of Rogers Arena. Finally, you were where you needed to be and it was already a mad house. Equipment managers were transporting rolling carts of towels and all manner of various odds and ends through the hallways and around tight corners. You had general directions of the media hub and you were thankful you had gotten there so early, because finding that specific room was like a treasure hunt. After probably twenty minutes of navigating the behind the scenes world of the arena, you arrived at the door.

"Oh, you must be Y|N Tocchet! So good to meet you! We're glad you made it," remarked Senior Writer Chris Faber, who was going over his notes when you came in. "We heard you'd be joining the team. Welcome."

"Thank you so much, I'm eager to get started!"

"We love the eagerness," he added, always happy to have young talent involved in the sport and pioneering for younger generations to follow. "Heard you made quite the name for yourself in Abbotsford last season."

"I loved it there! It was fun watching to see who had the hints of being a big talent develop down there. It was always loud," you smiled with a nod.

"I think you'll fit right in with us here. No doubt your father is proud," Chris said, with the smile himself.

"You'd have thought I had been drafted first overall!" You remarked, remembering how he had boasted when you got the call from upper management about the reporter position being given to you. "I have a high bar to strive for. Can't make him look bad, you know?"

Chris chuckled, reassuring you that you'd have no trouble transitioning into Vancouver's content team. "I'm sure you'll make him proud. Now, you have any questions for me?"

"Actually, I do. What is my schedule for tonight?"

"You're going to interview Quinn during warmups, get his opinion and insight on how the team preformed through the pre-season and his outlook and expectations for this season. Think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely," you beamed, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. It was actually happening; you had made it.

- - -

Warmups began to an overwhelming response around the arena. You walked down the tunnel following the team and were instructed to stand at the end of the bench. Quinn had already been told you meet you along the boards following a few hot laps. Watching the players at ice level really hit home that tonight was real. Nothing could beat the opening day of a hockey season. The energy was electrifying: from the fans screaming at the top of their lungs, player's fresh reactions to playing again, and shouted messages coming from the coaches. Opening night was just another beast entirely, and it marked the official start to the season and fans were eager to begin that grind and see their team back in the playoffs.

"Good luck, sweetheart," your dad would say as you passed in front of him and the other assistant coaches, a gentle smile across his lips. You'd give him a wink before getting to where you needed to be.

Your eyes zeroed in on Quinn's number forty-three as he practically floated across the ice, edges sharp and skating so fluidly. You had watched him since his debut with the team, and he was seriously one of the most beautiful skaters in the game right now. Your cameraman went over the key points of your short interview and you would give a quick nod in agreeance.

"You're going to do great! Don't worry!" He said to hype you up, and give you the confidence boost you needed to calm your nerves.

It didn't take long for Quinn to finally make his way over to you. He didn't do an aggressive hockey stop, not that you thought him the type to do so, instead he sort of just listed to the two of you, looking eager to already have it over and done with. You had watched numerous other girls before you have the chance to interview the star captain, and each time he just came off like he wasn't comfortable doing the interview aspect of his job. You hoped you'd make it easy on him so he could get back to warming up, and so you could get your heart back to a regular speed.

The cameraman, again, would give you a nod, checking his equipment before giving you the signal to begin your conversation with Quinn. His eyes were down, gloved hand holding his stick upright like he was at attention. It would be after you greeted him that he would finally bring his eyes to your face, actually seeing you for the first time.

"Welcome to the start of the new season, Quinn," you said brightly, smile beaming.

He swallowed hard, almost like he had forgotten how to speak, "Thank you."

"You're fresh off of winning the Norris, congratulations! Do you have a plan for trying for a back-to-back award winning season, or is that not really a concern for you? Sort of a, 'if it happens it happens' type of thing?"

"Really just focused on making sure we can win as many games as possible is the main objective, right now. We're hopeful to have a repeat trip to the playoffs first. Anything extra is just that: it's extra."

Quinn dropped his eyes from you while you spoke your next question. He seemed so disinterested and you were hoping that you weren't a bumbling idiot on camera.

"How confident are you in your team following camp and how the pre-season faired?"

"I think we put everything we have into how we practice at any given time. It's nice getting together with the guys again, and feel that brotherhood reconnect even in practice. I think we're all in a good headspace at the moment."

"Finally, what can fans expect from this year's Canucks lineup?"

"I think we're a solid group of players who bring a multitude of strengths to the ice, and we're prepared to bring that night after night all season long."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much, and good luck."

Quinn nodded at your parting words. "Thanks."

As he skated off, you faced the camera for your sign off, "Tonight marks a fresh start for this Canucks' team, and fans can believe that they're in for a strong season."

Holding your smile until given the signal that the recording had ended, you'd breath a deep sigh of relief immediately after. Your palms were slick with sweat and your heart was beating in your ears, but you had done it!

"See, I knew you had it in you! That was fantastic for your first NHL interview!" Remarked your cameraman, picking up his tripod and laying it against his shoulder. "Great job!"

"I was so nervous," you laughed.

"It didn't show! Congratulations."

You smiled, and went to follow him from the bench, but before you got too far from the boards, you heard someone calling out to you from the ice. Looking over your shoulder, you'd see Quinn skating back to you.

"Good luck on your first game," he said, a warmup puck in the palm of his glove. You'd reach for it, shocked by the kind gesture that hadn't crossed your deepest daydreams.

"Aw, thank you so much," you blushed, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks. Quinn would smirk, his eyes dropping from your face yet again before he rejoined his teammates following the end of the warmup sequence. Quickly, you'd make your exit, not wanting to linger where you didn't belong for a second time today. But passing behind your father, he'd give you a quick hug at your accomplishment.

"You're a natural," he whispered. "You did so well."

"Thanks dad!" you said, heart swelling. "Good luck tonight~"

- - -

The game had come to a heartbreaking end for home fans when the Flames had managed to score a goal in overtime. A collective sigh of defeat hung over the interior of the arena which followed everyone out with disappointment and broken spirits. Everyone had hoped for more; had hoped for a win in regulation to start the season, not a participation point for losing in OT. Regardless, a single point was better than none.

You said goodbye to your new colleagues, and started to make your way back to the parking garage. Your dad would be busy going over things with the players as well as post-game interviews, so waiting for him would be a complete waste of time. All you really had to do was head back home.

It had been an exciting day, one that had both fried your nerves and catapulted your confidence. Your interview with Quinn had turned out quite smooth and polished, when you watched the playback. You found yourself looking at Quinn the entire time, noticing him stealing looks at you that you hadn't realized before when you were interviewing him. How had you missed that? His eyes blinking up at you, those gentle nods to each of your questions, the one subtle smirk he'd let slip at you telling him good luck at the end. You had blushed watching it, like you had when he gave you the puck souvenir to mark the start of your career within the organization. You couldn't understand what was wrong with you. It had just been a puck; your father likely would have done the same thing if Quinn hadn't beaten him to it.

The question would plague your mind the entire drive home.

Even when you went to bed, your mind kept replaying Quinn smiling as he skated away from you the second time. The puck sitting on your nightstand would cause quite the dream that night.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #💌maven's love notes

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gunwoo-bh · 4 months ago

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For Better or For Worse [GUNWOO x Fem!reader]

FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE

Gunwoo x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: You are a nurse living alone when you become close to Gunwoo's mom and him over the course of a few years when Smile Capital attempts to destroy people's livelihoods. For better or for worse, you support your friends old and new as they fight the greedy loan sharks threatening to ruin your lives.

Warning: mentions of covid, no warnings aside from that until i see wether I write more or not

AN: Hi everyone. Let me start by saying I am nervous to post on here but I love this show and these characters so much. This is not proof-read so pardon any mistakes. I haven't written in so very long so I am rusty, plus English is not my first language. I don't know if this will be a bigger thing but let me know if you want another chapter or for this to be turned into a fic. Enjoy!

PROLOGUE

You were never one to notice these things, but when Ms. Yoon who owned your favourite café had up and gone, store and storefront destroyed, there was no choice but to notice. Nobody could ignore the string of events similar to these happening everywhere since COVID has struck the world. You had heard the stories, urging your own parents to avoid falling for these scams in fear that something similar may happen to them.

“Don’t sign something without having read everything, especially the fineprint, mhm?” You had pleaded with your parents months ago, slipping them an envelope with money.

But walking down the road to grab a pastry and coffee from your favourite café, your heart sank when the building came into sight. Slowing down and coming to a stop while watching what remains of your favourite part of every day. A crowd had gathered as police secured the building as best they could, people whispering and gossiping about what may have happened. A few minutes pass before you tear your gaze away from the scene, glancing back a handful of times before going to work.

It was almost four years ago you had waltzed into Ms. Yoon’s café, new to the neighbourhood and nervously exploring the area. Gentle and kind, she had welcomed you and made you feel like you had never left your parents’ home and as a then 20 year old, this had felt like the perfect welcome to the solo life you were pursuing. On more than one occasion she had shown you around the city for the best secrets the city could offer for the lowest cost. Many times you had gone to her café simply to keep her company or to help her since her only son was in the military.

You had met Gunwoo almost a year later when he returned from his mandatory service. Your introduction to Ms. Yoon’s son had been unplanned, bumping into them at the market on a warm Saturday morning. It hadn’t taken you long to notice her son’s shy demeanor, shyly bowing to each other when his mom giddily introduced the both of you. Blushing intensely throughout the entire interaction, there was no denying how intrigued you had been then about the unassuming young man.

GUNWOO, on the other hand, had begun hearing about you eight or so months before the end of his military service. Every day away he spent worrying about his mother alone in Seoul, managing her business without any help until she had mentioned you. And when she continued to bring up the ‘young woman who comes around often’ he felt better knowing his mom had made something akin to a friend even with the gentle teasing from his mother about how pretty you were, he felt less guilty that he had chosen now to do his service.

So, standing in the market holding a bag of his mother’s purchases while she gushed to both of you about finally meeting the other he finally met your gaze and bowed, looking away timidly when your eyes focused on him. They bid you a quick goodbye and Gunwoo caught himself looking back at you as they walked away. It wasn’t a shock to anybody when you two became friends, Gunwoo entirely too focused on pursuing his boxing career and working as much as he could to help his mother with their growing debt to focus on the pretty young woman that crept up in his mind whenever he allowed himself to.

Visiting the market, helping clean the café, countless dinners with them and many times being walked home by Gunwoo were now part of day to day life. And being in attendance to his boxing matches had become something he looked forward to.

Then, COVID hit. You had been spared losing your job as a nurse, obviously, but this meant constantly working. Many business owners such as Ms. Yoon and your parents had been hit so hard, debt accumulating and struggling to pay rent. You had even begun working a second job whenever you had free time to help your parents, sending whatever extra money you had on hand.

Heading to work, eyes down in your phone you quickly typed a message to not only Gunwoo but to his mother asking them what had happened. Concerned, there was no other choice but to clock into work and focus as best as you can until the day ended. A cloud of worry washes over throughout the entirety of your shift, barely able to do your duties.

You were eight hours into a twelve hour shift when you finally receive a response from Gunwoo’s mom that simply causes your heart to drop in the pit of your stomach.

Loan sharks attacked the store. Gunwoo got hurt, he’s at your hospital getting his stitches clean right now. I hate to impose, but he doesn’t want to worry me. Could you check in on him if he’s still there?

Standing in the middle of a hallway in absolute stunned silence, you’re unable to move an inch while processing what his mother has just said to you. What feels like minutes pass when you snap your head up to check what floor you’re on, shoving the phone back in your scrubs and fast walking to the elevator. Damn your duties for the moment, what matters more is figuring out what kind of injury Gunwoo has. The elevator doors can’t seem to open fast enough, foot tapping rhythmically until the familiar ding takes you out of your reverie. Darting out, you scan the waiting room mid hallway for any sign of Gunwoo, but only as you get closer do you see a door open from an office to your left and the familiar green jacket brings out a sigh of relief.

“Oppa…” You call out softly, muffled by the mask.

Gunwoo stills and right away from under his mask you see the bandage covering an enormous injury on his right cheek. Your chest tightens when he turns to face you, his eyes are soft and dare you say, embarrassed? Ashamed, maybe? You can’t tell, but when you meet halfway, he looks down when your hand gently reaches to touch his injury before hesitating.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He nods softly, avoiding eye contact before glancing over to someone sitting in the waiting area.

“Yah, Gunwoo…” Both of you snap your heads to the young man who now stands, watching the both of you before giving you a small bow which you return. “How many stitches did you get?”

“About 30…” Gunwoo's shoulders sag, looking at you and stepping closer. “Can you please check on my mom after your shift? I promise I’ll explain everything later…”

You want to start protesting, glancing between your friend and his friend, “Okay. I’ll text you when I’m with her, mhm?”

He thanks you, obviously fighting his desire to explain everything and whatever he has going on with the friend with him. He doesn’t introduce you yet but you’re sure it’s not the last time you’ll see him. Reluctantly stepping away, glancing back one final time to their retreating figures, you take your phone out to send him a message you didn’t have the guts to say to him directly.

Be safe, please.

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silentsneezes · 19 days ago

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The View From 3B - Chapter 3, Part 1

this fic is almost entirely self indulgent nothingness, and it's not entirely finished yet, but it's over 7k words and i wanted to post what i've got so far (fic is under the cut if you want to skip my rambling)

summary/info: J/ayce and V/iktor get stuck in an elevator together while J/ayce struggles with one of the worst colds he's had in years. It takes place about a month after V/iktor moved into the apartment complex, so it's their first "real" introduction to one another.

It's from J/ayce's POV (i'm an awkward, nervous J/ayce believer -- also an audHD J/ayce believer). I haven't written from his POV in a long time, so if anything feels OOC feel free to let me know :)

CW for mess!! I don't describe it in a lot of detail, but it's definitely present in this fic, so be warned! Warning for contagion as well, I plan on writing a followup where V/iktor catches J/ayce's cold

I don't love the introduction/first page (I was impatient to get to the snz and rushed through it), but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :3 anyways, if you read all this ily, here's a treat:

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. It’s felt endless, obnoxiously long in that particular way that makes every small inconvenience feel personal. Jayce is running on fumes, his head aching, throat raw, and nose so stuffed he can barely draw a full breath. He’s been impatient to get home for the past hour, but his bus had been delayed three times, it had started to rain, and his plans to pick up more tissues had been entirely forgotten.

By the time Jayce steps into the lobby of his apartment complex, he’s running on autopilot. His limbs are aching and heavy, his body having forgotten how to function without discomfort hours ago. He barely manages a nod towards the security desk; he’d usually stop to chat, especially with the woman working tonight, who always engages in friendly conversation. He must look as shitty as he feels because she just gives him a sympathetic look and allows him to pass by in silence.

Jayce quickens his pace as he notices the closest elevator shutting, just barely managing to slip through the narrowing gap in time for the doors to shut with a loud PING! Once inside, he lets out a stuffy breath of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing them slowly. It’s not the most hygienic move, sure, but considering that he’s already sick, he allows himself the small comfort. That is, until he registers a presence beside him, immediately dropping his hands to his sides and glancing over.

‘Just my luck.’ Jayce thinks as he recognizes the man standing beside him, their eyes meeting for the briefest second before both of them glance away.

He should’ve just waited and taken the other elevator, another minute of standing there wouldn’t have hurt him. But it’s too late now, especially after slipping in at the last second and making direct eye contact with none other than his next-door neighbor. They’d only ever had a few brief conversations – polite, out of necessity, and highly-performative on Jayce’s end. Afterall, he’d been taught to put on a well-mannered mask and adapt, so he did exactly that; at least he tried to, but his anxiety makes him far less calm and collected as he’d like to think he appears.

‘Thank God we live on the third floor and not the sixth’ Jayce thinks, trying his best not to sniffle audibly as he feels an unwelcome trickle of moisture slip over his upper lip, ‘And thank God I’m wearing a mask.’

PING! They pass the first floor.

Jayce is certain that he looks worse for wear, even with the bottom half of his face covered with not one but two medical-grade facemasks. It might be overkill, but his mom had raised him with the understanding that “just because you’re sick doesn’t mean everyone else has to be”. Besides, he doesn’t find it all that inconvenient to wear a mask, aside from those moments when he can no longer deny the itch that constantly lingers in his sinuses whenever he’s congested.

He’s no stranger to sneezing in masks, but he’s certainly not a fan of it. The sensation alone is enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort, not to mention the either disgusted or pitying looks he receives from anyone nearby.

Jayce feels his nose continue to run, the moisture beginning to collect on his upper lip and risk slipping further down, but he knows if he sniffles, it'll sound disgusting. The last thing he wants is to gross out his neighbor, who’s politely ignoring him and focusing instead on a loose string dangling from his sleeve.

Jayce chances a glance at Viktor, feeling his heart thrum a little at the sight of him. He looks tired too, but Jayce ignores the prominent eyebags of the shorter man, drawn instead to the light freckles cast across his face. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his moles, but still, Jayce finds himself rather endeared by them – light, small, decorative things. He only realizes he’s staring when Viktor turns towards him, meeting his gaze wordlessly.

Jayce blushes crimson, his mind stuttering to a halt as he’s caught staring. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking anywhere aside from Viktor. First it's his scuffed sneakers, then the wristwatch his friend had recently purchased for him, then the smudges on the elevator door.

Is the elevator moving slower than usual? Jayce swears it is, time dripping by like molasses as he tries to ignore the embarrassment swelling in his chest. ‘Great job Jayce’ he thinks sarcastically ‘what a stellar impression you’re making. Why don’t you just go ahead and–’ his internal spiral screeches to a halt as he feels the buzzing in his sinuses shift, prickling up to the tip of his nose and making the sensitive appendage twitch. ‘No… no no no no no–’

“hh–,” his breath hitches before he can do anything to stop it, the prickling swelling to a full on itch. Desperate for a solution, Jayce decides to do the thing he’d been dreading the entire elevator ride. He sniffles, feeling the moisture that had slipped over his lip shoot back into his nose and cram itself in his sinuses with a loud SNRKkk!

For the second time in just two minutes, Jayce feels his face burn scarlet. He does his best to swallow his embarrassment, silently reassuring himself that a little sniffle was much better than him sneezing into his mask. Still, that thought does very little to dissuade the anxious voice in his mind. He stares fixedly at the elevator doors, trying to will them to open fast. Anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Jayce glances at Viktor again, only for a split second, and to his surprise, this time he catches Viktor staring at him. ‘Oh God.’ Jayce’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusions: ‘This is it. Caitlyn’s never going to let me hear the end of it if I lose a chance with my crush before we even exchange more than five sentences.’

His fever’s certainly not helping with his mind’s anxious ruminations, causing him to spiral illogically without any end in sight. He barely registers the feeling as his nose begins running again, intent on making a mess inside his mask.

PING! Only one floor left, Jayce can handle that. He glances at his watch again… odd… he must’ve misread the time before, but he swears, it’s been almost three minutes since he first entered the cramped elevator. It shouldn’t take more than two minutes for him to arrive at the third floor… he must’ve misread it. Afterall, he’s feverish and hopped up on dayquil and–

THHHHUMP!

Without warning, the elevator jolts violently, lurching with a mechanical groan. The sudden motions throws both of them off balance, tossing Viktor straight into Jayce’s side. There’s no time to react, no chance for either of them to brace themselves, just a blur of motion.

Jayce reaches out reflexively, arms wrapping around Viktor as the floor seems to drop beneath them. The two of them topple over, Viktor landing half on Jayce’s chest as Jayce hits the floor with a dull thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but he barely notices. His only thought (aside from ‘What the Fuck!’, that is) is that somehow he’d managed to catch Viktor before he could hit the floor too hard. Realistically, he would’ve tried to help anyone in that situation, but the fact that he can feel Viktor against him makes it a bit more satisfactory.

Viktor’s breath is short with surprise, his body tense as it registers the impact. For a second, neither of them move, staying frozen in place as they listen to the elevator groan. Neither of them dare to move and risk plummeting down to the ground level.

Jayce blinks up at the flickering light overhead, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He can feel Viktor’s hand pressed awkwardly against his ribs, the unmistakable pressure of the smaller man’s weight on top of him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor detangles himself from Jayce, doing his best not to make any sudden movements – both due to the elevator's instability and an aching in his hip. He’s only semi successful before the elevator groans again, and he stills.

As Jayce’s mind finally catches up to reality, his voice stumbles over itself to fill the shocked silence, each word more useless than the last, “Sorry! I didn’t– I wasn’t–” His face burns, heart racing from both adrenaline and the sudden proximity. His flustered apology grinds to a halt as his breath catches painfully in his throat and he jerks forwards with a wet, scraping cough.

It bursts out of him before he can stop it, crackling deep in his chest and forcing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. His nose and mouth are already covered by two layers of medical-grade masks, so whether the action is a desperate attempt to muffle the noise or simply muscle memory, he doesn’t know.

The cough blooms into a small fit – tight, rattling, as if his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out. His whole body shakes as he desperately tries to muffle the sound, though he knows it’s a useless effort. Viktor is still pressed awkwardly against his side, cautiously leaning away, but remaining still enough that he won’t risk jostling the elevator.

And Jayce? He’s one humiliating cough away from begging the elevator to just drop him through the floor.

He finally manages to catch his breath, his coughing tapering off into shallow, shaky inhales. His eyes are glassy, bleary with fever and exertion, but he still forces himself to look over at Viktor. He’s half dazed, half mortified at the disgusted expression he’s sure he’s about to see. But instead, the smaller man looks at him with sympathy… No. That can’t be right. Jayce really must be out of it, because there’s no way Viktor wouldn’t be looking at him with anything but outright revolution at this point. He opens his mouth, preparing himself to stammer out an apology.

And then the elevator shudders. And not the nice “wow the elevator is fixed!” kind of shudder, but rather the kind that causes the floor to drop a few inches with a dull, stomach-churning THUD!

Jayce freezes, his heart lurching up into his throat. How has his bad day somehow found a new level of awful? He’d already had a parade of delays, illnesses, and public displays of humiliation. But this takes the cake.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything aside from stare wide-eyed at the flickering overhead light and prepare to plummet to his death. He doesn’t even register his hand half-curled around Viktor’s arm.

Caitlyn has always teased him for his so-called irrational fear of elevators, rattling off statistics about how rarely they actually malfunctioned. Afterall, he’d been in elevators hundreds of times and never had any issues aside from having to make awkward conversation.

This, however, is starting to make his fear feel very, very rational.

Jayce takes a little breath, trying to keep his cool. He looks at Viktor, who doesn’t seem to be any happier about the situation than he is, but significantly more calm. There’s no visible tension in his shoulders, no wild look in his eyes. He seems far more controlled than Jayce feels.

Jayce wants that, needs that – or any semblance of calm or comfort. So he takes a shallow breath through his nose, ignoring its congested squeak and focussing on not freaking the fuck out… Even though his chest aches, his fever simmers under his skin, and he’s sitting in a half-crumpled pile on an elevator floor with the guy he’s been admiring for weeks.

But Viktor isn’t freaking out, so Jayce won’t either.

He lasts all of one minute before his thoughts start amping up again. One silent, dreadfully long minute in which neither he or Viktor dare to say a word.

‘It’s fine, right? Elevators stall all the time, it’ll start moving again in a few seconds…’

Jayce shifts uncomfortably, trying not to let his anxiety build into panic as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He’s stuck in an elevator with none other than his nextdoor neighbor, who just so happens to be one of the most jawdroppingly gorgeous people Jayce has ever seen. And he has the worst head cold he’s had in years. It would almost be comedic, if it wasn’t happening to him.

He clears his throat, hesitantly asking, “should we… uh… press a button?”

In all his years of higher education, not once had anyone covered what to do if you get stuck in an elevator with your ridiculously attractive neighbor while sick and semi-delirious. There’s no syllabus for this, no instruction manual, no messy notes or annotations for him to reference.

So, the most logical – panicked, deeply flawed, and purely adrenaline driven – solution he can come up with is to press the third floor button again; maybe the elevator just needs a gentle reminder of where it’s supposed to be going.

Viktor doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he just nods, his expression unreadable as he watches Jayce slowly shift onto his knees and press the bright white 3. And then press it again. And again. And once more for good measure.

And a fifth time because his panic is gaining momentum and the only thing keeping him from thoroughly embarrassing himself is the vain hope that maybe the fifth time is the charm… No? Okay. What about a sixth?

After Jayce presses the button upwards of ten times, Viktor finally pipes up, “It was probably disabled when the elevator…” he gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure what to say other than “fucking broke,” and that didn’t seem like the most suitable option, given Jayce’s evident panic. So Viktor lets the sentence trail off, doing his best to remain calm in an attempt to ground Jayce.

Jayce sinks back down to the floor, nodding a little and saying, “Right… so we just… wait.” His voice is strained, resigned to the fact that he can’t do anything aside from sit and do his best not to completely freak out. He leans his head against the cold metal wall behind him and exhales through his mouth stuffily.

Viktor nods, shifting so he can lean back against the wall and relieve some pressure from his hips. The motion is practiced, subtle, like he’s done this before – and he certainly has, he knows exactly where the strain lives in his body.

Jayce taps his fingers nervously against the floor, taking a steadying breath and doing his best to ignore the steady thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body. It’s fine. This is fine. Except realistically, it’s anything except fine. Jayce must’ve done something truly horrible to deserve whatever karmic shit the universe was throwing at him today.

As if the situation just had to get worse, Jayce feels his nose twitch, the lingering itch making itself known again: persistent, teasing. He scrunches up his nose beneath the mask, moving it from side to side in an attempt to lessen the itch, but it only serves to make it run more. He can feel a drop of mess slipping over his upper lip and towards his chin, and once again he attempts to sniff – afterall, it solved his problems last time, why wouldn’t it work again?

SND-RKk! Jayce’s attempt at containing the mess is all but humiliating, halting halfway upon entry into his nose and resulting in a soggy, congested squeak. The sound is deeply unflattering, breaking through the stillness of the elevator and doing nothing to help relieve the irritation in Jayce’s nose.

His eyelids flutter as the buzzing worsens: a sharp, needling sensation that blooms right behind the bride of his nose. His eyebrows knit together in a grimace, and he clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to stop himself from hitching.

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, holding his breath and repeating ‘I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze’ in his mind, as if he could mentally block the sensation prickling through his nose. He can feel his nostrils flare beneath the mask, wet and sensitive against the fabric. At the risk of making things worse, Jayce rubs his finger along the base of his nose over the mask, but it barely provides him any relief.

‘Please. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him,’ He begs internally, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Despite his best efforts, Jayce can feel the itch worsening. He clamps his jaw shut stubbornly, refusing to draw a breath, but his head still snaps forwards with a pitifully stifled runt of a sneeze, “h’nNGKSXgTCHh’uh!”

The stifle (if you can even call it that) is harsh enough to jolt his whole body; his shoulders hunch, his legs twitch involuntarily, and his torso forcibly curls in on itself. It’s muffled into the fabric of his masks, but messy all the same – wet and uncomfortable and clinging to both the fabric and the base of his nose. Within seconds, he feels the heat of it seep through the first layer of the material.

‘Oh. My. God.’

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything aside from sit there dazedly, his eyes fluttering half-closed as the itch lingers.

Then, a mortifying sense of shame burns through his chest, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He downright refuses to look at Viktor, desperately trying to think of some solution aside from the obvious one. He has to clean himself up somehow, and he has to manage it with the few tissues he has shoved unceremoniously in his pocket… but in order to do that, he’d have to remove his mask and risk Viktor seeing the absolute mess he’s made.

Jayce’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft, almost tentative “Bless you,” from the man sitting beside him, and he feels his face flush an even deeper shade of red from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

He doesn’t dare try to speak; he doesn’t trust his voice right now – he doesn’t trust anything about his body right now – so he just dips his head in a quick, polite nod. He can feel the mess sitting inside his mask, humid and awful and clinging uncomfortably to his lips and skin. But the thought of taking off his mask, of drawing attention to himself, makes his chest tighten with anxiety. So he just… endures it. Miserably.

Within seconds, Jayce’s nose twitches again, and this time he doesn’t even have a moment to prepare before a harsh sneeze grates against his throat, “hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

He takes in a shaky breath, realizing in horror that there’s no possible way for him to avoid removing his masks. They’re already soaked anyways, and Jayce is almost certain there’s a visible damp spot where the mess has been clinging to the inside of the fabric.

“Sorry,” Jayce apologizes sheepishly, holding a hand over his masked-mouth out of habit, “do you mind if I -sNDFf- tagke off my masgk for a secgond?”

His voice is so congested it’s almost incomprehensible, but somehow Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted with Jayce, in fact, he seems almost fascinated by the sickly man. No, Jayce must be misreading the signs… maybe Viktor just happens to be a very good actor, and his disgust is merely hidden behind a neutral expression.

“Not at all,” Viktor responds, his voice heavily accented and softer than Jayce remembered it, “you seem quite uncomfortable.”

Jayce blushes once again, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly and saying, “Yeah… id’s nodt the ideal scenario,” before realizing how that sounds and quickly trying to recover, “nodt that you’re– idt’s mbe. I’mb… uncomfortable,” he finishes lamely.

Somehow he earns a smile from the smaller man. An actual, real smile, the kind that makes Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the sides and reveals thin but visible smile lines along his cheeks.

For just a moment, Jayce’s hatred of the situation lessens.

But then his body reminds him of the circumstances, forcing him to clear his throat as he feels phlegm start to build at the base of his throat. Now that he at least has Viktor’s permission, he feels slightly more comfortable with the prospect of taking off the masks (and besides, he really can’t handle the sensory discomfort of them while they’re coated in mess).

He turns away from Viktor slightly, pinching the material around his nose to try and contain as much of the mess as he can as he removes the bands from around his ears with his other hand. He shoves the masks unceremoniously into his pocket, making a mental note to throw them away as soon as possible.

As soon as he takes off the masks, his nose twitches, apparently upset at being exposed when it's in such terrible condition. With the barrier removed, Viktor can see just how sensitive Jayce’s nose is: bright pink, chapped, and twitching in irritation.

Jayce fumbles to pull a mostly-intact travel pack of tissues from his pocket, noting that he only has a few left. He can’t quite sum up the confidence to blow his nose, so he just does his best to wipe away the residual mess while sniffling wetly against the tissue.

He knows he’s being gross. He feels gross, but he seems to have caught a cold that downright refuses to be tamed. Usually, he’d hole himself up in his apartment with a bottle of NyQuil and do his best to sleep it off, but the universe decided otherwise.

Viktor, who’s been respectfully quiet, shifts slightly beside Jayce before saying, “I don’t think anyone looks particularly dignified when they’re sick.”

Jayce glances at him in surprise, the dampened tissue still pressed to his septum. Viktor doesn’t look directly at him, instead choosing to pick at the same loose thread on his sleeve again. Neither his tone nor expression reveal his intention in saying that… but Jayce has a feeling it wasn’t meant to be an insult, though it certainly could’ve been interpreted that way.

“Whadt, you don’d thingk this is dignified?” Jayce tries to joke, tucking the used tissue into the same pocket as the soiled masks and offering Viktor a tired grin.

“Do you?” Viktor replies, his lips curling up ever so slightly – just enough to reassure Jayce that it’s okay, he’s not intending to be an ass, he just comes off a bit harsh.

“Ndo…” he admits, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat again as it protests against its use, “so… we’re neighbors.” Admittedly, smalltalk isn’t one of Jayce’s strongsuits, not with strangers anyways (especially strangers who he happens to be attracted to). But Viktor seems to find Jayce’s awkward blunders amusing, huffing out a little breath and agreeing, “yes. We are.”

“Righdt. I mean, you already knew that.. Because of the teas and–,” Jayce internally groans, thinking ‘why am I still talking’ as he tries his best to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. Between his fever, his anxiety over the elevator’s malfunction, and his infatuation with Viktor, he can’t quite compose himself. His voice trails off, letting his sentence hang in the air unfinished.

His nose gives a sudden, traitorous twitch and he presses the back of his wrist beneath his nostrils, sniffling thickly in an attempt to stop the mounting itch. Instead, it worsens, buzzing up through his sinuses and causing his nostrils to flare against his sleeve. His brows furrows, his eyes starting to shut as his breath catches in his chest, “hh-”

He barely manages to stutter out, “S’cuse mbe,” before sucking in a desperate breath, “hhHHHh–” and pivoting into his elbow, “hhHG’GDSXCHhew’hgh!”

The sneeze tears out of him, wrenching and wet, his shoulders jerking forwards with the force of the expulsion. He snuffles wetly in the aftermath of the sneeze, turning away from Viktor again as he fumbles to pull another tissue from his pocket with his free hand. His pocket resists him, the crinkled plastic of the tissue pack catching on the fabric, so by the time he manages to get a tissue free, he can already feel a damp splotch forming on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Blushing crimson, Jayce removes his nose from his elbow, quick to fold the tissue over his nose in an attempt to clean himself up. To make things worse, his nose doesn’t seem to be done yet.

A slow, unmistakable tickle crawls up through the bride of his nose, and he draws a breath through his mouth as his eyes flutter half-shut again.

“hhHHhh… huhh-HHh’…”

He pauses, waiting. His nostrils flare. His lips part. The tickle worsens into a full blown burning, testing his already worn patience.

“hhihh… huhh’HHhh—”

Within seconds, he goes from wishing he wouldn’t sneeze to wishing he could just let it out. Embarrassment eats at his chest as he feels Viktor shift next to him, reminding him of his close proximity.

Jayce attempts to rub his nose through the tissue, pinching it shut with a squelch before moving his fingers up and down. It only results in another desperate series of hitches.

“huh-hHhhuhh…! H-hhhHHh-huhhh… hhHHH–” and then nothing. “Oh c’mbon,” he breathes hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t even care that he’s humiliatingly desperate to sneeze right now, he just wants to get it over with. His chest swells with another inhale, “HHHhhuhhhh–!”

By this point, his eyes are watering, his mouth hanging agape, and his brows pinched tight in pure, itchy suffering. The tissue sits uselessly between his fingers, fluttering as each hitching breath catches its surface.

After what feels like ages, Jayce sucks in a shaky breath, “hhHHHihHh-” before he finally snaps forwards, “hh’HGZZSCHhtCHhuh!” and a second follows right on its heels, “hhRRZZSCHhh-uh!”

He stays there, bent at the waist and keeping the soaked tissue pressed to his nose as he sniffles experimentally, letting out a breath of relief as the itch dies down.

“Gezundheit,” Viktor murmurs breathlessly from beside Jayce, watching as Jayce holds the mess of a tissue to the base of his nose.

“Thangks,” Jayce rasps in response, doing his best to wipe his nose and snuffle back the moisture threatening to drip from the appendage, “Sorry… thad was preddy gross.”

He cringes at just how congested his voice is. He desperately needs to blow his nose, but he only has two tissues left and there’s no way in hell he’s using them now. They’ve barely been stuck in the elevator for five minutes, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll start moving again any time soon. The tissue he’s currently holding has lost all structural integrity, and he resigns himself to shoving it into his pocket along with the other.

“It’s fine,” Viktor dismisses simply, “you’re sick.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. Jayce had tested for the flu and strep just to be safe, and both tests had come up negative, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Whatever cold he’s managed to catch is doing a number on him.

“Yeah, budt thad was excebtionally–,” his breath stutters out of nowhere, catching him by surprise and barely giving him enough time to half-cover with a hand before, “Hh’DTSSZCHhgh’uhh!”

Despite his best efforts, some of the spray makes it past his broad hand, glinting in the luminescent light before falling lamely onto his lap. He snorts back as much mess as he can, certain that Viktor is getting a full on view of the most humiliating moment he’d experienced in years. His palm glistens with moisture, uncomfortably wet and probably less sanitary than the floor of a New York subway.

Jayce groans softly under his breath, his chest twisting in embarrassment as he weighs the pros and cons of using his second-to-last tissue. He lowers his dripping hand, fishing in his pocket for another tissue as he admits defeat. He’s absolutely fucked.

After taking a minute to clean himself up, Jayce resigns himself to apologize again, sounding a bit like a broken record at this point – sneeze, apology, sneeze, apology, and so on.

“I’mb so sorry,” he mutters, his voice even thicker with congestion now, “Thadt was… I swear, I’mb usually a lod less digdusting thand this…” He doesn’t dare look up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, instead dabbing his nose with the sodden excuse of a tissue held in his hand.

“I’m sure you are,” Viktor replies, almost sounding amused by Jayce’s predicament. Jayce can’t even begin to fathom why Viktor isn’t entirely disgusted by him, especially when they’re trapped in such a small, confined space.

Viktor breaks the silence with a blunt, but not unkind suggestion, “You should blow your nose.”

Usually, if anyone had suggested that to him, Jayce might feel like a child, but something about Viktor makes him appreciate the comment slightly. It’s obviously not coming from a place of judgement, but rather much needed advice (Jayce doesn’t even notice that his nose has begun to run over his upper lip again, but Viktor has a clear view of it).

The sick man gives a pitiful laugh, which turns into a short bout of coughing, before admitting, “I only have two tissues lefd… and I clearly need themb. I don’d wanna -sNNFf- use themb yet in case we’re stugk here for hours.”

“That is… an optimistic estimate, is it not?” Viktor replies simply, casting a doubtful glance at Jayce, knowing the tissues won’t last another five minutes. Again, he’s not rude, but upfront. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in dancing around the subject of Jayce’s illness.

Jayce tries to come up with a response as his ears burn bright pink again, but he’s interrupted as Viktor shifts, reaching into his coat pocket. There’s a quiet ruffling of fabric before Viktor wordlessly extends his hand, holding a neatly folded dark-gray handkerchief. Its edges are soft with wear, but it appears to be well maintained.

Jayce blinks, “Waidt… seriously?” He’s always surprised when people extend small kindnesses to him, despite Caitlyn reassuring him that he’s just as deserving of them as anyone else.

“Well,” Viktor finally meets his eyes, “You seem to need it more than I do.”

When Jayce hesitates to accept the fabric, Viktor adds, “I wash it frequently. It’s clean.” It’s a simple gesture, small and likely insignificant, but it unspools something knotted in Jayce’s chest.

He grins, enough as to wear Viktor can see his tooth-gap and dimples, and says, “thangk you, really. I owe you one.”

Viktor shrugs, politely averting his gaze as Jayce wipes his nose with the cloth, “technically, I owed you for the tea. We’re even.”

Jayce settles for nodding in response, unfolding the handkerchief and wiping at the moisture clinging to his septum again. No matter how much he tends to the appendage, it seems intent on running. Thankfully, the fabric of the handkerchief is soft, but it still does little to soothe his raw, irritated nose.

Jayce glances down at the cloth in his hands, folding it carefully along the seams out of habit. He usually carries a handkerchief, especially when he’s sick, but he’d managed to soil all of his in the past two days since catching this cold. It’s not like he’s been in any condition to do laundry, so he’s been surviving off of whatever half-empty tissue packs he could find around his place.

Jayce’s breath suddenly catches mid-thought, his chest swelling with a loud hitch, “hhHh’h–” and he tents the handkerchief over his nose just before he shudders forwards with a poorly muffled, “hhH’HMPDTSCSHHuhh!”

He doesn’t have time to mutter another apology; the elevator lurches, stuttering down a few inches before there’s a mechanical whirring. The two men stay perfectly still, Jayce’s hands still holding the handkerchief over his nose. The whirring continues, but the elevator doesn’t move, for better or for worse. Jayce wipes his nose against the dark-gray hankie and snuffles once the coast seems clear.

“If we’re going to die in an elevator, you might as well blow your nose first,” Viktor suggests again.

Jayce can’t decide whether to laugh or panic at Viktor’s comment, so he just settles for swallowing his pride and blowing his nose. It sounds pathetically clogged, but it allows some of the congestion in his sinuses to shift, giving him a moment of relief.

A very, very short lived moment of relief.

His nose twitches, the sensitive appendage downright revolting at the congestion having moved, and Jayce barely has time to cup the handkerchief over his nose again before his breath catches, “hhHh!”

“hhhHHR’DZSSHh’CHhgh!!”

The sneeze bursts out with a damp, desperate force, caught into the folds of the hankie, which is quickly becoming wet from overuse. Jayce draws another uneven, desperate breath, another sneeze already building, “hhHHhh’ihhh… hh’DZGXTshhhuhh!! Huh’GXSSHHhhuhf!!”

The second part of the double takes him completely by surprise, leaving him breathless. A quiet groan slips out before he can stop himself, and despite his breath hitching again, he mutters, “Hh’uhh… fuhhck– I’mb–I’mb s–hhhhhuhhh… sorhhh.”

His voice trails off, his eyes fully closed as his breath hitches in uneven, pitiful gasps, “hehh–hhHHHHuhhh… hhh-” his head tilts back, his adams apple bobbing with each desperate breath, “hh’DdZZSSCHHguhh!!”

Jayce can’t remember the last time he’s sneezed like that, and it takes him a second to catch his breath. He winces as he swallows, his throat aching as a result of the fit. Despite the handkerchief having caught all of the mess, Jayce is still beyond mortified. If he had thought he had no chance with Viktor before, he sure as hell doesn’t now.

He sits there, stewing in his embarrassment as he blows his nose as quietly as possible. Once he’s cleaned himself up, Viktor offers a “bless you. Again.”

“Sorry… againd,” Jayce replies, trying to offer Viktor an awkward grin, but it ends up as more of a grimace, “I shouldn’d habve lefd mby apardmend today, bud -snNFf- I had to tagke an exam and… and you don’d ndeed to know this… Sorry.”

Viktor shrugs, once again playing with the loose string on his sleeve as he dismisses the apology, “You said that already. Several times.”

Jayce feels a bit of the anxiety sitting in his chest dissipate, and he nods a little. He’s generally talkative, and he tends to ramble when he’s anxious, but it doesn’t seem like Viktor minds all that much.

He rubs the nape of his neck, noting the way his skin seems to radiate feverish heat, trying to change the subject away from his incessant apologies, “So.. you jusd moved in a few weegks ago?”

Viktor nods, shifting his position once again, wincing ever so slightly with the movement, “Yes. Almost a month ago now. This complex is much closer to my university’s campus than my previous one,” he explains conversationally. If it was anyone else, he’d probably ignore any attempt at smalltalk, but Jayce is… an exception to that.

“Universidy?” Jayce asks, perking up a little, “Where do you go?”

“Piltover Technological Institute,” Viktor answers, glancing at Jayce and noting his smile. How someone so sick still manages to smile like that is beyond him, “I take it you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah!” Jayce’s voice catches in his throat, a bit too enthusiastic and forcing him to cough into his elbow. After taking a second to catch his breath, he continues, “I’mb a junior there. I’mb sdudying engineering with a fogcus on Aerospace engineehhring … hhh- and thhihhermo–” he blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring outwards as his breath starts to catch, “thermodynamihhHihcs–” he barely manages to stutter through the word before, ““hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

Luckily, he covers the sneeze with the handkerchief, catching the splurge of mess and muffling the sound as best he can, “Ugh, sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor interrupts him, waving his hand dismissively and leaning back against the elevator wall again, “it’s rather redundant at this point.”

Jayce swallows, nodding and trying to ignore the growing fondness in his chest. Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by him, or irritated with his ramblings and blunders – maybe his chance at becoming closer with his neighbor isn’t completely blown.

“Right. So uhmb, whadt are you studying?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going, if anything just so he can hear Viktor’s voice. He wants to ask where the other man is from, he assumes somewhere in Russia, but there’s an aspect of Vitkor’s accent that he can’t quite place.

“Chemical engineering and biotechnology, though I prefer the ladder. It has more opportunity for innovation,” even from the simple response, Jayce can tell that Viktor’s passionate about the subject. He has subtle, but noticeable mannerisms that give his interest away – a slight upturn of his eyebrows, a glimpse of smile lines along his cheeks, a little shift in his posture, as if he’s drawn in by the topic.

“So you’re – sNDDFf’gh – inderesded in STEM?” Jayce’s question is dulled by congestion, but sounds excited nonetheless, “we habve thad in common.”

He’s forced to press the handkerchief against his septum again, wiping away a bit of moisture that was threatening to drip over his upper lip. He tries to find a relatively dry section of the cloth to clean himself up, though most of it is already sodden.

Viktor nods in response to Jayce, “We do,” he agrees as he looks over at the sick man again, “so Aerospace engineering, this is what you want to have an occupation in?” he asks. Jayce grins at the way he phrased the question. His grammar isn’t wrong by any means, but after growing up in Piltover Jayce had become well accustomed to the “speaking-norms” – norms which Viktor seems unaccustomed or uninterested in.

“Yeah, I thignk so ad leasd. It’s the mosd realistigk field I can go into,” he pauses, swiping his wrist against his septum, “budt we’ll see. I always wandted to be an invendtor.”

Why exactly Jayce is telling Viktor he wanted to be an inventor, he’s not entirely sure, but once it comes out of his mouth, he realizes just how childish it sounds. He opens his mouth to try and say something, anything that makes him sound like a functioning adult when Viktor notes, “me too.”

“Really?” Jayce’s surprise must be written all over his face because he earns a little laugh from Viktor, making his chest flutter.

“Yes, really.” Viktor sits up straighter, correctly his posture with a quiet, concealed breath of discomfort before continuing, “Biotech is very interesting, but I would like to have my own lab. Unrestricted research, without the guidelines and paperwork.”

Jayce grins, finding Viktor’s evident dislike of paperwork amusing.

“I mean it is useless. Why waste time with regulations?” he continues, his accent a bit thicker as he grows more comfortable around Jayce. In an attempt to impress Viktor, Jayce desperately tries to remember a quote he’d read from one of his coursebooks. His fever-addled brain takes a moment to piece it together; he knows it’s from Iven Maren, one of the founders of the Piltover Institute for Radical Inquiry (PIRI).

Something about disobeying rules… science knows no limits. It's from Maren’s most recently published book; he tries to remember the page he’d read it on, vaguely picturing the image of the founder beside the quote.

“You kdow, Iven Maren said that “science isn’t meant to be polite, or convenient. It’s meant to – hhhh –” his breath hitches, but he tries to continue, “to ask the hHihh– thhhheh– hh’DZSSCHhhuh!!” He catches the sneeze against his wrist, keeping it held there as he stubbornly keeps talking, “the questhhhions – hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!”

The second one is considerably messier, and he keeps his wrist pressed against his septum to contain the mess. The fabric of his sleeve dampens, clinging unpleasantly to his skin as he fumbles to grab the handkerchief off his lap and clean himself up. He gives a wet little groan in the back of his throat, blushing crimson once again.

“I do not think he said that,” Viktor teases, his tone dry, “bless you,” he adds, his lips curling into a grin. Despite his blushing embarrassment, Jayce laughs, feeling a sense of comfort at Viktor’s teasing, “thangks.”

After a moment, Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, “it’s meant to ask the questions no one wants answered, especially the ones that threaten the rules.” He finishes Jayce’s quote with ease, grinning at Jayce’s impressed expression.

“You’ve read Theoredical Pathways ind Modern Engineering?” Jayce asks excitedly, his tooth gap once again making an appearance as he smiles.

“Who hasn’t?”

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of them talk about the various texts they’ve recently read. Jayce does most of the yapping despite the aching in his throat, but he can’t help it. His wallowing misery over being so sick is temporarily put on hold, replaced with an opportunity to talk about his interests. Viktor is equally as engaged in the conversation, noticing when Jayce wears out his voice and taking it as a cue to talk more so the sick man can rest his throat for a moment.

Jayce listens intently whenever Viktor speaks, making a mental note of every new thing he learns about him: he prefers natural sciences over mechanical engineering, he recently conducted an experiment with the aid of a professor, he’d like to design his own experiment in the future… and there there are things like the fact that his eyes have little golden specks throughout them, making them change color ever so slightly as the lights flicker. Or that his hands absentmindedly play with the bit of threat hanging from his sweater sleeve, twisting it just enough as to where it won’t fall off.

His internal observations are interrupted as he feels the itch in his nose return, interrupting Viktor with a sudden, “hhhHHuh–”

Viktor pauses, recognizing the sound and knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Despite it being rather obvious, Jayce insists on stuttering out, “shhsorry I’mb gonnahhh… hHHHh snhhehH– sneeze– hhH’RRSZSCHhhuh!! hhhK’TSSCHhh’uhgh!!”

The expulsions come back to back, spraying the already sodden handkerchief and leaving Jayce a little breathless. “Whew,” he exclaims quietly,

“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor murmurs, the Russian blessing slipping out without him fully intending.

i know it ends suddenly, but there will be more!! if anyone has any ideas/requests for the second part feel free to send me a message or DM :) i plan on keeping them trapped in the elevator for quite some time... sorry J/ayce...

as always, any comments or tags are so so so appreciated!! thank you to anyone who read it, i'm doing my best to spread the j/ayvik agenda

#sneeze kink #snzblr #sneezefucker #sneeze blog #sneeze scenario #sneezefic #sneeze thoughts #snzcane #snz kink #snzfics #silent writes sneeze

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slackerlifewhere · 1 year ago

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The subtlety of Cale Henituse

SPOILERS for those who haven't finished the first part of the novel. If you don't like spoilers, please don't continue. Thanks!

- This is kind of a review about the novel but it's basically my analysis of Cale/KRS.

___

For someone who has trust issues with people, I first had an initial distrust with Cale Henituse/Kim Rok Soo as a reader.

I think it's because of how he was first introduced.

As a first-time reader of the novel back then, Cale/KRS was introduced as a very indifferent person. He was calm at the face of a sudden transmigration and acted like nothing could surprise him (aside from Ron and Choi Han). And of course, like anyone who was fooled, I also thought that he was selfish. He's not the trash that he thinks he is but he's selfish and I didn't place my full trust in him because I still didn't know him yet. And I like it that way. The author kept me on my toes and didn't force fed me a truckload of information about Kim Rok Soo.

Like I said in my previous post, he didn't actually give us his whole introduction. He left a few crumbs here and there that told us he didn't have a great childhood but it wasn't enough for me to build an image of him in my head. There were still some blanks and question marks about Kim Rok Soo.

Sure, there were moments when he gave a bigger tip to someone without blinking an eye and acting all smug about it but I really just thought that he was happy because he's finally rich. Or when he was being so polite and gentlemanly in front of an old man that Venion was disgusted with and then later on went back to being indifferent and I thought it was just him being extra petty and angry (which he was) at Venion for being an asshole. He's very quick to change from smug to indifference and it made me switch back and forth on how I see him as a person.

Yeah, you need to read between the lines when reading this novel.

[side note: Actually, If I remember correctly, I thought that I wouldn't like his character because I find it weird when MCs in KR manhwa and novels easily shrug off the isekai bullshit they're in. The influence of KR manhwa on me affected my opinion about him and it shows.]

So when he first met the kittens and Choi Han, I was reading it with the feeling of "Run away, guys! Run while you still can!" lingering at the back of my mind. He was nice to them, as much as he could with random strangers he just met, but he's very distant with them.

Another thing about him that makes it harder to understand him is because he's always distant with people. He relies on them and helps them but he's always at arms-length when dealing with them. This, if you didn't think of or was reminded of his thoughts about his abuse and pity, simply makes him look indifferent.

Before I continue, I don't like tsundere characters. I absolutely find them cringe and sometimes, I just wanna bash my head when they blush at the bs they're spouting at someone they like.

Because that's the thing with Cale. He is a tsundere. He says one thing and does the opposite. And he's so in denial about it which makes it more hilarious and sad.

He's subtle about it at first. He didn't even give me the vibe that he's more complex than what he shows because he's so quick to disprove my sudden epiphany that there's something deeper than what he's showing. He's so good at hiding his emotions EVEN WHEN I'M READING HIS POV.

This bastard is so in denial about himself that he fooled me so bad! I think I only realized it when he saved Raon but even then, there were still some doubts about his character. I liked his words to Raon and thought about how kind he is for giving the dragon the freedom of choice but because he later thinks of making Raon do things for him, it shook my trust in him just a little bit. Just a little, I promise.

...Maybe I just have major trust issues.

Taylor Stan

The weirdest thing to me that actually snapped me from my doubts that he's actually a kind person is oddly enough, because of Taylor Stan.

Remember when Taylor and Cage suddenly arrived at the area they were camping in and he finally talked to Taylor face to face? Yeah, he was indifferent there but it's when his tsundere traits actually exploded at my face.

He, while trying to hide from everyone, told them to give Taylor and Cage the best care and protection as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Mind you, they don't even actually know him aside from OG Cale's reputation as trash. And he also technically isn't supposed to know them because, in the duo's POV, this is their first time meeting him so he didn't have to help or care for them.

He basically acted as if what he was doing was bad in their eyes but in reality, it's not???

He's just helping them and he's in denial about it? He's genuinely being a kind person and he thinks he's trash?

He later gives them money (and acts cool about it) and helps with smuggling (lmao) them to the Roan Kingdom so they can arrive there safely and he thinks he's trash???

He gave this man hope to finally heal himself and fight against his brother and he thinks he's trash?????

Seriously?

Self-hatred

It's why whenever he calls himself trash, I shake my head because it's amusing but I also want to cry because, as I go further into the novel, he fully believes that he's actually trash.

I don't know if this is ever talked about but Cale is hiding a huge self-hatred about himself.

Cale pointed to himself with his index finger.

“I have lived my life as trash. That is my dream.”

- Chapter 33: You

At first, when he called himself trash, I thought it was because his soul is in OG Cale's body and thus, he inherited the title and uses it to cause chaos. It's a part of the reason why but, if I think about it, he doesn't have to call himself that??? He can still cause chaos without using that title.

It's why I think he fully believes it. That he's trash.

I didn't understand back then and thought it was just him loving the title and the chaos that comes along with it.

Him and his smirks or "selfish" ideals made it seem like he's fully embraced the title and liked it that way.

And the way the author hides a deeper meaning behind his words and actions is by making it feel humorous or comical. The author makes it feel extra.

We laugh and find it amusing because it's chaotic. The secrets behind those wild ideas and explosive destruction are brilliant and subtle.

It's why I fully believed back then, that it's a simple story about a man who just wants to cause mischief in a strange world.

And then...his past as Kim Rok Soo is finally revealed by the author.

And it suddenly turns all this humor about himself into a freaking tragedy.

Kim Rok Soo is a tragic character. He's a person who has lost far too much and can only react in indifference even when he's hurting. He's cold in another person's perspective because he doesn't cry when in front of those he lost.

He hates himself for something he couldn't control. He hates himself for being weak. He hates himself for a lot of things. And he hates the scars Kim Rok Soo has because they're the reminder of all his failures and all his sacrifices that only ended up with making him alone. Like he will always be alone. (Which makes his distant personality in the beginning make sense too wtf)

So he takes in their words of him being cruel enough not to cry in a funeral of his friends and fully believes it.

He believes, as Kim Rok Soo and Cale Henituse, that he's trash.

And it absolutely made me cry like a kid when he, as he woke up surrounded by those he befriended and could call family, finally cries with a smile.

This is the first time they and us readers see him cry and smile and it's just heartbreaking.

The whole lead up to this reveal was me seeing him as a tsundere and a freaking crazy bastard that utters "slacker life" like it's comic relief.

It's completely unexpected and I love it.

Because him crying and smiling for the first time is him finally shedding his shields and walls from these people who see him as a kind person.

Cale Henituse, for all his masks and secrets, is just a broken but endlessly kind person.

It's why those who meet him, trust him. His actions are a big reason why they trust him but his words, when it feels hopeless, are eye-opening and full of wisdom of a 36 year old man. He's straightforward in front of those he trusts and tells them something that flips over everything they think about the current situation. And he says it with the experience of Kim Rok Soo.

I believe the only times he lies to them is when he was given the thing that he was gonna use to stab himself and also when he hides his identity as Kim Rok Soo. There's actually a hint of his guilt sometimes...or maybe I'm just thinking too much about it.

Anyways, that's all my thoughts for now.

This subtle bastard made me cry, damn it.

___

That one scene of him crying and smiling is etched in my mind and was reminded of it when I recently saw a fanart. So I decided to write about my feelings about his character and personality.

It's not a mindblowing post or anything new and it goes from humor to angst pretty fast but I think it's just like him. If you analyze his words in one way, it's just hilarious but if you analyze it in another way, it's sad.

I like how the author wrote him. He's a crazy bastard and a tsundere (the only tsundere I'll ever like) and I'm so glad I found this novel.

#tcf #tcf cale #tcf novel #tcf manhwa #tcf spoilers #tcf cale henituse #lcf cale #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #lcf manhwa #lcf #lcf novel #tcf taylor #lcf taylor #tcf taylor stan #tcf choi han #tcf raon #raon miru

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titania-sleeps · 8 months ago

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pleaseeee give me more human bloodbag yan x vampire reader :(( i love their angst

i was gonna post this yesterday but i fell asleep before i pressed post anyway i'm glad you enjoy it!! i wasn't sure how many people would like angst with their smut but it's one of my favorite flavors >:3

Like Dust (Sub!Bloodbag!Human!Yandere x Vampire!Reader)

more works featuring Dion: Dion Introduction, Wild Roses and Hawthorns

warning: nsfw, masturbation, messy feelings, minors DNI pls

Dion's day proceeds as normal. He greets you and the sun early in the morning, pushing the curtains aside and allowing the rays of sunshine to fall upon your form. When you awaken, every brush of his skin on your bare skin lingers for more than a second. He dresses you and you leave him for the remainder of the day.

When you are gone, he stands in your room for minutes. Minutes that turn into hours, and then he's suddenly on your sheets, his cheek pressing onto the silk of your pillowcase. Your pillow smells just like the locks of your hair he dreams of placing gentle kisses onto. He closes his eyes and inhales, your warm scent wrapping itself around him.

When he opens his eyes a second later, his breath shakes, and his hand trembles. His fingers trace the lace on your pillowcase, eyes lidded and pondering. If he were another vampire, perhaps you would take him along with you on all your trips. No, but if he were another vampire, you wouldn't feast on him as you do now.

He closes his eyes again, hand trailing down to his stomach, and then a little more. As his hand lazily sneaks its way beneath his waistband, he stifles a soft moan. Perhaps it is because he is surrounded by everything that belongs to you, but when he blinks, he sees a hazy blur that resembles your silhouette.

Dropping his free hand to cover his eyes, he opens his mouth and lets out an unfiltered cackle. Oh, how pitiful he is... like a lonely rabbit abandoned by its owner, hallucinating the presence of its master. He grabs his member with his hand, gripping it tightly.

At this moment, he can't help but let himself imagine the unforgivable. The thought that, in this very room, it could be you and him in this bed instead of him alone, and your hands on him instead of his own. What would your touch feel like? Maybe you'd be gentle with him, a graceful smile on your countenance as you bring him to the pinnacle of his pleasure. Or maybe you'd be like a blessing from the hells, skillfully bringing him to the edge only to push him back into his abyss of yearning and endless wanting.

His hand begins to move before he is conscious of it. It strokes lightly up his length first and he chokes back a licentious groan. He is blinking and in every empty moment, he forms you in his mind. His hand is your hand, and suddenly it's you that is caressing him so harshly, so softly.

"Ngh... Ah..." he whimpers, as the pace of his hand quickens in his underwear.

You are there, ever so clear, your cold demeanor clashing with the ghost of a loving smile dancing on your lips. You're so cruel; he knows that you do not hate him, so why do you act so distant? He can convince you that what he feels isn't a byproduct of some mystical vampiric bonding. So please, just give him a chance to prove to you that he is full and genuine in his emotions for you. If you'd let him, he would bring all that is golden to your feet. He would eliminate all silver in the world for a simple, fleeting glance of acknowledgment.

His hips buck into his hand and he gasps, saliva pooling on your pillowcase and precum leaking onto your pristine sheets. He pauses only for a moment and then giggles escape his throat. He wishes you were here to admonish him for his greediness. Perhaps you would give him a slap to his cheek, letting it blossom in red, and then bite him to punish him for his wrongdoings. Just the thought has him whining.

In a swift movement motivated by desperation, he foregoes his pants and presses his bare cock against the cotton of your bedding. This bed has touched your bare skin; it has enveloped your vessel with its meager softness. He clutches the sheets in his hand, bringing them to his nose as he grinds against them.

Dion moans, his hips uncontrollable and his will unwavering. Your name slips out his mouth several times, but he doesn't correct himself. In this room, there is only him and your presence. When he moans your name, he dedicates every syllable to you, his eternal master. He thrusts into the sheets, his mind dreamily trailing to the thought of being wrapped in your warmth. He doesn't dare to explore the possibility for too long, however, because he loves you too dearly to bastardize the vision of you. But he can't help himself to just imagine... imagine for just another second what it would be like if you were caressing him with your body. If, instead of pleading for you, his skin can talk to your skin, and your mouths can kiss and bite in unison.

The air is thick with the scent of his sweat and your natural perfume, and he's staining the sheets with his audacity. With every precise thrust, he begs for you to return. Should you catch him at this very moment, you would surely be livid. And that anger is what he wishes to embrace with his naked form; every bruise, every puncture will be another trophy on his battle-worn body.

His breath hitches as he feels a familiar rush from the base of his cock rising to meet the tip. His nails dig into your bedsheets and his back arches. Closing his eyes, savoring the moment, he releases onto your pillow. He's shaking and quivering, bringing the pillow closer to softly grind onto it as he rides his climax out. He can only think of you, you, you, you. Your scent and his fluids mixing on the pillow, your sheets sullied by his immodesty, your eyes piercing into his guilty appearance.

And as though he were prophetic, he hears your footsteps outside your room, and the doorknob twists.

back to the kinktober grind, adonis and sea spirit are next on my to do list tho

-> masterlist

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norixseaweed · 2 months ago

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Between Rooms: Chapter 2 - Seunghwa

Title: Between RoomsRating: 18+ NSFW (MDNI) Characters: Seunghwa , Female Reader/You Contains: sensory play, blind folding, hand tying Masterlist Previous Chapter - Next Chapter Synopsis: Eight men. One house. And you, right in the middle of it. What started as a lucky break, an affordable room in a cozy mansion, quickly turned into something else entirely. You didn’t expect to bond with them so easily. You definitely didn’t expect the tension. Or the teasing glances. Or the way they touched you when no one else was around. this is a roommate AU A/N: PLEASE make sure to read the introduction on the masterlist first!!! Feel free to let me know what you think. Also I realized my Jongho chapter was too short so I tried to make this one longer! A/n 2: Let me know if I should do a tag list for one when I post a new chapter!

It was nearing 11PM when you padded softly through the dimly lit hallway, headed toward the kitchen for a late-night snack. As you passed by the familiar stretch of rooms, a soft glow caught your eye, the thin line of warm light leaking out from beneath Seonghwa’s office door.

Working late again.

It wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was routine. When Seonghwa was locked into a creative flow, he often lost track of time and almost always forgot to eat.

You grabbed a tray and began assembling something quick. A few frozen corn dogs went into the microwave, followed by a couple snack packs and two glasses of juice. You didn’t overthink it. This had become its own quiet ritual, checking in on him when the house was still and everyone else was winding down.

Tray in hand, you made your way back down the hall and gently knocked on the door with your foot.

“Come in!” came his voice steady, composed, but just a touch distracted.

“My hands are full,” you called back. “Can you get the door?”

A moment later, the handle turned and the door creaked open. Seonghwa greeted you with a faint smile and stepped aside to let you in.

“What’s all that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Late-night snack,” you said simply, moving to place the tray on the small coffee table in the corner of the room.

His office had a distinct Seonghwa air to it. Clean, curated, and stylish. On one side sat his dark wood desk, neatly arranged with sketchbooks, fabric swatches, and a softly glowing task lamp. Behind it, a tall shelf lined with books, design journals, and carefully labeled boxes. Across from the desk, a low leather sofa and the coffee table made the space feel warmer, more lived in.

The other side of the room was more chaotic, but still precise. Mannequins dressed in works-in-progress, a standing mirror with pins still stuck into the fabric, spools of thread organized by color on the wall. His designer’s corner. Creative energy hummed in the air.

“You didn’t have to bring all this,” he said gently, though his eyes flicked over the tray with clear appreciation.

“I figured you wouldn’t remember to eat otherwise.”

He exhaled softly through his nose. Half laugh, half surrender.

“You’re probably right.”

He sat down beside you on the sofa, reaching for a corn dog and taking a bite without hesitation.

You leaned back against the cushions, watching him chew. “Already working on something new? What happened to the last project?”

“Tossed it,” he said flatly, like it didn’t matter. Another bite followed.

Your brows pulled together. “Seriously? Why? I liked that one, it was beautiful.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It was fine. But fine isn’t enough.”

You huffed. “You say that about everything you make. At this rate, you’re going to have a closet full of ‘not enough’.”

He glanced at you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I’d rather trash something than send it out into the world half-satisfied.”

You shook your head, picking up a juice glass. “Perfectionist.”

“I prefer detail-oriented.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Sure. Let me know when you start sleeping regularly again.”

He leaned back against the sofa, the angle of his body just slightly tilted toward you now. “I don’t need sleep when I have snacks hand-delivered to me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re lucky I like feeding people who forget to eat.”

His gaze lingered on your face a second too long, long enough to make you pause.

You caught it, just barely, the way his eyes flicked down. From your lips…to your neck…then back up.

It was subtle. So quick it could’ve meant nothing. But it left something warm curling low in your stomach.

You didn’t say anything. And neither did he.

Instead, he turned back to the tray and reached for another snack, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just looked at you like that.

Like you hadn’t noticed.

But you had.

“Actually,” he said, setting the snack down, “I’m glad you stopped by. I think I need to see this one on an actual person.”

He turned his attention back to you. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

You gave a small nod, not needing much convincing. “Sure.”

Seonghwa’s smile was soft, but there was something else behind it, something unreadable. He rose from the couch and moved to the mannequin, carefully unfastening the garment with practiced ease. You stood and walked over as he held it out for you, the fabric draping elegantly over his arms.

You took the dress from him, and without another word, he quietly stepped out of the room to give you privacy.

The fabric felt cool and silky against your skin as you slipped it on. The dress was short, ending mid-thigh, with a flowing, asymmetrical hem that moved softly when you shifted your weight. One side clung slightly more to your curves, while the other dipped lower and hung freer.

What made it striking, though, was the open panel that ran along your left side. From just under your arm down to your hip, the dress was cut away, revealing the soft curve of your waist and a teasing glimpse of skin. A single delicate strap held the fabric together near the top, leaving the rest exposed in a sleek, elegant line.

You adjusted the fit, smoothing your hands down your hips as you turned slightly in front of the mirror.

The dress looked beautiful. It hugged your body in all the right places, but it was a little loose. The open side, while intentional, gaped more than expected when you moved. The top strap shifted slightly, not quite sitting the way it was meant to. Elegant, but unfinished.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Can I come in?” Seonghwa asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Yeah.”

He stepped in and paused. His gaze moved over you slowly, studying the dress with that familiar critical eye. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked over, thoughtful.

“It’s too loose around the waist,” he said.

“I thought so too.”

He circled behind you, adjusting the fabric at your hip. His fingers brushed along your side, then moved up to test the tension at the strap near your shoulder. You felt the weight of each movement, measured, focused, but still so close to your skin.

“It’s the open cut,” he murmured. “It works when you’re standing still, but as soon as you move, the balance shifts.”

He didn’t sound frustrated, just analytical. His hands moved with practiced ease, tugging slightly, smoothing out a fold, then pressing the fabric more snugly against your waist. His fingers lingered where the fabric ended and skin began.

“I can pin it,” he said, glancing toward the table. “Just want to test how it’s meant to fall.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He returned with a pin cushion, then stepped in even closer. You felt his breath at your shoulder as he worked. The space between you had grown impossibly small.

He gathered the loose edge, folding it gently as his knuckles grazed your ribs. Every touch was focused on the dress, but you could feel something else under the surface. The way he held his breath. The way he looked at the place where skin met fabric.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath at your neck.

You didn’t.

His fingers worked slowly, pinning the fabric with care, but the focus had shifted. He wasn’t just adjusting the dress anymore. The pads of his fingers dragged lightly over your bare side, lingering longer than they needed to. His touch dipped just a little lower, grazing the dip of your waist.

He didn’t look at what he was doing. He was looking at you.

You felt it, his stare trailing over your cheek, then your lips, then lower. His gaze burned where it landed, and suddenly the silence between you felt like a held breath, waiting to snap.

His hand settled flat against your side.

Still.

Intentional.

“If I touch you again…” his voice dropped, darker now. “I won’t stop.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, barely there, but enough to make your knees tighten.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You’d always felt like there was something unspoken between the two of you.

Over time, you started to notice the little things, subtle details that never felt accidental. The way Seonghwa’s hand would linger just a beat too long when he adjusted a necklace or smoothed a wrinkle in your sleeve. How his fingers would graze your skin under the guise of fixing something, precise yet gentle. The way his eyes would drop to your lips mid-conversation, not in an obvious, hungry way, but with quiet curiosity. Like he was thinking about something he’d never say out loud.

You caught him watching you more than once. Not in any blatant or inappropriate way. Just...observing. Like he was studying something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And you weren’t innocent in it either.

There were moments when you caught yourself staring, a little too long, at his hands as he worked, how precise and careful they were. Or when he was dressed a little too well, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, skin at his neck soft and distracting. You’d bitten your lip and looked away more times than you cared to admit.

Worse were the nights you’d fantasized about him, quietly, guiltily. Thoughts that slipped into your head when you were alone in bed, half-asleep and craving something...more. You’d picture the way his voice might sound in your ear, the way his hands might feel if he stopped holding back. You never let yourself linger too long on those thoughts. But they were there.

You’d always kept it controlled. Silent. Respectful. Just like he had.

But then came that night.

The two of you had watched Fifty Shades of Grey on a whim. A bored evening turned conversation starter. What followed had been surprisingly open, an honest and mature discussion about BDSM, limits, preferences. What intrigued you. What didn’t. What you hadn’t yet tried.

There were no smirks. No teasing. Just quiet, thoughtful words in dim lighting. Like neither of you wanted to risk breaking the stillness between you.

But something shifted that night.

After that, the space between you felt charged. His glances felt heavier. Your awareness of him sharpened. And the tension… the tension became constant.

A pull. A silence that waited.

And tonight, in the warmth of his studio, as his hand settled on your waist and his voice dropped lower...

You realized it had never just been in your head.

You looked up at him, and this time, you didn’t look away.

His gaze met yours. Steady. Searching.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt too still, too thick, like something about to tip over.

His hand didn’t leave your waist. If anything, it pressed a little more firmly against your skin.

His eyes stayed locked on yours.

He was waiting for an answer, but truthfully? He couldn't resist anymore. Not with the way you were looking at him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere in your throat, pupils blown with need.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his right hand slid upward, fingers gliding slowly along your neck. The warmth of his touch made you shiver, and when his hand cupped your jaw, you felt your knees threaten to give way.

Then his lips met yours.

It was slow at first, soft, tentative. Like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. You kissed him back, breath catching as if you’d been holding it for far too long. His grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you in place as the kiss deepened. What started gentle became something more, a quiet unraveling between you both.

Your fingers curled into the collar of his crisp white dress shirt, pulling him closer, trying to close what little space remained. The fabric shifted under your touch, warm from his body heat.

Seonghwa pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering close enough that you could still taste him. His breath was steady but deliberate, eyes heavy-lidded as he studied your face.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. Not right away. The silence said enough, but you still gave him more.

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “What if I don’t?”

Your voice came out low, almost a whisper. It wasn’t really a question. It was a challenge.

His expression shifted instantly. His gaze darkened. The grip on your jaw tightened.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like he was claiming something he’d waited too long to touch. Your mouths moved in sync, your body responding instinctively. When his tongue pushed past your lips, you welcomed it, meeting him with equal need. A soft moan escaped your throat as you rose onto your toes, desperate to stay connected.

Again, he pulled away, but not far. His forehead pressed against yours, and his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to make you my toy for a while now.”

The words sent a pulse between your legs, and you bit your bottom lip, your gaze glassy with lust.

“Of course,” he added, voice softer now, “only if you’re okay with that. Do you want that?”

You nodded quickly.

“I need to hear you say it, love.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I want you to make me your toy.”

It came out more eager than you intended. He smiled.

“Good.”

He reached for the hem of your dress. “Let’s get you out of this.”

With gentle hands, he helped you undress, peeling the garment from your body and letting it fall aside. You stood in nothing but your underwear, bare-chested, though that wasn’t unusual for you at home.

Seonghwa walked the dress over to the mannequin, smoothing it neatly into place. Then he reached for something on the table. A silk scarf.

You watched as he folded it carefully, his expression calm, focused.

He stepped toward you and brought the scarf to your eyes. His hands moved slowly as he tied it around your head and secured the knot behind.

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I use the traffic light system,” you replied, steady despite the way your heartbeat picked up. “Red, yellow, green.”

Seonghwa hummed in approval.

You felt his hands glide down your arms, soft and unhurried, until his fingers laced with yours. He guided you gently across the room, and you followed without hesitation. You trusted him. You always had. He’d never given you a reason not to.

When he stopped, so did you.

You heard the faint sound of papers being moved. Then drawers opening and closing. His presence disappeared briefly, then returned just as suddenly. His hands were at your hips again, warm and firm, guiding you back until the backs of your thighs hit a flat surface.

The edge of his desk.

You let out a soft breath just before he lifted you effortlessly onto it.

Then came the warmth of his breath against your neck. The heat of it made you shiver again, skin prickling as anticipation danced down your spine. His lips hovered there, brushing lightly, teasing without touching. You squirmed, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

His hands slid up your thighs, bare, sensitive, his fingers tracing your shape with practiced slowness. Like he was outlining something precious.

You felt his tongue press hot and wet against your neck, dragging slowly upward until it reached your earlobe. The breath that followed was warm. Then his teeth grazed the delicate skin, nibbling gently, enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Can I leave marks on you?” he murmured, voice husky and low, vibrating against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.”

He moved back down, lips finding your neck again, kissing with purpose this time. He took his time, dragging his mouth along your skin as if searching for something. The moment your breath hitched, he paused, lips hovering.

Then he latched on.

The suction sent a moan slipping past your lips, and you felt his smirk against your throat. His fingers slid along your ribs, slow and sure, before cupping your breasts in both hands. He kneaded gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his mouth stayed busy on your neck.

When he was satisfied with the mark he left there, he trailed kisses downward, past your collarbone. He paused again, lips sealing over your skin, drawing another bruise just beneath your collar. You gasped softly, back arching just enough for your chest to meet his hands.

Your fingers moved without thinking, tangling in his hair.

“Hands down,” he growled against your skin, his voice firm and unyielding. “No touching.”

You obeyed immediately, hands releasing, dropping back to your sides.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled back. You could feel the shift in his energy, though you couldn’t see it, not with the blindfold still tied over your eyes. The darkness sharpened every sound, every movement, every pause. Your breath quickened.

The anticipation made you ache.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice lower now, smoother. “Just like a doll.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but before you could respond, you felt his fingers again, this time pinching your already sensitive nipples.

“And this doll is all mine to play with, isn’t that right?”

He pinched harder.

You gasped, a sharp yelp escaping before you could stop it. The sting caught you off guard after all the delicate touches. But it wasn’t unwelcome. You squirmed, your thighs pressing together involuntarily, hands gripping the edge of the desk for grounding.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He smirked. You couldn’t see it, but you felt it in the way his fingers lingered.

“Good girl.”

He released your nipples slowly, then placed one hand on your shoulder, the other at your waist. His touch guided you backward.

“Lie back.”

You did as told, allowing him to ease you down until your back met the cool surface of the desk. The shift left you fully exposed, breath quick and chest rising, your body laid out and waiting.

You couldn’t see him.

But you could feel the weight of his stare.

And it made you tremble.

You lay there across his desk, chest rising and falling, body humming from his last touch. The blindfold kept everything hidden, but your other senses were on high alert, every sound, every shift in the air sharpened.

You felt him step closer again. His hands found yours, fingers curling gently around your wrists.

“Give them to me,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the command.

You offered your arms without hesitation.

He lifted them slowly above your head, and then you heard the sound, the faint metallic clink of something being unhooked. A moment later, your wrists were brought together and secured with rope. It wasn’t rough or tight, but it was firm. Purposeful. You could feel the tension in the knot as he tested it with a gentle tug.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

You swallowed, skin tingling.

He leaned close, lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You look so good like this.”

Then, without warning, his presence disappeared. His warmth vanished from your skin, and you were left alone, blindfolded, bound, laid out across his desk in silence.

The air felt cooler without him.

You heard movement. A few soft footfalls. A cabinet opening. Then nothing.

The stillness made your heart beat louder in your chest. You shifted slightly, testing the rope. It held. The wait was driving you crazy, but it was thrilling all the same.

You didn’t know how long he was gone. Ten seconds? Thirty? A minute? It was hard to tell with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Then you felt it.

A faint breeze. His return.

He moved silently, but you could hear the slight clink of something being set down. Then—

Something cold touched your skin.

You gasped.

A small cube of ice dragged slowly across your sternum, trailing a line of chill in its path. Your back arched instinctively, wrists tugging at the restraint above your head.

He said nothing.

Just let the silence work with the sensation as he continued tracing down to your navel, the contrast of cold ice on warm skin making you squirm.

“You feel that?” he finally asked, voice low and calm again.

You nodded, lips parting around a soft moan.

“Good. Let’s see how much you can take.”

The first cube melted slowly under his touch, trailing drops of cold water down your stomach. Each drag sent a new jolt of sensation through your body, sweet and sharp, your skin responding with goosebumps wherever the ice kissed it.

You whimpered softly, hips shifting against the desk, but he offered no mercy. No words. Only that slow, relentless path.

When the last bit of the cube melted between his fingers, he stepped away again.

You heard it this time, ice clinking in a glass, the low sound of him picking another piece up. But when he returned, you didn’t feel anything immediately. You felt him hovering close, his breath warm near your shoulder. You waited.

Then something impossibly cold grazed your collarbone.

But it wasn’t his hand.

Your breath caught.

His mouth.

You felt the smooth curve of ice, pressed between his lips, being dragged slowly across your skin. The sensation was overwhelming, heat from his breath, chill from the melting cube, the softness of his lips ghosting over you all at once.

A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary.

“Oh?” he murmured softly against your skin, lips curling slightly around the melting ice. “Sensitive here?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He slid the ice lower, moving to the swell of your breast, circling just beneath it, letting the water trail downward. The contrast made you tremble, your nipples already tight and aching from earlier. When he pulled away and blew lightly across the wet path he’d just traced, your entire body jolted.

“Such beautiful reactions,” he muttered. “I could do this all night.”

The cube slipped from his mouth into his hand, and a moment later he brought it directly to your nipple. He rolled it slowly over the stiff peak, then pinched it lightly with his chilled fingers.

You cried out, thighs pressing together again, bound hands clenching the rope.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice quiet but edged with control.

“Yes,” you gasped.

His lips brushed your ear.

“Good girl.”

His hand drifted lower, fingers dragging cool water trails down your stomach. The shift in temperature had your whole body on edge, twitching with every pass. Then his touch paused at your hip.

“Let’s get these off,” he said, fingers curling around the sides of your panties.

You lifted your hips instinctively as he slid the fabric down your thighs and off your legs. The air felt colder now against your bare skin, amplified by the slow melt of ice still clinging to your body.

You heard the soft clink again, another cube taken from the glass.

Then a drop of cold water landed just above your slit.

You gasped, spine arching slightly off the desk.

A moment later, you felt his fingers part you and then something cold pressed directly against your entrance. Not ice. His finger. Wet, chilled, and unhurried as it stroked over your folds, circling your clit without touching it directly.

The sharp chill made your hips jerk, your body desperate for more. But he took his time.

“So sensitive,” he murmured. “You’re already dripping.”

His cold fingertip slipped lower, collecting your arousal before teasing your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just circled lazily, letting you squirm beneath his touch.

You let out a soft, desperate sound. He smirked.

“Patience.”

Then finally, finally, his finger sank into you, slow and deep. You gasped again, the contrast of his chilled skin inside your heat making your thighs tremble. He moved at a steady pace, curling just enough to make you whimper, then pulling back again.

He added a second finger, this one warmer, letting the cold fade as he stretched you just right. The mix of temperatures, his steady rhythm, the sound of your own slickness filling the room, it was overwhelming.

He pressed his thumb gently against your clit, still avoiding full pressure, just letting it hover and tease.

You tugged at the rope instinctively, breath coming in ragged waves.

“Please,” you whispered.

His voice came close, lips brushing your ear again.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please… touch me more. Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Good girl.”

Then he started to move with purpose.

His fingers thrust deeper, firmer, curling just right while his thumb finally applied pressure to your clit. Your breath hitched, body tightening, your thighs pressing in toward his wrist.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Look at how you take it, like you were made for this.”

Your body trembled beneath his touch. His fingers worked you open with slow precision, and his thumb circled your clit in just the right way, just the right rhythm. You could feel it rising, the sharp, coiling heat in your belly about to break.

So close.

“Seonghwa–” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I’m gonna–”

His fingers stopped instantly.

You let out a broken cry, hips bucking for friction that didn’t come. Your body pulsed helplessly around nothing.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

You whimpered, the ache between your legs now unbearable.

“I didn’t say you could come.”

He pulled his fingers out of you, dragging them slow and wet over your inner thigh as if to mock how ready you were. Then he leaned forward and kissed your stomach once, a deceptively sweet gesture after what he’d just taken away.

Your wrists tugged at the rope above you, your body twitching with frustration.

Seonghwa reached up and loosened the knot just enough to lower your arms. Still restrained, but flexible now. His hands returned to your waist and guided you toward the edge of the desk, your back shifting across the surface until your ass met the edge, thighs parted slightly for him.

You could hear the soft metallic slide of his belt.

The slow unzipping of his pants.

Then his voice, low and close again.

“Let me show you what good girls get.”

You felt the heat of his cock brush against your inner thigh first, then slide through your folds, hot, heavy, and teasing. He rocked his hips slowly, coating himself in your slick without pushing in.

“You want it?” he asked, nudging the head of his cock right at your entrance.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you gasped, thighs trying to push forward. “Please.”

He pressed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until he was fully inside you.

Your breath hitched. It was deep, overwhelming, the fullness making your body freeze before you melted into it.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

He stayed still for a moment, just letting you adjust. Then he pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting in again with more force.

Your hands clenched in the loosened rope above you, moaning as the desk creaked beneath you from the movement.

His pace built, first steady and deep, then faster. Rougher.

“You were made for this,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip tight while the other slid up your ribs, holding you in place as he fucked you harder. “You’re mine.”

His thrusts deepened, rhythm growing rougher, sharper. The desk creaked beneath you with every snap of his hips, but all you could focus on was the way he filled you, how he hit every spot like he knew your body better than you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just reacting, letting the sensations drag you closer and closer to the edge he’d denied you before.

“Please,” you panted, head falling back. “Please, can I come?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer with words. He angled his hips, his next thrust hitting deeper, right there, and his hand dropped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. This time, there was no teasing. Just pressure and rhythm and raw, desperate friction.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice low and breathless. “Now.”

You shattered.

Your body tensed around him, thighs shaking, the orgasm ripping through you fast and hard after everything he’d built up. You cried out, fingers twisting in the rope, mouth falling open as your muscles clenched around him again and again.

Seonghwa groaned, his rhythm stuttering as you pulsed around him.

“Fuck– you’re perfect.”

He thrust a few more times, sharp and deep, chasing his own release. You felt his breath catch before he pressed in one last time, his body going rigid. He came with a low, guttural sound, buried deep inside you, one hand gripping your hip so tight you knew you’d feel it tomorrow.

You both stayed still for a moment, just breathing. Skin flushed. Hearts pounding.

Then, slowly, he eased out of you. You let out a soft whimper at the loss.

His hands were warm again when they reached for the scarf, gently untying the blindfold first. You blinked up at him, eyes adjusting to the light, to his gaze now soft instead of dark.

He brushed your hair from your face with one hand, then moved to untie your wrists. Once your arms were free, he brought both your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle now.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He smiled faintly and helped guide you upright, hands never leaving your body. One at your back, the other steady at your waist.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said. “Just stay here.”

You didn’t argue. You let him move around you, let him wipe your thighs and skin with soft, warm cloths. Every touch was tender. No rush, no expectation. Just him taking care of you, just as thoroughly as he’d undone you.

When he was done, he grabbed a throw blanket from the nearby chair and draped it around your shoulders, then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“You did so well for me,” he murmured, pulling you gently into his arms.

You rested your head against his chest, breath finally slowing, and let the silence settle around you, this time soft and full.

Next Chapter

#seunghwa smut #seunghwa fanfic #seunghwa fic #seunghwa #park seunghwa #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #seunghwa x reader #seunghwa x you #ateez x you #between rooms #my fic #my story

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agaypanic · 1 year ago

Note

Adam makes a friend in the cheerleading squad and introduces her to Bree and Chase but Chase kinda keeps his distance because hes so used to everyone having a crush on Adam or Bree and pushing him aside even though reader is very open about her crush on him and she gets so frustrated that she just kisses him

I Like Nerds (Chase Davenport X Cheerleader!Reader)

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Summary: Tired of history repeating itself, Chase doesn’t even bother trying to get to know you when Adam starts bringing you around. But when you ask him to help you out with an upcoming test, he realizes that you might not be so bad.

A/N: first fic post of the new year!!! also sorry it’s taken me so long to post something, writing’s been feeling so hard lately lol

***

You don’t know what you did wrong, to make Chase treat you this way. So cold and distant, when all you tried to be was nice. He’d been like this since the day you met, and the behavior never seemed to falter for a second.

It was really unfortunate. All you wanted from him was to like you. You were so excited when Adam invited you over to his house, because you’d finally get a proper introduction to the nerdy boy you’d been crushing on in the hallways.

“I hope they like me.” You murmured, more to yourself than to Adam, as you reached the front door of his place. When Adam invited you to hang out and meet his siblings after practice, you immediately said yes. You and Adam had gotten along the moment he joined the cheer squad, and his family seemed nice from your observations from afar. But seeing the giant house in front of you and thinking about what was on the other side of the door was starting to make you nervous.

“Don’t be silly; of course, they’ll like you!” Adam said with his usual cheerful demeanor. Without warning, he opened the door, dragging you into the house. “I like you!”

“Well, you like everyone, Adam.” You said with a laugh, the chuckle soon turning timid as you realized that Adam’s siblings were all sitting on the couch looking at the two of you. You absentmindedly smoothed out your cheer skirt, doing your best not to look at Adam’s nerdy brother too much. “Hi.”

“Guys, this is-”

“Y/n L/n.” Adam’s other brother Leo cut him off, standing up and walking over to you with a sly smile. “Best flyer on the cheer squad and Captain Stacy Brookfield’s right-hand girl.” You giggled at the description he gave you as he shook your hand. “I’m Leo Dooley. Now… about Stacy Brookfield-”

“Okay.” Adam pushed Leo’s shoulder. “That’s enough of that.” You did your best to stifle a snort as Adam ignored Leo’s whiny protests, pointing to his sister. “This is my sister, Bree.”

“We have got to hang out; I need girl time,” Bree said in a severe tone, making you grin. “I’m surrounded by these guys every day; I’m getting so sick of it.”

“Well, I know all the best spots for good girl time.” You responded, happy that Bree had seemed to take a liking to you already. “I’ll give you my number before I leave so we can set something up.”

Bree clapped gleefully before Adam stole your attention, pointing to who was sitting on the furthest seat on the couch.

“And that’s my brother, Chase.”

He looked up at the sound of his name, eyes landing on you. You wiggled your fingers to give him a small wave.

“Hey.” You smiled, glad you were finally getting a good introduction to this cute boy. He looked you up and down for a second, took a deep breath, and then looked back at the homework he was working on.

“Hi.”

So much for a good introduction.

That was about a month ago, and not much seemed to change. It’s not like Chase was mean, just… indifferent. He was polite enough to give a short wave back to you when you passed by, but he never did anything beyond that. He didn’t feel like trying to converse with you beyond pleasantries. When you came over to the Davenport household, usually for Adam or Bree, he seemed to busy himself with homework or something else so he wouldn’t have to interact with you.

You tried to tell yourself that he was like that with everyone, so the standoffishness didn’t hurt you as much.

But now you had a chance to maybe change Chase’s attitude. Or at least find out the reason behind it. You had an upcoming test in your math class, probably your worst subject. You knew that Chase was smart, most likely the most intelligent guy in school. So, when you were in the living room waiting for Bree to get ready to go to the mall with you and saw Chase walk into the kitchen, you decided to seize your opportunity.

“Hey, Chase.” You said, a pep in your step as you walked to the kitchen and sat on one of the bar stools. He looked up at you, seeming surprised, like he hadn’t noticed you were there.

“Hey, Y/n.” His voice was timid, a bit confused.

Before he could get the chance to run off, you leaned forward on the counter.

“Chase, could you do me a favor?” You rested your head in your hands, giving him a sweet smile.

“Maybe…” He grabbed a drink from the fridge and faced you, picking at the bottle cap. “What is it?”

“Well, I have a math test coming up, and I’m, like, the worst at remembering all the formulas and stuff. So I was wondering if you could maybe help me?” You bit your lip in anticipation, hoping he’d say yes.

Chase had a feeling you’d ask him something like this at some point. Whenever his siblings brought someone new around, more often than not, he was eventually asked to help the friend either get with his brother or sister or help them with some homework.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I really-”

“If you need me to pay you, I totally can!” You quickly added. “I don’t wanna, like, take advantage of your brain or anything.” You said with a nervous laugh.

“No,” Chase said without thinking. He mentally kicked himself; why would he say no to money? Although Mr. Davenport was rich, that didn’t mean Chase was. He cleared his throat. “No, you don’t have to pay me. I mean, any friend of Adam and Bree’s is a friend of mine, right?”

You grinned, happy that he was willing to help you. It stung a bit that he considered you a friend by association instead of just a friend, but you were sure that that would be fixed after a few study sessions.

“Great! Thank you so much, Chase!”

“Y/n, I’m ready.” Bree came bounding down the stairs, and although you were excited to go out with her, you were a bit disappointed that your time with Chase was being cut short.

“One second, Bee.” You said, giving her a smile before turning back to Chase. You dug around in your bag for a loose piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s my number.” You said, scribbling it down along with a smiley face before handing it to him. “Text me, and we’ll set up a date.”

Chase’s cheeks seemed to redden as he took the piece of paper from you, giving it a quick glance before smiling at you.

“Got it.”

“Y/n, come on!” Bree took hold of your arm and started to drag you out of the house. You gave Chase a quick wave and grinned when he waved back to you with slightly more enthusiasm than before.

***

A week later, the day before your test, you were about to have your third study session with Chase. You were happy to see that Chase had been warming up to you a bit. Maybe you just needed some alone time with him to get him to open up. He was starting to make small talk with you when you saw each other, greeting you first when you’d come through the door. You were honestly a bit baffled when you came over one night to watch a movie with him and his siblings, and he moved his homework out of the way instead of focusing on it so you could sit next to him.

You came to the Davenports with Adam, coming straight from cheer practice. When you got close to the house, you suddenly realized you didn’t have any comfortable clothes to change into. Sure, you had the clothes you wore to school, but you didn’t feel like going back into your jeans and top that wasn’t the best for lounging around.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, spotting the pout on your face.

“I just realized I forgot to pack something comfy in my bag.” You groaned. “Now I either gotta stay in uniform until I get home or put my jeans back on.”

“You can borrow something from me, if you want,” Adam said.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah, sure!”

You and Adam went inside and saw Chase sitting on the couch, a math textbook and some paper on the coffee table. He perked up at the sight of you.

“Hey, Chase!” You greeted, setting your backpack next to him. “I’m gonna get out of this real quick, and then we can get started.” Chase nodded, flipping the textbook open to the page you ended on from your last study session.

“Come on, Y/n. My room’s this way.” Adam’s giant hand clasped around yours, leading you down the hall, and you missed Chase snapping his head to look at the two of you walking away.

When you came back to the living room about ten minutes later, you missed the way Chase clenched his jaw at the sight of you. You were wearing Adam’s clothes, almost drowning in his oversized shirt and sweatpants, with your cheer uniform neatly folded and tucked under your arm.

“Hey.” You smiled at Chase, taking your math notebook out of your backpack and stuffing in your uniform. You settled next to Chase and grabbed a pen. “So, what are we working on?”

Chase stared at you for a second, and you started to feel a bit skittish under his gaze. He took a deep breath before looking away from you, giving a half-hearted gesture towards the open textbook.

“Just review.”

You frowned at the lackluster response from him. You wondered what had happened between ten minutes ago and now to dim Chase’s mood. But you didn’t want to poke and prod, so you simply nodded and started looking at the textbook.

A few minutes passed, and Chase was filled with thoughts that needed to be let out.

“So, what’s up with you and Adam?” He asked, trying to appear nonchalant. You looked at him confused, before looking back at your notebook, trying to work out a problem.

“What about me and Adam?”

“Are you guys like… together, or what?” You dropped your pen at the question, not expecting it at all. You snorted, and Chase frowned. It was bad enough that you were wearing his brother’s clothes, but laughing at him dampened his mood a bit more. Until you responded.

“God, no!” You laughed. “I mean, I like Adam, he’s really nice. But not like that.”

“Really?” Chase asked, watching you pick your pen back up.

“Not at all! I like nerds.” You didn’t mean to let that slip, but you tried not to let it show.

“Really?” Chase asked again, only this time sounding more interested.

“Yeah!” You smiled at him. “Muscles are cool and all, but I dunno. In this world, I think smarts should be considered superior.” You scribbled a few more things down before showing Chase your notebook. “Is this right?” You asked hopefully.

He only needed to take a quick glance to see whether you were correct or not, and you were. He nodded and smiled at the tiny squeal you gave out in celebration before moving on to the next review question.

***

“I’m sure you did great, Y/n,” Chase reassured you as you paced back and forth in the hall. Your eyes were glued to your phone, waiting for a notification. “You worked really hard this past week; there’s no doubt you got a good grade.”

You had taken your math test today and were now impatiently waiting for the results. Your teacher said she’d have the tests graded and put into the gradebook by the end of the school day. But it’s been fifteen minutes since the last bell of the day rang, and there’s still been no change in your grade or notification of your test results.

“No, Chase. I, like, totally blanked on half the questions. There’s no way I passed.”

“Y/n, if you keep walking around like that, you’re gonna burn a hole through the floor.” Chase grabbed your shoulders and turned you to face him. You would’ve been flustered by the close proximity if you weren’t so worried about your academic standing. If you did about as bad as you think you did on this test, there’s no way you’d be able to cheer at the next few football games. “I’m sure you did really good.”

“But-”

“I know you did.” Chase looked like he was about to say something more when your phone buzzed. You looked down fast enough to see that it was a notification about your grade, and although you had been so impatient for it, now you didn’t want to look.

“You look at it.” You shoved the phone into Chase’s hand, clasping your own together as you waited for the blow. “Well? What did I get?”

Chase looked at your phone to see the grade and grinned up at you.

“You got an A.”

“What?”

“You got an A!”

“Oh my God!”

Any people passing by probably thought the two of you were going crazy, but you didn’t care at all. You were beyond thrilled, and Chase was so proud of you. You clapped and jumped on the balls of your feet before roping Chase into a hug, which he eagerly returned.

“Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Chase.” You pulled back and, overwhelmed by the moment of ecstasy, pecked Chase on the lips. It was quick, but when you realized what you had done, you gasped and covered your mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I-”

Chase didn’t let you continue. Instead, he pulled your hand away from your mouth and kissed you, this time longer and more focused. The hand that wasn’t still wrapped around your waist buried itself into your hair. You tried not to smile too much as you kissed him back.

Smarts were definitely superior.

#agaypanic #chase davenport x reader #chase davenport #lab rats x reader #lab rats

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