#anyway i write these for me but i hope others like them too

[uhdrienne]

the embodiment of grace and deviousness

⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘

here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!

depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3

"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."

"Are they?"

"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."

“Hm.”

“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”

“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”

“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.

What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?

He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.

He looks away.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."

"Oh... Not possible? At all?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."

"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”

“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."

You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.

You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.

Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.

14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.

Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.

Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.

A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.

You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?

You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.

Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.

Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.

The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.

You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.

You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.

--------------------------------

Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.

He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.

He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.

He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.

Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.

Find the man who is apparently my soulmate

...........

And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?

What if... he doesn't like you?

You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.

"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."

You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.

"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"

You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."

She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"

You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."

The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."

You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"

The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."

"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"

The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"

"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."

The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."

"Do you know about them? What do they do?"

"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."

Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."

There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."

------------------------------------

Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.

He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.

He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.

The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?

When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."

Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"

Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"

"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"

"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."

"Strange. What was it like?"

Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"

Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.

"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."

Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.

"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."

"What did it... feel like?"

"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.

"What happened?"

Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."

Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"

Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."

"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."

His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."

Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"

"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.

"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."

When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.

"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.

But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"

You put down your pen.

You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.

But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.

You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.

And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."

"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."

"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"

The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.

You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.

The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....

A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.

It's him.

The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.

Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.

So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.

So you get up and run after him.

Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.

"Sir...?"

He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.

Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.

Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."

"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.

"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."

"No, you may not."

You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."

Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"

You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."

"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."

"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.

Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.

"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."

When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.

The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.

When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.

"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.

"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."

"Good."

"Anything else?" Lee says.

"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."

"...Uh-huh."

"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."

"Right."

"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."

"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"

"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."

He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."

A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"

Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."

An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."

"Name it, boss."

"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."

"You got it."

A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.

"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"

"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"

You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"

Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."

You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"

"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."

The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."

And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.

You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.

Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.

Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.

He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.

He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.

And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.

He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."

He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."

"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."

"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"

Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."

"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."

"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.

"Where?"

When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"

"The border of Territory 7, sir."

"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.

Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."

"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."

You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to

You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.

"Are you actually stupid?"

You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."

Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"

"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."

"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."

Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"

"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."

"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."

"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."

Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"

What??

"Did I not make myself clear en-"

"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"

"I nev-"

"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."

Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.

"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."

"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"

"Yes, and what about it?"

"You know nothing about being a gentleman."

"Never said I was one. Get in the car."

"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"

"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."

You zip it and follow him.

Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)

He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.

"It's me."

He leaves you on read.

The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."

5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."

11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"

And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."

You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.

He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.

You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.

And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)

It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)

And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.

"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."

You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.

"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"

"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.

He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."

"No. And you better not have."

He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...

"Soup? So you did read my texts!"

"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."

You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"

"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."

"What is it?"

"Sit first before I tell you."

And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."

You cock your head. "I'm listening."

"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."

"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."

"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."

"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"

His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."

"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.

He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He nods.

“So can I continue messaging you?”

He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”

You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”

He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.

After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”

He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.

He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.

But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask.

“No.”

And there the conversation ends.

As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.

“So… how’s work lately?”

“Fine.”

“Ah.”

Please talk. Please.

“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”

Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”

“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”

Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"

Yeah, screw this.

Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.

After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."

He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."

"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."

Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.

You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."

Soulmate, my ass.

----------------------------------

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.

----------------------------------

Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…

The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.

T w o M o n t h s L a t e r

Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.

You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.

When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.

As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.

Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.

You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.

Is Seungcheol in trouble?

His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.

You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.

You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.

You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."

"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"

Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."

"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."

"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."

Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."

"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.

Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".

"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.

"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."

"So he is a leader."

"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."

"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.

"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"

"Sooner than later?"

"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."

"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"

Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."

Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.

"That's the Heart?"

"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."

You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---

"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.

He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"

Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."

Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.

"Get out."

Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."

You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...

A bullet.

"A gun." You mumble.

"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."

"You jerk."

His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."

His hand clenches up.

"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"

"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."

He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."

"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."

"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.

"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."

"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"

His eyes meet yours.

"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."

"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.

"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"

"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"

"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"

When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."

"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.

"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."

Seungcheol goes quiet.

"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"

You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."

“So what do you suggest?” He continues.

“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”

“What if you end up like Lee?”

“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”

Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"

You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."

"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.

Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”

“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”

"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."

You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."

"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."

February 14, 2026

The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.

It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.

"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.

She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."

You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.

"Love?"

You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"

Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."

"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."

As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.

He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"

"You know it."

"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"

"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"

fin.

*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family

thank you for reading 💟

[clovermoters]

we love, love day! ln4 x reader

summary - with a wedding on the way, lando makes sure this years valentine’s day is one you and him will remember forever.

warnings - fluff, small amount of smut towards the end (oral fem receiving) extremely established relationship, lando is a loverboy, extreme valentines adorableness. wc: 2.8k !!

a/n - happy love day loves! i hope u all enjoy this little fic i wrote for yous <3 id like to give a big big thank you to @landopoet for being my lovely proof reader/editor/person i bounce my ideas off of! anyways with love..enjoy 💗

February 4th 2025

the calm hum of the McLaren Technology Centre was quiet in the background of your boss going over the preseason marketing plans for the team.

your face rested on your palm as you fought the urge to fall asleep in your chair. you’ve been in meetings all day and all you want to do is go home and cuddle with your fiancé, who’s been texting you updates throughout his day off at home. receiving pictures of him on the couch watching movies and playing games with Max Fewtrell. his updates however, went radio silent during your previous meeting.

“and with that i’ll leave you to your assignments for the week, please email me if you have any questions or concerns, see you Sunday for our livery launch” your boss announces.

you swiftly pack up your supplies into the purse Lando had bought you for christmas mere months ago.

making your way towards the spot lando agreed to pick you up, your eye catches a mix of red and pink balloons tied together, next to them stood your loving fiancé holding a pink drink with a delicious looking cake pop sticking out of it, looking at you with a giddy smile.

“well hello to you too...” you eye your boyfriends cheeky look on his face as he hands you your drink. you take the cake pop out, revealing the simple sharpie writing on the plastic lid.

will you be my valentine? <3

you laugh softly looking up to see your boyfriends eyes. the hopeful look on his face makes your heart melt.

“lan, baby, we’re getting married in 4 months” you say with a giggle. the boy scoffs at you “oh i'm well aware love, but i still need to ASK you to be my valentine. it's how the holiday works, sweetheart!”

you smile taking a sip of the drink before reaching out to link your hand with Landos, giving him a soft peck on his lips. “of course i’ll be your valentine, my love”

Landos eyes sparkle, smiling from ear to ear as he gives a gentle fist pump to the air, whispering a playful “yes! let’s gooo!” under his breath before pulling you into a tender kiss. you giggle into his lips as he pulls you closer by the hips, your lips moving together in sync before you gently pull away, reminded that you left your planner on your desk.

“i'll just be a second.. i need to grab something from my desk quickly” you mumble into his lips

he nods “okay, i’ll wait here.” you turn on your heels, speedily navigating through the quiet office. it was getting late on a friday evening and you weren’t surprised to see others having already gone home to their families.

on your way out, you cross paths with your co-worker, she smiles at the drink in your hand.

“it’s sweet how he feels the need to ask his fiancé to be his valentine” she comments, your cheeks go pink as you gaze down at the cup in your hand. you try to memorize the scribbled sentence on the plastic, wondering what you did to deserve the man who’s currently waiting for you downstairs. “he just loves love,” you reply with a shy smile.

wishing her a lovely evening, you quickly make your return to find Lando holding your balloons while typing away at his phone. his face lights up at you, taking your hand in his.

you walk to his mclaren 765LT, your personal favourite car of his. he opens the door for you before rounding the car to get in himself.

“alright pretty girl, time to get my valentine home,” he adds playfully, starting the car. he leans over the console to place a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before merging onto the country roads, taking you two home.

February 7th 2025

the soft stream of sunlight filtering through the curtains woke you up. you rolled over in your sheets expecting to find your sleeping fiancé next to you, only to be met with cold, pulled back sheets.

you frown, lando hadn’t mentioned going on a run this morning and your shared calendar hadn’t shown a meeting being scheduled. on a regular day, it’s rare for him to wake up first.

a pout forms on your face as the smell of maple syrup fills your senses. you sleepily make your way through the apartment. slippers shuffling across the hardwood floor, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turn the corner into the kitchen.

there at the stove stood a shirtless Lando, his hair askew from sleep, grey sweatpants sat on his hips, he’s smiling back at you, spatula in hand.

your breath halts in your throat when you spot the table he had set. roses and other flowers placed strategically around the table for two, surrounded in a sea of orange and red flowers. the table already set with fruit and a variety of your favourite pastries. your heart squeezed at the thought of him taking the time to set this up.

“what is all this for?” you ask, hands fluttering softly against his back before gently wrapping your arms around his bare chest. Lando smiles, rocking you both side to side.

“can’t a guy treat his girl one week out from love day?” he asks, mocking offense. you giggle, turning to give a kiss to his back before lando spins around, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your lips.

“i’m just surprised you managed to do this all on your own,” you tease.

he chuckles “i did actually have to call my mum.” he admits “but it still tastes the same!”

February 11th 2025

Lando left for testing yesterday and you’ve been home alone. five years into your relationship you and Lando no longer felt the need to go to testing together. you spent your day puttering around the apartment cleaning and resetting your mind for landos return.

you’d been cleaning all day, reorganizing clothes, doing laundry and even venturing into landos office to clean his helmets. just after lunch you decided a nap would do you good. right before you decided to take yourself to your room, your phone chimes.

lan <3: hey love, just hopped out of the car. it feels great! how are you doing?

you smiled at his text, a picture attached of his sweaty post race face showing you a goofy smile.

gosh you already missed that face and it’s only been a day.

you: hi baby! i’ve cleaned so much i’m about to pass out, about to take a nap but i’m happy to see ur cute face before i sleep <3333

you sent a photo back of you poking your tongue out at the camera.

lan <3: aw there she is! love you baby, enjoy your nap, call me when your up xx

liking the message you click your phone off, placing it on the nightstand before getting comfortable in your bed. letting the sleep pull you into an essential nap.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the sun had moved through the sky when you woke, a pink glow flowing into the room. you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you felt well rested from your catnap, turning in your spot you catch the singular rose sat on the foot of the bed.

you scramble to your feet picking up the rose, examining it in your fingers. your look around your room slightly panicked, thinking someone broke in, you open the door to check the rest of the house.

swinging the door open you step out into the hallway, you feel a flutter at your feet, looking down you see a trail of rose petals. you gasp slightly, slowly following the flowers into the living room you stop in your tracks when the room is filled to the ceiling with bouquets of roses.

there were too many bouquets to count, you tried. you got to thirty before you gave up. moving to the kitchen where there were more bouquets to be found covering every surface there was.

placed in the middle of one of the bouquets was a letter, reading the envelope your stomach erupted to butterflies

my love

recognizing the handwriting was landos, you rip open the letter.

hey beautiful, i know i can't be home right now but i wanted to do something special because i love you more than words. 72 bouquets of roses for the 72 hours im away from you. see you soon pretty girl, i love you xx

L <3

flipping the card over you chuckled at the parting message

ps. max used his spare key to place these while you were asleep, i know you were probably worried about someone breaking in. he should still be outside if you wanna go say hi, love you, call me when you can!

you dashed to the front door, opening it to see a very disheveled max fewtrell stood on the other side. The man still had stray petals in his ruffled hair. you had to cover your mouth to muffle the giggles from escaping.

“lando promised me best man if i did this, you're an EXTREMELY heavily sleeper by the way” is all he says before raiding your fridge for leftover pizza, as you pick up your phone to ring the love of your life.

February 14th 2025

Lando woke up first again. the sunlight peeking through the curtains. he rolled over to find you sleeping soundly next to him, he couldn’t help but admire your peaceful state, you looked adorable with your face squished into the pillow.

he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before crawling out of bed. Today was the day he had planned down to a T. he spent the past two weeks waiting to shower you with his love.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

you stirred in your sleep to find Lando laying between your legs, soft kissing fluttering across your stomach, as he lifted your his shirt. You whimper softly when he sucks on the valley between your tits. your hips bucked as the heat between your legs grows.

“ ‘mmf- fuck lando” you moan when he trails kisses down your stomach, to settle between your thighs. licking his lips when he pulls your panties to the side. your core was dripping, Lando taking his fingers, spreading your wetness through your folds, praises falling from his lips as his nose brushed against your clit.

your hands found his curls, tugging softly to guide him through your folds, his tongue working wonders on every nerve ending. sending you dizzy.

Lando curled his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you like putty in his hands.

he loved seeing you like this, you looked angelic, eyes closed with your lips slightly parted. you tasted amazing, he groaned as he ate you out like a starved man. his tongue running up and down your folds, sucking on your clit while his fingers worked inside you.

“oh fuck…. lando!” you were a fucking mess above him, hardly able to form a sentence as you choke on moans. landos knees went weak at the noises you made, grinding slightly into the mattress to find from release. he relished in the sounds that tumbled from your lips just for him

“ come ‘for me baby, let me hear ya” he slurs into your folds, drunk on your taste.

the vibrations sending you over the edge as your finish on his face with a loud moan, your slick coating his goatee, lips puffy as he takes you through your orgasm.

you catch your breath as he places soft kisses on your clit, earning small whimpers as you come down from your high. you pull him away from your legs, his eyes blown out as he licks his lips before raising to place a sweet kiss on your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“happy valentines day gorgeous” he mumbles into your lips.

“happy valentines day lan” you reply sweetly. Lando switches to lie down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you choosing to spend a few minutes tangled together before you get up to start your day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

your first gift of the day was a basket filled with your favourite goodies, an array of chocolates and sweets overflowing a small crochet basket partnered with a small jellycat lando had seen you dot over when you two took a trip to the market last week. you had ooo-d and aww-d at the plushie for five minutes before deciding you don't need it.

he went back and bought it the next day.

you were ecstatic when you saw the jellycat, throwing your arms around his neck while a string of thank you’s fell from your lips right before attacking his face with kisses on every inch of his tanned skin.

he laughed, “don't thank me yet, you still have one more gift.”

you raise your eyebrow at him, he matches your expression playfully before pinching your hips. lifting you off him to stand up. he leans down slightly, his face coming close to yours.

“but that's for later,” he says with a wink.

your face flushes pink and he swiftly makes his way out the room, leaving you standing frozen at his boldness.

“c’mon baby! we gotta get going!” Lando shouts to you, like he didn’t just send shivers down your spine at his words

you spent the day hand in hand, walking through London drinking overpriced coffee with Lando carrying multiple designer shopping bags with your name on it. he loved spending his money on you, letting you waltz around a high-end store with him and his wallet in tow while he got to sit on comfy couches and watch a personal fashion show.

that's his favourite pastime.

the day was filled with love and kisses, even after years together every kiss felt as special as the first. Lando loved you the same way now as he did when you were twenty and following him around the world with lovestruck hearts in your eyes. when you stumbled back into the apartment, clothes slightly misplaced after a steamy car ride home. you prepared for dinner while Lando took a nap, letting you do your thing.

the dress you’d chosen for tonight was one of Lando’s favourites, light pink silk that hugs your body in all the right places. Landos eyes lit up when you walked out, him sporting a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone.. just how you like it, and black slacks.

“wow…you look gorgeous” his eyes raked up and down your body as you applied your lip gloss.

“and you look handsome as ever” you say, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the restaurant was a small, italian, hole in the wall just outside of monaco. you and Lando adored dining here because you never had to worry about paparazzi, you could enjoy the company of each other during your meal.

you sat across from each other, your glass filled with some expensive scarlet wine while Lando nursed his whisky. he looked delicious, the dim lighting coating his tan skin like he was sent down from the gods just for you, chestnut curls tamed perfectly, matched with your favourite chain sitting on his neck.

your hands linked as he played with your engagement ring, your conversation casual as the waiter arrives with her notepad. Lando speaks up to order for the two of you

“she’ll have the fettuccine alfredo,” Lando points to you with a smile, “and I will have the penne marinara.” handing your menus off, you're left alone once again.

“now before food comes i want to give you one last gift” Lando speaks, reaching under the table, your browns knit in confusion as he places a small gift bag in front of you.

carefully pulling the tissue out of the bag a small jewelry box sits inside. your eyes meet Lando's and he's smiling back at you like you're the only girl in the room. “go on… open it,” he whispers with a slight nod.

inside the box sits a dainty silver necklace, tears prick your eyes as you touch the pendant. a small L with the number 4.

“lan.,” you sniffle “it's beautiful, thank you..” you take the necklace into your hands, immediately clasping it around your neck, getting up to give Lando a sweet kiss on the lips.

even after five years, and with his ring sitting on your finger, Lando loves to show the world, and you, that you are his and how much he loves you. he loves everything about you, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, your home cooked meals that welcome him home after a race weekend. you had been his rock for years and will continue to be in for the rest of his life. He smiled watching you sit across from him, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“just think, next valentines day,” he leans forward slightly, “we're gonna be married!” he whispers excitedly like you were keeping a secret. you giggle at him, matching his excitement.

“i know, i'm worried that if you went all out this year, what's gonna happen next year when i'm your wife!?” you joke, he giggles, throwing his head back slightly as his chest shakes with laughter.

“don't underestimate me baby, i've already got plans.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thank you for reading ahhh i hope u enjoyed

love ya see you soon (hopefully)

[hazymoonlinh]

🤔 how about phainon x scientist!fem reader like what you do with mydei, I like your writing 🤭 about that too

“The Coldest Star Meets the Brightest Light”

Part 1.

(Phainon x Researcher!Reader | Soulmate AU)

She did not believe in soulmates.

Not in the way that others did, anyway.

The concept was nothing more than an anomaly—an unexplained phenomenon of the universe that had no scientific basis, yet persisted in countless cultures across planets. Some claimed it was fate, an unbreakable bond destined to unite two people. Others called it a curse, binding individuals regardless of their will.

She categorized it as biological interference. A chemical reaction. Nothing more.

And yet—when she set foot in Amphoreus, standing amidst the blinding light of a battle between the Astral Express crew and an unknown warrior—her entire understanding of reality fractured.

Because the moment he turned, the moment his piercing blue gaze locked onto hers—her entire being froze.

A Fateful Encounter

Phainon had appeared in an instant, his entrance marked by a slash so swift that Dan Heng’s weapon shattered upon impact. His presence was radiant, overwhelming—like standing too close to a sun, its heat and gravity pulling everything toward it.

But he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at her.

“You.” His voice was deep, steady—yet beneath it was something else. Something shaken. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Her brain was still processing the impossible.

This feeling—this pull—was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was not logical. It was not quantifiable. And yet, it was absolute.

Soulmates.

No.

No, no, no.

“That’s not important,” she finally replied, forcing her voice to remain level. She ignored the way her heartbeat threatened to betray her. “Stand down. We’re only here to investigate—”

Phainon stepped closer, ignoring her words entirely.

“No,” he murmured, as if he were speaking more to himself than anyone else. “No way… It’s you.”

His expression was unreadable—somewhere between disbelief and something softer.

It was unbearable.

She refused to acknowledge this.

Soulmates did not exist.

“I have no connection to you.” Her words were cold, detached—the same tone she used when analyzing test subjects. “Do not mistake me for something I am not.”

Phainon blinked.

And then, to her absolute horror—he laughed.

It was a soft chuckle at first, then a full, warm, delighted laugh, as if her rejection was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Phainon grinned, and it was the kind of grin that spelled trouble.

“You think you can just walk away?” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper beneath it—something sure. “Like it or not, we’re connected now. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

Her fingers twitched against the data pad she had instinctively grabbed. “I am not yours.”

“Not yet,” he agreed easily. “But you will be.”

Escape Was Not an Option

She left.

Of course she did.

After her mission ended, after she left Amphoreus, she returned to Herta’s Space Station. Back to her research, back to normalcy.

She had hoped the feeling would fade. That the inexplicable warmth lingering in her chest would disappear over time.

It didn’t.

Worse, she soon found that no matter where she went, she felt watched. Not in a threatening way—no, Phainon’s presence wasn’t the kind that instilled fear. It was something far more annoying.

Persistent. Playful. Patient.

He was waiting.

And then—one day—he stopped waiting.

An Unwanted Visitor

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His voice was warm as ever—too warm, considering he was currently standing in her pristine laboratory, arms crossed, looking like he belonged there despite absolutely not belonging there.

She stared at him, unamused. “First of all, I left. Second of all, how did you even get in here?”

Phainon shrugged. “I have my ways.”

A pause.

“…Trailblazer helped you, didn’t they?”

His grin widened. “I have my ways.”

She exhaled slowly, setting her data pad aside. “I’m busy. If this is about that ridiculous soulmate nonsense—”

“It’s not nonsense.”

The sudden shift in his tone made her pause. It wasn’t teasing anymore. There was no mischief in his gaze. Only certainty.

Her chest tightened.

“Look,” Phainon continued, stepping closer. “I get it. You’re logical. You like things that make sense. But you felt it too, didn’t you?”

She remained silent.

His expression softened. “It’s not something you can explain. It just is.”

“That’s exactly why I reject it.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “I refuse to let something dictate my choices. Even if—” She hesitated. “Even if this connection exists, I won’t be forced into it.”

Phainon studied her for a long moment.

And then, instead of arguing—he smiled.

“Good,” he said simply.

She blinked. “…Good?”

“I don’t want you to accept it just because fate says so.” He tilted his head, the golden glow of the station’s lights reflecting in his icy blue eyes. “I want you to accept it because you choose me.”

That caught her off guard.

“…And you think I will?”

Phainon’s grin turned knowing.

“I know you will.”

She scoffed. “Have anyone told you you’re insufferable ?”

“And you’re adorable when you pretend you don’t care.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re coming with me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Back to Amphoreus.” His tone was far too casual. “We need to spend more time together. Y’know, bonding.”

“I have work—”

Phainon tapped her data pad, causing it to turn off.

“You have me now.”

She stared at him.

He stared right back.

For the first time in her life, she had no calculated response.

Phainon only chuckled, offering a hand. “Come on, genius. Let’s see if I can change your mind.”

Against all logic—she hesitated.

And for Phainon? That was already a victory.

TO BE CONTINUED…

How’s that for a start? Phainon’s warmth clashing with her cold logic, their instant connection, and his playful yet patient pursuit—this is gonna be fun. Let me know if you want Part 2!

I took extra time to polish it since you have waited for a week hehe.

Have anyone seen 3.1 trailer ? So cool.

[justleaveacommentfest]

Not an ask, but a story about leaving comments -- not long ago, I left a comment on a fic from almost 10 years ago where the author, in their end notes, discussed how proud they were to have finished this fic (it was an incredible fic that was over 100,000 words long because they're a god and I would also just be shaky in the knees if I accomplished something so long and profound); and they also talked in their author's note how strange it was to be the ages of 22-24 when they were writing this fic and how things weren't always easy, and that they hoped the future was bright for them.

I commented about my life, right now, how I came to find their fic a decade years later from when they finished (a little sheepishly, it feels weird to talk about yourself, but it felt important somehow) -- anyways, I also talked about how reading their author's note reminded me very much of how I felt right now, and how different the world is now from 2015, and how this fic made me feel all kinds of nostalgic and good and hopeful about growing older, and how my god they were this good at 22 and I hope they're still writing -- and even if not, I hope all these years later they really are in a better place.

They replied. They replied! I was so delighted! They are indeed in their thirties! and they are indeed still writing! Things haven't gone as expected, but they've got a healthier dose of perspective on life and how to cope with the hard times now. And it was just so heartwarming to hear and learn about them. And to know that they're still around!

Just seeing that, seeing these people who write about hard times nine years ago, and leaving a comment and getting a reply, it just brings so much hope. Because you never know! You never know if someone's still going to be here, and so when they are it's kind of a-- not a miracle, but it just feels like I'm suddenly so very aware of my existence in the world and theirs too and it just -- it MATTERS. And ao3 and fanfiction in general is so unique to most media where you stare at a television or read a book, you can engage with the creator of that thing you're reading RIGHT THEN AND THERE. And you may not get a reply, or you might get this touching response that lets you feel like you're less alone in the world. It's worth the chance, right? That's what building community and stuff is all about! You can make so many friends this way!

And even if they never reply, don't you want them to know how important their story was to you? And it doesn't matter if the story was finished a decade ago or just posted yesterday, there's still a person that's there that gets to see how their art made an impact on the world. I've made a couple of friends doing this -- and even if I'm not making a friend, I hope I make someone's day a little brighter. God knows I'm always delighted whenever someone comments on my fics.

I admit I'm not perfect -- I don't always comment on fics that I read. I'm trying to be better, I've got a list of fics that I definitely should have written a comment on that I've been going through and writing out how I feel about their writing because damn people are just so talented. This wasn't for just leave a comment fest, I admit, but I do love to see your blog and your drive because it is such an important thing for writers.

I didn't know you were doing a valentines day thing, but what a great idea! I wanted to share my experience, hopefully inspire some other people to go out and comment, and now I'm going to go check another fic off my list of ones that I'd like to comment on. Better late than never!

Have a great day! and Happy Valentine's Day Just Leave a Comment Mini Fest!

I AM HOOTING AND HOLLERING I AM PLAYING THE XYLOPHONE ON MY RIB CAGE WHAT A STORY!!!! WHAT A BEAUTIFUL CONNECTION TO HAVE MADE THROUGH COMMENTS!!! WHAT A WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL EXPERIENCE TO HAVE HAD!!

ANON THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS HAS MADE THIS SKELETON'S DAY

[ribbonedreverie]

“Unsent Love Letters”

Words they will never say, letters they will never send.

──────────

💌 Osamu Dazai – “To the One Who Almost Made Me Stay”

My love,

I wrote this knowing you will never read it.

Isn’t that the safest way to say what I mean?

I have always been a man of contradictions—laughing at things I do not find funny, living in a world I have no interest in staying in, reaching for love while knowing I will never hold it long enough to keep.

You, my dear, were the cruelest of them all.

Because you almost made me want to stay.

And that—that is something I can never forgive.

You saw too much. You noticed too much. You looked at me as though you understood, and I have spent too long hiding to let someone see me so clearly.

And yet, I almost let you.

Almost.

If there is another life, I hope I love you properly in that one.

Yours (but never truly),

Osamu

💌 Chuuya Nakahara – “To the One I Would Have Burned the World For”

Hey, doll.

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

Maybe it’s because I never told you enough. Maybe it’s because I told you too much. Maybe it’s because you left, and I don’t know what to do with all the words I never said.

I would have burned the world for you. You know that, don’t you?

I would have given you everything I had, even the pieces of me I don’t know how to share.

But love—love is cruel.

And I am my own kind of monster.

I wonder if you ever think of me. If you ever wonder what would have happened if we had met in a different life, in a different world, where love did not come with a price.

I would have been better for you in that one.

But here? In this one?

I loved you the best way I knew how.

And I hope, somehow, that was enough.

Yours, always,

Chuuya

💌 Fyodor Dostoevsky – “To the One Who Thought They Could Save Me”

My dear,

You were a fool to love me.

A fool to believe in me.

A fool to think that someone like me—a man built of conviction and cruelty and ruin—could ever be softened by something as fleeting as love.

But you tried anyway.

You touched me like I was something fragile. You spoke my name like it was something worth whispering. You kissed me as if you thought I could be saved.

And for that, I will never forgive you.

Because for a moment—just a moment—I wanted to believe you.

That is the greatest sin of all.

I will not apologize. I will not beg. I will not ask for you to stay.

But if you do—know that I will ruin you in return.

Yours, if you dare,

Fyodor

💌 Nikolai Gogol – “To the One Who Should Have Known Better”

Ah, my dear!

Do you regret it? Do you wish you had run? Do you ever think back to the moment we met and wonder if things would have been easier if you had never looked my way?

Because I do.

I think about it often.

I think about how simple it would have been if I had never touched you, never kissed you, never let you get close enough to make me hesitate.

(Oh, what a terrible thing—hesitation.)

But you were fun. You were so fun.

And I am not a man who lets go of his entertainment so easily.

So tell me, darling—was it worth it?

Would you do it again?

Even knowing how this ends?

With a smile,

Nikolai

💌 Sigma – “To the One Who Made Me Feel Like More Than a Gamble”

I’m scared.

That’s all I know how to say.

I’m scared of what it means to love someone. I’m scared of what it means to be loved. I don’t know if I deserve it, if I know how to return it, if I know how to hold something that is not meant to slip through my fingers like all the other things I have lost.

But I wanted to try.

With you, I wanted to try.

I wonder if that is enough.

If you could be patient with me. If I could learn how to love without fear.

I don’t know how this story ends.

But if you are in it—I hope it is a happy one.

Yours (if you’ll have me),

Sigma

💌 Ryunosuke Akutagawa – “To the One Who Showed Me Softness”

I do not know how to say this.

I do not know how to say anything, really—not the things that matter, not the things you want to hear.

So I will say this instead.

I see you.

I see the way you wait for me to speak, the way you listen even when I have nothing to say.

I see the way you do not flinch when I reach for you, the way you do not ask for things I do not know how to give.

I see the way you are patient with me, even when I do not deserve it.

And I think—I think I love you for it.

I do not know if I will ever say this aloud.

But if you ever wonder—know that I have never tried this hard for anyone before.

And if that is not love, then I do not know what is.

Yours, in whatever way I know how,

Akutagawa

💌 Ranpo Edogawa – “To the One Who Already Knows”

Why would I write a letter when you already know what I’m going to say?

You always do.

You read me too well. You know my moods, my habits, the way I lean against you like a cat seeking warmth but refuse to admit I need you.

You know I will never say I love you outright—because it’s obvious, isn’t it?

I do not waste time stating facts.

I do not waste time on things that are already understood.

But if you need to hear it—if you ever need proof—just look at the way I let you stay.

Look at the way I let you close.

Look at the way I never correct you when you assume I love you.

Because you are right.

You always are.

Yours (as if that wasn’t obvious),

Ranpo

──────────

There’s something tragically beautiful about unsent love letters—words aching to be read, confessions swallowed by time. They hold a love that lingers, untouched by reality, forever suspended in what-ifs. Perhaps in another life, I sent them. Perhaps you read them. But here, they remain unread, and maybe that’s where they were always meant to stay. ♡

[nhlclover]

BACKUP VALENTINE MAT BARZAL

pairing: fem!reader x mat barzal

summary: with neither of you wanting to be alone on valentines day, you and mat decide to be each other backup valentines.

warnings: friends to lovers, mentions of cheating, little bit of drinking (just wine)

wc: 3.44k

notes: happy belated valentines day!! i totally forgot to write a proper fic on v-day, so here it is, two days late. hope you enjoy!

The night air was crisp when you pulled up outside of Mat’s place, the sting of heartbreak and humiliation still fresh in your chest. The dim glow of his porch light flickered against the dark, casting long shadows over the sidewalk as you stepped out of the car, cradling the container of leftovers and a bottle of wine like they were the only things keeping you upright.

Your heart still felt heavy, raw in a way that only fresh heartbreak could make it. Every bitter word, every excuse he’d given you replayed like a cruel, looping soundtrack in your head. It’s not you, it’s me. I just don’t think I’m ready for anything serious right now. Excuses that sounded rehearsed, lifeless, as if he’d decided long before tonight that he’d be walking away.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting behind your eyes as you climb the short steps to Mat’s door and knock, three quick raps before you lean against the frame, exhaling shakily.

A few seconds pass before you hear the shuffle of feet, then the door swings open, revealing Mat in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair mussed, like he’d just been sprawled out on the couch. His brows knit together the second he sees your face, taking in the way your lips press tight, the way your shoulders curve inward like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Shouldn’t you be on a date right now?” he asks, stepping aside immediately to let you in.

You step inside without answering, toeing off your shoes as Mat closes the door behind you. The warmth of his house wraps around you, a stark contrast to the cold outside, but it does little to thaw the ache in your chest. You set the container of leftovers and the wine on the counter, fingers lingering on the glass bottle like it might anchor you.

Mat doesn’t push. He just watches, waiting, arms crossed loosely over his chest. You finally look up, meeting his dark eyes, and something in them softens when he sees the rawness still clinging to your expression.

“He ended things. Tonight. Said he wasn’t ready for something serious.” A humorless laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. “I feel like an idiot. Like I should’ve seen it coming.”

Mat shakes his head. “You’re not an idiot,” he says firmly.

You shrug, peeling off your jacket. To say you were unlucky in relationships might be the understatement of the year. Because, really, how many times could you hear the same excuse before it stopped stinging? Before it stopped feeling personal?

It wasn’t just tonight. It was a pattern, a string of almosts and what-ifs that always ended the same way — with you standing in the wreckage of another failed attempt at love, wondering if you were the problem. If you expected too much, wanted too much, cared too much.

“Anyways, I brought food.” you say, motioning to the takeout and wine.

He watches you move around the kitchen, grabbing plates and wine glasses, before sitting at the counter. He can sense the way you're holding yourself back, the subtle tension in your shoulders betraying the effort it takes to keep your emotions in check, even as the pain seems to radiate from you.

Mat twists the cork free with a satisfying pop, pouring two generous glasses before sliding one toward you. He doesn’t sit right away, just leans against the counter, fingers tapping against his own glass.

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he starts, glancing at you from beneath his lashes, “I, uh — broke up with Alyssa.”

Your head snaps up. “What? When?”

“A few days ago.” His voice is even, but there’s an edge underneath, something restrained. “She was cheating.”

Your breath catches. “Mat…”

He shakes his head before you can say more, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Yeah. Found out last weekend. Had proof. She didn’t even deny it, just—” He lets out a rough, humorless laugh. “Said she was sorry, but, you know, not sorry enough to actually not do it.”

Anger flares in your chest on his behalf. “She’s awful.”

“Yeah, well… I guess we both wasted our time on people who didn’t deserve us.”

Mat’s words settle between you, a quiet, bitter truth you both understand too well. You exhale, long and slow, before taking a sip of your wine, letting the warmth spread through your chest. The weight of the night presses against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in, but there’s something about being here, in Mat’s kitchen, that makes it a little easier to breathe.

You glance at him over the rim of your glass. “You know what the worst part is?”

Mat raises an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

“I’m gonna spend Valentine’s Day alone tomorrow, probably eating a heart-shaped pizza and watching romcoms by myself like a loser.” You sigh dramatically, setting your glass down with a thud. “Like, I didn’t even like him that much, but I had plans, you know? Now I’ve got nothing.”

Mat watches you for a moment, amusement flickering in his eyes, but then he shifts, rolling his glass between his hands. “So, don’t spend it alone.”

You blink, a chuckle escaping your lips. “Kinda late for that.”

“No, seriously. Why don’t we go out together?” Mat says.

You squint at him, trying to gauge whether he’s just messing with you, but Mat’s expression remains frustratingly sincere. His dark eyes hold steady on yours, any sign that he’s joking being absent.

“Like… a pity date?” you ask.

Mat scoffs, shaking his head. “No, not a pity date. More like… two people who already planned on feeling sorry for themselves tomorrow, but instead decide to eat good food and drink fancy cocktails together.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That still sounds like a pity date.”

“Fine,” he concedes, throwing up his hands. “It’s a mutually beneficial evening of good food, good company, and zero expectations. How’s that?”

You hesitate. Mat’s still watching you, his expression open but unreadable, like he’s trying not to push too hard. And maybe you should say no — maybe it would be easier to wallow at home in sweatpants with unhealthy food and a tragic movie. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he genuinely wants your company, not just someone to fill the empty chair.

“C’mon, I still have a dinner reservation anyways,” he pointed out. “It’s at that place, Amalfi, and it took me forever to get a table. And I refuse to let my ex ruin a perfectly good meal.”

“You really don’t want to go alone, do you?” you ask, tilting your head.

Mat shrugs. “I could. But I’d rather go with someone who makes me laugh.”

Your stomach flips unexpectedly at that, and you force yourself to ignore it. You should say no. It would be easier, safer, to say no. But the idea of sitting at home, stewing over your own bad luck, seems unbearable now.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fine,” you say at last. “But only because I refuse to eat heart-shaped pizza alone.”

The next evening, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your dress, nerves curling in your stomach like a live wire. It’s ridiculous, really — there’s no reason to feel this way. It’s not a real date.

But still, you do.

You stare at your reflection, tilting your head as if you might somehow find the reason why your heart is pounding a little harder than it should. It’s just Mat. Your best friend. The guy who has seen you at your worst, who has held your hair back when you were sick and made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And yet, there’s an undeniable flutter beneath your ribs, an anticipation you can’t quite name.

You’re just putting in your other earring when you hear the doorbell ring. You take a steadying breath before making your way to the door, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress one last time. The moment you open it, you nearly forget how to breathe.

Mat stands there, looking unfairly good in a suit that fits him perfectly, the crisp lines accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. His dark hair is neatly styled, but there’s still that slightly tousled look to it, like he couldn’t quite tame it completely. His tie is loosened just a little, giving him that effortlessly put-together charm that’s always been so him.

But what truly makes your stomach flip is the way he looks at you.

His mouth parts slightly, his expression faltering as he takes you in. His dark eyes sweep over you, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curve of your dress, the way the soft lighting catches the shimmer of your earrings. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and for the first time in your life, you see Mat completely, utterly speechless.

“Wow,” he exhales after a beat, voice quieter than usual. “You… You look—” He stops himself, shaking his head like he can’t quite find the right words. His eyes finally meet yours again as he settles. “You look incredible.”

Heat blooms in your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. You know Mat well enough to tell he’s not just saying it to be polite — there’s something different in his voice, in the way he’s still staring at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Mat huffs a soft laugh, like he’s just now remembering how to breathe. He finally seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in, lifting his arm to reveal a bouquet of fresh flowers — soft pink roses mixed with delicate white lilies.

“For you,” he says, offering them with a sheepish grin. “Figured if we’re doing this properly, I should at least bring flowers.”

Your heart stutters. You reach out, brushing your fingers against his as you take them. “Mat…”

He shrugs, suddenly looking a little bashful. “What? You deserve flowers.”

Something about the simplicity of the statement makes your breath hitch. You grip the bouquet a little tighter, inhaling their soft fragrance as warmth spreads through your chest. You meet his gaze again, and for a brief second, you swear there’s something different in his expression — something lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

But before you can dwell on it too much, Mat claps his hands together. “Alright, ready to go?” His usual easygoing demeanor is back, but there’s still a trace of something softer in his eyes.

You nod, placing the bouquet on the entry table and grabbing your coat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As you step out into the crisp night air, Mat’s hand hovers for a moment before he reaches for the small of your back, guiding you toward his car with a familiarity that makes your stomach flutter all over again.

When you arrive at the restaurant, it’s warm and intimate, the low hum of conversation mixing with the soft clinking of glasses and silverware. A candle flickers between you and Mat as you settle into your seats, the ambiance wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

The conversation flows effortlessly as you place your orders. There’s never an awkward moment, never a lull where you feel the need to fill the silence. It’s always been easy with Mat, but tonight, there’s something different in the air — something you both pretend not to notice.

The wine arrives first, a deep red that gleams under the candlelight. Mat pours for both of you, raising his glass with a lopsided grin. “A toast?”

“To getting stuck with me on Valentine’s day.” you propose, clinking your glass against his.

Mat snorts, shaking his head as he takes a sip. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You open your mouth to reply, to make some quip about him being your last-minute, backup date, but Mat interrupts before you can.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you,” he says simply.

The words hang between you, soft but weighted, sinking into your chest before you even have a chance to process them. You search his face, expecting to find that teasing glimmer still in his eyes, but there’s nothing but sincerity there. No jokes, no playful smirk — just Mat, looking at you like he means every single word.

Your stomach flips, and suddenly, the restaurant feels a little too warm. You take a sip of wine to steady yourself, casting your gaze down at the flickering candle between you.

The rest of the dinner is filled with laughter and teasing. Mat makes a game out of guessing the lives of the other restaurant patrons, spinning ridiculous backstories about their relationships. You counter with even more outrageous versions, both of you trying not to laugh too loudly.

The food is incredible, the conversation even better. By the time the check comes, your stomach hurts from laughing, and your cheeks are sore from smiling so much.

Mat reaches for the bill before you can. “I got it.”

You shake your head, pulling out your card. “Mat, come on. We’re both adults. We can split it.”

He scoffs. “Not happening.”

“Mat—”

He levels you with a look, one that’s impossible to argue with. “Let me do this, okay? I want to.”

You search his expression for a moment, but there’s no smugness, no expectation — just quiet sincerity. So you let him, leaning back in your chair as he hands his card over to the server.

The night air is crisp when you step out of the restaurant, the lingering warmth of the meal and wine still settling in your veins. Mat falls into step beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as you make your way toward his car. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that doesn’t need filling.

The realization creeps in slowly, unfurling in your chest as you glance at Mat out of the corner of your eye. He looks relaxed, content even, the corners of his mouth tugged up in a way that’s not quite a smile but close enough. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his features, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the unruly strands of hair falling onto his forehead.

It’s always been easy with him. That thought lingers longer than it should.

The car ride home is quiet, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between you. You steal another glance at him — really look at him this time. The way his hands grip the wheel, the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration. How at ease he seems, how at ease you feel just sitting beside him.

You don’t remember the last time a night out left you feeling this light, this warm.

A quiet sigh escapes you as you turn to look out the window, watching the familiar streets blur past. The evening had been effortless, full of laughter and shared glances that felt different in a way you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Mat pulls up outside your place, cutting the engine as the streetlights cast long shadows over the quiet neighborhood. The car falls into silence, save for the faint hum of the radio still playing low in the background. You shift in your seat, hands smoothing over the hem of your dress as you glance over at him.

“Tonight was…” You search for the right word, but everything feels inadequate.

Mat turns to face you, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. “Better than a heart-shaped pizza?”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Much better.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, but there’s something else in his gaze — something softer, something lingering. The air between you feels charged, heavy but not uncomfortable, like there’s something unspoken hanging just out of reach.

You hesitate for a second before finally unbuckling your seatbelt. “I had a really great time, Mat.”

He watches you closely, almost like he’s trying to gauge if you actually mean it. “Yeah?”

You nod, a little surprised by how much you do. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a date that didn’t feel like work. Where I could just… be myself.”

Mat blinks, like your words catch him off guard. “Well, yeah,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter. “It’s easy with us.”

Something in your chest tightens at that.

You open the car door, stepping out into the cool night air. Mat follows, shutting the driver’s side door before falling into step beside you as you make your way to the front door. He doesn’t have to walk you up, but he does anyway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.

You stop at your doorstep, turning to face him. He’s standing so close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest hint of his cologne, something clean and warm that makes your stomach flutter. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks.

“Thank you, again, I really had a great time tonight,” you say again, softer this time, as if you need him to believe it.

Mat lets out a breath, his lips pressing into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Good.” His voice is low, rough in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and electric. His eyes flick down to your lips — so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already doing the same to him.

He swallows, shifting his weight like he’s waging some internal battle with himself. And then, before you can say anything else, he steps forward, wrapping you in a hug.

It’s not rushed, not casual — it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s grounding himself in the feeling of you against him. You sink into it easily, your arms slipping around his waist, your cheek resting against his chest. His body is warm, solid, and you let your eyes flutter shut for just a second longer than you should.

When he pulls back, his hands linger — one resting lightly on your waist, the other brushing against your arm before finally retreating. He exhales through his nose, looking at you like he’s debating something, like he’s on the edge of something neither of you quite understand yet.

And then he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

Your breath catches, the warmth of his lips searing into your skin. You don’t move. Can’t move. His face is so close now, his nose almost brushing against yours as he lingers there for half a second too long.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as your eyes flick between his lips and his gaze. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady, and the tension between you shifts into something undeniable.

Mat’s hand comes up then, fingers curling lightly under your chin, tilting your face toward him. His touch is gentle, uncertain, but there’s something behind it.

His thumb brushes lightly against your skin, and he swallows before murmuring, “Can I?”

But you don’t let him finish the thought.

Before he can second-guess himself, before you can second-guess yourself, you close the space between you, pressing your lips to his in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Mat stills for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting you to make the first move. But then his hand tightens slightly at your waist, his lips moving against yours with an aching slowness that makes your head spin.

The kiss is tentative, lingering — like the both of you are still trying to figure out what this means, where it’s going. But it doesn’t feel wrong. If anything, it feels like something inevitable, something you’ve been dancing around for longer than you even realized.

When you finally pull back, your breath is unsteady, your heart hammering against your ribs. Mat’s forehead brushes against yours, his eyes still closed, like he’s memorizing the moment before reality sets back in.

“I don’t want to be just your backup Valentine,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion.

A small smile plays at your lips. “Good. Because I don’t want this to be just one night.”

Mat exhales a laugh, shaking his head before pressing another soft kiss to your lips, like he can’t help himself. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Maybe you did. Maybe, deep down, you’d always known.

[aventurineswife]

Hey! How about a break from my parental requests (there were 4 requests as I counted) with a totally normal one? (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Anyway, I was wondering if you could make a reader based on a gem, it consists of the reader having a rather unique structure compared to his gem siblings, having holes in his chest. The reader does not care much about this fact because they can replace them with gems, with the characters Aventurine Sampo, Dan Heng and Jing Yuan, something else to add is that the reader would change the gem depending on the character: He explained to me, Aventurine with a Phosphophyllite gem of hardness 3, with Sampo with a Euclass gem of hardness 7.5, Dan Heng with an Alexandrite with a hardness of 8.5 and finally with Jing Yuan with a Phantom Quartz of hardness 7. I hope I have explained myself? Ó⁠╭⁠╮⁠Ò

-💤🩵 anon

Gems of the Soul

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Found Family, Emotional Bonds, Angst with Comfort, Slow Burn, Philosophical Themes, Vulnerability, Growth, Self-Discovery, Metaphorical Imagery, Introspection, Emotional Healing.

Warnings: Exploration of emotional trauma, themes of fragility and vulnerability, existential musings, potential for bittersweet moments.

A/N: I had a hard time writing this because I never watched the anime...🧍‍♀️

The first time Aventurine met you, his eyes gleamed with intrigue. The shimmering hue of your Phosphophyllite core caught his attention immediately. "Fragile," he remarked with a grin, tapping a finger against the gem embedded in your chest. "You’re gambling with life itself, aren’t you? How fitting."

Despite the fragility of your gemstone, you stood tall. You didn’t flinch under his calculating gaze, nor did you shy away from his sharp wit. Aventurine, for all his charm and strategic genius, had rarely met someone willing to expose their weaknesses so openly.

"You think fragility is a disadvantage?" you asked, your voice steady. "It’s a reminder to adapt, to evolve."

Over time, you became his confidant—someone who understood the delicate balance of risk and reward that Aventurine lived by. The way your gemstone changed after every encounter—cracking, chipping, and being replaced—fascinated him. Yet, he also found himself oddly protective, ensuring his schemes never pushed you too far.

One day, you confronted him. "You don’t need to keep gambling with yourself, Aventurine. Even the strongest strategists deserve peace."

For once, the man of a thousand masks faltered. In you, he saw the strength to acknowledge fragility without shame—a strength he secretly envied.

Sampo leaned back with his signature mischievous grin as you held out a piece of Euclase to slot into your chest. "So, you picked the wise and kind gem, huh? I’m flattered," he teased.

You smiled knowingly. "You’ve lived enough lives to appreciate this, haven’t you?"

Sampo wasn’t quick to analyze you. He watched, he joked, and he danced around your purpose with the ease of a merchant spinning a yarn. But the moment you placed the gem into your chest, he sobered. "Y’know," he murmured, "you’re a bit of a puzzle. People like me… we don’t deserve kindness, yet here you are."

Traveling with Sampo was chaotic but enlightening. Where others saw a swindler, you saw a man fighting to survive, a soul tired of constantly being one step ahead. The Euclase within you resonated with his hidden wisdom, giving him moments of clarity he rarely allowed himself.

"You’re not as selfish as you pretend to be," you told him once. "You just don’t think anyone will see beyond the façade."

Sampo laughed it off, but the way he lingered by your side spoke volumes.

Dan Heng’s eyes narrowed the first time you placed the Alexandrite gem into your chest. Its iridescent colors shifted under the light, much like his emotions—hidden yet always present.

"You don’t need to do that," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I don’t want to hurt you."

You shook your head. "This isn’t about fear, Dan Heng. It’s about understanding."

The Alexandrite gem was perfect for him. Just as it reflected multiple colors, Dan Heng’s past and present constantly collided within him. You understood his struggles—the isolation, the guilt, the fight against the storm raging inside.

When his anger or self-doubt bubbled to the surface, the gem in your chest pulsed with light, grounding him. "You don’t have to run from yourself," you told him. "You’re stronger than you think."

Over time, Dan Heng grew to trust you, allowing you glimpses of the man behind the stoic exterior. In return, your Alexandrite core remained unbroken, a testament to the strength he inspired in you.

Jing Yuan’s eyes gleamed with quiet curiosity as you inserted the Phantom Quartz into your chest. The layers of white and black within the gem mirrored his own duality—peaceful yet commanding, calm yet ever-watchful.

"I see you’ve chosen a gem with depth," he remarked, his voice like a gentle breeze. "Fitting, isn’t it?"

Jing Yuan was a man who carried the weight of centuries, yet his serene demeanor rarely faltered. You, with your multi-layered gem, became a mirror for his own internal conflicts. The Phantom Quartz spoke to both your insecurities and his—an understanding that neither of you needed to voice.

"You’re too hard on yourself," you said one evening as the two of you gazed at the stars.

"And you’re too selfless," he replied, his tone gentle but firm. "You put yourself in harm’s way for others. That’s not a burden you need to carry alone."

With Jing Yuan, you felt both the safety of his wisdom and the quiet sorrow of his regrets. The Phantom Quartz within you grew stronger with every moment, its layers shifting and intertwining—just like the bond you shared with him.

[christopherisfoive]

Underneath It All

Han x reader (College AU)

Note: I miss writing dearly however I can not get myself to do so. I have been reading stuff by others and missing those authors who are away. I hope to be able to read their work again soon xx

word count: 5.4k

I let my eyes wander to the bench where he sat with his friends, talking and eating his lunch. From the curl of his hair to the color of his lips, I was always enamored with his presence. I understood his appeal—the way girls around the school followed him, talking to his friends just to steal a moment of his attention.

I sighed and lowered my gaze to the grapes on my tray.

"I don't understand why you don't just go up to him and talk like everyone else does," my friend Kat said. She always insisted I had the confidence to do whatever I wanted—just like she did.

"It's because I can't do that. I'm not you. Also I don't really get the hype."

She huffed and stuffed one of my grapes into her mouth. I shot her an unserious look, but luckily, she turned the conversation around, and we started talking about finals next week. I tried to lure my brain back to its senses, forcing myself to forget about the puffy-cheeked boy sitting mere feet away.

I hear the screeching of a chair and glance up just as Han stands with his tray. Our eyes meet for a split second. His gaze sharpens, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before his expression hardens—dismissive, like we were kids at the playground and I had just stolen his favorite toy.

“Something interesting?” he says, cocking a brow.

I clear my throat and look away, pretending to focus on the grapes on my tray. “Not at all.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, low enough that only I catch it. When I glance up again, he’s already walking away.

Kat smirks. “Oooooh, tension.”

I roll my eyes and swipe a fry from her plate, ignoring the smug look on her face. I just wanted the next class to come already.

Hours pass, and somehow, I make it to the end of the day. My last class—Art Concepts—is with the least engaging professor in the entire university.

Most days, I can focus just fine, but on select afternoons like this, I find myself sketching assignments for my drawing courses instead.

I usually kept to myself in this class anyway. It just so happened that Han and his two friends, Hyunjin and Felix, were also enrolled.

Today, though, I only saw his friends—no Han in sight.

Fifteen minutes passed, and the professor still hadn't shown up. The room buzzed with quiet conversations, but most students were just waiting. I let my mind wander, zoning out as my gaze settled on the only empty desk beside me.

I didn’t even realize how long I had been staring until a familiar, taunting voice broke through my thoughts.

"Are you, like, alive? Or…?"

I blinked and looked up—straight into Han’s gaze.

I hadn’t even noticed him walk in. But now, standing there with that ever-present smirk, he seemed way too amused. And worse? While I had been lost in my thoughts, I completely missed the fact that this was the only open seat left.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Just waiting," I respond nonchalantly, forcing my voice to stay even.

I look away before he can catch the shift in my mood, but I swear he senses it anyway.

Han hums, dragging out the sound like he doesn’t quite believe me. "Right. Just waiting. Definitely not zoned out, looking completely lost in thought or anything."

I scoff, finally glancing back at him. "Do you always narrate people’s lives, or am I just lucky?"

His smirk widens as he slides into the empty seat next to me. "Oh, you’re definitely lucky."

I can feel the warmth of his presence, the slight brush of his arm against mine, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I turn my focus back to my sketchbook, determined not to let him get under my skin.

But he’s relentless. "You’re awfully quiet now," he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. "You were doing so well with that attitude a second ago."

I glance at him again, my eyes narrowing. "Maybe I just don’t have the energy for you today."

His lips twitch, and he leans in slightly, too close for comfort. "Lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere."

I roll my eyes, turning my attention to my sketchbook instead of whatever this was turning into.

I put the rest of my energy into finishing my sketch, hoping the professor would show up—though I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a last-minute cancellation email. My eyelids felt heavy, and my head bobbed every so often, fighting sleep.

Suddenly, I sat up straight, forcing myself to stay awake.

I could feel Han’s gaze shift toward me. His eyes flicked up and down, like he was assessing me. "You good?"

I didn’t even look at him, keeping my focus on my sketchbook. "Yeah. Just… tired."

He tilted his head slightly, clearly intrigued. "Tired? Or just bored?"

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my cool. "A little bit of both. How about you? Enjoying the show?"

Han chuckled, leaning back in his seat, clearly enjoying the game. "Oh, I’m enjoying it alright. Watching you struggle to stay awake? Priceless."

I bit back a sarcastic reply, but I couldn’t help the heat rising in my cheeks. He was right, and the worst part? He knew it.

"Why did you show up late? Didn’t want to sit with your buddies today?" I ask with a small, teasing smile, barely keeping the smugness out of my voice.

Han quirks an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the question. For a moment, his usual cocky expression falters. "What, you think I’m avoiding them?"

I shrug casually, keeping my gaze fixed on my sketchbook, though I can’t help but notice how he leans in slightly, probably trying to figure me out. "Could be," I say with a slight smirk, though the truth is, I was just trying to throw him off.

He chuckles, but there’s a certain glint in his eyes now. "You don’t know me as well as you think, do you?"

I smile meekly, a bit of satisfaction tugging at the corners of my lips. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

He leans in a little, voice dropping. "Or maybe I just don’t need them to have a good time."

My heart skips a beat at the implication, but I don’t let it show. "Really? So you're fine with sitting next to me then?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the challenge alive.

He smirks, leaning back again. "Oh, I don’t mind. You make this class way more interesting."

I roll my eyes, not sure whether I should be annoyed or… flattered? Either way, I keep my cool. "Sure, because I’m the life of the party."

Han chuckles softly, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me now. "You’d be surprised."

I sit back in my chair, glancing down towards the front of the class, trying to ignore the slight unease swirling in my chest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hyunjin and Felix staring at us—eyes flicking between me and Han. The second they realize I’ve caught their gaze, they quickly look away, though I swear I see the corners of their lips twitching.

I try not to let it get to me, focusing on the front of the room instead, but it’s impossible not to feel like I’ve become the topic of their conversation.

Han, of course, notices their quick reaction too, and I can almost hear the smug satisfaction in his voice when he speaks. "They can’t keep their eyes off us, huh?"

I sigh inwardly, not giving him the satisfaction of looking his way again. "Maybe they’re just bored."

Han leans closer, his voice a little quieter now, like he’s sharing a secret. "I think they know something’s going on. Maybe they’re waiting for us to make a move."

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms, leaning back slightly in my chair. "And what kind of move would that be?"

Han tilts his head, a glimmer of curiosity behind his smirk. "I don’t know… something a little less, uh, distant." His gaze flicks briefly to my face, studying me.

I give him a pointed look. "Distant? I’m not the one leaning in every two seconds."

He chuckles, clearly amused by my response, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes. "True. You’re different from the others."

I scoff, leaning forward a little. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs casually, but I can see a slight shift in his posture, as if he’s trying to gauge me a little more. "Just that… most girls are pretty eager to talk to me. But you? You don’t exactly jump at the chance."

I keep my expression neutral, but a little voice in the back of my mind tells me he’s digging for something more. "Guess I’m just not like them."

Han raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Guess not." He leans back in his chair, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than I’m comfortable with. "But it’s interesting, don’t you think? The way you’re not all over me like everyone else."

I don't respond to him. Not because I have nothing to say but because I have this horribly feeling that if I do I'll confess to him about all the times I have thought about talking to him.

I don’t respond to him—not because I have nothing to say, but because I have this horrible feeling that if I do, I’ll accidentally confess to him all the times I’ve thought about talking to him.

The thought hits me like a wave, and my throat tightens. I can’t bring myself to say anything more. If I open my mouth, I might just blurt out all the things I’ve been trying to avoid. All the days I’ve watched him from across the room, imagining what it would be like to just walk up to him and say something.

Instead, I stay silent, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my heart’s picking up speed. I keep my gaze locked on my sketchbook, willing myself to focus on the lines in front of me, even as his presence next to me feels too loud.

Han doesn’t push me for an answer, but I can feel his eyes on me—probing, like he’s waiting for me to crack.

I can feel my heart beat in my ears, each thud louder than the last. My breath catches in my throat, and before I can stop it, I let out a small, awkward cough, hoping it’ll cover up the fact that I’m suddenly drowning in this unwelcome feeling.

I try to look down at my sketchbook, but it’s like the weight of his gaze is heavy on me now. I know he’s still watching, and it makes my skin burn with embarrassment.

"Are you okay?" Han’s voice breaks through the silence, and it’s so much softer than I expect.

I swallow hard, willing my face to stay neutral. "Yeah, fine," I say quickly, trying to sound casual, but I can feel the heat in my cheeks betraying me.

I glance at him, just for a second, and then immediately look away when I realize the intensity in his eyes. Great, now he probably knows I’m acting weird.

I glance at him, just for a second, and then immediately look away when I realize the intensity in his eyes. Great, now he probably knows I’m acting weird.

Han doesn’t laugh or tease this time. Instead, there’s a moment of silence, and then his voice comes, softer than before. "You sure you’re fine?"

I look up at him, trying to keep the nervous flutter out of my chest, but his gaze is a little too intense. I open my mouth to respond, but the words don’t come out immediately. Why is he being like this?

He leans a little closer, his tone casual but with an undertone of something more. "You don’t usually act like this. You, uh, okay?" His eyes flicker to my face, like he’s trying to read me.

For a second, I consider just brushing it off. But the way he’s looking at me—so quietly observant, like he’s seeing through my walls—makes me hesitate. I can’t just say something random and pretend everything’s fine.

I clear my throat, finally forcing words out. "Yeah. I’m just tired."

Han doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push further. He leans back, though his gaze still lingers for a moment longer than I expect. "Alright. Just making sure."

By this time, it's been almost thirty minutes, and the professor still hasn’t shown up. I glance at the clock, my patience running thin. I decide that saving myself by leaving is the best option. The thought of heading back to my dorm and possibly taking a nap on my desk sounds like pure bliss right now.

I start packing my things back into my bag, my mind already half-out the door. I’m just about to zip it up when I rub the exhaustion out of my eyes, feeling the weight of the day settle in.

Before I can grab my bag and head out, I hear Han’s voice again, this time sounding a bit more serious than I expect. "You leaving?"

I pause, the motion of stuffing my sketchbook into my bag halting as I glance up at him. Han’s eyes are no longer playful, and his posture is slightly more upright, like he's actually paying attention to me for the first time today.

I hesitate for a second, debating whether to just walk away or give him some kind of answer. Finally, I shrug, trying to sound casual even though I can feel the heat rising in my chest. "Yeah, don’t think this class is happening."

Han studies me for a moment, and then his lips curl into a small, almost knowing smirk. "You sure about that? I think you just might be missing something."

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuine, but it’s enough to make me stop mid-motion. I stare at him, my hand frozen on the zipper of my bag. Is he serious? Does he want me to stay?

I stare at him for a moment, unsure if I heard him right. His expression has shifted again, no longer playful, but still too hard to read. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a strange pull—like maybe I’m missing something, like maybe he wants me to stay.

I glance at the door, my mind already made up. I should just leave. This class is practically canceled anyway.

But something in the way Han is looking at me makes me pause. Why do I feel like I’m being baited?

He raises an eyebrow, as if he’s waiting for me to say something, but all I can do is stare back, unsure of how to respond. I can’t decide whether it’s his confidence or the curiosity building between us that’s keeping me rooted to the spot.

Finally, I let out a small, almost nervous laugh. "You really think the professor is going to show up?" I try to keep my tone light, but it’s clear I’m still trying to deflect.

Han just shrugs, leaning back slightly in his chair, his smirk returning. "Could be. Or maybe, you're just avoiding something."

I frown, unsure of what he means, but the way he says it catches my attention. He’s not even teasing anymore. There’s something in his eyes—something that makes me feel like he’s trying to figure me out, in the way that only someone who’s actually paying attention would.

I bite my lip, looking back at my bag again, but somehow, I don’t feel the urge to rush out the door anymore. I feel... caught.

Han’s eyes flicker to my bag and then back to me. "You know, I’ve never actually seen you stick around after class." His voice is low, and even though he sounds nonchalant, there’s a subtle weight behind it. "What’s the rush?"

I feel my stomach flip. He’s definitely noticed something, and I’m not sure if I like that.

I bite my lip, my fingers tracing the edge of my bag, the words swirling in my head. It’s you. You’re the reason I feel like I’m in a rush.

But I can’t say that. I can’t tell him that.

Instead, I clear my throat, trying to shake the weight of my own thoughts off. "I don’t know, maybe I just... have stuff to do." The words feel hollow, like they’re coming from someone else, but I push them out anyway, hoping it will stop him from seeing right through me.

Han doesn’t seem convinced, though. His gaze never wavers, like he’s watching for any little sign I might give away. And somehow, I feel like I’m standing completely exposed, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking but is waiting for me to say it.

I shift in my seat, trying to keep my cool. "I don’t like staying after class. Just feels... pointless."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel like he’s trying to coax me into admitting something—anything.

I let out a breath, my heart beating just a little faster. There’s this feeling creeping up my chest, like maybe, just maybe, if I told him—if I said the words—something would change. But I can’t.

"Anyway," I say, my voice steady but shaking on the inside, "I should probably go."

I stand up quickly, trying to escape the suffocating tension. I can feel his eyes on me as I move, and it makes my pulse quicken even more. It’s him. He’s the rush. He’s the one who keeps me from leaving. But I can’t say it. Not now. Not ever.

I push through the door of the building, the cool air hitting my face as I step outside. I take a deep breath, hoping the open space will calm my nerves. The campus is quieter now, the usual hustle and bustle having quieted down as students filter out of the building, heading in different directions.

Finally. I’m free.

But as I take a step forward, I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. A little too close to be a coincidence.

I don’t turn around. I can’t turn around.

I keep walking, my steps faster now, almost instinctively, trying to escape this strange feeling gnawing at me. I feel the weight of his gaze even without looking back.

But then, out of nowhere, I hear his voice.

"Not running away again, are you?"

I freeze. My heart stumbles in my chest. Han’s standing just behind me now, a few steps away but enough to make it impossible to ignore him. The teasing tone is still there, but it’s quieter, more deliberate. His presence is almost… unsettling now.

I slowly turn to face him, trying to keep my expression neutral, but I’m sure he can see the flicker of confusion in my eyes. He looks completely unbothered, like following me out here was the most normal thing in the world.

"I’m not running away," I say quickly, my voice a little sharper than I intended. I don’t even know why I feel defensive; it’s not like I owe him an explanation.

Han doesn’t seem to mind my tone. He just looks at me with that same unreadable expression. His eyes flicker toward the building we just came from, then back to me.

"So, what is it then?" His voice is low, casual, but the question hangs in the air like a challenge. "You avoiding me?"

I laugh, but it’s tight, forced. "No, I’m not avoiding you." My stomach twists, but I refuse to let him see how much his words are affecting me.

Han steps closer, the space between us shrinking, and I feel my pulse quicken. "Funny," he says with a half-smile, his gaze intense. "Because it sure seems like it."

I try to step around him, my thoughts a jumbled mess, but Han steps into my path again, blocking my way. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes are serious now. He’s not playing games anymore.

"Are you really just going to walk away?"

My breath catches, but I stay silent, my heart pounding like it’s about to escape my chest. I glance up at him, and he’s looking at me with that same piercing gaze. I feel pinned in place, like I’m stuck between wanting to run and wanting to stay.

I take another step, trying to brush past him, but Han mirrors me, moving just slightly to the side to stay in my path.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s teasing, but there’s a seriousness in the way he looks at me. "You can’t just walk away from this."

I turn my back to him, taking a deep breath to steady myself. He’s not going to let it go.

"What’s your deal, huh?" I snap, spinning around to face him, my voice shaky but loud. I can feel my emotions starting to spiral out of control. "Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep following me?"

His eyes widen for a split second, but then he’s right back to that confident, collected expression. He steps even closer, barely any space between us now. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m just curious."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and before I can stop it, the floodgates open. "Curious?" I laugh, the sound coming out bitter. "You want to know why I’m avoiding you, right?"

I don’t wait for him to answer. The words are spilling out before I can think, like they’ve been locked inside me for far too long.

"It’s you, okay? You… you intrigue me." I wince as I say it, my own voice feeling too loud, too vulnerable. "I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about talking to you all the time, and I just… I just can’t."

I can’t believe I’m saying this. My heart is racing so fast, I’m sure he can hear it. I’m terrified of how exposed I feel, how raw my emotions are right now.

Han’s eyes soften, just slightly, and for a second, I think maybe he’s going to say something comforting, but then his lips curl into a small smile.

"So, you do want to talk to me, huh?" He leans in a little closer, his voice almost a whisper. "Then why don’t you?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I want to run away. I want to disappear into the ground and never come back. But I can’t. Not now. Not with him standing there, waiting for me to finish what I started.

I stand there, frozen, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. His eyes are still on me, waiting for my next move, the silence stretching between us like an invisible thread pulling me in.

"So, you think about talking to me all the time?" Han’s voice is a little lower now, almost teasing, but there’s something behind his words I can’t quite place. He steps just a little bit closer, his proximity making everything feel heavier.

I try to pull back, but something in me is rooted to the spot. "I…" My voice falters, and I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze bearing down on me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to crumble.

He watches me for a moment, his eyes glinting with something that I can’t quite name. Then, finally, he steps back just a bit, his shoulders softening, as if he’s deciding to give me space. But instead of turning away, he looks at me with a soft, genuine smile.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he says quietly. The teasing edge is gone, replaced by something warmer. More real. "I just… didn’t expect you to say that."

The words settle around me like a weight, and for the first time since this entire conversation started, I feel like I can breathe. His presence isn’t overwhelming now—it’s almost comforting. Like he’s not trying to get anything out of me, but just… understanding.

I don’t know why, but the sudden shift in his demeanor makes me feel like I’ve been holding my breath all this time.

"You intrigue me, too," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. It feels almost like a confession, but it’s true.

I can’t look at him directly, not after everything I’ve said, so I focus on my hands, suddenly feeling all too aware of how much I’ve just exposed. My cheeks heat up, and I pray he won’t notice.

But then, Han reaches out, just lightly touching my arm, and my heart skips a beat. It’s so gentle, almost like he’s trying to steady me without saying a word.

"It’s okay," he murmurs, his voice soft, the teasing gone completely now. "You don’t have to explain yourself."

And just like that, everything that had felt so heavy—so intense—begins to soften. The walls I had built up around myself start to crumble in the most unexpected way. I feel my shoulders relax for the first time since I’ve known him, and I can’t help but smile softly.

For a moment, we just stand there, the silence stretching between us like a quiet thread connecting us in ways I never imagined. My heart is still racing, but it’s not in a panic anymore. It’s the kind of racing that feels real, like something is about to change.

Han’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine, and I can feel the weight of everything I’ve just said hanging in the air. His eyes soften just a little, and I wonder if he can feel the shift too. Maybe he’s as caught up in this as I am.

The tension feels like it’s building again, but this time it’s different. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable—it’s something else. I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me, or if it’s because I finally said the truth out loud, but I can’t look away. I don’t want to.

But before I can say anything else, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. My heart gives a little lurch, and I look away just as Hyunjin and Felix come around the corner of the building. Han doesn’t break eye contact with me until they catch up, and then he turns his head slightly, breaking the spell we were caught in.

"Hey, guys," Han says, his tone shifting as his friends approach. They give him a knowing look, and then they glance at me, but they don’t say anything right away. It’s like they’re waiting for him to explain.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a little out of place. "Hey," I mumble, trying to act casual even though my heart is still pounding.

Han looks over at me, his eyes glinting with a teasing edge again, but there’s something different in his expression this time.

"These are my friends, Hyunjin and Felix." He gestures toward the two of them. "You’ve met Felix before, right?"

Felix gives me a warm smile, his eyes lighting up when he sees me. "Yeah, I think we had a class together last semester!"

Hyunjin just gives me a small nod, his eyes sharp, but he doesn’t say much. I’m sure he’s observing everything, like he always does.

I try to smile back at them, but the conversation feels a little distant now. I’m still reeling from the earlier exchange with Han, and now, with the three of them standing there, I’m not sure what to say.

"Nice to meet you both," I say, my voice a little quieter than usual.

Han catches my eye again, and I can feel the unspoken words between us. The way he looks at me now is different—like he knows something I don’t.

As soon as Hyunjin and Felix join us, the atmosphere shifts again. I notice Felix giving me another friendly smile, but Hyunjin, on the other hand, seems to be observing us a little too closely.

Han looks at him for a moment, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "What?" Han asks, his voice tinged with a quiet warning.

Hyunjin leans in a little, his eyes flicking back and forth between me and Han, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I didn’t know you were so... chatty these days."

Han’s cheeks flush slightly, and I catch the briefest moment where he looks like he’s about to say something, but he just gives a short, almost dismissive laugh instead. He turns to me, trying to play it cool again. "Don’t mind him, he likes to tease."

But Hyunjin’s eyes never leave Han, and he raises an eyebrow, his tone light but with an edge. "Oh, we can tell."

Felix seems to catch on to the vibe pretty quickly and shoots a look at Hyunjin, trying to diffuse the moment with a casual comment. "It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out, right?"

Hyunjin shrugs, his gaze still lingering on Han for just a moment longer before he finally turns to me with a bright, friendly grin. "Sorry if we’re making things awkward. We’ve just been waiting for Han to make a move for, like, forever."

My heart skips, but I force a smile, pretending I didn’t catch the hint. I look at Han, who looks a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "A move?" I ask, genuinely confused.

Felix jumps in quickly, laughing a little too loudly. "He means just, you know… being less of a weirdo around people."

Han shoots him a glare, and I can see his usual easygoing confidence slipping just slightly. "I don’t know what they’re talking about," he mutters, clearly embarrassed.

But it doesn’t seem like Hyunjin is done just yet. He leans in a bit, looking at Han with a playful, knowing grin. "Sure, sure. But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you show us how you really feel."

I’m still not entirely sure what they mean, but it’s enough to make my heart race again, a mix of confusion and something I can’t quite place bubbling up inside me.

I glance between them, trying to piece together what they’re saying. Felix and Hyunjin are clearly enjoying themselves, but Han seems... almost caught off guard by their teasing. It’s subtle, but there’s something in the way he won’t meet my eyes, something that makes my stomach twist.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" I find myself asking before I can stop it, my voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin grins, shooting me a playful wink, his tone light but knowing. "Oh, don’t worry about it," he says, before nudging Felix. "You’ll figure it out soon enough."

I blink, still unsure, but I feel my cheeks start to burn again. My eyes flicker to Han, who's now standing just a little too close for comfort. He’s still quiet, but I can feel the weight of his presence beside me, almost like he’s waiting for me to say something.

My heart is pounding, and I try to brush off the tension, but it’s getting harder to ignore.

As if sensing my confusion, Han finally speaks, his voice softer than usual. "It’s not like that." He glances at me, his gaze lingering just long enough for me to catch the subtle vulnerability in his eyes before he looks away.

The moment feels heavy, and I’m not sure if it’s my racing heartbeat or the silence between us that makes it so hard to breathe. I feel like I should say something, but I’m not sure what to make of any of this yet.

Felix and Hyunjin continue their walk ahead, but I’m left standing there, caught between confusion and something else—something that feels a lot like... curiosity.

I glance at Han again, but this time, he doesn’t look back. Instead, he gives a small, almost imperceptible sigh, like he’s resigned to something. "You should get going," he says, his voice almost gentle.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Yeah… I should." But even as I turn to walk away, I feel his presence linger behind me, and I know that whatever this is between us... it’s not over yet.

[zexapher]

Stupid Cupid

Started this edit almost an entire year ago, right when RWBY Beyond dropped the boba episode. I immediately caught onto the idea of chibi Ruby being a little cherub to use for shipping characters. Of course, I immediately distracted myself with other creative projects and the Ship Wars 8 (which White Knight won in spectacular fashion btw) and life got in the way. But I came back around to it this past month. Perfect timing really, since it means I got it out for Valentine’s Day.

I just think it’s lovely how CRWBY have nurtured this ship subtly in the background, until they finally decided to get right up in our faces about it with Volume 9. That’s kind of what I wanted to portray here, with Cruby on a mission to make White Knight a reality, but Jaune and Weiss had already grown close without that final brazen intervention.

It’s really something special to start this meme essentially right as Rooster Teeth and RWBY closed down, only to come back and finish it with the news that Rooster Teeth was bought by Burnie and RWBY’s now moved on to VIZ. Both of them continuing on in their way. Kind of heartwarming to be honest, like a message of perseverance, keep on trying even if circumstances bring you down.

I can still see a few influences from my early work on the edit, was playing a little Republic Commando at the time, so we get Ruby’s comment about her skills with a bow confusing and frightening CRWBY. Speaking of, I think we can all see why I chose Cruby as Ruby’s cherub name. Perfect for someone tasked with building up White Knight. And, come on, the shipping rock is a perfect replacement for a bow. You may have noticed me sneak in the Golden Oreos or Rooster Teeth’s logo to celebrate the recent news (Jaune’s put a little sticker on the pummel of his sword).

With editing, I still run into trouble every now and then as I learn and familiarize myself with my software. Even now after a year of practicing it, and a decent chunk on gimp in particular. On this edit I ran into a weird issue with the color picker tool, where when I sampled a color, the brush would only apply a pastel or grayer version of that color. Wasn’t sure how I enabled that, if it was a glitch or I accidentally enabled some key shortcut or something. I worked my way around it though, in the most obtuse manner.

Pretty cool to be learning something new as I go through these edits. Like all the color correcting for my Vacuan Nights meme. Or even small quality of life things like how I decided to start making thicker outlines for the text about halfway through. That’s something that helps making the words pop, the outlines were a bit too thin before. And at the end I can really pump out some of the more complicated edits that used to take me a long time a year ago.

Redrawing Jaune for panel 9 was a ton of tedious busywork. The screenshot I pulled that from had bad lighting from the portal behind Jaune, so I needed to fill in colors for proper lighting. I think it came out pretty spectacularly.

And I just really like the premise for this meme. CRWBY helping push White Knight along, but the relationship was already well on its way in the background. That little bag of ‘cupid’ rocks just seems really cute to me, too. Fun, cheap little drawing.

Chibi Ruby is cute as can be; so happy they gave us this version of her in Beyond. Especially like that devious look I gave her. Yang looks great too, really enjoy Beyond’s style, and the exasperated palm to the face. And, of course, I loved writing and drawing up the cute interaction between Jaune and Weiss. She needs to see those shark pups! :)

Anyway, hope you all enjoy your Valentine’s Day, and this fun little meme I drew up.

[wrioreid]

| Valentine's Day | spencer reid x reader

You and Spencer have plans to celebrate your first Valentine's Day together.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst?, indefinite season, some references to the series, without a definite pronoun I think?, lots of rambling.

Author's note: Hello, happy Valentine's Day! The day is literally over, but I only managed to post now :c I really wanted to write something involving my pookie and rewatching some episodes I had some ideas to put in the fanfic. Sorry if any part was confusing or doesn't make sense, I swear I tried!! Anyway, I hope it's fun to read!

The simple drops of icy water that fell calmly from the tree branches contrasted completely with the warm feeling emanating from the couples walking around there. Couples, lovers, families, friends. The street was full of people who were overflowing with love for each other, and you watched them solemnly while leaning your back against the icy wall of some random store. Not even a morning of persistent rain and unpleasantly below-par temperatures could spoil the romantic atmosphere and prevent people from loving each other.

It was February 14th, Valentine's Day. Or rather, your first Valentine's Day with someone. It was late afternoon and the rain had stopped, leaving only small drops of water as a reminder. The temperature continued, but nothing that good layers of clothing and a warm love couldn't solve.

You were waiting for Spencer. You had started dating the previous year, after February, so this was the first time you would celebrate this day together. In fact, neither of them cared about the date. You could even hear his skeptical voice again, talking about how this celebration made no sense and that it stopped being a proof of unconditional love a long time ago. On the other hand, you had never cared about the date because you had never had someone special enough to show that you were still made of love. Now that you had someone, you wanted to make the date unique.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, remembering how Spencer looked when you answered him saying that you had the desire to experience the magic of the day at least once. Not shocked, not surprised, but hopeful. The “Me too” that he whispered uncertainly like a secret being eternally kept in your mind. After that day, you started planning how you would spend the celebration, the millions of colored papers full of ideas - and dreams - scattered on the floor of his house being a warm memory in your mind.

But even though the plans were set a few good weeks ago, you - and neither he - could control your nervousness when today finally arrived. Even when you were walking together a few hours ago - him accompanying you to your house as he always did at least once a week - you couldn't hold a decent conversation. There was barely a goodbye, just you running inside the house to get ready and him running to his house to do the same. Now there you were, playing with a small puddle of water in front of you with the boot you had specially chosen while you waited for Spencer to arrive.

It wasn't like him to be late at all, and it was starting to get difficult to control your anxiety. Maybe he gave up. Maybe he realized it was something silly and irrational to celebrate. There were millions of thoughts battling against the small memory of the genuine smile he let out every time he read the post-its with the ideas for the long-awaited day.

Despite his confession when the subject came up, you had never actually talked about Valentine's Day before, much less if he had ever celebrated it. You knew that Spencer had already been in relationships with a few other people before, but you deduced that he had never celebrated the day, probably because he let reason take over, as always. However, deep down, you couldn't help but think that it was because he never allowed himself to celebrate, the idea that he was incapable of being loved rooted in his mind.

You felt pain in your heart, almost like a heart attack, when your relationship grew deeper and you would notice with each encounter these small - big - scratches that he had on his soul. Someone who would like to be seen as normal, to be perceived as someone capable of loving and being loved.

So, you take a deep breath and let the bad thoughts go away. Deep down, this is also his wish, and you accept this fact. You push yourself away from the wall, determined to find a better and more visible spot to make it easier for him. However, you didn't count on finding him standing in front of you when you stopped looking at the floor. And damn, he looked stunning.

His soft and tidy hair, his untidy white t-shirt, the wine-colored cardigan on top showing off his crooked black tie, his slightly wrinkled dress pants quickly revealing the pair of mismatched socks. All of this being soaked up by the dark gray overcoat and the purple scarf. There was literally nothing different about his style, but at the same time there was everything. Maybe it wasn't anything different physically, but whatever it was, was enough to make the thoughts that tormented you before seem like nothing more than a small fraction of an unknown nightmare now.

Spencer clears his throat, trying to bring your attention back to the real world. You can't tell if he's blushing because of the cold or because he's been stared at so intensely, but either way, it's cute. "Sorry I'm late," he says quietly, even though no one else can hear.

"It's okay, we'll still be a few minutes early." You smile playfully and awkwardly stand next to him, ready to go to the first attraction of the day. After millions of desires were buried by a job that took up too much of your time, the final decision was a traditional Valentine's Day schedule so that you could enjoy all the romantic experiences that couples usually have - as much as possible. The first stop would be at a small local theater to watch Romeo and Juliet. Afterwards, you would enjoy a beautiful romantic dinner at a special place, and by that you mean that you would have dinner at Spencer's house. And then, he would walk you home. It sounds simple, but it was more than perfect.

Despite your movement, Reid doesn't move. He looks at you with a tight-lipped smile as he unrolls a black and white fabric from his messenger bag. You hadn't realized it was there and before you know it, he's lovingly wrapping the scarf around your neck.

"I knew you'd forget," he whispers, smiling like a child who's been naughty. You use the scarf as a shield to hide your flushed cheeks, starting to walk quickly after whispering a thank you. The smell of freshly washed clothes with a hint of fresh vanilla is the only thing you can smell now, intoxicating you like a drink.

However, it's not enough to make you not notice the awkward silence between you. You've known each other for a long time and talk a lot, but the idea of ​​something new, a unique - and secret, in a way - celebration between the two of you was too much for both. You snuggle even closer into the scarf and slide your hand closer to his, your pinkies touching. You notice him looking at you from the corner of his eye, a look full of secrets for the others, but not for you. Calmly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, you now walking hand in hand and both of you smiling foolishly behind the scarf.

The play's performance was interesting, but it was hard to concentrate on it while Spencer made several dissatisfied expressions beside you. "It's almost revolting how a play about young love, family rivalry and lack of communication turned into a mere sad story about love at first sight. And I haven't even talked about the imaginary balcony yet!" It was the last thing he said after you left the theater and started walking towards his apartment, distractedly engaging in other matters.

“You can’t deny it, Spence,” you laugh out loud, smiling at his pouting face. “Love moves worlds!”

“It changes realities, that’s what it does,” he mutters, looking irritated, but a playful smile plays on his lips. “A tribute to a bishop who went against an emperor turned into a celebration of love with an exchange of gifts and declarations just because they decided to combine love and romance! And it makes much more sense for the celebration to exist because this is the first day of mating for birds. It’s the order of life!”

“Of course, it makes much more sense for men to leave love messages on their loved ones’ doors because the birds are procreating,” you giggle. “I think I’m talking to the reincarnation of Claudius II and I didn’t know it.” You joke, having even more fun when you notice Spencer pondering his words for a few moments, a furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Technically, men who have nothing to lose are better at war than those who have love,” he pauses, now speaking again with a mischievous smile, “For example, I worked much better before I met you.”

You stop walking, shock written all over your face as you stare at him in disbelief. Spencer laughs, stretching one of his hands to intertwine them. He gently kisses the top of your hand. “Contrary to statistics and facts, I have been working better since we met and you know that very well,” he whispers, still with your hand close to his mouth, his lips brushing against your skin with each movement. You turn your face away, still angry, but taking the opportunity to control the immense urge to kiss him.

However, the whole act ends when you feel something different in your hand - the same one he was holding until just now. You turn your head quickly only to notice the beautiful red rose that magically rested in your hand, its scent so present that even from that distance you could smell it. Paralyzed, you stare at Spencer, mouth open, not knowing what to do. He stares back at you with a smile from ear to ear, his nose red from the cold.

“As someone told me the other day,” he says calmly and amusedly, “It’s worth ignoring the hype, the advertising and the high prices for someone special.”

You can barely react. Twirling the rose between your thumb and index finger, the only thing you can do is control the tears that are welling up in your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve received a flower so full of feelings from someone. A single, simple flower, but it was worth more than an entire field. Spencer calmly waits for you to recover, tenderness sparkling in his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” you manage to whisper, hugging the flower gently so as not to ruin it or hurt yourself, despite your clothes. “H-How? Since when?”

He shrugs, reaching for your hand again and intertwining it with his, putting both in the pocket of his overcoat as he walks on again. “A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets… and he always has tricks up his sleeve.” He lets a sentence hang in the air, more mysterious than it should be. You stare at him, waiting for him to continue, but you only get a pat on the hand.

The rest of the way was calm and quiet, but comfortable enough for you to process everything, your eyes never leaving the delicate flower resting on your chest. When you arrive at the apartment, you can't help but notice how much - more than ever - this place made you feel like home.

A small smile escapes your lips as Spencer offers to help you remove and put away your coat and scarf. He removes his own scarf and coat as well and offers to put your rose in a container of water so it doesn't die. You hand it to him and as he disappears into the kitchen, you wander through the rows and rows of books, stopping when you notice that the chess pieces were not on the usual table, the moonlight coming through the window and illuminating only the chess board.

"I couldn't think of a better place," you hear Spencer say before looking in your direction, noticing the beautiful vase with several roses that he held in one hand and the tablecloth that he held in the other. He lovingly hands you the jar, smiling softly “I tried to put them all in my bag, but it was a bad idea, so they were waiting for you” he laughs embarrassedly as he arranges the tablecloth on the table.

You smile from ear to ear, enchanted by the beauty of the flowers, and place the vase in the center of the table so you can help him set up the rest of the romantic dinner. When everything was finished, you stop for a few moments to appreciate it and can't help but smile when your gaze lingers between the two chairs. As your relationship with Spencer deepened, a second chair began to appear frequently at the chess table, a sweet reminder of all the times you played there - and that, now, was even part of the scenery in his apartment -.

You sit there, smiling amusedly when Spencer reappears with a lit candle in his hand. "Waiter, please" you joke. He looks at you with arched eyebrows, carefully placing the candle next to the flowers. "On average, more than 7,000 candle fires happen here in the country each year".

You laugh nasally, fascinated by the moment "Thank you, Spence… I don't even know what to say. Everything is so… right, so romantic".

“It’s the least I could do and… I actually wish I had cooked, but time…” he scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“It’s perfect, seriously. Next time we’ll cook together and you’ll see my culinary skills,” you say, making a silly smile appear on his face as he nods positively.

You eat and talk calmly for a long time, enjoying each other’s company. When darkness already dominates the streets, you realize it’s time to end the night. After helping Spencer put things back in their proper places, you pause in the middle of the room on your way out, pondering what to do. It was still Valentine’s Day and you hadn’t kissed.

However, in these last moments, Spencer seemed more spaced out and lost in his own thoughts, probably overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. You feel bad for a moment, wondering if you hadn’t forced it too much with him. So, you choose to quickly grab your flowers and your coat, your little goodbye speech already on the tip of your tongue.

“Wait,” Spencer, who was standing there watching you get ready, spoke hurriedly and, after making sure you weren’t leaving yet, disappeared into his room, returning moments later hugging an object to his chest. He walked until he was close to you, but never stopped looking at what he had in his arms. Looking closely now, you noticed that it was a somewhat old book, with some obvious marks on the cover and spine.

Spencer opened and closed his mouth several times, but unable to say anything, he just handed the book to you. Parlement of Foules was printed in large letters.

“T-This is considered the first Valentine’s Day poem,” he said uncertainly, his tone lower than normal, as if he wasn’t talking to you. “For this was on St. Valentine’s Day, when every fowl comes there his mate to take… is a 700-line poem that follows the tradition of dream vision poetry, a medieval literary style, and Chaucer uses it to discuss romantic love and freedom of choice… my mother read it to me when I was a child” he finishes in a whisper so low that you doubt if you heard it right. You press the book against your fingers, understanding the weight that it implied.

Spencer bites his lip, but resumes speaking, now with a more confident tone “It was a poem that stuck in my memory, more than any other and… given today’s date I would like it… to become important to you too. It’s the second copy my mother had in case something happened to the first one… but nothing ever happened and well… one copy is enough for me” he smiles embarrassedly, scratching the back of his neck “I-I left some notes throughout the book, too, so you would always feel accompanied while reading and… well, know my opinions about it”

“Couldn’t you read it to me too?” The question escapes your lips, your eyes glazed over the book as you caress the cover with interest.

Spencer is taken aback by the question, but a small smile plays on his lips. “I could too, of course” he paused again, now looking at you expectantly “There’s one more thing in there…”

You press your lips together and stare at him. Passion, surprise, affection… you felt so many things in that moment that not even the cold wind outside could cool the warmth that permeates your heart. You delicately open the book, noticing a writing on the title page. It was in pencil, and the marks from previous attempts were still there as if they were telling you a secret, but they didn’t get in the way of reading the large, hurried letters.

You can only teach a child to love by loving them. Johann Goethe, From your Spencer

A small drop falls onto the page, briefly staining the paper. You then realize that tears are streaming down your face, even though a tender smile has not left your lips. Spencer comes even closer, taking the book from your hand so he can hold it in his. With his other hand, he slowly passes it over your face, wiping away the small drops that insisted on running down.

“The whole discussion of the poem revolves around love… whether people are destined to be together or whether they have the right to choose, whether by passion, affinity or social conventions.” He speaks delicately, never taking his eyes off you. “Love is everyone’s final destiny, but it is a complex, free and uncertain process that, honestly, is still the action of hormones and neurotransmitters…” He bites his lips, quickly looking away to look at you again, determined. “But even so, even though it is not destiny… I firmly believe and I am more than happy to know that I made all the correct choices that led us to meeting.”

Honestly, fuck it. You put your hands around his face, cradling him, and bring him closer to you. Your lips touch gently, and you can't focus on anything else. Spencer timidly holds your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. Delicately, he starts to run his hands over your body as if he were appreciating a work of art until he reaches your face, where he caresses the side of your cheek with one hand and pulls you even closer with the other - if that's possible -. You separate from the kiss panting, but remain close, your foreheads touching. Spencer calmly places a tender kiss on your nose, then your forehead and, finally, on the top of your head, enjoying every second.

When you look at each other again, the only thing you can whisper are several "Thank yous". He smiles lovingly, still caressing your face.

“I don’t even know how to thank you, Spence,” you whisper. “You gave me so much today, with so much love, so much dedication… and I only gave you a meager little letter with messages that you surely already knew… I really don’t know how to repay you.”

His smile widens and when he answers, you feel like you’ve finally found your place. “Nothing could surpass the happiness your letter brought me, love, there’s nothing you can repay. However, it would make me even happier if you slept here…”

Author's note 2: Hello there! If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I'm also on c.ai with the same user @/wrioreid, but the process of making the bots is going veryyy slowly.

[mttonex]

if you're still doing art requests could you draw tophabe as ponies..... pretty pls....I'm in love with the way u draw ponies your designs are so cute and make me want to create my own.....

THANK U!!! I'm so happy other people like my ponies as much as i do :3

also yes.. join me in clone pony hell.....

here are their full designs btw 😁😁😁

ok now explaining their cutie marks bc i felt smart for coming up with them:

Abe's is supposed to be a combination of a top hat and lighthouse. A top hat for what i hope are obvious reasons, and lighthouse because his house has lighthouse decor literally everywhere (he doesn't have any of the decor in his room though, so it might just be his foster parents who really like lighthouses but idc let me have this) I also thought just having a top hat as his cutie mark would be too boring so I wanted to add something extra to it lol. The hat kinda gets lost in the design tho and I don't really think people would see it if I didn't point it out but WHATEVERR (note from after I finished writing this: I just remembered Joan's...dream and Abe's lighthouse impression from the sleepover episode, that was NOT intentional 😭😭😭😭😭)

Topher's cutie mark is a horseshoe surrounding the earth, meant to look like a globe. The earth is pear-shaped because Topher has a globe in his room and it looks like that 😭 Also the horseshoe looks like the letter C.... like.... Christopher Columbus..... In this au or whatever I hc he got his cutie mark when he was younger, and when Christopher Columbus got "cancelled" he started covering it up, like how he changed his name (also this implies that all the clone parents are real and ponies in this universe which I think is really funny) Topher's fake cutie mark is a rainbow because of his whole woke ally thing he's got going on 💀 Also a fake cutie mark because he's fake woke...do u get me

um anyway sorry for rambling bye😁

[babyjinsu]

[r/Unsent_Unread_Unheard] you don't give a fuck about me, but i still do.

PAIRING ⟢ seunghan hong x fem!reader

GENRE ⟢ reddit au, oneshots, written, angst

CW ⟢ the use of "bitch" and "slut", he sounds like he's going to murder you icl, kind of dark? seunghan doesn't know if he hates reader or he still loves her so it's lowkey everywhere n messed up, implied cheating

SYNOPSIS ⟢ a heartbroken ex boyfriend expresses his deep hatred and his love for his ex girlfriend on r/Unsent_Unread_Unheard.

💭 seunghan is crazy here...

[r/Unsent_Unread_Unheard] you don't give a fuck about me, but i still do. posted by u/hanseung • 19h ago

i'm such a fucking idiot. i don't even know why i'm writing this knowing you won't read, and even if you do, you couldn't be bothered to give a single shit. nothing about me has ever mattered to you because you're just a selfish little bitch.

i don't know why it took me so fucking long to notice and realise (or maybe i always fucking have but i'm just too delusional) why you were always looking at him and how your stupid eyes never settled or lingered on me the way mine did on you. i wanted to believe what we had was real so maybe that's why i was constantly ignoring the warning signs. i really shouldn't have.

i still think at one point you loved me, but not in the same way i loved you.

i loved you so so much... and the worst part? i still fucking do yn. i would've done so much for you and us if you could just love me fully-heartedly. or at least fucking pretend to?? we were 'together' for 2 fucking years for fuck's sake, you could've just continued that act and we can all be happy instead of being a fucking slut.

this whole time i was just a placeholder while you waited for him to be available. your heart belonged to someone else this whole time. and out of everyone, it just had to be my fucking brother? seriously yn? you couldn't choose other people besides my own brother?

i don't think you know what that does to a person. but knowing you, i know you do but you're just a snobby little spoiled bitch who only thinks of herself. i bet you fucking wish the i love yous that i whispered were from my brother. the nights we spent together too? did you picture his face when you look at me because we look similar? how many times did you almost moan out his name instead of mine?

i want to hate you sooooo fucking much yn. i don't deserve this kind of love from anyone, much more from a cheating bitch like you. you're such a horrible person, and i hope karma bites your ass back. i hope nothing in your life goes right and it destroys you, and you'll realise that it is all thanks to me. i'm praying for your fucking downfall yn. you will never be loved the way i loved you.

since i've said too much anyway, i just want to let you know that i look for you in other girls. sometimes i don't do it on purpose, sometimes it's a pattern. i look for pieces of you and let myself believe that this time i can make it work. and when it hurts them, i want you to know it's all your fucking fault yn. you made me the person i am today. it's all your fault. you will live and carry the pain of these girls that i've emotionally hurt.

you never had to grieve me because you were never mine in the first place. but i was yours. my whole being was yours. i practically fucking devoted my life to you. i rejected snu to enroll yonsei with you AND my brother. the fuck yn... did you use witchcraft on me?

i was just some guy you were with to get closer with my brother, and congratulations on accomplishing that mission. hope you know that when you guys are married, we'll still be seeing each other for christmas, new years, holidays, and celebrations to come. you'll never fully get rid of me yn.

you don't give a fuck about me but i still do. and i bet that boosts your ego you bitch.

💭 well... ◡̈

[kings-highway]

I’m kinda throwing up writing this because I’ve never done this before but I wanted to say I really really love reading your fics!! (>T~T)>❤️

I also wanted to ask: what are some of your headcannons when it comes to daichi’s home life? Personally I like to think his siblings are all wayyy younger than him, which makes him more of a third parent than an older brother. He laments the fact that he has to be the responsible reliable figure even at home, but he’d never hold it against those little rascals <3 His parents also do their best, but it’s hard splitting your attention 5 ways, and with him being so dependable, they tend to neglect him a little

Anyways, that’s all!! Hope this isn’t too weird or anything haha ;-;

Aaaaaaaa no worries no worries at all <3 I love receiving asks and I love talking about these characters so never feel bad for popping up being so kind :)

and I have a lot of headcanons for the Sawamura family! As a disclaimer, I tend to write whatever is needed for any given storyline, so dont hold me accountable in the future if I dont 100% hold to these lmao

I fully agree with his siblings being substantially younger than him. But personally I also love the idea of making Daichi an unplanned teenage pregnancy, making the parentification of him less a facet of "bad" parenting and more a result of kids who were just not ready for a baby. it also makes his very mature disposition a very nice contrast to the idea that he was a result of teenage mistakes. In this way, his younger siblings were his parents "chosen" kids, the kids they had once they were older and ready for it, and I think they were very good parents. unfortunately they were very good parents after Daichi had already grown up. in this you can push his age from his siblings anywhere from 8-15 years older than them. ((when I write, I try to maintain canon family dynamics unless it'll play a roll in the story, so I often give the age gap at 6 years for realism, because we know he has 4 siblings by 18 and you can only squeeze out so many 9 month pregnancies in so many years lmao.)

so daichi functions as a third parent by default because his parents never really saw him as part of the white-picket-fence planning process, those are the kids that came later. it doesnt mean they dont love him, but a lot of his foundational years, 0-8, were in the care of literally children. (Assuming a teenage pregnancy of like 17) And they just... Couldnt really handle raising a kid and it required him to create a lot of independence and self-soothing skills.

it also doesnt help that I think he takes pride in this. In the future, as an adult, he might have resentment towards his parents but in the timeline of him being in high school I imagine he sees his own role as a point of pride. he is being "mature" and "responsible" and "useful" and so clearly he's being a good person so he likes the roll he has in his family. he doesnt want them to treat him like a kid because kids are work and require effort and energy and cause problems and he is Better Than That. he's got a bit of a martyr complex in that way where he thinks its a good thing he acts and behaves this way.

i also believe 100% in any interpretation that his siblings absolutely, disgustingly, adore him. he might be the third parent but he's definitely their favourite parent. for all the resentment and anger that his parentification will cause in his adult years, for the inevitable divide growing between him and his parents, the emotional neglect, all of it, he is the person that his siblings will idolize as their greatest support. And even if he stops coming around as often and tries to rebuild a life that centres himself rather than other people, they will always think of him as their hero, and want to make him proud and seek his approval far more than they do their real parents.

theres like a million other little headcanons that contradict these ones - Im also especially fond (as anyone who reads my work knows) of the narrative that Daichi's absolutely a daddy's boy in his idolization of his father, and the father-son dynamic is one of my favourite to explore with him. the influence of family dynamics, bloodlines and obligations (real or imagined) is like... My #1 trope for him. i love giving him a larger than life bloodline and instead of everything I just described, making his martyr complex one born of a desperate desire to fill unreasonable large shoes left behind from whatever reason. in equal measure to the emotionally neglectful parents I love me a good "how am I supposed to live up to this?" story.

i could keep talking. im so fond of this stupid fucking man. But I will stop yapping and leave it as that. Thank you so much for the opportunity to ramble on about my main bitch 🤍🤍🤍

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Knot in Time | Chapter 00 Chapter 00 |  Blurb⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology.

❝Stay.❞

It was a whisper, barely spoken, but it hit like a blade to the ribs.

Your breath shuddered.

His eyes glistened, unshed tears pooling at the edges, his emotions raw and unmasked.

❝Stay by my side,❞ he breathed, his voice cracking. ❝For the rest of time.❞

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

You shouldn't hesitate.

You'd spent your existence moving forward without question, without pause; always knowing what must be done.

But here, in the silence of the Loom, with his hands pressed to your skin, with his plea hanging between you like an offering, you realized—

You'd never had a choice before.

Fate wasn't something you chose.

It was something that is.

Yet here was Telemachus, asking you, the one who wields the shears, the one who had ended lives without question, to defy everything you are—

To choose him.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

To cut a thread is simple.

To leave one uncut is chaos.

But for the first time in eternity, you don't care.

You were born to sever lives, to keep fate in motion. Never to hesitate. Never to choose.

Until him.

Telemachus, son of Odysseus—warrior, prince, and the man whose thread should have been cut weeks ago.

A single hesitation. A single choice.

But here's the truth no one ever considered:

Even the Fates were woven from something; and maybe—just maybe—they, too, can unravel.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏. Death ┊

🔺 Reader Discretion Advised.

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Also, before you start, if you're new here, welcome! But if you're a returning reader/came from my other books, hi babies 🥹❤️ Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

A/N: SCREECHING, SOBBING, THROWING MYSELF INTO THE SEA—WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!?

Y'ALL. TWO. BOOKS. OVER. 100K. VIEWS. ON WATTPAD. WTF. WTF. WTF.

THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE.

Wattpad was literally the first platform I ever read and wrote on—like, baby me was out here devouring fanfics and original works at 2AM on a cracked phone screen, practically vibrating from excitement every time I found a good fic.

And now?? NOW I HAVE TWO BOOKS THAT PASSED 100K READS???? ON THE VERY PLATFORM THAT MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH STORYTELLING?!?!?

Y'all are too much. TOO. MUCH. (And by too much, I mean I love you all deeply and will fight Zeus himself for you.)

So, as a tiny thank-you for all the love and chaos, I present to you: "A Knot in Time"—a 10-chapter short story I finished weeks ago featuring Telemachus and a Fate-who-should-not-love-but-does-anyway.

It's slow-burn, introspective, and built on steady, lingering tension, because I wanted to write romance the way I personally understand it. Sooo if you're the type who likes instant love, jumping straight into things, and getting to the spice ASAP... yeah, this fic ain't it, bestie (but no worries, I have projects in the drafts more up that lane). 💀💀

But if you're here for a Greek-myth style tragedy-turned-love story about a man who should have died and the woman who was meant to end him... buckle in.

Hope y'all enjoy. And thank you, again, for making my inner bookworm FREAK THE HELL OUT. 🖤

Also, I'm working on a new update for both 'Know No Evil' and 'Godly Things' and oh! Y'all are in for a ride 😮‍💨

[lenallu]

For a moment, I thought it was you.

Based on the text messages Zayne sends when you haven't opened the app in a long time. ❅ tags: angst, hurt/comfort ❅ word count: 2.4k ❅ synopsis: You go missing on the job. Zayne struggles with the thought that you might never come back. ❅ a/n: my first fic post!!!! I'm currently writing a part two, so let me know if you like this :)

"I saw a hunter wearing their uniform at the airport during my last trip. For a moment, I thought it was you."

His phone chimes when his message delivers. It takes him a while to look away, and he feels silly for it. It's been this long, and yet he has failed miserably to snuff out the habit of hoping you'll reply. He shoves his phone into his pocket, the weight of it tugging his jacket when it hits the bottom of his deep, wrapper filled pockets. Candy wrappers he pulled from your hands as you raved about the flavor, so he could throw them away for you later. 

You had been missing for just over three weeks when he put that jacket on again, and something totally irrational in the back of his head begged him to leave them in there. He shook his head. When did garbage become precious? You'll be back. His pockets will fill with the crinkled paper when you amble by each other's sides once again, soon. 

He decides to leave them in there anyway. He picks lint off the shoulder, lingering on the garment before pushing it back into his closet, near the back. He tries not to think much of that choice, and does his best to ignore the things his mind is trying to suggest.

He hears people talking on the street later that day, parroting rumors about a failed mission and 11 or 12 casualties, hunters. A team of them, sent out to do who knows what. You didn't tell him much about it before you left. You were legally barred from sharing details with civilians. It was standard safety protocol. He understood at the time, but now he wishes you could have given him something. Anything to figure out where you had gone, so he could go and get you himself.

A shrill meow sounds out near his feet, and yanks him out of his thoughts. He had stopped by a table of jewelry set up outside of a shop you used to stare at every time you passed by with him on your walks through town, but had lent all his focus to absorbing information from conversations that floated by. Scraping the world around him for any indication of you.

He stares at the cat, and recognizes her from the countless times you had reached down to pet her. You’d even started to carry loose treats in your pockets just for her.

He turns a ring from the table in his fingers, tracing over the small, sparkling embedded stones before setting it down. When you get back, he’ll remind you to check your clothes for cat treats before you wash them.

At work, none of his pens seem to stay put in his pocket. They're too busy whirling around his fingers, occupying his hands even when he isn't writing anything. He can't explain the fidgeting to himself or to his colleagues questioning gazes. He was a stable surgeon. A steady person. He started actively reminding himself of that, repeating it like a wish, as if it had stopped being true at some point.

🜺

A month and a half has passed. He sits tensely at his dining table, chin cradled in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The house is quiet like it always is when you aren’t there, but it bothers him more now. It unsettles him to think it might be like this forever, and he pleads with himself for the hundredth time not to go there in his head.

He started watching the news more often, almost religiously. The second he gets home and his keys rattle onto the counter, the tv is on. If the association releases any kind of statement, he doesn't want to miss it. 

A fatigued sigh blows from his nose after about an hour of menial news reports, and he's just about to get up to cook something when the newscaster's voice cuts out. 'Breaking news' flashes across the screen.

"We can't make any definitive statements, but we believe we were able to recover data of the last signals their watches sent out before everything went dark. Again, the location of this mission was incredibly remote and difficult to navigate, so this doesn't guarantee we will find them. That is all in terms of developments. It has taken a long time to regain access to our systems and grab those signals."

His eyes are wide, and all he can think about is storming your building and demanding information. He knows it doesn't work like that. He still considers it. He had hoped when an update finally came, he'd be sprinting through the door to his car to pick you up. The ghost of that hope lingers in his legs, and he doesn't know what to do with the residual energy. He feels utterly helpless.

🜺

Your body wakes before you, searing pain striking through your limbs. Your eyelids feel glued together as you struggle to open them, but once you do, all you see is white. Fear kickstarts the rest of your functions, and you start to regain sensation. Quick and panicked breaths scratch their way out of your throat as your eyes dart around. You become aware that you are encrusted in icy crystals, sunken about two feet into some snowy expanse. Moving proves difficult, but you manage. Snow slides off your form and you stumble and trudge forward with hardly any mental recognition that you are actually moving. Things are fuzzy. You're not sure you're even really alive.

You're not all there, if there at all, but you feel a tinge of what you loosely recognize as rage floating in you somewhere in response to the snow that never seems to end. That anger blooms in your chest as you plow through what seems like miles of pure white, and your body feels like it's stinging all over. It's all you have. 

This all just feels like an infinite dream. Maybe this was death. A cruel one, and maybe it came with a sentence. A punishment. Doomed to push through miles of numbing, freezing cold, thinking it'll end eventually, but it never does. All with half a mind, which is enough to feel the pain in your heart, but not enough to remember how to cry or scream or shout or plead. Condemned to carry a heavy sorrow that you don't even know how to put down.

Please let it end soon. You can't put the words together in your mind, but you feel them. You feel them for a while, until you don't anymore. You are none the wiser as your body collapses in a more shallow clearing.

🜺

Zayne doesn't even know how to describe what he just saw. Vocabulary wasn't an issue. He was well versed in nearly every medical term he encountered in the stacks upon stacks of textbooks and learning materials he revised in undergrad and beyond. 

It was you, but it wasn't. Your skin was nearly a shade of grey he couldn't even fathom on a living human being. That thought sunk something in him as soon as it passed through his mind. He stood there paralyzed as you were rushed past him, the team of doctors wheeling you shouting up a storm of vitals and medications. All of which, for the first time in Zayne's life, were incomprehensible. He couldn't make out a single thing they were saying, and not because it was unclear. He couldn't think at all. He didn't realize he wasn't breathing until Yvonne stood up from the reception desk to lightly lay her hand on his shoulder. A turbulent breath suddenly thrusted out of him like water through a broken dam, and he ignored Yvonne's voice calling out to him as his body carried him down the hall as fast as it possibly could.

He caught up, and grimaced at the sight of you. He catches bits and pieces of what the doctors are saying as you are rushed into a room and CPR protocols begin. At some point, a catheter is placed and they begin pumping you with warmed intravenous fluids. The door swings closed as a doctor rushes past, and the only thing that stops him from crashing through that door is Yvonne finding him again. He only looks at her for half a second before he's staring through the tiny window in the door. He wants to say something, but stands there in silence.

"She has a pulse." Yvonne addresses the worry she can see written all over him. She stares into the window with him, and her next words feel strange when they eventually come out. "They're doing everything they can." 

She's offered this line to countless anxious families, but never did she think a time would come where she'd be saying it to him. Greyson comes along at some point, having heard of the situation, and lightly gestures for Zayne to sit down. 

"She's gonna come around, Dr. Zayne. She’s in good hands. You know you're not in a state to do anything right now, anyways, or you wouldn't still be standing out here instead of in there. Come on." He says gently. "She'll come around."

Two hours pass, and he's beating himself up the whole time. He should be in there, saving you. He's studied all his life to do just that, and when the time came, he couldn't. Fear got in the way. He loved you so much it paralyzed him. When he looked at you today, grief crashed into him like he had lost you right there in that hall. He felt like a giant hole had been blown in his chest. He starts to sink in that powerless feeling. You’re here, and yet he still feels like he did when the news came on that night in his home.

Your hypothermia was severe enough that invasive procedures were required. Tubes were put in through your esophagus, which connect to an external heat exchange unit. Zayne clicks through your intake form, and through several tabs on the procedure they were currently putting you through. As he sifts through the information, there's a growing tightness in his chest and throat. It pulls tighter, and he tries to ignore the way his eyes are burning. Grief continues to brew inside him, venting out of his chest with periodical sighs as he scrolls, brows knitted. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t make it.

A knock sounds at the door of his office. It’s Greyson. He offers a tight lipped smile.

“She’s stable. The docs are done and her room is empty.” He hardly has time to finish his sentence before Zayne is up and moving. He hurriedly marches out into the hall and straight for you. All the energy built up over the last 2 months propelled him forward, but dissipated as soon as he got to your door. He’s not prepared when he does see you.

Your skin isn’t quite as ashen anymore. Color is returning to you, but you are clearly emaciated. His mind races with all the possibilities of the kind of trouble you might have been in, and it shakes him deeply. He stands at the foot of your bed for a while, idling. Almost in complete disbelief that he is seeing you again, and not in a body bag with a certificate of death being handed to him.

He pulls a chair up to your bedside. You’re covered in a few layers of thick blankets. He hesitates to touch you, but he reaches under the warm layers, feeling for your hand anyway. Out of pure need. He has to know it’s really you. 

He grazes something cold. His fingers find your hand, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly to warm you up.

He studies your sunken features as his heart starts to settle in his chest for the first time in months. The steady beeping from the monitor is music to his ears, lulling him into comfort as he settles into the chair, still holding onto you. You don't look well, but you're alive. That's all he needs. He falls asleep as he sits there for a few hours, the sky rolling into darkness outside. 

🜺

Your eyelids open with much less difficulty this time. Met with the sterile white of the hospital room, you panic briefly before realizing where you were. Your mind is still foggy as you blink lazily, comforted by the sheer warmth that envelops you. 

A soft noise comes from somewhere to your right, and the muscles in your neck ache as you turn your head to follow it.

Zayne. Slumped in his chair, head leaning toward one shoulder as soft breaths blow locks of hair from his face. Sunlight from the window falls over him, blanketing his features in warmth, and he’s the purest picture of paradise you’ve seen in a long time. The sight of him seems to activate some kind of primal instinct towards warmth, and adrenaline starts to pump into your blood. You long to hold him and ensure that this isn’t a dream, but you feel overcome with weakness, and you can hardly manage squeezing his thumb. 

He doesn't wake. You huff, body going slack after a wholehearted, but futile attempt to move. You stare at the ceiling and breathe deeply, begging for only just enough strength. You turn your head to him again, and determination washes over you. You pull your hand free from his grasp, mustering up all the strength you have plus what you don't, and feebly tumbling out of bed onto his chair and him.

He startles and instinctually tries to catch you, his sleepy, bleary eyes becoming focused on you and expanding once he realizes it’s you, and your skin beneath his fingers. His expression breaks into so many things at once: sorrow, pain, relief and others you aren't even allowed to finish distinguishing before he pulls you into a suffocatingly tight embrace. The sight of the whirling storm in his eyes, maybe even just his eyes alone, were enough to choke you up. You let out an incredulous laugh as he squeezes you, and tears collect in your eyes. It’s the warmest you’ve felt in months.

You wrap your arms around his head, settling your cheek in his soft hair when you start to feel him shudder. Guilt crashes into him, for not being able to do more. He should have stormed into the Hunter's Association, he should have gone out and looked for you night and day, across states and countries. He should have taken care of you when you got wheeled in. He should have, he should have. 

Excruciating recollections of what happened to you on that mission start to creep into your mind as his warmth begins to thaw you from the inside, so you squeeze your eyes shut, and hold him tighter.

[littlestarbigsky]

happy valentine’s day, you beautiful humans !!!! i love love LOVE our little family over here, thank you for making me feel so loved all the time <3 aaaand my gift to you is the long (very long) awaited chetcherrycola shower fic🩷

this is kinda nsfw sooo… there’s that lol

yall are the very best for being sooo patient with me with this fic, it was THE labor of love to write but i’m soo proud of it and i hope yall enjoy 🫶🏻

“i’m sorry to bother you like this…” cherry sighed, leaning up against the side of the car.

“i don’t mind, doll,” soda poked his head out to smile at her from the hood of cherry’s stingray.

“but you guys had to get all the way out here… and we don’t even know what’s wrong,” she rolled her eyes.

“and if you think i’m going to let you drive this shitbox it before i know it’s safe to, then you’re out of your mind,” soda poked and pulled at the parts around the engine, his hands picking up all kinds of grease and grime.

not for the first time, soda had gotten a call at work from cherry, who was pulled over at a gas station some miles away with car trouble. before, it had been another greaser gang stealing her spark plug for fun, this time it was her steering going out and her car not wanting to stay on the road. he’d called chet to come get him, and they found her in a panic and worried that her car was finished.

“hey, soda?” chet called from the other side of the car. “i think i found what was wrong!”

“what?” cherry whipped around.

“what’s up?” soda looked over the hood.

chet kicked something on the ground, “tire’s flat as a pancake.”

soda’s mouth fell open, “are you serious?”

chet nodded, kicking the tire again, and cherry buried her face in her hands.

“god,” she cried. “so this is what i called you guys all the way out here for? for my tire? that’s all that noise was?”

“hey, hey, hey,” chet hurried over as soda began to close the hood. “i’d only have trusted soda to fix that anyways, baby! it’s okay!”

cherry didn’t seem to calm down at all, in fact, she seemed to only be getting herself up even more upset. soda looked sadly over at her with an ache heavy in his heart, knowing he couldn’t do anything while they were in public, even if no one was paying attention to them.

chet pulled cherry into his arms, brushing her hair back and kissing around the crown of her head, careful not to mess up her meticulously placed headband. he whispered to her, "it's just a silly little flat tire, nothing's wrong, honey."

he held her close as soda popped the trunk open and grabbed her spare, rolling it over to the flat. cherry seemed to mellow out as she watched him and copied chet's deep breaths, which he would have sworn weren't intentional, but they all knew better. soda got to work fixing the tire, and chet took cherry inside the station so she could freshen up in the bathroom and he got them all a snack. when they came back outside, like the chameleon the world had trained her to be, nobody could have guessed that cherry had been crying.

“the tire is alright, at least should get back to your house,” soda walked over to them, maybe standing a little too close, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “i’ll ride back with cherry so i don’t mess up chet’s seats, we can just wipe down the leather in the stingray.”

chet pressed a kiss to cherry’s head and said, “i’ll meet you two there.”

cherry nodded and chet started heading back to his car. soda opened the door for her and she slid into the driver’s side, not missing soda carefully keeping his grease-covered arms from touching her seats as she started driving home.

cherry couldn’t help but chuckle, “you can touch the seats, cola. it’ll come off.”

soda just shrugged, not saying anything.

eventually, she stole a glance over at him and frowned, “you wanna tell me what’s bugging you?”

he didn’t say anything at first, just sighed, sinking into the seat, the cleanliness of the seat now long forgotten. eventually he answered, “i just wish it could always be the three of us, y’know? not just behind closed doors and with our friends.”

cherry felt something click into place and felt a wave of grief wash over her as she tried to imagine what it must have been like to watch her and chet all up on each other all the time, realizing she’d never know what it was like to have soda kiss her at a football game or throw an arm around her in the back of the drive in.

“i…” she tried to say something, but realized that the words would fall flat the moment they left her lips.

they stayed quiet for a while, until they were almost home. soda examined his hands as cherry turned onto her street, “all i did was love you.”

cherry felt her mouth fall open and tears well in her eyes as she pulled into the driveway and she put the car in park. she stole another glance over at him and saw his head fall back in frustration.

“honey, i don’t know what to say…” it was the only thing she could get out before pulling soda into her arms. in a few moments, she felt tears against her neck.

she didn’t care that her dress and arms and legs were getting dirty, all she cared about was soda and keeping him as close as she could. it had been a while since he’d had the chance to decompress and feel what he needed to, it had always been a habit of his. he was a ball of human sunshine most days, but things weighed on him just as much as other people, and sometimes he just needed to break.

eventually, chet pulled up next to them in the driveway and it seemed like soda had cried himself out. cherry hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head up, giving him a sweet kiss and pressing her forehead to his.

“c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered as chet opened soda’s car door.

chet slid into the seat behind soda, nuzzling his nose into the back of soda's hair and wrapping his arms around him and cherry.

they slowly made their way inside and soda kicked off his boots outside the front door, following cherry up the stairs to her room. she reached under the sink in her bathroom and pulled out a few sets of comfies for the boys, her own pajamas already folded at the foot of her bed, and turned on the shower. when she came back out into her bedroom, chet was helping soda out of his sweaty tank top and soda was fiddling with his belt buckle.

cherry walked over beside him, smoothing his hair back, "i've got the shower started, do you want one of us to help you out, sweetheart?"

he looked sadly between the two of them, tears in his eyes, that had most likely been there since they arrived at the gas station.

chet looked up, seeming to sense the discomfort, "or both of us, maybe?"

something loosened in soda's chest as he nodded, blinking out a single tear.

cherry smiled up at him, her hand stopping at the nape of his neck to play with the hair there, “okay, you go get started, we’ll be right there.”

he nodded mutely and finished pulling off the rest of his clothes, carefully discarding them on the tile of the bathroom instead of the carpet. he threw one more glance back at them before pushing the curtain aside and stepping into the shower.

“he misses you,” cherry mumbled, pulling her hair up and turning around so chet could unzip her dress. she turned around and got to helping him unbutton his shirt.

"what do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"he's tired of hiding it," she answered, shrugging the dress off her shoulders and reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra while kicking her dress to the side. "he'll never say it, but he's tired of watching us be together without him all the time."

chet bit his lip, stepping out of his khaki's and reaching up to unclasp the chain around his neck, laden with his st. william pendant. cherry stopped and picked up the garments littering the ground and threw them into the laundry basket in the corner, wordlessly gesturing for chet to go in first.

he stepped into the bathroom and grabbed three of cherry's soft pink towels from the cupboard, setting them on the sink. he pushed the curtain back far enough to step into the shower, his lanky limbs feeling their way around the space, and doing what he could to keep himself open and available for whatever soda needed him for.

soda was standing under the spray, letting the water run over his hair, a routine he had developed to make it easier to get all the grease out. they had showered together before, mostly just after rumbles to get themselves cleaned up before cherry would let them in the bed, but there was a neediness to the way soda was holding himself, arms crossed over his chest.

chet stepped forward, chests pressed together and gently held soda's face in his hands. it was almost magical watching the water run down soda's face, staring into the gorgeous eyes that he realized had gone sad and dull for far too long.

"you're so beautiful, baby," he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to soda's lips sweetly.

soda rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "you're such a sap."

chet raised an eyebrow, "but you love me?"

"i do," soda draped his arms over chet's shoulders and pivoted them so they were both standing in the spray of the water, soda's face pressed against his collarbone as water dripped down from chet’s hair.

"you better love me, too," came cherry's soft voice from behind them peeking in around the curtain.

“c’mere, sweetheart,” soda couldn’t help but let a smile break across his face, he offered a hand to cherry, helping her step over the edge of the bathtub. she took a few steps forward and wrapped her arms around soda’s neck, kissing him sweetly.

chet pressed himself up against soda’s back, his hands resting gently on cherry’s waist, sandwiching soda between them. chet bent down and started pressing kisses along the line of soda’s neck, soda’s head falling back onto his shoulder.

cherry turned around and grabbed a washcloth and her sweet, flowery, body wash, the one she knew both of them loved. chet continued to run hands up and down soda’s sides and massaging the muscles in his arms as cherry poured some of it out and worked up a lather. she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jaw before staring to run the washcloth over his chest and arms.

soda sighed, all of the tension leaving his body as cherry dragged the cloth down his arms and over his shoulders.

“can we wash that hair, sweetheart?” cherry asked gently, her hand stopping on his chest for a moment.

“mmhm,” he mumbled, his eyes closed as he leaned his head against chet’s.

“it’s the blue bottle behind you,” cherry instructed gently, starting to run her hands over soda’s stomach and sides.

chet poured some of it out into his hands and began to massage it into soda’s hair, gently working through the grease and dirt caked on from his shift at the dx that morning.

cherry took a few steps forward and soda opened his eyes, rotating the three of them so that she was under the spray of the shower head. he tucked his finger under her chin and tipped her head back to wet her hair.

“can i see the shampoo?” soda whispered, and cherry grabbed it for him. he poured it out into his hands, chet’s hands still working the grease out of his hair. soda rubbed it into a lather, pulling cherry towards him and starting to thread his soapy hands through her hair.

they switched places once soda was finished and he rinsed himself off as cherry started carding gentle hands through chet’s hair. soda brushed cherry’s shampooed hair over one shoulder and hooked his chin over the other, pressing sweet kisses to her neck and hugging her to his chest. chet leaned down and kissed her sweetly, stepping closer so that he could run a washcloth over her chest and shoulders, not stopping kissing her for a second.

it went on and on, each of them taking turns in between the others, each of cherry’s hands massaging conditioner into both of their hair, chet’s head falling back as soda ran soap over his torso, a mess of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash by the time cherry shut off the water.

“i don’t think you got all the conditioner out,” cherry smiled, perched on her bathroom sink with her hair tied up in a towel and running her hands through soda’s damp hair.

“yeah? and who’s fault is that?” he tilted his head, using the corner of the towel around his neck to wipe away a few drops of water on her forehead.

she smirked, “i think it’s chet’s.”

“hey!” chet cried from the bedroom. he came back into the bathroom, his towel tied low around his hips, “cherry was the one who complained about being cold.”

he wrapped his arms around soda’s waist, kissing his cheek, and grabbing one of cherry’s hands. cherry leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to chet’s forehead, and another to soda’s lips.

“you feeling better, baby?” she asked gently as she pulled back, brushing a few more pieces of hair out of his face.

he nodded wordlessly, his lips curving into a smile as he leaned his head against chet’s.

“good, let’s go lay down then,” she smiled, and hopped off the sink and pushed open the bathroom door, leaving chet and soda to linger for a moment.

she threw her towel over her desk chair and pushed the covers back on the bed, not bothering to put on the pajamas she had set out for herself and the boys on the dresser.

she looked pointedly at them, “c’mon, get over here.”

chet’s eyebrows shot up, “are you serious?”

cherry’s eyes darted between them and the open. bathroom door, “it’s warmer.”

soda chuckled and hung up his towel in the bathroom and settled in next to her, closely followed by chet, who crawled up against soda’s other side and threw the covers over them.

soda rolled over to envelop cherry in his arms, chet pressed against his back, “thank you for getting a flat.”

cherry smiled and kissed him sweetly, “thank chet, i probably would have had you rooting around the hood of that car for another hour.”

chet giggled behind them and pressed another kiss to soda’s shoulder, “we love you, coca-cola.”

soda’s eyes were getting heavy, and he smiled drowsily, “i love you, too.”

“i know you’re tired,” cherry cupped his cheek in her palm. “get some rest, sweetheart, we’ll be here when you wake up.”