#but I didn’t have to write a single thing

[navybrat817]

Cooking Together

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you to cook a meal with him.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, longing, pining, canon divergent neighbor AU, flirting of sorts, mention of HYDRA, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for @stellar-solar-flare’s Starry Winter Sky Event! I went with cooking together and Neighbor AU as a small expansion of this nonsense. February has had some lingering January energy, and I hope you enjoy what I was able to write! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If you asked Bucky if he thought he was a good cook, he’d say he was decent. He retained some of what his mom taught him many years ago and he carefully followed recipes once he was completely free of HYDRA. It was admittedly a bit of a rough go at first. Being able to choose what he could eat was a foreign concept after he didn't have the choice for so long. It got better each day. Every single meal he got to reclaim a piece of himself by making the choice of what he did and didn’t want.

Until today, he always cooked alone.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” you smiled, graciously accepting the apron he handed you.

Bucky had moved into the building a few months ago and you lived across the hall. As far as neighbors went, you were the best. Since day one, you always greeted him with a smile and a kind word. You never played your music too loud or disturbed anyone. Alpine adored you, which told him everything he needed to know since she was the best judge of character. And you never once objected to looking out for her when he had to leave for a mission.

Out of paranoia, he left harmless little “traps” to see if you'd snoop through anything the very first time you went over. Nothing that would hurt you or draw your attention, of course, but something that would let him know if anyone tampered with anything. You didn't. You were a genuinely good and respectful person, and that made him trust you more.

“Thanks for accepting the invitation. And allow me,” he offered, stepping behind you to help you tie it. His fingers lingered on the fabric and he took the moment to inhale your sweet scent before he stepped away. He didn't want to be a creep. “And it’s the least I could do since you offered to watch Alpine. Again.”

“I love watching her. She’s wonderful.”

The photos you sent were something he always looked forward to when he was away. Some of the captions you added made him laugh and smile. His favorite was a selfie you took with Alpine’s cheek against yours. He saved it as “my girls”, which you weren’t aware of.

Because you technically weren’t his girl.

“Well, she adores you,” Bucky smiled. He adored you, too. It stunned him when he found out you were single, and he was selfishly thankful for that. 

“I’ll have to get her another toy,” you said, your lips curling in a small smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

He laughed, a warm and easy sound. “Between the two of us, she’s spoiled rotten and she wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He never expected to be a cat dad, but life surprised him. In fact, it also surprised him that Alpine wasn’t camping out nearby or brushing against one of your legs. She was a smart cat and likely somehow sensed that he wanted alone time with you.

“Well, she deserves it,” you winked before things went quiet.

One of the nice things about hanging out with you was that he didn't mind any bouts of silence. They didn’t feel awkward or tense. In those quiet moments and stolen glances he felt like he had the best conversations with you. He was happy and felt safe being in the same space as you.

“You know,” Bucky began as he set the ingredients on the counter. He lucked out by having a decent sized kitchen since he took up a lot of space. “If I was a better neighbor, I would've just cooked a meal for you while you relaxed.”

It felt romantic for the two of you to cook together, but you weren't together and now he felt like an idiot. A gentleman would've made you a meal and pampered you. Or take you out for a nice meal. He hadn’t dressed up, opting for his jeans and a trademark Henley while you wore a sundress that had his mind racing with both sweet and filthy images. He didn't have flowers for you either.

His “game”, as Sam would say, was rusty.

“You're a great neighbor, Bucky. The best neighbor I’ve had,” you defended. He tried to be a good neighbor and person. A minor way to make up for some of his forced wrongdoings. “And cooking something together is fun! We could even try something at my place next week if you'd like.”

Bucky almost knocked the salt over, his eyes wide. “Really?” You were inviting him over to do this again?

“Yeah, really,” you replied, taking a moment to scan the simple recipe in the cookbook. You always had the cutest expression when you concentrated on something, and he didn’t want to choose something too difficult for the first meal. “We can take turns picking things out to try and trade off cooking at your place and mine. You can even bring Alpine over if you want.”

He suddenly had the image of you in his arms, dancing around the kitchen as you both waited for a meal in the oven to cook. Soft music, low lighting, his hands on your hips, and a tender smile on your face. Stealing a gentle kiss and keeping his eyes open only for a moment so he could see for himself that it wasn't a dream.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling his hair back in a ponytail and washing his hands to distract himself from his thoughts. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” you exhaled. His heart beat faster when he caught you staring. He liked to pretend the look in your eyes was longing. “Sorry. You just…” you cleared your throat and gestured to his head. “You have really nice hair.”

The compliment had his heart racing even faster. “I have nice hair?” he asked. Your fingers would feel amazing in his hair.

You ducked your head for a moment before you met his gaze with a soft smile. “Yeah, you do.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, his shoulder brushing yours when he stood beside you. Electricity lightly cracked between you. Did you feel it, too? “Um, I peeled the carrots before you got here. Would you like to cut them?”

“Oh, I think you’re better with a knife than I am,” you giggled.

He puffed his chest out and twirled the knife he selected in his hand without thinking about it. Part of him was showing off because, well, he wanted you to stare again. “How about I help you?”

“Help me? How?” you asked.

“Here.” He placed the knife in your hand and stood behind you once he had the carrots on the cutting board. “I’m going to preface this by saying I’m far from an expert, but I usually cut them into decent sized pieces before I dice them.”

“I trust your judgement,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. Your faces were close enough that he could kiss you if he leaned in a fraction. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t take what you didn’t offer.

Carefully placing his hands over yours once you faced forward, he felt that electricity crackle again as he helped guide you. He angled his hips so he didn’t press against you, but still stayed close. “See? You’re a natural,” he whispered against your ear when you made the first cut through the vegetable.

He heard the hitch in your breath and how your blood rushed faster in your veins. He felt your skin warm under his touch as you cut the next piece. He also caught the slight tremble that went through your frame when his grip tightened, but he didn’t sense any fear. He hadn't detected any sort of fear or disgust since he came into your life.

But what he sensed in this very moment was excitement.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered back. The way you spoke his name was breathy, beautiful, and he longed to hear that again. “You’re a great teacher.”

“I’m not,” he said, thankful your back was to him so you wouldn’t see the pink that tinted his cheeks. “But I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you are,” you stated, tempting him to turn your head toward him to kiss you. If he did that and you stabbed him, he wouldn’t blame you or hold it against you. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am glad you invited me over,” you said.

He stopped himself from putting his face in the crook of your neck. “I am, too,” he said, smiling to himself as he helped you finish up. “And now that you’ve mastered the carrots, we can chop the onions.”

“Onions? Oh, no,” you groaned playfully.

As the sound of both of you laughing a second later filled the room, Bucky was glad he went with his gut and asked for you two to cook together.

And maybe before the night was over, he’d ask you out on a date and prove to himself that his game wasn't completely hopeless.

I wonder just how he'll ask you out! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gf2bellamy]

queen why do i feel you'll EAT writing about shy! reader and subtly flirty post-prison reid? 🤭

shy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: shy / awkward reader , they're working on a case so mention of victims / unsub etc. a/n: HEYY thank you for your request hope you like this i gave it my best shot <3

“And the two of you can work on the geographical profile.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, eyes meeting Spencer’s for the briefest of moments before you instinctively looked away, pretending to refocus on the files in front of you. Heat crept up your neck, and you tapped your fingers lightly against the table, a nervous habit you never quite managed to shake. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered down to your fingers, watching the repetitive motion before shifting his attention back to his own files. He knew you were shy—reserved, careful with your words—but over time, he’d started to notice something else.

You were even quieter around him. 

Forty-five minutes later, you arrived at the police station with the rest of the team. The usual chaos of a local precinct swirled around you—officers moving in and out, phones ringing, hurried conversations about the case at hand.

As the others scattered to their respective tasks, an officer led you and Spencer to an open conference room, giving you both space to work. 

You slipped your bag from your shoulder and draped your jacket over the back of a chair before settling into place. Just as you were pulling out your notes, Spencer’s voice cut through your thoughts. 

“Do you want coffee before we start?” 

You hesitated. You did, of course. You always started your work with coffee—it was practically a ritual at this point. But the last thing you wanted was to inconvenience him. 

“No, that’s fine,” you said, offering a small, polite smile before looking back at your notes. 

Spencer didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room without another word. 

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Spencer reappeared, carrying two cups of coffee. Without a word, he set one down in front of you before taking his own seat. 

Surprised, you looked up at him, eyes wide. “Spencer, you didn’t have to—” 

“I know,” he interrupted gently, stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee. “But you always have coffee before you start working, and I didn’t see you get one today.” 

Your fingers curled around the cup, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. You glanced away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your lips curled up into a small, bashful smile. 

Spencer noticed. And he smiled too. 

You two worked side by side, occasionally exchanging thoughts on the profile as new details emerged. Every now and then, Spencer would glance at you, watching how you furrowed your brows in concentration, the way your fingers tapped against the table when you were deep in thought. 

At one point, a police officer working the case stepped into the room. He was friendly—maybe a little too friendly. He started asking about the case, directing every question to you instead of Spencer.

At first, you simply answered out of politeness, not thinking much of it, but as the conversation continued, it became clear that his interest went beyond the case. 

Spencer noticed immediately. The officer’s body language, the way he leaned slightly toward you, the casual, almost playful tone in his voice—it was obvious.

And it was bothering him. A lot. 

He watched as you shifted slightly in your seat but too polite to ignore the man’s questions. Spencer could see it—you weren’t necessarily reciprocating, just trying not to seem rude. Still, that didn’t stop the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

His grip on his pen tightened. Then, without looking away from the officer, he spoke. 

“We have to keep working on this,” Spencer said, his voice even but firm. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Alone.” 

The single word carried weight. 

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze to your files, unsure how to react. The officer hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to challenge Spencer, but ultimately nodded and excused himself from the room. 

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt quieter—almost tense. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, not quite meeting Spencer’s gaze. 

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, keeping your gaze fixed on the open case file in front of you. "I didn’t mean to—" 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Spencer’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable certainty in it. You hesitated before glancing up at him

You shifted in your seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I just… I didn’t know how to get out of that conversation without being rude,” you admitted. 

Spencer let out a small hum, tilting his head as he considered your words. “You really don’t like making people uncomfortable, do you?” 

You exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “No, I guess not.” 

He nodded, then tapped his pen against the table. “Even when they’re clearly making you uncomfortable?” 

Your fingers tightened slightly around your pen. “I mean…” You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how intently he was watching you. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

Spencer’s lips twitched, almost like he was holding back a smirk. “Right. Not that bad.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was something teasing in it. 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” 

He shrugged, flipping a page in his file.“It’s just interesting,” he mused, his tone casual. “Watching someone else try so hard to get your attention.” 

You blinked, suddenly feeling warm. “What—” 

“Not that I can blame him,” he added smoothly, cutting you off. His eyes met yours, and this time, he didn’t look away. 

Your breath hitched, and you quickly dropped your gaze to your files, trying to will away the sudden heat in your face.

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “I’m just saying,” he continued, leaning slightly toward you, his voice lower now. “If he had been paying closer attention, he might’ve noticed that you weren’t interested.” 

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping your pen. “And what exactly makes you so sure of that?” 

He smiled—just enough to be infuriating. “Because,” he said simply, “you get a lot quieter when you actually are interested.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

Your lips parted slightly, ready to respond—except you had no idea what to say. Spencer, ever the profiler, seemed to pick up on that, because his smirk deepened just a little before he finally turned back to his notes, acting as if nothing had happened. 

Meanwhile, you stared at your files, pretending to read, even though the words in front of you had lost all meaning. 

Some time later , you were staring at the board, your eyes scanning the map and the scattered notes pinned to it. The geographical profile was coming together, but something felt off—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You were pretty sure you had found a pattern, a connection that might help narrow down the unsub’s next move, but the last thing you wanted was to sound like a complete idiot.

Especially not in front of Spencer.

The way you could barely string a sentence together around him was embarrassing enough, and the fact that he had already picked up on it made it even worse. 

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the file in your hands, your thoughts racing. The more you stared at the board, the more convinced you became that you were onto something.

 Before you could gather the courage to speak, Spencer appeared beside you, his presence so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his arm brushing against yours.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the board. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice soft but curious. He was looking at you from the side.

You swallowed hard, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck, twisting the delicate chain between your fingers.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the board instead of him. 

 Spencer didn’t move. He stayed right where he was, his eyes still on you, waiting. The silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his attention pressing down on you.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone gentle but persistent. “You’re staring at the board like it’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you’ve noticed something, I’d like to hear it.” 

 You hesitated, your fingers still fiddling with your necklace. “I just… I think there might be a pattern here,” you said slowly, gesturing toward the map. “The locations of the victims—they’re not random. They’re clustered, but not in a way that’s immediately obvious. It’s like… like the unsub is following a specific route, but he’s deviating just enough to throw us off.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he turned his full attention to the board, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. “Go on,” he said, his voice encouraging. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. “If you look here,” you said, pointing to one of the pins on the map, “the first victim was found near this intersection. The second was a few blocks away, but still within walking distance. The third was further out, but if you draw a line connecting them, it’s almost like…” You trailed off, suddenly unsure if you were making any sense. 

 “Like he’s spiraling outward,” Spencer finished for you, his voice tinged with excitement. He stepped closer to the board, his eyes darting between the pins as he followed the pattern you had described. “You’re right. It’s not random. He’s moving in a deliberate pattern, but he’s expanding his radius each time.” 

 You nodded, relief washing over you as he validated your theory. “Exactly,” you said, your voice gaining a little more confidence. “And if we can predict where he’ll go next, we might be able to catch him before he strikes again.” 

 Spencer turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s… really good,” he said, his tone genuine. “I hadn’t considered that, but it makes perfect sense.” 

 You felt a rush of warmth at his praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even as you tried to hide it by looking down at your notes. “Thanks,” you said softly. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong.” 

 Spencer shook his head, his expression softening. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself like that,” he said. “You have a good eye for details. You should trust your instincts more.” 

 His words caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment. “I’ll… try to remember that,” you said softly. 

 Spencer didn’t say anything else, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the board, his mind already racing with the new information.

You stood there beside him, your heart still pounding in your chest, but for the first time, you felt a little less unsure of yourself.

Two days later, the case was finally wrapped up. The unsub was in custody, and the team was heading back to Quantico. The relief was palpable, but so was the exhaustion. You were walking toward the jet, your go bag slung over your shoulder, when Spencer caught up to you.  

 “Let me help you,” he said, reaching for your bag before you could protest.  

 “No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, instinctively pulling the bag closer to you.

But before you could say anything else, he gently took the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice soft as you glanced at him. He was walking beside you now, his pace matching yours, and you couldn’t help but notice how close he was.

Close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and subtle, like sandalwood and books. 

Spencer just smiled, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder as you walked. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the tarmac, and the sound of the team’s chatter filled the air as they made their way to the jet.  

 “You did good work on the case,” Spencer said after a moment, his tone casual but sincere. He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Really good, actually.” 

You felt a rush of warmth at his words, and you quickly looked down, your fingers instinctively reaching for the necklace around your neck. You twisted the delicate chain between your fingers, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to break.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “That… means a lot.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and thoughtful. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the jet now in sight.

The rest of the team was already boarding, their voices carrying across the tarmac as they chatted about the case and what awaited them back home. 

When you reached the plane, Spencer stepped aside to let you board first. You murmured another quiet “thank you” as you climbed the steps, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You climbed the steps onto the plane, settling into your usual seat by the window. Spencer followed, stowing the bags in the overhead compartment before sliding into the seat beside you.

The proximity made your breath catch, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting your sweater, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. 

As the plane’s engines hummed to life, you found yourself fidgeting again, your fingers toying with the necklace around your neck. It was a nervous habit, one you couldn’t seem to shake, especially when Spencer was this close. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you, his gaze dropping to your hands before shifting back to your face.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if debating whether to say something. Then, without a word, he reached over, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he stilled your hand. 

“You’re going to break it if you keep doing that,” he said softly, his voice low and warm. 

You froze, your breath hitching as his touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the chain before he pulled away, leaving your skin tingling where he’d touched you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your face burning as you dropped your hand into your lap. 

Spencer chuckled, the sound quiet but amused. “Don’t be,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I just… don’t want you to ruin something that’s clearly important to you.” 

You glanced at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something in his tone—something teasing but tender—that made your stomach twist.

“It’s just a habit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours. “But you don’t have to be nervous around me, you know.” 

Your breath caught, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “I’m not nervous,” you lied, your voice shaky. 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unwavering. “Okay,” he said finally, his tone light but with a hint of amusement. “If you say so.” 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The plane lifted into the air, and you leaned back in your seat, the hum of the engines filling the silence between you. 

After a few moments, Spencer shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the book he’d stashed in the seat pocket. You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his fingers traced the spine of the book before he opened it. 

For the rest of the flight, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sending a thrill through you.

And as you closed your eyes, the faintest of smiles on your lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Spencer Reid saw something in you that you hadn’t quite seen in yourself yet. 

[goodlucktai]

could you please do 29 for dialouge prompts, leo and donnie?

dialogue prompts

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

When they were little, Donatello’s twin was his translator. 

Donnie was the last of the turtles to start talking—though the first to start reading and writing and dismantling kitchen appliances—and no amount of coercion or bribery or outright begging was enough to get a single word out of him in English or Japanese before he was good and ready. 

Splinter was in over his head already just by having four unplanned children to raise who were not even the same species as him. He fretted about his sons’ health and their development in those early years, and had absolutely no one he could turn to for regular parenting advice, let alone advice on what was and was not normal for mutant turtle children. 

He tells the story now with a rueful good humor granted only by hindsight and a decade and a half of distance, but at the time, Donatello refusing his second meal in a row while blinking silently in face of his father’s increasingly worried questions probably would have driven Splinter to tear his fur out if not for the contribution made by Donnie’s talkative striped shadow. 

“It’s the, uh, the red things, daddy,” Leo piped up. “He doesn’t like those.” 

Splinter blinked at him, and then down at the plate Donnie was refusing to so much as look at it. 

“The tomatoes?” he said. 

“Tomatoes,” Leo parroted. “They’re hard outside and squishy inside. He doesn’t like things like that. And they touched everything else so all of it is no good now!”

Never having considered that texture, of all things, could be the issue—and kicking himself for it—Splinter scrambled a fresh pair of eggs for his stubborn little softshell. He skipped the cherry tomatoes, and sliced a bell pepper instead that he made sure to put on the opposite side of the portioned plastic plate. 

Donnie sniffed his fresh plate of plain eggs suspiciously, but it passed his inspection. He crunched into a piece of bell pepper so eagerly that he must have been hungry. Splinter sank back in his chair with an exhale that left him feeling like a deflated balloon. 

Leo, eating the discarded tomatoes out of Donnie’s original breakfast, giggled at him. He was the first of Splinter’s babies to start speaking, and the sound of his bright voice tripping eagerly over clumsy human words rarely failed to coax a smile out of his father. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said, poking Leo on the edge of his beak and earning himself another peal of bubbly laughter. “I’m glad one of us speaks Purple’s language or I might have set us up for failure big-time.”

“‘Course I do! ‘Cause we’re twins!” Leo said, with only half an idea what the word meant, but happy for any reason to be one of a pair with his best friend. Donnie knew very well what the word meant and simply nodded along, because he was happy, too. 

Now that they’re older, and Donatello no longer needs a translator, he finds himself returning the favor instead. Leo is far from nonverbal—Leo talks too much—but he hardly ever actually says anything. He can pontificate and harangue and lecture to lengths of absolute absurdity without giving a single word of substance away that he doesn’t want to give away. 

Donnie can read him like a book. Like one of his favorite books that he doesn’t actually have to read, because he knows every page by heart. 

The summer after the world didn’t end, Donnie’s twin becomes someone unfamiliar. 

He’s self destructive in ways that aren’t immediately obvious. He seeks out things that scare him, lingering above the death drop an extra second even though he’s been afraid of heights since he was fourteen. 

It’s obvious that he’s trying to train himself out of weakness. No more childish fears, no more lazy Sunday mornings, no more silly Nardo. 

Raph and Mikey have clocked it, too, in their own ways. At first Raph was pleasantly surprised when Leo beat him to the dojo for training, ribbing him amicably when he was also the last to leave. But then Leo started turning down Mario Kart tournaments and ninja tag in favor of shutting himself away and working working working to correct an internal ugliness that just doesn’t exist. Mikey’s used to being the exception to every rule, used to arms opening for him wherever he goes, and the way his sweet, sunny smile slips every time Leo talks around joining him on the sofa for Kitchen Nightmares reruns—or explains away why he’s skipping dinner—is one of the worst things Donnie’s ever seen. 

At the very least, Leonardo doesn’t lie to Donatello’s face. He’s stopped looking him in the eye altogether. 

You’re not going anywhere without me, Donnie thinks at him, ready to dig in his heels and fight like hell. 

It’s hard to say how long it would have gone on, but one late night Leo limps home from a solo patrol and Donnie is waiting for him, arms folded, tolerance for foolishness nonexistent. 

“What, are you tracking me?” Leo jokes half-heartedly. And then, when Donnie doesn’t blink, he adds, “Wait, actually?”

“Don’t waste my time with questions we both know the answer to,” Donnie says, and points Leo directly towards the medbay. Leo, who had been angled toward the bathroom instead, likely because he can close the door and suffer in private with no one the wiser, sighs loudly and course-corrects. 

The overhead lights in the medbay hum to life when Donnie flips the switches. Leo looks over his shoulder to gauge how far those lights have traveled past the open door, restless with wondering if he’s going to have to save face in front of someone else. 

All of this? All this behavior? Donnie hates this. 

Larger-than-life Leonardo seems smaller as he boosts himself up onto the edge of the bed. The infirmary is the one place he never puts on airs, the one place he takes seriously because his family’s health and safety has never once been a punchline to him. He peels off all his false layers at the door. He’s back to not meeting Donnie’s eyes. 

“Tell me where it hurts, and be specific,” Donatello says. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Leonardo replies. His attempt at wily good humor limps along a lot like he had limped through the front door, like the least funny thing in the world. “That’s why between the two of us I’m the team medic.”

“And I’m two minutes from pulling the fire alarm and making this a house party,” Donnie says frankly. His tone isn’t gentle, isn’t quite angry. He’s somewhere in the middle, gentleness and anger fighting for the spot that affection has never once surrendered and never once will. 

He hates the way his twin’s eyes get wet, staring down at his own knees, knuckles stark white and standing out like a string of pearls where his hands are bunched in the thin blanket he’s sitting on. He hates that it’s come to this, the quiet of midnight in the medbay, one of the brightest lights in Donnie’s life dimmed and miserable and so clearly struggling. It’s laughable that Leo really thought he could have hidden it forever. 

Donnie sits beside him on the bed and says, “What if I quit?”

The non-sequitur takes Leo by surprise. He was clearly expecting a full frontal assault and glances sideways at Donnie briefly. 

“Quit what?”

“My bad, I should have been more specific,” Donnie allows. “I meant, what if I quit being a ninja? I have better things I could be doing, and I don’t like getting hurt.” Leo is staring at him fully now, totally bewildered. Flabbergasted, even. It melts some of the sternness Donnie has been careful to shore up for this conversation. “Would you love me less?” he asks. 

It would have been kinder if Donnie had slapped him. “Don’t say that,” Leo says, barely any air behind it. 

“Are you more capable than I am?” Donnie steamrolls on. “Are you better than me?”

“Of course not. I don’t think—I didn’t say—”

“Then why do you have to be perfect if I don’t?” Donnie presses the advantage ruthlessly. “Why aren’t you allowed to struggle and doubt and spectacularly fuck up every now and then without raking yourself over the coals for it?” 

Leo glances over at the door automatically, like Raph is going to be summoned by the bad word. He’s sixteen, he’s just sixteen, Donnie wants to scream it loud enough that those resistance fighters in Casey’s future could hear him, the ones who thought it was a halfway decent idea to put a child in charge. 

Earlier Donnie thought that Leo looked smaller here. Now he thinks he can tell by looking how much weight his twin has lost since June. There’s a deficit of Leonardo in this world and his whole family is feeling it keenly. 

Raph wants to scoop Leo off the sofa when he stays up too late and tuck him into bed, wants to listen to Leo filling the comms with chatter on those nights when patrol stretches long and dull. Raph misses his little brother, the gossipy, gangly, growing up little turtle that Raph used to be allowed to carry everywhere.

Mikey wants to bicker over who gets to play Sonic in Smash Bros and eat cookies while they’re still hot from the oven with the person he admires so much, who taught him all the best cheats in Smash Bros and that fresh sugar cookies in the falling apart stage, pre-icing, are better than ones that have cooled. 

‘Sometimes you gotta get burned to get results,’ ten-year-old Leo had announced, but he was always the one who lifted the cookies off the sheet pan, he never let Mikey burn his fingers.  

That goofy, clever kid who was always getting them all into trouble and talking their way out of it again is worth a thousand made-up Master Leonardos. 

Leo keeps his face lowered, shoulders hunched, because he knows what he’ll see if he scrapes together the courage to meet Donnie’s gaze. He’ll see the love blazing in his twin’s face like one of those digital billboards towering above Times Square, and somehow he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it. 

Donnie doesn’t give a damn what Leo has decided he deserves. Donnie’s going to love him anyway, on purpose, whether he likes it or not. If Leo wants to grow up so badly, then he can stop acting like a kid pushing vegetables around on his plate and swallow the truth. 

It’s okay if he doesn’t grow up yet. They can be kids awhile longer. It’ll be like when they were babies, when Donatello would rather go hungry than stomach certain foods. Leo never let Donnie sit alone at the breakfast table, keeping him cheerful, babbling company, even when their brothers had moved off to play. 

This time Leo is the picky eater, willing to go hungry and sit alone at the table. But Donnie learned from the best. He's returning the favor.

Donnie isn’t going anywhere without Leo, either.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

 ← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That’s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

[wcnderlnds]

love dust | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・summary: jiyong has been your closest friend for many years but what he doesn't know is you like him a lot more than that. ・❥・word count: 1.4k ・❥・warnings: none! ・❥・authors note: first time writing for gd so go easy on me <3

“You should let me borrow this one when you’re finished with it.” Your delicate fingers played around with the rings decorating Jiyong’s hands. His accessory game was always on point — you were always asking if you could borrow the things he wore and he would always very happily oblige. Something about seeing you in the things he wore made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders as the two of you laid out on the couch in his dressing room, legs stretched out. Jiyong's other hand lay on his stomach where you were playing around with his fingers. It was soothing, putting him in a calm frame of mind before he had to go out and perform later in the day. Nobody could calm him better than you. He gently rested his head on top of yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he laughed softly.

“I should start charging you for the amount of things you take from me,” he joked.

“You’d double your fortune at this rate,” you grinned over at him, tilting your head. “Not my fault you always have the best stuff. Stop being such a style icon and I wouldn’t have to.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jiyong’s fingers playing with a strand of your hair, soaking in the quiet. It had always been like this with you. Jiyong was your closest friend — you’d known him before he’d even debuted. Every step of the way you had been by his side. Nobody knew him better than you and vice versa. He had been there at your lowest, you had been there at his. There wasn’t anything you hadn’t experienced together. It was easy to say that without each other, neither of you would be the person you were. It wasn’t often in life people found someone they connected with so easily, so deeply which is why Jiyong could never know how you really felt about him.

Over the last couple of years, your feelings for him had shifted. At first you’d brushed it off as just a crush, a silly little thing that would pass as time went on. Except it didn’t pass. It only got stronger. Every single day it was like a weight on your chest knowing that you could never tell him. Not only would it be humiliating but he definitely wouldn’t feel the same and that would be it. The friendship would be over and he’d be out of your life.

A sigh escaped your lips before you could even realise. Immediately, it caught Jiyong’s attention. His eyes that had been closed now opening to look at you with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” you assured him. He looked at you as if he was examining you, trying to figure out if you were lying to him but as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the room opened.

Daesung and Youngbae walked in, laughing at something. Their eyes caught the position the two of you were in, mischievous grins slowly creeping onto their faces. Oh no. You know what was coming next. It had been like this for years now. They’d catch you and Jiyong cuddling or being close to each other and never let either of you live it down.

“Did we interrupt something?” Daesung raised a brow. Jiyong rolled his eyes, sitting up with you and giving his friend the middle finger.

“I think we did. You know, next time put a sock on the door or something so we know you’re busy,” Youngbae teased. Your cheeks flushed red as you hid your face in your hands. This only caused the two men to laugh.

Jiyong got to his feet, holding his hand out to help you to yours. “You two are a pain in my ass.” He turned to you, his hand lingering on yours for a beat longer than normal. “I need to go get ready but I’ll see you after the show? We can go get food or something.”

You simply nodded your head, waving goodbye as he and Youngbae left the room. Daesung remained behind, looking at you with a soft smile. “You should tell him, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You should tell Jiyong how you feel.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you said, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. How had Daesung even figured it out? He really was more attentive than you gave him credit for.

“Sure but I’m just saying, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you told him,” Daesung shot a wink your way, running out of the room to meet up with his friends.

Now, what the hell did that mean?

——

The show had gone amazing. It was like Jiyong had never been gone. Each show he performed he got more and more confident, G Dragon coming out in full force. Honestly, seeing him on stage and fully embracing his G Dragon person was hot as hell. Nobody did it like him. He was the king of K Pop for a reason.

You had slid away to the dressing room as the show ended, giving the three boys time to thank the crew. It was Taeyang’s tour but you knew how much all of them appreciated the people who helped them. It was one of the most endearing qualities — it’s what made them some of the most loved boys in the industry.

The door to the room opened and in came Jiyong. He hand a towel in his hand, dabbing at the sweat on his face. The second he laid eyes on you, he smiled. His heartbeat speeding up everytime he looked at you. He had it bad. So damn bad.

“You did so good out there!” You beamed, throwing your arms around him in a hug. Without hesitation, he dropped the towel, wrapping his arms around you. If he could keep you this close to him forever, he would. Hopefully you couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating right now. The best feeling in the world was you waiting for him after a show. It felt like he was on cloud nine knowing that he had the most supportive, loyal and kind person by his side.

He pulled back, only slightly, his hot breath fanning across your face. You couldn’t place the look in his eyes but it cause a shiver to run down your spine. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Couldn’t do any of it without you.”

Time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with each other. Was this it? Was this the right moment to tell him how you felt? 

“Jiyong, I….” You started but he cut you off.

“I’m sorry for cutting you off, I need to say something to you and if I don’t do it now, I never will,” he cupped your cheek, taking a deep breath as he found the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long now. “I’m crazy about you. I have been for a very long time but you are so important to me that I didn’t want to ruin the friendship. I can’t lie to myself or you anymore. I understand if you don’t feel the same way but I owed it to myself to at least tell you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to his soft, rushed words. You could tell how nervous he was, how much he wanted to probably run out of the door and pretend he never said anything but he didn’t. He was stood here being brave so you had to be too. “Jiyong, I’m crazy about you, too. You drive me insane. It’s kind of terrifying how much I like you as more than a friend. I just… didn’t think you’d feel the same so I never said anything.”

“What? Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t I feel the same? You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re biased.”

“Yeah, well,” he grinned one of those signature Jiyong grins. His eyes flickered down to your lips then back to your eyes as if asking for permission. You nodded your head and that was all he needed. He leaned forward, closing the distance to meet your lips. The kiss was gentle, a declaration of his feelings for you without actually giving them words.

It was short and sweet. It was perfect. 

Pulling back, he smiled at you. Seeing you stood there with your flushed cheeks and nervous smile, he felt like he could burst from joy. He was so head over heels for you. “Come on,” he said, linking his fingers with yours. “I believe I promised you some food.”

But before he could pull you off, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back down to meet your lips. Food could wait for now.

taglist (ask to be added): @ldydeath

[femmeroll]

please could you write sevika dating a ballerina reader??? it can be headcanons (nsfwplss) or a short fic or whatever you like, thank uuu 🩷

i adore this!! thank u for the request my lovely ♡

sevika x ballerina!reader

cw: smut & fluff, hyperfemme reader, butch sevika, oral (r!receiving)

when sevika meets you, it’s like something out of a cheesy rom-com. it’s the middle of a cold, grey winter, and there you are at the bus stop. hair in a tight bun, legs adorned with light pink tights, and a frilly leotard to match. your zip-up jacket doesn’t conceal you at all from the bitter weather.

the second sevika sees you, she starts unzipping her heavy winter coat. the temperature was piercing, but she didn’t care. there was a cute ballerina freezing to death right next to her!

“hey…would you wanna borrow this? it’s way too cold for a light jacket like that, don’t want you to get sick or something.”

and the second you see sevika, light blush on her face with a hand outstretched to offer her jacket, a thousand lightening bolts shock your heart. you don’t yet know who this incredibly kind a wickedly handsome person is, but you know in your gut that you will find out.

you get sevika’s number so that you can ‘meet up’ to give her the coat back.

sevika asks you out after texting back and forth for a few days. she invites you to a cute cafe in town, one of those pretty ones that are covered in plants and vintage art.

you bring her coat to return it, but she insists that you keep it.

she pays for your drink and your pastry without hesitation. sevika is fidgeting with her sleeves the whole time. acting all shy as if she’s some high schooler who’s about to hold hands with a girl for the first time.

the two of you spend a whole afternoon getting to know each other. you learn all about her mechanic job and her two dogs and how she really likes doing crossword puzzles. she learns about how you’re a professional ballerina and you spend all your time at the dance studio.

sevika is so smitten it’s unreal. and when she sees you wearing her jacket when your ready to leave, she knows its game over. her heart can’t take it.

dating sevika is a literal dream. she’ll take you to every rehearsal and be in the front row of every single performance.

after every performance she greets you with a bouquet of flowers and the proudest smile plastered on that handsome face of hers.

“you were amazing as always, baby. i was cheering your name so loud at the end! did you hear?”

sevika will rub your sore feet after you’ve been in point shoes all day. every dancer knows just how fucked up your feet can get from those things. she’ll help you soak them in a salt bath and raise them up while she gently massages the pain away. she’s always gentle with you.

sevika prefers date nights at home. her perfect evening with you includes cooking you dinner, eating with you in the living room while watching a movie, and splitting you open in bed.

on the topic of the bedroom…

the first time having sex with sevika is after dance rehearsal. you come to her apartment exhausted and stressed about an upcoming performance.

while you’re trying to rant to your girlfriend, she gets a little distracted. every inch of your gorgeous body is on display in your tight leotard. and the way your legs are clothed in those sexy tights…she wants to eat you alive.

“…and the choreographer was being ridiculous. my feet were sickled for maybe half a second and-”

“can i help you relax?” sevika interrupts.

she gently grabs your hips with a smirk, peeling the straps of your leotard down.

“so worked up, aren’t you babe? let me make you feel better, please.”

sevika frees you from your tight dance clothes and nearly moans at the sight of your body. bare and needy, and it’s all for her. she gently lays you down on her bed, kisses trailing from your lips and throat to your stomach and thighs.

she licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, warm tongue sending shockwaves through your veins. she groans at the taste, greedily lapping at your pussy. she can’t get enough of the sweetness of you. and your cunt is nearly drooling over the way she eats you like you’re her last meal.

“god, you taste so damn good,” she growls into you, eyes dark as she pushes her tongue inside you. her nose rubs on your clit with every movement.

you’ve never cum so quickly in your entire life. watching her eat your pussy like a woman starved, the feeling of her hot tongue, her nose on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. it’s no wonder your eyes are rolling back into your skull after only a few minutes.

you clench around her tongue, whimpering out her name as she works you through your orgasm. once you start squirming from overstimulation, she comes up to kiss you.

“that make you feel better, baby?”

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

i just wanna be one of your girls

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — mdni, sexual content, slight manipulation, kind of dark!rafe

summary — things mean!rafe would do to desperate!reader

authors note — i’m trying my hardest to get back into writing guys i swear. heres a part 2!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

mean!rafe who absolutely loves the power he has over desperate!reader. how he can just snap his fingers and have you right at his fingertips willing to do anything he asked.

mean!rafe who thinks the crush you have on him is absolutely adorable and loves to rub it in your face. he gets a sick kick out of teasing you and keeping you close enough to still want him, even though you know he’s just out of your reach and you’ll never fully have him.

mean!rafe who hates seeing you talk to other guys at parties but will blatantly flirt with other girls in front of you. all just to see you whiny with glassy eyes and begging him to take you home where you’ll know he’ll fuck you just right.

mean!rafe who calls you at any moment for a quickie of some sort because he knows you’ll always pick up and speed over to anywhere he was to do whatever he wanted, no matter how far.

mean!rafe who’d always fuck you any chance he got in the dirtiest way to show you just how much power he had over you.

mean!rafe who’d go raw every single time simply because you let him. even begged him for it.

mean!rafe who didn’t kiss you at first because he didn’t want you getting anymore attached than you already were.

mean!rafe who’d take pictures of your face full of his cum and store them away in his hidden album to brag about with his friends later.

mean!rafe who marked you up every single time just to keep everyone else off of you. he loved seeing the deep purple bruises that littered your skin because of him.

mean!rafe who sometimes found himself getting soft with you when you cried about how you never felt good enough for him after seeing him with so many other girls. it made him feel a little guilty, something he was never used to.

mean!rafe who owned a key to your house and would show up whenever he pleased just to feel you wrapped around him.

mean!rafe who always ran back to you no matter what, even if he’d trick you into thinking it was the other way around.

mean!rafe who eventually started to develop feelings for you. he loved the clingy, desperate nature of you and it made his heart full whenever he’d stay the night after you cried and begged him too.

mean!rafe who was whimpering into your ear as he drilled into you from behind and accidentally let a soft “i love you” slip out. he later gaslit you into thinking you were so desperate for any form of affection so you made it up in that delusional head of yours.

[bapeach]

Boombastic

Just a short story while I try to get back into writing. Don't love it, but it's better than nothing 😁 Constructive criticism is always welcome. Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Nika Mühl x female!reader  Word count: 1.3k+ Summary: You catch Nika watching TikTok edits of you.

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

When you enrolled in UConn, your only plans were to play basketball and get a degree. You didn’t care about making friends or getting a girlfriend. You only really wanted to play ball, but you knew you needed to have a backup in case something happened and you could never play again. So a degree in communication it was.

It’s not like you struggled making friends, you just didn’t ever have your own little friend group. You hopped from group to group, always a friend to everyone, but never letting anyone get too close. Well, that was before you came to university. If you really thought you were going to be able to only be teammates with your basketball team, you thought wrong. Joining that team means joining a family. And thank God for that. You loved those girls to pieces and were happy to call every single one of them your best friends.

You were especially close to Nika, however. Which was a good thing, seeing as she was also your roommate. And maybe you also had a tiny crush on her, but no one needed to know that. Sure, you two playfully flirted with each other all the time, but that was all just a joke. To the Croatian, at least. You meant every single thing you said to her. Things like how she was the prettiest girl you’d ever seen, how her smile could light up the darkest rooms, and how if she were yours, you’d treat her right.

There are moments when you think she might like you back. The way she looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other. Friends also don’t blush the way she does when you lean in close to mutter a compliment. But then you start overthinking it and make yourself believe that you’re just imagining things. Because there is no way that the goddess that is Nika Mühl will ever like you.

----

You hum your favorite song to yourself as you walk through the hallways. You’d just gone out for some errands and were on the way back to your dorm. You wonder if Nika is already there or if she’s still with Paige. You hope she’s home, maybe then you two could finish the show you’d started a while ago. You quicken your step a little as you near your dorm. When you open the door, you take a step inside to see Nika already on the couch, her back towards you. 

A grin appears on your face as you quietly put your stuff down on the table next to the door. You open your mouth to say something, but you know that wouldn’t do much. Nika is wearing those annoying headphones that you complain about at least once a day. They’re great for the person wearing them, the sound is clear, and outside sounds are completely muffled. They aren’t so great for the people around them, though. You can clearly hear everything the wearer is listening to, while they can’t hear you yell at them to turn it down.

You start taking off your shoes as you hear the song playing on Nika’s phone. You smirk a little as you recognize the music. Boombastic by Shaggy. The song has been all over your fyp all week, so you figure the brunette is scrolling on TikTok. Your face scrunches up in confusion when you’ve finally taken off both shoes. The song was playing on repeat. “I swear to God if she’s watching an edit of herself to that song,” you think to yourself as a mischievous grin grows on your face.

You walk over and pause behind her, watching her phone from over her shoulder. Your mouth drops open as you see yourself in the video. A smirk appears on your face as you watch Nika play the TikTok over and over again. You see that she’s already liked it and has it saved to one of her folders. You shoot forward, snatching the phone out of her hands as you quickly back up.

The brunette bolts up as she looks at you with wide eyes, her cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. “Y/N, give me back my phone!” She huffs. She tries to take it out of your hands, but you hold your arm away from her as you look at her cockily. “Damn, I look good,” you hum, pursing your lips.

“Y/N, please,” she begs, looking at the floor. You tap her profile as you check out in which folder she saved the video. “Oh. My. God… You have a folder with 102 edits saved of me?” You laugh in shock and amusement. The Croatian girl burns an even brighter red as she stops trying to steal the phone from you, having accepted defeat. She sits back down as she puts her face in her hands. “Shut uppp,” she whines.

You look away from the phone towards the brunette, your smile softening. “God, she’s adorable,” you think. Nika huffs as she hears you take a screenshot of the number and send it to yourself. She wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Once you’re done, you throw the phone next to her, not looking as it bounces against her thigh.

You grab your own phone, saving the screenshot before opening your TikTok. After a few swipes, you put your phone back in your pocket as you look at Nika with a grin. Feeling her phone buzz, the brunette grabs it and unlocks it to check your message. She stares at the picture you sent for a few seconds. It was a screenshot of your own TikTok account, a folder with her name on it visible. The number “253” on display.

“You… you have 253 TikToks saved of me?” She says as she looks up at you, her eyes wide. “102 is a rookie number. I thought you liked me?” You tease as you cross your arms. She rolls her eyes as you walk over, a smirk forming on her face. “253 of me? People are gonna think you have a crush on me, Y/N/N,” she grins. You grab her hand and pull her up from the couch. Her cheeks flaming as you pull her against you. “Hmm, and so what if I do?” You say with a low voice as you grab her chin. 

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she replies, looking up at you with doe eyes. “Is that so?” You mutter, leaning a little closer to her. “Mhm… Why don’t you show me how much you like me?” She mumbles back. She barely has time to finish her sentence as you pull her face towards your own. You kiss her hard and deep as you grip her a little tighter. When you’re out of breath, you back up a bit and smirk. “How was that for proof?”

She rolls her eyes at you, a grin on her face. You soften a bit as you look at her. You move your hand to cup her cheek as you rub your thumb across it. “I really like you, Niks,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You don’t care about the fact that you’re looking at her with vulnerable, desperate eyes. You needed her to know. 

She grabs your face in her hands, pulling you close. You stare into her eyes, only being a few inches away from her. “Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?” She murmurs, her lips a small pout. You look at her in adoration and a hint of regret. “I’m sorry for being too scared to… Let me make it up to you? Dinner at 6 tomorrow?”

She grins at you, pulling you in for another kiss. “Deal.” You beam a wide smile at her before smirking. “So… Do you often watch TikToks of me on repeat?” You let out a deep laugh as Nika slaps your shoulder, pushing you away. You grab her wrists, pulling her back against you in a hug. “You’re a jerk,” she mutters against your chest. “Yeah, but you love me,” you reply, feeling her smile against your shirt. “Hmph,” she huffs, but squeezes you tighter.

You suppose those damn headphones aren’t so bad after all.

[ldydeath]

Show Must Go On | Kang Dae-sung

Summary: You and Daesung both have feelings for each other but are too stubborn to admit it. When your boss decides that a PR relationship is best for business you both worry that you're feelings might come out. What could go wrong?

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing for our angel baby, Daesung. Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list.

Daesung had been one of the first people you’d met when you had started coming up in the industry. With both of you becoming famous around the same time, you’d grown close rather quickly. You’d spent a lot of time with him and his band over the years, so much so that you all went hand in hand at this point. People didn’t think of them without thinking of you and vice versa. It was daunting sometimes being talked about in the same circles, but you loved your friends too much to ever distance yourself from them. 

That however, didn’t stop you from being shocked when you walked into your bosses office to see Daesung there. “Dae? What are you doing here?” He shrugged and you raised a brow at your boss as you sat down. It had been a long time since you two had been called into the office together. In fact, the last time had been when you were a lot longer and were being scolded for doing something wrong on a variety show. You wracked your brain trying to think of something, anything you’d done wrong recently as your boss began to speak. “It’s a weird time for the industry and with you two still being single we think it’s best if you do a PR relationship. At least for a bit.” You blinked, having missed all but the end of the conversation. “What? That’s ridiculous. Nobody cares that we’re single.” Daesung nodded in agreement. 

“It’s perfect timing, Daesung is doing reunion shows with BigBang, you’ve got your new album coming out. It’s a win-win if you promote each other and attend all these events together. You guys have a staged photo shoot in an hour for the hard launch.” You looked at Dae who rolled his eyes before looking back at your boss. “And we have to do this?” His voice was soft and you raised a brow, wondering why he wasn’t fighting back as hard as you were. “Yes.” Your boss leaned over, handing you both a timeline of the relationship. You snatched it from his hands before standing up to leave the room. 

As soon as you were outside the room a hand was on your arm, you looked up into the concerned eyes of your best friend, “Are you ok?” Your expression softened at his worry and you let out a sigh, “Yeah, I’m just annoyed that we have to do this.” He cocked his head to the side, dropping your arm and folding them across his chest. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like we’re not going to take this stupid schedule and make it fun.” It was a big deal, though. Over the last few months you’d started to feel things that you shouldn’t for your best friend. You weren’t so sure you could handle fake dating your best friend while you were navigating your own feelings for him. “Yeah, okay. I know we’ll make it fun, it’s just silly that they think anyone would care about this.”

—

A week had passed since the pictures of you being caught on a date had appeared online and you were eating your words. Fans from all over the world were obsessed that the two of you were dating. You were knee deep in instagram comments over a photo of your and Daesung’s hands. It was kind of funny how they could find a way the fans were playing detective over every post and story the two of you would put up. You didn’t even have to be in each other's stories for them to assume you were together. 

The agreement had been that you’d be caught out, being a little too friendly but wouldn’t confirm anything yet. This week was a week of soft launching without tagging each other, no faces, nothing just to gauge the reaction. Tonight was the big show. You two had dinner with Jiyong and Youngbae and a couple people from both of your teams, something you all did frequently but after the dinner you and Daesung would get caught kissing.

You were a nervous wreck at the thought of it. Just being around him like this the past week had you on edge. Careful not to linger too much when holding hands, or to not look at him too long when walking down the street. It was one thing for the fans to see you smitten, it was another for him to realize just how much you weren’t acting. You were so busy trying to play it cool that you didn’t realize the way his touch lingered or the fact that he never wanted to be the one to leave first. You were fighting so hard to convince yourself that there were no real feelings there that you were missing the probability that he was in love with you and afraid to admit it too.

A knock at your door broke your thoughts and you grabbed your bag. Checking yourself over one final time before plastering a big smile on your face to hide the nerves, “You ready?” Dae greeted you and you nodded. “As I’ll ever be.” You held your hand out for him to take and he laced your fingers together, your heart pounding in your chest just from holding his hand. This man was going to drive you crazy and he didn’t even know it. As if picking up on your nerves, Daesung gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he led the way to the restaurant.  

As expected the paparazzi was out, following you and your security down the street. Thankfully you only lived a couple blocks from dinner so the walk wasn’t too sketchy with your team by your side. As Daesung opened the door to the restaurant you leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek, his cheeks flushing at the touch. That was unscripted and you cursed to yourself as you let go of his hand to make your way inside. Thankfully, everyone else was already there and the cameras weren’t allowed inside. You only had to keep up appearances in case anyone got a shot of you through the window, but you didn’t have to act in front of your friends. 

“I guess I just don’t understand why you two have to be here for the kiss, it’s embarrassing.” You complained as dinner was coming to an end. Daesung's eyes flashed with a hint of hurt before covering it up with a nod his grip tightening on your leg. You didn’t see how much it was killing him, being so close to you and you shutting him down every chance you got. He should’ve told you how he felt, and now he was starting to chicken out.  “I think it’s so the world can see that we support you both.” Jiyong looked between you too as you spoke. “It’s a big deal for the Hyung to approve of his girlfriend.” He sat back smugly in his seat and you rolled your eyes at him, knowing he didn’t take that title seriously anymore. 

As you went to stand once the meal was over, Daesung kept his arm on your leg, causing you to stay seated. “We don’t have to do this, if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.” You thought maybe you were imaging things but he seemed sad as he spoke to you and you frowned, your eyes locking on him. Daesung wanted to make sure you were comfortable before anything else was to happen. He didn’t care about schedules or contracts or their boss, he only cared about you.  “I’m not uncomfortable, never with you, it’s just weird, you know?” You were projecting, nothing about kissing this man was going to be weird. You were nervous that you wouldn’t be able to hide your feelings and ruin your whole friendship, but you had to do this. “Come on, once this is over we can go back to my place and watch everyone freak out in real time, it’ll be fun.” He nodded, standing up and taking your hand in his again before leading you outside.

You spotted the cameras hungry for attention, it was show time. Hugs were exchanged between you and the guys and as Daesung pulled you towards your street you leaned up, your mouth brushing his slightly. As his lips met yours, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and just as you were about to pull away, Daesung’s arm wound around your back pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. He had one shot to let you know how felt, and he poured all his emotions into that kiss, hoping maybe now you’d realize how he felt about him.

You got lost in the moment, your heart doing somersaults as you kissed your best friend. Jiyong cleared his throat behind you, causing you both to freeze. “Camera’s left a bit ago.” Your eyes popped open and you turned slowly, taking in the scene. It was just the four of you and your various security standing awkwardly around you. “Right. Well, we’re going to go.” Youngbae waved and the two of them took off down the street.

When you turned back around Daesung was looking at you, his expression soft. “So I guess that happened?” He chuckled his hand finding its way to yours as he faced you fully. “Kind of like you a lot more than just as a friend these days.” His eyes were wide searching yours for any clue that you felt the same and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your hand moving to cup his cheek. “Kind of feel the same about you. That’s why I was so nervous about this whole fake dating thing. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want you to realize that I’m stupid crazy about you.” 

He grinned, his eyes closing into those perfect half moons that you loved so much and it felt like a weight had been lifted off both your shoulders. “Starting to think this was a setup to get us to both stop being so stubborn.” He made a face, looking around as if someone was going to pop out and tell him he was right at any moment. “I’m glad though, I was too scared to tell you how I felt, and I knew today was my only shot to really show you how I felt. I think maybe we rip up that stupid contract and give dating for real a real shot.” You nodded your head at his words, leaning up to kiss him again. “Come on, let’s get you home so we can have some privacy.” He pecked your lips a couple more times before leading you down the street.  Both of you making a mental note to thank your boss and everyone else who’d been involved in setting this up for getting you to realize that you two were crazy about each other.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun

[benz12313]

Delirium Part 3/3 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: morning after/aftercare, some angst, fluff, happy ending, Ridoc being a sweetheart, nothing particularly explicit, swearing

Part 1/3 - Part 2/3

Authors Note: This final part made my heart ache writing it, but honestly? I absolutely love how it came out. Thanks for showing this mini-series some love! Now that it's over let me know if you'd like to be added to either of my other taglists. I've got two; All Ridoc Fics and my ongoing fic, Surface Tension's. Either message me or comment! Thank you again, it's nice to have my writing shown some love! :)

Word Count: 2,606

Ridoc’s POV

My body ached, and I nearly groaned and stretched, until I felt the weight resting on my arm. Memories from last night crashed through me, blurry and confused due to the alcohol, but when I opened my eyes to confirm them I froze. Y/N was here. She was really fucking here. Looking divine and sleeping like the dead, makeup smeared over her face and my pillows, and head resting peacefully on my arm while she was huddled in the sheets. Good thing too, because there were scattered piles of fucking snow around the room, letting me know just how thoroughly I’d lost my control last night. 

You know… Aotrom’s voice rang through my head, teasing and I fought back a groan at whatever smart-ass statement he was about to make.

“Not now Aotrom.” I snapped and he chuffed, but for once quieted as he felt my quickly rising panic.  

Not because I regretted anything. Fuck no, I would never regret a single thing about what happened last night. But I knew she would. She was the one who’d run away every time things got too real. She was the one who’d be eye-fucking me one minute and then reminding me, painfully, the next minute that we were just friends. Friends who had now crossed that line and…fuck, just how many marks did I leave on the poor girl? 

My eyes washed over her after lifting the sheets gently, and guilt consumed me. Bruises on her hips and ass in the shape of fingertips, bite marks on the top of her perfect fucking breasts and along her neck, hickies covering her from her neck down to her thighs. And gods, her collarbone was deep fucking purple where I remember making my claim on her last night. A moment of particularly eager loss of control where all I could fucking cling to was the thought of making her mine.  

Well fuck. 

I let out a breathy sigh, and gently pulled my arm from beneath her. She didn’t even stir. My heart ached. Sure, I liked fooling around as much as the next rider. Being always on the cusp of death made one eager to enjoy what life they did have, but this was different.

She was different.

I would gladly give it all up for her, to be able to call her mine. To hold her, love her, absolutely fucking worship her like the goddamn princess she is. One more glance over and I decided. If she was gonna run from me anyway, I would at least make sure she was taken care of first.

It was gonna take a little field trip first though. Let’s just hope he was awake. 

Y/N's POV

My muscles ached, my head pounded, everything outside the blankets was freezing, I felt oddly empty, and unconsciousness pulled at me to stay under in it’s tight embrace. Warmth ran along my hips, trying to coax me awake, but I grumbled into the pillows and snuggled deeper, the scent of the unfamiliar bedding soothing me. 

I don’t care who’s bed I was in. They could fucking wait for me to be ready to wake up. 

I don’t know how long I had fallen back into unconsciousness, probably seconds, but when I awoke, warmth and wetness was running along my aching core and I halfheartedly swatted it away. 

“Ngh.” I whined, barely there. 

“Princess, gotta let me clean you up okay?” A soothing voice muttered, carefully being quiet. Voice barely above a husky whisper, mindful of my hangover.

I knew that voice. Shit..I fucking know that voice, much too well. My eyes flew open, luckily the room was dark so I could see without adjusting, but I found him immediately. Ridoc. 

Shit.

Shit.

SHIT. 

He grinned sheepishly up at me, where he was sitting on the end of the bed, wet rag in hand, and cleaning up between my thighs. The events from last night crashed through me, overwhelming me.

How did I actually let this happen? Even with the alcohol?

Fantasies are one thing, fantasies are safe. Fantasies don’t throw wrenches into friendships and throw the easy dynamic of our squad to the fucking wind. Tears pricked my vision, emotion overwhelming me and Ridoc cursed. 

“Shit, Y/N, are you hurt?” I met his panicked gaze and my heart ached. I was full on sobbing now, everything too much. I couldn’t even tell him that no, my body ached (deliciously) but I wasn’t hurt. I’d just ruined fucking everything. No big deal right? I shook my head as that’s all I could manage.

“Hey? Hey? Okay.” He threw the rag to the side before scooping me up and pulling me onto his lap. “I’ve got you. Just let it out. I’m here.” He cradled me tightly, my face buried in his bare chest as I sobbed. His hand threaded through my hair, holding me secure and his other arm wrapped around my back, cradling me gently. I flashed back to how he’d held me last night, just like this, like something breakable as he’d pounded into me. I sobbed harder. 

“I…ruined….everything!” I wailed and he stiffened, but then continued running his fingers along my scalp. 

“No. Princess, shh. Nothing is ruined.” He whispered, voice gentle, and so sure of himself that I had to pull back and examine his face. He was carefully neutral, and so serious that it threw me off, making me stop sobbing immediately. Not a hint of a smirk or playfulness. Nothing. 

I’d only seen him this serious one other time. When we learned that Violet had been lying to us and keeping secrets. He’d been so hurt that she hadn’t trusted us. He ranted for days about it when it was just us. 

“Yes it is-“ I tried and he shook his head, eyes narrowing on me. 

“It’s only ruined if we let it be.” He assured, gulping as I realized he was lightly trembling. Was he…nervous? Scared? He wiped the tears off my face and sighed, like he was trying to get the weight of the world off his chest. “You can walk right out that door now and pretend that nothing happened if that’s what you want. I can handle our friends. No one will say a fucking word if that’s what you need. Just…please…don’t think you’ve ruined anything.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Open. Close. Open. Close. What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Did I want to leave? 

‘…if that’s what you want?’

What the fuck did that mean? My head swam, aching, and not in a good way. 

“What…what do you want?” I asked, voice small. It was a question I’d been wanting to ask for weeks. Months if I was going to really be honest with myself. 

He froze beneath me, as still as the little animal figurines he’d make for me when he was bored. The ones made of permafrost that I’d kept safely tucked away in the back of my wardrobe, the coldest part of my room. I looked up to his face again and he was biting his lip, terror in his gaze. I realized it then.

He hadn’t expected me to ask. That much was obvious. My heart broke as I realized he’d really expected me to run. To throw what happened last night away, chalk it up to a lapse in judgement, and try to forget about it. He hadn’t predicted I’d ask him what he wanted, that I’d care enough to ask. 

But I couldn’t just throw last night away without at least asking him. Sure, it was easily the greatest sex of my life…but it was more than that too. The tender seconds, thrown in amongst intense pleasure? The way it was so mind altering, not because of what he was doing, but because it was him. The way he’d reduced me to absolute, fucking, delirium where all I could comprehend was Ridoc? No. It didn’t matter if my instinct was to run, to forget everything, to laugh it off and ignore our friends teasing until they eventually forgot about it too. 

I knew with aching clarity that I would never be able to. 

I had to stop running from him. 

I had to put myself at his mercy if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with the constant question of what could have been. 

He was quiet, until he shook his head lightly, making my heart stop and fear clutched my throat, choking me. “I can’t…”

“I can’t tell you what I want.” His words were whispers as his thumb ran along my jaw, eyes anywhere but meeting my own. His eyes finally found the courage to meet mine and they went soft. “Don’t look at me like that.” He laughed, short and hollow, the sound suspiciously resembling my previous sobs. 

“I can’t tell you because then I’ll never be able to let you go. To let you walk away and protect your heart how you need to. I can’t tell you because then last night was real, not alcohol induced horniness. Not a mistake. Not two friends dancing over the line of being something more.” Frustration creeped into his voice and I clung tighter to him as he fucking glared at me now. “I can’t tell you because I know with fucking certainty that you’re gonna decide to throw me away like everyone else does. And if I let myself be vulnerable for a fucking second it will destroy me Y/N. You will destroy me. So no, I won’t tell you what I want. I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is you want and do whatever I need to with whatever you give me.” 

My heart raced at the painful truth in his words. The following words left my mouth with aching certainty before I could even think them. 

“I want you Ridoc Gamlyn.” He froze, the anger that had crept up gone, and his mouth fell open in shock. I continued, “I can’t pretend. I’m sorry but I can’t. I just…I’m sorry for crying…for scaring you…I just, I woke up and I remembered and I thought that you’d hate me for what we’d done. Or that I’d let feelings get involved and I’d have to watch you just…I don’t know…move to the next pretty face…and I’d have to bitterly watch and pretend to be happy for you…and it would just ruin everything with the squad…and fuck this is all hurting my head too much Ridoc.” Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks and Ridoc sighed. 

A small smile creeped on his face as he wiped away my tears again. “I knew you liked me.” Then his grin was teasing, and my heart lurched.

My Ridoc was back, sitting underneath me, quickly beginning to grin like a fool. Eyes drinking me in so warmly that I had to hide my face in his chest to cover the heat creeping up my cheeks. I squealed in surprise when he suddenly lifted me, and erupted in giggles when he gently plopped me back down on his pillows. 

“Ridocccc.” I groaned, shooting him heatless daggers as he went back to where he’d been between my legs when I’d first woken up. He laughed and picked up a small tub of what looked like some sort of tincture. In fact he had a few different unlabeled containers piled to the side on his bed as well as a fresh set of sweatpants that I recognized as my own. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you Princess. After care is important, I know it’s a little…delayed…but I’m still a gentlemen.” He flashed me a grin, before gently tossing a water canister next to me, within reach. “And I feel a little bad, I was a little…eager…to finally get my hands on you.” 

“I remember.” I giggled and he laughed, gesturing with a nod and an absent hand wave to look at myself. I did, my eyes widening before warmth crept between my thighs. Remembering just how good it had felt when he’d made the dozens of marks that now covered my body. My thighs clenched at the memory and he laughed, lighthearted, despite the satisfied smirk on his face. 

“You should see your neck, if you think that's bad.” He chuckled, before opening the little tub in his hands. “Drink your water. Bodhi leant me this bruise cream-“

“Bodhi? Why does Bodhi have bruise cream laying about?” I asked incredulously and his ears turned light pink. 

“Dude’s into some kinky shit…anyway-“

“Why do you know that?!” I asked and Ridoc sighed, looking anywhere but my face as he began rubbing the cream on my skin, and I couldn’t help but relax at the soothing warmth. 

“Just drink your water woman. Goddamn…too early for so many questions.” I hummed in response to his embarrassed mutters, but my throat was scratchy and water sounded amazing. 

So I sipped the water, as Ridoc gently massaged the tincture into my skin. I relished in his touch and then he was slipping a fresh pair of panties and the pants onto my hips. Then he moved upwards, straddling my waist as he applied more tincture.

We didn’t speak, didn’t really need to, as I watched him with affection in my gaze. He’d gently kiss over some marks, soothing almost as well as the tincture would. When he was finished he slipped one of his own shirts over my shoulders, the fabric soft, and practically drowning me in its size. It smelled so much like him though that I couldn’t complain. 

And then he was cleaning off my makeup after grabbing another container, that I finally recognized as my cleanser. He didn’t stop there though, applying my moisturizer and spf as well, nearly bringing tears to my eyes as my chest filled with emotion. He handed me a muffin without a word; blueberry and dusted with sugar on top, my favorite, before sitting me up and beginning to gently comb through my hair. He pulled it into a haphazard ponytail before slipping out from behind me as I munched on the muffin, thankful that the churning that had begun in my stomach lessened. He then moved around me, grabbed my boots, and sank to his knees in front of me, making my heart race. 

“We going somewhere?” I asked softly and he nodded, a pout covering his lips. 

“As much as I’d like to keep you locked in here all day, doing everything that I’m now allowed to do to you…” His gaze heated for a moment before he gave me a single peck on the lips, sighing sadly, “Our friends haven’t seen us since last night, its nearly lunch hour, and you need something more than a muffin to get your energy back.” 

I whined, wanting his lips back and he chuckled, giving in and giving me one more chaste kiss before working on my boots. Slipping socks on, then tugging the boots on and deftly tying the laces. Then he was off me completely, and pulling his own shirt on, much to my dismay. 

“If we have to.” I pouted as I stood, immediately falling back down again. The ache between my thighs catching me off guard and causing Ridoc to laugh. “What did you do to me?!”

“Don’t worry Y/N,” He teased, pulling me up into his arms. “I’ve got you."

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @the-lake-is-calling - I hope I got everyone, if I missed you I'm sorry!

[softtdaisy]

injury prompt 16 and 22 for reid perhaps... :D Love your writing btw <3

make my heart beat again / spencer reid

summary. spencer was sad. spencer was miserable. he thought he could handle it until he couldn't anymore. he thought he could deal with it alone until he couldn't.

words count. 2 249

prompt. “Why won’t you let me help you?” “…because I don’t deserve it.” / “You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?” from here

what to expect. very angsty, spencer is so sad i want to hug him, i chose the mentally injured more than physically, mention of murder very quickly

a/n. ok first thank you so much for requesting it sweetie!! and i'm sorry, i wish i posted it sooner but i started it again to make it shorter and...it's not shorter, but it's here and i hope you will love it (and now i can work on your other request) 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You weren’t quite sure how everything started again with Spencer.

One day he was a memory of the past, one of your biggest regrets. The next time he was back in your place, like he always belonged there.

You went on a couple of dates a few years ago, and it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t fall for that boy. Sweet, gentle, the nicest man you’ve ever met. And so beautiful with his always so messy hair, his gorgeous brown eyes that always seemed to look at you like you were one of the seven wonders of the world, and that perfectly shaped mouth that you loved to kiss.

You were sure things could have worked out with Spencer if a) his work didn’t take him that much time—and more. b) You didn’t have other issues in your life you had to deal with before thinking about love.

So you ended your relationship, or whatever it was at that time, before it could be more serious. And you spent way too many nights missing Spencer Reid. 

The way he would start every date with a fact that could either last a minute or ten and how you could notice the change in his eyes when he noticed you were truly interested in what he was saying. How he was blushing at any physical contact you were initiating, even in bed after he made love to you. Or even how you never said you loved each other, yet the way his lips would stay longer on your shoulder when you were falling asleep was speaking for your feelings.

You never thought Spencer would miss you just as much.

But he spent months contemplating the idea of seeing you again and trying to convince you this could be good. That he could be good for you. But months turned into a year. And when he celebrated his whole single year on the other side of the country, Spencer read into it that maybe he had glorified love. In all its aspects.

And this conclusion haunted him for years.

To the point Spencer stopped meeting new people and was barely trying to stay in touch with those in his life. He wasn’t seeing his mom much; his colleagues noticed the distance he was building between them, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he saw his “friends.”

Because at some point, the fear of losing people turned into a feeling of not being good enough to people’s lives and made him a loner. A sad loner.

That was something you immediately noticed the first time you saw Spencer in years.

Your life has barely changed from your last date. Still the same job, but at a higher place. Still the same apartment, but with a different setting. Still the same person, but more mature.

It wasn’t hard for Spencer to find you. And if he spent a whole year contemplating going back to your place before putting that thought away, the day he truly needed it, it took him a minute to decide it was time.

You didn’t question his presence here when you opened the door. Maybe he should have. But when Spencer grabbed your face after you simply said his name with confusion, nothing seemed to matter. 

Not his hair longer than before, not him looking more shaped yet more fragile, not the circle under his eyes being way darker than the last time you saw him. Not that he was eagerly kissing you, something he never did.

You remember Spencer being gentle, taking his time to appreciate every second with you.

No, he was hungry, like each second could be the last with you. For him.

“What are you doing here, Spence?” you finally asked him. You were both lying on the rug in your living room. His eyes were locked on the roof, like he was disconnecting from reality. His arm around your back, holding you against him, was brushing your skin slowly, but he seemed to do that mindlessly. 

And Spencer didn’t turn his head to look at you when you, you couldn’t stop looking at him. “I needed that.” Not you. You put away the pain hearing that and tried to see the good in this, that you were the one he went to. 

But still, something was different with Spencer.

It would take you a few nights to realize he wasn’t blushing anymore when you touched him. Or that he didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about.

Actually, Spencer wasn’t talking much anymore. 

For weeks, Spencer would come to your place at night. Either after a day at the office or when he came back from a case. Usually, when it was the latter, he would even stay the following day to fully decompress from what happened.

You tried to question him once or twice. But Spencer always had the same answer: going down on you to keep you quiet with your question.

It was a win-win situation. 

He was giving you pleasure and making you think about something else.

He was concentrating on something else, and your moans were filling his head with other thoughts.

Until one night, the sex wasn’t enough to put his problem away.

You didn’t expect Spencer to come. Two days ago, he told you he had to leave for a case and it would probably last a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it gave you the time to think about him and where this was going.

Yet, your bell rang at 10 p.m. Let’s say that dating an FBI agent taught you to not open your door to anybody. You almost played dead and ignored it. But your gut told you to look at who it might be. 

You didn’t expect to see Spencer through your spyhole.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him cry on the other side of your door.

“Spencer, what’s going on?” you said, opening your door and immediately bringing him inside. The saddest part was that he let you do it. He didn’t stop you when you took him in your arms. Neither when you brought him to the sofa and sat him on it while you kneeled in front of him.

He was shaking; his face looked red from the tears and the scratching he did with his fingers, trying to take the pain away. But it didn’t work. And hurt him even more.

You grabbed one of his hands to take it away from his face. You tried to ease his joints with a soft caress. You even tried to make eye contact, but it was a lost cause with the way he was closing his eyes hardly, probably hurting himself like that. “Talk to me, Spence,” you whispered, putting your chin on his knee. “Open to me.”

You hated how he pinched his lips together before talking, like he was trying so hard to not break down. “I can’t,” he sobbed. He repeated that multiple times, sounding more angry with himself each time.

But the fact he wasn’t letting go of your hand made you believe that maybe a part of him, maybe just a very little one, wanted to have you. He still came to you tonight, right?

“Why won’t you let me help you?” 

This was a genuine question. One that grew over the last weeks. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night wondering which signs you might have missed when he was here. What did he try to hide from you with kisses and attention that you weren’t asking for? And if maybe you weren’t an accomplice of his troubles by accepting all his treats, knowing it was an excuse to keep everything from himself.

And during these moments, you imagined what Spencer might have answered. That he didn’t want his burden to impact your relationship, that he didn’t want to talk to you specifically. 

But you never considered what was coming as an answer.

“…because I don’t deserve it.” 

The world went silent. 

Except for your heart that just fell on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

Except for Spencer’s sorrow being louder than ever in your small living room.

It was obvious that Spencer wasn’t doing ok. But you couldn’t imagine how broken he really was.

You couldn’t force him to look at you and make him see he wasn’t alone at all. So you put your forehead against his, his sweaty hair sticking against your skin. Your arms wrapped against Spencer so you could hold him against him. You couldn’t believe that this grown-up man, in his thirty, could be a broken kid inside. You tried to hold back the tears.

You stayed like that for minutes; you don’t even know how long. This could last an hour or two if he needed to. You probably could have stayed all night if it meant calming Spencer down.

Little by little, you felt his shaking stop and even one of his hands land on your arm. The pressure of his fingers on your skin wasn’t harder, almost like he didn’t have any strength anymore. It was more like a delicate touch. One that reminded you of the old days, when Spencer was too shy to touch you.

Once you felt he was ready to hear this, maybe not listen yet but at least be able to understand what you were saying, you stopped hugging him so you could grab his face in your hands. “You deserve to be helped. I—who told you this?”

You met the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen at this moment. Couple with his sad smile. Oh, how you wished you could just kiss the pain away for once.

“I just…” he started, with a grazed, hoarse voice. “Every person in my life ends up sad or hurt or dead. I’m a problem. I’m a burden. I don’t deserve someone to take the time to help me, be there for me. I can’t risk someone, you, taking the time to make me feel better if it means losing you at some point. I can’t, I can’t do that again.” You heard the sob in his voice at the end. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Spencer gave you the look, one he strangely never gave to you but that you understood immediately, meaning that he still had a lot to say. And deep down, you were happy to shut it if it meant he was finally opening up.

“I was taking care of a kid these days. We knew he might be in danger, so I was supposed to make sure he would be fine while working the case.” Spencer took a moment to continue, but you could only focus on the tear running down his cheek. “He got killed. Because I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has something bad happening to them. Even in my job. How can I be such a bad person?” 

You started brushing away the tears with your thumb, but Spencer cuddled against your hand. There was something even sadder with this man feeling like he didn’t deserve to have someone yet still craving every attention he could get.

“You’re not a burden, Spencer,” you whispered, and he closed his eyes again. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to go through all these moments by yourself. I can’t imagine how hurt you must be from living such difficult times over and over again. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have someone by your side.”

He didn’t answer. You weren’t sure this was the best decision, but you sat on his knees, trying to be closer to him so you could make him feel less alone. 

You thought that if he didn’t want that, he would push you away. But the way Spencer's hands ended up on your back so quickly made you think that maybe he needed that too.

“I can’t and won’t force myself into your life, Spencer, never,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “But if you’re ready to try, I can be by your side and help you consider that you deserve to be a supporter. Not only by me but by all the people that love you.”

Again, your words working on him, Spencer opened his eyes slowly. This time, even if the sorrow was still present, there was the smallest and almost slightest light in them. “Because people love you, Spencer Reid.”

As an answer, the only one he could give you, Spencer brought you against him and hugged you as hard as he could. It wasn’t the tightest hug he ever gave, but it was the best he could do. And it was enough. Enough to know that you opened a door in his mind. 

You offered your bed to Spencer that night, but he insisted on you staying by your side. He refused to let you know it was due to the fear of the nightmares he had for months now. Nightmares that always had different stories but ended the same way: with him losing someone and being alone.

All he needed was you, and you were willing to give yourself entirely to help him get better.

You didn’t know if you imagined it, but you were sure that when he was falling asleep, holding you against him like an antistress comforter, Spencer thanked you.

[kissboybyler]

it gets to me so much sometimes when i think that, in whichever fandom, the GA or just most people tend to ship two characters just because they are canon. Like mike and el, for instance, they are canon, they have kissing scenes and they dance at the ball and they…hug?! But what do they even talk about? What’s the music playing in the background? What’s the context of their interactions? Why, why do they love each other? Do they make each other better, do they find missing parts of themselves in the form of another person? Are there hints and tells and color-codes that just…exist to symbolise their love?

Why do we ship these characters? What’s is it about their love that is so strong? And don’t get me wrong, i also believe -like many other bylers/ fans of the show- that mike and el grew to love each other, to appreciate and kind of need each other. But not for the right reasons.

I mean, mike needs to be needed, to be able to help or even save another person, to feel loved and wanted. But he also needs to allow himself to be who he is, outside of “forced conformity” (“that’s what’s killing the kids” after all!)

El, on the other hand, needs to find who she is, but firstly she needs to have a safe place where she is allowed to kind of just exist and then blossom into her true self. And bumping into mike, who eventually grew to appreciate and embrace her, she felt safe for the first time. And alongside her, mike felt needed, like he could protect her and be there for her and make her happy.

But now el, who has established both meaningful familial relationships and friendships, needs to find out who she is. How can we expect her to grow when she’s in a relationship with the first person she met right after she broke out of the lab (her literal prison), who can’t even talk about any other part of her that he loves other than her powers?

And i’ve read many many other people write about this, about how in s4, when mike wasn’t with el he embraced his geeky, nerdy and weird self but when he finally reunited with el, he had to hide himself from her (as did she!). He just…couldn’t be himself around her.

But like, apart from the problems in their relationship, i really just don’t understand why people ship them. It’s just…mike cant be himself around el and el doesn’t have room to find herself when she’s with mike. It literally doesn’t make any mathematical sense.

And then they say we’re delusional for thinking, for proving, that there are astronomically higher chances for these two not to be endgame, for el to be single and for mike and will to get together. Because it makes sense…right? Like, el will be able to find herself outside of a relationship, she won’t be dictated by anyone but her own self, and mike and will… do i really have to elaborate? Like, in every single aspect of stranger things, from musical titles and colour-codes, parallels and loving, longing stares, hand touches, over-protectiveness, deep and meaningful understanding to posters and freaking funko-pops, interviews and good ol’ fashioned cinematography and storytelling… it all points to them, if you connect the dots.

And how, how is it possible that so many dots have been put into such perfect places, to make such a beautifully crafted imagery, just for all of this to be a coincidence? When, when has anything ever in stranger things been coincidental? Ever?

Edit: I’d just like to denote that, when i said “(mike) can’t even talk about any other part of her that he loves other than her powers” i didn’t mean that mike loves el JUST because she has powers, fuck no, BUT when the time was right for him to note all of the other aspects of her character that make her a remarkable person (ex. her selflessness, her compassion), he decided to focus on her powers. The very thing that she herself thought dictated her.

just wanted to make that super clear.

[bennysmiller]

I love your writing! Would you consider writing a short fic where you’re one of Santi’s friends and he sets you up on a blind date with Frankie? Bonus points for Frankie being kind of shy and adorable

Blind Date - Frankie Morales x Reader

Thank you so much for your request!! I really hope this is okay 🩷

I have a friend. He’s single. You’re single. You’re both recently out of long-term relationships. You can awkwardly return to the dating scene together. But seriously, I think you’ll like each other. How does that sound?

You laughed when Santi sent you that text. But two weeks later, you were pacing anxiously in your kitchen waiting for your cab to arrive. You’d partly agreed to the date to shut Santi up, because you knew he’d complain about your complaining if he’d offered you a way out of the single life and you’d refused, without even giving him a chance. Finding a good man was difficult, so it was worth trying, right?

The cab ride to the restaurant was painful, to say the least. You couldn’t help but question if you were doing the right thing, but Santi was one of the few people you actually trusted, and he wouldn’t have set the date up if he didn’t think you’d actually get along.

Five minutes. This Frankie guy was five minutes late. You tapped your fingers on the table, trying to distract yourself from the fact that he maybe got cold feet himself. But out of the corner of your eye, you see a little bit of commotion near the entrance of the restaurant.

A man has a bouquet of roses in one hand, and the other was messing with the soft curls on top of his head. He looked as thought he’d ran all the way there. He was frantically looking around and trying to catch his breath, while also explaining to the wait staff who he was there for.

Someone’s in trouble, you think to yourself. And then it hits you. Man who looks like he’s supposed to be on a date, also looks like he has turned up late to said date?

Then you hear your name. And a few curse words that he muttered under his breath in embarrassment. You look up, and it’s him.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get off work. Then I realised I’d forgotten to get you flowers. I hope you like roses.” He said, as you stood up to greet him.

“Frankie? You’re fine. I mean, not fine as in handsome, just fine as in ‘you don’t need to apologise for being late’. Actually, you’re fine as in handsome too, but-“

Disaster. Two seconds in and it was a disaster.

He hands you the flowers and you thank Frankie, before gesturing for him to take a seat in front of you.

“Let’s start over, huh Frankie? We both screwed up there.” You say as you settle at the table.

“Sure, I could take a redo at that”, he laughs and he blushes a little when you laugh back.

You just looked so beautiful. Frankie wished Santi had warned him about that.

The rest of the date went better than either of you could have ever imagined. The chemistry was just as Santi had promised in his myriad of texts to you about it. He knew. He always knew. And you needed to thank him for this one.

Frankie was so pleased with himself, he had you laughing all night. Even in his truck, on the way home. The radio was on, the windows were down, and the conversation was flowing so effortlessly. It was a movie scene straight from a movie that the two of you had no idea was only the first part of many.

“I’d love to see you again,” said Frankie, as he admired the way you looked in the glow of your porch light. “If you feel the same, of course”.

“I feel the same, don’t you worry about that.” You smiled at him and kissed his cheek, which took the poor man by surprise. “Goodnight, Frankie”.

The look you gave him over your shoulder as you opened your front door would be thought about until you graced him with your presence a second time.

[thevanillerose]

SQUID GAME 2 | YANDERE SCENARIOS

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

CONTENT WARNING: SPOILERS / Yandere / Violence / Death A/N: Probably the most popular request I've ever gotten on this blog, was to write a sequel to Squid Game | Yandere Scenarios. Now it did take me a minute to binge Season 2, with a bestie. Mainly because I felt like it was a little too depressing to watch over the holiday season...(unless it's a 'Silent Night Deadly Night' sorta Christmas??). But now that I have, hoo boy.

Strap in.

THE SALESMAN

Your teeth ached.

You should have predicted the kind of man he was. You should have seen it coming long before this investigation started. His little subway game should have been a dead giveaway.

Was it any surprise you ended up gagged and bound in the most fucked up game of Russian Roulette you could imagine? 

Watching him slide that metal barrel up taut between his teeth was enough to make your breath catch. It was strikingly perverse, but then again, so were many of the things he had turned out to be into. And you’d ended up in too deep before you could realize that. 

For a moment though, just a moment, you wondered if maybe Heaven was smiling on you. You wondered, ever so hopefully, if that chamber may be full. If a bullet may rip right up through his skull and splatter the cheap smoke-stained motel wallpaper behind him.

It didn’t. 

You flinched at the click, and that was all.

Smiling smugly, he withdrew the gun from his mouth and slid it across the table to you again. 

“Your turn, [Y/N].”

Right now you didn’t even know what your odds were. You quit calculating your chances once more than two bullets had come into play. Hopelessness swelled in you, and you couldn’t even will yourself to pick up the gun. You sank in the seat, skin pressing to the ropes, lowering your head in pitiful defeat.

“Mm? You don’t want to play anymore?”

When he received no response from you, save for a sad shake of your head, he sighed and picked up the gun, twirling it aptly, gesturing it towards you as if it were only a toy.

“That’s no fun. I thought you were feeling lucky? Isn’t that why you came after me in the first place?”

You looked aside, ashamed. Mission failed, huh?

Now, all you expected was a pull of that trigger on his part. A gamble on your behalf, one he’d probably take a few times if that was what it took to put you down. Yet instead, it was the gun he put down instead. 

“Can I be honest with you, [Y/N]?” he asked, steepling his fingers and leaning forward to look you dead in your tearful eyes.

“...I think it’s quite fortunate. That you stopped being so stubborn. That you gave up. Do you know why?”

Somehow, this already confusing man had baffled you further. And only moreso, terrifyingly moreso, when his fingers reached out to drift slowly up your cheek, coming to tug playfully on the gag and make you whimper.

“Because, alive? Like this? I can do whatever I want with you.”

That charming, disarming smile.

“Can’t I?”

THANOS

“I wanna keep playing with you. So push O, okay baby?”

His painted nails dug deep under your collarbones, like the worst kind of shoulder massage, his tall body leaning over yours and pressing against your back. His purple hair brushed your cheek, as did his breath when he spoke.

Thanos had singled you out and ‘chosen’ you from the get-go. He was arrogant enough to think he could get anyone he wanted, and you were a cute-looking challenge for him. Your initial resistance, your discomfort around him, he figured, had been nerves. 

“But it’s all good babe, stick with me and I’ll keep you safe. That’s a promise, yeah?”

Surely it didn’t have nearly nothing to do with your actual wellbeing, and more to do with keeping you in his clutches. Surely it wasn’t because he cared less about whether one of those pink limp-dicks blasted your brains out and more about making sure nothing else with a dick got near you.

Surely it wasn’t anything like that.

You were just someone who’d make a good fuck if he could bribe the guards to let you two in the bathroom alone. Just a toy for him to play around with, as he drugged himself all the way to victory.

…He tried to keep that lie strong and real in his head. But with you standing right there, back to his chest, he knew he was trying to convince himself of some serious bullshit.

There was nobody else like you. He didn’t know why, there just wasn’t.

Whatever it was, the drugs, the impending doom, the smell of money, whatever it was…one thing he simply knew for sure, was that he couldn’t let you go.

Which meant, you had to keep playing.

You had to push O.

His grip finally loosened, as your number was called. He pushed you toward the voting stand. He bit down on his chipped, painted thumb, and hoped you’d make the right choice.

Because if you didn’t? Well.

He wasn’t letting you go anyway.

HYUN-JU

It wasn’t fair.

You were so sweet. You were so innocent. You were so understanding.

Someone like you had no place in a game like this. Whatever mess it was you’d gotten yourself in, out in the real world, Hyun-ju couldn’t imagine it was bad enough to be worth staying here. Living this nightmare. She couldn’t fathom why you had voted to keep going.

There was no way you’d last. This sweet little person who called her ‘unnie’, and had told her without a shred of sarcasm that she was beautiful…you surely had too good a soul to survive in this place. You were going to die, and you were going to die horribly, she just knew it, and she couldn’t bear it.

“Unnie…would you come to the bathroom with me?”

During the night, you’d nudged and asked her almost like a child, apologetic for waking her, but clearly trusting nobody else as much. Hyun-ju obliged of course, she felt like she could do anything for you. Escorting you to the bathroom, even if it meant dealing with some difficult guards, was such a small ask.

It was the middle of the night. Everyone was resting, or trying to, at least. Trying to steel themselves with energy, a hopeful advantage in the upcoming games. So here, it was just the two of you. Alone.

“I won’t be long!” you assured her, and hurried into one of the cubicles, while Hyun-ju turned towards the sinks, leaning against one and gripping it. She gazed up at her face, brushing her cheek, remembering how you’d called her ‘beautiful’. 

You probably didn’t even realize how much that meant to her. You probably couldn’t fathom the effect you had on her.

Hyun-ju’s teeth grit and she doubled over, arms quivering as her grip on the sink’s edge steadily tightened. More and more, until her knuckles flushed in white.

I could do it.

Her head immediately shot up, staring at herself in sheer horror. How could she even consider that? 

But…what was the alternative? Let you suffer in one of these awful ‘games’? See your perfect face riddled with bullets, bloodied, ruined? Let any of those other lecherous creeps in here even have a chance of getting closer to you?

…It would be a mercy, no?

“I’m done!”

Blissfully unaware of what she was truly contemplating, you emerged again and quickly washed your hands, looking up at her with your usual, warm smile.

“Do you need to go too?” you shook your hands off, “I can wait for you, unnie.”

Hyun-ju forced a shaky smile, and shook her head.

“No…I’m fine.”

“Okay!” you gestured for her to go ahead, back to bed, back to the impossible task of trying to get any rest at all in this fucked up place.

Instead, Hyun-ju reached out and gently guided you back against the sink, standing over you. Her hand lingered near the crook of your neck, her thumb gently curling against your skin.

“...Unnie?” you looked up at her, now wide-eyed, and confused.

“...You wouldn’t blame me…right?” she whispered, softly, worriedly, like her words were pure sin. Her other hand cupped your cheek gently, and you instinctively leaned into it, confused, but happy to be held by her like this.

“...I just…I don’t want you to suffer…”

The pad of her thumb pressed harder. Her other fingers slipped lower, resting on the other side of your neck.

All she had to do was bring them together. Bring them together…and squeeze.

Squeeze until you felt nothing else. Until you could go blissfully to a happier place, with no debts, and no killing, and freedom again. Your delicate body would sink against hers, and then, somehow, she’d take herself out of here too. It could be as simple as provoking one of the guards on lavatory duty. It wouldn’t be the prettiest, but at least then, you’d be together.

Out of this place. Away from it all.

Forever-

“U-unnie?”

It was how small and suddenly so frightened your voice sounded, that startled her out of it. Her hands jerked back, hovering stiffly either side of you, as you gazed up at her with so much hurt and concern and…fear.

Fear.

You were afraid of her. The last thing she would have ever wanted.

“...W…we should get back, right? They’re going to get mad if we don’t…”

She could see the way you still tried your best to smile, and be nice, be the way you’d always been with her, but it was too late.

It was ruined. She blew it. You’d never see her the same way again.

Whether you truly knew what her intent had been or not, she could feel the awkward shift between the two of you, as she stiffly followed you out. She felt sick. Was that it? The end of this beautiful thing you had?

…Beautiful.

No. She couldn’t let it be. And as she left that bathroom, and looked at those guards, and looked at every other twisted person in that room, and looked at…you. She knew.

She was filled with a dark, delusional resolve.

Maybe killing you wasn’t the answer.

Maybe killing everyone else was.

THE FRONT MAN

Young-il had seemed like a good man.

A good man, simply in a bad place. Like the rest of you. You liked to think anyway.

It was only during this game, Mingle, that you got to see the full extent of people’s desperation. What they were willing to do, to survive, to line their pockets, or both.

It wasn’t in your nature…

“You understand, right [Y/N]!?”

It wasn’t ever…

“We’re sorry!!”

…in your nature.

You’d made a small group of companions here, but as you were the weakest link, they cut you in an instant as soon as the number needed in one of those rooms required it. Their apologies were like water, they meant nothing, as you were left standing there, lost, alone, scared.

This game…was also the first time he took action.

Messing with Gi-hun was one thing, but the Front Man wanted more than that. As soon as The Salesman had shown you to him; your red, flustered face as you had been slapped around the subway station, captured on handycam video…he had been sure of something.

It wasn’t just Gi-hun. It was you too.

Perhaps, he’d even say, you were the priority.

He liked the idea of keeping you after this was all over. Which meant, for now, assuring you stayed alive through these games.

So when he saw you abandoned, it was his time to act. He practically ripped the breath out of you with how fast he grabbed and tugged you along, throwing you into a lime green room and slamming the door shut behind the two of you.

You hit the wall with a yelp, and slumped against it. But as you shakily looked to your right, and as he turned from the door and cast his sharp eyes around the room, you both saw.

You’d wanted 2. You’d gotten 3.

“H-hey, we can work this out, r–”

The man didn’t get to finish. The tears that had welled in his eyes now poured down his face as he gagged and choked and writhed against the solid arm around his neck. You gasped with horror, staggering back as tightly into the corner as you could, covering your mouth with both hands.

You watched him kill that man. Clenched jaw, staring ahead coldly, even as a living being drifted into death in his very own arms.

And only once he was sure you were in the clear…did that kindness return. That goodness, you had been so sure about.

Young-il stood, and approached you, arm outstretched so he could brush your arm gently with his palm.

“You’re alright?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Pallid and wide-eyed, feeling like you had a cord around your throat, you looked into those worried eyes and only saw softness. But you couldn’t shake seeing that hard look from earlier. Witnessing it firsthand.

His cold will. How easily he had killed.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded, but quickly moved away, muttering something about how the game must be over now. As you stepped out, he remained for a moment, glancing up at the cameras before smirking, and curling the hand that had touched you close to the mint green jacket on his chest.

Did that shock you? Really?

Then perhaps it was better if you braced yourself.

Because if it meant keeping you as his own sort of prize……he was willing to do a lot worse than that.

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[lostsyren]

I have a request where rafe gets into a fight because someone said something about sofia, and later in the bathroom sofia is cleaning the cuts on his hands. (Btw I LOVE ur writing 💗💗)

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 watcher

{summary: after hooking up a couple times, rafe and sofia are no contact, but neither one is happy with the arrangement…}

{a/n: ok so i decided to do something a little different– it still fits what you wanted but i kinda went a different direction. essentially it’s them after 3x09! and thank you for ur kind words lovely, sorry this took so long}

{warnings: graphic violence, mentions of sex, stalking?}

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

After staying over at Tannyhill a couple times, Sofia and Rafe didn’t talk again. She tried to shy away from the pang of hurt that it caused– when he left her on read, when he waited until she was on the other side of the bar to order his drink, when he stopped looking her way with a smile and kind eyes. What made it worse was the fact she had to see him…everyday single day.

Sofia mentally made a note never to sleep with a customer ever again. The prickling shame that coated her skin, the sticky regret that settled in the lot of her stomach– it was all too much. The prospect that Rafe used her, as simply just a warm body he could fuck, a temporary distraction– it made her sick. She knew it was silly of her; they barely knew each other after all. But he was so surprisingly sweet to her. And now it’s like he’d flipped a switch, doused in a sudden and biting apathy.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to her– she knew that, she wasn’t dumb. He was a kook at the end of the day and she was the club bartender (no matter how much she hated that fact, it still remained true). But she liked him. God– she liked him a lot. She thought he was different.

Sofia shook her head vehemently. Stop thinking about him when he doesn’t even give you the time of day.

The Kildare night was dark and balmy, the late-summer humidity stifling. The moon was out tonight, shining like a pearlescent marble on a bed of black tar.

Sofia’s shift had ended, so she was packing up her things. A couple stragglers were left dotted around the outdoor bar and restaurant. One of them was Rafe. He always lingered at the bar, nursing a fleet of never ending drinks. Initially Sofia was worried. She’d seen this before in her father, a drink always in hand, his eyes slung low in a drunker stupor. But eventually she reflected the same frigid apathy back on to Rafe. He wasn’t her problem to worry about.

But it was hard to deny instinct. Sofia had been infatuated with Rafe for a while now, even before he’d noticed her presence. It was like her eyes were magnets and he was metal. So before she left, her gaze brushed over his figure, taking in the broad shoulders, the faint lines of veins skeining down his tanned arms, before trailing up to his face. And that’s when she realised he was already staring straight at her. Fuck.

He looked distraught, but like he was trying to hide it. The lines of his face were deep and the strain of his jaw was tight, blue eyes red rimmed. She quickly looked away, gripping the strap of her purse tighter and scampering out towards the exit.

Sofia got on the bus. Her car was in the repair shop (for the third time this year). So she had to walk half-way home since the bus routes in the cut were all situated a good distance from her house. Her work shoes clicked against the uneven asphalt, her pace brisk and nimble. She didn’t think anything of the footsteps behind her at first, but when she realised how close they were, as if shadowing her movements, Sofia’s heart sank.

She’d heard stories of muggings around and about these streets. So her footsteps quickened, her heart rate a sputtering mess.

Fragments of prayers escaped her lips. Prayers for protection, for refuge and everything in between. But the shadow that stretched like pitch across the pavement just seemed to elongate the closer it got to her.

Sofia swallowed a shuddering breath and chanced a look behind her. She hated that she was right– a group of maybe three or four men were tailing her.

She wanted to run but they were tall– they’d easily outperform her. Sofia reached into her purse slipping out her phone, the white glare form the screen opening on to her contacts. But before she could even call anyone, the looming presence behind her suddenly jolted forward, Sofia jerking up in surprise.

A hand yanked her phone away from her, the device smashing on the concrete. Sofia gasped, the sound shaky and convulsing as she felt two hands grip her wrists.

“Who you tryna call huh?” One guy goaded, as the other three encircled Sofia.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The panic that fringed her nervous system completely inundated her– blood rushing, heart pounding, skin sweating.

“Please, just take whatever you want and let me go,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and watering.

The man let go of one of her wrists, gripping the pliable flesh of her cheeks, squishing them together with sharp nails.

“How about we just take you then?” His words were low and pointed, like a knife being pressed against her jugular. Chitters of laughter emanated from the other guys walling her in. Fear gave way to anger as Sofia spat at him then used her leg to swing a knee in his groin. He grunted in pain, allowing for Sofia to slip from his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” He growled, yanking her back by the hair before she could sprint away. Sofia hissed in pain, her scalp burning from his relentless grip.

She thought she was done for, denigrated to putty in these men’s hands. But suddenly, out of the encroaching darkness of the streetlight, came a figure who threw a punch directly square in her assailant’s face.

Sofia flew back on to the pavement, scraping her knee on the concrete. Grabbing her phone, she scrambled backwards to witness the scene before her. Her vision was slightly blurred so it took her a second to piece together what was happening.

In amidst the guttural yells and sickening sound of fists hitting flesh, Sofia saw Rafe mercilessly grapple with her attackers.

Her brain was so frazzled she didn’t even consider the oddity of his presence in this situation– all she felt was a sudden rush of relief and an overwhelming gratefulness that she didn’t have to find out what these men were planning to do with her.

But worry quickly eclipsed her repose.

They were decimating him.

“Help!” Sofia yelled, her voice cracking and shrill.

One of the men had Rafe in a headlock, his beefy arm clasped around his windpipe. Sofia scrambled on to her feet and grabbed her keys from her purse. With a quiet stealth, she snuck up behind the towering guy before lodging the key in between his shoulder blades. The man shrieked out a string of curse words, dropping Rafe and swinging round to strike her instead. Sofia cowered from his touch, but Rafe didn’t let the guy’s wrath reach her.

“You fucking touch her again and I’ll kill you,” he growled, Sofia’s heart lurching at the sight of his black beady eyes and bloody lip. He looked feral.

Rafe’s swinging punches began to look rhythmic as he hit his knuckles repeatedly against the guys jaw. Sofia’s stomach roiled in sickness at hearing the crunch of bone. The repetitive thwack of skin hitting skin.

Before Rafe could knock the guy in unconscious, the wail of police cars sliced through the violence, distant glows of red and blue dancing around the darkness.

“Fuck let’s bounce,” said one hooded man before all four of them dispersed, leaving Rafe breathless and bloody, barely able to stand.

Sofia rushed towards him, quickly hoisting his swaying body on top of hers.

“Come on, my house is a couple minutes away.”

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just nodded, letting Sofia lead the way.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Rafe sat on the toilet of Sofia’s bathroom, waiting as she rifled through the cabinet for some cotton wool.

Neither said anything, the tension in the small space feeling like thick fog that clogged their throats.

“You’re different…I like that. You’ll do the right thing– I’m sure you will.”

Those were the last words Sofia had said to him– the last time they’d spoken. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk with her. He did. Desperately. But for once Rafe Cameron decided to do the decent thing, the right thing, as Sofia put it, and leave her out of his bloodsoaked life. Because that’s what happened whenever he cared about someone. They got hurt. Like his father leaving on a plane all bloody and maimed, cut by the blade of his son’s betrayal. The reminder of Ward sent a ripple of regret through him.

It has been hard to leave Sofia behind fully. She was addictive. Sweet like candy and soft like silk. He missed the air of her laughter– that easy, wispy sound which draped over him. He missed the warmth of her body– her small frame slotting against his larger one in the massive bed. Though she’d been in his life for an embarrassingly short amount of time, her absence left a hefty lacuna in the sepulchral hallways of Tannyhill. She became just another person who was no longer there.

And Rafe hated it.

So he resigned himself to stolen glances whilst she was working, watching as she danced freely at parties that she didn’t know he was attending, also following her home from work to make sure she got home ok.

And it’s a good thing he did– when he saw those men grope and paw at her, sullying her with their filthy hands, rage burst through his capillaries.

He could see the result of his violent outburst now in the dull yellow glow of the bathroom lights, his knuckles split and hemic, rivulets of blood flowing through the grooves of his skin.

Sofia ran the cotton wool under the hot water of the tap, gently lifting his hands up so she could clean the blood.

Her eyes fixated on the task at hand, as Rafe revelled in the gentleness of her touch. He usually had to patch himself up after fights, struggling alone behind a closed bathroom door, whimpering as he licked his cuts clean like a bad dog.

As she worked to clean him him, Rafe’s eyes dipped downward and saw the graze on her knee, a sizeable red scrape against her golden skin.

With his free hand, his fingers instinctively brushed against it, causing Sofia to jump up in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, retracting his hand away. Sofia just shook her head gently as if to say ‘it’s ok’.

She was close enough so that he could smell her strawberry shampoo– remembering the sensations of her tresses tickling his chest as his face nuzzled up against the crook of her neck. He honed in on the way her fingers skimmed his hands with the cotton wool– mirroring the touch of her fingertips gripping on to his shoulders as he pressed into her warmth. Rafe stirred with a heady desire from this inundation of memories that made him lightheaded, suddenly standing up in the tiny bathroom.

“Is everything ok?” Sofia asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

He nodded quickly.

“Let me clean you up too.” His hands floated over the curve of her hip, directing her to the bathroom counter, lifting her slightly to place her on the flat surface. Sofia let out a little gasp as he suspended her in the air, her eye contact unwavering.

The image of fucking her in her own bathroom passed through his mind, her soft body pressed up against the basin, the mirror fogged up from their combined breaths. Rafe shook away his thoughts but it was hard to do when she was so damn close. Rafe wetted some cotton wool, hooking his hand under the meat of her thigh, before cleaning the cut gently. He tried to control the tremors of his fingers, but it was near impossible.

Sofia’s soft breath fanned his nape, hitting his sensitive skin as he looked down at her leg. He shuddered slightly imagining her lips hitting that spot, her tongue supping away at his neck. The memory of her kisses hit him like a truck, the skilled manoeuvring of her mouth, leaving him trailing after her with inexperience.

Fuck he missed her.

Rafe plastered her knee up, rubbing his thumb up and down the plush of her thigh, before regrettably letting go.

Sofia starred up at him with her big, hazel eyes– they were almost imploring. But imploring him for what he didn’t know.

Their faces were inches a part. Rafe could see her scattering of freckles, each individual eyelash.

As if by instinct, his face hovered closer, the slope of his nose brushing against her cheek. Sofia’s breath hitched, the swell of her breast rising and falling with each uneven pant. Her lips opened, pink and wet and shiny. They looked so inviting. He could slip his tongue so easily between her mouth right now. She was right there.

Rafe could see her hands gripping the counter edge, her knuckles contrastingly white to his reddened ones.

“I should go,” Rafe murmured, eyes flickering over her face. Sofia did the same, her gaze alternating between his lips and eyes.

Sofia’s hands reached over to hold his, wrapping her fingers around his raw skin, “thank you Rafe.”

“No problem.” His voice was a raspy husk.

Rafe moved away from her and his heart clenched at the sudden distance. He left her sitting alone on her bathroom counter, her hair tousled around her pretty face and legs pressed deliciously together.

But despite how badly he wanted to destroy the space between them, pressing her up against the tiles, hooking her leg around the curve of his waist, Rafe still turned and faced the door.

“Wait.” Her voice was small and soft and hopeful.

He stood still, turning to face her slowly.

She jumped down from the countertop. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

Rafe’s heart faltered. Say yes, you idiot.

But he couldn’t do this. The past couple weeks watching Sofia, inhaling her like she was his new drug, he learnt just how different the two of them were. She criss-crossed around Kildare like a saint– dropping her siblings off to school in that scrap metal car of hers, volunteering at her local church, slaving away at her job and plastering a smile on for asshole customers. Even at the parties, she never was selfish or hedonistic. She minded her friends with care, she oftentimes was the designated driver and she smiled at everyone no matter kook or pogue.

Sofia was kind. Sofia was good.

Who was he to use her for his own personal gain? Even now, when he was lauding her saintliness, he couldn’t help but envision her at his mercy, inside of her, her name on his lips, his hands in her hair.

“It’s ok Sofia, I need to be heading home anyway.” He mumbled stupidly, palming the back of his neck.

Her face flashed with hurt– eyebrows stitching together, lips frowning in a pout. But she quickly recomposed herself.

“Ok.”

Rafe turned to leave, opening the bathroom door.

“What were you even doing here in The Cut?” Sofia suddenly asked.

Rafe froze. Fuck. He turned to face her slowly.

“Meeting a friend.”

“Oh,” Sofia intoned, “a friend? I thought you wouldn’t have any pogue friends.”

Rafe smiled, amused at her pointedness. “Then what are you then?”

“I don’t know…what am I?” Her tone took on a meanness that was uncharacteristic.

Rafe swallowed thickly, embarrassment tinging his cheeks, “Sofia–“

“You ghost all your friends? Or just all your fuck buddies?”

“Sof–“

“A text would’ve been nice. You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could come up with. One measly apology.

Sofia sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I’m sorry too– you don’t owe me anything. I– I just thought that you…I just thought that we…” she trailed off, a meekness settling over her body.

“You just thought that we– what?” Rafe probed, stepping closer. He wanted her to say more. Wanted her to give him a reason to stay.

“Nothing, nothing. You can go, it’s fine.”

“Sofia–“

“Please leave Rafe.”

His shoulders sagged with that all too familiar weight. And with a brief nod of the head, he left her there, finding his way back to his car parked a couple blocks down, the one he used to follow her down the street in, watching her with an obsessiveness he didn’t know what to do with, monomania seeping uncontrollably from his pores.

Rafe was about to drive the car back home, when he circled back, parking outside the house he was just in. Turning the engine off, the headlights flashed away into nothingness, leaving the car undetected from the street.

His eyes crawled up to Sofia’s bedroom window. She never closed the blinds. She was so naïve. So trusting. He was doing the right thing leaving her out of his instability, his fractured, messed up self. He’d hurt her like everyone else. And he didn’t want that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch.

Watch her slip out of her work clothes, imagining it was her was undressing her. Watch her examine the band-aid he put on her knee, recalling how her supple legs felt under his fingertips.

Watch her unhook her bra, slipping into her pyjamas then into bed, savouring the memory of how it felt to fuck her.

Rafe drove away quickly, shunning away the perverted thoughts that whirled around his mind.

He wondered if Sofia still thought that about him. She said he’d do the right thing– but Rafe didn’t know what the fuck that meant. He told himself he’d stop it. Cut all contact from her. Even the obsessive surveillance.

But the next morning, he made sure to arrive early at the country club, so he could watch her at the bar, like always.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[chibinasuu]

How they'd spend Valentine's Day with you

Pairings: Penguin, Marco, Franky, Izou x Reader Tags: sfw, fluff, established relationship, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: you might be thinking, what a random set of characters! well, a while ago i did a poll on which of my blorbos i should write a valentine’s fic for, and Killer won, but i still felt like doing something for the other characters who didn’t win, so here are some valentine’s day headcanons with them! i hope you enjoy this and please be on the lookout for the Killer fic on 14 feb too 😘

Penguin

Penguin would be the type to ask “Will you be my Valentine’s?” every single time on Valentine’s Day, even after years of dating.

When you say yes, like you always do, he’d grin so wide and give you a big smooch right on your lips.

Penguin loves to spoil you with gifts.

He’d take you out on a special date to the market, indulging you as you browse the many stalls there one by one.

Without you knowing, he’d pay attention and take note of all the things you touched and admired, the stuff you’d eye for a tad bit too long, the items that made your eyes sparkle.

He’d buy every single one of them.

At the end of the day, his bag would be stuffed with all the little trinkets, to the point that it would be hard for him to hide it from you.

Before you return to the Polar Tang, he’d hand over the bag to you with a shy smile, which would turn into a wide grin when he witnessed your surprised expression and gasp of delight.

His face would flush as you hug him tight and pepper kisses all over his face.

He’d never get tired of receiving affection from you. That, for him, is the most precious gift of all.

Marco

Marco was not a fan of Valentine’s Day. He had always thought it trivial... at least, until he met you.

On your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, he’d be so nervous that he’d ask Ace for advice.

The Fire Fist would recommend candlelight dinners, romantic poetries, breakfast in bed – but none of them seemed right.

For Marco, loving you is as simple as breathing, as natural as flying. He had never felt the need to do grand gestures to show his love, and you never expected him to either. You have never felt more loved than the time you spent with Marco.

It would come as a surprise when a knock sounds on your door, and you open it to reveal a bashful Marco holding a humble bunch of hand-picked flowers.

His face would be bright red as he asks for your hand, inviting you out to the deck. You’d follow in confusion, even more so when he tells you to hop onto his back.

He’d spread his wings of blue flames and take you to the skies, laughing when you yelp in shock and tighten your grip around his neck, eyes firmly shut

He’d urge you to open your eyes, and you’d gasp in wonder at the sight of the bright stars all around you.

You’d relax and enjoy the wind on your face, occasionally giving him a peck on the cheek from your perch on his back.

Fear would not find you for the rest of the flight, despite the terrifying height.

You were with Marco, after all. He would never let you fall.

Franky

Franky is definitely a romantic and you bet he’d go all out for Valentine’s.

You’d be randomly visited by robot doves singing love songs. You’d find little love notes folded into hearts tucked in your drawers, slid underneath your door, and not-so-subtly slipped into your pockets.

The day would culminate in a romantic dinner on the upper deck of the Sunny.

He’d stand there with a suit (no pants, of course), the red bow tie matching his speedos and the massive bouquet of roses he’s holding out to you.

He’d grin, “Happy Valentine’s, Sugar.”

Before him would be a table for two, complete with a white tablecloth, candles, and a scatter of rose petals.

He’d pull out your chair, not forgetting to compliment your looks and outfit, of course.

He would've begged Sanji to make all of your favorite meals, bribing him with a new state-of-the-art lock for the fridge.

You two would share a toast with cola-filled wine glasses and spend the night just chatting and laughing together, and maybe shamelessly flirting too.

After dinner, he’d treat you to a spectacular fireworks show, and you’d wonder how he managed to make the pink sparks explode into heart patterns all over the night sky.

A sweet kiss would be the cherry on top following dessert, the sugary taste lingering as he’d drag you to some secret corner on the Sunny that only he knew about.  

Izou

Izou never so much as holds your hand in front of other people.

“It’s not very becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection,” would be his usual excuse.

You never really minded. You’re plenty satisfied with the affection he showers you with whenever the two of you are alone.

But on Valentine’s Day, as the Whitebeard Pirates party the night away at a crowded bar, Izou would suddenly grasp your hips and pull you into his lap, his hand possessively resting against your thigh.

You’d quirk an eyebrow at him, “I thought it wasn’t becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection.”

“Well, I’m a pirate now. I can do whatever I want.”

You’d laugh, knowing him well enough to figure out that he just wanted the other men at the bar to back off, in case they get ideas of wooing you during this Day of Love.

After a while, you’d drag him away from the bar, eagerly leading him to the shore where you can take a leisurely stroll beneath the moon.

Moonlit walks are among Izou's favorite things to do, and he had started taking you with him when you two became a couple.

You love how the moon illuminates his face and reflects off his hair. You love how serene and romantic these quiet walks with Izou are

But most of all, you love how it would be just the two of you out there on the shore, and you know that Izou’s hands and lips are always the most free when no one is watching.

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