#lucking out on this that the sign for me too/same seems to be the same in asl & bsl

[meloartist]

Yeah, I also want to see 2 season, especially Destiny and my favorite Delirium, but I'm also curius who will play Remiel and Duma.

[i think this ask was pre-s2 announcement bc 2022 but YEAH]

i'm a HUUUUUUUUUGE duma stan you dont even KNOW

[thegoldencontracts]

Hi sorry to bother you, but can you please make a part 2 of the courting fic where the prefect realizes what they were trying to say and "un-rejects" them?

Love your writing, keep up the good work!!

So happy to see people on the same page as me here, because I wrote the fic right before going to bed and my immediate thoughts were (I feel so bad so themm... wait but they're also being kinda stupid shit GUYS LOCK IN)

Anyways Part Twooo to this fic let's gooo! Featuring them getting a taste of their own medicine because I thought they deserved it (affectionate)

Cultural Exchange

—"You could have just said you liked me."

Characters: Leona, Ruggie, Floyd, Azul (same as in the first fic)

Notes: Let me I tell you I had wayy too much fun writing the little intro for each section I thought I was sooo clever didn't I

Leona:

—Humans are known to give flowers to their objects of affection. Bouquets, particularly those containing roses, are a common gift given to someone a human wishes to date.

Your phone, you noticed, was already open. A google page laid in front of you. Did Leona try to look something up and forget to close it? No, as slothful as he seemed, being careless like this just wasn't in his character.

But the phone was opened to-

Lion beastman courtship rituals.

The page stared you in the face, daring you to read.

"Lion beastmen," it said. "Have extended courting rituals. They stake out their desired mate and spend time building relations."

Wait. Those weeks the two of you had spent together...

"When the time is right, beastmen will often roar to declare their intent. They show desire by pawing, nuzzling, and-"

He'd roared beforehand, hands all over you.

"Biting."

Goddamnit you just fumbled Leona Kingscholar.

You wanted to crawl into a hole. You wanted to apologize. And you kind of wanted to yell at him for not just saying that like a normal person when you asked what was going on.

But that would have to wait for another time.

For now, you'd have to find some way to make it clear you returned his interests.

Flowers. Everyone, boy or girl, old or young, broke prefect or genius lion prince, could probably appreciate a nice bouquet.

So you stopped by Heartslabyul and the Seven themselves or whatever the deities of this world were must have been smiling down upon you, because they had a bunch of extra roses from some growth spell mishap they needed to get rid of.

"Good luck with your boyfriend," Ace had said, snickering.

So here you were. Outside of the Savannaclaw common room, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"You gonna eat that?" Ruggie, standing in front of you, looking at the flowers scrutinizingly. Noticing the expression on your face though, he just laughed. "Jeez, I'm just joking with ya! I can get my own food. Maan, you're so dense... shishishi, no wonder Leona-san's obvious signs went right over your head!"

Speaking of Leona-

"Can you take me to him?" You asked, and Ruggie nodded.

"'Bout time. Leona-san's been in a mood since you shot him down." You didn't shoot him down, you just asked what he was talking about! "He's been sulkin' all day."

You had a feeling Ruggie was just saying that to embarrass him.

"But anyways, come on! The sooner you lovebirds kiss and make up, the better."

The door to Leona's room was locked. But Ruggie just pulled a hairpin, fiddled with it, and-

Of course he picked the lock.

"Your mate, Leona-san!"

"The herbivore's not-"

And Ruggie was gone. Just you and him now.

Leona stared at you from where he was lounging in his bed, tail flicking expectantly.

"You saw it, right?" He asked, voice deceptively impassive. You nodded.

"This all would've been a lot easier if you just explained what you meant. "I mean..."

You pulled the small bouquet of roses from behind your back.

Leona just stared, confused.

"Are you- callin' me an herbivore or something?" He asked. "You tryin' to say I'm fragile like the flowers?"

What.

He had the gall to expect you to understand these lion mating rituals or whatever, and he couldn't even understand what flowers meant?

"Lighten up, herbivore, I'm just jokin' with you," he said, taking the bouquet. "I do my research."

Unlike you was left unsaid.

"I really am sorry Leona-san," you said. "But how was I supposed to know you biting me was a mating ritual?"

"Well, it's more obvious than flowers," he huffed. You had to disagree, but since he was following your, uh, 'courting rituals'...

"I guess I should return the favor," you said, grabbing his arm. His face flushed ever so slightly, barely noticeable on that tanned skin of his.

And then you bit. He stared, shocked. But not the good kind.

"That," he said. "Was the weakest bite I've ever seen?"

"Huh?"

"You really are an herbivore," he said, before putting his head on your lap. "I'm going to sleep."

His tail flickered contentedly, though.

Cute.

Ruggie Bucchi:

—Humans give food items to their prospective mate, particularly sweet items with either a heart-shape or a heart-shape container. To highlight their affections, the sweet items are often made by hand.

Ruggie had been avoiding you. It was clear as day.

The excited little "Morning, Kantokusei-kun!" whenever he saw you had turned into a chorus of excuses about Leona calling for him and whatnot. His constant visits to your room had all but vanished.

You were getting fed up with it. What did you do? Did you accidentally eat his donut or something?

It all came to a head when you bumped into Leona in the greenhouse.

"Hey, herbivore," he said. There was something almost unnerving about the calm in his voice, the way he scrutinized you like he was picking apart the very fiber of your being.

After a while, though, he laughed.

"Ruggie's got himself up in a twist over nothing," he said.

"Um, what?"

"You," he said. "Do you know," he trailed off. "What hyena beastmen do—"

"—When they find someone they want to mate?"

Where did this come from?

"The guys do this thing," he continued. "Step forward and step away. Then they cross their legs and present their scent."

Oh.

He'd crossed his legs, telling you to join him on the bed...

"Seem familiar?" Leona said, a languid grin. "Good. Now clear this whole thing up. Ruggie's being a pain."

You accidentally rejected him! Goddamnit!

Well, if he'd just been a little more clear, you wouldn't've-!

Whatever. You needed to make it clear you liked him back, you supposed.

And what did you do when you liked someone? Make them chocolates! Heart-shaped ones for good measure. Plus, Ruggie liked food gifts, so that seemed like something he'd appreciate.

So you got to it. Made your chocolates, and off to Savannaclaw you went.

You knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Maybe he wasn't there?

But no; you heard a muffled yelp, from none other than him.

He wanted to hide. Unfortunately for him, in the time of your friendship, you'd long since learned how to copy his lock-picking technique.

Hairpin in the lock. Another one to serve as a tension wrench. And with a little bit of fiddling...

The door was open. Ruggie was staring at you, eyes blown wide.

"Hey, uh, pal!" He said, opening the window. "It looks like Leona-san needs another tonkatsu sandwich, and-"

"I'm sorry," you said, rushing to block the window before he could jump out of it. Well, hopefully that wasn't actually what he was planning, but you could never be too sure. "I mean, you were being really really vague, so honestly it was kinda your fault, but I- you know-"

You sighed.

"Just take this," you said, shoving the box of chocolates in his hands. "This should tell you how I feel."

You didn't know how you expected Ruggie to respond, maybe eat the chocolates happily, maybe say something about the changed nature of your relationship—

But you didn't expect him to stare at the chocolate like it personally offended him.

"What's this supposed to mean?" He asked. "You tryin' to butter me up so I owe you later or somethin'?"

What. What was he talking about. What was going on in his head when he said that.

"They're- They're heart-shaped chocolates," you said. "Do you- not feel the same way anymore or something?"

Ruggie stared at you like you'd just said the sky was green.

"Heart-shaped-" he stared at the chocolates. "Wait, m so iss this like- uh- it could be- you givin' me your heart-"

You saw the moment the puzzle pieces clicked together in his head. He probably didn't have the completely right idea, but eh, good enough. His face went bright red.

"You, shishi, didn't have to- go all this way, y'know," he said. "Not that I'm conplainin'."

He popped one into his mouth, and you could tell he liked it from the way his face brightened.

"Good?" You asked, and he just shoved the uneaten half of the chocolate into your mouth in response, the imprint of his sharp canines clear as day.

You chewed for a few seconds. It really was good. But more importantly...

"That was an indirect kiss, y'know."

"Indi-what?"

"Indirect kiss. Your lips and my lips touched the same thing."

"Talk about weird," he said. "Sharin' food like that's completely normal!"

And then, popping another chocolate into his mouth, he continued:

"Can't you humans just sniff each other like any normal person?"

Floyd Leech:

—Humans will often use humorous expressions of desire with prospective mates in order to gauge interest. These are known as "pick-up lines".

Floyd had been avoiding you all week now. You had absolutely no clue what you did. Was he really that upset you'd told him to just be honest if he was bored with your rambling?

But still, the fact remained that he was avoidant, and just generally in an awful mood. Maybe something else had happened? Maybe it was just a mood?

Your question was answered when Jade cornered you after school, a toothy smile that most certainly didn't reach his eyes.

"I hear you've had quite the spat with my brother, Prefect," he said. "I understand that you may not return his feelings, but I would advise you to apologize for your harsh words. My brother is not, as you insinuate, the sort to court another so casually."

Wait.

Court?

"What do you mean, 'court'?" You asked. "I was talking, he started yawning, he asked me to dance out of nowhere, and then he got angry and left. Simple as that. Where do you see courting?"

The gear seemed to turn in his head for a while, before realization dawned upon him, mouth widening into a little 'o'.

"Prefect," he said. "Are you aware that moray eels open their mouths wide as a sign of desire?

"Huh?"

"When a moray eels sees a prospective mate," Jade re-iterated. "They open their mouths. And as a finalization, they perform a mating dance."

Mouth opened wide... Mating dance...

"Holy shit," you said. Jade just stared at you, still slightly threatening.

"You're telling me he was trying to tell me he liked me and I pretty much called him a fuckboy."

Jade nodded.

"Indeed, you did."

You could only sigh, long and low.

"Damnit."

"I do suggest you, ah, clear the air," Jade said, though his tone made it clear this was more of a demand. "Make it clear to him what I realized."

"Yeah, yeah." You still thought he should've just told you what he wanted.

Jade nodded, satisfied.

"Then I'll be leaving," he said. But before he left, he turned back, for just a split second.

"Prefect?"

"Yeah?"

"My brother and I both lack very little in terms of comfort," he said. "So I think you'll find that actions and words shall both speak louder than any bribes you attempt to bring."

And with that cryptically delivered piece of advice, Jade was gone.

You got to work. No point in making something, you recalled. Best to just bring yourself and your own sincerity.

Floyd was near impossible to track down. You really thought you deserved points just for doing that. He really put you through the wringer, after all.

"Floyd!" you said at last, trying your best to stay calm as he scowled. "I have something to say."

"I don't wanna hear it."

"You- You do!" You said. "Listen, I know you're annoyed because I called you a playboy, but have you ever considered-"

"Shut up."

"-That it was actually your fault for being really really vague while also managing to misunderstand me in the worst way possible?"

Floyd looked like he wanted to snap your neck. He also looked intrigued, though, which was a good sign.

"What're you saying?"

"I'm saying that I didn't know you were trying to tell me you liked me!" You said. "I mean, you looked like you were yawning, and I don't know jackshit about moray rituals, so what the hell was I supposed to think? All I know is—I'm talking, you're yawning, and suddenly you want to dance. Of course I'm going to think you're bored!"

Floyd stared at you for a few seconds.

And then he burst out laughing.

"F-Floyd?!"

"Eheh, you're so stupid sometimes, Koebi-chan!" Very nice. "But you've got some guts for a shrimpy. Maan, I remember why I like you so much now."

In an instant, he was back to his typical, lackadaisical mood.

"Use your head a little more next time, alright? I really thought you were trying to say I was some flaky little guppy," he said. You shook your head vehemently, pushing down your urge to tell him that he was the one being ridiculously vague.

"No, I know you're not like that, I mean- I like you too!" Now what. "Uh- Uh-"

"You know, Floyd," you said. "They say the tongue is the strongest muscle."

Now, he just looked confused.

"It's not. When it comes to strength by size, the masseter-"

"So," you said. "Wanna wrestle?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Tongue-wrestling would be boring. Why're you even bringin' wrestling up right now? Lame."

Did- Did he seriously not get it?

"Our tongues should wrestle," you re-iterated. He shook his head.

"How'd you even do somethin' like that?" he asked. "Just, like, put your lips together-"

You didn't even have time to realize when it all clicked for him because he grabbed you.

"Changed my mind. I wanna tongue-wrestle with you, Koebi-Chan!"

"And you were calling me the oblivious one?"

Azul:

—Humans will often initiate contact between their lips and the lips of a prospective mate, a phenomenon known as "kissing". When done for an extended period of time, this is called "making out".

Azul did not act particularly different.

But you could tell he was upset. It was written all over the slight strain of his saccharine smile, the way he laid it on just a little bit too thick when he attempted to ingratiate himself to you, and the slight bags under his eyes—a sign he was overworking himself in an attempt to distract from his problems.

Yep. He was definitely upset.

And of course, inevitably, the twins cornered you.

"You did somethin' weird to Azul," Floyd said, glaring at you. "Fix it or I'll squeeze ya."

Jade snickered from behind him.

Of course. Welp, you had absolutely no clue what you did, sooo...

"Is this because I offered to take him to the Doctor's office when his arm kept changing color?" you asked. "Seriously, I knew he didn't like getting help, but- ugh, isn't that too far!"

"Why'd you do that?" Floyd said. "Man, Koebi-Chan really is mean, tellin' Azul he's sick for wantin' to make you his mate."

"What does changing color have to do with, uh, mates?"

Floyd looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or slap you.

"You do know a little octopus like Azul changes color because he wants to be your mate, right?"

...

That couldn't be. That just- it-

"Indeed," said Jade. "Octopi will also often grab their prospective mate from behind."

His arm was changing color. He'd grabbed you from behind.

"Goddamnit," you said. Couldn't he have been a little more specific?!

That was it. You were not dealing with this stupid misunderstanding any longer! This stupid, insanely intelligent, oblivious octopus was going to know you liked him!

You stomped away.

"Where're you going, Koebi-chan?"

"Oya, going somewhere, Perfect?"

"Clearing the air," you said. That seemed to be an answer they approved.

"Actions speak louder than wor-"

"I know."

You cut off Jade's attempt at delivering cryptic advice before storming over to the VIP Room. There was Azul, working on some contract or the like.

"Azul."

"You're not allowed to be in here, you know. There's quite a hefty fee."

"Azul."

"Yes?" He looked up, looking entirely unhappy to see you.

"I didn't realize that thing you were going last week was a part of octopus courtship, you know," you said. "You really should've told me."

"What are you-"

"Let me show you a human courtship ritual to set things straight."

And you kissed him. It was not the sort of kiss that I initiated fireworks, nor was it anything like the novels you'd read. In fact, it was an exceptionally awkward kiss, because Azul was an awful kisser. You didn't entirely mind, though, it was cute.

You both had to pull away because Azul was out of breath, gasping and wheezing like he'd been made to run a mile for P.E.

"Does that make my feelings clear?" You said. He just huffed, looking firmly at his contract.

"I- suppose we can work something out..." He muttered, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Why don't you take a seat?"

The offer seemed simple, but the truth of it was clear.

He was considering that relationship.

So you sat, enjoying the contented silence and the resolved misunderstanding. But there was one thing you had to get off your chest.

"You know, it's insane how bad you suck at kissing."

"Shut it."

[differenteagletragedy]

Part three of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part one -- Part two

It rains the next day, and the day after, then Simon gets the orders — he’d be leaving on a mission for a week or two, maybe more.

While he’s away, he thinks of you more often than he’s comfortable with. He wonders if you had the baby yet, and if you did, if the delivery went smoothly. He thinks of how you’d told him that it was just you and Charlie, and how he hopes you’re managing everything on your own.

It’s too much and he knows it, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time he gets back home, it’s been a little over a month. A few days are spent holed up in his apartment, decompressing and trying to remember how to breathe, then he’s back to it.

To you.

More walks, by the park, around the perimeter then a lap through town and back again. Eyes scanning each time, ears perked in case the little boy comes calling.

No luck — at least, not for a while. But a week or so later, during one morning stroll, there you are.

Your big belly is gone, save for a tiny little swell, and in its place is a baby carrier, which seems to be securely strapped in place, but he sees you hold onto it anyway. Sticking out of the bottom of the carrier are two impossibly tiny socked feet.

If he thought you looked tired the first two times he saw you, it’s nothing compared to how you look now. You look exhausted, weary down to your bones, but you still smile as Charlie, energetic as ever, shows off on the monkey bars.

Simon slowly makes his way over, stopping a few feet away from you. The movement makes you notice him, and you give a small laugh.

“You sure like this place, huh?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, and says, “Trees are nice.”

There were a few cherry trees that were blossoming now, growing along the sidewalk by the street, and he did always think they were nice-looking. You didn’t need to hear, at least not yet, that he’d found something much more beautiful to see in the park now that he’d noticed you.

At the sound of Simon's voice, Charlie jumps down from the monkey bars and runs over, putting a hand on one of the baby's feet.

"This is my baby sister, Emma," he tells him. "She looks like me but you have to be careful with her because her head is soft and her neck doesn't work right."

He chuckles, then uses Charlie's introduction as an excuse to take a glance at the baby resting against your chest. He can't see much with the way the carrier is situated, just a tuft of hair sticking out of the top, then Charlie pulls his attention back to him.

"You never said your name," the boy points out.

"It's Simon."

"I'm Charlie."

"I know."

"This is Mum," Charlie says, tugging on the hem of your shirt. "She has a different name too though."

You laugh softly, and hold your hand out to Simon, telling him your name: it's your third time meeting each other, and finally, a proper introduction.

The morning goes by much the same as your last park playdate went. Charlie bounds from the jungle gym to the slides to the swings, demanding attention and applause. Simon keeps a bit of a distance and tries to ignore just how much closer he wants to be. But with how tired you are now, or perhaps now that you know Simon just the tiniest little bit better, you speak more freely.

It does absolutely nothing to stop his yearning.

Finally, Charlie starts showing signs of slowing down. He gets a little less talkative, doesn't have quite so many tricks to show Simon, and then he stands, going to you and grabbing one of your hands away from where it rests on the baby carrier.

"Can we go home now?"

You nod, smiling at the boy, and he lifts his arms expectantly.

Simon notices you frown, just a little, before telling your son, "Baby, you know I can't carry you, I've got your sister."

"But I'm tired."

"Can you walk for me?" you ask.

He sees Charlie look from you to the baby and back again, tears welling up in his wide bright eyes, and it's enough for him to speak up.

"I could carry him, if you like."

It would be a big step in your friendship, if you could even call it that at this point, him carrying your son home, but he's ready to take it. Moreso, he's ready to offer it -- he'd take so much more, anything you offered.

"... You don't mind?"

Soon enough, the four of you are on the sidewalk, with you leading the way. Charlie is already asleep on Simon's shoulder as he holds him in his arms.

"The baby woke him up early," you explain as you walk. "I thought he'd last till his afternoon nap, but then you showed up and he had to show out."

He smiles, and when he feels the warmth spreading through his chest, he knows he's in even more trouble than he thought. It was one thing, being interested in you, but it was another to be interested in the whole package.

But of course, he had been all along, hadn't he? You drew him in, something about you seeped inside him right away, digging in its claws and holding on tight, but he couldn't deny, at least not anymore, that there was something more, too. Charlie had been, every moment he'd seen him, sweet and precocious and disarming, and now the baby ...

"Everything go all right?" he hears himself asking, speaking softly as Charlie lets out a gentle snore by his ear. "The delivery and all."

"Oh, yeah," you answer, turning down a little residential street. "Quick and easy, or I guess as easy as birthing a human can be."

"You got someone helping you?"

You shake your head, smiling up at him.

"Nope, just us. We do all right though."

You guide him through a rickety little gate towards a house, cute but rundown, and unlock the door, stepping inside and letting him come in before closing the door behind him. You show him to Charlie's room, and he lays the boy down gently in his little twin bed.

"Want some tea?" you offer, and he agrees. Anything to just stay a little longer.

While you're filling the kettle, the baby starts crying. She'd fussed a bit here and there at the park, but this sounds more insistent, Simon thinks, and you sigh, the exhaustion clear on your face.

"What can I do?" Simon asks.

And before he knows it, he's in your kitchen, taking over the tea while you sit on the couch, feeding little Emma. He can hear you as he hunts through the cabinets for cups, can hear your quiet little shushes and her little coos and gurgles as she feeds, and it's easily the most domestic scene he's ever taken part of.

By the time he meets you in the living room, two cups in hand, the baby is resting in your arms. He can see her little face fully now. Charlie was right, she does look like him. And they both look like you.

You excuse yourself for just a moment to lay her down, then come back, baby monitor in hand. You set it on the coffee table, trading it for your cup of tea, and sit beside him on the couch.

For the first time, it's just the two of you.

"Can I ask you something?"

It's not the most reassuring way to begin the conversation, but he nods, having an idea of what you might have on your mind.

"What's all ... this?"

"All what?"

You give him a look -- he knows what, but he can't very well say it, so he hesitates, trying to find the best way out of this. But you, in another show of how perfect you could be for him, give him an out.

"Look," you begin, "my thing has never not been being unable to see red flags. My thing is actually kind of zeroing in on the red flags and running straight for them. And that's not you."

"... No?"

"No," you reply. "You're yellow at best."

He smirks. "I'm a yellow flag?"

You nod, smirking back, and god, he just wants you more.

"And how's that?"

"You've got ... something. You've got sad eyes. Like you've seen a lot of stuff and like you maybe don't know how to deal with it. Something to keep an eye on, but not something that's going to destroy someone else."

"You sure about that?" he asks.

"I wouldn't let you carry my kid home if I wasn't."

He nods, taking a sip of his tea. Just when he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

Simon considers for a moment. He barely even understands the pull he feels towards you himself, how can he explain it? But you watch him with patient eyes, close enough to touch, and he knows that if he's ever going to have a shot at actually having this, for keeps, he's going to have to try.

"I ... has there ever been something that you've never had, but you still knew you wanted it?"

You give him a small smile, and there’s understanding in your eyes — of course you have.

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

But it’s not really a question. You know, and he can see that. So he doesn’t answer, but keeps his eyes on you steady.

“Simon,” you begin, and he has to force himself not to focus on how sweet his name sounds on your lips so he can hear the rest of what you have to say. “I don’t … why?”

“Just hit me that day,” he explains, his voice low and quiet. “Don’t know why, but it hasn’t gone away.”

“And … Charlie? The baby?”

“Charlie’s a good kid. Can’t imagine the baby will be much different.”

You stay silent for a beat, then tell him that you need to go check on the kids. He’s alone again, and he’s on the cusp of something with you, he just knows it.

When you come back a few moments later, you sit a little closer, a look of resolve on your face, and he waits.

“I’m kind of a mess,” you tell him.

“That’s fine.”

“I have two kids, and their dad is … he’s not in the picture.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“… Simon, I have a newborn.”

“I know, I met her. Head’s all soft and neck doesn’t work right. I remember.”

You laugh, but it’s nervous laughter, your eyes darting around the living room like you’re trying to find more reasons for him to want to run, but with every passing moment with you, he’s more and more sure that he wants to stay.

Finally, you speak again, your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Just … I don’t know, ok?”

“You don’t have to.”

You don’t have to know, he wants to say, because he does. He knows you fit, and that he could take care of you and your children. He could carry Charlie home when he gets tired from playing too hard, and he could make you tea while you feed Emma. He could paint the house, fix it up, replace the gate with something good and sturdy. He could fix that leak in your kitchen faucet and make your life easier and do the best thing he’d ever do, with you and your family.

But you’re not ready to hear that. And he’s a patient man. He can wait.

PART FOUR - PART FIVE - PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT - PART NINE

[rosepinks-world]

DUDE! SHE LIKES YOU BACK

spencer reid x fem! reader

synopsis: in which reader has returned from a field injury and Spencer surprises her.

Being shot wasn’t the badass experience all those cop shows made it out to be. It hurt, like a bitch and the recovery made you feel weak and useless. You werent allowed to work and were limited to doing paperwork from home.

However, today was the first day Hotch had allowed you to come into the office and work. Everything remained the same, the vending machine in the hall still required a good kick for it to actually give up the food inside, the ladies bathroom still had that one out of order stall and all your employees hadn’t changed one bit.

The thing that did catch you by surprise was the sight of beautiful spasms of colour put into a glass full of water.

Flowers.

They looked way too particular to be the generic $5 bouquet that had been bought from a supermarket. There were pink tulips, a few stems of lavender, peonies and a delicate sunflower in the middle of them all and the stems were wrapped in a white bow which was now drenched into the water but was further proof for its individuality.

You took a seat at your desk picking up the flowers and inspecting them closely, an attempt to see if anyone had left a note- a clear sign as to who sent them but your question was soon answered when a familiar voice sounded behind you.

“Oh! Do you like them?”

Spencer.

Before you could even say anything to him he started rambling

“I read up about botany and found out many believe that pink tulips symbolise affection and care, lavender represents healing and that peonies present good luck.” He paused his explanation by pulling his lips into one of his straight lined smile and nodding his head nervously.

“Oh! And the sunflower was just because I thought it looked pretty and you have Van Goughs portrait in your apartment.”

You smiled laughing at the clear thought he put into them. He looked like he want to say something else but you interrupted him by pulling him into a hug pressing your head into his neck. He seemed surprised at the hug but willingly reciprocated and wrapped his arms around your lower back. You both ignored the wolf whistle clearly made by Derek.

“Thank you, Spence, they’re beautiful.”

He blushed at the gratitude, “It’s the least I could do after your injury. Speaking of can I help you with anything?”

You laughed sitting down, ”God no. Thank you. But seriously, everyone is making this way big of a deal than it actually is. I’m not running a marathon I’m just writing files.”

He laughed again the blush still evident on his cheeks. You stood up and announced you would be right back - fleeing to grab more files from Hotch. The coworkers who saw all began heckling Spencer at what just happened.

“My man! Who knew pretty boy had this much game?” Derek hollered slapping Spencer’s back. Whilst Penelope almost jumped up and down in delight. “Oh my god they’re gonna have baby geniuses.”

“Garcia I gave her flowers not an engagement ring.” Spencer stated.

“Who’s getting an engagement ring?” Emily asked finally arriving for work.

“Nobody…yet” Penelope answered wiggling her eyebrows and walking back to her lair.

Spencer was so pleased with himself but a question Emily asked made his blood run cold.

“Yikes! Who got L/N flowers?”

“Me. Why? Is that a problem? Oh god is she allergic? I should have known!”

“No it’s just she hates flowers. I offered to get her some after she told me her had cat passed but she told me not to and that although she was grateful she couldn’t imagine a worse gift.”

Spencer’s eyes were practically gouging out of his head with anxiety and Derek couldn’t help but laugh as he joined the two.

Spencer looked between them rapidly and stuttered out, “What? But she gave me a hug and said they were beautiful? Do, do you think she lied?”

Emily raised her eyebrows mouth opening as she let out a knowing laugh. Derek looked at her and soon reacted similarly.

“What?” Spencer asked growing annoyed feeling like a child being left out of a game by their peers.

Derek offered an explanation. “You know how you’re a germaphobe but had no problem making out with Lila Archer that one time in the pool?”

Spencer blushed with embarrassment, “Why do you always bring that up?”

Emily rolled her eyes brushing him off and added to the point. “Spencer I think this is one of those situations.”

He furrowed his eyebrows confused. And Emily leaned in waiting for him to get it. His brows remained furrowed as he spoke again.“I don’t get it. Is this supposed to mean something?”

Derek rolled his eyes all concepts of being subtle gone out of the window.

“Dude! She likes you back.”

[iceunhie]

[ 3 + 1 ].

premise. in which entails your daily life being in a relationship with the one and only eccentric wanderer. (alternatively: wanderer's love for you comes in many forms. you welcome them all the same.)

warnings: established relationship, hurt-comfort, slice of life, wanderer is called kuni. jealousy (wanderer), angst. FLUFF fluff fluff. wanhida family goals

a/n: ITS SCARAMOUCHE WANDERER SEASON his event broke me btw [in tears]

BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX !

# observation one: unconventionally clingy

early on in your relationship, this side of the wanderer remains quite privy to himself alone. this is because he has a very, very uncanny similarity to an aggressive and guarded cat that hisses when given an ounce of affection.

this does not mean he doesn't like your outlandish and grand displays of affection, though; its actually the opposite. (LOL)

the true crux of the matter lies in his inability to let down his guarded pride to admit that he thinks your affection is his lifeblood. (basically, “ew, affection... do it again”)

he's a menace (affectionate), and if you were one for critiquing that aspect of his character, you wouldn't have been in a relationship with him by now, anyway.

however—there is always a however when it comes to him—this does not mean that wanderer doesn't come across points of anxiousness over the fact that his less than affable personality may be something you will grow sick of one day.

he knows he isn't the best choice of a romantic partner; seriously, what were you even thinking... but when he establishes that you are indeed now an irreplaceable part of his life (which will take a long time, good luck), he clings to you with a fierce desperation underneath all that thorn and bristle.

this is part of his visceral fear of abandonment—you are the one thing that he adores, cares for with his entire being (nahida as a close second), and to watch you slip away from him due to his own misgivings will spell out a death sentence for him.

(so please, treat him gently; cradle his cracked palms and broken psyche, and slowly, emphasis on slowly, but surely, he will learn to return in kind.)

this ‘clinginess’ comes forth in his proximity to you. once he has felt comfortable with your relationship, wanderer is quite unafraid to show how touchy he is in his own way.

whether that is to get groceries in your shared home, following after you like a second shadow when you go to the grand bazaar, or even shooing away people that harass you (tba), the wanderer's gaze and all his efforts are always directed to your will.

(you dubbed this as ‘scary cat boyfriend privilege’—and are rewarded with a painful flick to the forehead. ouch.)

—☆★☆—

“where are you going?” the slender hand that stops you from leaving your comfy bed does little to help your need to fall back into the blissful arms of sleep.

“just going to go get some water, kuni.”

waking up to the sight of the wanderer in all his divine glory certainly isn't one of the things you expected in your life, but you welcome it all the same. leaving a simple kiss to his forehead, you pry your hand away with a gentleness you reserve only for him.

he flushes, a lovely red adorning cheeks, to the span of his neck. oh, how you love seeing him melt.

“you won't take too long?”

he doesn't need to breathe, but he sucks in a breath anyway, face twisting to a deep set frown—your telltale sign that your kunikuzushi had a nightmare.

an unanswered question. you won't leave?

your hand caresses the silky soft strands of his purple hair, that in which wanderer nuzzles into. he doesn't seem keen on telling you, and you respect that. you'd wait for him as long as he'd like.

“of course i will. not going anywhere, silly.”

why would i? you convey in that same gesture. i love you.

the tightness of his face relaxes, his grip on your hand loosening. right—you weren't. (you were not going to abandon him.)

“hurry up and come back, then. it's far too early.” his voice is still thick with sleep, though that doesn't temper his signature sass at all.

i love you too. goes unsaid.

your grin sharpens, teasing. “aww, don't miss me too much, okay?”

anddd there's the signature scowl. “...never mind, don't come back.”

“hey!”

shuffling to hide his face from you, wanderer sports a genuine smile, hidden from your sight.

because in your presence, the wanderer stills, and all thoughts of a doomed eternity fall short of how he commits himself to you—wanderer loves and loves, loves you, for you nestle in the space his heart was meant to be, holding onto the mere wisps of your identity and weaving it into the mosaic of his soul.

it's silent save for when you plop yourself back to the bed, bearhugging wanderer and complaining about waking up early again because you stayed up all night playing tcg with him. (he's at 10 wins and 5 losses and he was not going to be caught lacking).

“you do realize that's entirely your fault, right?” he gloats. “it's not my fault my card bested that lawachurl of yours.”

“what?! no way, mister! my all geo team is still superior, mind you-”

once, wanderer wondered about the concept of infinity.

everlasting devotion. of unabashed care and trust. as he listens to your ramblings as the night falls to day, he figures that what you currently share fits that concept just fine.

# observation two: (very) jealous tendencies

it isn't in wanderer's intention to be jealous. well, so he says.

really, he isn't! after all, what was there to be jealous of? absurd! looks, intellect, an extensive range of vocabulary not limited to insults and creative verbal attacks; wanderer boasts quite the sizable number of pros that get most people falling at his feet. (his outward personality leaves much to be desired, however, but his snark does have a certain charm. probably).

and of all the bashful akademiya seniors and well-intentioned young women (and men), you managed to get into a relationship with this black cat of a derisive puppet. this is an achievement worthy of celebration, for not just anyone can take the wanderer and burrow into his many, many guarded walls and claim the title of being his lover.

yet, wanderer is the more jealous one in the relationship.

he knows that you won't cheat on him, and trusts that you won't look at others in such a way. but still, your boyfriend can't help but doubt. be patient when working out his jealousy, for it is a double edged sword—on one hand, wanderer was so adorable when he was jealous; sulky, clingy, hot you name it! and it was very flattering, knowing that he loved you enough to want to keep you all to himself.

but, the other side was quite... a piece of work. should you attempt to tease him about such a thing, it ends in three ways. one, him flying off to god knows where and leaving you alone (😐), two, restricting you from hugging and giving him affection (😭), and worse, giving you the silent treatment (😨). choose your ammunition wisely.

and from this, be prepared for the wanderer to monopolize your attention all to himself— with said admirers mysteriously off the grid or too afraid to approach you for fear of his wrath. i'll say it once: a jealous wanderer is a force to be reckoned with. (and we love him for it)

(he was chided endlessly by nahida for this; “you're scaring all the researchers that want to do a thesis review with [name]!” she says.

a sly smirk was his only reply).

—☆★☆—

“what, and here i thought he had more bark left in him.” wanderer huffs haughtily, with the researcher dashing away as if his life depended on it.

“you'll get scolded by nahida again, you know. i don't think the dendro archon's trusted aide should boast a terrifying reputation.”

he snorts. “lesser lord kusanali has better things to do than chide me for harassment.”

“but you don't have better things to do than scaring away poor kimiya?”

that gets you an eye roll that could reach massive highs of ‘what about it?’ from your boyfriend. “you're overthinking.” (translation: you're right).

“uh huh, sure i am.”

“whatever. who you talk to and interact with is none of my concern. it's not like i care about such things anyway.” he retorts. “i'm not possessive.”

so he says. “by the way, his pickup line was pathetic—‘are you anemo because your beauty blows me away’? atrocious.”

your eyebrow raises in return. really, who was speaking about “not caring” and then judging right after? well, it's fine because he was kinda right.... cyno would definitely get along with that guy.

“it was sincere! i think he has to be commended for his efforts, no?”

“you call that effort?” his face scrunches to a dissatisfied frown.

kinoya, kimiya—he doesn't even remember his name anymore. wanderer doesn't care for those that waste his time, and more especially to those that attempt to get close to you in particular. honestly, what a cheap trick.

and you! you were seriously humoring that moony researcher earlier. you even smiled at him! wanderer seethes, crossing his arms. “its quite irritating, knowing that they flock to you under the guise of—what was it he said? right, ‘shared academic pursuits.’ it was too obvious.”

“first of all: that's rude, second, he really needed help! anyone would feel sorry for him.” you tut, pinching the smooth of wanderer's palm. you wisely decide not to comment on how he immediately interlocks hands with you.

you snicker. “and he was only asking for advice on his research topic, silly.”

“hah! how nice — you're defending him now.” it's incredible how wanderer has the uncanny ability to be just like an annoyed cat that dunked itself into a bucket of cold water; and the way he frowns at you only makes you let out an even worse fit of laughter.

wanderer drinks in the sound, resonating it with the beat of his soul, your laugh the heartbeat echoing deep within his veins. he is reduced to nothing with you—with you, his face relaxes; wanderer may be indifferent to humans, but with you, your mere existence is enough for him to falter like a human, weaken like a human.

and weakly, perhaps in an attempt to save face, he speaks, “you didn't deny it.”

“deny what?”

“...defending him.” (if he were a cat, his ears would definitely fall flat right now).

you let out another light laugh, but sparing your lover the torment, you cling to the side of his arm instead.

“i never had such intentions.” stating it quite firmly, “i'm only saying that there's no competition to be made, darling.”

he gives you a skeptical look in return. “was there even any?”

“none at all.” you lean closer to him, and the wanderer leans into the touch of your hand on his cheek. “since you're winning.”

the flustered blush you receive and the subconscious squeeze of his hand in yours conveys all you need to say.

that did the trick. wanderer's smile is satisfied—smug. “clearly, you managed to make the right call for once.”

“well, i could hardly resist you.”

afterwards, you note that the wanderer's pace doesn't seem as fast as usual anymore. no matter the jaw dropped stares of others at the two of you cozying up together, he never let go of your hand once.

(the next day, kimiya comes to you with a sheepish smile saying that he'd like to focus on his own without your help.

“was it your doing?” you look at the wanderer by your bedside table fastening his vision in pace, voice deadpanning.

“hah? why would i waste my time over some insignificant mortal?” he replies, but as he's putting on his hat, you see him smile to himself.

that little...)

# observation three: secretly? protective/considerate (green flag!!)

if you ask anyone who knows the wanderer on a personal note, you'd find out that he is, indeed, quite considerate—hidden underneath alllll that snark and aloofness and haughtiness, the wanderer cares for those who have helped him in some way, and with you as his partner (romantic), that care is multiplied tenfold hundredfold.

this quality of his, despite being endearing on paper and practice, is reminiscent of that of an aggressive mother hen; if you count wanderer as a hen that pecks someone incessently to show his care.

he chides you like an exasperated young maiden, but the soft way he handles your bruised arm littered with injuries from your recent run in with some strange fontainian seahorse contradicts his harsh scoldings.

(“bested by a fish? are you serious?”

“excuse you, i needed to get it's horns for materials, okay?!”

“...remind me why i'm stuck with an idiot for a companion.”

“uh, because i have a great personality, and you love me?”

“a decision i've made that's quite hard to defend, honestly.”

you stick your tongue out at him. yes, his habits also become yours.)

or how he tells you you're hopeless at cooking, but always manages to excuse himself to cook for you the moment he notices even the slightest decline in your health. one concern though; he throws the bento towards your head—so minus points for domesticity. (...he has cut heart shapes into the vegetables before and has never been the same since.)

if there's anything you can count wanderer for, he will do it. you could ask him to attempt to pluck the very fabric of reality for you, string together the stars and leave them at your feet, and he will do so, huffing all the while (he never means it). he's just smitten like that; not that he would ever verbalize it—yet. his hushed and vulnerable whispers of asking you to let him stay by your side are your closest road to his admittance.

he will not serenade you with ‘shallow declarations of love,’ as he tells you, but you know that he will always be there for you, for better or for worse.

—☆★☆—

fury is an emotion wanderer was once very accustomed to—it reminds him of electric violet, of three betrayals and of yearning for a constitution he was never fated to reach.

and fury tugs at the strings of his being the moment he sees the droplets of tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision.

“who did it?” something bitter and violent manifests in his countenance, his vision pulsing angrily with gales threatening to harm. (it does not harm you, though. it never does.) “who did this to you?”

his grip on your shoulders tightens the more you refuse to answer, both from anger and fear. you're never this silent; and his panic increases when you opt to bury yourself in his neck. wanderer sighs.

“hey. i'm asking who made you cry like this, idiot.”

“...”

“fine, i won't call you an idiot, then.” but impatient way he speaks the syllables that make your name betrays his worry. “just talk to me.”

“...can we just stay here like this?”

“....”

“sorry, that was a little-” you say, voice strained, pulling away; but the wanderer tugs you close, allowing you to hide from the world that seems so out to get you. (he knows that feeling well, after all.)

it's he who entangles himself with you, listening to the steady rise of your heartbeat, wiping away your tears.

“i didn't say you couldn't hug me, stupid. it's fine. do as you like.”

if it were a person that did this to you, that would've been better murder was never really out of the table with him, but when faced with something he is unable to solve for you; whether it be a bad day, bad luck, or even something he cannot control, wanderer finds himself at a loss.

because the concept of love, with you, is foreign—terrifying, even. betrayal and scorn were his guiding compass, and to be rid of it and to be seen by you, held by you, and to know that you were not going to follow in the footsteps of those he once clung to was far too good to believe. (yet he tries. for you.)

returning your embrace only passively, he tries to scramble for words of comfort—and when he fails to find the nerve to do so, he does the only thing he can allow himself to do.

with the kindness and gentleness he fostered (still fosters, thanks to you) from his memories as the kabukimono, the wanderer holds you, if only to remind himself of his place by your side, unchanging and adamant—as you remind him of his place beside yours.

he leads you to calm yourself down, albeit roughly as he tells you to stop fussing over trying to help him get you something wipe your tears with—and for all his flushed visage, he lets you cling to him, seeking his comfort.

i'm here, it goes unsaid. wanderer knows you'd pick up on it anyway. please talk to me.

(“if i die from this, i'll come haunt you as a ghost.” you shake like a leaf in his arms, clutched tight and staring at anywhere but the ground. who comforts someone by putting them almost 80 feet up in the air? heights are so not your thing.

“like i'd let you.” wanderer says, rolling his eyes. “and you're shaking too much. just keep your eyes on me, will you?”

“...was that flirting?”

“i will drop you.”

“wait, i'm kidding!” a particular breeze leaves you in goosebumps, with wanderer tightening his grip on you. “don't let me fall, please?”

“are you stupid?” he snaps, but urges you to look at the sight of the sunset on the horizon. his hold is more gentle this time, too. “why would i let you fall? now stop shaking and hold on to me.”

you think you fell just a little harder for him that day.)

—and if you decide to press a kiss to the back of his nape as a way of thanks, you're rewarded with a playful gale and a little zap to deter you in response.

“watch it, [name].” he says, but the shifty eyed way he doesn't meet your eyes isn't fooling anyone here; neither is the red on his cheeks. “you're too close.”

“hehe, sorry, sorry, couldn't resist.”

nonetheless. he supposes the growing smile on your face in place of your tears are sufficient payment for wanderer's efforts. hmph.

he'll let it slide for today.

(he does a lot of that when it comes to you.)

# deciding conclusion: totally in love with you (real not clickbait)

saying it outright: being with the wanderer is not a smooth road. it is full of hardships, hurt, and learning. there will be many times when his built in self destruction (read: abandonment issues) will kick in, hurting you in the process.

getting him to say ‘i love you’ will seem impossible at first, and there will be times when his doubt pierces your heart and renders it tattered to pieces. he's doing his best chat, pls help him

he will not be able to utter sweet words of adoration like you do, or return your embrace as easily as you would with him—and there will be many moments when he will feel as if he's not enough.

but nourish your affections, stay consistently by his side, show him that he is worth loving, worth staying for, and like the foundations of a steadily built tower, his trust and love for you too will grow.

(it will sometimes feel tiring, it will feel hopeless, and it's more than what you've bargained for, but it will all be worth it in the end.)

because you know he cares; it's in the way his expression morphs into helplessness when he sees your face fall in an argument, how he doesn't push you away when you kiss him and shower him with hugs, and when his hands lock tightly in yours in a sea of people, with you only in his sights. how his eyes betray him to look at you with fondness and warmth.

(it's wordless whenever wanderer decides to hold you tight at night, hugging you like his last lifeline. especially after a disagreement, with only the quietude of the night to observe.

he said some hurtful words today. that much he knows.

“are you asleep?” his voice is muffled against your shirt, and he may not need to breathe, but he inhales your scent anyway, memorizing the sight of you in his arms like a promise. “...you probably are.”

silence. “i'm sorry.”

“.....”

his lip trembles, his grasp on your arms bruising if not for your non-awareness. there's a wetness growing against your shirt, and small sniffles.

“i'm sorry.” and gently, so gently, wanderer presses his forehead against your shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of your body. “i shouldn't have snapped at you and told you those sorts of things.”

i'm sorry i hurt you.

please stay.

please don't let go of me.

i need you.

i love you.

when morning comes, you wake up to the sight of the wanderer in your bed, face nuzzled in your chest.

there are tearstains on his face.)

getting him to be open and vulnerable is akin to keeping a rusty, torn boat afloat; it will not be easy, no, but you know that he tries, (so very hard) to make it work. that he fights desperately against his own clumsily strung tethers and rebuilds himself anew, if only to understand and perceive you—to love you as you deserve.

and when that time comes, wanderer will cling to you, desperately, completely, and make sure your efforts will never ever make you regret giving him the chance to open up and be with you.

—☆★☆—

“what would happen if we ever broke up?”

dropping such a bombshell in the middle of having the wanderer on your lap was not how he thought things would go to, granted how pleasant the atmosphere was—he'd agreed to going on a much needed date (your words) with you after lesser lord kusanali had just graded him on one of his essay papers. (he got an a, obviously)

you don't think you've ever seen such a distraught look cross wanderer's face—aside from the time you finally beat him at tcg (5 out of 4); and you've never seen him look so angry either.

rather, he looked scared.

“what brought this idea on?” he tries to lodge out the words, trying to act coherent. but underneath, a storm brews—his hands are shaking. wanderer feels like he's swallowed a bag full of needles.

am i not doing enough? was i too harsh on them when i scolded them for fighting that damn mechanical desert robot? he's scared. or... do they really....

the mere idea of you being tired of him—sick of him, and ready to leave him behind leaves an ugly, disgusting feeling. like acid on his skin.

perhaps, you don't love him anymore? wanderer panics, senses going overdrive. was it that argument months ago when he hurt your feelings? he knows you know he apologized, and he's doing everything in his power to make sure he wasn't repeating that mistake anymore—but why would you say this out of nowhere?

or maybe it's because he didn't notice you feeling uncomfortable in your relationship? no, you would have definitely told him if so. then what is it? you don't just say things like this out of nowhere so seriously-

“i mean... at this point, i think i wouldn't ever want to break up with you.”

“...what?” wanderer blinks.

“you heard me.” cupping the sides of his face with your hands, you restate your words with more vigor. eyes determined. “i don't think i've ever loved someone so much as i love you. heck, not even close! kuni, if we break up, i might actually never recover.”

and the wanderer falls. how could you even say such a thing?

“that's... you're shameless.” he states it like an insult, but his hands go up to hide his eyes, hiding his embarrassment from your romantic words. “why would you even say something so out of pocket like that? you utter fool. you almost made me think i-”

- would lose you. even thinking it made him feel nauseous.

“why are we still dating then? but really, i mean it. i love you too much.” you coo, and that, in return, leads the wanderer to release an exasperated, weary sigh. if he were human, he's sure his blood pressure would never be normal because of you.

but contrary to his attitude, he relaxes his face and allows you to hold him. lightens up, even. you continue, rambling on, “be honest, you know you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

and that brings out such a bright and dazzling smile on your face that the puppets sarcastic smile is replaced by a real one when you huff and smack at his head. (all is well.)

“you're so unromantic.”

indeed, being with this strange, eccentric puppet was certainly a challenge in more ways than one. nonetheless, you know he cherishes you—because with you, the wanderer is different. he's bristly, infuriating, and honestly a pain (lovingly), but he cares for you.

he tells you to stop ogling at his pretty face and do the dishes, yet he never minds the attention at all. he tells you that you were a fool for accidentally getting yourself injured by eremites because you wanted to save some fungi, but follows you anyway and makes sure no one messes with you.

he says he probably wouldn't miss you while you're gone, but is always the first person you see when you return to sumeru city. it's these little things that make you love him, and you know the feeling is mutual—even if he'll act indifferent about it in the meantime.

“hey, kuni?”

wanderer's eyes are closed, serene. once he knew that you were not, in fact, going to break up with him, he relishes the feeling of his head resting on your lap. it was safe, warm, and everything to him; but he'd rather let the world burn before he tells you. “what?”

“thank you for letting me love you.”

....

“...idiot.” is all he says. you can feel him shift to the side so you won't see his face. “you don't have to thank me for that. that's so sappy...”

(and if you ever saw the slight sheen of glossiness in his eyes, you keep it to yourself.)

i should be thanking you. he thinks instead. i'm glad you love me.

so many things pop up in his head for this, so many unspoken words—and he may not be able to convey such things to you; he might never be able to, but you know that he loves, loves, and adores you.

because you accepted his past, his sins and his imperfections and treated him with tenderness and care. and you know that no matter how many sides of the wanderer you have yet to explore, you will love each one.

and that is enough for him to never let go.

a/n: IM CRYING I FINISHED THIS RIGHT ON TIME AFTER HIS EVENT and his growth has come so far,,, so proud of him 🥹

[vettelsvee]

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

[no-144444]

his disgraced pop princess- (o.piastri 81)

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

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

summary: oscar is there for you through your first real GP weekend

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x singer! reader

warnings: cyberbullying ans slut shaming

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

Oscar Piastri was nervous. It had been two days since he first met you, and now it had been 4 hours since he last texted you. Beside him, Logan was scrolling on his own phone, still making fun of Oscar’s ‘awful puppy-love’, as he called it. It wasn’t awful, just slightly overboard. You two had been texting non-stop since the race, and he was enjoying it. You were funny, sweet, and probably just busy, right? 

Oscar: Doing anything else today? I’m stuck training all day. 

Oscar: Studio…? 

Oscar: I think the fans need new music (it’s me, I’m fans)

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

You were anxious. It had been two days since you met Oscar ‘perfect’ Piastri, and now he’d texted you multiple times while you were busy being on a plane. Beside you in the Uber, was Hallie, your best friend, texting her new mystery boy and laughing at your freak out over not texting him back. You two had been texting non-stop since the race, and you loved it. He was asking all the right questions, he was funny, he was so supportive of you going up against Charles, and evidently, a screenager. 

“I feel bad!” you groaned as you tried to type something out, but nothing seemed good enough. 

“You were on a plane, what was he expecting, a carrier pigeon?” she chuckled. “He’ll survive without texting you for 4 hours, calm down.”

“What do I say?”

She rolled her eyes. “Give me the damn phone.”

You: Sorry I was on a plane and their carrier pigeon network was down. Oops :)

“He is diabolical,” she laughed. “Immediate response, does he not have a life?”

You rolled your eyes and snatched back the phone. “Shut up!”

Oscar: Too bad, I was hoping you were busy making new music :(

You: Well, I’d need inspiration for that and that is the one thing I don’t have. Well, that and people that like me and want to listen to my music.

Oscar: :( 

Oscar: What are you doing today?

Y/n: Lawyers, seeing Charles, helping put the case together and finishing up the legal side of my split from the band. Aka boring as fuck :)

Oscar: Good luck seeing Charles again, I hope it isn’t too bad.

Oscar: Whenever we’re on the same continent again we should meet up for dinner :)

Y/n: Sounds like a plan, and thank you. Good luck with training today :)

“You two deserve each other. You’re equally as cheesy,” Hallie rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not cheesy to like someone,” you scoffed, getting out of the car. “You’re just alone.”

“Not anymore,” she chuckled. 

“Shut up!” you cheered. “Who?”

She smirked. “Tell you later.”

You rolled your eyes. “You suck.”

“I’ll see you later,” she called as she walked off. You were left standing alone. Before walking in, you took a deep breath and willed yourself not to burst into tears. 

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

“It’s defamation!” Charles shouted, making you jump. Everything he did was making you jump. You hadn’t realised how badly everything had affected you until today. You were jumpy, you felt sick, you weren’t sleeping, you weren’t there mentally. 

“No, you’ve defamed Ms. Y/l/n’s reputation,” your lawyer calmly pointed out. 

You wanted it to stop, you wanted everything to stop. You wanted to go back to Sunday and relive the race over and over again. You wanted to be with Lewis again, with Toto again, with Oscar again. You desperately wanted to feel safe. 

Your lawyer was good, and you knew you’d win the case against Charles no matter what, but cleaning up the band would be a big undertaking. You’d always been the one to sign documents for all of them, so that they could pull out at any time. That now meant that you were technically the owner of the name of the band, the licensing rights, the songs, and the money you’d all already made. You were hitting them where it hurts, and you were taking it all. If they wanted to push you out, you’d push them right back. 

“Y/n, come on. It’s all of our band, and we deserve our name, at least,” your brother, Alex, begged. Up to last week you would’ve done anything for him. Now, he was fucking dead to you. 

“You can keep one thing,” you answered, not even looking at them. They prematurely celebrated and thanked you, but you held up a hand to silence them. “You can keep your instruments. I’ll take everything else.”

The room erupted into shouting, from every member of the band. You just got up and walked away. The meeting was over. You had it all. 

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

BREAKING NEWS! WINGS BAND MEMBER Y/N Y/L/N DELETES INSTAGRAM, IS SEEN WITH F1 DRIVER OSCAR PIASTRI,  AND IS PHOTOGRAPHED LEAVING A LAW FIRM!

The 22 year old singer, Y/n Y/l/n is fresh into the scene of being a solo artist after being dropped by her band ‘WINGS’. This weekend she was seen around the Silverstone paddock with long-time friend and possible boyfriend, Lewis Hamilton. Shockingly, the newly crowned ‘Queen of Homewrecking’ is also sticking her nose into another man, Australian driver Oscar Piastri. The pair were seen walking together in the paddock, looking quite close. We would advise him to steer clear of her mess if he was able… 

In another turn of events, Y/l/n decided to delete her entire Instagram page, as well as her Twitter, Tiktok, Threads, and all other social media accounts. While she has opted for a ‘social-media-break’, her close friends and family have not posted about her, but some more famous friends have, including Lewis Hamilton answering questions about her in an interview during the Media day of the British Gran Prix. When asked about his opinion on the band, he said this. 

“Y’know, half of the success of them (WINGS) was Y/n. She really pulled everything together and no one really sees that because she was so careful about showing people that. She never wanted anyone to feel like they (the rest of the band) weren’t 100% committed, because at that time, they were. It’s just sad how people turn on each other, especially after everything she’s done for them.”

And when asked about Charles O’Brien, he had this to say. 

“That pathetic piece of s**t can f**k off and get out of the paddock. There is no place for him here, on any stage, or anywhere in the world. He is a vile creature.”

In other news, she was seen exiting the Law firm, Cravath, Swaine & Moore this afternoon, and 40 minutes later, the rest of the ‘WINGS’ band was seen leaving, looking much more upset than her. 

Something tells us there might be more than meets the eye in this twisted tale…

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

“Hey Y/n,” Oscar’s voice was music to your ears as you sat in your hotel room with dried tears on your cheeks. 

“Hi,” you answered, voice hoarse, just happy to not be alone anymore. 

“How did it go?” He asked, his voice softening. 

You scoffed. “As badly as I thought it would,” you sighed, defeated. “I just wish it would all stop.” 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he sighed. “Charles is a special breed of dickhead.”

“So is the media,” you added. “Did you see the stuff everyone is writing about me? It’s awful-”

“I don’t read about you. I don’t need it anymore. I have the real you now, and that’s the you I’m interested in.” 

Oscar ‘perfect’ Piastri strikes again. 

Your lips broke into a smile. “Thanks Oscar.”

“I mean it. I don’t give a shit about the media, like at all,” he was smiling, you could tell. 

“I’m glad. If you did I don’t think this friendship could’ve worked very well,” you chuckled. “You seriously don’t care that I’m a ‘homewrecking slut’, according to everyone else?”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Your heart swelled. 

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

It had been a few months, Oscar had gotten his first win, you’d wanted to personally kill Zak Brown, you’d gone through the beginnings of the court proceedings for the band things, and you’d finally filed a report against Charles. 

Now, you were in London on your way to Abbey Road Studios. New music for the first time in a few months. First time you’d sung in a few months. Oscar walked beside you, his head covered in a hat to remain inconspicuous. 

You stopped outside the door. Oscar took your hand and pushed the door open for you, then led you in. 

“You’re here for a reason,” he reminded you with a squeeze to the hand. 

The past few months had been emotional to say the least. Yet, Oscar had been there for you the entire time. He truly didn’t care about the press. He liked you. He liked you a lot. You liked him. You liked him a lot. But you two weren’t dating, right? You didn't really know. Friends didn't hold hands, or cuddle, and usually weren't there for you before you make the biggest leap of your life.

He stayed beside you as you walked through the building, getting the grand tour from an employee, only leaving you when you finally went in to record. 

“You’ve got this,” he whispered, holding you in a tight hug. Inside was your manager, Ursula, and your producer Axel. “I believe in you.”

And those 4 words gave you the courage to go in there and sing. 

You sat on the stool they had set up for you, headphones on as Axel droned on about something insignificant, and you brainstormed. You hadn’t even thought about writing for the past few months, despite Oscar trying to convince you that it would make you feel better. You couldn’t touch it. Though now, with no consequences, no one looking at you, no one interested, you reached for the guitar and strung a few cords. You thought about Charles, about the band, about Oscar. Then you thought about nothing.

“When I’m away from you, I’m happier than ever,” You sang, and then the words came flowing freely. 

Three hours later, you had an album on your hands. A good album. A great album. 

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

“You did it,” Oscar smiled as you stepped out of the studio. “Write anything?”

“I think I like you. Like, like like you,” you confessed. He smiled. 

“Good,” he answered. 

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “I just said-”

He pressed his lips to yours softly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’ve like like-d you since the day we met. I’m glad we’re on the same page now.”

You stared at him in shock for a moment, then a smile spread across your face. “You’re such an asshole.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t want to rush you,” he shrugged. “Anyway, write anything?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, handing him a CD. “One of two in the world, don’t lose it.”

His eyes lit up, a big smile on his face. “Is this the perks of being Y/n Y/l/n’s boyfriend? Exclusive insight into new music?”

“Calling yourself my boyfriend?” you quirked an eyebrow, smiling. 

“Oh baby, I’ve called myself your boyfriend for the past 2 months, I’m not stopping now,” he smiled, and your heart could’ve melted.

You chuckled. "Always the charmer Piastri."

He smirked, then something behind his eyes changed, and he started blushing. He was about to ask you something important. “Come to Monza with me? Please?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

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

You touched down in Italy in Max’s private jet. You’d spent the afternoon getting to know him, Kelly, and Penelope, who’d taken a significant liking to you. The flight had been great, you’d never been on a jet before and it was as luxurious and comfortable as you’d imagined. Another part of the journey that was comfortable was Oscar letting you lay on him the entire time. You two were new but it looked like you’d been together forever. It felt like it too. It felt like he saw you. The real you. And he wasn’t scared or disgusted, or anything else that your brain told you he’d be. He was just Oscar. 

You left the jet, the perks of flying in the middle of the night meant that no fans were waiting for you outside. You didn’t need to add more flames to the fire of his insane life. You wanted to keep your ‘scandals’ to yourself and to just let him race. 

He gave your hand a squeeze to pull you back into the moment. “You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m ok, just nervous about this weekend.”

“You don’t need to be nervous, you don’t even have to leave my driver’s room if you don’t want to. I just… I wanted you here.”

“I want to be here,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I want to be around you.”

Even though it was dark, you could see the blush on his cheeks. 

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

Media day began as it always did, walking into the paddock with about a hundred cameras on him. Only this time, the hundred cameras were pointed at him and you, more specifically, you two holding hands. It wasn't even a conscious thing you did. You just took his hand to try and calm yourself down. You liked how he gently brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, you liked how he would squeeze your hand every now and then, and you liked how he led you through the sea of reporters with a simple smile, and a firm hold.

When you got to the McLaren motorhome, you and Oscar parted ways with a quick kiss and a promise of lunch together. You decided to join Alex Dunne, one of McLaren's development drivers and a current F3 driver for a track walk and interview. You two chatted and laughed, getting on really well. The weather was sweltering, so you went back inside to meet Lando and Oscar for lunch.

"Y/n!" Lando smiled, running up to you.

"Hey Lan," you greeted, hugging him back as he engulfed you in one of his bear-hugs.

"How are you?" he asked, pulling back.

"All good thanks, you?"

"Fine," he shrugged, then turned his attention to Oscar and you. He smirked. "Has he asked you out yet?"

You chuckled, nodding. "He has."

"My ship has sailed!" He cheered.

"What? You have a boat?" Oscar questioned, as you and Lando laughed.

The rest of the day went well, only being bombarded with cameras every now and then, and somehow, whenever they found you, Oscar came right along to take you away. You appreciated the concern from him, and it definitely took the edge off some of the comments people made, especially the internet. Who knew you and Oscar would be such big news? Big news that hadn't even been confirmed, at that.

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

After lunch, Oscar was forced into more press, this time, they decided to ask about you. You watched on from the McLaren hospitality as the interviewer said some choice words about you.

"So, you were seen earlier entering the paddock with Y/n Y/l/n, yes?"

"Yes," Oscar replied.

"You two were holding hands," she pointed out.

"There was a swarm of reporters, I didn't want to leave her behind," he shrugged. You quickly realised that you hadn't talked about whether or not you wanted to tell the media bout your budding relationship.

"So you aren't dating Y/n 'home-wrecker' Y/l/n?"

Oscar's face fell into a frown. "Her middle name is Y/m/n, not home-wrecker, and yes, I'm her boyfriend."

With that he moved on, leaving the interviewer shocked and defeated.

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

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[baguettesandbows]

3

tw!! talk of sa

I know Arkham Knight happened in one night, but i’m spreading it out slightly for the sake of the story.

You suddenly understood why every woman in Arkham looked numb.

As you walked out of Jefferson’s office, you didn’t flinch at the yelling from the office next door, as you usually would. You walked past the group of patients that would make obscene comments about you.

You found yourself in your room, staring blankly at the white peeling wall.

You wanted Jason. You wanted him to find you, to find out what happened. You wanted him to hurt Jefferson, the same way you’ve watched him in his Robin suit hurt men that have touched you.

You grab your pillow, and scream into it, possibly annoying other patients but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for it to get out.

The small visiting room seemed smaller when Dick Grayson was in it.

You looked at the crayons on the table, breaking them in half as Dick spoke to you.

“He’s being investigated.” Dick says quietly, choosing not to sit on the only couch, not wanting to intrude. “But with the luck people have had with Arkhams staff..”

Dick sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at you. “Until he’s gone, we’ve had them switch out your psychiatrist.”

His words make you look up.

“You mean- this wasn’t enough to get me out of here?” You say stiffly, your hands trembling around the broken crayons. “So what, your just going to trust another fucked up staff member? He fucking assaulted me Dick!” Your voice gets higher throughout the sentence.

“We didn’t know an assistant was taking over, Reader. They didn’t tell anything to us about it. We would have- we would have investigated him before he ever came close to talking to you.”

You snort. “Like that makes a difference for me to know that?”

Dicks fists clench. You knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was angry at himself. Mostly Bruce, who hasn’t spoken to you once since he put you in Arkham. Although, you know he’s still a part of it, as you get sent gift baskets from Alfred weekly.

“This.. this is the best place for you right now.” Dick says, exhaustion seeping into his words. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, either.

“I hate you.” You whisper harshly, rubbing the crayons against the table.

“I know.”

The first sign you realized something was wrong, was when security lessened in Arkham.

Staff members were getting fired left and right. You assume it was Bruce, finally taking charge of Arkham and firing all of the twisted staff.

You walked down one of the catwalks, walking down the stairs to look at the lunch tables, driving where to sit, when you heard the television.

“Man charged with biting someone-“ Normal. “In a laundry unit after victim heard him screaming at himself.”

Zombie apocalypse? Gothams probably already had one.

You shake your head and walk over to one of the corner tables, sliding into the seat and setting your tray on the table. A woman sits down across from you, but pays no attention as she keeps to herself.

You stuff the slop into your mouth, because as much as you hated the food, you wanted to look like yourself when Jason came back.

If.

When.

Fuck.

You slam the tray of slop, on the edge of the table, making it fly off the table and onto the ground. The woman’s cross from you flinches but doesn’t react.

You can’t believe that your losing the idea that Jason’s alive. Maybe Jefferson fucked you up more than you thought.

“Oh shit- look how fucked up the guy looks!”

Your gaze moves to the television, where they show the victim of the biting man. Your eyebrows furrow are the image. *Is that allowed on the news*?

“Fuck- imagine being known as the guy who bit someone.”

“Carol, you used to eat your victims hair.”

You scrunch your nose and focus on the television instead of the patients conversations.

The second time you realized something was different, was when they shut off the news in the rec rooms.

You checked with the male block, and one had informed you that theirs was shut off too.

Gothams news was something people were used to. What was so horrific, that they wouldn’t show Arkhams patients?

With the lessening staff, you noticed more and more fights break out. It felt different than the years you’ve been here. There wasn’t the threat of a nurse with a syringe behind you at every problem.

You’ve started tying your doorknob to your bed frame just in case.

At night, you felt your bed frame jiggling. You bolted upright to see your neighbor trying to open the door, and you quickly walked over.

Visiting has gotten usual with her, since her guard had gotten fired.

You let her in before shutting the door behind her, and turn to face her. “What?”

She, Anna, looks at you with a grin. “They’ve given him a name.”

You look at her weirdly before walking over to your bed and sitting down. “Who?”

“The guy whose been dropping fear gas everywhere. Didn’t you hear Steph talking about it?”

Steph- a patient whose boyfriend works as a journalist.

“No- I barely talk to her.” You mumble, watching as Anna walks over to your dresser and grabs a baked good from the gift basket. “So a guy has been behind these weird attacks?”

Anna nods, her lips pursed together as she chooses form your stash. “Apparently no one can find anything out about him. Only knows he’s working with Scarecrow. Do you like these?” She holds up a blueberry muffin and you wave her off to take it. “So he like- calls himself the Arkham Knight. Or at least, that’s what Stephs boyfriend said.”

You snort. “Wonder who he’s after.”

Anna nods, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “Yet he’s the first villain to name himself after Batman. If I had the money to become a high class villain, that would’ve been my first idea.”

You watch as she bites into one of the muffins. “No one’s as smart as you, Anna.” You say, sarcastically, but she doesn’t ever notice that.

You look at the barred window in your room, and get up, walking over to it. Only the tips of your fingertips can reach it, so all your able to see is the top of a tree growing next to Arkham.

“Arkham Knight.” You mumble to yourself. “Let’s hope your different than the others.”

[yanderenightmare]

L "Lawliet"

rewatched Death Note and just couldn't resist...

TW: strict schooling ig, orphan reader, creepy behavior

gn reader

You were placed in Wammy’s House at an age you don’t remember. To you and most of the orphans here, it’s been your entire lives. Birthdays aren’t celebrated. The days are cold, the residents even colder. There was a time when you’d consider them brothers and sisters, but that’s also long ago now. No one is close to each other in this house.

It’s a rather stale existence with boring conditions unfit for normal children – the solitude, the competition, the games, always a ploy to make each other feel worthless. And for what… more riddles to solve?

You’d long lost interest in proving yourself among the prodigies. When you were given puzzles, you always played with them differently than the rest. They’d tell you to fill out the sheets, and you ended up making origami swans instead.

Looking around at the others, you knew you would never understand them – all blank faces staring into space. They all make you uneasy. You don’t know if it’s you or them that’s missing something, but you recognize it’s a rather pointless question to be begged. 

So you leave your paper flock on the floor and walk away.

You’d started putting the chisel of a black marker to the library books in your spare time – trying to make something else out of the boring pages. Something more palatable than the droning of law and policy you’d already read ten times over.

You had blacked out the word doppelganger when there came a disturbance.

“You had 84% of them right.”

You peeked up from the book, lowering your knees from where you had them tucked close for privacy – sitting on the floor between two bookshelves – a little nook you’d discovered to hide yourself from the rest of the busy readers in the usually crowded library.

It was empty now. Everyone was otherwise busy with the test still.

And yet, a mess of black hair was crouched down in front of you, shadowing his equally dark eyes. He held your swans unfolded in his hands. It was a disturbing sight for some reason – as though he’d dissected their guts. 

“You left 16% unanswered. Most people would test their luck and guess.”

L must have been the least creative alias born in the dull walls of Wammy’s House, and yet, he’s supposed to be the brightest of all those living there. He always finishes your tests early and leaves in favor of his own devices. Much like you, you suppose. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before.

Suppose it’s only courtesy you pay him the same effort even when what you really want is to tell him to leave you alone…

You narrowed your eyes a bit, looking at him.

You sensed foul play in a game you had no wish to partake in but moved across the board like a sacrificial pawn anyway. That’s how you play these things, after all – never show your cards.

“There’s nothing to guess.” You sigh – despite knowing he already knows all this. “The blanks are trick questions.”

“So you noticed, too?” His eyes are like inkblots – much like those spills you’ve made in your book when you let the marker rest too long. He dropped your papers between you in favor of gripping his knees, leaning forward. “We’re the only ones.”

You purse your lips at his eagerness. You should have played dumb from the start – should have said you swiped the answer sheet from the headmaster’s office. He’d only spoken all but four sentences, and you were already exhausted. Any conversation with any one of your peers was like an interrogation.

“You started folding paper cranes when I was 94% done. Easy logistics would put you 6% ahead of me. But, unlike me, it didn’t seem you were filling out the answer sheets in any hurry. In fact… you seemed bored. And in that case, I’d put you around 16%, no... 18% ahead of me.”

You allowed the following silence to inform him that his ramblings were boring you. But it didn't seem he took the hint – showing no signs he planned on leaving.

Your eyes grew more jaded.

“Paper swans.” You corrected blandly. “You know my alias is Swan.”

You clapped your book together and sighed again.

“And we both know you were finished long before I started folding them.” 

He had a small smile on his face. It looked as if you’d drawn it on with your marker.

“You can state all the percentages in the world to try and confuse me, but your mind games won’t get under my skin for one single simple reason, L…” You got up and brushed off the dust, then walked away while saying, “I’m not interested in playing – not with you or anyone else in this miserable place. So do me a favor and leave me alone.”

L watches you leave and taps his lips with his pointer.

Puzzles and answer sheets have bored him for a while. Maybe he ought to play with you instead…

[blubunz]

BREAK A RABBIT'S LEG

— leon s. kennedy x f! bunny hybrid! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: sweet tooth rotting smut, soft dom leon, praise kink, vanilla sex, p in v, starting this account with something light and simple.

A/N: First fic here! Actually, first xreader fic ever.

Leon doesn't believe in crazy superstitions, having worked in a completely opposite field from it. Though, he believes that the day he got you was the luckiest day of his life.

You were on edge at first, but Leon was patient enough to lure you out of your hiding spot, mainly with treats and toys. He doesn't hate it, he enjoys having you taking his mind off things for once, something completely detached from his work.

By now, you seem to be comfortable enough to walk around the house like it's your own, sometimes wearing the most provocative outfit too, Leon has to hold back from pouncing on you whenever he gets home.

To him, you're not only his lucky charm, but also his precious darling — which are all the same to him, you make him so, so happy no matter what you do. He likes how you're so energetic now, at least more than when he first got you home. And then, you begin to ask questions.

You say you've seen the outside world a few tines, through fleeting glances from your past, your kind aren't seen out there, mostly cause you're not exactly 100% humans.

Even if they think it's cosplay, Leon doesn't allow you to go out despite your argument — he doesn't want to lose you.

Can't you see? It's too dangerous out there in the open world, Leon has been providing you with every necessity and even the slightest of attention, yet you're asking for more? He's starting to think he may had spoiled you too much.

On one particular evening, he gets home, all bones aching and pain growing, he slumps on the couch, seeing you peek out from the hall. His eyes soften at the sight, no matter how upset or exhausted he is.

“Hey, princess.” He coos, and you take that as a welcoming sign and step closer, Leon has to hold back a groan when he sees you in only your underwear.

“Hi, Leon.” You hug him and nuzzle up to his neck, his face sitting firmly between your long, fluffy ears.

“Sweetie, why—” He paused, gulping a bit. “—why aren’t you wearing proper clothings?”

“It's hot today.”

“We have air conditioners.”

You grow silent, eyebrows furrowing. “So?”

“Do you want something, pretty?” He asks, as he pulls you up to his lap, marvelling at how soft your tits are and how they sit so snug and delectable in his palms.

You shake your head no, and he smiles.

“How was work, Leon?” You ask. “I can see you're tired, so I just...I thought maybe I can help you.”

“You're right, work was tiresome, bunny.” Leon sighs. “You don't mind me using my favorite lucky charm, right?”

Your ear twitches as you nod, shamefully look away when he calls you that. You aren't sure what sort of "luck" you're giving him, but as long as he is happy, it's all that matters.

And to be honest, Leon knows you're not actually a luck magnet, his days have their ups and downs. It's a different view for him, you don't bring luck, you are luck.

You're the light of his cruel life, reminds him of his starting years as a rookie — innocent and full of life. It was because of greed, of people, that he turned out like this — a mess, an unfitting puzzle piece, yet somehow you manage to fit with him just fine.

Leon dips his head down and kisses your chest, all over the skin before ending with a cute little nip on your sensitive bud. You gasp, and then he gets the whole thing in his mouth.

Leon sucks and kneeds your tits like crazy, drpols rumning down his chin and his eyes looking fuzzy. God, has he ever looked this pathetic?

He leaves marks and hickeys all over your chest, trailing down to your stomach then down to the band of your undies, he doesn't pull it down yet, savoring how your juices cling to the fabric when he kisses on your sweet clit.

“Tastes so sweet, pretty bunny.” He praises, and you can only whine needily in response, urging him to devour you by tugging his head more against your dripping cunt.

“Please—” You plea, grinding your slit against his lips and bumping his nose.

“Of course, princess, I'm getting to it.” He chuckles and pulls your panties down, quickly lubing his two fingers and spreading your hole open.

You mewl and squirm, his fingers are always so thick and longer than yours, so you hardly can satisfy yourself nowadays due to your body's constant need for Leon, for he's now the only one who can satisfy you.

You never have to beg, he already fishes out his cock and rubs pre-cum all over while maintaining eye contacts with you, hypnotizing you into his pretty baby blues.

“Ready, bunny?”

You nod at that, and he replaces his fingers with his thick, veiny cock. Both of you groan, and your arms find their ways around his neck, clawing his back.

Leon sucks in a breath, he's addicted to having your cunt wrapped around his aching shaft, and with the way your walls tighten up with each little movement he makes...fuck, he's trying hard not to cum so soon.

“So good, princess. Such a good girl for me, yeah? Come on, don't be shy.” He gently coos, his chest presses firmly against your own as he looks deep into your teary and lust-filled eyes. His hips begin to move, and you groan, your own hips bucking forward to get him to do it faster.

“That's it, take what you deserve, yeah, my good girl?”

“Ah-ah—! Mhm! Mhm!” You moan louder when he increases his pace, balls smacking against your ass as the tip kisses right into your womb. He was so thick, and you can feel his rlveins rippling and pulsing with each thrust he delivers into your needy pussy.

“Mngh. Good...girl—” He pants against your neck, arms wrap around your whole body, and lift your hips up so he can drive deeper into you.

“Good—”

Thrusts.

“Fucking—”

Thrusts.

“Girl—!”

Thrusts.

His toes curl, dipping into the mattress as he raises both your hips higher, his grunts turn into moans, and primal growls like an animal. His eyes roll up as his teeth sink down your shoulder, you would've laughed at the sight, teasing him a little, but Leon keeps distracting your mind with his brutal thrusts, pounding you like an animal. How can you focus on anything else when you and your pussy are so addicted to his cock?

His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated, both of your moans bounce off the wall. He grunts out his climax, pulling you into a bruising kiss before releasing his load in you.

Your eyes roll up as you visibly shudder, jaw hanging open and hence making it easy for him to push his tongue in and wrap it around yours, sucking your tongue and the sounds you two make are so lewd.

You cum too, pussy clamping tight while juices flowing out, and your clit twitches at how hard you just cummed, like you never had sex ever.

Leon pants, kissing your neck gently as he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. “Bath time, bunny.” He smiles, kissing your cheek before letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he walks.

You whine when he settles you in the hot tub. The warm temperature soothes your pain somewhat.

“I know, I know, sweetie.” He kisses your forehead, then up to your long ears before whispering into them. “I'll take good care of you, just relax.”

[razorblade180]

Pretty like the…

Jaune:*looking at maps*….

knock knock knock

Ruby:Jaune? You awake? I need your help…

Jaune:It’s open.

Ruby:*walks in* Thanks.

Jaune:*looks up* What’s the- wow.

Usually when Ruby asks for help, it’s to grab something from a high shelf. Jaune wasn’t expecting the girl to be standing in front of him wearing a pitch black dress that fanned out into a frilly skirt. White petals were embroidered along the hemline that matched silver heels and a headband with a budding rose.

Ruby:Thoughts?

Jaune:What did Weiss sign you up for?

Ruby: A lame ass guard job at a gala and banquet.

Jaune:Is there a reason to say both?

Ruby:Apparently! Anyways, even the hired help has to dress the part. The theme is monochrome. At least the food is free and black is one of my favorite colors. Makes me look a little less stupid.

Jaune:If this is stupid then all my outfits are brainless. I think you look nice.

Ruby:Can you help me lace up the back?

Jaune:No problem!

Ruby:Thank you!!! I’m so done fighting with this outfit.

She turns around for him to let him figure out the stringy mess.

Jaune:How long is the gala?

Ruby:Gala and banquet. It’s like five hours. Something ridiculous. I still have to do a little makeup and find a decent accessory.

Jaune:It kinda sounds like you’re taking this pretty seriously? Done!

Ruby:*turns around* It pains me to say it, but I’m not immune to silent judgement. If I do this right I’ll look like everyone else and not draw attention.

Jaune:Do it too well though and nobody will keep their eyes off you. They’ll be trying to figure out who the prettiest girl at the party is.

Ruby:Eh, second prettiest at best. Yang’s coming too.

Jaune:Pfft, wow. I thought my self esteem was low.

Ruby:What!? I’m right! Yang is…Yang. Standing out is her thing.

Jaune:So? Doesn’t kick you down a peg. I’m sure she’d say the same.

Ruby:Because her sister brain is out of touch with reality. It’s always been our dynamic. Not that it’s that big of a deal. People flocking to her is second nature. Yang’s gorgeous.

Jaune:Maybe. I mean, yeah Yang is pretty stunning.

Ruby:See!? You’d be crazy to think otherwise. She’s literally like sunlight in human form.

Jaune:So what if she’s like the sun? *fixes headband* There’s always someone who’s more captivated by gentle moonlight. *smiles*

Ruby:…*red* Oh, I ummm- that’s true I suppose.

Jaune:I think I have your accessory situation solved too. Every Arc has a little something.

He walks over to his belongings and starts rummaging around before gaining a sense of relief for finding it. Jaune returns with a simple pendant with his emblem on it.

Ruby:That looks mildly important…

Jaune:I never wear it. I’d probably break it if I did. Plus it feels out of place. With you though, it just might tie the look together.

Ruby:Should you really be trusting me with-

Jaune:I trust you with my life, don’t I?

The girl is left speechless, helpless as he gets behind her again. The pendant slowly rests on her chest as Jaune connects the back. With his little contribution added, he pulls out camera mode on his scroll so she gets a good look at herself. A sheepish smile snuck onto her face that caused both of them to chuckle.

Jaune:See? Just like moonlight.

Ruby:Soooo that means I captivate you?

Jaune:*red* …Always.

The room fell quiet. Both stared silently at one another, their distance closing a little more. It wasn’t intentional, but Ruby’s feet began to raise off the ground while Jaune seemed to be leaning down slowly. Their eye lids gradually started to close before a loud shout brought them back to reality, creating the distance again.

Weiss:RUBY! IT’S ALMOST TIME! YOU WANT YOUR MAKE UP DONE OR NOT!?

Ruby:Umm I uhh, should probably…

Jaune:Yeah. Uhh okay. Good luck.

Ruby:Th-Thanks! I’ll keep the pendant safe, sooo yeah. *rushes out*

Jaune:…Well now I have five hours to rationalize all of that just now.

xxxxxx

Weiss:There you are! I’ve been yelling your name for minutes.

Ruby:Sorry! I needed help with my outfit.

Weiss:Well you look good.

Ruby:Thanks. I feel good. *blushes* Pretty even.

Weiss:That is the magic of a good outfit.

Ruby:Yeah, the outfit.

[amyzworldds]

Part Two: From Classmates to Soulmates

Masterlist | Part 1

Y/N, a vibrant solo artist, and Wonwoo, the reserved Seventeen member, share a bond that blossoms from high school friendship into something deeper. Her chaotic energy clashes with his quiet nature, but their connection—full of teasing, cat photos, and unspoken sparks—grows through years of laughter and challenges, proving opposites can be inseparable. Pairing: Wonwoo x reader Genre: Fluff

The internet was buzzing. Fans who’d once flooded Y/N and Wonwoo’s old posts with “bestie goals” emojis now noticed the silence. No more candid stories of Y/N crashing Seventeen’s practice, no more Wonwoo lurking in the background of her vlogs. Instead, her feed was full of Jaehyun—laughing on Star Buddies, sharing smoothies, posing with peace signs. Hashtags like #Yaehyun trended, while #WonYN faded into memory.

Y/N saw the speculation but brushed it off. They’re just bored. It’s fine. But it wasn’t fine. Wonwoo’s absence left a hole—his dry texts, his rare replies. He’d gone cold, and she felt it like a winter she couldn’t shake. She’d catch glimpses of him on Seventeen’s lives, his quiet smile unchanged, but his eyes seemed... distant. Angry, even. At her? At himself? She didn’t know, and it killed her.

Wonwoo wasn’t oblivious either. Every Jaehyun story she posted twisted the knife deeper. He’d scroll past, jaw tight, hating how he’d let her slip away. Why didn’t I say something? He was mad—at her for pulling back, at himself for not stopping her, at Jaehyun for being there when he wasn’t. His members noticed too. Mingyu’s teasing about “Yaehyun” stopped after Wonwoo snapped at him one night. “Drop it, Gyu.” The room went quiet, and no one brought her up again.

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

Y/N and Jaehyun grew closer, bonded by Star Buddies and late-night chats. He was sweet, attentive, everything a friend should be. But every time he laughed at her jokes, she’d think, Wonwoo would’ve rolled his eyes. When he let her ramble, she’d miss Wonwoo’s sarcastic “Are you done?” Jaehyun was great, but he wasn’t him. And that realization hit her hard—she didn’t just miss Wonwoo as a friend. She loved him. Not the safe, platonic kind. The kind that made her chest ache.

Jaehyun, though, was falling. He’d light up when she texted, save her favorite snacks, linger a little too long when they hugged. Y/N didn’t see it—or maybe she didn’t want to. She was too busy gaslighting herself into thinking her heart didn’t belong to a certain bespectacled introvert.

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

One chilly autumn evening, Jaehyun texted Y/N to meet at a park near Han River. She showed up in a oversized hoodie, her hair messy from a long day, expecting a casual hangout. They sat on a bench, eating kimbap from a convenience store, laughing about their latest episode where Y/N accidentally tripped into a foam pit.

“You’re a walking disaster,” Jaehyun teased, handing her a soda. “How do you survive?”

“Pure luck,” she grinned, nudging him. “And good friends who save me from myself.”

He smiled, but it faltered. The air shifted, and Y/N’s stomach twisted. She knew that look—too serious, too soft.

“Y/N,” Jaehyun said, voice low. “I need to tell you something.”

She froze, chopsticks mid-air. No. Please don’t.

“I like you,” he said, eyes earnest. “Like, really like you. I thought maybe you felt the same, but... I just had to say it.”

Her heart sank. Jaehyun’s confession hung between them, heavy and fragile. She liked him—his kindness, his laugh—but not like that. Never like that.

“Jaehyun...” She set the kimbap down, voice trembling. “You’re amazing. Really. But I... I like someone else.”

He blinked, processing. Then, with a sad smile, he asked, “It’s Wonwoo, isn’t it?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She hadn’t said his name, but Jaehyun knew. She always mentioned Wonwoo—how he’d hate this spicy snack, how he’d love that stray cat they saw. It slipped out, and she never noticed until now.

She looked away, cheeks burning. “I... I don’t know.”

But she did. Admitting it to herself felt like jumping off a cliff—she loved Wonwoo. Not just as her best friend, but as the one who made her world brighter, louder, better.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, masking the hurt in his eyes. “It’s okay, Y/N. I see it. You light up when you talk about him.” He paused, then added, “I’ll be here, you know. As a friend, or... if you ever change your mind.”

Her throat tightened. She hated hurting him—Jaehyun, who’d been nothing but good. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, don’t apologize for how you feel.” He stood, brushing off his jeans. “It’s getting late. Let me drop you home.”

“No, I... I wanna stay here a bit,” she said, voice small. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Text me when you’re home, okay? And don’t overthink this. I’ll be alright.”

She forced a smile as he left, but the moment his figure faded, the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands, tears spilling. She’d hurt Jaehyun, and worse, she’d hurt herself by pushing Wonwoo away. This park—it was blocks from his and Mingyu’s place. The realization hit like a wave, and before she could stop herself, she pulled out her phone.

Her thumb shook as she dialed Wonwoo. It rang once, twice, then—

“Y/N?” His voice was low, cautious. Weeks of silence, and now this.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a sob. She couldn’t stop—tears, guilt, everything pouring out.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Panic crept into his tone. “Where are you?”

“The p-park,” she hiccuped. “Near your place.”“Stay there. I’m coming.” The call ended abruptly.

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

Wonwoo didn’t think—he just ran. Heart pounding, shoes slapping pavement, he cut through streets until he reached the park. The night was cold, but he barely felt it. All he could hear was her crying, echoing in his head. She’s hurt. She needs me.

He spotted her on the bench, shoulders shaking, face buried in her knees. His chest ached—anger at himself, at her, at everything fading into worry. He slowed, catching his breath, and approached.

“Y/N.”

She looked up, eyes red and puffy, mascara smudged. “Wonwoo...”

Her voice broke, and before he could say anything, she stood and threw herself into his arms, hugging him like he might vanish. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his jacket. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you. I didn’t mean to—I just—”

He froze, then slowly wrapped his arms around her, one hand resting on her head. “Hey, slow down. Why are you crying?”

She pulled back, teary eyes meeting his. “I hurt Jaehyun. He... he likes me, and I told him I don’t feel the same. It hurt him, and it hurts me because I hate hurting people, but I can’t pretend I like him when—” She stopped, biting her lip.

Wonwoo’s heart thudded. When what? But he didn’t push. Instead, he brushed a tear from her cheek, his touch gentle despite the storm in his chest. “You didn’t mean to hurt him. You were honest. That’s enough.”

She shook her head, clinging to his sleeve. “It’s not just that. I messed up with you too. I pulled away because I was scared, and now you’re mad at me, and I don’t blame you, but I—” Her voice cracked. “Do you still want to be my friend, Wonwoo? Please?”

He stared at her, something breaking inside. Mad? He wasn’t mad—not really. He was terrified of losing her, furious at himself for letting it get this far. Her question, so small and raw, undid him.

“Y/N,” he said, voice soft but firm. He cupped her face, wiping another tear with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She blinked, lips trembling. “Really?”

He chuckled, a low sound that warmed the cold night. “You think I’d let you ditch me that easily? You’re stuck with me, chaos and all.”

She laughed through her tears, a shaky, relieved sound, and hugged him again, burying her face in his chest. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” he murmured, resting his chin on her head. His heart screamed to say more—to tell her how her distance gutted him, how Jaehyun’s name in her stories felt like a punch, how he loved her in a way that wasn’t just friends. But not now. Not when she was hurting.

They stood there, her sobs quieting, his arms steady around her. The park was silent, save for the rustle of leaves, but to Y/N, it felt like the world was right again—Wonwoo was here, and that was enough.

For now.

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

Y/N and Wonwoo were back to their old rhythm—or close enough. The park reunion had patched the cracks in their friendship, and Y/N, true to form, dove back in with double the chaos. She was a whirlwind again, flooding Wonwoo’s phone with texts, voice notes, and photos of every stray cat she’d spotted during their months apart.

One afternoon, she barged into Seventeen’s practice room, arms full of convenience store snacks. “Wonwoo! Guys! I got jjajangmyeon-flavored chips and those weird gummy worms you like!” she announced, dumping the haul on the floor.

Wonwoo, stretching nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You bought the whole store again, didn’t you?”

“Only the good stuff!” She grinned, plopping beside him and launching into a story about her Star Buddies taping. “So, I tripped on a rope during this obstacle course, and Jaehyun caught me, but I still faceplanted into a pile of balloons. Balloons, Wonwoo! I looked like a human piñata!”

He chuckled, patting her head absently. “Sounds about right. You’re a walking disaster.”

She stuck out her tongue but leaned into his touch, unbothered. The members exchanged glances—Hoshi’s smirk, Jeonghan’s knowing nod. Wonwoo was smiling again, his quiet warmth back. Y/N’s energy filled the room, and he soaked it up like he’d been starving for it.

Later, as they sat eating, she scrolled through her phone, shoving it in his face. “Look at this cat I saw yesterday! Orange, fluffy, total Wonwoo vibes. I named him Glasses Jr.!”

“Stop naming things after me,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, and he zoomed in on the photo. “It’s cute, though.”

“Right? I have, like, fifty more. Hang on—” She swiped through her gallery, narrating each cat’s imaginary backstory while Wonwoo listened, nodding like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Mingyu leaned over to Vernon, whispering, “They’re back to normal. Thank God. Grumpy Wonwoo was getting old.”

“Normal?” Vernon snorted. “They’re one step from holding hands and calling it ‘friendship.’”

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

But normal wasn’t quite normal. The spark was back—stronger, brighter. It was in the way Y/N’s laugh made Wonwoo’s chest tighten, or how her arm brushing his sent a jolt through her. Their hugs lingered a beat too long, their smiles carried a weight they didn’t name. When she’d fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights, he’d freeze, afraid to wake her but memorizing the moment. When he’d adjust her scarf on a chilly day, she’d blush but pretend it was the cold.

The members saw it—Seungkwan’s eye-rolls, Dino’s not-so-subtle “Just date already!” when they bickered. Even fans noticed, old #WonYN clips resurfacing with comments like “they’re soulmates, fight me.” But neither dared speak it. Not yet.

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

Then, in early 2020, a storm hit. A blurry photo surfaced online—Wonwoo at a café, a girl leaning close, laughing. The caption? “Seventeen’s Wonwoo spotted on a date!” Fans exploded, some defensive, others shipping the “mystery girl.” It spread like wildfire, and Y/N saw it before Wonwoo could explain.

She was at her dorm, scrolling Twitter, when the photo popped up. Her stomach dropped. The girl was pretty—smiling, casual, someone who looked like she fit his quiet world. Y/N’s mind spiraled. Is he seeing someone? Did I miss my chance? The thought of him with someone else—someone not her—stung more than she’d expected.

She didn’t text him. Didn’t call. Instead, she pulled back again, slower this time. No practice room visits, no cat photos, no late-night rants. Her texts became polite, short. “Busy today, talk later!” She hated it, but the fear was louder than her heart.

Wonwoo felt the shift immediately. Her silence was deafening—worse than before. He’d scroll through their old chats, her absence a weight he couldn’t shake. The rumor? He barely cared about it until he realized she did. And he hated himself for not seeing it sooner.

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

One evening, fed up, he grabbed his jacket and headed to her place. No plan, just a need to fix this. When he knocked, Y/N opened the door, her hair in a messy bun, eyes tired. She didn’t smile—just stepped aside and shuffled to her couch, curling into a blanket.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door. “You’ve been... quiet.”

“Just busy,” she mumbled, staring at her TV. It was off.

He frowned, sitting across from her. “Y/N, what’s going on? You’re doing it again—pulling away.”

She shrugged, picking at her blanket. “I’m fine, Wonwoo. You don’t have to check on me.”

“Bullshit,” he said, sharper than he meant. She flinched, and he softened, leaning forward. “Talk to me. Please.”

Her eyes flicked to him, guarded. “I saw the photo. You and that girl. Everyone’s saying you’re dating.”

He blinked, then groaned, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what this is about? Y/N, it’s not true. She’s a friend of a friend—Seungcheol’s, actually. We were at a group hangout, she went to the bathroom, and some fan snapped a pic. That’s it.”

She bit her lip, unconvinced. “It looked... real. You were smiling.”

“Because she told a dumb joke!” He laughed, exasperated. “I wasn’t on a date. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, heart pounding. The words were there, heavy, begging to spill.

Y/N stood, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t what, Wonwoo? It’s fine if you’re seeing someone. You don’t owe me anything.”

He shot up, frustration boiling over. “I wouldn’t date someone if it wasn’t you.”

She froze, eyes wide, breath catching. “What?”

He stepped closer, voice low but steady. “You heard me. I don’t want anyone else, Y/N. I never have. It’s always been you.”

Her heart raced, the room spinning. She’d spent months—years—burying this, convincing herself it was just friendship. But here he was, saying it, and it unraveled everything. “Wonwoo, you... you can’t just say that.”

“Why not?” He closed the distance, eyes searching hers. “I hate this—watching you slip away, pretending I’m okay with it. I let you go once, and it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I’m not doing it again.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she laughed, shaky. “You’re an idiot. I pulled away because I was scared—scared I’d ruin us. I love you, Wonwoo, and not just as my best friend. I’ve loved you for so long, and it terrified me.”

He stared, processing, then broke into a soft, disbelieving smile. “You love me?”

“Duh,” she sniffled, poking his chest. “Why do you think I was such a mess about that stupid rumor?”

He caught her hand, pulling her into a hug. “We’re both idiots,” he murmured into her hair. “I love you too. More than you know.”

She melted into him, clinging like she used to, but this time it was different—raw, real. “So... what now?”

He pulled back, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Now? We stop being dumb. Be with me, Y/N. No more running.”

She laughed, loud and bright, the sound he’d missed most. “Deal. But I’m still sending you cat pics.”“I’d be pissed if you didn’t,” he said, and when he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, the spark they’d danced around for years finally caught fire

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

The past years was a soft kind of chaos for Y/N and Wonwoo. From their high school days—her loud chatter breaking through his quiet world—to their confession that finally set their spark ablaze, they’d built something unbreakable. Now, as lovers, they were a study in contrasts that somehow fit perfectly. Wonwoo, once allergic to skinship, melted under Y/N’s touch. Y/N, always a clingy whirlwind, was now extra—draping herself over him like a human blanket, stealing his hoodies, and demanding his attention with a pout that could topple empires.

Tonight, they were at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s shared apartment, a cozy space cluttered with gaming gear, Seventeen merch, and Y/N’s stray hair ties. Mingyu was off filming some solo schedule, leaving the place to them. Wonwoo was glued to his gaming setup, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard as he battled in some online match. Y/N, sprawled on his bed in one of his oversized shirts, was... less than thrilled.

“Wonwoo,” she whined, kicking her feet against the mattress. “Did you hear what I said? So, at the studio today, they tried to make me do this weird choreography, and I was like, ‘I’m a singer, not a contortionist!’ I swear, I almost fell on my face.”

“Mm,” he mumbled, eyes locked on the screen. “Cool.”

She huffed, sitting up. “Cool? That’s it? I could’ve broken my neck, and you’d still be like, ‘Nice, babe.’”

“Yup,” he said, clicking furiously. A victory screen flashed, and he leaned back, smirking. “Got ‘em.”

Y/N glared at the back of his head, then at his gaming PC. If that thing were a person, she’d have words. Harsh ones. “You and that computer are in a serious relationship. I’m just the side chick.”

He snorted but didn’t turn around. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re ignoring me!” She flopped back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m literally right here, looking cute, telling iconic stories, and you’re out here marrying your keyboard.”

“Five more minutes,” he said, already queuing another match.

That was it. Y/N had enough. With a theatrical groan, she rolled off the bed, snatching his blanket and—most importantly—Foxdungee, the Miniteen character plushie she’d gifted him last Christmas. “Fine! If you’re gonna be like that, I’m taking your kid and leaving!”

She stormed out, blanket trailing like a cape, Foxdungee tucked under her arm. Wonwoo’s room fell quiet, but he was too deep in his game to notice—yet.

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

In the living room, Y/N flopped onto the couch, cocooning herself in the blanket until she was a burrito of pettiness. She hugged Foxdungee tight, its little glasses and fox ears squishing against her cheek. “Your dad’s the worst,” she muttered, glaring at the plushie. “All he does is play that stupid game. What about me, huh? I’m fun! I’m adorable! But nooo, he’s too busy being a nerd.”

She grabbed the remote, scrolling through streaming options. “If he wants to ignore me, you’re my date now, Foxdungee. We’re watching Barbie: Princess Charm School because it’s a classic, and you deserve culture.”

The TV lit up with Barbie’s sparkly world, and Y/N settled in, narrating to the plushie like it was a person. “See, Blair’s got dreams, just like me. And she doesn’t need a dumb gaming boyfriend to shine.” She giggled at a scene where Blair tripped, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I trip like her too. Don’t tell your dad.”

Halfway through Barbie’s makeover montage, the room felt... too quiet. No keyboard clicks, no Wonwoo muttering about “lag.” Y/N’s pout deepened. She missed him, even if he was a distracted nerd. She hugged Foxdungee tighter, whispering, “He’s probably still playing. Jerk.”

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

Wonwoo, meanwhile, had noticed the silence. His game ended, and the absence of Y/N’s voice hit like a dropped beat. No chatter, no giggles, no dramatic sighs. He pulled off his headset, glancing at the empty bed. When did she leave? Guilt crept in—he’d been deep in his zone, but he hadn’t meant to ignore her.

He wandered into the living room, pausing at the sight. Y/N was a blanket burrito on the couch, Foxdungee clutched like a lifeline, laughing at Barbie outwitting a villain. Her hair was a mess, his shirt dwarfed her, and she looked so adorably grumpy that his heart did a flip.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

Y/N glanced up, spotted him, and—petty queen—rolled her eyes before turning back to the TV. “Oh, look, Foxdungee, it’s your dad. Too bad we’re busy having fun without him.”

She hugged the plushie tighter, muttering loud enough for him to hear, “At least you don’t ignore me for pixels.”

Wonwoo bit back a laugh, her sulky vibe too cute to handle. He crossed the room, crouching in front of her so she couldn’t avoid him. “You’re really mad at me over a game?”

She refused to meet his eyes, chin tilted up. “I’m not mad. I’m thriving. Me and Foxdungee are having the best date ever. Right, buddy?” She wiggled the plushie’s arms, making it “nod.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and her resolve wobbled. That laugh—her kryptonite. “Y/N,” he said, voice soft, “I’m sorry. I got carried away. Didn’t mean to ditch you.”

She finally looked at him, pout still in full force. “You said ‘five minutes’ an hour ago. I was telling you about my day, and you were like, ‘Mm, yup.’ I’m not a podcast you can half-listen to, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He winced, rubbing his neck. “Fair. I was a jerk. But you know I love your stories.”

“Do you?” She hugged Foxdungee closer, eyes narrowing. “Because your computer seems to get all your love.”

He grinned, leaning closer. “Jealous of my PC? That’s a new one.”

“I will fight it,” she huffed. “I’ll smash it with a hammer and dance on the pieces.”

“Please don’t. It’s expensive.” He reached out, tugging Foxdungee gently from her grip. “And stop stealing my kid to make me jealous.”

She gasped, grabbing for the plushie. “Foxdungee chose me! You don’t deserve him!”

They tussled lightly, laughing until Wonwoo let her win, Foxdungee back in her arms. He sat beside her, pulling the blanket over both of them. “Truce?”

She side-eyed him but scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe. But you’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Noted.” He wrapped an arm around her, fingers tracing circles on her arm. “What’s Barbie up to? Catch me up.”

Her face lit up, and she launched into a recap, voice bright and chaotic. “Okay, so Blair’s at this fancy school, right? And there’s this mean girl, Delancy, who’s totally jealous—”

He listened, nodding like it was a TED Talk, and she melted into him, her earlier grumpiness fading. This was them—her loud, him quiet, but always tethered. Wonwoo, who’d once flinched at hugs, now craved her closeness. He glanced down at her, eyes soft. How did I get this lucky?

The movie played on, but Y/N’s narration slowed, her head heavy on his chest. “You’re comfy,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer. “Better than Foxdungee.”

“High praise,” he teased, kissing her temple. Her hair smelled like his shampoo, and it made his heart do stupid flips. “Sorry I got sucked into gaming. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” she yawned. “I want breakfast tomorrow. Pancakes. With chocolate chips.”

“Deal.” He pulled the blanket higher, tucking her in. “But you’re not allowed to hog the syrup again.”

“No promises,” she giggled, voice fading as she drifted off.

Wonwoo watched her sleep, her lips parted, Foxdungee squished against her cheek. Barbie’s credits rolled, but he didn’t move, just held her closer. The world could wait—this moment, her warmth, her chaos, was all he needed.

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

an: Hello! I've been receiving requests, hehe. Please bear with me—I'm a bit busy right now, but I'll get to them all. Just drop your requests, and I'll write them one by one hehe. I hope you like this! I feel like something's missing here, but yeah, HAHAHAH

[nineteenninety-six]

Just saw you write platonic while scrolling through the Pitt fanfic tag and requests are open so good for me

Could you write idk if this is what you do but like I haven’t seen any fic yet where it’s not like family related or romance

But maybe ugh this sounds depressive abbot or something when teenage girls brought in like found beaten or something and his eye contact thing and like not really a friendship but maybe and like he breaks her out of her shell , like she’s quiet not a word and maybe lashes out once and then boom cause he seems like such a girl dad but like isn’t and then yeah idk good luck if you want to , just like also after seeing their compassion, imagine just being a patient

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Saving Grace

Warnings: mentions/implications of abuse and child abuse. reader is a foster kid. asshole doctor (not abbot) general medical inaccuracies

AN: I don't like this but I've been working on it for a couple of days and I need to post it, so I hope you enjoy it :)

You were found as a crumpled bleeding heap in the park. The poor passerby who had found you was almost in tears thinking they had stumbled across a dead body only to choke in surprise when you responded to their touch.

You woke up in the ambulance and were wide awake when the EMTs brought you into the emergency department, eyes widened by fear as they darted around the hectic department, the loud noises, bright lights and chatter overwhelming and scaring you. Your hands were tightly clenched on the blanket draped over you.

It was all too much for you. Your heart was racing and your breathing became labored as you clenched your eyes shut, desperate to escape the situation.

Jack watched as you went past him, disappearing into a private room. He wasn't your doctor, but he knew the signs of a panic attack in the making and so he made his way into your room.

The room was still busy when he stepped in, nurses were trying to place an IV line but you were curled up in a ball on the bed, arms covering your face and head as you shook in fear. Your doctor was attempting and failing to get you to cooperate but when you didn't budge, your doctor became irritated. He wrapped a hand around your wrist but he didn't get an opportunity to pull at you before Jack spoke up, stopping him in his tracks.

“Get your hands off her and get out." Jack's words are sharp, his presence immediately commanding the room's attention.

The doctor stands, argument already halfway out of his mouth, "The kid is being a brat. Give me some time, I'll get it done."

A frown settled on Jack's face as he stepped closer to the doctor, looking down at the man, keeping eye contact as he spoke down to him," Get. Out. Of. Here. I don't want to see you in this room again."

The man twisted his lips, this time knowing better than to speak back. Abbot was his direct superior, meaning that if he had his way, the other doctor would not return to work another day in that department, or if Jack spoke to the right person, they wouldn’t work in the hospital at all.

"You can leave too" Jack tells the watching nurses and techs who quickly leave the room not wanting to relieve the same treatment the doctor did. Jack closes the door behind the last nurse, draws the curtain in front of it and turns off the lights, shrouding the room in darkness. The only sounds in the room were his

calmed breathing and your laboured breathing. Jack quickly looked over you, looking for any open cuts or gashes that would need immediate attention but he only found you to be covered in minor scrapes and bruises, you were also noticeably dehydrated and malnourished, but he knew he wasn't getting closer to properly examine you until you calm down and begin to trust him.

Knowing Shen and Ellis would only call for him for a major trauma, Jack relaxed in the chair in the corner of the room, resting his weary legs. He wasn't bothered by the silence of the room, he enjoyed silence especially when half of his day consisted of working in the busy emergency department and so the silence provided him a moment where he could clear his head and relax his muscles.

Your breathing slowly calms as you relax, noticing the quiet room you were in, a far cry from what it was earlier. You uncurl yourself from the ball you were in, eyes flickering all around the room until they land on Jack and you stare at him with wide eyes.

"I'm Doctor Abbot. I'm going to be your doctor whilst you're here," Jack stands, flicking the lights on before he moves to the end of the bed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Do you know where you are?"

Your eyes move away from him, unable to stand his unwavering gaze and slowly nod, clenching tightly onto the scratchy hospital blanket.

Jack swallows the sigh that wants to escape, he needs you to verbally answer but baby steps he guesses. He slowly moves to the side of the bed, making his movements slow and purposeful so as to not frighten you.

"I need to hook you up to an IV, it'll get some fluids and medication in you, make you feel a bit better." Jack tells you, "Can I do that?"

Jack watches as you continuously clench and unclench the blanket, a nervous habit you had picked up in the new unfamiliar environment. You don't answer but you don't flinch when he drags the equipment tray close to their side and so as he prepares the needle, he talks you through his actions. He describes what he's doing, explaining how it's going to happen and warns you of the pinch you'll feel when he does it and his words have the intended purpose as you offer your arm when he asks for it, no hesitation in your movements.

Jack then moves on to treating the cuts on your face and body, moving in silence before attempting to start getting information from you. Since you were a minor it meant that the police and CPS will be making a visit and considering how traumatized you already were, a visit from would probably send you over the edge.

"They said they found you in a park... " Jack quietly said to you as he wiped a cut clean, "Do you want to tell me how that happened?"

At the lack of response from you, Jack makes another attempt. "Do you remember how you got to the park or what happened beforehand?"

Silence once again.

Jack stopped what he was doing and looked up at you, keeping eye contact with you." Listen I'm trying to help you here kid but you've got to help! me a bit too. Was it an older boyfriend? Your parents?"

There is another moment of silence as you twist your lips before you finally speak, "My foster parents."

"... They hurt you? Is that how you ended up in the park?" Jack felt a surge of anger flow through him when you told him about your foster parents.

You silently nodded, lips trembling as you began to cry, "I had to run away."

"Yeah I get that kid" Jack sighed as he grabbed a tissue for you.

"When am I getting discharged?" You ask straightening up, wiping the tears off your face roughly.

"You can't leave yet, I'm afraid. The cops and CPS will need to speak to you first."

You pulled away with such veracity that Jack jumped back in surprise. You looked at him with wide eyes and betrayal whiten across your face plainly.

"You called the cops?!" You shout, "Why would you do that, they're just going to take me back to that place."

You begin to fiddle with your dressing and Jack realised that you were trying to remove it. He jumped up with a surprised shout, rushing over to you, swatting your insistent hands away and covering the dressing with one large hand, easily encompassing it.

"Are you crazy kid? You can injure yourself even more if you do that."

"Are you crazy?" You turned the question back to him, "You called the cops!"

"I didn't call anyone! You were found in a park, remember, they would have been notified already!" Jack defends himself.

You stop at your unsuccessful attempt at pulling his hand away and peer up at him, red rimmed eyes shining wetly, "I can't go back there, you have to help me."

"I can only help you if you tell me everything"

"I can't go back there or go back to another group home!”

Jack sighed as he considered his options, "I’m a doctor which means I’m a mandated reporter so I’ll have to report this regardless but you telling me, helps me help you, okay?"

Jack raised his brows at you, voice gentle yet pleading as he tried to get you to understand him.

“…Okay”

Before you leave with your social worker, you seek out Dr Abbot and with a little help from a nurse, you end up taking the elevator up to the top floor before climbing the stairs to the roof.

You push open the door with a grunt, struggling with the weight of the door before you step out, eyes travelling over the roof in search of the doctor. You found him near the edge, past the safety rail with his hands in his pocket.

"Dr Abbot?" You call out as you walk over to him.

The man's head whips over to her at her shout before he hurriedly steps back from the edge, ducking under the safety rail to meet her halfway.

"Hey kid, you shouldn't be up here."

"I was looking for you, a nurse told me you'll be up here," You shrug, pushing your own hands into your pockets, "I uh- wanted to thank you."

"S'alright," Dr Abbot gives you a soft smile, "It's my job."

"You could have let the first doctor continue to deal with me but you didn't. You helped me a lot today…you saved me."

"Don't count yourself out kid, you saved yourself as well." He reminded you.

Your phone buzzes with a text from your social worker telling you it's time to go, "I've got to go."

"See you later kid," Jack's lips quirk as he reconsiders his words, "Well maybe not at the hospital."

You hesitate for a moment before you step forward and hug him. It's a brief hug, so quick that Jack doesn't even have a chance to even twitch before you pull away and take a few steps back towards the door.

"Thank you again Dr Abbot!" You smile and wave before you disappear behind the heavy roof door.

"Bye kid" Jack responds to the closed door.

[tifosipogue]

When Shadows Fall Soft

xaden riorson x reader

No one looks Xaden Riorson in the eye—except you.

They all flinch, turning away like moths from a flame. You, however, meet his gaze like you’re daring him to blink first. He never does. But you never stop trying.

"You are playing with fire," your friend whispers one day after training, eyes flickering to where Xaden stands, arms crossed, watching the sparring match like he’s mentally cataloging everyone’s weaknesses. His eyes meet yours and he raises one eyebrow, like he is challenging you.

You smirk. “Good thing I don't mind getting burned."

You’re assigned to the same squad for a field exercise—just your luck. He stands at the edge of the group, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the map and mission outline. He barely looks at you during the briefing, but you can tell he’s listening. Every word seems to land sharp.

His shoulders tense slightly when you speak, barely a shift, but it’s enough. You notice the way his fingers twitch once before stilling. The room isn’t cold, but there’s a chill that seems to hang around him like a storm cloud, subtle and heavy. In the corners, where the light doesn't quite reach, the black shadows seem to move—just slightly—like they’re leaning in to hear you too.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is when he saves your life.

You react quickly—training taking over, instincts firing—but not quickly enough. The danger comes too fast, a blur of motion and sound that you can’t fully register until it’s already upon you. Heat flashes near your side, the sign of incoming death. You pivot, heart slamming into your ribs, knowing—without question—you’re too late.

And then something colder than fear coils around you.

The shadows hit first—wrapping you in a sheath of darkness that clings to your skin like a second heartbeat. It’s not just a barrier; it’s a command. They pull you out of the blast zone, fast and sharp, snapping you through space like a blade slicing through silence. The ground reappears beneath your feet, unfamiliar and shaking, and you stumble—but you're not alone.

Xaden is already there.

He steps into the space where you were standing seconds ago, a wall of muscle, shadows, and raw fury. His power roils around him, violent and barely contained. Smoke-like tendrils lash out from his shoulders and spine, shifting like they’re alive, like they’re angry. At what—you’re not sure. The enemy. The threat. Or the fact that you’d almost been hurt. Again.

His eyes find yours—just for a second.

The way his jaw clenches. The way his fists flex. The way his power doesn’t retreat from your skin—it lingers, as if it refuses to let go until it’s sure you’re safe.

“Stay behind me,” he growls, voice low, threaded with something that might be fear—or something far more dangerous.

And even though the battlefield still rages around you, even though there’s no time to breathe, let alone feel—you do. Just for a heartbeat. Because in that moment, with the scent of lightning in the air and the ghost of his shadows still curled around your ribs, you realize something terrifying.

You free your arm from his grip, rolling your eyes. “I had it handled.”

“Like hell you did.” He snaps, his eyes wild as he dares you to talk back.

Your breathing is quick, your heart quicker, but you don’t back down. “You don’t get to play hero.”

He steps closer, voice low making you shiver. “And you don’t get to die on my watch.”

You see it—not just the anger, but something under it. Fear. Frustration. Maybe... concern?

____

The tension between you only worsens. It coils tighter with every shared breath, every glance that lasts too long, every word said just a bit too sharply. It’s unspoken but undeniable—an invisible thread pulled taut between you, threatening to snap or ignite, and you’re not sure which would be worse.

During drills, it becomes a battlefield all its own.

He pushes you harder than anyone else, relentless and unyielding. His commands are clipped, his tone edged in steel, and his eyes—gods, those eyes. Every misstep, every falter, every half-second delay is met with immediate, brutal correction. “You’re hesitating,” he snaps one morning, breath fogging in the cold. “That’ll get you killed."

You wipe the sweat from your brow and fire back without missing a beat. “And micromanaging my every move will get you punched.”

His jaw ticks. Just slightly. And for a flicker of a second, his shadows stir—barely—but they do. You know it wasn’t your words. It was your voice. The heat beneath it. The frustration. The fear. And maybe something else.

You don’t hold back either. Every time it’s his turn to spar, you hit harder, move faster. You press his limits like you're daring him to snap. When he corrects your stance with razor-sharp precision—clinical and cold—you meet it with sarcasm laced in venom. “Thanks for the unsolicited feedback, Wingleader. I forgot I signed up for a personal critique."

He steps closer. Too close. His breath ghosts across your cheek, and for a second you think he’s going to say something—something real—but he doesn’t.

And just like that, the moment implodes.

Because beneath the tension is something dangerous. Something that simmers beneath the surface like a fault line—shifting, straining, threatening to crack. You tell yourself it’s just frustration. Just adrenaline. Just the pressure of war, of survival.

But it’s not.

It’s you and him.

____

It happens after a night patrol turns into another disaster—ambush, chaos, the kind that leaves your ears ringing and your hands slick with blood that might not even be your own. You're still high on adrenaline, limbs shaking with the aftershock, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your chest.

There’s a gash tearing across your shoulder, deep and ugly, warm blood soaking into your sleeve. You’re breathing hard, pain dull behind the buzz in your head, but you’re standing. That counts for something.

He’s not impressed.

Xaden is pacing in front of you, jaw tight, movements sharp enough to cut through the night air. His shadows slither around him, alive with fury. Every step he takes feels like thunder, like he’s barely holding something back—his voice, his temper, his power. Maybe all three.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, finally rounding on you.

You straighten despite the pain, even though every instinct tells you to sit down before you pass out. “I was thinking I’d keep the squad alive."

His eyes flash. His shadows twitch, sensing his anger before he even speaks again. “You’re not invincible,” he growls, stepping closer. “Stop acting like you don’t care what happens to you.”

“And you stop acting like it’s your only job to keep me breathing!” you snap back, voice rising, blood still dripping from your arm. “I know the risks, Xaden. I’ve known them since day one.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, chest rising and falling too fast, fury painted across his face—but underneath it, something else. Something quieter. Raw. Unspoken.

Then his gaze drops—just briefly—to the blood on your arm.

He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to swallow something back. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but more dangerous than before. “You think I’m angry because you disobeyed?” he murmurs. “I’m angry because you got hurt."

You freeze.

The words land harder than any blow. You can still hear the echoes of battle in your ears, still feel the sting of your wound, but suddenly none of it matters. Not compared to the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s furious with you, yes, but more than that... terrified.

You didn’t know he could look like that.

“You should have run,” he hisses, voice tight. “You think dying proves something?”

“Better than hiding behind shadows like you do.”

You expect him to yell, give you a silly punishment like all the times before. Maybe even walk away.

Instead of replying, he storms forward.

His eyes burn into yours, shadows curling at the edges of his silhouette like they can’t decide whether to lash out or hold you tighter. He’s barely two breaths away when he suddenly reaches out, rough hands catching your face, fingers splayed across your jaw with a grip that’s more desperate than tender.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

The world narrows to the heat between your mouths, the press of his body, the taste of adrenaline and fury and everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s wild—teeth clashing, breath stolen, lips bruising with the force of it. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if there’s even a sliver of space between you.

You kiss him back. Gods, you shouldn’t—but you do.

Because all that tension, all the biting words and hard stares and dangerously close moments—it’s always been this. A storm waiting to break.

Your blood is still warm from the fight, your shoulder throbbing, and yet none of that matters now. Not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only way he knows how to speak, like it’s the only language he trusts. You push against him, not to stop him, but to fight back—matching the kiss with your own ferocity, your own aching confusion. It’s a battle neither of you were ready for. And slowly—breath by breath, touch by touch—you start to lose.

And you don’t even care.

But eventually, reality crashes back in. The smell of smoke, the taste of copper, the ache in your arm—all reminders that this shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not like this.

You break the kiss with a gasp, chest heaving, lips tingling. You don’t step back—can’t—but you meet his eyes with yours, and for a moment neither of you says a thing. His hand is still on your jaw, thumb brushing your skin like he doesn’t want to let go.

“That was a mistake,” you whisper, though your voice cracks around it.

He leans in again, lips brushing your jaw.

"Was it?"

____

The war catches up faster than expected.

You’re stationed together during a border defense—an urgent call. When your squad gets split up, it’s just the two of you, back-to-back against impossible odds.

You're both barely standing.

Wounded, exhausted, covered in dust and blood that isn't just your own—your limbs ache with the weight of the fight, and your vision blurs at the edges, but you move. Because you have to. Because stopping means dying. The enemy is relentless, the air thick with smoke and magic and screams swallowed by the night.

And then something shifts.

A flicker of movement—a flash of metal too fast to counter. It’s coming for you, and you don’t see it until it’s too late. You spin on instinct, weapon raised, but it won’t be fast enough.

You feel the power surge behind you first. Cold and consuming.

His shadows explode into your periphery, dark tendrils lashing forward like living smoke, forming a barrier between you and death. They strike with feral precision, swallowing the blade before it can reach your skin. The sound is sickening—a clash of steel against something ancient and unnatural.

But then—

A strangled breath. The shadows falter.

And you know.

You turn—heart already breaking, throat already tight—and scream his name, raw and panicked.

"Xaden!"

He’s still standing. Just barely.

His body is between you and the blow. His shadows flicker and writhe around him, unsteady now, like they’re confused. Hurt. And then you see it—dark crimson blooming beneath his armor, soaking through the fabric at his side in thick, spreading waves.

The blood.

Your breath stutters. “No.”

He sways once before catching himself, jaw clenched, hand pressed to his ribs like he’s trying to hold himself together with sheer will. His face is pale, eyes clouded with pain, but locked on you—only on you. Like the rest of the world doesn’t matter as long as you’re still breathing.

You’re already moving, dropping to your knees beside him, hands scrambling for pressure on the wound, for anything that’ll help, that’ll do something. But your hands are slick with his blood, and he’s already too cold, and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s sure of.

“You idiot,” you whisper, choking on the words. “You weren’t supposed to—I didn’t ask you to—"

He reaches up, fingers brushing your cheek in a ghost of a touch. “Didn’t need to.”

You press harder on the wound. His shadows respond, curling weakly around your hands like they’re trying to help, trying to hold on.

“Don’t you dare die,” you growl, fierce and shaking. “Do you hear me, Xaden? I’m not letting you.”

And he gives you the faintest, bloodstained smirk—equal parts defiance and affection.

"I know you won't."

You pull him close feeling his heart starting to slow as you sob.

Later, after the healers stabilize him, you sit at his bedside, holding his hand.

When he wakes, he groans but smiles as soon as his eyes meet yours, “You again.”

“Welcome back,” you reply, tears slipping down your cheek despite your smirk.

“I almost died.”

“You almost left me.” Your voice cracks. “That’s worse.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not unless you’re with me.”

After that, the shadows soften completly.

They don't disappear, they are still here but know they protect you, fight for you, sleep with you and dream with you.

He still growls at you during training. You still roll your eyes and make a snide comment. But the fire between you is no longer all heat and rage—it’s warmth, too. It’s home.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[grabby-smitten]

Pinky promise

Subjects: Bunny Hybrid!Xavier x Human F!Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Content: Hybrid AU, fluff mostly, domestic stuff, sprinkles of angst here and there, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, gender-neutral for this part(i think), idk… let me know if i missed anything. Second part has smut and will be posted separately.

A.N: Happy late birthday Xavier and Halloween especial… I guess xD. Two birds one stone?

Your local shelter was always overflowing. new hybrids coming in each week, at least according to their social media updates. It was heartbreaking watching the shelter on your work commute, multiple sounds overwhelmed that side of the street, strong smells on the pavement and everything you witnessed trailed after you to work and back home.

But not once did you step foot on the shelter. Were you scared? Probably. From what your coworkers said, it was extremely hard to care for a hybrid. Very complicated creatures. And expensive. you could barely take care of yourself. Not to mention that you hated social environments and from what you read on the internet; hybrids are social creatures. Alone you were fine… or so you thought.

Yet, you couldn’t just let the older hybrids get— well, you know what they do in most shelters when nobody adopts.

So here you are, waiting in line to fill out some forms and get your first hybrid. Sweat running down your back, and your feet hurting from standing in the same position for far too long. How long has it been since you first stepped in the line? two hours? Three? and the line barely moved.

Leaning to the side, you watched the attendants at the counter seem tired, and their hair sticking to their forehead confirmed your suspicions that the air conditioner wasn’t working as well as it should.

You had enrolled in the adoption program as soon as new spots opened for this term and just your luck with a spot on the special campaign. Besides, trying to speak yourself out of it hadn’t worked. You would give it a try and if things didn’t work out— then you would find a solution.

Today, the shelter was holding that special adoption campaign. Something about not charging the usual fees, the first year of medical expenses free and just one written evaluation to the future owners.

A couple came out of the visiting room with a young dog-hybrid. It was jumping around them and wagging its tail so enthusiastically that it kind of scared you. What if you got a hyperactive one? Your worlds would crash and the inevitable would happen.

Soon you heard your name being called out by one of the shelter workers and it snapped you out of your tragic daydream.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” He asked while reading the papers on his clipboard.

“Yes,” you replied while nodding.

“Okay, let’s see…” the shelter worker skimmed through his papers not really looking at you, “with what you filled the form with, this should be a good match. He’s a bunny hybrid and…” he trailed off, “that’s all we know,” he started to walk and you assumed it was a sign to follow him.

As you walked after the shelter workers, you passed some cages. A few were empty while others were full with more than a pair of hybrids in them. Your hands in fists, not being able to handle seeing such a scene, but you repeated to yourself that you were already doing your part to help fix this broken system. Adopting is a good way to help, you kept chanting in your mind.

“Sedentary lifestyle, doesn’t use much space and no noise, yeah. This should do.” Again, you were snapped out of your thoughts by the shelter worker. Turning a deaf ear to how he described the bunny hybrid, you noticed the door in front of you had the word abnormal painted in red bold letters.

“Hey! Xavier! A cute lady has come to visit you!” The worker banged his clipboard on the door making you jump in surprise.

“Please don’t do that.” The coldness of your voice came unexpectedly. As a reflex, you even raised your hand to try and stop the worker’s movements.

“Sorry, but it’s alright.” He pointed to the inside of the cell-like door. “He never says anything.”

His comment infuriated you to no end. Your insides were burning with rage, but you kept quiet. The faster you’re done with this, the faster you can go home.

You watched him open the door and the acid air from the inside hit you first. The smell triggered a wave of helplessness within you. how could all these be alright to a living creature? You couldn’t… you shouldn’t… but what other things could a normal civilian do to change the new world and its fucked up system?

In all truth, you knew, you dreaded this very moment when everything came crashing down on you, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. You were here and it wasn’t gonna change the whole world but you would, indeed, change someone’s world.

Once inside you grimaced at the unsanitary state of the room. Old food scattered everywhere, a lump of sheets and cloth in a corner, and… no hybrid?

“Ah, he must be under all that,” you heard the worker speak and he began to move towards the big ball of sheets at the corner.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it.” You didn’t want him near the hybrid more than necessary.

Making sure your steps were loud and clear, you approached where you guessed the hybrid would be hiding.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were reaching for the lump of sheets, and the next your hand got pulled under and a stinging sensation palpitated in your palm.

Did… did he just bite you?

Just as fast, you snatched your hand back, cradling it against your chest as you swallowed the yelp you wanted to let out.

“Hey, Xavier?” You managed to sound as calm as possible, “I probably startled you, right? I’m sorry for that… uhmm…” You proceeded to tell him your name, internally praying that the guy outside wouldn’t interfere.

The lump of sheets moved and hope struck you. A blue eye adorned with long dark lashes peeked from a small opening in between the sheets and your heart instantly softened. You saw fear clouding his striking pupil. Forgotten was the small, almost nonexistent, injury in your palm. All you wanted was to calm that vast raging blue ocean in such a small eye.

“I get it,” you said softly, “I practically had you corned and you reacted. I’m not mad, promise,” and you showed him your pinky finger.

Xavier wasn’t sure what to think. What he knew was that you were not one of the usual workers at the shelter and that you didn’t smell like… danger. You actually had a nice scent, different from everyone he had ever met in his long life— nothing overwhelming, it was almost soothing. That’s why he instinctively went straight for your hand. He didn’t even realize when his teeth had nibbled at your palm.

A pinky? That’s what you were offering. Still under the tons of sheets, Xavier wondered what was he supposed to do.

“You can lock your pinky finger with mine if you want,” you explained, seeing his eye suddenly frown and look perplexed at your gesture. “It means a promise has been made.”

The sound of fumbling cloth raised your spirits. Then a pale hand came from under all that and his pinky finger intertwined with yours. He had relented to your words… because it was the first time he was offered a choice. Not forced. Not bribed. No threats.

Convincing Xavier to come out was another ordeal. One that you achieved eventually, after negotiating with a second pinky promise of fresh food.

What actually left you with your mouth hanging open was his height. How come someone so tall was a bunny hybrid? well, the white ball of a tail and his ears sticking from his head were a dead giveaway. But still… he was taller than your average person.

The walk back home wasn't hard. Nothing eventful took place, just two jumpy individuals trying to make it back home without tripping with their own two feet. What a peculiar pair.

Less than an hour of meeting Xavier and you were already protective of your bunny hybrid. Your step might have faltered but your grip on his hand didn’t quiver. You made sure he knew you were taking him somewhere safe and that you didn’t hate his presence.

Such intention was hard to convey, especially when you tried to get him to bathe. Leaving him alone in the bathroom was a waste of time, it only made him panic and built a lump of towels.

So here you stand, in shorts and an old shirt trying to help Xavier shower.

“Xavier, please, just— wait! The water!” And with a push from the bunny hybrid, you came toppling down into the bathtub. Splashing the soapy water everywhere.

He saw your head dive in first as your arms attempted to stop your fall.

“I’m fine! It’s okay!” Moving the wet hair out of your face, you smiled sheepishly at Xavier.

He was taken aback by your reaction. He expected anything but a smile.

The first few weeks went like that. Food? The same. Xavier would panic and throw half of what you prepared to the ceiling and walls and then the rest on you. When you finished cleaning, you would find him under a pile of blankets in the kitchen.

And yes, almost no sounds came from the bunny hybrid. His blue eyes shone with a hurricane of emotions but his voice never expressed them.

You told yourself you had to be patient. All the incidents weren’t really directed at you but at whatever ghost that kept hunting him. Remembering the word painted in red on his door back at the shelter reaffirmed your resolve to give Xavier the chance he never got before.

Weeks became months and things slowly but steadily improved. Xavier no longer had those unexpected reactions and he stopped hiding under blankets and towels— well, almost— he still built those forts once in a while. He seemed more comfortable around you, so much so that he began talking to you.

The first time you heard his voice you almost screamed bloody murder. You still remember it as the night you nearly died of a heart attack.

It was a stormy night, and the electric storm was rampaging for hours now. All lights had gone out, but you were comfortable in bed reading a book with a flashlight. When a deep but soft voice you have never heard before in your life interrupted your night reading. You heard your name come from your door and it slowly opened.

You practically jumped out of the bed, one foot getting caught by your covers and your forehead hit the ground with a thud and a cry. Quickly, your eyes hovered over the side of your mattress searching for the owner of the voice, when your eyes landed on Xavier standing at your door.

“Xavier?” Gathering your thoughts, you realized the voice calling your name in the middle of the dark was his. “I-is there something you need?”

Of course, you were stunned by this new development but you knew that if you didn’t handle the situation accordingly, you would lose this opportunity. Calm and collected were the words you mentally chanted as you slowly stood up with your heart beating wildly in your throat.

“Can I…” he felt his hesitation rising as the hands of anxiety began to squeeze Xavier’s insides.

You send him a look full of warmth, encouraging him to keep going, and the sudden nails digging into his stomach slowly evaporated.

“Can I stay here?” His deep but melodic soft voice traveled to your ears and you felt like crying, but you held everything in. This was about him.

“Sure, Xavier. Let me get you more blankets.” You smiled, storm and the almost-heart attack left in the past. “I know how much you like them.”

A few blankets later and a bunny hybrid wrapped in them like a burrito, you went back to your book. you expected Xavier to just fall asleep. But oh, boy… he had different plans.

“Why are you so kind to me when I have been nothing but trouble to you?” Xavier’s whispers broke the silence in your room.

Closing your book and leaving it on your bedside table, you turned your attention completely to your bunny hybrid who rested comfortably on the pillow next to yours.

“I promised, remember?” You lifted your pinky, “aaand do I need a reason to be kind? Maybe it’s an instinct to be this way, just like you with your blanket forts or I just don’t know how to be mean.” You lightheartedly joked with the last part.

A while passed after your words and you thought your answer had satisfied Xavier. So you got cozy in your bed and closed your eyes, assuming that your first-ever chat with Xavier had come to an end.

And again, he was a bunny hybrid full of surprises. Your assumptions were wrong because that was not the case. Xavier had ambushed you once more. Out of nowhere, he began to speak again.

“That’s not true. I remember you verbally berating the neighbors the other day.” He casually mumbled.

You widened your eyes, startled by his words. “No— that’s— Xavier, they were being too loud and you got scared!”

“I know,” he then turned around and went to sleep. Just like that. Leaving you all dumbfounded beside him.

More than a year together and things were good until they weren’t. Xavier began to behave weirdly around you and it just kept getting worse. He presented fevers, cold sweats, and very abnormal noises at night.

And so you did what you thought was best and called his doctor.

“His heat? Wha– what do you mean his heat?” Your phone nearly slipped from your hand and your eyes almost popped out of your skull at what the doctor was telling you. “But–but the shelter said he never had one before! That he’s too old! I don’t— yes, I understand but—” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What do you mean the first heat could last about ten months?”

You did not sign up for that… that was… how would that even work?

“Okay, thank you.” A couple of more suggestions from his doctor and you finally ended the call.

Hunched over the bathroom sink, you took some deep breaths before coming out to look for Xavier. You would ask for his consent first and foremost. What the doctor implied in the call sounded awful but you had little to no options. Ten months, the first week should be the worst and then the rest should be manageable with what? Get him a prescription? Suppressant? A mating partner? Gosh… your brain was fried.

“Hey Xav? Are you awake?” You said softly as you opened the door. He had been taking more naps than usual to keep… to keep whatever was happening with his system under control.

He grunted a response from his bed, once again the blanket forts were back in place.

With a heavy heart, you told him what the doctor had said, and instantly you got a strange growl in response.

“Do not use that tone with me,” you lightly reprimanded followed by a soft chuckle on your part. “I get it, really. I didn’t like the options either.”

“The others,” he began to say, voice a bit muffled under all those blankets, “at the shelter, they could withstand their heat. I can too.”

He sounded so sure, but you? From what you heard the doctor say? You doubted it. After all, Xavier was a late bloomer. For whatever reason, be it trauma or lack of nutrients, or feeling unsafe, his body didn’t allow him before. Now, that he has a safe environment? That was a different story.

Needless to say, you were right. Things got out of hand pretty fast.

“Chain me,” Xavier demanded behind his closed door. Blocking your path to his room.

“What? No! Xavier, I can’t—“You banged your fist for the hundredth time. “Just let me in! We’ll find something!” You were desperate. He meant the world to you and vice versa. Both grew to be the one thing each other needed.

“Chain me! That’s what they did with the others.” He kept insisting. “It’s for your own good! I can withstand the week! Just go get them!” Xavier shouted, a desperate look clouded his delicate features.

Your heart broke for him as his pleas traveled through the door. He had never raised his voice before and as tears ran down your cheeks, you made up your mind, nodding, and with pain constricting your chest you went straight to buy a collar and a set of chains.

Hours became days and you couldn’t step into Xavier’s room without breaking into a sobbing mess. You didn’t get the chain, that was too much. Instead, you got just the collar and a harness which did the work just fine.

It was almost done, you told yourself as you paced back and forth outside his door. Only three more days and he would be less affected by his hormones.

Click here! Smut inside! pls be aware! -> PART 2