#maybe one day you all will get to see the rest of this fic

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: Boyfriend Privileges Pairing: Mingyu x gn(femme presenting)!reader Genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship Wordcount: 9.9k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

Warnings: suggestive content not suitable for anyone under the age of 18, food mention, pet names, reader presents as feminine at one point (wearing a dress) but it still reads as gender neutral, slight angst, bathing together

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

A/N: this fic was created before i decided to leave this blog permanently, and put on queue to be posted now. this blog is still not active. read here to find out why

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

Masterlists

You're not sure exactly when it began or what prompted it, but a few months into your relationship, Mingyu started asking you to do little tasks for him. They're always small, often tedious things. Whenever you hesitate, he flashes a charming smile and invokes "boyfriend privileges." Maybe it's the playful way he says it or the endearing look in his eyes, but you always end up giving in.

Mingyu, ever perceptive, has noticed this and teeters on the brink of abusing his "powers." But it doesn't bother you. You'd happily indulge your boyfriend's privileges.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 1. Overgrown puppy cuddles

Mingyu is a large puppy that just doesn’t understand how big he is. At least, that's how you see him. Whenever your boyfriend comes home from an especially rough day at work, he wants cuddles. It doesn't matter what you're doing, he'll pout and beg until you sit down on the couch and let him cuddle up in your lap.

"You're crushing me," you mutter.

You're sitting with your legs over the couch cushions, your back against the armrest. Mingyu's laying over your body like a human blanket—one of those electrical blankets that people use in winter. The man is warm.

"Boyfriend privileges," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.

You sigh because you know he's right, you'd let him do this even if he's crushing your bones. Letting your fingers tangle in his hair, Mingyu let's out a sound of approval and nuzzles his head deeper into the crook of your neck. His arms are around your torso, making sure that you don't even try to move. Not that you would.

"Did you have a long day?" you ask softly and he hums. "My poor baby..."

You coo at him, and he whines—he's relishing in being doted on. Mingyu's arms squeeze you a little, a silent sign that he wants you to continue.

"You work so hard, don't you?" You wait for Mingyu to nod before you coo again, "My hardworking Gyu, you're doing such a good job. People love you, you know that? They appreciate your work. So do I."

Mingyu tilts his head up, his eyebrows raised as he silently asks for confirmation. "I really do," you add.

"Thank you..." He puts his forehead against your chest and sighs. "I needed this... needed you."

"I know, puppy." You smile and ruffle his hair.

Mingyu groans and lifts his upper body off of you, his arms resting on the armrest behind you. "Oh, finally! I can breathe!" you exclaim dramatically.

"Sorry," he mutters.

You cup his face in your hands. "I was kidding. I don't mind." You lean in and press a kiss on his pouty lips. "You're like my blanket... or like a Saint Bernard who's forgotten he's not a puppy anymore."

Mingyu smiles at that, before leaning in to litter your face with pecks that have you giggling and squealing.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 2. Random massages

You're in line for a ride at an amusement park when Mingyu suddenly turns to you. It's been at least five minutes since you started waiting, and you can tell he's getting impatient. His foot taps rhythmically on the ground, and he keeps glancing at his watch.

"Can you give me a massage? My shoulder's stiff," he huffs, rubbing the offending spot for emphasis.

"Again?" Your eyebrows furrow with concern. "Gyu, you should really go see a specialist..."

Mingyu pretends to ponder this suggestion, then shakes his head with a playful grin. "I don't need a specialist if I have you."

You sigh and roll your eyes, but can't help smiling at his pleading expression. His big, puppy-like eyes, the way his smile showcases his adorable canines, and his hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer make it impossible to refuse. "Sure," you mutter, already resigning yourself to his request.

The line moves a little, and you both shuffle forward a few steps. You're momentarily distracted by the imposing structure of the rollercoaster ahead, watching as the cart sends passengers hurtling through loops and dips at breakneck speed. Your reverie is interrupted by Mingyu poking your side.

"What?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Please?" he repeats, his tone even more imploring.

"Now?" You glance around at the crowd surrounding you—though no one seems to be paying attention, you feel self-conscious.

"Now," Mingyu insists, nodding earnestly.

"Babe, I can't massage you here. You know you shouldn't take off your shirt in public, right? Even if we do find somewhere private, I don't have any oils—"

"Not a big one." He interrupts, holding up his hand with his index finger and thumb inches apart. "A small one. Just on the spot on my shoulder."

"Gyu—"

"Boyfriend privileges," he pleads quietly, eyes wide and hopeful.

You can't say no to him when he gets like this. With a resigned sigh, you motion for him to turn around. He does so eagerly, bending his knees slightly to give you better access to his shoulder. Placing one hand on his neck and the other on his shoulder, you begin to work your thumb into the knot you find there.

Mingyu lets out a soft, contented sigh, only audible to your ears, as he relaxes almost immediately under your touch. The tension in his shoulder melts away, and his head drops forward slightly, eyes closing in relief. The gentle hum of the amusement park, the chatter of the crowd, and the distant screams from the rollercoaster all fade into the background as you focus on easing his discomfort.

Despite the oddity of the situation, there's something intimate and endearing about the moment. The world around you blurs, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of your own making. And as you massage Mingyu's shoulder, you can't help but feel a warm rush of affection for him and his silly, endearing ways.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 3. Sharing food

The restaurant is alive with the hum of conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter. However, all of this fades into a distant background as you focus intently on Chan's story. It's a rare opportunity to meet the members in person, despite your boyfriend working so closely with them, so you want to make the most of every second.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is lost in his own world. Ever since he finished his meal, he’s been zoned out—leaning back in his chair with a distant look in his eyes. You can't decide if he's impatiently waiting for Chan to finish or if he's just succumbed to a food coma. But when he casually reaches over and steals a fry from your plate, your doubts about the food coma vanish. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze with a small, mischievous smile before grabbing another fry. You let him.

A sudden gasp beside you snaps you back, and you turn to see Jun staring at you with mock jealousy from across the table. You smile and tilt your head questioningly.

"What?" you ask, bemused.

"You hit my hand when I tried to borrow a fry from you," Jun accuses, his eyes narrowed at you.

"First of all, I gently slapped it," you correct him. "Second of all, you were stealing, not borrowing. Don't try to make your crime sound better."

Jun huffs dramatically, and you can't help but grin. Meanwhile, Mingyu, taking advantage of the distraction, nabs another fry from your plate. There are almost none left now. As Jun reaches out to make another attempt, you slap his hand away with a swift motion.

"But he—" Jun starts to protest.

"Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu interjects smoothly, popping the last two fries into his mouth with a triumphant grin.

You hear a collective groan from the others at the table, but you just chuckle at Mingyu’s proud expression. "Mhm, boyfriend privileges," you repeat softly, unable to suppress a smile.

You lift a hand to gently brush the hair out of Mingyu's face, and he looks at you with a loving smile that makes your heart flutter. The warm feeling in your stomach is more than just the satisfaction from the delicious food you've eaten.

"Can I finish telling my story now?" Chan interrupts, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

You pull your gaze away from Mingyu and refocus on Chan, giving him your full attention once again. "Go on," you say, eager to hear the rest of his tale.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 4. Seeing you first thing in the morning

The feeling of someone's soft breaths feathering against your face makes you scrunch your nose in sleepy annoyance. Mingyu's warm hands travel to your waist with the familiarity of someone who’s done it a million times before. And he has. His touch is intimate and assured, sliding over your skin with practiced ease. He knows you're awake now, evident by the low hum you let out, so he presses a few tender kisses on the bare skin of your clavicle, each one like a gentle spark of warmth.

"G'morning," you mutter, your voice still heavy with sleep, the words blending into a sigh.

"Good morning," he whispers softly, his breath tickling your skin.

You recognize his morning voice—his "I just woke up" voice—so you can tell he’s been up for a while. His voice sounds clearer, more alert, like he’s had time to turn around and take a sip of the water he always leaves on his bedside table.

"Have you been awake for long?" you ask, your words barely above a whisper as his lips continue their gentle exploration, each kiss a tender reminder of his affection.

"Since eight-thirty," he answers between kisses, each one a delicate attempt to keep you as close as possible.

You glance at the clock, seeing that it's almost nine already. "Babe, you've been awake for half an hour... why didn’t you wake me up?"

Mingyu pauses his kisses to look up at you, his expression soft and affectionate, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. Turning his head slightly, he looks over at the clock and hums thoughtfully.

"I was busy," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. He nestles his head back in the crook of your neck, his warmth enveloping you, but doesn’t resume his kisses, much to your dismay.

"Busy doing what?" you murmur, curiosity piqued, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back.

"Looking at you," he admits with a giggle, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze is filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with sincerity, and he's trying his best to hold back a big grin. "It's my boyfriend privilege. Only I get to see you like this."

"It's a privilege to see my bed head?" You snort, but Mingyu stays serious, his eyes unwavering, his hand gently stroking your cheek.

"Everyday," he replies softly, his voice a tender caress.

You feel a rush of warmth at his words, and you can't help but smile. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer for a soft, lingering kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, the kiss deepening with the love and tenderness that has grown between you over the months. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

When you finally pull back, Mingyu's eyes are half-lidded, his expression content and serene. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek, his touch light and loving. "I love these quiet mornings with you," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your soul.

"Me too," you whisper back, your heart swelling with affection, your eyes locked with his.

You snuggle closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly. The world outside can wait a little longer as you bask in the warmth of each other's presence, the quiet intimacy of the morning making everything else fade away. Mingyu's hands continue their gentle caresses, his fingers tracing soft lines over your skin. You feel utterly cherished, each touch and kiss a testament to the love you share. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body against yours create a cocoon of contentment that you never want to leave.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 5. Showing you off

"Gyu!" you shout from the bathroom, "What time is it?"

The sound of his long steps come closer and closer until the bathroom door pushes open. Mingyu's head peeks through the gap in the door, and smiles as soon as he sees you. You're wearing the new dress he bought you, the cute sundress that couldn't help himself from buying when he saw you looking at it.

"You're pretty," he murmurs and slinks into the bathroom.

He wraps his arms around you, your back relaxing into his chest. "Mingyu," you repeat.

"What?" He pulls his eyes away from the dress to meet your eyes.

"What time is it?" you ask again with a teasing smile.

"Oh, it's around three-thirty." His hands find your waist. "We should leave in half an hour."

You nod and start packing up your make up. "Good, I think I'm done anyway... do you think I look okay?"

Mingyu lets go of you, spinning you around to face him. You can only grin while he studies you carefully with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed in focus. After a few seconds, he nods—satisfied with what he's seen.

"Perfect." He puts his hand right below your jaw, careful not to disturb the make up on your face. "You look perfect, baby."

His smile remains radiant as you arrive at his family's get-together, a constant beam of joy that lights up the entire evening. Mingyu keeps you close, his arm possessively yet gently wrapped around you, presenting you to the members of his family you haven't yet met. Every introduction is accompanied by a glowing remark about you, his voice brimming with pride. You feel like a movie star at a film premiere—the constant pampering, the way his eyes sparkle every time he looks at you, and the sneaky photos he snaps when he thinks you're not looking.

Mingyu can't seem to stop showering you with compliments. "This is my partner," he says, beaming, as he introduces you to yet another relative. "They're incredible, you know. Smart, kind, and absolutely stunning." He turns his head to you, trying to contain his big smile by biting down on his bottom lip.

You blush, murmuring polite responses, but his praise never ceases. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes full of adoration, and the way he never lets go of your hand, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin in a soothing gesture.

Throughout the evening, Mingyu is a constant presence by your side, his touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of social interactions. His family is warm and welcoming, their smiles genuine as they embrace you into their fold. The air is filled with laughter and conversation, the smell of delicious food wafting through the house, creating an atmosphere of warmth and togetherness.

Mingyu’s playful nature shines through as he snaps candid photos of you, his grin widening each time you catch him in the act. "You’re just too beautiful not to capture," he explains with a cheeky smile, earning a soft laugh from you.

As the night progresses, you find yourself growing more and more flustered under the weight of his unending compliments. Yet, there's a thrill in it—a heady mixture of embarrassment and joy at being the center of his universe. His family notices, and they tease him gently about his lovesick behavior, but it only makes him hold you closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear that make your heart flutter.

By the time the evening winds down, you’re overwhelmed with affection, feeling cherished and adored in a way that leaves you breathless. The warmth of Mingyu’s family, combined with his constant praise and tender glances, has wrapped you in a cocoon of love and contentment. As you prepare to leave, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close for a tender kiss on your temple, his lips lingering just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with genuine gratitude. "You made everything perfect."

You smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. "Thank you for taking me along... I don't think I've seen you like this before," you admit, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet of the night.

"What do you mean?" He cocks his head, his eyes curious and endearing, making you laugh softly at his obliviousness.

"You were trying to show me off all night," you explain, a playful note in your voice. Seeing his slightly worried expression, you quickly add, "It was sweet, Gyu. Really, it was."

Relief floods his features, and he leans in to press a kiss on your lips. The kiss is soft, lingering a second longer than it should, filling you with a warmth that spreads through your entire body. "It's my boyfriend privilege to get to show you off," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

You groan playfully, rolling your eyes at his words as he starts giggling, the sound infectious and heartwarming. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to the cab he's ordered to take you home. The night air is cool and refreshing, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, but Mingyu's hand in yours keeps you warm.

As you approach the cab, he pauses for a moment, turning to look at you with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. "You know," he says softly, brushing a stray hair from your face, "You should wear that dress more often."

"Oh yeah?"

Your breath catches in your throat at his words as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "Yeah," he whispers.

With one last lingering kiss, you both get into the cab, his arm never leaving your shoulders. As the city lights blur past the window, you lean into Mingyu, feeling his warmth envelop you.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 6. A shoulder to cry on

When you enter the apartment, none of the lights are turned on. You worked late that day, but not so late that Mingyu would've gone to sleep already. The apartment is eerily quiet, devoid of the usual warmth and liveliness. Toeing off your shoes and putting away your outerwear in their rightful places, you start to wonder if he's not home. He usually texts you when he gets home, but you haven't received any messages.

Concern etches between your brows as you walk further into the apartment. The kitchen is spotless, with no pots or pans on the stove—not that you always expect Mingyu to cook, but he had told you earlier today that he'd have something ready for you when you got home. You open the fridge, finding it just as you left it this morning. The absence of any signs of recent activity deepens your worry.

As you pass the bathroom by the guest room, you flick on the lights, casting a warm glow to see the path to your shared bedroom. By the ajar door, you notice a piece of fabric slumped together on the floor. Picking it up, you realize it's Mingyu's jacket. You drape it over your arm and continue to the bedroom, your heart pounding with unease.

He's not there, but you see that the light in your bathroom is on, a soft glow seeping through the cracks in the door. You place his jacket on the edge of the bed before approaching the bathroom door, only to find it locked.

You knock softly, pressing your ear against the door. "Mingyu, I'm home... are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," he replies, but his voice is thick with tears. "Sorry, I didn't have time to make you dinner... I think there's some leftovers from yesterday."

"Please, open the door." Ignoring his suggestion about dinner, you grab the door handle. "I can hear that you're not okay."

You hear him sigh, and his footsteps approach the door. Stepping back, you wait as the door swings open. The first thing you see is his bloodshot eyes and red nose. He sniffles and looks away, trying to hide his vulnerability.

"I'm..." He hesitates, torn between lying and being honest.

Before he can decide, you engulf him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. "Oh, baby..."

The dam breaks as a sob bubbles up Mingyu's throat, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that shatters the silence. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt. You can feel the wet warmth of his tears spreading, a tangible sign of his anguish.

You rub his back soothingly, your hand moving in slow, comforting circles. Each sob wracks his body, causing his shoulders to tremble violently. His fingers clutch at your shirt, holding on as if he might drown without this anchor.

Minutes pass, each one heavy with his sorrow, until finally, his sobs begin to subside. His shoulders stop shaking, and his breathing slowly evens out, though occasional hiccups still break through. Only then do you loosen your embrace, though you don't fully let go. Instead, you gently take his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that cling to his skin. His eyes are red and swollen, filled with a mixture of lingering sadness and gratitude.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask softly.

"...can I tell you later? I'll start crying again if I tell you now." He lets out a choked laugh, trying to relieve the tension, but your frown remains.

"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

You gently wipe away Mingyu’s tears, your thumb brushing over his cheeks with tender care. His skin is warm and damp, his eyes still glistening with the remnants of his sorrow. Your touch is gentle and reassuring as you guide him to change into more comfortable clothes. You help him out of his work attire, unbuttoning his shirt with careful fingers, and replacing it with a soft, worn-in t-shirt that brings him comfort. Each movement is deliberate, designed to soothe and calm him. You then help him into a pair of loose, cozy sweatpants, ensuring he's enveloped in softness and warmth.

Once he’s settled, you guide him to the couch in the living room, your arm around his waist, supporting his slow and heavy movements. The weight of his exhaustion is impossible to miss, his shoulders slumped and his steps dragging. He collapses onto the couch with a weary sigh, sinking into the cushions as if they might absorb some of his burden.

You start to leave for the kitchen, intending to get him something to eat or drink, but he grabs your hand. His grip is firm yet desperate, his fingers curling around yours with a silent plea for you to stay.

You turn back to him, your heart aching at the sight of his vulnerable expression. Mingyu looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and need. "Don't leave," he whispers.

"I'm going to heat up some leftovers," you explain. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Mingyu shakes his head no and lets go of your hand. You feel his eyes on you as you walk around the kitchen, quickly putting something together. It's not fancy, and it's nothing like what he usually makes you, but it's enough for the two of you right now.

When you return to his side, you give him his bowl before settling down next to him. You eat in silence, letting Mingyu sit as close to you as he pleases. When you're done, you take the dishes to the kitchen. Although you want him to sit still and rest, he follows you—his arms wrapped around your waist the entire time.

It's hard to move around, but you don't complain. Soon enough, the dishes are done and you're back on the couch. Mingyu has his arms wrapped tightly around you as you lay on top of him.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"You don't have to thank me." You lean up to look him in the eye. "Me taking care of you is your boyfriend privilege."

He smiles and presses a chaste kiss on your lips before closing his eyes. The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch on accident. But your stiff body is worth it when you get to see Mingyu smiling at you the next morning.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 7. A shoulder to nap on

On the flight back home from a much-needed vacation, Mingyu booked the two of you first-class seats. It was partly because he loves spoiling you, but also so you could sleep comfortably on the way home. The plush seats and extra legroom were a perfect idea, promising a restful journey, but right now, that comfort feels like a far-off dream.

The flight was delayed by a few hours, leaving you and Mingyu stuck at the gate. The airport buzzes with the quiet hum of late-night travelers, the occasional announcement crackling over the PA system. The two of you sit in the lounge, surrounded by weary passengers slumped in their chairs, eyes glazed with fatigue. The smell of coffee and cleaning agents lingers in the air, mingling with the soft rustle of newspapers and the muted clatter of luggage wheels.

Mingyu tries to make the best of the situation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. His warmth seeps into you, a soothing balm against the weariness. "Just a little longer," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the delay, his presence is a comforting anchor in the sea of exhaustion, his voice a soft murmur that calms your racing thoughts.

You glance at the clock, the minutes ticking by slowly. The soft lighting of the lounge casts a warm glow, but it does little to chase away the tiredness settling into your bones. Mingyu's fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring, each stroke a silent promise of love and comfort.

"I can't wait to be home in my bed," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with exhaustion.

Mingyu leans his head on your shoulder, his soft hair brushing against your cheek as he closes his eyes with a contented sigh. The weight and warmth of his head against your shoulder provide an unexpected comfort, grounding you in the moment. "This is enough for me," he says softly, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin.

"My shoulder?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice, feeling the vibration of his chuckle through the closeness.

"Yes," he replies, his tone earnest and affectionate. His closeness feels intimate and safe, a bubble of tranquility amidst the chaos of the airport.

"And why should I let you have my shoulder?" you tease, a smile tugging at your lips as you relish the closeness.

"Boyfriend privileges," he replies matter-of-factly, his lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. The slight pressure of his lips against your skin sends a wave of warmth through you.

You sigh, a mixture of amusement and tenderness filling your heart. The playful banter and the sincere love in his voice make your heart swell. You tilt your head to rest against his, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. The world around you fades into a comforting blur, the distant chatter of the airport and the mechanical hum of the environment becoming mere background noise.

For a moment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth and love. His presence is a cocoon of safety and affection, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax fully in his embrace. The gentle rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, and the soft, warm pressure of his head against yours create a symphony of comfort that lulls you into a peaceful state.

Your peace is soon interrupted, however. Finally, the boarding announcement crackles through the speakers, breaking the heavy silence of anticipation and sparking a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the gate area. The weariness of the long wait begins to lift as passengers gather their belongings. Mingyu helps you gather your things, his hand never leaving yours as you make your way to the boarding line. His touch is a reassuring anchor, grounding you amidst the bustling crowd.

"Almost there," Mingyu whispers, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thank goodness," you reply, offering him a tired smile.

The atmosphere shifts as you step onto the jet bridge, a mix of excitement and fatigue hanging in the air. The cool, conditioned air of the plane greets you as you board, offering a welcome contrast to the stuffy terminal. The flight attendants greet you with warm smiles, guiding you toward the plush sanctuary of first class.

Settling into your spacious seats, the world outside begins to fade away. The soft cushions envelop you in comfort, and the generous legroom allows you to stretch out and relax. Mingyu stows your carry-ons in the overhead compartment with ease, his movements fluid and practiced.

As he sits down beside you, the overhead lights cast a gentle glow. "This is so much better," you murmur.

Mingyu smiles, reaching over to adjust your blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness that melts your heart. "I told you it would be worth the wait," he says softly, his eyes filled with affection.

You can't help but smile at the thought of curling up next to him, the hum of the plane's engines a soothing backdrop. "You always know how to spoil me," you whisper, leaning into his touch.

"It's my favorite thing to do," he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Besides, you deserve it."

As the plane takes off, you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The world outside the window shrinks to a distant blur, and you close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

"Thank you, Gyu," you murmur, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

"For what?" he asks, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"For everything. For this. For you," you whisper, your words trailing off as sleep begins to claim you.

"Always," he replies softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your arm. "Sleep well, my love."

Wrapped in the comfort of his love and care, you drift off, the promise of restful sleep finally within reach. The gentle touch of his fingers lulls you into a peaceful slumber

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 8. Lunch boxes

When someone called out for lunchtime, the members collectively let out a big sigh of relief. With tired limbs, they make their way to the cafeteria. While everyone else lines up to buy something, Mingyu heads straight to the fridge and retrieves a carefully prepared meal. He sits down at a table, placing the metal box with a wooden lid in front of him. A pink, stretchy band adorned with tiny red strawberries holds the spoon in place. His face lights up with a smile as he spots the small note on the lid.

Hope practice is going well! I know you're working hard, so please enjoy your lunch and eat well! Can't wait for you to come home♡(>ᴗ•)

Mingyu carefully folds the pink post-it and tucks it into his phone case, a cherished reminder of your thoughtfulness. By then, people have started sitting down beside him, their eyes subtly glancing at the box in front of him. Nobody says anything—they already know what it is—until he opens it.

Inside the box is a beautifully arranged Korean lunchbox. The main compartment holds perfectly steamed white rice, topped with a sprinkling of black sesame seeds. Nestled beside it is a portion of crispy fried chicken, golden brown and glistening with a light coating of sweet and spicy sauce. The other sections are filled with a variety of colorful banchan: neatly sliced kimchi, lightly seasoned spinach, sweet and tangy pickled radish, and tender strips of stir-fried beef bulgogi. There’s even a small section of rolled omelette, its yellow hue bright and inviting.

The delicious aroma wafts up, drawing envious glances from his fellow members. The savory scent of fried chicken and the tangy hint of kimchi fill the air, making everyone's mouths water.

"Did Y/N make you another lunchbox?" Seokmin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, they were working from home yesterday, so they had some extra time on their hands," Mingyu replies, a small smile playing on his lips as he inspects the beautifully arranged food.

"It's not fair that only you get homemade lunches from Y/N!" Seungkwan whines, his tone a mix of genuine envy and playful teasing.

Mingyu responds by sticking his tongue out at Seungkwan, making the younger man groan in exasperation. "Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu states proudly, his grin widening.

As he digs in, Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, savoring the flavors and the love that went into preparing his meal. The meat is perfectly seasoned, the rice fluffy, and the banchan vibrant and flavorful. Each bite is a reminder of your care and effort, making the meal taste even better. The members watch with a mix of admiration and envy as Mingyu enjoys his lunch.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 9. Bath buddy

As you walk the last bit to the door of your apartment building, you notice a figure in the distance. A tall man, vaguely boyfriend-shaped, waving both of his arms over his head with enthusiasm. Your heart skips a beat, and your smile matches Mingyu's as you break into a run, closing the gap between you. He’s sweaty from the gym, his skin glistening in the fading light, but you don’t mind. You launch yourself into his embrace, pressing yourself as close as possible, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort of his body.

"Are you trying to squeeze me to death?" he asks jokingly, his voice vibrating against your ear.

You loosen your grip slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. "You have no idea how much I've missed you today."

Instead of teasing you, Mingyu gently pats your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a comforting touch. He sees the weariness in your eyes and the way your hair seems to stick out in all the wrong places, evidence of a long, hard day. "Bad day, hun?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

The moment he speaks, you feel your guard drop completely. Your lips naturally fall into a pout, and your hands grip the material of his shirt a little tighter. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the exhaustion you feel. Mingyu coos at you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, offering silent comfort. He then guides you to the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, a steadying presence.

"Do you want to take a bath with me?" he asks as he opens the door for you, his voice gentle and soothing.

"Okay," you murmur.

Once inside, the apartment feels like a sanctuary, the chaos of the outside world fading away as the door clicks shut behind you. The familiar scent of home, mingled with Mingyu's comforting presence, immediately begins to soothe your frazzled nerves. He leads you to the bathroom, his touch a constant, reassuring anchor as he guides you down the softly lit hallway. The gentle hum of the apartment envelops you, creating a cocoon of tranquility.

In the bathroom, Mingyu starts running the bath, the sound of water filling the room like a calming symphony. You watch as he carefully adds your favorite bath salts, the granules dissolving into the warm water and releasing a soothing aroma. The scent of lavender and chamomile fills the air, creating a spa-like atmosphere that begins to unwind the knots of tension coiled within you.

Mingyu helps you undress with tender, loving movements, his touch feather-light yet filled with purpose. His fingers trace the contours of your body with a delicate touch, each gesture a silent reassurance of his love and care. The way his hands glide over your skin, unhurried and gentle, sends a wave of warmth through you, dispelling the day’s weariness.

He sheds his own clothes with practiced ease, the fabric slipping off his toned frame effortlessly. The sight of his familiar form, strong and comforting, brings a sense of security and warmth. His skin, slightly glistening from the exertion of the day, catches the soft light, highlighting the lines of his muscles and the contours of his body. There's a serene beauty in the way he moves, each action unhurried and filled with quiet confidence.

Stepping into the bath first, Mingyu eases himself into the steaming water with a sigh of contentment, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the water. He settles into the tub, the water enveloping him like a warm embrace. His eyes, inviting and filled with affection, lock onto yours as he extends his hand towards you. The look in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent invitation wrapped in love and intimacy.

You take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip as he helps you into the tub. The water envelops you in a gentle embrace, its warmth soothing your tired muscles. You settle between his legs, leaning back against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby against your back.

As you relax into his embrace, Mingyu's arms wrap around you, holding you close. His hands begin to gently massage your shoulders, his fingers working out the knots of tension with skillful precision. The sensation is both relaxing and intimate, his touch a balm to your weary soul. You close your eyes, surrendering to the moment, feeling the stress of the day melt away under his tender ministrations.

The soft glow of the bathroom light casts a golden hue over everything, enhancing the sense of intimacy and warmth. Shadows dance along the walls, creating a serene and almost magical ambiance. The only sounds are the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional sigh of contentment from both of you.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice soft and content.

"I love you too," he replies, his lips brushing against your ear.

You stay like that for a while, the water lapping gently around you, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and the steady rhythm of Mingyu's breathing. It’s a perfect moment of peace and connection, wrapped in the comfort and love that only he can provide.

After a few minutes, Mingyu shifts slightly behind you, his movements gentle yet purposeful. "Can you wash my hair?" he asks softly, his voice laced with a boyish charm that makes your heart flutter.

You smile, turning slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his. "Of course," you reply, your voice warm and affectionate.

He hands you the shampoo, and you pour a generous amount into your palm. Mingyu dips his head back into the water, wetting his hair thoroughly before leaning forward to give you better access. The rich, lathering scent of his shampoo fills the air, mingling with the soothing aromas of the bath salts, creating a calming symphony of fragrances.

Your fingers work through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle, circular motions. The silky strands slip through your fingers, and you take your time, ensuring each section of his hair is coated with the fragrant lather. Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he leans into your touch, his body visibly relaxing under your ministrations.

"This feels amazing," he murmurs, his voice a low, relaxed hum that sends shivers down your spine.

You smile, continuing your careful work. "You deserve it," you say softly. "It's your boyfriend privilege, isn't it?"

Mingyu chuckles, the sound a soft, comforting vibration against your chest. Before he can respond, you pick up the shower head, adjusting the temperature before gently rinsing out the shampoo. Tilting his head back with a gentle hand, you let the warm water cascade through his hair, washing away the suds and leaving his hair clean and soft.

He leans back against you once more, his hair damp and silky against your skin. His eyes are half-lidded with contentment, a serene smile playing on his lips. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude and affection.

"Anytime," you reply, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. The warmth of the water and the intimacy of the moment create a cocoon around you, shutting out the rest of the world. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that syncs with your own. Mingyu's hands rest gently on your arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as you both bask in the tranquility of the bath.

The two of you stay like that, cocooned in warmth, the soft glow of the bathroom light casting a golden hue over everything. The sounds of the water and your synchronized breathing create a peaceful ambiance.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 10. Tie-fixer

You were already in your pajamas, nestled comfortably in bed with your book, when Mingyu walked in, still dressed in his suit but without his tie. The crisp white shirt accentuated his broad shoulders, and the slight dishevelment of his attire made him look irresistibly charming. His hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead, adding to his effortlessly handsome appearance. He didn't have to say anything; the moment your eyes met his, you were already putting your book to the side and swinging your legs out of bed, the anticipation of helping him a welcome routine.

"Where's your tie?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice, tilting your head slightly.

Mingyu pulls the piece of fabric from his pocket and hands it to you, a weary yet appreciative smile playing on his lips. The tie is cool and smooth in your hands, its silk gliding between your fingers. Rising to your feet, you step close to him, your fingers deftly slipping the tie around his neck. The familiar action feels intimate, almost like a ritual between the two of you, a small moment of connection in your busy lives.

As you slowly begin to tie it, your fingers working methodically, you glance up at him. "How long is the event?" you ask, your voice soft and caring, eyes meeting his with genuine concern.

"I probably won't be home until after two," he says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of his long night ahead settles in. The lines of fatigue on his face tug at your heart.

"It's okay. I want you to have fun," you murmur, focusing on the tie but feeling the sincerity of your words. "I'll be busy with dinner and my book anyway."

Mingyu watches you, his eyes softening as he takes in your familiar, comforting presence. "I wish you could come with me," he says quietly, his hands gently resting on your hips as you finish tying the knot. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent promise of his affection.

You tighten the tie and smooth it down, patting his chest gently. "You know I'd love to, but someone's got to hold down the fort here," you reply jokingly, your smile warm and reassuring.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, resonating in the quiet of the room. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "What would I do without you?" he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. "Let's not find out," you whisper, your cheek pressed against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

Mingyu hugs you tightly, savoring the closeness, the scent of his cologne mingling with the comforting smell of home. When he finally pulls back, he looks down at you with a mix of love and reluctance. "I really should go," he says, though he doesn't make a move to leave just yet.

"I know," you reply, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, tucking it back into place. "You'll be amazing, as always."

"Mm, especially with such a well-tied tie," he smiles playfully at you, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I'm so lucky for my boyfriend privilege."

You chuckle softly, resting your hands on his chest. "Yes, you're very privileged," you tease. "Just remember that when you're out there charming everyone."

Mingyu grins, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. "How could I forget? My number one fan is waiting for me at home."

You roll your eyes, but your smile is fond. "Just don't let it go to your head."

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "No promises... I'll miss you," he says, his voice softening as he cups your face in his hands.

"I'll miss you too," you reply, covering his hands with yours.

He gives you one last lingering kiss, his lips warm and tender against yours, a promise of his return. "I'll try to be back as soon as I can," he promises, his voice filled with genuine affection, his hand squeezing yours gently.

"I'll be waiting," you say softly, watching as he finally turns to leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room feels a little emptier without him, but you return to bed, your book waiting patiently. For a moment, you just sit there, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence and the subtle ache of his absence, already looking forward to his return.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ ... 11?

The winter chill had settled in, but the warmth of Valentine's Day wrapped the city in a blanket of love and excitement. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of snow, mingling with the fragrance of roses that seemed to bloom on every corner. Everywhere you looked, couples were bundled up in cozy scarves and gloves, holding hands, sharing tender smiles, and exchanging sweet nothings. The city streets were transformed into a romantic wonderland, with heart-shaped lights casting a soft, warm glow on the cobblestone paths, creating a dreamy ambiance that made everything feel just a little more magical.

Mingyu had planned the entire day with meticulous care, wanting to make every moment special for you. The day began with the gentle sound of his voice waking you, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, holding a tray with breakfast in bed—fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, topped with fresh berries, and a steaming cup of your favorite coffee. The sweet aroma filled the room, and as you shared the meal, you couldn't help but smile at how perfectly the day had started.

The afternoon was spent strolling through the city, the two of you arm in arm as you visited all your favorite spots. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of the holiday, but for you, time seemed to slow down, every moment stretching into something memorable. You laughed over shared memories, pointing out familiar landmarks and reliving inside jokes that only the two of you understood. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but it was no match for the warmth of Mingyu's hand holding yours, or the way his laughter seemed to melt the chill away.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the city, Mingyu surprised you with dinner at the restaurant where you’d had your first date. The sight of the familiar entrance made your heart skip a beat, and when you stepped inside, the ambiance was perfect—low lights that cast a gentle glow over the intimate setting, soft music playing in the background, and a table tucked away in a quiet corner just for the two of you. Mingyu looked absolutely perfect, the flickering candlelight highlighting his features, making his eyes sparkle with a warmth that mirrored the love in your heart.

He was wearing the turtleneck you had gotten him last December, the deep burgundy color standing out beautifully under his sleek black coat. The sight of him, so effortlessly handsome, made you fall in love with him all over again.

The dinner was delicious, every bite savored as you reminisced about that first date and how far you'd come since then. But as the evening went on, you noticed a certain tension in Mingyu—a subtle shift in his demeanor. He was attentive as always, but his hand gripped yours just a little tighter, and his eyes, though filled with affection, seemed to hold something more—an emotion he hadn’t yet put into words.

When dessert was finished and the check was paid, Mingyu suggested a walk through the park. The idea seemed simple, but there was something in his tone that made your heart flutter with anticipation. The park was beautifully decorated for the holiday, with twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the trees and heart-shaped lanterns swaying gently from the branches. The path was dusted with a light layer of snow, which crunched softly underfoot as you walked side by side, the sound mingling with the distant laughter of other couples enjoying the night.

The cold nipped at your nose, but Mingyu’s presence kept you warm. He walked close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours with every step, and as you made your way deeper into the park, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet he had become. His hand, warm and reassuring in yours, was steady, but there was a nervous energy beneath the surface, a sense of something important hanging in the air between you.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the world around you gradually fading into the background as you simply enjoyed being together. The park was peaceful, the night air crisp and clear, with the soft crunch of snow underfoot being the only sound between you. The distant twinkle of lights reflected off the lake's surface, casting a serene, almost magical glow over the scene. The sky above was an expanse of deep navy, dotted with stars that peeked out from behind the clouds, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

As you approached a secluded bench near the lake, Mingyu began to slow down, his footsteps becoming more deliberate. His breath was visible in the cold air, curling upward in soft, white puffs. The quietude around you seemed to intensify, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Mingyu stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lights strung up in the trees, making them look like they were sparkling with unshed emotions.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost tender, as he pulled you closer. Without waiting for your response, he wrapped his coat around you, his touch protective and warm.

"Not with you here," you replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. But as you looked up at him, you noticed something different, a subtle tension in his expression. "... you're unusually quiet tonight. Is everything okay?"

Mingyu smiled, though there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. "There's something I've been wanting to say all day," he began, his tone serious but laced with affection, each word carefully chosen. "Valentine's Day is all about celebrating love, right?"

You nodded, curiosity piqued, your gaze never leaving his. "Right..."

He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs before he released it slowly, his hands still holding yours, their warmth grounding you both. His expression softened, and the affection in his eyes deepened, becoming almost palpable. "Well, I wanted to celebrate us... You know how I've always said I'm lucky to have boyfriend privileges?" His lips curled into a small, playful smile, the familiar phrase bringing a rush of warmth to your chest. It was an inside joke that had grown between you, a phrase that had come to symbolize the depth of his love.

You laughed lightly, nodding, your heart fluttering. "You've mentioned it a time or two."

"Well," he continued, the playful edge in his voice giving way to something more serious, more profound. His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself for what he was about to say. "I've been thinking a lot about what that really means. About how much I love you, and how my life has been so much better with you in it. I don't just want boyfriend privileges anymore. I want... something more."

The air around you seemed to still, the world shrinking down to just the two of you. Mingyu's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you found yourself holding your breath, your heart pounding in anticipation.

"Mingyu... what are you saying?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you searched his eyes, hoping for confirmation of what you suspected.

"... I want husband privileges," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. The words tumbled out like a secret he had been holding close to his heart, and as they settled between you, the weight of them was almost overwhelming.

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sank in, sending a rush of emotion through your entire being. Before you could fully process what was happening, Mingyu reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The deep burgundy of the box stood out against the black fabric of his coat, catching the faint light from the lanterns around you. Your breath caught in your throat as he dropped to one knee, the world around you dissolving into a blur. The soft glow of the lights reflected in his eyes, making them shine with a love so intense it took your breath away.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, each word laced with raw emotion. "Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you, taking care of you, and being your forever? I want to be your husband, not just today, not just tomorrow, but every day for the rest of our lives."

The sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the ring, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made tears well up in your eyes. Your hand flew to your mouth in disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest as the magnitude of the moment hit you. The world seemed to stop, the night holding its breath as you looked down at him, his expression filled with hope, love, and adoration.

"Mingyu," you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion, each word carrying the weight of your love for him. "Yes. Of course, I'll marry you!"

The tension in his shoulders melted away as his face broke into the widest smile, relief and joy flooding his features. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and reverent. The ring was perfect—simple, elegant, and exactly what you would have chosen. It glimmered softly in the light, a tangible symbol of the promise you had just made to each other.

Without hesitation, Mingyu stood up, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you off your feet. He spun you around in a joyful whirl, the cold air forgotten as you both laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet park. The night seemed to come alive with your happiness, the trees around you swaying gently as if to share in your joy.

When he finally set you down, his arms remained around you, pulling you into a kiss. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently brushing against your cheeks, his touch warm and steady. The tenderness in his grip made your heart swell, and as he leaned in, you could feel his breath mingling with yours, a soft, shared anticipation hanging in the air. When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time itself slowed. The kiss was soft at first, a delicate, reverent connection that conveyed everything words couldn’t.

But then, it deepened, his lips moving against yours with a slow, purposeful intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Each movement was deliberate, filled with a passion that burned through you, igniting every nerve. His kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a vow sealed with every ounce of emotion he had been holding back. You could feel his love in the way his hands held you, not too tight, but firm enough that you knew he never wanted to let go.

As his lips molded perfectly against yours, the rest of the world faded into oblivion. The cold night air, the distant sounds of the city, even the twinkling lights around you—all of it dissolved into the background, leaving only the warmth of his kiss, the rapid beat of your heart, and the overwhelming flood of emotion between you. It was as if the two of you existed in your own universe, a moment suspended in time where nothing else mattered.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with reverence and devotion, as if the words were sacred.

Tears still glistening in your eyes, you smiled up at him, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you too, Mingyu. I hope you're ready for all the husband privileges."

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, resonating with the happiness that radiated from him. It was a laugh that spoke of a future filled with love, laughter, and countless more moments like this. He pulled you into another embrace, his arms holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "This is the best Valentine’s Day of my life," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

"It’s just the beginning, baby," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw as you looked up at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every line that spoke of his love for you.

The two of you stood there in the park, wrapped in each other’s arms as the lights twinkled around you, the cold air nipping at your cheeks but failing to penetrate the warmth that enveloped you both. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that felt like it would last forever.

As you walked back home, hand in hand, the silence between you was filled with contentment and the unspoken promises of what was to come. You couldn’t help but glance down at the ring on your finger. The excitement of what lay ahead filled you with warmth, and as you leaned into Mingyu, you knew that your life together would be filled with endless love, laughter, and, of course, husband privileges.

feedback is always welcomed!

taglist:

@enhacolor, @shuabby1994, @junhui-recs, @dkakapizzaboy, @just-here-to-read-01,

@loviehan, @userjunhuii, @novalpha, @bubblymoon, @aaniag,

@d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @seunghancore, @woozixo, @niktwazny303,

@lllucere, @uniq-tastic, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz,

@cali-snow, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang, @wonuvs, @dokyeomkyeom,

@kyeomiis, @gyuguys, @notevenheretbh1 @iamawkwardandshy, @wonuskie

[navybrat817]

Hi Navy 👋

I wanted to send something in for ficlet friday (valentines day). I hope it's alright

Can I request something with Bucky Barnes (maybe beefy bucky) and a shy reader, where they spend valentines day in bed watching movies with cookies, cuddling and kisses and at the end, he surprises the reader, perhaps the reader wants to surprise him as well (you can choose only if you want to 🥺🙈). He is just so gentle and sweet (romantic too) 🥰🫠

With these prompts:

“You give the best hugs.” and “Have I told you I love you today?”

Please? Thank you so much 🥺❤️

Sorry, I got carried away

I hope I did this justice, lovely!

Best Hugs and Kisses

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You spend your first Valentine's Day with Bucky.

Word Count: Over 930

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, sweetness, kisses, cuddling, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You smiled as you snuggled closer to Bucky in bed. You still couldn’t believe it was your first Valentine’s Day together. He had asked you more than once if you wanted to go out to eat or go anywhere special, but you were a bit of a homebody and didn’t mind a quiet day in with cuddling, movies, and treats. You had a feeling he’d enjoy it, too, since he also didn’t mind staying in. He assured you it would be the perfect day, and it was.

You had to admit that cuddling was one of the best parts of the day. It was a perfect moment of closeness, and every little touch built an intimate connection between the two of you. The warmth that radiated from his beefy build created a sense of safety and care, and the soft sound of his breathing and occasional laughter provided a sense of calm. Time seemed to slow down, and the outside world faded away until it was just the two of you. You were completely at ease with the man you loved.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, offering you a bite of his heart shaped cookie. You graciously accepted and tried to ignore the heat that rose to your cheeks when he wiped a crumb away from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Something I think you should know.”

“What is it?” you asked curiously, tilting your head back to get a better look at your handsome boyfriend.

He broke eye contact, only because he brought his mouth to your ear. “You give the best hugs.”

You giggled, partially from his lips tickling your ear and the rest because your face felt like it was on fire. “No, I don’t. You do,” you smiled bashfully, ducking your head down.

All your life you had been a bit on the shyer side, content to stay in the background instead of being front and center. Not many took notice of you, and you still weren’t sure some days how you got Bucky’s attention, but you saw each other in the soft shadows and created your own spotlight together. One you didn't mind sharing with each other. It was a beautiful give and take.

And he really did give the best hugs, enveloping you in his loving embrace every time.

Chuckling, too, he tipped your chin back up. “Yeah, you do. And you give the best kisses.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the soft touch of his lips, your heart melting from the tenderness. There was no rushing, only a slow and delicate pressure like the brush of a feather. When that kiss ended, he began another and another. They stretched on, neither of you wanting it to end as you shared one breath. They were the kind of kisses that dreams were made of.

He smiled as he pulled away, a soft twinkle in his steel eyes. He likely heard how fast your heart was beating and felt the tremble that moved your body. “See? The best kisses,” he said.

You hid your face in his chest. If he kept talking like that you’d turn into a puddle. But you smiled when you realized his heart was beating as fast as yours. Maybe he wasn't as bashful as you, but it was nice to know that kissing you and being close affected him, too.

“Hey, hey. No hiding,” he said, running a hand up and down your back. “I still have to give you your present.”

“You didn't have to get me anything,” you said once you lifted your head.

The super soldier’s jaw dropped. “It’s our first Valentine's Day. I'd be a rotten boyfriend if I didn't get you something.”

“You’re far from rotten, Bucky Barnes,” you smiled, both of you sitting up so he could reach for the present he had nearby. The heart wrapping paper was sweet and you imagined the cashier swooned when he bought it.

He suddenly looked nervous when he handed it over. “I hope you like it,” he said, tucking a bit of his hair behind his ear.

“I’ll love it,” you promised, carefully opening it. It didn't matter what he gave you since it came from him. “Oh, Bucky…” you whispered, tears instantly blurring your vision.

Inside of the box was a scrapbook titled “Our Love Story”. Blinking the tears away, you slowly opened it and saw a photo of the two of you. It was the first photo you had ever taken together. It was one of your happiest memories. Bucky gave you so many fond memories.

“Do you… like it?” he softly asked as you continued to flip through the pages.

“I love it. Thank you,” you answered in awe. It had how you met, your first date, places you visited, your bucket list, and more. There were blank pages in the back to fill up together, too. It was such a thoughtful, touching gift. “Have I told you I love you today?”

“You have, but I’d love to hear it again,” he winked, pleased that you loved your gift.

You held his face in your hands, not shying away when his eyes met yours. “I love you, Bucky,” you whispered.

His eyes slipped shut, briefly overcome with emotion. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered back.

“Now time for your gift,” you smiled, but he stopped you before you could pull away.

“Later,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you as you giggled. “Right now I want one more of those best kisses.”

You'd give him all the kisses he wanted, today and every day.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[winwintea]

my funny valentine

PAIRING ↬ best friend!lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, horror, suspense, romance, crack, tooth fairy haechan, <- trust me that'll make sense, they play detectives, stalker au, valentines au, flirty jaemin, songwriter and poet mark lee, painter renjun, they all kinda down bad for y/n a little though

WARNINGS  ↬ teeth. and it's gross. also stalkers !!

SUMMARY ↬ for valentines day all you wanted to do was chill with your best friend. unfortunately for you, there's a little someone claiming to be your secret admirer bringing you cryptic valentine's day gifts. you brush it off until the gifts start getting more and more sinister. can you and haechan solve this mystery before it's too late? (and can he confess some of his own feelings to you while he's at it?)

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ while this may not be a FUNNY fic, it’s very heavily inspired by MISAMO’s “Funny Valentine” so please go check that song out and give it some love <33

PLAYLIST ↬ the wolf - siames; stalker’s tango - autoheart; bust your knee caps - pomplamoose; smoke and mirrors - jayn; tag, you’re it - melanie martinez; funny valentine - misamo

The air outside is crisp, a reminder that winter hasn’t fully let go, despite the pink and red decorations plastered across storefronts. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and yet, as you step out of your apartment, the holiday is the furthest thing from your mind.

Until you nearly trip over something at your doorstep.

A single red rose rests against the welcome mat, its petals velvety and deep, almost too perfect to be real. A small, cream-colored card, tied around with a black ribbon sits at the center.

You bend down, fingers brushing over the card as you flip it open.

“You don’t see me for who I am, but I see you.”

A strange shiver trails down your spine.

You glance around the hallway of your apartment complex. The usual dull lighting flickers slightly, and the air is still. No sounds of footsteps, no hushed whispers from neighbors. Just silence.

A prank? A weird marketing gimmick? Maybe even a mistaken delivery? You don’t have a secret admirer. Or at least, not one you know of.

Still, you tuck the note into your pocket and step back inside, leaving the rose on the counter as you grab your phone. Without thinking, you call the one person who would get a kick out of this.

The line barely rings before Haechan picks up.

"Yo, what’s up?" His voice is warm, laced with the lazy charm that makes it impossible to tell whether he's just woken up or has been up scheming since dawn.

“You’ll never guess what I just found at my door.”

“You finally got that Amazon package you forgot you ordered?”

“No, you idiot.” You roll your eyes, staring at the rose. “A gift. A creepy one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haechan’s intrigued hum. “Creepy, huh? You have my attention. Spill.”

You quickly relay the details—the rose, the note, the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut. You half-expect him to laugh it off, but instead, his voice drops into something quieter, more serious.

"And you're sure it wasn't left at the wrong door?"

"I’m not sure about that. My name wasn’t on it, but my neighbors are men. Who would do this to a guy?”

Another pause. Then, a small chuckle. "Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer."

"Not funny."

"Are you kidding? It’s hilarious." You can practically hear his grin through the phone. "You're living in a real-life romance movie. Or a horror movie. Either way, I’m invested."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "So what do I do? Just… ignore it?"

"Absolutely not. We investigate. Duh."

Your brows furrow. "Investigate? It's probably just some dumb joke."

"Or," he counters, voice dripping with amusement, "it's the beginning of something way more interesting. C'mon, don't you wanna know who’s behind this? What if it’s some insanely hot dude or chick who’s just so in love with you but socially inept?”

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like borderline stalking."

"Hey, some people are just dedicated," he teases. "Look at those BookTok people. And tell you what—meet me at the café in an hour. Bring the note. I wanna see it."

"You’re actually taking this seriously?"

"Of course! A mystery has landed right at your doorstep. And as your best friend, it is my duty to help you solve it."

You sigh. Haechan has always been dramatic.

"Fine," you relent. "But if it turns out to be a stupid prank, you owe me coffee."

"You got it, Valentine."

The café is buzzing with the usual mid-morning crowd: college students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries, baristas calling out names over the hum of conversation. The scent of coffee and warm vanilla lingers in the air, comforting and familiar.

You spot Haechan immediately. He’s lounged in the corner booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach.

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you slide into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think your mystery lover got to you first.”

You roll your eyes, fishing the note out of your pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of him. “Here. Do your thing, Sherlock.”

Haechan picks up the note with exaggerated care, holding it between his fingers like it’s a sacred artifact. He squints, tilts his head, even sniffs it dramatically before nodding. “Yep. Just as I suspected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“This is definitely paper.”

You snatch the note back, smacking his arm with it. “Wow, incredible deduction dipshit.”

He laughs, dodging your hand before leaning in, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “No, but seriously. This is weird. The handwriting is neat, almost too neat. Like someone either really took their time or… copied it.”

You frown. “Copied it?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, tracing someone else's writing. See how the pressure is kinda uneven in some spots? It’s like they were trying too hard to be precise.”

You blink, staring at him. “Since when are you an expert in handwriting analysis?”

Haechan grins, tapping his temple. “I watch a lot of crime documentaries. Also, Renjun had a forgery phase in middle school, so I picked up a few things.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Okay, so say you’re right—what does that mean?”

“It means whoever wrote this was really careful about not being recognized.” He leans back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Which makes me think this isn’t just some dumb prank. They don’t want you to know who they are.”

That unsettling feeling from earlier creeps back up your spine.

“What if it’s someone we know?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Haechan tilts his head, considering. “Could be. Or it could be some rando with a crush. Either way, we have a mission. I’ll show you just how good a duo we’ll be.”

You exhale. “And that mission is…?”

“To find out who’s been leaving you love letters, obviously.” He grins, reaching for his coffee. “And if they turn out to be hot, I take full credit for setting you up.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but still can’t help but feel a bit uneasy by it all.

The uneasy feeling from the café lingers as you make your way home.

"They don’t want you to know who they are."

"What if it’s someone we know?"

You shake the thoughts away as you unlock your door, stepping inside. The first thing you notice is the rose, still resting on the counter where you left it. Something about it feels different now—less like a mystery and more like a warning.

You inhale deeply, trying to push the paranoia aside. Maybe this is all just a prank. Maybe Haechan’s just hyping it up because he loves drama. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

[Unknown Number]: Did you like my first gift?

A sharp jolt of fear twists in your stomach. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you stare at the message.

Not a prank.

Your mouth runs dry as you hesitate before typing back.

[You]: Who is this?

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

[Unknown Number]: You’ll see soon enough.

Your heart pounds.

And then… three quick knocks on your front door.

You jump, whipping around to stare at it. The knock surprisingly wasn’t loud nor aggressive. However it got the message across.

Slowly, you step forward, peeking through the peephole. The hallway is empty. With a shaky breath, you unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peek outside.

A small, velvet box sits on your welcome mat.

Another gift.

You glance both ways down the hall—still empty. Whoever left it is already gone. 

Heart hammering, you crouch down and carefully pick up the box, stepping back inside before locking the door behind you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it.

Inside is a delicate silver locket, its chain coiled neatly in the box. You hold it up to the light, examining the intricate engravings along the edges. It’s beautiful—almost vintage.

But when you pry it open, your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is a tiny photograph. One you recognize immediately.

It’s you.

You, standing outside your apartment building, smiling at the camera. But what makes your stomach turn is the person beside you.

Because there was someone beside you. But their face has been completely scratched out. And you have no idea who it is.

Your pulse roars in your ears as your grip tightens around the locket.

This isn’t a joke.

You fumble for your phone and dial Haechan’s number. He picks up almost immediately.

"Yo, miss me already?"

"Haechan." Your voice comes out unsteady, breathless. "It happened again."

A pause. Then, his tone shifts. It’s calm, but sharper now. "I’m coming over."

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes for Haechan to show up at your door, slightly out of breath, a bag of convenience store snacks in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Okay,” he says, pushing past you into the apartment, “give me the rundown. And before you ask, yes, I brought emergency snacks because I know you stress-eat.”

You let the door swing shut behind him, arms crossed. “Haechan, this is serious.”

“I am taking it seriously.” He tosses a bag of chips onto the counter before turning to you. “Now, tell me everything before I assume you’ve been cursed by a Victorian ghost.”

You exhale, pulling the velvet box from your pocket and flipping it open. “I found this at my door. Look inside.”

Haechan steps closer, peering down at the locket. He picks it up, flipping it open with careful fingers. His expression shifts immediately—the usual mischief in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker.

“The hell…?” He traces a thumb over the scratched-out face in the photo. “Okay. This? This is officially creepy.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, rubbing your arms as if that will rid you of the lingering unease. “It’s my photo, Haechan. And someone ruined it.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the image. When he finally looks up, his gaze is sharp. “Where did they even get this picture?”

“I don’t know. That’s what freaks me out.” You sit on the edge of your couch, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater. “Someone had to have taken it themselves. But I don’t remember anyone standing next to me like this.”

Haechan clicks his tongue, flipping the locket shut. “Alright. That settles it. We need a suspect list.”

You blink. “You say that like this is some kind of crime show.”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpans. “Except way more fun because it’s happening to you.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He dodges it effortlessly, grinning.

“Okay, okay,” he says, plopping down next to you. “Real talk. Do you know anyone who might be obsessed with you? Secret admirer type, or maybe even an ex with attachment issues?”

You think for a moment. And then—

“…Jaemin.”

Haechan’s brows shoot up. “Jaemin?”

You nod, stomach twisting. “He flirts with me constantly, even when I brush him off. Plus, I know I’ve caught him taking pictures of me before, but he always plays it off like it’s just a joke.”

Haechan leans back, considering. “Okay. Solid lead. What’s our game plan?”

You chew on your lip before standing. “We ask him directly.”

Haechan grins, standing up beside you. “Ooooh, an interrogation? Spicy.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And with that, the two of you head out—ready to confront the first suspect.

Jaemin’s usual hangout is the campus library, though calling it “studying” is generous. More often than not, he’s lounging in one of the oversized chairs, scrolling through his phone, pretending to be busy.

That’s exactly where you find him now, stretched out with his feet propped up on another chair, earbuds in, humming to himself.

Haechan nudges you. “Your not-so-secret admirer is in his natural habitat.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders before striding over. Jaemin looks up just as you plant your hands on the table in front of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, pulling out an earbud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Haechan plops down beside him. “We have some questions.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re going to answer them.”

His lips twitch, amused. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” you snap, pulling out the locket and placing it in front of him. “Know anything about this?”

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to the locket, and for the first time, his smirk falters. His fingers twitch like he wants to pick it up, but he hesitates.

“What is this?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“You tell me,” you say. “It showed up at my door today. Someone left it for me, along with a creepy note. And considering how often you love taking pictures with me, I thought I’d start with you.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens. “You think I gave you this?”

Haechan tilts his head. “Well, you do flirt with Y/N like it’s your full-time job.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, leaning forward. “Okay, yeah, I flirt. But this?” He taps the locket. “This isn’t me. I’d never scratch out my own damn face.”

Your stomach clenches. “So you recognize the picture?”

Jaemin hesitates for half a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

You and Haechan exchange a look.

“You’re lying,” Haechan accuses. “Dude, you hesitated.”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve seen that photo before. Just… not like this.”

Your pulse quickens. “Where?”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, Jaemin mutters, “Renjun’s phone.”

Both you and Haechan freeze.

“What?” Haechan blurts. “Why would Renjun have a picture of Y/N on his phone?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No clue. It was a while ago. I remember seeing it and asking why he had it, but he just brushed me off. Thought it was weird, but not, y’know—this weird.” He gestures to the locket.

You stare at him, heart pounding. Could it be Renjun?

Haechan crosses his arms. “Alright, Nana. We’ll put you on the ‘maybe’ list for now. But if we find out you’re lying…” He drags a finger across his throat dramatically.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to existing now?”

You nod slowly, mind already racing ahead.

If Renjun had that photo�� What else did he have?

And what would the next gift be?

The walk back to your apartment is tense. Haechan is uncharacteristically quiet beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his brows furrowed in thought.

"You okay?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "Just thinking. If Jaemin’s telling the truth, why would Renjun have that picture?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," you murmur.

When you finally reach your apartment door, a chill runs down your spine. Sitting on your welcome mat is another small box, this time heart-shaped and a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course," Haechan mutters. "Right on schedule."

You swallow hard, exchanging a wary glance with him before bending down to pick it up. Unlike the velvet box from before, this one is heavier. With trembling fingers, you lift the lid—

A soft, eerie melody drifts into the air.

A music box.

But something is… off. The tune warbles and distorts, as if the mechanism inside is struggling to play correctly. It’s haunting, a melody that should be sweet but instead sends a shiver down your spine.

Inside, nestled among the delicate gears, is a small folded note.

A song just for you.

You stare at the words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Haechan leans in. "Okay, I really don’t like this one."

You shut the lid abruptly, cutting off the melody. "Me neither."

"Who the hell writes you a personalized creepy lullaby?" he mutters. Then, his eyes widen slightly, realization dawning. "Wait. Music. Writing. Oh, come on—"

"Mark." You say his name at the same time Haechan does.

Mark has always been the sentimental type. From writing poetry to composing random melodies in his free time. If anyone had the skills to create something like this, it was him.

You grip the box tighter. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Now."

You and Haechan find Mark exactly where you expect him, tucked away in a corner of the campus music room, hunched over a notebook, a pencil pressed against his lips. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the desk, keeping rhythm to whatever melody is playing in his head.

Haechan nudges you. "Caught him in the act. Very suspicious."

You shoot him a look before stepping forward. "Mark."

Mark glances up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, hey. What’s up?"

You waste no time, setting the music box down on the desk in front of him. His eyes flicker to it, then back to you.

"Did you make this?" you ask.

His eyebrows pull together. "Uh… no?"

Haechan crosses his arms. "You sure? Because we know you write songs. And poems. And you definitely know everything about Y/N—"

"Okay, dude, chill," Mark interrupts, looking bewildered. "What’s going on?"

You exhale, rubbing your temple. "Someone’s been leaving me gifts. Creepy ones. This music box was the latest, and since you’re literally the most musically gifted person I know, I thought—" You hesitate. "I thought maybe it was you."

Mark stares at the box for a moment before shaking his head. "It’s not me."

"Not even a little?" Haechan presses.

Mark sighs. "Look, yeah, I write songs. And sure, I might notice things. Like when you change your coffee order or cut your hair. Maybe I think you’re really cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m stalking you."

Haechan raises a skeptical brow. "Then what about your latest poetry post? The one about ‘loving from afar’?"

Mark’s expression shifts. His ears turn red.

Oh.

You narrow your eyes. "Mark?"

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "That wasn’t about you, okay?"

Haechan gasps, dramatic as ever. "Then who?"

Mark hesitates, then mutters, "My ex."

You and Haechan exchange a look.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," Haechan echoes, slightly disappointed. "So you’re the heartbroken one, not the creepy one."

Mark shoots him a glare. "Obviously."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Okay. Sorry for accusing you. This whole thing is just messing with my head."

Mark softens. "Yeah, I get it. But seriously, if someone’s messing with you, you should be careful."

You nod, but your mind is already racing ahead.

The moment you step into your apartment, you feel it.

Something is waiting for you again.

Your breath catches as your eyes land on the small, folded piece of paper slipped under your door. The edges are slightly frayed, as if it had been torn from a notebook in a rush.

Haechan picks it up before you can. His fingers brush over the paper before carefully unfolding it. His eyes scan the words, his expression darkening.

You take the page from him and read:

"I see you even when you don’t see me.I wonder if you know how much you mean to me.If I could just tell you—”

The words stop abruptly, the last sentence unfinished.

And at the bottom, only a single initial is signed:

“R.”

You stare at it, heart hammering. "R."

Haechan exhales. "Renjun."

It makes sense. Jaemin had mentioned Renjun having your picture. And now this, a love confession, hesitant and unfinished.

You swallow hard. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Before another one of these shows up."

Renjun is easy to find.

The art studio on campus is practically his second home, and sure enough, when you and Haechan arrive, he’s hunched over a sketchbook, completely lost in his work. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the faintest furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Haechan leans in. “Bet he’s sketching you right now.”

You elbow him before clearing your throat. “Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, startled, before snapping his sketchbook shut. “Oh—hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Haechan plucks the journal page from your grasp and drops it onto his desk. “Care to explain this?”

Renjun’s gaze flickers to the torn-out page. He lets out a sharp inhale, as his shoulders start tensing.

“So it is yours.”

Renjun stays silent for a beat too long before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where did you get this?”

“It was slipped under my door,” you say carefully. “You signed it with ‘R.’”

Haechan crosses his arms. “Looks real bad, dude.”

Renjun lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s more of a nervous laugh than a humorous one. “Yeah… I can see that.”

Your pulse quickens. “So you did write it?”

Another pause. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah. But not for you.”

You blink. “What?”

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I did write that confession. But it’s old…I wrote it last year, for someone else.” He taps the page, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I threw this out months ago. I have no idea how you ended up with it.”

Haechan whistles low. “Okay, that’s actually kinda messed up.”

Renjun shakes his head. “ If someone dug this up just to mess with you… That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.”

You grip the edge of the desk. “Then what about those photos you took of me? 

Renjun looks at you, his expression not wavering, “I take photos of everyone. It’s practice for more naturalistic portrayals of human figures.”

A chill runs down your spine.

If Renjun didn’t leave the page for you… then the real admirer wasn’t just watching you. If they had gotten their hands on Renjun’s photos then…

They were watching everyone.

That night, you barely sleep.

Renjun’s words keep replaying in your mind. ‘That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.’

The pieces aren’t fitting together. The gifts, the messages, the calculated way they’re being delivered. This isn’t just someone with a crush. This is someone who has been planning this.

You’re still lost in thought when you hear it.

A soft thud outside your door.

Slowly, you sit up, heart pounding in your ears. Haechan, asleep on your couch, stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. You swallow hard and push yourself to your feet. Step by step, you inch toward the door, pulse hammering with every movement.

You already know what’s waiting for you.

Another gift.

With trembling hands, you open the door.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a small, heart-shaped box, identical in size to the one that held the music box. But this time, the deep red velvet is stained. Dark splotches sinking into the fabric, like something wet had been resting there before drying.

Your stomach turns.

Slowly, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you expect.

You hesitate. Then, you lift the lid.

Inside, cushioned in soft silk, isn’t chocolate.

It’s a tooth.

A human tooth.

Your throat felt dry as you wanted to retch in disgust, while the box nearly slips from your hands. Your vision blurs as you stare at it, uncomprehending, unwilling to believe what you’re seeing.

Beneath the tooth, there’s a note.

"Now you’re mine."

Your fingers shake as you unfold the small slip of paper.

And that’s when you see it.

The handwriting.

It’s Haechan’s.

Your body goes cold.

Behind you, the couch creaks as he shifts in his sleep.

And you realize—

You’re trapped inside your apartment.

With him.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Every nerve in your body screams at you to move. But you’re frozen. The weight of the realization crashes over you in suffocating waves.

It was him.

It was always him.

A slow creak fills the silence. The sound of someone shifting.

“Hm… you’re up?”

Your breath stutters as you whip around. Haechan is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His voice is laced with drowsiness, but his gaze—when it lands on you—is sharp.

Too sharp.

His eyes drop to the box in your hands. He sees the note. The tooth. And then… he smiles.

A lazy, knowing smile.

Your stomach twists. “Haechan…”

He tilts his head, still watching you. “You don’t look happy to see your gift. But don’t worry I’ve improved on it.”

Your grip tightens on the box. “Why?”

Haechan exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just asked something ridiculous. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smart. You’ve been smart this whole time. Figuring out clues, questioning the right people.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Except you never questioned me.”

You take a step back. “You helped me.”

“I guided you.” He corrects, his voice smooth. “I made sure you followed the right trail. I led you to suspects just to watch your reactions. Watch you look at them instead of me.” His smile widens, his dimples deep but unsettling. “And you fell for it. Every time.”

Your skin crawls. “The rose. The music box. The torn-out page?”

“All me,” he confirms easily. “Jaemin? Mark? Renjun? They were never real threats. Just distractions. I needed to make sure your eyes weren’t on me until the right moment.”

“And the tooth?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. “That one’s special.” His fingers brush over his lower lip, and something dark flickers behind his gaze. “A part of me. It’s yours now.”

No way.

"Now we match."

A sick realization slithers through you.

Haechan… pulled out his own tooth.

For you. 

A cold sweat prickles down your spine. “You’re insane.”

Haechan only grins. “I’m in love.”

You feel the blood drain from your face.

He sighs, standing up slowly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand right away. That’s why I took my time. I sent gifts and gave you a story to follow.” His voice softens, almost affectionate. “I wanted to watch you figure it out. I wanted to see the exact moment you realized it’s always been me.”

He takes a step forward.

And you take a step back.

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Still running from me?”

Your fingers curl into fists.

You need to get out.

Now.

Haechan watches you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile is still there, but now, you can see it for what it truly is. A mask. A carefully crafted performance. And you were his favorite audience.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box. A jewelry box. He rolls it between his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before sliding it across the coffee table toward you. “I saved the best for last,” he murmurs.

You don’t want to look.

But you do.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the box, flipping it open. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are a pair of earrings.

The charms dangle from delicate gold hooks, polished smooth. But even in the dim light of your apartment, you can see them for what they are.

Teeth.

Human teeth.

Your stomach twists violently.

Haechan hums, tilting his head. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I worked so hard on these.” His voice drops into something softer, almost coaxing. “You’ll wear them, won’t you?”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps.

You need to get out.

Haechan sees it before you even move. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and then—

The lights flicker.

A click.

Your front door.

Locked.

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Haechan—”

He only smiles, stepping closer.

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, baby.”

A flickering TV screen bathes the darkened room in cold, artificial light. The newsroom anchor, a solemn-looking woman, speaks in a measured, professional tone.

"Breaking news tonight—local authorities have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Y/N L/N, last seen on February 14th. Friends report that they were searching for a secret admirer who had been leaving a series of mysterious gifts. However, they never returned home. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please contact—"

The report continues, but the sound is drowned out by the hum of a familiar tune.

A figure strolls past the display window of an electronics store, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His hoodie shields most of his face, but the dim glow of the screens flickers against his features.

Haechan.

A soft, lilting hum escapes his lips.

"My funny valentine…"

He walks on, disappearing into the city’s shadows.

The TV screen flickers.

The missing person poster flashes across the screen.

“The case remains open.”

“For now.”

me when i basically lied in the summary but not really 🫶🤗 love u guys too !!

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[hoonquette]

these are the days, nishimura riki.

【 another night with your friendly neighborhood spider-man 】 fem ! r 𓈒 fluff college au spider-man!riki + 665wc ── incl. mentions of injuries unproofread writing.

it's been an entire month since you've gotten a full night's rest. granted, you should be used to it—college has definitely ruined your sleep schedule for the next four years—but you'd gotten at least three hours of sleep.

thanks to nishimura riki, your friendly neighborhood spider-man (more commonly known as your boyfriend), those three hours have been reduced to maybe one. since you've found out about his identity, you've spent most nights worrying about his wellbeing, other nights were spent patching him up and tending to his wounds.

tonight is one of those nights.

one of the nights where you rub ointment against his bruised and cut skin, a look of disapproval on your face. he's tried talking to you, but you didn't answer, not wanting to snap at him for being so.. impulsive.

when you're done, you sigh, closing up the first aid kit you'd bought after the second time he came through your window. he stares at you, his eyes apologetic and a small frown on his lips.

he had changed once you let him in, throwing off his mask, and changing into one of the pair of sweats he'd left here. he foregone a shirt—wanting you to see the bruise that'd no doubt be forming on his back after being slammed against a wall.

you nearly strangled him when he told you that.

you understand that this is his unofficial job, something that he enjoys, but it doesn't mean you have to like it. especially when he's not being as careful as you would like him to be.

"alright, fine." he starts, leaning back on your bed, "i'll stop going after the small guys."

"i'm not worried about the 'small guys', ki."

"car jackers can be dangerous. so can—" you interrupt, hitting him with a pillow. he rolls away and lets out a surprised yelp. from the edge of the bed, "you shouldn't hit your injured boyfriend."

"my boyfriend wouldn't be injured if he stopped being stupid."

"i'm a superhero; we're all stupid."

you glare at him and he relents, holding his hands up in surrender. "okay, i'll be more mindful of how hard i'm being hit from now on. good?"

"not good," you crawl over to him, laying next to his body, "but fine. just stop coming over when you look like you're about to pass out. go to an actual hospital."

he rolls over again, this time so that he's hovering above you. suddenly, it feels like you're the one with the concussion—no matter how long you're with him, you don't think you'll ever get used to the close proximity riki seems to crave—and you look away.

you can see him smile out of your peripheral, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "hey, look at me."

you debate not listening to him, but you know he won't speak again until you do, so you (hesitantly) look at him.

riki's smile brightens and he places a kiss on your nose, then on your cheek, forehead, and finally your lips. the kiss lasts for a fleeting moment, but it melts you all the same.

"i wanna be with you, though." he kisses you again, "want your face to be the last thing i see before i faint from exhaustion."

you can't help the giggles that escape, turning your head away from him and covering his mouth with your hand. "stop—don't say that."

"it's true." he pulls your hand from his mouth, but not before kissing it. "plus, i can't go to a hospital, dork."

"okay, okay, whatever. new rule: be better than the other superheros. be smart."

"that gave me chills. you should be a motivational speaker."

you shove him off of you, telling him yo be serious as you do so, and your boyfriend lets out a dramatic scream of so-called pain. when he's done with his mini-monologue about how mean of a girlfriend you are, he caresses your cheek.

"i'll be smarter, though, make you worry you less. promise."

ADRiANNA 🦷 hai :3 i needed a spiderman!riki fic in order to heal from Well idk most things

[rafayelxsylusho]

Hey love, your LADs fics are 🥵🔥🫠.

If you are accepting requests, could you pls write a College AU with the LADS men?

A study sesh leads to smut (can include love confession if not in established relationship).

Have a lovely day/night~ 💖

I hope I did it right. Enjoy!

College AU with the LADS men 🎓

Part 1: Zaynexreader

TW: SMUT

**Both reader and Zayne are Med students**

Zayne looks up from his textbook, his eyes meeting yours as you walk into his dorm room. His room is tidy, almost clinically so, really different from your own chaotic space down the hall. Zayne has always been the organized one, the responsible one, while you...well, you were something else.

"Your room is still a disaster zone, I take it?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. When you smile and nod, he laughs softly and shakes his head. "I don't know how you manage to live in such chaos."

Zayne's gaze drifts over your textbooks stacked in your arms, his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your appearance, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the way you seem to be running on pure adrenaline. He sets his textbook aside and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Tell me you got some sleep last night," he says, there is concern in his voice. "You look exhausted, y/n. I know this semester has been tough on you." he looks at you like a parent waiting for their child to confess to staying up too late. "And your test?" he asks when you don't immediately answer. "How did it go?" Zayne knows you had an important test this morning. He's been quietly supportive, offering to quiz you or just listening as you vented about the material leading up to it.

"I survived," you sigh, as you flop down on the bed across from Zayne's desk. "But I don't think I did as well as I needed to. I swear, every time I think I've got it, I realize there's a whole other layer to learn."

You groan, burying your face in one of his pillows for a moment before sitting back up to look at him "I don't know how you do it Zayne. Don't you ever just want to give up?"

He stands and walks over to his mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. "Here, drink this. You look dehydrated." Zayne gives you the bottle before sitting on the edge of his bed next to you. His brow furrows with concern as he watches you drink deeply from the water bottle, his eyes searching yours.

"Y/n, how many hours of sleep did you actually get last night?"

"Two," you say quietly. " Maybe a little more". His expression softens as he listens to you. He knew you were pushing yourself too hard, but hearing the confirmation of just how little sleep you'd gotten hits him like a punch to the gut.

"Lay down for a bit. I'll wake you up in two hours, and we can continue with your study session then." There's a gentle authority in his voice, Zayne's not going to let you talk your way out of this one. He knows you need the rest, and will make sure you get it.

As you hesitate, he reaches out to take the now empty water bottle from your hands, setting it aside on the nightstand. His fingers linger on yours for just a moment, a silent plea for you to listen to him.

"Please," he murmurs, his eyes holding yours. "You can't keep doing this. You need to take care of yourself if you want to make it through this program." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly over the dark circle beneath your eye. It's a tender gesture, full of care and concern. He's not just your study partner and best friend, he's the one person who truly sees you, exhaustion and all.

"Fineeeee, whatever you say Dr Zayne"

He watches as you lay down on the bed, your head coming to rest on the pillow. He feels a bit of concern seeing you so drained, but also a sense of relief that he convinced you to get some much needed rest. Almost as soon as your head touches the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens out.

You startle awake, your heart racing. You're not used to sleeping so deeply, especially not in the middle of the day. As you blink the sleep from your eyes, you become aware of a warm, solid presence next to you on the bed. Turning your head slowly, you find yourself face to face with Zayne, his body next to yours. He must have dozed off while you were sleeping, still clutching his textbook in his hands, now lying open and forgotten. Soft snores escape his slightly parted lips, a light frown etched between his eyebrows as if even in sleep, he's focused on the complex medical diagrams. He looks almost boyish in sleep, the hard lines of his face softening, a lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and there's a vulnerability to his stillness that makes your heart clench. For a moment, you just watch him, taking in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the long lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks. Then, carefully, you reach out and pluck the textbook from him setting it aside. Zayne stirs slightly at the loss of the book, but doesn't wake. In sleep, his hand finds yours, as he settles closer to you. Your fingers intertwine instinctively, and you feel a rush of warmth spread through you at the contact.

You feel the heat of Zayne's breath ghosting over your face. Even in sleep, he seems drawn to you, his hand tightening around yours as if he's afraid you might disappear if he lets go. A soft blush rises to your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, at the way Zayne's face is inches from your own. Your heart starts to race for a different reason now, a fluttering sensation that has nothing to do with the sudden awakening and everything to do with the man next to you.

You've shared countless study sessions, late night talks, and inside jokes with Zayne, but this...this feels different. More intimate. More charged with a tension you've never dared to acknowledge before. His eyelids flutter, and for a moment you think he might wake. You hold your breath, but he doesn't wake. Instead, he just sighs softly, his breath fanning over your lips. You know you should pull away, give him space, but you find yourself rooted to the spot. Captivated. Your free hand comes up to brush a lock of hair from Zayne's forehead, your fingertips lingering on the soft skin. He's so warm. So real. So...inviting.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry despite the water Zayne had given you earlier. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you see Zayne's eyes flutter open at the movement. For a moment, you're frozen, caught in the hazel gaze that seems to see right through you. Then, slowly, Zayne's eyes focus on you. Confusion clouds them for a moment before a flicker of something else, something hotter, sparks in their depths. His grip on your hand tightens.

"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep. His gaze drops to your mouth, stays there for a long, charged moment. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, your breath coming faster. The air between you feels thick, heavy with a tension you've never dared to put a name to before. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a sensual caress that sends a shiver up your spine. "How are you feeling?" he asks, but there's something else to his question, a double meaning that makes your cheeks flush hotter. And you know you should answer, should break this moment with a silly comment or a joke but you can't seem to find your voice. You're too busy drowning in the heat of Zayne's eyes too busy wanting...wanting more. Wanting to close the small distance between you and feel his lips on yours, wanting to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer until there's no space left between your bodies.

But you don't. You can't. Because this is Zayne. Your best friend, the one person you trust above all others. The one person you can't afford to mess this up with, so instead of giving in to the temptation, you take a deep, shuddering breath and try to gather your composure. You wet your dry lips again, your voice a bit husky as you manage to choke out an answer.

"I...I feel better," you whisper, your eyes still locked with his. "Thank you for...for letting me sleep." It's a clumsy reply, but it's the best you can manage in this moment.

Zayne's eyes search yours for a moment, as if trying to find the true meaning behind your words. Then, slowly, he nods and starts to sit up, his hand sliding from yours and leaving you feeling suddenly cold. "I'm glad, you needed the rest." He glances at the clock on the wall and frowns slightly. "I'm afraid I may have let you sleep a little longer than we intended though."

He starts to gather up the scattered pages of his textbook, his movements a little stiff, a little self-conscious. It's clear that he's feeling the shift in the atmosphere as much as you are. "We should probably get back to studying," he says, not meeting your gaze as he stacks the pages neatly. "You've got that big test coming up, and you need to be ready." He says it lightly, but there's a tightness to his voice that wasn't there before. A tension that has nothing to do with the impending test.

You nod slowly, sitting up as well and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You feel a little unsteady, a little off-balance. And it's not from the sudden awakening.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "You're right. I should get back to it."

You stand up, stretching slightly to work the kinks out of your muscles. As you do, you catch Zayne watching you from the corner of your eye, his gaze intense and unreadable. A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of it, and you quickly busy yourself with straightening out the rumpled blanket on the bed, avoiding his stare. "I'll just...I'll just go freshen up real quick" You say, hurrying towards the bathroom, needing to put some space between you, to collect your racing thoughts and calm the frantic pounding of your heart.

Once you are in the bathroom you splash water on your face, and take a few deep breaths, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. But no matter how much cold water you use, you can't seem to banish the memory of Zayne's sleep-roughened voice, the heat of his breath on your face, the way his hand felt curled around yours.

You shake your head sharply, pushing the thoughts away. You can't afford to think like that, not about Zayne. He's your rock, your constant, the one person you know you can always count on. You can't risk destroying that.

Squaring your shoulders, you take one last deep breath and step back out into the bedroom. Zayne is sitting on the bed, his textbooks spread out in front of him, his glasses perched on his nose as he scans the pages intently. For a moment, he looks like a picture of concentration, the very image of the dedicated medical student. As you approach, he glances up, and you see the flicker of something else in his eyes. Something warmer. Something that makes your heart stutter in your chest. "Is everything all right?" he asks softly, a note of genuine concern in his voice. He stands up, taking a step towards you, and you find yourself looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

"I...yes," you manage to say, your voice a little steadier than before. "Everything is fine.

"Good," he says, and there's a quiet satisfaction in his voice. He gestures to the bed, "It will be good for us to review the material together," Zayne continues, his voice warm and encouraging. "We can go over the key points and make sure you've got a solid grasp of everything before the test"

He steps closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back as he guides you towards the bed. The touch is innocent, a gesture of friendship and support "Sit down," his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "Let's get to work."

Zayne watches as you chew thoughtfully on a grape, your eyes scanning the medical text. Hours have passed, and despite the late hour, you're both still engrossed in the material, determined to ensure you're fully prepared for the upcoming test. As Zayne sits in his chair, he flips to a new page in his textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he glances up at you, ready to ask a question, he notices a small, glistening droplet of grape juice on your lower lip.

For a moment, he's distracted, his focus torn between the anatomical diagram on the page and the tempting sight before him. He clears his throat softly, trying to regain his train of thought.

"Y/n," he begins, his voice a little rougher than before. "What are the primary symptoms of acute kidney injury?"

As he waits for your response, Zayne finds himself leaning forward slightly, his gaze still fixed on your mouth. The drop of juice on your lip, threatening to drip down at any moment.

He swallows hard, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. He knows he should look away, should focus on the important task at hand. But he can't seem to tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing sight of you.

Finally, as if sensing his stare, you glance up from the textbook. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, time seems to slow. Zayne's breath catches in his throat as he realizes he's been caught staring, his pulse jumping at the realization.

"The primary symptoms are...decreased urine output, blood in the urine, swelling in the legs or ankles, nausea, and fatigue." You begin, your voice clear and confident despite the late hour.

As you speak, he watches, as the grape juice slowly slides down the curve of your lip. It leaves a glistening trail in its wake, a path that draws his eye like a magnet.

"And then there's the secondary symptoms," you say, unaware of the effect you are having on him "Hematuria, azotemia, electrolyte imbalances..."

As you speak, he feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, to lean in and catch that glistening drop of grape juice with his tongue.

When the thought hits him it leaves him momentarily breathless. In this moment, with the late hour and the intensity of your study session, he finds himself fighting with a desire he's long suppressed.

As you wrap up your explanation, Zayne quickly looks down at his textbook, needing a moment to collect himself. He clears his throat, trying to will away the sudden tightness in his pants and the heat rising in his cheeks.

"That's...that's correct, y/n," he manages to say, his voice a little rougher than intended. "You've got a solid grasp of the material. That's impressive."

You smile at Zayne's praise, feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment. The late-night study session had been intense, but seeing the approval in his eyes made it all worthwhile. As your smile widened, the droplet of grape juice that had been perched on the curve of your lower lip began its descent.

Zayne, already on edge and distracted by his sudden surge of desire, doesn't hesitate. Acting on pure instinct, he reaches out and across the short distance between you, his thumb outstretched. In a soft gesture, he brushes his thumb along your chin, catching the errant drop of juice before it can fall any further. The touch is brief but electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can react, Zayne's thumb trails upwards, coming to rest gently on the plush, soft skin of your lower lip. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and in that moment, the air between you feels charged with a new energy. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours as his thumb lightly traces the curve of your lower lip. He's waiting for a reaction, for any sign that you feel it too this sudden, undeniable spark of attraction that's impossible to ignore.

His voice is a low murmur, almost a whisper, when he finally speaks. "You had a little... grape juice," he explains unnecessarily, his thumb still resting on your lip. "I just... I couldn't let it go to waste."

He feels his breath hitch in his throat as your small, pink tongue darts out and laps at the remnants of the grape juice on his thumb. The sensation of your wet, warm tongue against his skin sends a jolt of electricity straight through him, settling heavily in his lower abdomen.

"Now it won't," you say softly

As you hold his gaze, Zayne feels the last of his restraint slipping away. The walls he's built to keep his feelings locked away, crumble like sandcastles against a tide.

Slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, Zayne leans in closer. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his long fingers splaying gently against the warm, smooth skin. He tilts your chin up slightly, angling your face towards his.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, y/n," he confesses. The scent of his words is tinged with the faint aroma of the grapes you were eating, a heady and intoxicating combination. His eyes flick down to your lips, now glistening and parted slightly from your earlier actions.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained with tension. "Tell me you don't feel this too, and I'll stop. But god, I need to know if you want this as much as I do."

Your heart races as you feel Zayne's breath mingling with yours, his lips now centimeters away from your own. The heat of his skin, the intensity of his gaze, it's all so overwhelming and intoxicating.

"Don't stop," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. It's all you manage to say before you close the final centimeter of space between you, your lips pressing softly against his. The moment your mouths meet, it's like a spark igniting a wildfire. Zayne's lips are soft and firm against your own, molding to the contours of your mouth as if he was made to fit there.

You hear a low groan escape from the back of his throat as you deepen the kiss. His fingers tighten slightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of your cheekbone. You press closer, your hand coming up to tangle in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Your fingers thread through the silky strands, anchoring him to you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth moving against your own.

Zayne pulls back from the kiss just enough to hook his hands under your armpits. With a gentle but insistent pressure, he lifts you up and out of the bed, bringing your body flush against his own. As his lips claim yours again, his hands slide from your armpits down to your waist. He grips you firmly, his long fingers splaying across the small of your back as he pulls your curves snugly against the hard planes of his own body.

Still lost in the intensity of the kiss, he starts to walk you backwards, his body pressed against yours, until the soft give of a wall meets your back. He breaks the kiss just briefly as your back hits the wall, long enough to flash you a look that's equal parts hunger and desperation. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide with desire, and his chest heaves with each breath he takes.

"You drive me crazy," he rasps, his voice strained and rough with want. "If I take you to bed now, I won't be able to hold back. I'll lose control, and I don't want to rush this."

You close the distance once again and your teeth graze his bottom lip "Please Zayne" you whisper.

Unable to resist your urging, Zayne gives in to your demand. He leans into you, allowing you to tug his shirt upwards and expose the toned, muscular chest beneath. His abs are defined, each muscle group carved by years of dedicated discipline. As his shirt clears his head, Zayne captures your wrists in his hands, pinning them gently but firmly against the wall on either side of your head. He looms over you, his larger frame caging you in, his eyes roaming hungrily over your face and body.

"Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n. I need to hear you say it."

His hips press against yours, the hard, thick length of him evident even through the fabric of his pants. He grinds slowly against you, letting you feel every inch of his desire. His hand releases one of your wrists to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the rough, desperate edge in his voice.

"Tell me," he demands, his gaze intense and unwavering. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything."

"Zayne," you breathe out, your voice trembling with desire. "I need you, all of you" You feel his hands grip the backs of your thighs, his long fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he hoists you up. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he pins you against the wall with his hips. Once he feels your legs secure around him, Zayne's hands slide up, his palms skimming over your thighs and coming to rest on your hips. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into your curves as he holds you in place. Sensing your movements, Zayne leans back just enough to allow you to remove your shirt. As the fabric falls away, revealing your bare skin and the delicate lace of your bra, his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck" he breathes out, his gaze hungry as it roams over your exposed flesh. Unable to resist, Zayne leans down and starts to place open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His lips and tongue map out the delicate skin, tasting you, teasing you, as his hands slide up your sides. They come to rest just below the band of your bra, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with promise, silently asking for your permission to continue.

You reach back, fingers unhooking the clasp of your bra. The lace falls away, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, your chest heaving with each breath, your nipples pebbled in the cool air of the room.

"Perfect," Zayne murmurs, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "Absolutely perfect."

He lowers his head and draws one straining peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, teasing it, before he suckles hard. His other hand kneads the soft weight of your other breast, rolling and plucking at the neglected nipple. Zayne's hips press harder against yours, the thick ridge of his arousal grinding against your core.

"Zayne," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure courses through you. "Please, I need more." Your hands fist in his hair, anchoring him to you as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him closer, silently begging him to take you.

Zayne releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips moving to your other breast to give it the same treatment. He suckles and nips, his teeth grazing your skin, marking you. His mouth never leaves your breasts as he carries you towards the bed, his lips and tongue continuing their relentless assault on your sensitive flesh. He walks backwards and as the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, Zayne sits down, allowing you both to tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. He rolls you over, positioning you beneath him. Zayne's hands roam your body, caressing every curve and dip, as if committing your form to memory.

Still focused on your breasts, he kisses and licks, suckles and nips, until your back arches off the bed and your fingers tangle almost painfully in his hair. Your nipples are reddened and swollen, glistening with his saliva, and aching for more of his touch. Zayne pauses in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a playful smirk as he slowly unzips your skirt. As he removes it he takes in the sight of your blue panties adorned with a tiny snowman.

"I wasn't exactly planning on seducing you tonight," you admit with an embarrassed blush, biting your lower lip. "I didn't think we'd end up like this."

Zayne's eyes soften as he takes in the pretty blush coloring your cheeks and the swell of your breasts. He finds your embarrassment endearing, charming even. It's a rare sight, given how composed and put together you usually are.

Zayne shakes his head and smirks "I'm glad you didn't plan this," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Because if you had, you might not have chosen such...cute underwear"

He glances down at the snowman grinning up at him, then back to your blushing face, his smirk widening into a genuine, boyish grin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. They're perfect. Just like you, but let's get rid of them, shall we?" he whispers, his voice low and seductive "I want to see all of you."

Zayne takes his time peeling your panties down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin. As the fabric slips past your knees, he tosses them carelessly aside, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

When you instinctively close your legs, Zayne pauses, his hands resting on your thighs. "Open them for me, pretty girl," his voice filled with desire. His hands start to slowly push your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over your inner thighs and sending sparks of pleasure racing through you, and when your legs part for him, his gaze drops to your exposed sex, his eyes darkening with hunger and need.

"Fuck, love," he breathes out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful. I could look at you for hours." He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shudder in anticipation. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent, before placing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips and tongue work their way slowly up your inner thigh. He places kisses to your skin, occasionally grazing it with his teeth, sending jolts of pleasure and pain straight to your core. He takes his time, savoring your taste and scent, drawing out your anticipation and desperation. The closer he gets to your aching, empty sex, the more your hips squirm and cant upwards, seeking his touch.

"Zayne, please," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to urge him on. He nips at the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your sex, making you gasp and your hips jerk involuntarily. He places another kiss, higher this time, his lips brushing against your lower lips. At the same time, he pushes your thighs further apart, opening you up to him completely.

"Tell me what you want," he urges, his breath hot against your cunt. "Tell me how you want me to touch you."

"Please, I need your mouth on me. I need your tongue, your fingers, something."

Without warning, he dives in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that steals your breath away.He kisses and sucks, his lips moving against your sensitive flesh as he explores every inch of you. His tongue delves between your folds, stroking along your slit and dipping teasingly inside you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined," Zayne rumbles, his words muffled against your sex. He looks up at you, his eyes glinting as he holds your gaze. "I could feast on this sweet cunt for hours, my love."

He then seals his mouth over your clit, suckling hard as he slides two long fingers deep inside you. He pumps them slowly, curling and twisting, stroking that spot that makes you moan his name. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Suddenly he pauses, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eye. He smirks, his fingers still buried deep inside your throbbing sex. "How about we make this interesting, love? We can practice what you've learned today."

He starts to withdraw his fingers slowly, his thumb brushing over your clit and making you gasp. "Let's start with a simple one. What's the medical term for the heart?" He watches your face, his fingers poised at your entrance, waiting for your response.

"Fuck, it's c-cardio," you stutter out, your voice breathless and shaky with desire.

"Good girl," Zayne purrs, rewarding you with a slow lick along your slit. "What's the primary function of the kidneys?" His fingers dip back inside you, pumping shallowly, teasing you as he waits for your answer. Your hips twitch, trying to pull him deeper, but you force yourself to focus.

"F-filtration and secretion," you manage to say, your words coming out in a rush.

"That's right," Zayne murmurs, placing another lingering lick on your clit before suckling gently, rewarding your correct answer. "The liver's main function?"

"Nghh, m-metabolism and detoxification," you gasp, your head falling back as pleasure courses through you.

"Mmm, excellent. The brain's primary function?"

"I can't....Zayne please..." you pant, your fingers gripping the sheets as you fight the urge to grind yourself against Zayne's face. "I...its controlling and coordinating actions and..and ...activities,"

He wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks it, his fingers pump faster, curling to stroke that special spot inside you with each thrust. You can feel your release building, your walls starting to flutter around his fingers.

"Lungs' primary function?" Zayne asks, his voice a low rumble against your sex.

"Res...respiration," you cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand as your climax fast approaches.

"That's my clever girl," Zayne praises, sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking gently once again.

Zayne feels your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers, knowing you are teetering on the brink of your climax. He looks up at you with intense eyes, his voice low and urgent.

"This is the most important question, my love. How many chambers does the heart have?"

His fingers pump faster, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with each thrust. His thumb rubs firm circles over your clit, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"Four!" you scream, your voice breaking and cracking with the intensity of your impending climax. At your desperate scream of the correct answer, Zayne dives back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with renewed hunger. His tongue circles your clit exactly four times, each rotation perfectly measured and deliberate.

As he completes the fourth rotation, you finally shatter. Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes over you like, your sex clenching and fluttering wildly around his fingers.

Zayne groans, feeling your release gush over his tongue and fingers. He works you through it, his mouth and hands never stopping their assault, drawing out your pleasure until you collapse back onto the bed, boneless and spent.

Zayne crawls up your body, his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride. He cups your face, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath away. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you feel more desired.

"Good girl," Zayne praises. "You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you."

You try to sit up, but Zayne gently but firmly presses you back down onto the bed, his hands resting on your shoulders. He shakes his head, giving you a playful smirk as he tucks you in snugly under the covers, pulling them up to your chin.

"Where do you think you're going, love? You need to rest now," Zayne says softly, his voice filled with a tender warmth that makes your heart flutter. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering to caress your cheek.

"You've had a long day. I want you to sleep now, sweetheart. Let your body recover and recharge." He settles in next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you close, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair as he holds you possessively, protectively.

His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles, a comforting, lulling motion. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back and the soothing sound of his voice soon has you both drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Unaware that once you both become respected doctors in your respective fields, you find yourself transported back to this day every time someone mentions the four chambers of the heart.

It could be during a lecture, a patient consultation, or even a casual conversation with a colleague. The moment the words "four chambers" leave their lips, you're instantly transported back to that bedroom, with Zayne's head between your legs, his tongue circling your clit in perfect, deliberate rotations as you screamed out the answer that brought you to the most intense orgasm of your life.

You'll feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you'll have to bite back a smile, glancing over at Zayne to see if he was also transported to that moment. More often than not, you catch him looking at you with a knowing, smoldering gaze, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. You know he's thinking about the same thing.

I

[k1ng-ej]

Hello~!!! Could you write a shadow x gn! reader fic of shadow taking reader out for valentines day? take your time, thank you!!

I believe in a thing called Love - Shadow x Reader

Note: thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy :) all other requests are in the works currently

You sighed with disappointment, fingers lightly thrumming along the armrest of the couch. The TV played a movie in the background, providing a comfortable atmosphere for you to get lost in your thoughts. Shadow promised you weeks ago that you two would do something nice for Valentine's day, you hadn't figured out what exactly, but you assumed he would come up with something. You didn't care if you stayed in, or went out, you just wanted to enjoy the company of your partner for the day. Shadow was often busy, but he tried his best to make every moment he was home a memorable one. You took a glance at the window, the sky had already begun to darken, splashes of pink and orange painting the previously blue canvas as the sun kissed the horizon. Doubt was creeping in despite how many times you told yourself Shadow never broke promises. He has made you many promises throughout your relationship, and he has not broken one, yet.

A white flash assaulted your retinas, you instinctively screwed your eyes shut until it was over. Shadow stood just in the entryway of the living room, his lips resting in a fine line and his brows naturally furrowed.

"Welcome home." You sighed, leaning your chin against your palm. Maybe he forgot what day it was, that made you disappointed. Shadow didn't seem like someone who forgets days that are important to you, he tries his best to be the perfect partner for you, despite him being very closed off. He is not good with words, but he makes up for it through actions. There has been instances in your relationship where you become frustrated with him because you cant quite understand what goes on through his head, and he doesn't tell you. In these moments Shadow will get quiet, approach you with a soft look in his eyes and tell you he's sorry, all while peppering kisses along your face. This is usually enough to make you forgive him.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Shadow begin to approach. You were expecting an excuse as to why he had been gone all day, followed up by an apology. His gloved hand outstretched toward you, beckoning you to take it. You looked up with a quirked brow to see a fond smile dancing across his lips. "I want to take you somewhere."

Slowly, you placed your hand in his, and he gave you a gentle yet firm squeeze as he pulled you up from the couch. Excitement bubbled in your chest, was he finally taking you out? You couldn't help the grin that stretched across your lips and the giggle that escaped you as Shadow swooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

"Close your eyes, it's a surprise." His breath was warm against your ear, you could feel the vibrations from his chest as he spoke. You obliged, letting your eyes flutter shut.

"Is this my valentines surprise?"

"You'll see." You felt the soft sensation of his lips on your forehead for a split moment before it was gone, you yearned for more. Shadows grasp on you tightened before you heard him call out 'Chaos Control', behind your closed lids you could see the bright flash, and you clung onto him as the world around you began to warp and change.

The soft thud of Shadows feet planting on the ground broke the silence, next came the soft chirping of birds and a gentle cool breeze. You shivered, nuzzling into the warmth of your boyfriend, who chuckled at you. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes, you may open your eyes now." Shadow slowly set you onto your feet, keeping his hand on your lower back until you could balance yourself. You let your eyes peel open and take in your surroundings, a soft gasp escaping from your lips. In front of you was a small, but fancy diner you always dreamt of coming to. It emitted an intimate and elegant atmosphere with its dark colors, and warm overhead lighting. From outside of the glass entrance doors you could see empty two seater tables that had fancy white cloths draped over them. On top of the tables were menus, empty wine glasses and a lit candle in the middle. You stared in awe, mouth slightly agape before you spun to face shadow.

"You shouldn't have! I mean really, this place is so expensive and, gosh, this is for, like, anniversary dinners-"

"Price does not matter to me. You are always talking about this diner and how much you would love to eat here one day, that day is today. I'm sorry for being absent all day, it was much harder to rent out the place than I thought." He cut you off with a shake of his head, stepping forward and taking your hand into his. He wore a fond smile as he placed a kiss on your knuckles. "You deserve to eat at all of the fancy restaurants you desire." His half-lidded gaze set butterflies off in your stomach, and you felt heat quickly form on your cheeks.

"Thank you, Shadow. This is really sweet of you." You offered him a warm smile before he started leading you inside. Upon stepping in, warm air hugged you like a blanket, immediately soothing the chills you had from being outside. A hostess greeted you both and led you to your table, it was located near a window, giving you view of the setting sun over the ocean. You thanked the hostess as you sat down across from shadow, taking the menu in your fingertips and scanning through it. You hadn't expected him to rent out an entire restaurant for you two, let alone such an expensive one. You made a mental note to thank him again later. After choosing what you were going to order you placed the menu back on the table only to be greeted by a pair of crimson eyes looking at you.

"Something on my face?" You asked with a chuckle, resting your hands in your lap.

"Just admiring you." His voice was just above a whisper, he had his face leaning against his hand. Somehow, even though you two were in a relationship he never failed to make you feel like you were crushing on him all over again. He still had the ability to make you blush like crazy, and get shy with him. It was rare that Shadow acted cheesy and romantic, but when he did he had your heart racing and your face as red as a tomato. A smirk played across his lips as you blushed at his words, turning your gaze to anything but him. Not long after a waitress came and took your orders, quickly scurrying off as to not disturb your romantic evening.

While waiting for your food and drinks, you let yourself get lost in the view beside you. The sky was beginning to dark, allowing for it's stars to shine beautifully. The reflection of the sun on the water paired with the stripe of orange in the sky created a picture worthy sight. However, as you glanced back to the hedgehog in front of you, you concluded that he was the better view, one that would not disappear when night fell, one that did not change throughout the days, he remained the same, he remained perfect. Sunsets can easily be covered by gloomy clouds, shielding it's beauty from the rest of the world. There were no clouds to cover Shadows beauty, every day, he would shine brightly, like the sun to your moon, but he would never set. He was always visible to you, the warmth of his rays always there to keep your heart and soul from becoming too cold.

You watched as Shadow opened his mouth to say something, he hesitated, looked away, then looked back to you with certainty in his eyes. "I love you."

[aerynwrites]

Cards and Flowers

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: you all voted for Simon for the Valentines Day fic so I;m here to deliver! Hope you all enjoy this soft Simon goodness. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, simon being a big softie (probably OOC lol), angst, fluff, so much fluff.

*apologies for any spelling errors this was quickly proofread*

The note showed up a few days before Valentine's Day, slid beneath the door of your room in a simple red envelope. You were confused at first, but curious enough to pick it up the moment you saw it and carefully open the small envelope to pull out the card inside. 

Will you be my Valentine? 

Brevard’s, Friday at 6 pm. 

- Your Secret Admirer

Immediately your skepticism reared its ugly head. You’ve never been asked out for Valentine's day, never been asked out period. What if this is some sick joke?

But then, all the memories of the little things that have been happening over the past week come to the forefront of your mind. The simple bouquet of daisies in the common room with your name on them. The singular candy bar with a sweet note resting on front of your door. a simple take out meal addressed to you one night when you were up late doing reports. 

Maybe…maybe it was real. 

Maybe, finally, you had piqued someone’s interest enough for them to go for it.

And, unbidden, the faint image of an all too familiar skull balaclava popped into your mind. 

You smile, tucking the note away in your pocket before heading to the rec room.

Maybe valentines day won’t suck so much this year after all. 

——

Ghost watches as you bounce into the commons area, eyes bright and an unusual pep in your step as you approach where he, Soap and Gaz sit around a small table playing cards. Your changed mood doesn’t go unnoticed by the other men either apparently, Soap looking up from the game to glance at you. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood, lass?” He asks, drawing a card. 

You smile brightly, and Ghost doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to him as a flush creeps up your neck. 

“Guess who has a secret admirer,” you say excitedly, pulling out the card and placing it on the table. 

Gaz is the first to grab the card, brows rising as he reads it. “Brevard’s?” He asks, impressed, “That’s a fancy place, the guy must be well smitten to go in on a place like that.”

You nod, clearly thinking the same thing. “So I take it, you’re not my admirer then?” You ask, not all that seriously. 

Gaz smiles, shaking his head, “Brevards’ above my pay grade,” he claps you on the shoulder as you move to take a seat at the table, “you deserve the best though. Glad someone finally caught on.”

“Garrick’s right, lass,” Soap chimes in, reaching over to take the card, “Whoever this is, must be heelster-gowdie for ya…” he trails off for a moment. “Any idea who it is?”

Ghost watches, always watching - observing. It’s why he catches the way you look at him again before dropping your gaze back down to the card as you shake your head. 

“No, not yet, anyways. Guess we’ll find out Friday, huh?”

It’s also why he doesn’t miss the amused over the shoulder glances a group of officers send their table, almost silent chuckles meeting his ears. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you’re up almost as fast as you got here when you check the notification. You mumble something about Price needing reports you hadn’t finished before rushing off, Gaz and Soap wolf whistling after you - earning them a loud laugh from you. 

They return to their game, but don’t get far before Soap pipes up. 

“So, finally decided to make your move L.t.?” he asks, a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Ghost shakes his head, readjusting in his seat. “Wasn’t me.”

Both his sergeants look confused at his revelation, and Ghost internally curses himself for being so apparently obvious with his feelings towards you. Obvious to everyone except you it seems. 

He sees Gaz preparing another question, a rebuttal, probably some snarky comment - so he’s up and out of his seat before he can speak, muttering something about getting more tea. 

Mug in hand he approaches the small kitchen area, now well in earshot of the group of officers from earlier - all of them still sniggering about something. 

“Ah, I don’t know, Jennings - Don’t you think it’s kind of cruel-”

The man is cut off by Jennings, as Ghost approaches turning the electric kettle back on. 

“It’s just a little joke, Davies, quit being a buzz kill-”

Ghost watches from his peripheral as Davis shifts uncomfortably. 

“I just think it’s a little much. I mean - standing her up, really? on valentines day no less-”

The pieces click into place for Ghost in an instant, and red fills his vision. Jennings set you up. Plied you with fake gifts and cards all in order to play some cruel joke on you - the final act leaving you sitting at a restaurant by yourself on valentines day. 

He grips the handle of the kettle so tight, he hears the plastic creak beneath his fingers. His initial reaction is to toss the now scalding water right at the other officers face or at the very least step in and tell him what a terrible fucking mistake it would be to mess with someone on his team. 

But he stops himself as an idea curtails his rage. It’s a terrible idea - a selfish, horrible, will probably blow up in his face, kind of idea. But it takes root before he can stop it, and almost immediately he’s stalking from the commons area - Brevard's number dialed into his phone and kettle and card game long forgotten. 

——

Friday - Valentine’s Day - came quicker than Ghost expected. And even though he had done everything he could to prepare, he couldn’t snuff out the nerves boiling his blood. He’d called the restaurant the day you got the card to make a reservation - not too shocked to hear that they didn’t have anything available. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and after having a rather vague conversation with Price that left the captain more confused than anything - he was able to have some strings pulled. And now, there was a reservation for two under your name at a restaurant Ghost probably would never have stepped foot in otherwise. 

He stands outside the restaurant now, dressed in his nicest civvies, a simple bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, paper crinkling in his sweat damp palms. You got here near half an hour ago, he can see you sitting at the window side table for two, nervously glancing around, checking your phone as the minutes pass by. 

He’s giving Jennings the benefit of the doubt, he tells himself, maybe he started to feel bad and would actually show up. 

But Ghost knows better. He knows Jennings is probably out wining and dining some other poor woman, completely unbothered that you sit at a table alone, the waiter’s pitying gaze getting worse and worse each time they come by to check on you. 

He finally shoves past his own insecurities, his own nerves when he sees you wipe at your eyes and start to fumble with your purse. He’s stepping through the restaurant doors, muttering to the hostess that he’s meeting someone and knows where to go. He just barely makes it to your table before you get up, tears bubbling up in your eyes as they land on him. 

He’s sure he’s a sight - a hulking man you’re so used to seeing in tactical gear and a skull mask - now dressed in dress pants and a plain black button down, sleeves rolled up, black surgical mask replacing the usual balaclava. Ghost isn’t even ashamed to admit he tried to style his hair, Soap helping him when he failed miserably the first time. 

You stare at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape as you take in your Lieutenant standing before you with…flowers in his hand?

“Sorry ‘m late,” he says, pushing the flowers towards you, “took longer at the florist than expected.”

The lie is easy, just another one to add onto the calamity that is this evening. But when he sees the way your eyes fall down to the bundle - so much simpler than the extravagant roses typical of the holiday - your eyes light up, and a smile replaces the tearful frown that was present just moments ago. And Ghost knows he could give less of a fuck about little white lie. 

He slides into the empty seat at the table, the dainty wooden chair groaning under the bulk of him, while he watches you try to take stock of the situation. Only after staring at the flowers for an unusually long time do you finally turn to sit back in your chair, eyes flitting up to meet his as you set the bouquet to the side. 

“You’re...You’re the one who gave me the card?” You ask, voice soft. 

And god…if he could put that bashful look on your face everyday, he would. 

He responds with a soft hum, not quite a confirmation, but not quite a denial either. You take it as an affirmative, splaying manicured fingers out over the menu as the tension leaves your shoulders. 

“I…” you trail off, eyes falling down to the menu as you pick at the edges of it with your nails. “I was starting to think I’d been stood up. Some cruel joke or something -”

Ghost reaches out across the white table cloth, taking your hand in his as easy as breathing. 

“No joke,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not from me.”

You smile at him then, ducking your head down to hide your nervousness. 

“I was…” you bite your lip, and Ghost squeezes your hand to encourage you to continue. “I was hoping it was you, Ghost,” you finally whisper, words almost lost to the din of the restaurant. 

But Ghost hears them, and they spark a warmth in his chest he hasn’t felt in decades. A warmth that has him clutching your hand tighter in his own, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Simon,” he says in return, reaching up to tug at the elastic around his ears, setting his mask aside. “No need for callsigns here, love.”

You smile again, this time the small action staying put on your lips instead of slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“Okay, Simon,” you say, picking up the menu, “What’s good here?”

Simon can’t stop the chuckle from slipping past his lips, picking up his own menu in turn. “Hell if I know,” he grunts, “Never been to a place this fancy.”

You laugh then, and it’s in that moment that Simon realizes he never wants to let you go. 

——

You and Simon exit out into the cool evening air, a slight breeze nipping at your cheeks as you tug your coat on with Simon's help. 

Dinner went well - amazing - actually. You thought for sure you’d been taken for a fool when you were sitting in that restaurant alone, half an hour past the supposed meeting time. But then the one man you were hoping would show up, finally did. Blond hair styled just so, black button up neatly pressed, and a subtle tinge of red on his cheeks that you never expected to see from your unflappable Lieutenant. 

You were nervous at first, of course you were, but it dissipated quickly as dinner went on. The waiter came over, relief on his face at the sight of your date finally showing, and you almost laughed at how happy he looked for you. Wine was served shortly - bourbon for Simon, naturally - with dinner courses shortly after that. 

And Simon didn’t deny you a thing - he saw the way you wavered between ordering a steak and a salad, telling the waiter to bring both. Was in tune with the way you seemed to want dessert but hesitated at the prices. You both got what you wanted, you with a decadent chocolate mousse and Simon a simple piece of cheesecake drizzled with strawberry glaze. 

“That’s all?” You’d asked, slightly teasing.

Simon smiled, fork sliding into the dessert like a knife through butter. “I’m a simple man, love.”

You smiled then, heart fuzzy with warmth as you take in the man before you. 

“I highly doubt that, Simon Riley.”

You adjusted the bouquet in your hands, moving to cradle it in the crook of your elbow as Simon takes your free hand in his own - an action done so naturally you don’t even think to question it. But you do relish in it - in the warmth of his rough hand in yours, palm calloused with years of military work. You can’t help but lean into him as you both walk down the sidewalk towards the carpark, your eyes drifting to the bundle of flowers in your arms. 

You only find the courage to speak when you reach your destination, Simon stopping when you both reach your car. The words linger on your tongue, afraid to voice your suspicions and ruin the one thing you’ve longed after for the past year. 

You turn, resting back against the driver’s side door as you look up at Simon, neither of you saying anything for a long comfortable moment. You squeeze his hand, tugging him closer, smiling wryly as he obeys the silent request instantly. 

“You didn’t give me the card…did you, Simon?” You finally ask, voice soft, unable to keep the disappointment from your words. 

The silence that follows is answer enough, but Simon was never one to leave things unsaid. Not between you. 

“No. I didn’t.”

Three simple words. 

That’s all it took to make your heart sink to the floor, chest aching so fiercely it makes your eyes sting. 

“So...” You sniffle, “You just -”

Did it out of pity? did it to make me feel better about being stood up on valentines date? Couldn’t let poor little me be looked over again-

“Hey.”

A hand cups your cheek, rough palms sliding against soft skin as Simon’s fingers move to tangle gently in your hair, tilting your head up to look at him once more. 

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, brown eyes swimming in an emotion you’ve never quite seen from him before. “I…” he pauses, fingers twitching against your scalp as he struggles to find the words. 

And he must not find them - or at the very least decides they won’t convey what he really feels. Because, before you can react his free hand reaches up, tearing the medical mask from his face before he’s leaning in and claiming your lips with his own. 

You’d imagined kissing Simon more than you’d care to admit, but - as usual - he surprises you. It’s both gentle and all consuming. His lips moving against yours like he needs you to breathe. He releases your hand in order to take your face in both of his hands, pulling you towards him at the same time he leans forward to press into you, his warmth seeping in through your coat a stark contrast to the chill against your back from the car. 

You only pull away when his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, afraid that if you give in you’ll never be able to let go, and right now there’s still so many questions despite most of them being answered by that kiss. 

Simon doesn’t press, although he does chase you slightly when you pull away, instead shifting course to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“How did you know?” He asks, breath warm against your cheek. 

“The card,” you admit gently, looking up into his eyes, “it wasn’t your hand writing.”

You continue when he doesn’t speak. “And the flowers. I…I hate daisies. I remember telling you that on a mission once. And what my actual favorite flowers were instead,” you rustle the bouquet in your arms. “You remembered.”

Your words are like a punch to the gut, stealing the very breath from his lungs at the knowledge that you know him on a level deep enough to remember his handwriting. To know that he’s the type of person to remember something as trivial as your favorite flowers. 

“I didn’t send the card,” he confirms again, pulling away just enough so his lips are brushing yours once more. “But I’m glad that fucker did,” he practically growls, “Gave me the push to finally take what I’ve wanted.”

And then he’s kissing you again, this one just slightly hungrier than the last, both of you devouring the other, finally - finally - taking the plunge you both were too terrified to take before tonight. 

And as Simon pulls you closer to him, one hand slipping beneath your coat to get just that much closer…You can’t help but be thankful for that damned card. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” Simon murmurs against your lips. 

You smile. 

“Happy Valentine’s day, Simon.”

[thatoneautisticshark]

I'M BACK AGAIN

Okay so in response to you saying "Simon thinking he was being sooooooo flirty, but it's shit" it made me think about his flirting in general.

Simon's sense of humor is already something that most people wouldn't get and the rest groan at and try to hide that they find it funny.

I think Simon would 100000000% just SUCK BALLLLLS when it comes to flirting like he's so fucjing bad at it. He either says smth and they think he's being kinda creepy ("You used a different shampoo today, it smells nice") or dropping morbid scary facts (totally not projecting)("the epidermis layer of the skin isn't attached to any blood major blood vessels. If you skin someone alive carefully enough, they'll die of dehydration before they do of blood loss" trying to seem cool and smart) or maybe he says smth more normal but he's got that dead face and those intense eyes that make it look like he's glaring and the monotone voice and people think he's gonna kill them.

But Johnny fuckin MacTavish. That little freak!!!!!! It works. Of course Simon's God awful flirting would work! Johnny's a freak! I like to think he's a lil pyrophiliac or smth sometimes, he's kinky! But also, he just understands what Simon's trying to get across bc he knows Simon better than anyone else! People always say they can never tell what Ghost is thinking but Ghost just has to send one look Soap's way and Soap already knows that Ghost wants a specific brand of tea and a fucking biscuit or smth else ridiculously specific.

And it baffles the rest of 141 the way Soap reads Ghost so easily and how Soap blushes at Ghost's weird ass flirting. Bc what do you mean Soap is getting all hot and bothered over Ghost talking about how long it takes to strange someone to death or smth like that 😭🤣

Ghost doesn't even have to say anything he just walks into a room and Soap already knows. Call Soap the Ghost Whisperer from now on!!! It comes in real handy anytime Ghost goes nonverbal bc he's stressed out the wazoo

This is Ghost lookikg at Soap and Soap knowing that Ghost is craving *insert the most ungodly specific and random thing here* more than oxygen itself.

yes. Yup. Cannon now because I say so. Not quite sure how to make it into a fic,so you get more like little prices of it.

Soap genuinely believed Ghost was mute for the first three weeks, then He randomly spoke, and Soap was like. Okay then.

After mission, Ghost is obviously stressed and not doing well and non of the team knows what to do. Ghost just stares at Soap for five seconds, and Soap grabs his keys. "I'm going to get Simon banana milk brainwaves and KFC Fry's, anyone want anything?" And the team is going... What the fuck?

On their one month anniversary Ghost gifted soap a giant plushie spider that Soap keeps above his bed and it terrifies Gaz.

Ghosts flirting is facts. Like he tells soap about how, female hyenas have a pseudo penis, and it rips during birth. And Soap just goes. Good for them mate.

Ghost is either rambling or mute and soap loves him either way.

His observations of little things is so endearing to Soap. "You washed your hair". "your shoes are polished" "That's a new toothpaste." It also comes in useful when soap is injured because Ghost spots in a millisecond.

Freaky under the cut. Also TW Murder

The first time they fuck is in a storage cupboard on a mission, because Soap seeing Ghost slit a clean line down someone's throat to their dick got him going. (He is fucked up okay)

Soap blows up a base, and ghost is giving him bedroom eyes.

Soap has a much shorter mohawk for a while, because while palying with fire in the bedroom they set it on fire.

On days they are both horny, but Ghost isn't up for touch, Soap has sucked off ghosts gun, with the saftey off.

[kitkatkitzune]

MAKEUP MENACE

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You need a model to practice your skills, thankfully Elijah is there to help… and distract you.

Warnings: Sex jokes, Flirty!Elijah, Maybe OOC!Elijah?, My minimal makeup knowledge, inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in

Notes: Special thanks to @wholoveseggs for helping me brainstorm ideas for this fic!! I hope I did your suggestions justice!

Happy Valentine’s day everyone!!

Word Count: 1.5k

———————

You groan in frustration and throw your makeup brushes down, dropping your head onto your vanity table.

Elijah, who was sitting on the chair in the corner of your shared room, reading, looks up from his book, “Darling? What’s wrong?” he’s off of the chair and at your side in a matter of seconds.

You pick your head up from the table and look up at your fiancé, “This is just so frustrating! These stupid silicone molds are nothing like real skin!” you scoff, looking back at the table.

Elijah smirks, “So silicone is nothing like the real thing?”

“Yes, Elijah! That’s what I just said!”

“So… the real thing is better?”

“Am I speaking one of the two languages you don’t speak? Yes! I just said that!” you exclaim, looking back up at him.

His grin widens, “Silicone doesn’t compare to—“

“Elijah!” you scoff, slapping his arm as you finally catch on to what he’s doing.

He laughs, “My apologies, dear, I couldn’t help it.”

You scoff, “You’re a dick.”

“Ah, but you like my ‘dick’…” he pauses for a moment, “It’s certainly better than silicone.”

“Elijah,” you groan, dropping your head back onto the table, “you’ve been hanging around Kol too much,” you mumble into your arm.

“Kol?” he questions, “You talk about male genitalia with my little brother? I don’t know how to feel about that…”

You lift your head up a bit to glare at him and he chuckles again, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to learn this new technique and practice for my exam but the silicone face pieces are making it so difficult, it just won’t work the right way because it’s not skin!”

“So you need a model?”

You sigh, nodding, “And Rebekah isn’t here for me to practice on! She’s off galavanting around with Marcel, doing God knows what that I don’t want to think about!”

Elijah hums in thought before shrugging, “You could practice on me?”

“Really?” you beam, “You’d let me?”

“As long as you promise not to stab my eye out, I think we’ll be fine.”

You squeal, standing up from your chair, pushing Elijah to sit down and he does, man-spreading. You gather all of your supplies and Elijah watches you intently, happy to see you in your element.

“Okay, let’s get started…” you begin but Elijah raises a finger, making you trail off.

With dramatic flair, he pulls out his handkerchief and tucks it into his shirt as if he was about to eat a messy dinner.

You roll your eyes and he smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing, “What? I love you, truly, but this suit was nine thousand dollars… I don’t want it stained.”

You chuckle and step closer so you’re standing in between his legs, “Are you sure this isn’t going to fracture your masculinity?” you tease.

He laughs, resting his hands on your hips, “Dear, you forget I’m over a thousand years old, this isn’t the first time I’ve worn makeup.”

“I wish there were cameras back then,“ you whine, “I’d have loved to see you all ‘dolled up’,” you quote Elijah, he would always refer to you getting dressed up as getting dolled up.

“Maybe Nik has some old paintings…” you tap your finger to your chin, grinning when he groans and rolls his eyes.

After a bit of teasing, you finally begin your work, trying not to get too distracted by the way Elijah was rubbing up and down your hips. He smiles at you knowingly, making you scowl. Deciding two can play at that game, you straddle his lap, causing his eyes to momentarily widen.

“I hope you don’t sit on all of your clients like this…” he muses.

You giggle, “Only the really pretty ones,” you use the brush you were holding to boop his nose.

He hums, moving his hands to rub up and down your back as you do his eyebrows. When he realizes you’re no longer being affected by his teasing he lowers his hands until they reach the curve of your ass and squeezes.

You immediately halt your movements and lean back, smacking his shoulder, “Behave ,” you hiss.

“I am being a perfect gentleman.”

“More like a perfect menace.”

Finally, you get to the eyes. You dip your eyeshadow brush into the brown, tapping it against the pallet before placing it on Elijah’s eyelid.

“Brown?” he questions.

You hum, “Simple yet elegant, a classic.”

When you finish his eyes you uncap a red lipstick, “And a red lip, classic and bold.”

You finish applying the color to his lips, giggling at the way he had his lips puckered. You shriek when he leans forward, grabbing your face and placing kisses all over just like you do to him, leaving red lip marks behind. He finishes his onslaught of kisses by placing one on your lips.

He pulls back, admiring his work and you narrow your eyes, using your fingers to wipe away the smudged lipstick around his mouth.

After fixing his lipstick, you grab your hand held mirror to show him the final look.

“I look absolutely fabulous, you did fantastic sweetheart.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You smile, happily, and hop off his lap much to his surprise, “Stay there! I need to get my phone so I can take a picture for my portfolio.”

You’re gone before he can even protest, practically bouncing down the stairs. You see Klaus and Hope on the staircase, you had completely forgotten they had gone out shopping. Little Hope was practically buried in shopping bags.

“Auntie Y/N!! Look at all my stuff!!”

“What on earth happened to your face…?” Klaus trails off, referring to the kiss marks, you ignore him, addressing Hope.

“In a second, honey, I promise!” you pluck a few of the bags out of her arms, revealing her face, “I have to get my phone, I need to get a picture of Elijah!” you continue down the stairs.

“Elijah?” Klaus raises a brow, stopping in his spot on the steps, “Is the noble stag actually smiling for once in his immortal life?”

“No? Yes? Maybe!” you exclaim, “It’s for my portfolio!” you pass Klaus, grabbing a few more bags from Hope and she rushes up the stairs after you.

When she sees Elijah, she bursts into a fit of giggles, “Uncle ‘Lijah! You look pretty!”

Elijah shoots you a look before scooping Hope up in his arms, she pokes his rosy cheeks and laughs again.

“Pretty silly,” Klaus says, leaning on the doorway, making his presence known.

“Niklaus,” Elijah sighs.

“No! Just pretty!” Hope exclaims.

“Y/N,” Klaus pushes off the doorframe to leave the room, “be a doll and send me whatever pictures you take…”

“Yes!” Hope squeals, “And me too! Send them to me!”

“Hope, you don’t have a cellphone,” Elijah deadpans.

“Oh.”

“But we can send them to your mother!” you smirk, trying to suppress a giggle when Elijah glares at you.

Hope giggles and runs out of the room, yelling for her mother to come see ‘pretty Elijah’.

Elijah sighs and you smile, shrugging, “You’re the one who said it’s better to indulge him.”

“I suppose I did say that…”

You take a few photos of him and set your phone down, “Hope’s right, you do look pretty.”

“Well I think you’re prettier.”

He smiles and stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Ew!” Hope yells from the doorway, causing the two of you to pull apart. She’s standing there, carrying her own makeup box that she had just got during her shopping trip with Klaus.

An idea suddenly pops into your head, making you grin, “Hey Hope, you want to make Elijah pretty?”

Seemingly forgetting about the whole previous interaction, Hope smiles, hopping up and down, “Yes! Can I make you pretty uncle Elijah?”

Elijah widens his eyes at you, as if you had just sent him to the slaughter, “Well, I have all this makeup on already, sweetie.”

“Oh come on, Elijah,” you smirk, “I can easily take that off! Let the girl do your makeup!”

“Please uncle Elijah! I promise I’ll do a good job!”

Between your encouragement and Hope’s adorable little pouty face, Elijah couldn’t say no.

Which is how he ended up with cheap, glitter makeup rubbed all over his eyelids and cheeks with cute little bows in his hair.

“I’m going to be a makeup artist! Just like you, aunt Y/N!” Hope grins at you, unveiling her work.

By some miracle, you manage to contain your laughter even as Elijah narrows his eyes at you.

“You did great, sweetheart! Isn’t that right, Elijah?”

“Yeah,” his voice almost cracks, “I look beautiful.”

Hope grins, running out of the room, shouting for everyone to come see ‘pretty Elijah’ again, making Elijah groan and bury his face in his hands.

You laugh and he looks up at you, “I’m glad you enjoy my suffering.”

“Oh honey,” you smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, “I’m your fiancé, of course I do.”

[skyward-floored]

Dappled Leaves

Here's some more of my Zelda AU where Link gets corrupted! This is the part right at the beginning where he gets corrupted! It's... not a good day for him. sorry buddy.

(This fic technically comes next out of what I've written so far, but I've changed a few things so parts of it are non-canon now lol)

Warning for some canon-typical violence, and injury

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“Well, here we are, men.”

Link tugged on Epona’s reins at Sir Keelan’s remark, and the other knights beside him pulled their horses to a stop as well. The forest ahead loomed over them, seeming innocent enough with the call of birds in the distance and sunshine flickering off leaves, but Link could swear he felt a chill emanating from within.

He shivered. Something about the trees just seemed... otherworldly. Like the sparkle of a fairy in the glow of dawn, or the spiral of especially bright stars that Zelda loved to chart across the sky.

“The Lost Woods,” one of the other knights murmured, an older man by the name of Sir Trellon. “Or that’s what the locals call it. Never actually been inside before.”

“You think the stories are true? About people turning into monsters?” Sir Rowan said in a loud whisper towards Link, and he rolled his eyes. He’d fought his share of monsters, but he didn’t believe people could just turn into them. Especially not just by going into a forest.

Even if there were rumors of people going inside and never coming back.

“Why would this section of Faron woods turn people into monsters but not the rest of it?” Sir Garod spoke up, his brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Because it’s just a rumor,” Sir Aryt huffed, his horse snorting in turn.

“All rumors hold a seed of truth,” Sir Keelan remarked, and looked up at the trees. “Often twisted, but they have to come from somewhere. Though I would doubt we’ll turn into beasts the moment we walk in.”

“But we might. Maybe the flesh will fall from our bones and we’ll all become skeletons,” Rowan said with a wiggle of his fingers, and Link muffled a snort.

“You’re already a skeleton Rowan, no need for any further turning of one,” Sir Keelan replied briskly, and amused chuckles went up from the group as Sir Rowan made an offended noise. He’d always been on the leaner side. “Weapons ready men, let’s find this legendary sword.”

Sir Keelan urged his horse forward, and the rest of the knights followed, an odd prickle falling over Link’s skin as they passed under the shadow of the leaves. Epona seemed to sense his unease, and she nickered softly, ears twitching.

Link rubbed her neck, letting the sensation of her hair under his fingers calm his nerves. He was just feeling anxious because of Zelda’s dreams, he was sure. She’d been sleeping restlessly for weeks now, repeatedly seeing the same string of events, and though most of them had been unclear, she’d stated she’d seen a great darkness approaching, one thick enough to cover the entire kingdom.

But she’d also seen a figure finding a bright sword, hidden in a forest. And she’d seemed confident the figure had been Link.

Link wasn’t so sure, but Zelda had insisted it must be him, or at least a knight that wore clothes similar to his. Which was why Link’s entire squad was here, and not just himself.

He still wasn’t so sure he should be here at all, but Link could see the toll Zelda’s dreams were taking on her, lights on in her rooms at all hours, dark shadows under her eyes when she was awake. Link wasn’t sure quite what to think of the dreams themselves, but he took Zelda seriously. She was his closest friend, and he trusted her, even if it did seem odd to send a squad of the castle’s best knights off into the middle of the woods just based on a dream.

He trusted her.

And if she was right about the darkness... they needed this blade.

Link breathed out and looked over his companions riding beside him, dappled sunshine rippling across familiar faces. Their captain, Sir Keelan at the front, dark hair neat as always, Sir Trellon beside him studying the woods with a thoughtful expression on his wrinkled face. Sir Garod, towering over everyone as he watched with an amused look at Sir Rowan’s daily attempt to get a smile out of Sir Aryt, and Sir Aryt frowning in return.

Rowan Link knew best, since they were closest in age, but he knew all the knights, had grown up around most of them. They were a good group of men. Men he was proud to fight beside.

Men who surely had a bigger chance of finding and pulling a sacred blade than him.

“Kindly put your horse away from mine, Sir Rowan, or I will be forced to take drastic measures,” Aryt suddenly remarked, shooting Rowan a glare that terrified most people. Rowan was uncowed though, and gave his elder a smile.

“Oh yes? What sort of drastic measures?” he questioned, and Link leaned in, curious.

Aryt narrowed his pale eyes. “I believe your hair is getting a bit long, Sir Rowan. It would be a shame if something happened to it.”

Sir Rowan’s teasing expression quickly fell, and he hurriedly moved his horse back from Aryt’s, putting a protective hand on his ginger ponytail. Link couldn’t help his chuckle at Rowan’s fearful expression, and Sir Garod let out a rich laugh, slapping the younger knight on the back.

“Ah Rowan, your hair is safe, old Aryt won’t really shear you,” he chuckled, and Rowan huffed.

“I know that.”

“Didn’t look like it,” Link commented quietly, and Garod laughed again as Rowan made another huffy noise.

“Settle down men, I’d prefer it if the whole forest didn’t know we were here,” Sir Keelan called behind him, and Sir Garod quieted his laughter.

“What’s he worried about? These woods have never borne any report of worrisome beasts,” Sir Rowan said in a quieter voice, and Sir Aryt narrowed his eyes at the trees around them.

“Just because there are no reports doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

Conversation stilled then, the silence not uncomfortable, but not exactly peaceful, either. The buzz in Link’s skin seemed to grow the further into the woods they went, and he found himself fidgeting, ears twitching at the slightest sound, eyes scanning for movement.

He swore he heard music at one point.

“Looks like this is as far as the horses go,” Sir Trellon remarked, breaking the silence as they reached what was an end to the slight path they’d been following. The trees grew much closer together up ahead, and while they would be able to proceed on foot, the horses certainly wouldn’t fit.

“Probably a good thing, they seem nervous,” Rowan mentioned, his own horse’s ears twitching. “Rosie won’t sit still.”

“Perhaps they know something we do not,” Garod spoke up, thick eyebrows creased.

Everyone exchanged looks, but didn’t speak further, dismounting and securing their horses. Link gave Epona a pat, the mare nibbling lightly at his hair in response, and he bid her a quick farewell before they set off again.

The birds quieted as they plunged deeper into the woods, and the air seemed to grow colder, only flickers of sunlight reaching through the canopy of leaves above. Link’s hand never strayed from his sword, and he swore he kept hearing distant noises, trills of melody, quiet laughs. A light fog rolled in as they continued, swirling in small eddies at their feet, drifting between the trees and obscuring their path. It seemed to cling to their boots, and Link felt as though it had a weight to it, one that tried to pull him in a specific direction.

“Link?”

He blinked at Rowan’s question, realizing he’d been staring off into the trees and stopped walking.

“Everything alright? You’ve seemed distracted ever since we got here,” he asked. "You're not turning into a skeleton, I hope."

Link shook his head, then shrugged.

“No, I'm not. It's these woods. They don’t feel... normal,” he admitted quietly, and Rowan tilted his head.

“In what way?”

Link glanced around at the trees and the fog, feeling that odd pull again. “I don’t know. Just... something. It’s like there’s...”

“Wait, do you hear that?” Sir Trellon said suddenly, and all of them paused, ears pricked.

The woods seemed to still even further, silence almost as heavy as the fog. Link strained his ears, but he didn't hear anything.

Something suddenly rustled that might have been the wind, but they all raised their swords, keeping them and their shields at the ready. Link scanned the trees as he fell back into formation with the others, the pull of the fog insistent as they stood their ground, watching, listening.

Another rustle.

Then yellow eyes appeared through the fog.

“Monsters!” Sir Keelan shouted, and the clearing flooded with the beasts, completely out of nowhere.

The quiet woods exploded into noise, monsters screeching and metal clanging as the knights blocked strikes from the beasts. Link slashed at a wolfos that ran at him, teeth bared menacingly. It yelped as he struck its side, and he quickly leapt around and finished it off with a stab to the neck. More of the beasts darted around them, several skeletons and even a few large pig-like creatures Link recognized as moblins, which... were rare, and usually rather solitary.

Monsters in a huge group like this? An ambush? he thought in disbelief as he fought off another wolfos. What on earth—

A skeleton leapt for him as he finished off the other wolfos, and Link dove to the side to avoid its blade, the metal hitting a mossy rock mere inches from his face. The skeleton made a clattering noise that Link took as annoyed, and he quickly leapt upwards, smashing his blade through its spine and sending the skeleton to the ground in pieces.

Another skeleton replaced it, and Link hurriedly blocked its strike at his neck, gritting his teeth. It seemed like an awful lot of the monsters were targeting him.

“No worrisome beasts indeed,” he heard Sir Aryt snort from nearby, and saw him stab into a moblin with no small force. “What keen observational skills you have, Sir Rowan.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Rowan huffed back at him as he jumped in to finish the moblin off. “Faron woods never have this many monsters!”

“Tighten up, more from the north!” Sir Keelan shouted, and they turned to face the second wave of beasts that rushed out of the trees.

Link had gotten a bit separate from the other knights while he’d been fighting the skeletons, and he quickly made to rejoin them, scrambling over mossy roots. A bigger wolfos leapt out at him before he could reach them though, one with reddish eyes and streaks of dark purple in its fur.

It was blocking him from the other knights, and Link narrowly avoided getting teeth to his neck as it lunged at him. The weight of the beast slammed into him, and Link went sprawling, landing hard on the ground.

He gasped, barely managing to hold onto his sword, and stared up at the beast. Salvia strung between the wolfos’ yellowed teeth as it bared them wide, nearly closing them around his neck, and Link heard a shout of his name that seemed oddly far away. He just managed to avoid the bite to his neck, and found himself on the defensive as he fought the huge wolfos, rolling and dodging all while teeth snapped at his face.

Link managed to land a punch on its nose with his free hand, and while it howled angrily, he got a better grip on his sword and slashed at its side.

The wolfos yelped, and Link finally managed to roll out from under it, even while its claws scrabbled at him. He’d lost his shield but he would have to do without it, no time to retrieve it from where it lay several feet away in the grass.

Link dove to the side as the wolfos lunged again, and angled his sword up, trying to stab it as it dove for him. The monstrous wolf changed direction at the last moment, the blade only grazing it, and it barely touched the ground before it leapt at him again, huge paws outstretched.

Link scrambled to his feet and jumped backwards, dodging the attack, and watched the wolfos as it rushed backwards, pacing back and forth in confusing movements.

Its beady red eyes fixed on him, and Link charged forward with a shout, the beast jumping at the same time. This time Link’s blade sank into the wolfos’ neck, and it let out a strangled howl as it fell to the dirt, eyes growing wild. Link dodged a weak snap from the beast, blood in its fur, and thrust his sword into the wolfos again, the monster finally falling still. It was dead.

Link panted where he was knelt, a little out of breath from the intense fight, then looked up to see if anyone needed his assistance.

And found that he was alone.

Link startled, jumping to his feet as he whipped his head around, but he couldn’t see anyone in sight, the woods silent and empty. He looked behind him, and saw that even the body of the wolfos he’d been fighting was gone, and his sword along with it.

He was completely alone.

Link stared at the trees in bewilderment, beyond confused as to how this had happened. He’d rolled around a bit with the wolfos sure, but not so much as to have entirely left the others behind. He couldn’t even hear the battle anymore, where had they gone? Where had his sword and the dead wolfos gone? How had this happened?

...And how exactly was he going to find the others again?

“Hello?” he called tentatively, but not so much as a bird answered him. Link looked around the trees, fog wisping its way between the trunks and swirling softly at his feet, and felt a chill down his spine.

Maybe there was something to the rumors of people never coming out.

A soft feeling prickled at his skin suddenly, the same he’d felt ever since stepping foot in the forest. Link slowly turned and looked at an unassuming spot in the trees, and felt that pull again, the chime that both thrilled and scared him.

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. Without any clue where the others were, or his weapon for that matter, he figured following the odd sensation was as good of a heading as any.

The fog curled away from his feet as he stepped towards the feeling, and Link began to make his way through the woods, hoping the pull would reunite him with the other knights again. He could only hope they were all okay. They were all skilled for certain, but that had been a lot of monsters that had appeared out of nowhere.

A snuffling noise caught his attention, and Link ducked behind a bush, watching as a moblin stomped by with its spear at the ready. Link swallowed, letting it pass before standing up and hurrying on his way. This may have been an out of the way part of the woods, but this many monsters lurking around anywhere was just unnatural.

Is this the darkness you saw, Zelda?

Link tried to quiet his breathing as he moved through the woods, shoulder stinging where the wolfos had slammed into him earlier. He crept by more monsters, being careful not to let them spot him, sometimes having to climb a tree or duck under a prickly bush in order to avoid detection. Link did have a small dagger on his belt, but it was hardly enough to take out any of the monsters he’d seen so far. Fighting would be his last resort.

...He was really missing his sword.

Link continued on, dashing past monsters, following the weird tug in his middle. The fog seemed to thicken around him, but it never fully covered his path, and he diligently headed further into the forest, trees getting thicker, and taller, very sparse rays of sunshine filtering through.

The deeper Link went, the stronger the pull in his chest grew, and he stopped coming across as many monsters, the woods silent except for the soft brush of leaves, and the occasional musical trill in the distance that Link thought he imagined more than once.

Link abruptly felt the urge to turn, and he did, finding himself descending what looked like the remains of some extremely old steps. The stone was cracked, moss and roots covering most of what was left, and Link had to watch where he stepped as he picked his way down them. The trees around him thinned out a bit, and more ruins joined the steps, old fallen pillars, a collapsed wall with a bird’s nest tucked in the crumbling stone. The trees and fog still blocked most of the sky, but Link looked around in interest at the ruins, still following the tug in his chest.

He passed under a tree branch that was curved almost like an archway, grass crunching softly under his boots, and his breath caught as he raised his head.

Sunshine streamed through the trees into the clearing up ahead, keeping the fog at bay. Small flowers poked up from the grass, colored petals bright in the glow from the sun, and the feeling in Link’s chest sang, his heart beating faster as he saw light glint off of something, something important.

That’s it.

That’s the sword Zelda saw in her dream.

Link took a step forward, transfixed by the sight, and then everything went wrong.

One moment he was staring in awe, and the next, a weight slammed into his shoulder, sending him to his knees as he gasped in shock. Link felt frantically at his back, and pain hit him more sharply as his fingers brushed against the shaft of an arrow.

He’d let his guard down.

You idiot!

Link tried to turn himself to look at the threat, but couldn’t move anything more than his head without pain wrenching through him, so intense he couldn’t do more. A small groan escaped him, and he nearly collapsed, the pain like a hot coal burning through his shoulder.

Arrows shouldn’t hurt this much, why does it feel like I’m—

Link finally turned his head, gritting his teeth through the pain, and a cold feeling of dread welled in his stomach as a shadowy figure stepped out of the bushes.

That wasn’t a monster.

His dread only grew as the cloaked figure stepped closer, a bow held in one hand, a hood shadowing his face. Link could see reddish eyes though, shot through with purple, and he tried to keep his breathing steady despite the alarm racing through him.

Who was this? What was happening?

“Well well well,” the man said as he watched Link struggle for breath through the pain, his purple cloak rippling in the breeze. A sneer formed on pale lips. “Seems I’ve found a prospective hero.”

Link sucked in a breath as more pain abruptly shook through him, clutching at his shoulder. What was happening?

“Just as planned. My monsters did a fine job of leading me to you,” the man continued, the same sneer in his voice as he stepped closer. “You have no idea how long I’ve planned for this, boy. At last my vision will be realized, and you will be the tool that I use to bring it forth.”

Link swallowed as the man spoke, not liking the sound of any of that. Thoughts and plans on what to do whirled through his head, none of them good, but then the sunlight nearby caught his eye again, shimmering brightly.

The sword.

If he could just make it to the sword, he’d be fine. Zelda had said it could banish evil, evil that this man was surely using and planning, so that was all he had to do.

Link took a deep breath, then lurched to his feet as he tried to make a run for it, heart thudding wildly. The sword, just make it to the sword, that’s all you have to—

Another arrow slammed in next to the first, and Link cried out, tumbling back to the ground.

“Not another step, boy,” the man said in a voice that dripped with ice. “I have use of you, and I’d prefer it if you were intact. I’d hate to shoot you again, but…”

Link could barely focus on what he was saying, pain blurring his senses. The arrows felt like burning icicles in his back, freezing straight to his core with an unnatural feel, and he let out a shuddering cough.

The man sighed almost theatrically.

“Ah. Seems my magic is a bit eager to get started. I was hoping to wait to do this part, but I suppose I’d better go ahead and finish since it’s begun,” he said in a bit of an annoyed voice. “Better to have it done with.”

Link heard footsteps through the fog of pain, and then a hand pressed against the small of his back, a shudder involuntarily escaping him at the touch.

“Hold still.”

Then burning agony shot through Link, and he screamed, writhing in place on the ground. Something began to worm into him as the agony ripped another cry from his throat, icy tendrils creeping up his back and constricting him like a poisonous vine, pulling him down until he felt like he was drowning.

It was like nothing Link had ever felt, and he thrashed against it, his fingers clawing at the grass as he tried to fight the overwhelming sensation.

He couldn’t let whatever this magic was doing to him win, someone had to warn the castle about this, the knights, someone had to warn Zelda—

“Relax boy, it’ll be easier if you don’t fight it,” the man crooned, and he pressed his fingers harder into Link’s skin, more burning cold accompanying the touch. Link screamed again, but the sound was weaker, his thrashing slowing as the cold locked his limbs and burrowed deeper, each new layer lighting his nerves up with agony.

The ice tore into him, relentless in its attack. It ripped at his mind, clawed its way though his chest, icy darkness slipping under his skin and into his lungs and head and heart—

No—

NO—

Darkness burst as something cracked inside of him, and Link let out one last wretched cry, his body abruptly deciding that whatever was happening was too much for it.

His vision spun down into dark and cold, and the last thing he heard was a satisfied laugh that blocked out the chime of the Master Sword calling to him, from just a little too far away.

[xxbrightshadowxx]

I may not be able to draw but I can write. Your idea has been circling my brain since I saw it. I’m assuming this is based off your switch au. For anyone not in the loop, this Drabble is based off of op’s Arcane Switch au where Jinx goes to jail and Vi is taken under Silco’s wing. They have a great fic of the concept on Ao3 titled: base violence necessary {Arcane AU} by the name hunnydew. They have more about this au on their TikTok: itsdigichiaki. Go check it out they post cool stuff about arcane and the au. This might be bad but whatever. without a further a due, let’s begin!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Starting a revolution was—hard. To say the least. Those who were under the chem-barons The undercity was riled up. First Silco, the one who most would argue had the most power was dead and now half the Council was dead.

And it was all thanks to Jinx.

Sort of. It was very complicated. Regardless, with her at the firelight’s side it was easier to recruit others to their cause. This meant the amount living at the base grew significantly in numbers. They nearly tripled in amount of residents in the span of almost two months.

It wasn’t always easy at times. With such a quick change to the dynamic it meant supplies ran out quick and Ekko became responsible for more and more people. Not all of them got along, members of old chem gangs fought over past conflict and issues. Finding a middle ground that everyone agreed with was an issue in itself.

The one thing he was glad for was not being alone in this. He had Scar, Vi, surprisingly enough Sevika(if you had told him that months ago he would’ve had laughed), and Jinx.

Speaking of which—

His eyes darted down to the grass area. He leaned over the rail of the treehouse. The teen was with Isha, the little girl fascinated with the older girl’s tattoos. Jinx didn’t spend a lot of time at the firelight base. She preferred to spend time at a hangout near the mining ventilations. Honestly, who could blame her? Half of the residents looked up to her. They praised her and looked to her for guidance. She was the figure of rebellion in the eyes of Piltover. Dangerous, deadly. For Zaun, she was a sign of hope.

For Ekko she was something more.

The boy coughed, bringing his arm to his mouth. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Oh, no, no, no. Many things could kill him. A raid, an accident on his hoverboard, heck even from a mis-step leading him to fall to his death would be less mortifying than her finding out. Death from embarrassment is not how he wanted to go out. He wouldn’t tell her. Not now. Maybe when their top goal wasn’t surviving first.

Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t look. He leaned over and slumped his arm over the rail, his chin resting against his knuckles. She had changed as did he, over the years. No longer did the soft and innocent glint in her blue eyes shone as bright as day. Pink, sharp eyes with bags or exhaustion rested on her face. She had gone through a lot. Powder was not the same girl he fell for. But Jinx was still a sight for sore eyes in Ekko’s heart.

The girl turned, her eyes landing on where Ekko was standing—emphasis on was. The white haired boy bolted to the side out of her sight, praying that she didn’t see him run like a doofus. He waited for a while before peeking his head over. Jinx was back to talking to Isha, attention away from him.

Oh thank, Jana.

Ekko relaxed before he began to make his way down the ladder. He had work to do and he should start on it before he did get caught for staring. He made his way down a shortcut he knew to another section of his base, weaving through the shadows—

“We promise to treat her right. We swear!”

Ekko paused in his steps and turned. Leaning against a shady section of the tree was Vi, Silco’s old right-hand woman(besides Sevika) and Jinx’s sister. She had her arms crossed over her muscular chest as she looked down at a small group of firelights. There were about eight of them, all guys and shorter than Vi. They looked familiar. The red-head blinked at them before saying, “Excuse me?”

“We are asking for your permission to ask Jinx out,” the one in front, the leader, replied in a meek voice.

‘What,’ Ekko thought as he stood there dumbly. He looked at the group and instantly recognized them. Out of all of Jinx’s admirers there was a small group that took the term admiration a little too far. To be more specific, they were enamored by her, singing praise and compliments about the teenager constantly. Yes, it was well, weird. Jinx wasn’t a fan of them but that didn’t discourage them from being her biggest fans. Or at least that’s what Ekkl thought.

“No, I heard you the first time. I’m asking why?” Vi deadpanned as she narrowed her gaze at them.

The group took a step back, eyes shifting from one to the other. The leader took a step forward and replied, refusing to look at her. “Well, we just wanted to make sure we didn’t upset you if she said yes to one of us. Since you’re her older sister and all.”

“Uh-huh,” Vi nodded her head slowly. Might also have to do with the fact that under Silco Vi was sort of a ticking time bomb. Pissing her off, especially in regards to her sister was like signing your death sentence. “And you think she’d say yes to any of you?”

Ekko held back a chuckle. Vi spoke her mind often to those she wasn’t close to. Her dry response resulted in the group wincing but the boys still refused to give up. In fact, her doubt just seemed to make them more determined.

Huh. That struck a chord with Ekko. He knew there were people who had a crush on Jinx.(who wouldn’t?) But what really bugged him was they actually had the courage to shoot their shot. Most of them barely knew Jinx, at least not the real her. They didn’t know her pain, her life, or how wonderful she truly was. They just knew the figure that blew up the council.

Vi looked at all of them, eyes landing on each of them—before she grinned. She spoke again, “Okay, I will give my blessing to date me sister if…” the group all hung on her words, ready for any challenge she’d throw at them. “You tell me her real name.”

The group went still and silence was their answer but another boy in the back asked, “Jinx isn’t her real name?”

“Nope,” Vi shrugged, enjoying as they squirmed in front of her. “Come on, you all want to date her. One of you has got to know her actual name.”

She was having way too much fun with this. Making them feel uncomfortable. One of the boys muttered something before he walked away and soon the group dispersed, leaving the woman alone.

Vi hummed satisfied. She leaned her head against the oak before saying, “I know you are there, Ekko.”

Welp. Looks like his cover has been blown. The teen walked forward to stand beside Vi. He looked at her. “How long have you know I’ve been there?”

Vi chuckled before lightly elbowing him in the side. “Can’t hide from me, little man.” She looked forward to where the group of boys had scattered. “Those guys are going to lose their minds trying to figure out her actual name. Bet you’re happy about that.”

Ekkp began to nod before stopping and glaring at Vi. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Vi snorted letting her arms fall to her sides. “Whatever. Take your sweet time. Just don’t wait forever. I think you two will both die from it if you do.”

Ekko looked away to prevent letting her know how embarrassed she was making him. “Let’s head back to the open. Just in case Powder gets in trouble.”

Vi tilted her head. “Powder huh?”

Ekko huffed, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah. Powder.”

Headcanon that I'm too lazy to draw :

When Jinx is in her revolution arc, she develops a group of young, die-hard admirers. They go to VI to ask for permission to ask her out, and VI says she'll grant it if they know what her 'actual' name is. Unfortunately for them, none of them know her by anything other than Jinx.

Except for THE BOY SAVIOUR RAAAAAH

He doesn't ask because he's a bashful yearning idiot, though.

[etherealily]

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆, 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩.

this might be one of my favourite things i've written. hope you enjoy! happy v-day💌

Queued + not proofread!

Felix Catton + fem!reader. Warnings : Cussing. Drugs. Long.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You don't want to fix him, but you do, anyway.

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Okay, okay, so he beat someone up on campus, so fucking what?

It's called being a good fucking person. Look, you do not let some utter chav get away with cat-calling a girl in the middle of the dining hall, and then a frat party, where she might have been roofied if she'd have been dumber (thank god she wasn't), and in a fucking library, just because she couldn't cause a scene. Three strikes and he was out.

But apparently, so was Felix.

"No, Sir, I'm telling you, he was--'

"Professor Walker."

Professor. Asshole. "Professor. I apologise. Professor, I'm telling you, he was being absolutely dodgy!"

"Mr. Catton, I'd advise you to stay calm--"

His fist slammed on the table, the pens on this useless waste of a PhD's desk bouncing, seemingly in tune with Felix's blood pressure. "YOU are a philosophy professor, yeah? Don't bloody talk about practical shite to me, and don't tell me what to do about what happens in the real world, when your whole career is telling people to overthink everything and keep their heads in the clouds!"

Uh, whoops.

His adrenaline shot down as fast as it had shot up and all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his ranking in this shithole.

Student.

He's lucky he wasn't expelled.

Because the philosophy 'professor' said "young minds often reject new ideas".

Figures.

He got let off with a warning, an extremely disappointed voicemail from his mother (Felix, dear, you know philosophy was my major, that was a horrid joke to make), to sit in on one month's worth of philosophy lectures - surprisingly, without charge - and a mandatory weekly anger management session for the rest of the academic year.

That last bit was what he was most chagrined about.

He did not need a bloody shrink. GOD. He was fine. He just couldn't handle the philosophy 'professor' telling him to 'stay calm' when he was perfectly calm. Maybe he knew that would set him off. Any class with Felix in it is sure to get more listeners. So maybe it was this Professor Walker mooching off his campus-wide popularity.

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Having to miss classes wasn't exactly on your bucket list, but your body was far less used to Oxford winters than you'd expected, and so the flu decided to scrape a week off your lectures. You made up for it, though, being a swot on your first free week of Uni, and not needing to catch up on much.

However, there was definitely no chance your professor took too kindly to your absence, seeing as psychology was your major, and she expected you to be there, rain, hail or shine. Star student, you were not, but the only one taking it seriously, you were.

So here you were, sitting in front of her as she regarded you. "You need extra credit."

"Yes, Professor."

"Your career path?"

"Uh... undecided."

"Career focus?"

"Psychology.' That, you knew.

She hummed, shaking a packet of sugar before ripping the corner. You watched the tiny, crystalline cubes get engulfed by the brown of her coffee.

"You should try going into therapy."

For a moment, you almost chewed her head off.

"As a career.", she clarified, almost snorting as she saw your expression. "You interact well with people, and you have a good grasp on the subject." Ah. Say that properly, bitch.

"Here's what I'll do.", she declared, taking a large sip of her coffee - you were almost 90% sure she'd made it Irish earlier - before sliding a small, stapled pile of papers over to you. "I'll give you all the tools you'll need. See if you can get them memorized and come back for a solo quiz later this week. Then, you can begin conducting."

Conducting?

You skimmed your eyes over the stack of paper. Weekly mandatory anger management sessions. Split second, and you thought it was for you, because maybe she had heard you mentally call her a bitch.

"An extremely hardworking and well-scoring student recently got into an altercation on campus, on grounds.", she explained, and you nodded, your eyes not leaving the stack of paper.

'Conducted by' : blank. You supposed that's where you were supposed to sign.

"Although we have a strict policy against harrasment and conflict, none of the three parties involved has openly stated discrimination. The only solid thing the university has got is a confession from the initiator and witnesses from the side of the victim. But given his clean record so far, we have resorted to only this. Sessions to contain any such future outbursts."

Who even was this kid, and why was he your form of extra credit? "But I'd be using him as a lab rat, basically."

"Come again?"

"I'm not qualified or licensed to conduct these sessions, so I don't think--"

She waved you off, the bint. "It's a mere formality, no need to put stock into it. That's not to say you can slack off, half-arse it, either, but he's had no history of violence and is known to be a relatively good-tempered student."

Then why the fuck?

"We figure he can be let off easy - we'd never take sides, so this is off the record, but he was justified - and you can get extra credit, and the victim can be appeased. Quiet and a win-win-win."

The coffee now completely drained, she watched you think it over while staring blankly at the space in which you needed to sign your name. Inhaling deeply, she leaned over, gently prying it from you and flipping the page. "This bit, very important. Sort of like an NDA. No, maybe... an ANS. Agreement Not to Sue. But less official."

"This looks more like summat he should be signing. Basically, since I'm not a licensed therapist, if he doesn't get better, or gets more fucked, the Uni isn't to blame?"

"You need to sign it, too. You'll have to record the sessions, as well."

"So you know I'm not 'half-arsing' it?"

"So we know he's coming to them. But yeah. That too.", she smiled, tilting her head. "You in?"

Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, seeing as she cut marks for your absences out of sheer fucking spite.

You nodded and so did she. "Brilliant! Sign here."

Scrawling your sign - that you came up with in the eighth grade instead of fucking having fun like a kid - on the blank spots her manicured nail hovered over, you bit the inside of your cheek. Was it weird that they weren't telling you who it was?

Was it weird that the sheet had been blank when it was brought to you, meaning whoever this bloke was, he had no clue what was coming?

Uh huh. Yeah.

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"A student?! A first year fucking student? I'm getting a kid-shrink?"

"It's a mere formality. Given your record, we're sure you don't even require these sessions--"

"Professor! Come on! Can't we just say I took them?"

It's quite interesting how chill a philosophy professor can actually be once you get to know them personally. And Walker was cool, as Felix had come to find out in the past couple days of knowing him.

"Afraid not. But I'm sure she's been adequately trained by the psychology in-charge to handle these sessions."

"Why can't the in-charge do it? Would actually do summat!"

"She's busy."

He scoffed as he was handed a stapled stack of papers. "What's this, then?"

"Read it."

He did, for a while, before looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "What is this, a Liability Waiver for if she bollockses my mental health by accident?"

"More or less."

Sweet lord. "Oh, fantastic, so I'm a scapegoat, a trial for this first year, am I? See if counselling is her 'thing'?"

"You know, a more positive attitude towards this, and you might not have to go the whole year.'

"What, sayin' she'll give up?"

Walker looked almost amused, snorting. "No. I'm saying you might actually get a solution for your rage issues."

"I don't have--'

"You could learn a thing or two, Felix. Learn to calm your temper - no matter how non-existent you claim it to be - and learn how to be happier."

"Brilliant. A first year is going to teach me about the joys of non-reactivity, then? Brilliant. We'll see her keep her temper when a girl's being near groped in front of her, hm?"

"We'll need to have you sign there and there and twice on the last page, please."

"She got this before me?", he muttered, glaring at the signatures already present on the pages. "So she got to decide whether she wants to deal with me, not the other way around!? Unbelievable."

"Sign, please, Felix."

He grumbled under his breath, attempting to recall whether he'd ever even heard your name before, as he messily signed something that was probably not his signature, on each page. He has no clue what his signature is. He figured he'd sort it out when he takes over the family estate (or business), or whatever.

"None of these look the same."

"Well, this is hardly official is it? 'S long as my name's there, it's not a problem, yeah?"

"You're gonna give me a migraine before my first week as your student advisor.", he muttered, accepting the sheets back anyway. "Okay, good. Sessions start Saturday."

Fucking spectacular, now this girl was taking his weekends away.

WEEK 1

Your pen twirled between your fingers and the inside of your cheek practically split open with how frequently you'd been resorting to chewing on it lately.

You'd passed the solo quiz that your professor had set up for you, and she'd declared you 'adequately trained' to take these sessions.

Okay? And? What, were you supposed to jump in joy?

Late. This arsehole, 'Felix Catton' was his name. You just... try as you might, you couldn't place a face to the familiar name. And that face was almost ten minutes late.

But one thing you would not do is get up and leave until the hour was up. Work ethic. Wait till the last moment. With any luck, he wouldn't show up at all, and you could complain, and get extra credit some other way--

The door exploded open, and shuffling, throwing-off of a coat and grumbled-settling-down was heard, as you looked up from your notes.

"You're the first year, then?"

Oh, THIS GUY?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, you remembered him!

You nodded. "Yes. Uh, just a second, Mr. Catton.", you muttered, angling the video camera right, ignoring the scoff it elicited from the junior.

"I'm two years older than you."

"What would you like me to call you?" That plug from the Christmas party who tried to overcharge me?

He watched you fiddling with the device for a bit before sitting up, one leg crossed over another as he huffed, playing with his rings. "Felix is fine."

"Felix it is, then.", you mumbled, finally getting the thing to work, before clearing your throat and sitting up. Here we go. "So, Felix.", you began, trying to smile off the awkwardness. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and--"

"Do you wanna know why I'm here in this bloody session?"

You glanced over to the camera for a second, feeling like you were in a fucking Office episode, before nodding, gesturing at him to continue. Fuck, if this shite went on the record and he said summat so unbelievably stupid you were at a loss for words, you could kiss your extra credit goodbye.

"I punched a lad. Hard, till his nose bled and he couldn't stand up without support."

You nodded, flicking through the file of information you'd received from some advisor of his, Professor Walker. Nice chap. "Yes, I see that. How does that make you feel? Did it make you feel powerful?"

"Mhm.", he hummed, nodding as he glared at you, a sort of smirk on his face, like he thought this would have you freaking out about his sadistic tendencies. It's funny he thought you cared.

"Happy?'

"Very."

"I see. But one thing that's conveniently missing from your file.", you replied, eyes flicking accusatorily to the camera before reaching his eyes once more. "Is why you did it.", you stated, your fingers intertwining as you looked at him with rapt attention.

This seemed to throw him for a loop, the self-satisfied grin fading for a moment.

"Why'd you want to know, sweetheart? So that you can record me confessing to the crime on tape?", he mused, gesturing at the camera before reclining back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Because I'm sorry to disappoint your wide-eyed, freshman dreams, but I've already said it, on the record."

You frowned, tilting your head softly for a moment. "No, I'm asking, because I truly don't know. They wouldn't give me your identity, let alone your case."

"Well, I hit a lad. For cat-calling a girl."

He observed your face almost twitch for a moment, and he figured you were about to throw the camera at him, but instead, you switched it off. "And they're punishing you for it?", you asked, leaning your forearms in front of him, basically whispering although the camera was off.

Huh. Whoa, maybe you were on his side.

"Yeah, isn't it mental?", he scoffed, leaning in, too. "I figured I should get some sort of medal, y'know? Maybe a commendation from the dean."

"I wouldn't go that far, but it's good, what you did.", you laughed, softly.

"Exactly!", he huffed, a genuine smile now on his face as he leaned back, rubbing his hands over his jaw. "Wow. I- sorry, love, but I didn't expect us to, like, agree."

"No, no, yeah, totally! I thought you were a hotheaded twat. I didn't expect...", you exclaimed, gesturing at him. "Reason."

"Right. Well, okay, great! Uh, phew, yeah?"

You nodded.

"So, yeah, this is cool. We'll just... you'll take care of it, won't ya? Thanks, you're a peach.", he grinned, standing up and not believing his bloody luck!

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

Turning, he frowned. "Well, we agree. So you'll talk to your in-charge, and say I don't need it, yeah? Oh, oh, you want me to stay the hour so you can, like, log it in. Yeah, yeah, got it.", he mumbled, nodding eagerly.

"What? No." He was, uh... clearly not on the same page as you.

His smile faded slowly. "What?"

"We've got weeks left of this."

"Yeah, but. Wait, I thought you agreed with me."

"I do. It's bonkers to punish you, but, it's mandatory, so."

"'So'? So, go do summat about it, then!", he cried, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Tell 'em there's nothing to work on!"

"I'm not just going to--"

"WHY?!"

You almost flinched. God. Maybe he did have anger issues.

"WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?!"

Oh, oh-- uh oh. He didn't even know why you were doing it, and you were sure he'd blow five gaskets if he did.

"Just finish it, stop causing unecessary problems!"

"No, seriously! What's in it for you?"

"SIT DOWN!"

For some reason, that, he listened to.

He slumped down.

"Shut up and do what you were instructed to do." Lord knows where you'd got the balls to talk to a junior like that.

Reaching over to turn the camera back on, you began again. "What would you like me to call you?", you repeated.

"How about I call you something and we can workshop sm'n out for me later?", he grumbled under his breath.

"Sorry? You weren't audible. What was that?"

"Nothing. Felix."

"Felix.", you echoed, nodding. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and live an overall, controlled and more fulfilling life and have a more fruitful experience here at Oxford.", you read off the script, jaw clenched, mirroring his dirty look.

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you, freshie."

"I'd like it if you adressed me by my name. You already know it from the sign-up form for the sessions, but I am happy to repeat it if you wish.'

"Sign-up form?", he scoffed, looking directly at the camera. "Is that what they're calling it on the record?"

"That is what it is."

"Sweet Lord, it's a Liabil-- hey.", he grimaced, narrowing his eyes at you as you kneed him from under the table.

"Right. Y/N. Am I supposed to call you 'Doctor', too, freshie?"

"Just my name is fine."

He rolled his eyes, his hands fiddling with his rings. "Let's begin with your recount of the incident."

How many bloody times?! He was about to explode.

~~

You ended the session at exactly one hour, because you couldn't take this moron anymore, for fuck's sake.

He didn't object.

Shutting off the camera, you wordlessly packed up your things, stuffing them into your bag.

"Are they payin' ya?"

You snorted, zipping up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. "No."

"Fuckin' snake."

"How am I a snake, Felix?", you sighed, tapping an impatient foot on the floor.

"Pretending you're on my side and that. Was that just to get information for the therapy part of it? Because that was a bitch move."

"What? No, I genuinely think it's odd that they're punishing you for something like this."

"Then why?! What could they possibly offer a fresher? They wouldn't increase your scholarship for shite this petty, so-- wait. EXTRA CREDIT?!", he gasped, standing up startlingly quick. "You're doin' this for a couple points of extra credit ?! WHAT?!"

"So what if I am?", you asked, schooling your face and your voice to be the picture of calm. "Either way, these sessions are mandated if you don't want this to escalate. It'll be over before you know it."

"EXTRA CREDIT?!", he practically shrieked, as he followed you out the door. "How bloody pathetic! You're going against what you know is right for extra bloody credit?! Just fucking study!"

"It'll be over before you know it, Felix."

"For the rest of the academic year, I have to come to you every Saturday and listen to you blabbering on about how to 'take deep breaths and count to ten'.", he scoffed, incredulously, easily overtaking you and obstructing your path in more ways than one.

"Doesn't always have to be a Saturday."

Oh, he was about to actually get anger issues.

"This pisses you off, too! Come on, admit it, fresher! You don't like this any more than I do!", he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

You sort of liked pissing him off. Gave you much more to work with, sadistically. Reaching into your bag, you handed him the tiny blue journal you'd bought. "Here."

"What is this?"

"It's for noting down your feelings. You will have to fill at least one page every day and bring it back to me during our sessions."

He gaped incredulously at you as you shouldered past him. You're giving him homework?!

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WEEK 5

"You're not taking off your helmet?"

"No. Bothers you?"

You glanced at the camera for a second, before shaking your head, the corners of your lips turned down in feigned and exaggerated indifference. "No."

"Because I'll keep it on, mud and all. I fell on the way here."

"You fell?"

"Yeah. Helmet's now my coping mechanism. Calms me, y'know?" That made no bloody sense!

"So you're keeping it on."

'You wouldn't deny me my coping mechanism, would you, Y/N?"

You sucked on your teeth, shaking your head once more. Dirt on the desk, dirt on your laptop, dirt-- FUCK!

"No, it's alright."

He grinned slyly, nodding, before sliding the journal over to you. "I filled it."

"Entirely?" It's only Week 5, what the hell?

"Yes, actually. I'm an overachiever."

You raised a brow, taking it from him and placing it next to his file.

"So. How are we doing today?", you asked, once again intertwining your fingers and placing them on the desk as you leaned closer to the imbecile.

"You're not readin' it?"

Oh, please, like you had no clue what was in there. "No, actually, I've got to directly submit this to both your advisor and my in-charge."

"What?"

"Yeah, protocol. That's why I said to take it one week at a time so we can monitor progress, but it seems you're an 'overachiever' - your words, not mine."

"Can I have it back?" His tone was almost nervous, and you were now even more certain what he'd actually bloody written in there.

You almost smirked before you remembered the presence of the camera. "You want it back, Felix?"

"Yeah, I think I, uh, used a couple of profanities."

"That's alright, I'm sure they'll understand."

"Can I please have it back?"

You shrugged, holding it out for him to take, letting him tug on it for a moment before you released it from your grasp. "Would you like another one? Since you've filled this one?"

"I'll buy my own."

"Very well. I ask again, how are you doing today?"

He huffed, momentarily looking like he was actually prepared to answer honestly. "Great."

"Great.", you echoed, your pen twirling between your fingers. "And define 'great' to you."

"Not shite.", he said through gritted teeth.

"In more elaborate, less crude terms, please, Mr. Felix.'

"I am doing well today. Not bad.", he mumbled, playing with the buckle of the helmet he'd so adamantly kept on that was now seeming a bit too bloody tight. But he couldn't take it off. Not when it was clearly bothering you. "Nothing particularly terrible or triggering has occurred."

"And is that always the standard you measure your experiences on? 'Not bad'? If nothing 'terrible or triggering' has happened, it's a 'great' day?", you asked offhandedly, noting it down. 'Not shite'.

His eyes darted up to you. "What?"

"I said, is that always the stand--"

"No, I heard you. Just... isn't that what everyone does?"

"Do you think it is? Do you think it's what everyone does? Have any of your friends told you it is what they do?"

"What do you do?"

"Me?" Were you allowed to answer this? Is that against some therapist rule? You weren't sure, and you couldn't really ask your textbook right now, could you?

He nodded, mildly intrigued.

"Personally, for me to count a day as 'great', there should be an equal balance of absence of bad things and presence of good things."

"Well, then, I fell off my bike, but I did well on a test. Is that, in your books, a 'great' day?"

"Depends. Which do you weigh more? Is falling off a bike worse than getting a bad grade, or is getting a good grade better than staying upright on a bike?"

"Getting a good grade."

"Well, then, I suppose, there's your answer."

Huh. This was an odd perspective he's never exactly... heard before. Wait, no! This shite is not working, fuck off, fresher!

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed.", you nodded. "You seem to have a better attitude this week, to the session." He did not. But it would piss him off if he thought that you thought this was working.

"I do not."

"Oh, well, then, pardon me, my mistake. So, tell me. Why do you think it is, that you're not particularly interested in these sessions?"

"Because I don't have anger issues. If a bloke catcalls a girl once, it's whatever - still bad - but whatever. Happens. But if he keeps doin' it, almost roofies her at a party and constantly tailing her, and then tryin' to score in a fucking library, just because she can't yell out at him, that's, like... creep behaviour!"

You nodded. "Yes, you mentioned this, in the first session, and also to your student advisor, it seems.", you replied, tapping the tip of your pen at the bit of the file that mirrored what he was saying.

"And you think that that's a therapy-worthy answer."

"Why do you not think you're going to get anything out of these sessions, Felix? Even without anger issues, per se, everyone could use some guidance in controlling their emotions and resolving conflict peacefully, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I would not agree. I think that if you're being an absolute prick , then no amount of peaceful talking is going to do anything. You need to get physical. Teach a lesson."

"I see. And you know this works because...?"

"Because he's shut up, hasn't he?"

"Right, but maybe he's still doing it. Perhaps not to that particular girl, but how do you know for sure you've 'taught him a lesson'?"

"Because- well.", he muttered. Shut up, fresher! "He's not that daft! He wouldn't risk another beating!"

"If he's daft enough to do it three times even after she expressed disinterest, Felix, I'm sure he might be 'daft' enough to 'risk another beating'."

He tsked, taking off the bloody tight fucking helmet, and running his hands through his hair. You watched the brown spill through the gaps of his fingers, before your eyes came back to his face. "You're frustrated?"

"Yes, I'm frustrated."

"What do you usually do, when you're frustrated?"

"Certainly not sit in a room with a fresher and 'talk about it'!"

"Right, I suppose you don't.", you replied, smiling. "So what is it you do?"

"I dunno, smoke?"

"Smoke?", you asked, tilting your head, noting it down. "You smoke?"

"Yeah, I smoke. What, you going to turn this into a cancer-awareness session?"

"I'm simply trying to understand you, Felix."

"What is this, like a first date, you learn shite about me, and see if I'm worth anything in your eyes?", he scoffed.

"Would that make it easier to open up?"

"No! God! What high school did you go to? Idiot."

"Oh, so we are going with the first date thing?"

"No- I- you're so stupid! I don't actually care what high school you went to! It was rhetoric!"

His outburst, oddly, was not followed by a calm and infuriating retort, in fact, you just looked back at him, disappointed, it looked like. But that was impossible, because that would mean you gave a crap, which, you couldn't. You did this for extra credit like a fuckin' try-hard, right?

The silence almost devours him whole as he looks into your eyes - why were they so... he didn't even know, that look you were giving him just... freaked him out.

"Time's up. You can leave."

What?! No, no, no, he just got here.

"Already?"

He heard the video camera shut off. "Time flies when you're actually working with me, Felix, y'know?"

"Don't get used to it, I had a shit day.'

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I won't. Have a nice rest o' your weekend, Catton."

WEEK 10

"Hello again, Felix."

"Hi."

"You seem cheery today."

"Yes, actually. I went out last night. Downed a couple pints with the lads. It was fun."

"I'm glad you had fun."

He nodded, pursing his lips as he rocked back and forth, awkwardly.

"Yes, so. If you don't mind, I'd just like to go back to some things that were left unfinished in some of the previous sessions. Let's circle back to your mention of what you do when you're frustrated. Smoke. Anything else?"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked up at you. 'No. Well, if you're talking about last night, uh, drink, yeah, sometimes, but never to change my mood or whatever."

"I see. So that's all you do, when frustrated?"

"Yeah. Smoke."

"How about this. Next time you feel frustrated, instead of picking up a pack of cigarettes, pick up a pen."

"What, write down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl?"

"No, draw. On paper, on a desk, on your hand, who cares? Draw."

"Draw?"

"Yeah. It's worked for me, and you seem to be responding slightly better when I give you real life examples of what's worked and not worked for me, so."

"What, the bike thing from Session 5?! Because I-- Oh, please, you're not that bloody smart! Anyone could've said that, doesn't mean I'm 'responding better' just because you said it worked for you, you're a fuckin' fresher, everything you read in your stupid little psych textbooks would work for you!", he snapped. He didn't even know what half of that meant. He just wanted to say something.

"See, it seems that this is more what you do when you're frustrated, Felix, per my observation. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, but since our previous sessions, this sort of insulting defensiveness is what I feel you resort to."

"'M not defensive. I just think this is pointless."

"Yes, you've made that quite apparent."

"Well, then how about you just declare me fixed?"

"It's not about declaring you, alright, it's about finishing the minimum duration provided to us by the University."

"Fine."

Silence. "So. I ask again. Why not draw?"

"Fine, I'll draw."

"Alright. Thank you, Felix. Time's up."

"What?!"

"Just kidding. You've only been here five minutes. How about... and humour me here...", you muttered, reaching under the desk and groping around until you pull out two sketchbooks. "We draw right now?"

"What, and then you analyse how fucked I am in the head?"

"Or we just draw. We don't even have to talk.", you replied, handing him the sketchbook. God, this better work. You'd had to draw info from child psych books for this guy.

~~

It took barely five minutes for him to begin talking again.

"What are these pencils?"

"Don't ask me, they're all Oxford-provided."

"What a joke. You know, when I was a fresher, I didn't even let myself think of borrowing anything from Uni, I got all my own shite, and even if I lost it, I'd ask it to be sent over from home."

"Really?" Fucking rich boy cunt.

"Mhm.", he hummed, the scratches of his incessant scribbling almost grating in the silent room, but also comfortable, somehow, blending in with the smooth swish sounds of your own, lazy strokes. "Only the best. Can't afford mistakes, can I?"

Can't afford? You'd researched him enough to know that little existed of the sort for him.

"I suppose you can't."

"Y'know, I fucking lost my shite third week of freshman year. How about you?"

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking." You were, in fact, not. Your assignments were all overdue by now, and you were having to pull all-nighters that bled steadily into mornings because of this new extra-credit task you'd taken on, and to top it all off, none of the other Professors seemed to care that the Uni was milking the two of you. Abusing your need to improve your grade - although you shouldn't fucking need it -and subjecting him to these sessions with none of his own volition.

"That's good to hear. How close are you to offing yourself, then?", he mused, raising a brow and licking the back of his molars as his eyes slowly reached yours. Fuck. He was onto you.

You tsked, reaching over and shutting off the camera. "You know I have better things to do than edit this to cut out your little quips, right? I really can't have you talking about offin' yourself."

"Oh, so you're also a drown-in-alcohol kind of person, I see."

What in the everloving fuck-- "God, get a fuckin' life, mate.", you muttered, reaching back up to switch the camera on after silently glaring and counting down from three.

"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking.", you repeated.

"Huh. Really?"

"Yes. Why, is your school year not going okay?"

"No, it's going spectacular. My parents pay for an afternoon to go off once a week for a useless fresher to tell their son to meditate."

You chose not to respond to that, instead pursing your lips and continuing to draw. A flower, it seemed, your hands wished to create.

"Why do you even need extra credit?"

"I was sick, and I missed a couple classes."

"Oh, and you flunked the tests?", he asked, reaching over to grab your pencil out of your hands and use the eraser on the back of it, before tossing it back to you. Prick, and if that smirk was any indication, smug prick.

"No, actually, I'd already finished a good chunk of the syllabus content my first couple weeks so I did fine in my tests."

"So why?"

He looked genuinely curious. So genuinely curious, that you actually felt like this was a first date and he was an annoyingly inquisitive romantic candidate.

"She just didn't like the absences." Plus, everyone else just took Psych to slack off.

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well, you beat up a creep for a girl and they're punishing you, so."

His eyes flicked over to the camera momentarily. "That's on the record."

"It should be."

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

Normalcy is hard to achieve because it's never truly been attained.

Now, this kind of knowledge is only acquired when you take a philosophy class - like you - but since Felix was a PolSci-stuck-up-arsehole, it really didn't strike him that the life he'd lived before you had neither been normal nor happy.

Which is why when he found you and a couple of your friends hanging out by the lawn of a frat party, passing around a spliff, he just couldn't resist.

"Is this your coping mechanism, then?"

He reveled in the groan you replied with.

"Ladies, if you could excuse us?"

You rolled your eyes as all your mates nodded slyly before scrambling up. With hungry and suggestive looks at him and then you, they waved subtly. Spectacular. They already thought you were hooking up and now... fuck.

"Ah. I think we're gonna need that, if you will.", he called, winking as he grabbed the spliff from one of them, before settling down next to you. "See? I'm a celebrity. You should bring that up next time, see if you can't do anything with it."

"What?"

"Like, ask me about that. Incorporate it. 'How's it feel, Felix, being the life of the party, and the apple of everyone's eye?'"

"Incorp-- do you think this is a game? Like this is a play?!"

"Well, yeah. It's basicall--"

"GOD, you absolute prick! I'm here freakin' out about the syllabus, tests, and stayin' up to analyse and collate your bullshit and I have to submit it and study resources for it and--", you paused, catching your breath and glaring at him before taking a hit to calm your nerves. "And you think it's a story, like an improv session, where we add off each other.", you mumbled the last bit out.

"What are you, burnt-out from this shite?"

You didn't respond and he watched the smoke flow above the two of you. "God. You are. What sort of a freshman's burnt out by second term?"

"The kind that has to be a shrink to some anger-issued arsehole."

"Hey, c'mon, you-", he huffed, tilting his head at you. "You don't have to put too much effort into this, it's a formality."

"To you!", you yelled, sitting up in frustration, your elbow on your knee and your blunt in your fingers.

He sat up, too, sighing. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

"Worth nothing."

"Yeah, I can tell.", he muttered, hiding a scoff. "Gimme."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the spliff nevertheless, which he grumbled as he took a drag of. Knees elevated to his chest, he exhaled the smoke. "This is good. Is it American?'

"How should I know?"

"You don't care what sort of weed you smoke? This actually is one of your coping methods?"

"For the love of-- lay off, man!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's a joke!"

"You're a joke!"

He almost laughed at that. Almost, because he'd had quite fucking enough of you. He didn't forget who he was just because you might have changed his perspective a little. He was still Felix motherfucking Catton, a motherfucking Upperclassman. And when he was a fresher, he had to treat his Upperclassmen with utmost respect- no, reverence - so he'll be damned if he's gonna let you sit here and call him a joke.

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up."

"Why?"

"NOW, FRESHER, NOW!" Okay, the startle in your body language made him feel the tiniest bit bad, but still, it was exactly what had been done to him, and he wasn't all whiny about it.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!", you mumbled, straightening out your shirt. "What?"

He had no clue what he wanted you to stand up for.

"So. The reason I had you shoot up..."

Think, Felix! Think!

"...Is actually quite simple, really. I'm sure you've already guessed."

"You want to get my mind off it or summat."

Sure. "Good. You're smart. And how will I be doing that?"

You shrugged. "Take me on a joyride on your stupid bicycle or summat.", you grumbled.

Sure. Let's go with that. Better than Felix's idea of making you do jumping jacks, like his seniors had done to him.

"Wow, maybe shrinks really can read minds. And at least you have one of your own.", he replied, flicking your forehead as he shepherded you over to the exit of the party. Yeah, he didn't think through how far you'd have to walk before you actually reached his bike. Oh, well. Better for him.

"So.", he began, arms swinging exaggeratedly at his side. "Have you heard anything from your in-charge yet? Walker won't tell me anything."

You shook your head. "It's all the same. 'Received tapes. Good work. Keep going.' Like I'm bloody angling for a gold star."

"Well, you're angling for the college equivalent of a gold star, which is a smidge of extra credit."

Shrugging, you seemed to agree. It was a pleasant sort of... stoned sort of quiet for the rest of the walk until his bike came into view. "There it is."

"That's the bike you fell off of after you aced your test?"

"Yeah."

"How?", you scoffed, buckling up the little helmet he offered you "Thing looks brand new."

"What, you were expecting some post-war, ancient bike?", he snorted, clambering onto the seat.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be some rusty, squeaky, rickety thing. How's this supposed to work? Where do I sit?"

"On your own bike's seat.", he replied, gesturing to the rest of the bicycle lot.

"I don't have a bloody bicycle! I'm normal! I walk to classes!"

"How close is your dorm?!"

"Quite."

"Well...", he huffed, taking off his helmet. 'Well, okay, so, just... take one."

"Take one?"

"Like... a random one. Borrow an unlocked one."

"Steal, you mean."

"Semantics."

"I'm not stealing."

He groaned. He had way too much of a heart to punish you like his seniors did.

═════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ═══════════════════════

"Could you slow down?!"

He watched you grumble before you slowed down, allowing him to jog up next to you. "I'm going to hold onto the handlebar because I wouldn't put it past you to steal my bike and then ask me 'how did that make you feel?' in the next session."

You actually had to stop the bike to laugh for that one.

"Oh, she acts human.", he remarked, crossing his arms across his chest as he regarded you. "Alright, it's not... that funny."

But you just didn't stop laughing.

Well, until you started crying.

Maybe that weed was laced. Yeah, he was feelin' a bit off, himself. Shit.

"I mean, fuck, Felix, mate, you- you know I don't think you should be antagonized like this, yeah? You're... you, you're good, you- you helped a girl, and your anger issues are good!"

Okay, clearly the laced weed was hitting you both at the same time, somehow. Either it was causing him to mishear some sympathy from your end or causing you to express sympathy. Either way, somehow, you were both oddly on the same page.

"I don't have anger-bloody-issues.", he gritted out, tapping his fingers impatiently on the handlebar.

"No, mate, you do, but, like, they're good, you don't have to get all touchy about it. I like it, personally. Think it's good. You're stickin' it to the man and all that."

He scoffed as he shifted closer, flicking your - well, his - helmet back a bit. "You're on thin ice, 'mate'! I told you, I don't have anger iss--"

"You're yellin' at me right now!"

"I'm NOT--", he cut himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're pissin' me off."

"Everything pisses you off! That's why they're called anger issues!', you retorted, and he swore he was close to pushing you off the bike and seeing how many minutes of meditation you'd employ not to uppercut him.

"I don't need your shrink bullshit, and you can't do it anyway! I don't get how you're burnt out, y'know? You half-arse everything!"

He barely knew you outside of these sessions. He was straight up lying, but he wanted to prove that it wasn't that easy to keep your calm when provoked. Especially not by some smart aleck swot-freshman who thinks her psych major means she can read his mind and give him lip.

Ow ow, ow. Fuck. He needed to sit. down. The 'weed' was definitely about to make him pop a blood vessel, because did he just see three stars in the sky run down in front of him? No. Can't be, yeah?

"D'you think...?", you groaned, hastily removing the helmet. "D'you think there was summat in the punch?"

"Think it was the weed."

"Weed doesn't-- oh."

He nodded, gently steering the bicycle to the nearest bench, which was barely a hundred paces away, observing your feet elevated and the pedals rotating on their own as he tugged it along.

Grunting lowly as he sat, he held out a hand for you after you leant the bicycle against a nearby streetlamp. You slumped down next to him. "This is why I don't take Donna's weed, but she swore it was clean."

"Some friend she is."

"Hey."

"Oh, please, come on. She lies to you, gives you laced weed because, what, she thought she knew best on what would calm you down? That's not what a friend does."

"What does a friend do? Take you on bicycle rides across campus?"

"I mean, sure. Why not?", he asked, gesturing around. "It's fresh air, yeah? We had some talkin' happening, as well, sorted out our differences and that, yeah?"

You chuckled, softly, shaking (and lightly clutching) your head. "And what did we sort out?"

"That you're a bit of a cunt. And I'm a twat."

"Second one is accurate."

"That statement just proved the first one.", he retorted, before scoffing and breaking into a fit of breathy giggles. "Fuck."

You watched the world spin for a while, a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and stars and colours and suddenly you were aware of the clothes on your body, the wind in your hair, the saliva on your tongue, the beat of your heart.

And that's when you did it. You weren't sure what you expected or why you did it, but you just ended up kissing him like it was summat you were meant to do next, like a script. Like clockwork.

He, to say the least, was surpised it was you who initiated it. Honestly. He'd always been a very daft person when it came to... well, boundaries, for one. Sane actions, for the other. However, there was something less daft and more... crazed about this drug-induced haze you were clouded in that rendered his self-awareness moot.

And so he kissed back.

Ravenously.

This, it seemed, according to the faux marijuana, was all he ever fucking needed. Poof, no anger issues. And for you? Poof, no stress.

It was wrong, to say the least. Not due to anything besides the fact that there was no logical person who'd put you two together. He groaned softly, almost reverently, as he gripped a couple locks of your hair, a wordless direction for you to get your idiotic arse over here. And you did. The kiss didn't break. You guys should get an award for that impressive feat.

But the real award should be for your desperate, bruising grip to sobriety, the one that eventually led to you pulling yourself away from his lips, breathlessly.

"I know what you're doing."

He wasn't one for biting his lip, so he bit down on yours, instead. "Yeah? What's that, babe?", he asked, fiddling with the button of your jeans.

"You're tryin' to get off the hook of these sessions by claiming conflict of interest 'cause of this."

Oh, fuck, he hadn't even thought of that. Would've been so fuckin' smart, and plus, he'd have got a lay out of it. But he didn't exactly feel like giving a premature end to these sessions that he'd - never fucking admit - grown sort of fond of.

"Or maybe, I'm trying to get off, period.", he whispered, kissing at your cheek.

"Yeah, right."

"Trust issues much?", he murmured, his hand gently sliding into the front of your jeans. "Maybe next session, we should work on that, sweetheart."

Fuck.

════════════════════════ ⋆⋅💙⋅⋆ ════════════════════════

No one ever tells you this - lest you experience some form of joy in life - but waking up to good smells rather than any form of sound is heaps better, calmer, lovelier.

And you woke up, not to the sound of your alarm, but to the smell of goddamn butter and toast. Like, fuck, okay. Damn. This is what life should feel like, then?

You groaned, almost ready to scream at how at peace you were, before getting out of bed, rubbing your face. You shot right back in, though. Right. You were starkers.

"Felix?!"

God, you hoped it was actually him and you hadn't had some sort of adventure after him last night.

He practically left skid marks, the way he rushed to the bedroom doorway. "Uh huh?"

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Oh, I put them in the wash."

"Felix--"

"Just kidding. They're in that drawer, there." Across the room.

"Could you get them for me?"

He smirked. 'Yeah."

"'Yeah' as in you will, or 'yeah' as in you could, but you won't?"

His smirk dissolved into an almost fond simper. "You know me so well."

"I'm not walkin' out naked."

"See, what is it with you girls, gosh! As if I didn't see everything last night, now you're suddenly all coy?", he teased, yanking the drawer open and tossing you your clothes, rolling his eyes before turning around so you could change. "Last night count as a breach of, uh, what is it...?"

"Not breach. But Conflict of Interest. Yeah. So, I'm guessing you're free, now. No more sessions."

"Mm. Shame, that. I had some really interesting things written in there.", he replied, pointing to a blue notebook on the bedside table.

"Like what?"

"Like... me realising I'm falling in love with you.", he whispered, softly, hand on his heart. He paused long enough for you to begin to question whether this was dedication to his joke or an actual, sincere fuckin' confession.

"Fuck! Wow! Gullible much? I'm joking, obviously! What, you think I'd have some, like, ten lines written every day, like 'Oh, my love, oh, my love, XOXO, Felix!', or summat?"

"Well, I don't bloody know! Your'e scarily good at the poker face, y'know?"

"Why, thank you, thank you very much.", he preened, tipping an invisible hat in your direction.

"Makin' French Toast. You vegetarian? Or vegan? Nah, I don't care, you're eatin' this."

Groaning, you got up, took his offer of an unused toothbrush, and let him escort you to the bathroom. "These rich-kid-dorm-suites, I swear--"

"Jealous much?"

"I swear to fucking god, you better stop saying 'much' after everything and thinkin' it's funny!"

"Anger issues much?"

"Arsehole much?!"

He giggled, waving at you before scrambling over to the kitchen to make sure his French toast was stil intact. Not before he grabbed your imaginary 'flipping-off' from the air and brought it to his heart, as if you'd blown him a kiss, instead.

Fucking hell. You had to now spend a. money, on Ibuprofen, b. time on coming up with an explanation as to how this happened and why you still deserve than extra credit, and c. energy on having to deal with this Felix Catton guy who you'd apparently come to be relatively fond of.

Spitting out your paste and gargling the remnants out, you walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Felix had laid out the toast on crappy paper plates. "Left over from a party, figured I'd use 'em."

"Thanks.", you nodded, sitting down and biting a bit off one. "It's good."

"Thanks.", he parroted, dropping the last onto his plate before turning off the stove and sitting opposite you. "So, it just violates it all? Just 'cause we shagged, you can't 'fix me' anymore?", he asked, gulping down a sip of orange juice.

"Yeah, summat like that. I might, like, be more inclined to let you off the hook or whatever."

"Mm. What about your extra credit, then? Why don't you just act like this never happened?"

"Couldn't. In good conscience."

"But then you'll be extremely stressed. Might go back to Donna and her laced weed.", he pointed out, taking a bite. "Over the summer, you'll have to catch up on your missing assignments, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Oh, yeah, I do.", you whined, your forehead on the heel of your palm.

"Come to Saltburn, then."

"What?" What was he talking about?

"My family estate. Come to Saltburn. It's a change of scenery, and it works wonders, I swear. You'll finish everything by first week of summer vacation, and the next month or so, it's all just you-time."

"Why would I come to Saltburn?"

"I just told you."

You sighed. Logically, yes, it did make sense for a change of view. But. You didn't exactly want to get dragged into whatever a normal day for Felix Catton (and Farleigh Start - his cousin, apparently!) looked like.

"It's full of old shite, though, like, ancient stuff. Cobwebs, dusty, grimy, stuffy-- hey! Stuffy and boring. You'll fit right in.", he grinned cheekily, winking as he continued to chew.

Well, fuck.

"Suspicious much?"

'Much'. You were going to strangle this guy in his own mansion, you're sure.

"Seriously, think about it, just us, ice-cream, the sea, summer. Who knows, you could go in a loser and come out with a boyfriend. Moi."

"Oh, please.", you snickered, and he followed suit.

"I just might tell you what's in that diary. XOXO, Felix, yeah, but what'd I write before it? A confession of my love? A death threat? A riddle? Poetry? Secrets?", he mused, waggling his fingers as if to spook you. "Ooh."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as you took a sip of the orange juice.

"Come on. Come to Saltburn. Worth your while, I promise."

Well, fuck.

[doorlesscub00]

The Last Goodbye

Spencer x reader drabble authors note: Hey guys!! This is the first time posting a fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!! all feedback it appreciated and welcomed!! Short write- Less then 500 words, but potential for a second part!! Not proofread either!! The reader isn't mentioned of gender- It's written in second person point of view. Theirs mention of yelling, a bit of toxicity and Spencer out of prison. It is angsty.

He's been more distant lately. You were growing more and more concerned about him. Ever since he got back from prison, he changed. He grew cold. Pushing you away. The constant fights, unable to even hear you. You tried, tried to your last bone in your body... but everyone has their breaking points. 4 years withering away like it was merely a facade.

Here he is. Dismissive and angry. Why is he shouting so loudly and incoherently? You asked him how his day was, and if he was alright, and then the split happened. Spencer is turning into this unrecognizable person, yelling at you for being too invasive, too pushy and nosey. You just wanted to help. And now he is screaming in your face...

Ring... Ring...

He answered the call in two rings, it takes him two calls to answer you. It was like his entire personality shifted... He was kinder, sweeter, understanding... reminds you of the Spencer you once knew... the one you lost.

He looks at you and answers the line... "Yeah I can make it in right now. I don't have anything special going on. Yeah, I know. I'll see you in 20 Emily."

He hung up the phone and spoke coldly, telling you he needed to go back to work, went into the bedroom and grabbed his to-go back, and went straight to the front door and left.

This time would be different, you knew it. You didn't weakly tell him goodbye and to be safe. No. No more of that. You've done it every time he left, but not today. Did he even notice that.? Probably not. He left, and it gives you at least one day to get everything out, at best 12 days. But you wouldn't risk taking your time. Straight to your room and grabbing all of your belongings, throwing them into your car. Questions swarm through your head. Where would you go. What will happen to the thing you can't fit in your car to bring. Would he care you left.? Would he notice your absence when he gets back.. Would he be happy. Maybe try to find you and try to change. Could he change back to the man he once was.. You hope he could go back to Spencer you fell...

Wait! No. Stop thinking about him. You're leaving him to be happier. Free. So then why does it feel like you have a 50 pound weight on your chest. It doesn't matter. You had to do this. You had to leave.. Staying would only make you loose your mind. Be driven to insanity. it's time to hurry. Not another night here. Booking a hotel for the night and going from there would be the safest option. It's already 11:27pm. You threw the rest of the belongings you could carry in your car, leaving quite a bit behind but you needed to prioritize what you took, went back and left your key on his counter and walked out the door..

Looking back one last time, leaving behind all the forgotten laughs, all the petty fights... Your new start begun now. As you started the engine of your car, you started your new chapter in life. A chapter of which you can only go up. Find joy once more. Backing out of his driveway, you knew you could never go back on what you're choosing. And so there you were, dead of night with the street lights to show you the way as you drove away from the empty shell, the once you once considered to be a warm and loving home..

A/n: Okay so I am debating on making a second part to this- or maybe like 2 different endings to the story.? A sad one and a happy one. But let me know what you guys want!! If I should leave it as is, or continue onto it. Anywho, thank you so much for reading my Drabble!! Means the world to me, but for now, goodbye my lovely cubs!! Till next time, have a wonderful day or night!! Better yet, both!!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Ticket to Anywhere

This is my Valentine's gift fic for @qprpbj! You mentioned Paul/Darry in your prompt and I saw a post of yours about the lyrics of "Fast Car" by tracy chapman being Peril coded, so I wrote a songfic based on that. I hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 2760

**************

You got a fast car

It’s a cold day in February of their junior year when Paul turns sixteen and shows up in the school parking lot in a brand new AC Cobra. It’s so shiny it gleams, painted a deep blue-black colour that’s almost a match for Paul’s eyes and a perfect match for his letterman jacket. For a second, jealousy flares so strong it burns up Darry’s throat until it chokes him, because he can pretend to be one of them all he wants, but he never will be, not really. He could never afford a car like that, not in a million years, one that costs more than his dad makes in a year, easy. His own birthday had passed a few months back, and the closest he got to getting any car was dad saying he’d start teaching him to drive and that once he got his license he could borrow the truck now and then. 

So he watches, envious, as Paul shuts the door, his stupid sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and Chrissy Smythe practically throws herself at him. She might as well be drooling, though whether it’s over Paul or the car, Darry isn’t sure. In any case, it doesn’t seem to matter, because Paul extricates himself from her simpering as quickly as he can without being rude and catches Darry’s eye with a grin.

“Nice car,” Darry says, because it is, any idiot could see that. It’s the kind of car Steve and Soda rhapsodize about, the ones Darry’s sure Steve is gonna try and steal one day. 

“Thanks,” Paul grins and tosses him a set of keys, “wanna take her for a spin after school?”

His eyes are twinkling, deep blue and mysterious and soft in a way Darry knows is just for him, a deadly secret swaddled in daydreams. Just like that the envy evaporates.

“Sure.”

Paul offers him a fist bump, the tap of their knuckles the closest they can get to holding hands in public. The contact still makes his heart race anyway. 

And I want a ticket to anywhere

“Theatre tonight?” Paul asks when they’re in the locker room after practice one Friday. He’s in just his boxers, towel slung haphazardly around his neck, hair still wet from the shower. Darry is being very careful not to stare, and even more careful not to hyperventilate. He should be used to this by now, after almost three years of being on the team together, but the thing about stars is that they’re hard to look away from, and Paul has always been the brightest star in Darry’s galaxy. It makes it hard to think. 

“Sounds like a plan. Who else is coming?” Is it date night or a hangout is what he’s really asking and Paul is even more casually nonchalant when he answers.

“I invited Chase and Angelina but they’ve got other plans, and Joey’s little sister is sick so it might just be the two of us, unless you got anyone else you wanna invite.”

“Maybe I’ll ask if Carla wants to come.” He says even though they both know he absolutely won't. 

“Cool,” Paul agrees, finally putting a shirt on, a soft looking Madras flannel Darry wants to steal. They bid their farewells to the rest of the team and Darry grabs both their duffel bags as they walk side by side out to the parking lot. 

Paul lights a cigarette while he tosses the equipment into the back of the Cobra. Darry pretends he doesn’t see the way Paul is checking him out, and flexes a bit more than is necessary when tossing around relatively light equipment bags.

Then Paul tosses him the keys to the car Darry knows he should never have had a chance to drive, and tells him to go faster until they’re flying down the back roads, sun in their hair and wind stealing the laughter from their mouths. They eat dinner at a greasy spoon in the middle of town between the east side and west side, and don’t talk about it. Paul pays for everything and Darry pretends it doesn’t send a familiar wave of embarrassment down his spine, even though he knows it’s the only way Paul knows how to show he cares sometimes. 

It’s getting dark by the time they reach the theatre and they’re running later than they meant to. Paul buys two tickets to the first movie he sees listed on the board, and neither of them have any idea what it’s about, but it doesn’t matter much anyway when they reach into the popcorn bucket held between them and their hands brush.

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere

“You ever think about getting out of here?” Darry asks one night when they’re lying on the grass in Paul’s backyard, staring up at the stars. It’s a bit chilly out, but Paul is warm pressed against his side, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. He smells like fancy cologne and fabric starch and beneath that, sweat, and it’s so uniquely Paul that it drives Darry a little crazy. 

It’s a soft night tonight, just the two of them in Paul's almost perpetually empty house, his dad on another business trip and his mom back in some rehab centre rich folks call a wellness retreat. Paul is in an even better mood than usual, bright eyes almost feverish in their shine, and he’d been the one to convince Darry that stargazing of all things was a better date night activity than watching a movie. Now, he lifts Darry’s hand in his to press a kiss to the back of his palm, and hums.

“Out of where? Tulsa?”

“Yeah.”

Paul laughs, once, a bright chuckle, like a firefly in a forest, there and then gone again, fleeting and beautiful. 

“I don’t just think about it, I’m planning for it.”

“Oh.” It’s times like these that the true gulf between them smacks Darry in the face, when he remembers how truly different their worlds are. For some reason he can sit in Paul’s thousand dollar car and visit his giant house and not feel it, but then they have conversations like this and he remembers it. Paul doesn’t need to wonder about getting out of Tulsa because it’s already a done deal, because he’s been accepted to any college he wants before he’s even applied because the Holdens sit on a fortune and his mom has connections at Yale. Darry on the other hand…well, they’re not even seniors yet and he’s terrified. He already spoke to coach about extra training over the summer, and he’s been saving every penny from his job at the diner, because even if he manages a full scholarship he’ll still have to afford textbooks and board and everything else. His grades are fine for right now, but next year they need to be perfect. He needs to be perfect because he doesn’t have the luxury of second chances. He can’t make a mistake.

Paul starts talking about MIT and Yale, voice soft in the darkness, and Darry thrusts the whole thing from his mind, pressing a kiss to Paul’s lips to shut him up, because Paul is getting out of Tulsa and Darry doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to; and because it’s clear from Paul’s rambling that him getting out doesn’t involve keeping Darry, doesn’t involve staying them, and for some reason that stings more than the thought of never getting out of Tulsa at all. 

He wants to bring it up, wants to make him promise they’ll stay together even if it’s a lie, but Paul never makes a promise he can’t keep and Darry knows asking him to tonight would be a certain kind of cruelty he doesn't have in him. They kiss under the stars and Darry wishes there was some way he could love him and lose him without it feeling like an inevitable, final, ruining blow to the chest. 

Any place is better

He shows up on Paul’s doorstep one night, just two months into their senior year, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s always been big, broad shoulders and a tall frame, and it’s a terrible mockery of the universe, that he is such a big person and yet completely and entirely helpless, small in the face of the problems of the world.

He all but collapses into Paul’s arms, and Paul catches him like he always does, warm and solid and everything he wants and has but never completely, and he wants to leave Tulsa and never come back. 

Eventually Paul hauls him upstairs to his room, and they curl up together under his comforter. Paul is everywhere, and the sheets smell like him, and slowly the tears subside enough for Darry to hiccup out an account of Soda’s bruised face mottled black and blue, of Steve’s shattered ankle, and Ponyboy’s tiny, shaking hand raising a cigarette to his lips for the first time ever and far too soon while he watched dad put stitches in Soda’s sluggishly bleeding forehead. 

He tells his soc lover about his beat up greaser brothers and he is loyal to all of them and none of them and it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s helpless. He can’t stop the violence or the hate any more than he can save Pony and Soda, or even himself,  from their side of the tracks. For a second he hates Tulsa Oklahoma so much it sickens him, a slow poison sticking in his throat and choking him, making it hard for him to breathe or cry or think.

He had to get out, he tells Paul, had to get out of that house, away from his brothers’ fear and Steve’s anger, and the resignation in Pony’s frightened eyes that at only eleven years old were far too used to far too horrible things. He had to get out, just for the night.

It’s a lie. As he falls asleep, Paul’s arms warm and safe around him, he promises himself he will find a way out of Tulsa if it’s the last thing he ever does. One day, he swears, he’ll leave and never look back.

Starting from zero, got nothing to lose

Maybe we'll make something

Me, myself, I got nothing to prove

Darry was born on the east side to a father who worked construction and a mother who worked a factory job up until he was born and every odd job she could find afterwards. He’s a blue collar boy from a blue collar family, in a blue collar neighborhood. Needless to say, he’s no stranger to hard work. Still, as he moves into his last year of high school he works harder than he ever has before. If he isn’t playing football, he’s practicing it, and if he isn’t practicing it he’s doing homework, and if he's not doing homework or football he’s scrubbing plates in the dish pit at his job. Family, friends, and a social life take a backseat, sleep becomes an afterthought, and yet it will all be worth it when he gets a scholarship- any scholarship- for football or academics it doesn’t matter, to any college that will take him. All he needs is an acceptance letter with a full ride, enough money offered that he can leave, leave the second he graduates instead of sticking around for a year and working, trying to save enough to get out. He knows better than to try, knows if he doesn’t get his ticket out paid in full he’ll never leave this godforsaken town, no matter how much he wants to, knows there will always be something else holding him back. 

For the first time since he kissed Paul back in sophomore year, they’re fighting. Paul thinks Darry doesn’t care, is pouting in the way only someone who has only ever had everything can pout, and he refuses to see Darry’s side no matter how many times he explains it. Darry’s frustrated and tired and so stupidly, desperately in love that he promises to work on it, and Paul promises to try harder to understand, and things aren’t perfect, but they’re not gone, and Darry promises himself the slight distance between them will be worth it when he wins his scholarship.

In the end, it doesn’t matter at all and it never did. None of it is worth it, because Darry gets five college acceptance letters, and two partial scholarships, and neither of them are enough. 

He’s not going to college.

You got a fast car

And I got a plan to get us out of here

“Will you come with me?” Darry asks when Paul finds him, because Paul knows, better than anyone, how much he hates this town and how badly he wanted to get out. It makes sense then, that he knew without Darry having to say it how determined he still is to go somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here, even if college is off the table.

Paul’s deep blue eyes go very glossy very fast.

“I can’t.” 

Of course. Of course he can’t, and Darry knows why, knows all about the acceptance letter to Yale tossed carelessly on his bedside table, for a program Paul didn’t even want. Knows Paul would be beyond stupid to throw it away, and wishes he loved him enough to do it anyway. 

“Ok.” Darry nods, and Paul’s hands curl into fists because he hates apathy from Darry, for all that it’s his own weapon of choice. Darry figures he loves him enough and owes him enough to end it the way Paul wants, so they fight, and Paul leaves, and it hurts as much as he knew it would a year ago, that night when he realized this was the only way it could end. 

He finishes the semester with a bleeding heart that's been broken twice over, wondering why the curse of the east side meant he was never enough, even when he was the best of them all. 

And then Paul comes back.

Been working at the convenience store

Managed to save just a little bit of money

He has money saved is the thing. Not a lot, but enough, every spare cent from the dish pit at Al’s diner carefully squirreled away into a fund that was meant to be for textbooks and now is meant for something different, something more. It’s a lifeline, not quite a ticket out, but an escape nevertheless. 

He hands in his resignation the same day he walks across the stage to get his diploma, and doesn’t look back. 

Won't have to drive too far

Just across the border and into the city

And you and I can both get jobs

Paul picks him up, the day they’re set to leave, in the same AC Cobra he let Darry drive back when they were sixteen. 

His parents don’t understand it, but they hug him goodbye and they love him anyway. Soda is understanding, but his eyes are sad, and Pony seems betrayed but there’s a look in him that’s beyond the kind of understanding Soda always wears, something Darry thinks might reasonably be called kinship, as he pulls away and Pony tucks himself into Johnny’s side like he was made to fit there.

Darry claps Dallas on the shoulder, hugs Two-bit tightly, and ruffles both Steve and Johnny’s hair before he hefts his bag and follows Paul back to the car. There’s a piece of him that wishes he’d spent more time with his family this past year, but it’s a hollow ache of a vague could have been, and it pales in comparison to the elation that comes with getting out, of the relief that comes with not being stuck. 

“You ready?” 

Paul is as beautiful as he’s always been, those stupid sunglasses perched once again on his nose.

“Yeah,” Darry sighs, and it feels like he can relax, finally, for the first time in his life, “I am.”

There’s a map in the cupholder, creased and scribbled on, with directions to New York City, and a note in his pocket with the address of their new apartment in his breath pocket. The air smells like adventure.

“Let’s go build a life together.” Paul smiles, carefree and happy, and Darry loves him so much he can’t even really describe it. 

The car turns the corner. He doesn’t look back.

Finally see what it means to be living

[bringmeanangel]

Little Flower

A/N: This was requested by an anon "there was a fic you wrote where spencer and reader use a paci and she wants him to help her feel little, could you maybe do another like that but go more into the little space thing?" I sure can! Thank you for your ask. This fic does involve age regression. If it's not your thing, that's cool. It's a coping mechanism that many use. Pairing: Spencer Reid and reader Tags: age regression, comfort, caregiver Spencer Reid. established relationship. pacifier, comfort ideas. blankies, toys. Soft Spencer. little reader. BAU reader Summery: After a long day, Spencer notices near the end of work that you really need to regress.

Spencer looked over at your desk when he saw you rub your eye with the back of your hand, with a small pout on your lips. He smiled softly to himself.

It had been a long day. The team had a relatively easy case considering, however it was all the paperwork that took up time.

Spencer grabbed his satchel and came over to your desk, rubbing his hand on your back. He noticed you open your mouth a bit then shut it, letting out a sigh.

He smiled softly, knowing what you want. He lightly scratched his fingertips up and down your neck, feeling you relax.

"Come on, baby. Let's get you home" he whispered and you nodded.

Spencer helped you up, grabbing your bag and wrapping a hand around your waist to guide you. You rested your head against his chest, letting out a very quiet whimper.

The two of you walked to the elevator and made your way to the garage. Once you got to the SUV, he opened the door and you got in. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him close.

"It's been such a long day, hasn't it little one?" he asked and you nodded. "Yeah. Let's get you home." he soothed.

Spencer lightly moved your hands from his waist, causing you to fuss a bit. You were regressing fast. He reached into his bag and grabbed the pacifier he carried with him.

"Shhh. It's okay. Here we go."

He brushed the pacifier and watched as your eyes lit up, as you accepted it. He cupped your cheek with one hand and placed his hand his other hand on your hip.

You gently soothed yourself on your pacifier, smiling behind it, looking up at him. Spencer softly smiled at you, before leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on your forehead.

Spencer grabbed your seatbelt and buckled you up, placing one last kiss on your forehead before getting into the driver seat.

Once you were home, Spencer lifted you into his arms and carried you inside. Your face tucked securely agaisnt him, so no one could see your pacifier, though no one was around. "Here we are, little one. Here. Home, safe and sound." he soothed, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

"Mmmm" you hummed happily.

Spencer carried you to your shared room and laid you down on the bed. He placed his bag down and shrugged his sweater off. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked your hair.

"Hey, baby. I'm going to get you all cozy and then we can snuggle."

Spencer opened the drawer and grabbed your floral sweatshirt, leggings and fuzzy socks. He reached over and stroked your cheek.

"Do you know how cute you are?" he asked and you giggled.

He stood up and helped you get changed. Once you were dressed, he carried you to the living room and sat you on his lap, holding you tight and rubbing a hand up and down your back.

You nuzzled agaisnt his chest and he looked down at you, cooing slightly. Spencer reached over and grabbed your plush watering can toy and pulled out the flowers that were rattles and the butterfly the crinkled.

"Here you go, little one."

You picked up the flower and smiled behind the pacifier, rubbing the soft material agaisnt your nose. Spencer picked up the other flower.

This was the most relaxed he had seen you in a long time. The two of you strayed like this for a while until your stomach grumbled.

Spencer lightly chuckled and you looked up at him, blushing

"Hmmm. How about some nuggets and mac and cheese? How does that sound?" you giggled and nodded.

"Okay, my little flower. Let's go. "

[lilygoofywritingcave]

Happy Valentine's Day !!!!

Oh, it seems a certain member in Slaughterhouse has sent you a letter, are you brave enough to open it?

Spoilers warning for character names

Misaki, the ever silly contract killer

"To Y/N, the chaos to my mayhem (or Whatever Romantic Crap I’m Supposed to Say),

Alright, so listen, uhh I was just planning on sending you a pic of a raccoon holding a heart and call it a day, BUT APPARENTLY that’s not “romantic” enough. Smh. So now I’m here, struggling to put actual words together instead of just sending you a keyboard smash and hoping you get the vibe.

So. Uh. Lily. You menace. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to me?? I’ll see something stupid n immediately think, “Oh, Y/N would laugh at this.” Like. That’s so weird. That’s EMBARRASSING. I save memes just to send you at 3AM, YOU are why Im having sleep deprivation (the good kind ofc). I would smile at my phone like an absolute idiot whenever your name pops up. It’s sick. You did this to me.

Also. Explain why you write me like I’m some cool badass when I’m just some gremlin with a knife and a rifle. Like. Hello??? Ma’am???? I do crimes, that's no news, but then you come along with your little fics n suddenly I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not just the sum of all the bad things I’ve done. I don’t know how to process that. Or you. You make my brain short-circuit without needing to doomscroll Tiktok.

ANYWAY. Point is, you’re mine now. No take-backs. Stuck with me forever, I will continue to be the most annoying gremlin in your life, sending you unhinged voice notes, and remind you every day that you matter. Because you do. A lot. (EW I HATE HOW SAPPY THAT SOUNDED MOVE ON PLS...)

...Okay, I think I’ve reached my emotional limit. I need to go set something on fire to balance this out. Or at least, like, flip a table.

Happy Valentine’s, silly.

Misaki Katsuo"

V, cold outside but cares more than you know

"To dear Y/N, Valentine’s Day seems to demand people to express affection for each other, something flowery and poetic. Although I consider traditions like that often exaggerated, but it felt unfair for you. So, I’ll keep this simple, for your sake.

You... matter to me, more than I would want to admit. You’ve become a part of my life in a way I didn’t expect, it is frankly troublesome how often my thoughts wander to you. And despite my usual preference for order, I don’t mind the chaos you bring. In fact… I think I’d miss it if it were gone.

I could compose some poetical metaphor, comparing you to the moon, the stars, or whatever romantic nonsense one is expected to write in a letter such as this, but I won’t waste your time.

Just know that if you ever need me, whether for something important or as simple as spending time together, you have only to say the word and I'll always be there.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.

"Valentin Viljoen"

Angel, sweet and dangerous like a rose

To My Love, Happy Valentine’s Day.

I know, I know, cheesy, cliché, overhyped day… but I don’t care. Today is just another excuse for me to remind you how much you mean to me, and I’ll take it.

You, you are the one thing in my life that feels real, no cameras, no flashing lights, no expectations to be perfect. Just us, and I need that more than I ever realized.

I’m not easy to love, am I? Always getting caught up in my work, in my image, in making sure everything and everyone is okay… but you? You remind me that I’m more than what people see. That I’m allowed to breathe, to be a little selfish, to take up space in someone's life without feeling guilty.

You make me feel like I’m enough. And I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before.

So, for today, no, for always, I want you to know that I love you. In the quiet moments, in the chaos, in every way I know how. I love you when I get overwhelmed and you remind me to rest. I love you when you make me laugh so hard I forget whatever stress was eating at me. I love you when you’re just, you.

I don’t say it enough, but thank you, for seeing me, for staying, for being the best thing to ever happen to me.

Now, let’s turn off our phones, ignore the world for a while, and just be together. That’s all I really want.

Your Angel,

Maria de la Rosa

And lastly, the devil himself, Ronin

to my dearest darlin’ Y/N,

there’s always a certain rhythm to a heartbeat. steady, but unique for everyone. funny little thing, really. you press your fingers just right, and there it is: life, thumpin’ away under the fragile skin. but oh, how delicate it is. how easy it Is to destroy

. tell me darlin', have you ever wonder, what it takes to keep that aorta singin’? how much someone’s got Left in ‘em before rotting away? or how love can sink its teeth in deep, turning even the purest souls dark, twisting the light ‘til it don’t shine the same no more?

ironic, ain't it? how even the worst of ‘em, either gutted or broken, still has a heart. just like yours, still beating, lively as ever, a reminder that you’re here and you’re real. that you’re eVerythin’, my everything.

and isn't that a beautiful thing? to havE you readin’ this, seeing the devil puttin' his feelings into words. there ain't no poetrY sweet enough, no god powerful enough to take it away.

Over and over, i think about you, about the way you laugh, the way you exist. about how this world feels a little less, rotten with you in it. Understand this, darlin', you got me by your side. for as long as that pretty little heart of yours beats, you and i will face whatever this shitty world throws at us, together.

Don't ever forget that. And don’t think for a second i’d ever let you go. Remember this and Listen close. It's always been you and you only. Nothing will ever change that.

happy valentine’s, darlin’.

—r. beaufort

(P/S: you know how i play, let's get that pretty brain to work)