#and finally pack them into the queue

[buglaur]

rufus and sawyer with their first horse, russet!

[shindahime]

i am so fucking close to getting all those icons queued

[shaiyasstuff]

pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 7 | ln4

summary: and i say i don't care, i say that i'm fine. but you know i can't let it go.

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, language, fluff, some filler, angst (i'm SORRY), lando is simping!!!, and maybeeee some first official date planning

message from jordan: this has been a long time coming... i hope it pays off!!! so sorry it's taken so long, i love y'all! thank u for all ur patience <33

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

you were amongst the many students who was hurriedly packing their bags, glad that the two and half hour long lecture was finally over.

on your way out the doors, you spotted a familiar figure standing across the hall waiting for you to walk outside the room. a smile crept onto your lips as you saw lando, clad in a university hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. his hair was slightly messy and you could tell he hadn’t done much with his free day.

it had been a hectic week. you had finally finished the final touches on your project and it was so close to being ready to be turned in. and with that, lando had been doing really well in his class, of course with the help of you. break was inching closer and closer, and for the first time in a while, you weren't really looking forward to it.

it was still undecided if you were going to be going back with lily, who you had barely seen over the last couple of weeks. you had started to wonder if your friends were ever going to tell you about their little secret. even though you already knew, you wanted them to tell you themselves.

as if he could hear the gears turning in your head, lando sent you a slightly worried expression as the two of you walked towards the coffee shop, "you okay?"

"hmm?- oh, yeah, sorry. just spaced out for a second,"

he held the door open for you, "i don't know if i believe that," you sighed softly. there wasn't really a point in trying to hide it from him. the two of you joined the short queue to order, him using the time to press slightly more, "what's up?"

you sighed softly, "i just miss my friends."

he sent you a sympathetic look, the barista calling, "next!" before he could even get a word in. you ordered your coffee and something to eat, stepping aside and letting the boy next to you order as well. this time, you were quicker than him with his card, which made him huff in defeat.

"you said i could buy your coffee next time," you sent him a pointed look as you sat at a table near the tall windows in the front of the shop, "and this is next time, so,"

he rolled his eyes playfully, "yeah, i remember," you two laughed softly before he spoke again, "you haven't heard from either of them?"

"other than the occasional tiktok, no," you said, "i just wish they didn't feel like they can't tell me."

"maybe they don't want to make things awkward," he shrugged, "y'know, they don't know about us either, so they probably don't want to make it seem like you're always going to be the third wheel."

you hummed playfully, sipping on your coffee, "last i checked, i hadn't been asked out on a date."

he dipped his head in a laugh, nodding, "okay, yeah. you got me there."

"i'm kidding, we don't need to-"

"no, no," he said, "you deserve the best, and a first date is literally the bear minimum, so,"

"okay, fine, if you insist."

"i do, actually," he smiled, "you busy saturday?"

you shook your head, you didn't recall making any plans for the weekend, "should be free,"

"perfect, block out your whole day."

"my whole day?"

he nodded, "yep. like i said, only the best."

you two finished at the coffee shop a little earlier than normal, deciding on heading back to his apartment for a little while. at some point during the walk, your hand had slipped into his. your fingers were intertwined, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the skin of your hand in a comforting way. you ignored the way it sent electric shocks through your whole body, smiling softly towards the ground as you listened to him tell a story involving some of his childhood friends and siblings.

you were both giggling when he opened the door, the two of you stopping in your tracks as you heard a loud squeal and the sound of someone falling to the floor come from the living room. you and lando looked curiously, finding lily on the floor and oscar on the couch, pretending to act cool and innocent.

the two of you looked at the other couple with furrowed eyebrows, "were you two...?"

"no!" oscar said, "no, no, not at all!"

"never!" lily scoffed, "that's so... gross!"

you looked back at lando who was trying to hold back a laugh.

"i don't know what's worse," you started, "the fact that the two of you still haven't told me after all this time or the fact that you're sitting here blatantly lying to my face."

lily got up off the floor, "what're you talking about?"

"i'm saying there's no point in lying when we already know."

"how do you know?" oscar asked, now also standing from the couch.

"we heard the two of you the other night," lando said, "y/n knew it was lily's laugh almost instantly."

she could see the hurt and disappointment on your face as she looked at you, "i swear we were going to tell you-"

"when?" you asked, "when the two of you decided to stop sucking face long enough?"

"y/n," lando said, reaching out to grab your arm to get you to calm down, but you pulled your arm from his touch.

"yeah, well what about you?" lily asked, ignoring oscar's soft plea to not continue this argument, "the two of you have been out and about doing god knows what. you went from not wanting to spend a single second with him to now spending every waking moment with him! when were you going to tell me that you two magically decided that overnight you were attracted to each other?"

“maybe when you weren’t off with my best friend!”

“and i’m your best friend too!” the two of you were yelling now, voices booming off the walls of the apartment.

“yet you sat here and you fucking lied to me,” you said, “both of you.”

“guys, c’mon,” lando said, stepping between you and lily, “let’s not do this.”

“y’know what, if you like it here so much, maybe lando should be your new roommate.”

“maybe he should.”

“sounds good,” she said, grabbing her bag off the floor and walking off, the front door opening and slamming shut behind her. you looked over at oscar, who held a look of guilt on his face.

“we really were planning to tell you,” he said softly, “i’m sorry.”

and with that, he followed her footsteps, the two of them walking out of the apartment. you sighed, bringing a hand to your head at the newfound headache that slowly started to throb at the front of your head.

“c’mere,” he mumbled softly, pulling on your arm and bringing you in for a hug. you sniffled against his chest, his head resting on top of yours after giving it a soft kiss.

“i don’t like fighting with her, but god, she makes it easy.”

he nodded, “i know, i’m sorry.”

“not your fault,” you said as he leaned down, wiping the tears from your cheeks. the same way he did the first time you kissed.

“hey, ‘ve got an idea,” he said, “how about for break, you come home with me? gives you both time to cool down, relax and when you get back, you can talk it out.”

you looked up at him like he hung the stars in the sky, his fingers still catching the falling tears, “you’re serious?”

he nodded with a smile, “i mean, my mums anxious to meet you, so,”

he laughed when you threw your arms around his neck, “thank you!”

he smiled, pulling you closer, “anything for you.”

and he was serious.

[unsuperingyournatural]

delays and banished omens and Karens, oh my!

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

masterlist

You knew it was going to be a long day the second the airline agent tilted her head at Pedro’s suitcase and asked, “Sir, is there a lithium battery in this bag?”

He’s explained it three times now. Kindly. Clearly. Patiently. Each time to a new associate who somehow manages to understand even less than the last.

Now, Pedro is standing at the counter asking to speak with a supervisor, his jaw tight but his voice calm. You stand beside him at the counter, close enough to feel the tension humming just beneath his calm exterior. Your arms are crossed and you do your best to keep your frustration tucked just beneath the surface.

The bag in question sits perfectly still on the scale. You know exactly what’s in it. So does he. You helped him pack it in the middle of the night, barely awake, somewhere between a press party and two hours of sleep.

To make matters worse, you spot them as soon as you glance past the queue. A few cameras. Two guys with phones already filming. And one very familiar TMZ “correspondent,” grinning like a cat who smells a headline.

They move in fast, just as the supervisor is being paged.

“Pedro!” one of them calls. “What’s in the mystery bag? Something fun?”

Pedro turns slightly, offering a tired smile with a flicker of his usual mischief. “Just socks and a backup hoodie. No secret gadgets or cursed relics today, unfortunately.”

The TMZ guy laughs and presses in a little closer. “Is it true you travel with weights? Emotional or actual?”

Pedro’s expression barely changes, but his voice takes on that familiar dry lilt. “A little of both. But the emotional ones take up way more space.”

You hear the quiet strain in his voice, the kind of effort it takes to stay friendly after two days with no real rest. He hasn’t slept more than six hours total in forty-eight hours. Now he's stuck explaining his luggage to airline staff and TMZ like he's on trial.

Then, as if the circus wasn’t loud enough, the woman behind you in line chimes in. She’s maybe late sixties, her cardigan folded neatly over her shoulders. “Well, if there’s a battery in there, they have to be careful. These rules are for everyone.”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. Pedro doesn’t even blink. He turns to her with the same polite smile and says, “There’s no battery, ma’am. But you’re absolutely right about safety.”

You want to snap at her but keep yourself in check, especially since TMZ would love that footage that would guarantee you a firmly-worded call from your publicist. But who the hell is she to lecture him? Who even asked her to chime into the conversation? As if he doesn't already have enough to deal with, now a Karen-lite is sharply watching every move he makes and listening to every word he says.

Before you can mentally vent any more of your frustration at the rude woman, the supervisor arrives. Pedro straightens. You see the small shift in his posture, the way he’s already bracing for another round of repeating himself. You step a little closer and murmur just loud enough for him to hear, “Let me take this one.”

He hesitates for half a second. Then nods once, subtle but sure.

You turn to the supervisor with your friendliest smile and keep your tone warm. “Hi. Thanks for coming. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. This bag’s been flagged, but there’s no lithium-ion battery inside. He’s explained it a few times already, and we’re just hoping you can take a quick look so we don’t miss our flight.”

The supervisor is firm but professional as she runs through the policy. You listen quietly and wait her out. Pedro lets out a soft breath beside you, hand still resting on the suitcase.

Once she’s finished, you politely explain again. Then Pedro opens the bag and shows her. She checks, asks a couple of follow-up questions, and finally—after a brief inspection—nods and says, “This is fine. You’re good to check it.”

You thank her, sincerely, and move away from the counter with Pedro at your side. But before you can get more than a few steps, a small crowd of fans steps into your path, holding out photos, notebooks, and pens.

Pedro smiles as kindly as ever, even as he glances at his watch. “I’ve only got a minute or two, but I’ll do what I can.”

He signs a few autographs, takes a quick selfie with someone who’s shaking with excitement, and answers a question about his next project. The TMZ guy circles like a shark, phone still recording.

“So, Pedro, was it a battery or not? What actually happened at the counter?”

Pedro keeps his tone steady. “No battery. Just a misunderstanding. It happens.”

You can see it in his face, though. He’s smiling, but there’s a thread of exhaustion running underneath. It pulls at the corners of his eyes, makes his responses a little softer, a little slower.

You step in gently, laying a hand on his back. He catches the cue immediately. After finishing one last autograph, he hands the pen back and offers a quick apology.

“Thanks, everyone. Really. But we’ve got to go. Gotta make our flight.”

He moves back beside you, falling into step without a word. Once you’re safely past the check-in area and out of sight, he exhales a quiet, almost exasperated, “Jesus.”

You glance over and catch him wiping a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

Without saying anything, you reach up and squeeze his shoulder. He leans into it for a second, then slides his arm around you and pulls you close as you walk.

Security is a blur. Shoes off, laptops out, the whole drill. You both get through quickly, collect your things, and hurry to the gate just as they begin boarding your section.

Inside the plane, the two of you stow your carry-ons and sink into your first-class seats, the fatigue finally settling into your bones. Pedro drops down beside you, lets his head fall back against the seat for a second, then immediately leans toward you.

His arms come around you, warm and heavy, and he buries his face against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your sweatshirt. “For handling that. I was close to losing it.”

You press a kiss to the top of his cap. “Of course, babe.”

He sighs and squeezes you once more before settling in, eyes closed.

You let him stay like that, feeling his breath slow against you. Eventually, you reach forward to grab something from the seat pocket—and stop.

Your hand hovers above it.

“Umm… Pedro?”

He doesn’t lift his head. “Mmm?”

“Skymall is gone, right? Like, it doesn’t exist anymore.”

He yawns. “Yeah, pretty sure they went bankrupt. Why?”

You slowly point to the magazine in the seat pocket. He lifts his head, follows your finger, and stares.

Sitting right there, tattered and slightly warped, is a Skymall catalog.

He squints at it like it’s a ghost. “Okay. That’s weird.”

“Weird?” you repeat, your voice inching higher. “That’s an omen. It’s a sign.”

He leans back slightly and studies your face. “Babe. Deep breath.”

“No, seriously, what kind of person holds onto a Skymall magazine for years and then just leaves it on this plane? Right where I was going to sit?”

Pedro sees the panic blooming fast. You’re tired. You’re stretched thin. He knows this spiral well.

Before you can launch into a full theory about doomed flights and cursed in-flight shopping, he leans in and kisses you. Gently. Long enough to stop the rush of your thoughts.

You melt into him. You always do.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Someone just left it. The universe is not coming for us.”

You take a breath, still pressed close. “You sure?”

He grins. “Positive. And if the universe is coming for us, we’ll outrun it at baggage claim.”

You laugh, finally letting your shoulders drop.

Pedro picks up the magazine, raises his eyebrows at it, and then promptly stuffs it under the seat in front of him.

"Banished. Never happened. Probably haunted too. That magazine’s got cursed catalog energy."

The plane hums to life, and for the first time in hours, you both start to relax. When you lean back and let your head rest against his shoulder, he takes your hand and laces your fingers together without a word.

Whatever else the day throws at you, you’ll deal with it.

One flight at a time.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Sleep, Love. Disney’s Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: None, just sweet fluff and cozy cuddles

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy! Felt like Simon needed a bit of chaos.

Summary: You’re hours away from a dream trip to Disney World, but your excitement won’t let you sleep. Simon helps calm you down in the sweetest way.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The bedroom was quiet—except for you.

Outside the windows, the streetlights cast a soft amber glow across the curtains, the city asleep under a blanket of midnight calm. Inside, though, the air was alive with anticipation.

The bed creaked gently beneath your restless movements as you flopped onto your back for what felt like the fiftieth time. Simon’s old shirt—worn thin with age and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and his cologne—was bunched around your thighs, tangled in the sheets. You pushed the blankets off, then pulled them back up again. Hot. Cold. Hot again.

Your eyes flicked to the glowing red digits on the alarm clock: 1:39 a.m.

You groaned.

This was ridiculous.

You had been looking forward to this trip for months. And now that it was finally here—just a day and a half away—your brain had decided it was the perfect time to turn into a firework factory. You couldn’t stop picturing it all: the rides, the characters, the castle, the photos, Simon trying to pretend he wasn’t having a good time.

Another flip onto your stomach. You let out a quiet huff.

Behind you, there was a low grunt. Then the familiar shift of weight, the bed dipping.

Simon.

“Love?” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with sleep, barely more than a murmur in the dark. “You alright?”

You froze for a beat, feeling a twinge of guilt. “…Sorry. Did I wake you?”

He made a sleepy noise in his throat and rolled over to face you, his arm reaching out, warm fingers brushing over your back. “Hard not to notice when you’re tossin’ like you’re doin’ laps.”

You turned onto your side to look at him, barely able to make out his face in the dim light. His hair was tousled, some of it falling across his forehead, and the lines softened from the way sleep always quieted his features. Even with the shadows cloaking him, he looked… safe. Familiar. Yours.

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered.

Simon’s thumb traced a lazy arc along your hipbone. “No kidding.”

“I’m just… I’m excited.”

He hummed. “For what?”

You blinked. “…Are you serious?”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, low and dry. “Yes, love. Remind me what’s got you bouncing like a bloody rubber ball at 2 in the morning.”

You pushed his shoulder lightly. “Disney, Simon. We’re going to Disney World in like—thirty-six hours!”

“Uh-huh.” He dragged you closer, tucking you against him. “And if you don’t get some sleep, you’re going to pass out before we even get to the queue for Space Mountain.”

You sighed, letting yourself sink into his embrace. He was warm. Solid. He smelled like home—faint hints of soap, skin, and the detergent you always bought even though he insisted it didn’t matter.

“I just… I keep thinking about everything. I’ve got our matching shirts packed. I made our reservation for the castle breakfast. I printed the itinerary and laminated it—”

“You laminated it?”

“Yes! I didn’t want it to get crumpled. And—”

Simon groaned, long and exaggerated. “You’re adorable. And completely mental.”

You poked his chest. “Don’t pretend you’re not excited.”

He didn’t answer right away, just pressed a kiss to your forehead and let out a breath that could’ve been a chuckle.

“‘Course I am. But I need you to sleep, so I’m not carrying your unconscious body through Magic Kingdom like a corpse in mouse ears.”

You snorted, burying your face into his chest. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“Bloody dramatic.”

There was a beat of silence, then his hand started moving again—broad palm gliding up and down your spine in slow, soothing strokes.

“Want me to help you relax?” he asked softly, voice just a notch above a whisper.

You nodded into his shirt.

He shifted onto his back, guiding you to rest half on top of him, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat. His other hand came up, fingertips drawing faint, rhythmic circles into your arm.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Close your eyes. Picture it.”

You did.

“The sun’s just coming up over the park. It’s quiet, barely anyone there. We’ve got coffee—mine’s black, yours is whatever ridiculous sugar monstrosity you like.”

“Rude.”

“True,” he said with a smirk you could hear. “You’ve got your mouse ears on. I’ve got… what is it, a Goofy hat?”

“The long one, with the ears.”

“Of course. You look like a kid in a candy shop. You’re dragging me toward the rides. I’m pretending to be miserable.”

“You’ll love it.”

“Mm.” He kissed your temple. “Maybe. Then we meet your alien friend. What’s his name again?”

“Stitch, Simon. He’s not just an alien, he’s an experiment gone rogue with a heart of gold.”

Simon snorted. “Right. Him. You take a photo with him. I look grumpy. You look like it’s the best day of your life.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, your breathing finally starting to even out.

“You buy too many souvenirs,” he continued, “and I pretend to be annoyed, but I still carry the bags. You lean on me during the fireworks, and I forget I ever hated places with crowds.”

Your body relaxed against him fully now, limbs heavy and warm, mind slowing from its jittery rhythm.

“I love you, Simon,” you mumbled, half-asleep.

His hand stilled just for a moment, before resuming its gentle path.

“I know,” he whispered, voice thick with fondness. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

The clock ticked quietly in the corner.

Outside, the city slept on.

Inside, Simon held you close—your restless excitement tucked beneath his calm like a secret you shared between heartbeats—and finally, finally, you drifted off to sleep.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[kaiyunsim]

guilty—

pairing : best friend!ni-ki x male!reader

summary : you invite ni-ki over and things get kinda hot inside…

warnings : fluff, maybe slightly suggestive, idk ni-ki is shirtless, based on guilty performance

a/n : i WOULDVE used the guilty pics but i just saw these pics and really like them. also probably not taking requests like this anymore cuz i don’t really like writing them… (sorry)

queueing : guilty - taemin

[requested]

— wc : 2.2k — not proof read —

it's not like inviting ni-ki over is weird. you guys are friends. close ones, even. you talk all the time, send each other dumb memes, argue about the best gaming strategies, and hang out like it’s the most natural thing in the world. so this shouldn’t be a big deal.

except it is.

because having a massive, painfully obvious crush on your best friend tends to make things complicated.

when you text him to come over, it takes him all of two seconds to respond with a casual yeah, be there soon, like it’s nothing. because to him, it is nothing. but to you? it’s an hour of trying to calm your racing heart, of overthinking everything, of pacing around your room and wondering if your place is clean enough, if you should change your shirt, if you should act any different than usual (no, that would be weird, right?).

by the time the doorbell rings, you’re already a mess.

you take a deep breath, shake out your hands, and open the door like you weren’t just standing there having a crisis.

ni-ki stands on your doorstep, grinning as he swings a convenience store bag in one hand. “yo.”

“hey,” you say, proud of how normal your voice sounds.

he steps inside like he’s done a hundred times before, kicking off his shoes and heading straight to your couch. he moves so comfortably in your space, like he belongs here. which, in a way, he does. you’ve known each other long enough for this to be second nature, so you really need to pull it together.

“i brought snacks,” ni-ki says, plopping down onto the couch and digging into the bag. “oh, and these.” he tosses a pack of your favorite candy at you.

you barely catch it in time, blinking at him. “you got this for me?”

“yeah?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you always steal mine, so i figured i’d get you your own.”

you want to scream into a pillow. instead, you swallow and mumble, “thanks.”

“no problem.” he leans back, stretching out his long legs. “so? what’s the plan? are you finally ready to accept that i’m the better gamer?”

you scoff, grabbing the controllers. “you wish.”

the game starts, and for a while, everything is normal. you fall into your usual rhythm. trash-talking, shoving each other when one of you pulls off a cheap move, laughing whenever ni-ki yells at the screen. it’s easy, familiar, and for a second, you forget about the whole i have a ridiculous crush on my best friend thing.

but then ni-ki shifts next to you, knee knocking against yours, and just like that, you’re reminded.

you try to focus on the game, but it’s impossible when he’s sitting so close, when his fingers move effortlessly over the buttons, when his face lights up in triumph every time he wins. and god, he’s so pretty. it’s not fair.

“dude, you’re losing so bad,” ni-ki teases, nudging your shoulder. “what’s up with you today?”

“nothing,” you lie, gripping the controller tighter.

he squints at you. “you’re acting weird.”

“no, i’m not.”

“you totally are.”

“just play the game.”

he shrugs, turning his attention back to the screen, but the damage is done. you’re spiraling again, overthinking every little thing, and before you know it, you’ve lost another round.

ni-ki stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. “man, it’s getting hot in here.”

you barely register his words before he reaches for the hem of his hoodie and pulls it over his head in one swift motion. underneath, he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, but then… then he tugs that off too, leaving him in nothing but his sweatpants.

your brain short-circuits.

he doesn’t even hesitate. just tosses his shirt onto the couch like it’s no big deal. “that’s better,” he sighs, shaking out his hair.

you, on the other hand, are not better.

you are not fine.

you are actively malfunctioning.

your mouth opens and closes a few times before you manage to choke out, “what are you doing?”

ni-ki blinks at you. “taking my shirt off?”

“but why?”

he gives you a confused look. “because it’s hot?”

“you can’t just—” you gesture wildly at his very bare, very toned torso, “—do that!”

he frowns. “why not? we’re both guys.”

and logically, sure. there’s no reason for this to be a big deal. but logically, you also shouldn’t be hopelessly in love with your best friend, and yet here you are.

your face is burning. your entire body feels like it’s on fire. ni-ki is still looking at you like you’re the weird one, and you know if you stay here any longer, you’re going to say or do something humiliating.

so you do the only thing you can think of.

you run.

“i need to—uh—get something,” you stammer, practically launching yourself off the couch.

ni-ki watches in confusion as you bolt to your room, slamming the door behind you.

he stares after you for a moment, then shrugs and picks up his phone, completely unaware that you’re currently on the other side of the door, having an actual meltdown.

you press your back against the door, heart pounding like you just ran a marathon. your hands grip at your shirt, trying to ground yourself, but it does nothing to stop the sheer chaos in your brain.

ni-ki is in your living room. ni-ki, your best friend. ni-ki, shirtless.

you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to calm down. it’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen him like that. you’ve been to the pool together, changed in locker rooms after practice, but something about this is different. maybe because it’s just the two of you, in the privacy of your room, where your stupid, hopeless crush feels ten times heavier.

you shake your head aggressively. get it together. he’s just a guy. a guy who doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to you.

outside, you hear ni-ki shift on the couch, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with you. you know you can’t stay in here forever, but the thought of going back out there, of sitting next to him while trying to act normal… it makes your face heat up all over again.

you take a deep breath, then another, pressing a hand to your chest like that’ll somehow slow down your heart rate. okay. you just need to play it cool. pretend like nothing happened. act like a normal, sane person.

with one last deep inhale, you push the door open and step out.

ni-ki is still on the couch, legs stretched out, casually scrolling through his phone. he looks up when he hears you, tilting his head. “dude, what was that?”

“what was what?��� you say way too quickly.

ni-ki raises an eyebrow. “you, running away like i just said something weird.”

you force out a laugh. “i didn’t run away.”

he just stares at you. “you literally ran.”

“i—i needed to, um, check something,” you mumble, walking past him and pretending to be very interested in adjusting the snack bags on the table.

“...right.”

you can feel his eyes on you, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot.

“you good?” he asks after a moment, voice softer.

“yep. totally fine.” you turn back to him with what you hope is a normal expression. “let’s just keep playing.”

he doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs, grabbing his controller again. “alright, if you say so.”

you sit down next to him—not too close, just enough that it doesn’t seem weird. ni-ki doesn’t seem to think twice about it, immediately starting the next round. but you? you can barely focus. your eyes keep betraying you, flickering to the curve of his shoulders, the toned muscles in his arms, the way his collarbones shift whenever he moves.

it’s ridiculous, really. he’s not even doing anything. he’s just existing, and it’s driving you insane.

you suck in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to look at the screen. focus. focus on the game. not on ni-ki’s stupidly perfect body.

“hey,” ni-ki says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “why are you playing so bad today?”

you blink, realizing you just drove your character straight off the track. “uh.”

he laughs, nudging your knee with his. “you’re totally off your game, man. maybe i should take my shirt off more often if it distracts you this much.”

you choke.

ni-ki looks at you, amused. “...wait. is that what this is about?”

panic. pure, unfiltered panic floods through you. “w-what? no! obviously not! why would—why would that distract me? that’s so dumb. you’re dumb.”

ni-ki squints at you, his grin growing. “oh my god. you’re flustered.”

“i am not flustered.”

“you totally are.”

“shut up.”

he laughs again, and it’s so unfair how effortlessly good he looks doing it. he leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i mean, it’s fine if you are. i am pretty good-looking.”

you want the ground to swallow you whole. “i’m going to throw you out the window.”

“uh-huh.” he smirks, and it’s infuriating. “so you don’t think i’m hot?”

your brain short-circuits for the second time that night. “what?”

“you heard me.”

“i’m not answering that.”

“so you do think i’m hot.”

“ni-ki.”

“it’s okay, i get it.” he leans back, smug. “i’d have a crush on me too.”

your soul leaves your body. he says it like a joke, like it’s nothing, like he has no idea how dangerously close he is to the truth.

you grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it.

he bursts out laughing, dodging your second attack. “okay, okay! chill!”

you groan, slumping back against the couch and covering your face with your hands. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you peek through your fingers, glaring. he’s still grinning, completely unbothered. and, worst of all, still shirtless.

you exhale slowly, trying to gather whatever scraps of dignity you have left. “put your damn shirt back on.”

ni-ki smirks, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s enjoying this. “nah, i’m good.”

you gape at him. “what—ni-ki.”

he grins, tilting his head. “what? you were the one acting all weird about it. now i feel like keeping it off just to mess with you.”

“that’s literally the worst reason.”

“or the best.” he shrugs, completely unbothered. “besides, you never actually answered my question.”

you hesitate. “...what question?”

his smirk grows. “do you think i’m hot?”

you make a noise that’s half a groan, half a dying animal. “i’m not answering that.”

“so yes.”

“so shut up.”

he laughs, absolutely thriving off your suffering, and flops onto the couch like he has no care in the world. “guess i’ll just stay like this, then.”

you stare at him, horrified. “you’re evil.”

he grins. “and you’re flustered.”

you grab the pillow again, ready to smother him with it.

ni-ki smirks, leaning further back into the couch like he has all the time in the world.

you stare at him, exasperated. “ni-ki. put. your. shirt. back. on.”

he raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your suffering. “hmm. no.”

“why not?” you huff, crossing your arms.

he shrugs, completely unbothered. “kinda nice seeing you all flustered. didn’t know this was all it took.”

you groan, feeling your face heat up again. “you are the worst.”

he grins. “and yet, here you are, still staring.”

you snap your head away so fast you might get whiplash. ni-ki laughs at you, full-on cackles, and you swear you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life.

he stretches lazily, arms above his head, on purpose, you know he’s doing it on purpose now. “so,” he says, looking at you with a glint in his eyes. “you got a crush on me or something?”

your stomach drops. your breath catches in your throat.

and ni-ki? ni-ki just smirks like he already knows the answer.

you could deny it. you should deny it. but the way he’s looking at you, teasing, but also strangely expectant, makes you hesitate.

after a long pause, you exhale sharply, rubbing the back of your neck. “...maybe.”

his smirk grows. “maybe?”

you roll your eyes. “fine. yes, okay? i like you. happy now?”

he hums, tilting his head like he’s considering something. “hmm. yeah. i think i am.”

you blink. “wait—what?”

he grins, leaning forward slightly. “would’ve been nice to know earlier, you know. would’ve saved me all this effort.”

you gape at him. “effort? what effort?”

he shrugs, like it’s obvious. “the effort of making you admit it first.”

you stare at him, speechless. “you knew?”

he laughs. “not really. but i hoped.”

your brain short-circuits. “you hoped?”

he just winks, and finally—finally—grabs his shirt off the couch. “now that you’ve confessed, maybe i’ll put this back on.”

you groan, shoving a pillow in his face as he cackles. this is not how you expected today to go.

[dakusan]

First Song First Love

Seungmin x Reader | fluff, karaoke, soft rizz

🎤 synopsis: You didn’t expect anything life-changing when your friends dragged you to a chaotic karaoke night. But then Seungmin walked in—quiet, sharp-eyed, devastatingly charming—and sang a ballad that made the room go silent. An unexpected duet, a shared laugh, a late-night conversation… and suddenly, you’re not just singing for fun. You’re singing your way into something real. Maybe even love. A soft, slow-burning story about spark at first sight, stolen moments between fame and real life, and the boy who gave you a Puppy.M plushie—and a kiss you’ll never forget.

💌a/n: this was supposed to be a little karaoke fic and then seungmin opened his mouth and suddenly we’re kissing in a café with a plushie in our lap and a crush in our chest. i don’t know what to tell you. the man sang ONE (1) emotional ballad and everyone folded. including me. especially me. please imagine he sent you a voice memo at 1AM and now your pillow smells like delusion and vocal line supremacy. thanks for reading 💘 ps. reblog so that Puppy.M can haunt you

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the diver.

🎶Now Playing: "Polaroid Love" – Enhypen

You were already regretting the heels.

The strap was digging into your ankle as you trudged up the narrow stairs of the karaoke bar, the neon-pink sign above flickering with half-lit Korean characters. The muffled thrum of bass-heavy music vibrated through the walls, mixing with the chaotic chorus of drunken laughter and off-key singing. Somewhere inside, your friend group was already warming up for a night of questionable decisions and even worse vocals.

Your phone buzzed.

[Jisoo]: Room 5! We’re starting without you! Run!!

You huffed out a laugh, finally reaching the hallway lined with sliding doors and colored lights. Room 5’s door was slightly ajar, the soft glow of a big screen leaking into the hall. You could already hear Jisung screaming a ballad like his life depended on it.

Sliding the door open, you were hit by the familiar wave of heat, perfume, and fried snacks. The room was packed—your friends piled on couches, tangled in each other’s limbs and laughter, drinks in hand. Some waved when they noticed you, others too busy arguing over the next song.

Your best friend stood, practically bouncing.

“There you are! Took you long enough,” she said, grabbing your hand and pulling you deeper into the room. “Okay, okay—before you sit, you have to meet someone.”

You barely had time to react before she stopped in front of a guy lounging in the corner of the couch, a half-empty drink in one hand and an amused look in his eyes. He was dressed in simple black—hoodie, jeans, rings glinting on his fingers. His hair was soft, a little messy, and he had this calm presence like the storm of energy around him didn’t touch him at all.

“This is Seungmin,” she said. “Jisung’s friend. He joined last minute.”

He looked up—and your breath caught for a second.

It was subtle, nothing dramatic. Just a glance. But it was like the moment his eyes met yours, the rest of the room dimmed just a little. Warm brown eyes. Sharp, slightly teasing smile. A quick flicker of recognition in a face you’d never seen before.

“Hey,” he said, nodding.

You blinked. “Hi.”

Your best friend was already moving again, shouting about soju bombs and how someone needed to queue a TWICE song, but you were still standing there, not quite sure what had just happened.

Someone patted the seat next to Seungmin. “Sit, there’s room!”

You hesitated for a second—then lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him. Close enough to feel the heat of his arm, but not quite touching. He didn’t shift away. Just looked over, calm and unreadable.

“You new to the group?” you asked, hoping your voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt.

“Kind of,” he said. “First time I’ve hung out with this many of them at once. You?”

“I’m here for the chaos,” you smiled.

“Clearly,” he deadpanned, nodding toward Jisung, who was now on his knees dramatically singing into the mic like a man possessed.

You laughed, and Seungmin’s lips twitched—not quite a full smile, but close.

As the night spun on, drinks were poured, songs were shouted more than sung, and someone passed you a mic with no warning. “Your turn!”

You groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!” everyone chorused at once.

You scrolled through the playlist and picked something safe—a feel-good track you wouldn’t butcher too badly. As you sang, the nerves melted off with every line. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun. When the song ended, you glanced around and found Seungmin watching you again. Not in a creepy way. Just… noticing.

“You sing well,” he said casually.

You smiled, tucking the mic away. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replied, tone unreadable.

That shut you up for a second. Then, Jisung clapped Seungmin on the back. “Your turn, man! You’re not getting out of this.” Seungmin sighed dramatically, but he stood and grabbed the mic anyway. He walked toward the screen, brows furrowed in concentration as he picked a song.

He didn’t look nervous. He looked like he knew exactly what he was about to do. And you suddenly had the feeling you were about to learn something unexpected.

The room buzzed with playful heckling as Seungmin scrolled through the playlist, chin tilted slightly, brows furrowed like he was reading a secret message only he could decipher. You weren’t sure what kind of song to expect—something upbeat, maybe, something fun to match the mood. But then the opening notes hit, and the room shifted.

Soft. Slow. Raw emotion wrapped in every piano chord. The kind of song that didn’t ask for attention—it demanded silence. A few people started murmuring in surprise. Someone whispered, “Wait… he’s doing this one?” But their voices quickly faded.

Because then Seungmin started to sing. And it was like everything else just… fell away.

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was rich, smooth, like velvet pulled tight over a storm. Perfect pitch, but more than that—feeling. Like the lyrics lived somewhere deep in his chest and were only now being let out, piece by piece. There was a quiet ache in the way he shaped the words, almost too gentle to be real. You swore the room was holding its breath. No drunken shouting. No off-key backup vocals. Just him.

And you?

You were frozen.

Eyes locked on the way his lips moved, how his lashes lowered as he hit a falsetto so clean it sent actual chills down your spine. His hand rested loosely at his side, mic held steady like it was second nature.

You’d been to karaoke a hundred times. Heard a hundred voices.

But not like this. This wasn’t just singing. This was intimate. Like you were being let in on something personal. Like every word he sang was carefully chosen for this exact moment—and maybe, somehow, for you. By the time the final note faded, the silence that followed was almost reverent.

Then—applause. Loud, messy, full of disbelief.

“Dude,” Jisung laughed, tossing a napkin in Seungmin’s direction. “You’ve been holding out on us!”

Seungmin just shrugged modestly, handing off the mic. “Didn’t feel like singing earlier.”

But when he turned to sit back down, his eyes found yours first. A little flash of something in his gaze—playful, knowing. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all you could manage was a soft, “That was… wow.”

He smiled, barely. “Thanks.”

And somehow, that tiny smile wrecked you more than the high note he’d just nailed. “He’s so unserious for pulling out his idol voice like that,” someone muttered as Seungmin sat back down beside you, drink in hand like he hadn’t just vocally ruined the entire room in the best way possible.

You couldn’t stop staring.

Not in a weird way. Just in a what the hell just happened kind of way. Everyone knew he was an idol, but it was one thing to know, and another to hear first hand, not at a concert, but in a karaoke room.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly, not looking at you.

“I’m allowed,” you whispered back. “That wasn’t fair.”

That made him glance your way, amused. “What, the song?”

“The voice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You came here to hang out and decided to assassinate us instead?”

He laughed—a real one this time, not just the polite idol chuckle. “I was being nice. I held back.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still thumping. Then Jisung, clearly thriving off the chaos, grinned and shouted, “OKAY. DUET TIME. We’re pairing up, and I am not accepting no’s—y/n, you’re up with Seungmin!”

You froze. “Wait—what?”

Seungmin just looked sideways at you, one brow raised like he was waiting to see if you’d run or take the mic. Your fingers twitched. “Unless you’re scared?” he said, teasing.

You narrowed your eyes. “I was going to be nice. Guess I’ll sing for blood.”

The group ooh’d at the fake rivalry as someone queued up a familiar, upbeat duet—something flirty and fun with alternating verses and a dramatic chorus. You stood up, heart pounding, and took the mic. Beside you, Seungmin rolled his shoulders out like he was warming up for a concert. “Ready, partner?”

You snorted. “Try to keep up.”

And then the beat dropped.

You started the first verse, playful and light. The words came easier now, riding adrenaline. He jumped in with the second line, voice smooth, pitch perfect, of course—but now with a new edge. He leaned into the teasing lyrics, eyes flicking to you like he was trying to make you break.

You held your ground. And that’s when the magic happened.

There was this flow between you—passing the mic back and forth like it was a game, matching each other’s energy without even trying. He leaned in on a harmony, and your voices fit like puzzle pieces. It didn’t feel rehearsed. It felt right. Someone started filming. By the time the final chorus hit, you were both practically laughing, bodies angled toward each other, eyes locked even as you sang the last line together.

When the song ended, the room exploded.

“Okay, wait, do we need to give you two the room?”

“That was unreasonably hot—hello??”

You flushed, suddenly too aware of how close he was, how easy it had felt. Seungmin looked at you, smile lazy, voice low. “You really aren’t scared, huh.” And just like that—you were in trouble.

The chaos of the room faded to a dull buzz in the background—laughter, drinks clinking, someone screaming lyrics in the next room over. A few of your friends had spilled out to grab snacks, others were too busy arguing over who got to sing next. The energy had shifted into something looser, sleepier. Like the night had finally exhaled.

You were still sitting next to Seungmin, the heat between you warm but not overwhelming anymore. Just… steady. Comfortable.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed on the screen even though it wasn’t playing anything. “They’re wild,” he said, nodding toward your friend group.

You chuckled. “You’re saying that like you’re not used to Jisung.”

“I’m used to Jisung. Not ten Jisungs at once.”

You laughed again, and he smiled. Not his idol smile. Not the curated one. A real one. It was quiet for a beat after that. Not awkward. Just… unspoken. You glanced at him, then at the mic still resting near his knee.

“That song earlier,” you said softly. “The solo. Why that one?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “It’s one I never get to sing on stage,” he said, voice low, fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass. “Too slow for a live set. Too quiet. Not exciting enough.”

“But it meant something.” His gaze flicked to yours—sharp and surprised. Then thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

There was something gentle about the way he looked at you then. Like he wasn’t just seeing you—he was choosing to let you see him. Not the idol. Not the polished version. Just the boy who liked slow songs and quiet moments.

“Do you ever wish it could all just slow down?” you asked before thinking.

His shoulders lowered slightly, like the question had knocked the air out of him in a good way.

“All the time,” he said. “But it’s rare. I forget how to sit still.”

You nodded. You got that. Maybe not in the same way, but you understood the exhaustion of always having to be on, to perform, to keep up with the people around you even when your body begged for stillness.

“That’s why I picked that song,” he added after a moment. “Not because I thought anyone would notice. Just… felt like I needed to hear it.”

You blinked slowly, feeling something tighten in your chest. He didn’t say it for effect. He wasn’t trying to charm you. He was just being honest. And somehow, that honesty felt more intimate than the duet, more vulnerable than all the shared glances and teasing smiles. You leaned back a little, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Well. I noticed.” He turned to look at you—soft eyes, lips parted like he was about to say something else, something more. But he didn’t. He just nodded, and the silence between you felt full instead of empty.

Eventually, the rest of the group stumbled back in—laughing too loud, arms full of convenience store snacks and another round of drinks no one really needed. The energy picked back up, a final burst before the inevitable crash. Someone attempted to sing again, terribly. Another person fell asleep mid-verse.

The night had peaked, and now it was coasting on the afterglow.

You checked your phone—past midnight. Your voice was hoarse from laughing, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Most of the group was starting to collect their things, slowly accepting the fate of early morning hangovers and sore throats.

Seungmin was still next to you, his thigh brushing yours when he shifted to grab his phone. You should’ve said goodbye. That’s what normal people did, right? Say thanks for tonight and see you around and maybe let fate take it from there.

But something tugged at you. A little ache. A little no, not yet.

And maybe he felt it too, because before you could move, he cleared his throat and said, almost casually:

“Hey.”

You looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Can I…” He paused, tapping his phone against his palm, not quite looking at you. “Can I get your number?”

Your stomach flipped.

“Only if you promise not to ghost me,” you said, recovering quickly.

That got a laugh out of him—quiet, but real. “I think I owe you at least a duet rematch,” he said, handing you his phone with the contact screen already open. You typed in your number, added a little mic emoji next to your name before handing it back. “Nice touch,” he said, glancing down at the screen. “I’ll remember you by your stage presence.”

You smirked. “And your ballad era will haunt me forever.”

He looked at you for a beat—longer than necessary. And in that moment, the karaoke room, the noise, the people, all of it blurred. Just him. Just you. And something new. Something beginning. You stood, grabbing your coat, heart still racing.

“Goodnight, Seungmin,” you said, soft but certain.

“Goodnight,” he replied. “Text you soon?”

You nodded, already walking backward toward the door. “I’ll hold you to it.”

And when the door slid shut behind you, you were smiling like an idiot. Because you knew. This wasn’t just a fun night. This was the start of something you couldn’t name yet—but wanted to.

The texts started the next morning. Nothing over the top. No grand good morning message or three-paragraph essay.

Just:

[Seungmin]: you survived the chaos?

And then, when you didn’t respond right away:

[Seungmin]: or are you still recovering from my devastating vocal power

You grinned like an idiot in bed and typed back:

[You]: emotionally and spiritually, yes. physically, still in shock.

It continued like that—daily check-ins, flirty sarcasm, the occasional voice memo that made your heart do things. You’d hear his voice and remember that night too vividly: the way he looked under the neon glow, how he sang like no one else was in the room.

But between all the teasing, there were real moments too. You found out he liked rainy days but hated soggy socks. That he collected stuffed animals people gave him, but he’d never admit it publicly. That his schedule was hectic, but he always replied, even if it took a while.

And then, one Friday afternoon:

[Seungmin]: are you free this weekend?

You stared at the screen. Paused. Typed. Deleted. Then typed again:

[You]: depends. is this a duet or a solo performance?

[Seungmin]: …it’s a café date, smartass. i’ll even buy you a drink.

[Seungmin]: and maybe a muffin if you’re charming enough.

The café was tucked in a quiet street, the kind of place that smelled like espresso and fresh flowers, with soft jazz playing through hidden speakers. It was a total contrast to the karaoke bar—slower, quieter, somehow closer. Seungmin was already there when you arrived, wearing a navy hoodie, baseball cap, and black mask. Still somehow completely recognizable. He stood when he saw you, pulling his mask down just enough to flash a smile. “You’re late.”

“You’re early,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t want to risk you ghosting me.”

You snorted. “As if.”

He ordered your drink before you could argue and handed you a paper bag with a smug look. You opened it—inside was a small Puppy.M plushie. Soft. Perfect. A little derpy in the cutest way.

Your heart squeezed.

“No way,” you whispered, cradling it gently. “You carry these around?”

“I had a spare in my bag,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s very weird.”

“It’s limited edition,” he muttered. “You’re welcome.”

You looked at the plush, then at him. “So… I get a plushie and a muffin?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

But he was already reaching for the display case. The two of you sat near the window, sun spilling across the table as you talked about everything and nothing. His voice was softer here—no cameras, no loud music. Just him.

He asked about your dreams. Listened like he cared. Told you stories from trainee days, his voice dipping low when he got serious, then shooting back up with a dry punchline that made you laugh out loud.

It was… easy. And when you reached for your drink, your fingers brushed the plushie instead—and caught him watching you.

“What?” you asked. He looked away, then back again, almost like he hadn’t meant to speak.

“I felt it,” he said simply. “That night. When I saw you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a confession. “At karaoke. I looked at you and thought, ‘Yeah. She’s gonna ruin me.’”

Your chest tightened. You tried to play it cool. “Too late for that?” He smiled—slow, genuine, completely unguarded.

“Way too late.”

The café dimmed as the sun dipped lower, turning the windows gold and the air warm with that quiet hush of early evening. Most of the tables had emptied, but neither of you had moved. The drinks were long gone, your muffin reduced to a few crumbs, and Puppy.M sat between you like a tiny, smug third wheel.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Just... comfort. And something else. Something buzzing beneath the surface.

You turned to him, chin resting on your hand. “So. Are you always like this on first dates?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Thoughtful. Mysterious. Surprisingly soft?”

He pretended to consider it. “Only when the other person sings on key.”

You snorted and nudged his foot under the table. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said. And then, quieter, “But... no. I’m not always like this.”

You met his gaze—and this time, he didn’t look away.

“I wasn’t planning to meet anyone that night,” he said, voice low, like he was afraid if he said it too loudly, it wouldn’t be true. “I almost didn’t go. But then you walked in and looked at me like you already knew me.”

You swallowed. Hard. “Maybe I did,” you said. “Kind of felt like I’d been waiting to meet you. Is that stupid?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Really stupid.”

And then he leaned in. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just close enough for you to feel the shift in the air between you. For his eyes to flick down to your lips. For your heart to crawl up your throat.

You could’ve pulled back. You didn’t.

Your lips met his like the softest sigh—like a secret finally spoken out loud. He kissed you gently at first, warm and tentative, one hand brushing your jaw like he was afraid to move too fast. You melted into it without meaning to, lips slotting perfectly with his, eyes fluttering shut.

It wasn’t perfect. It was better. Honest. Quiet. Real.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire day.

“Your stage presence is still better than mine,” he murmured.

“Liar.”

He grinned, eyes still closed. “Maybe. But I got the encore, didn’t I?”

You laughed, your hand slipping into his under the table, fingers lacing easily.

“You really did.”

[hellishjoel]

catching flights and snowflakes

616 words / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: snow

warnings/information: established relationship, pure fluff

a/n: this is me re-writing my author's note because my queue failed me! so I'm just getting around to seeing this and properly posting my seasons of life challenge masterlist and my first post ((now a day late >:[)) - my banners are by @saradika-graphics <3 shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

“You’re going to freeze your ass off,” you warn your Florida-born and-raised boyfriend Frankie, whose half-packed suitcase consists of breezy button-ups and cargo shorts. 

His adorably confused expression glances from his open suitcase to your dubious look. “How cold can it be? Thirty degrees sounds like nothin’.” He sassily retorts, pinching your chin between his fingers and thumb as he angles your chin upward so that he can place a soft kiss on your lips. 

It’s his first Christmas visiting your side of the family. You were leaving palm trees behind for Castleton green pines, and his wardrobe was drastically underprepared. 

“Let’s see. Christmas in the Midwest will consist of thirty-degree temperatures, colder if there’s a windchill. You have no warm hat, gloves, or jeans without holes in the knees. The only type of boots you own are hiking boots, and those won’t keep you warm if we have to walk through the snow.” 

There’s a glimmer in his eyes, something mischievous and almost kid-like. “You think there’s gonna be snow? A white Christmas?” 

Frankie has always been devoted to the warmth that central Florida offers, never tempted to swap it for a colder climate. Snow is a rarity in his world—he's only experienced the occasional fleeting flurry. By the time those delicate flakes touched the ground, the warmth quickly melted them away, leaving no trace behind.

You didn’t promise him anything, especially with climate change and all, but as soon as your plane had touched down, fat white snowflakes passed by your airplane window with no agenda or intent. They were weightless, the reminder you needed to hold with you as the end of the year approached.  

“Looks like you’re getting your wish,” you whisper to Frankie, interlocking your fingers with his as he joins you in staring out at the midnight blue velvet sky where snow begins to fall steadily. 

Your heart soars as your boyfriend’s gaze lingers on every window you pass, from deboarding the plane to the grand floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the planes landing and departing on the tarmac. He couldn’t resist the excitement of his first real snowfall. 

Having grown up with snow days that shut down schools and heavy flakes piling up inches at a time, you had almost forgotten how magical snow could be.

Frankie’s smile is unwavering, a grin stretched wide across his face as you exit the airport’s main entrance, scanning the lot for your dad’s truck.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his breath swirling in the icy air, visible like a fleeting ghost in front of his face. “I can finally do it, just like in the movies.” Frankie’s excitement spills over as he drops his duffel bag on the sidewalk with a thud, stepping boldly out from the shelter of the airport canopy into the falling snow. He tugs his jacket tighter around him, the cold air making his cheeks rosy. “We had snow once,” Frankie says, staring at the flakes. “Didn’t even stick. Mom made us cocoa just to celebrate.” He grins at the memory and looks down at you. “This? This is a whole other level.”

You giggle as Frankie sticks out his tongue and dives his head from side to side in search of a flake to land on his tongue. “You’re doin’ this with me,” He holds your hands and twirls you under the night sky, both of you chasing snowflakes and cheering when they eventually melt on your warm tongue. 

“We should build a snowman tomorrow. This is perfect packing snow,” you remark casually, pressing your shoe into the thick, powdery layer already blanketing the ground.

Frankie’s eyes damn near bulge out of his head. “We can build a fucking snowman?!”

[acphengene]

Chapter 2 - Mate

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jay x reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate au - fantasy au - brothers best friend to lovers au

₊ ⁺ warnings: swearing, mentions of death, lying

₊ ⁺ word count: 5.6k

₊ ⁺ note: i got my enhypen tickets for London - so as promised my loves

₊ ⁺ Introduction ₊ ⁺ Chapter one ₊ ⁺ Chapter two ₊ ⁺ Chapter three

“What do you mean it’s her?!”

The pair had taken the talk into the living room. Sunghoon was currently pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, all the while Jay was chucking on a bottle of fire spirits.

“It’s her” Jay repeated for the thousand time.

“But are you sure?” He stopped and finally looked towards his friend.

All Jay mustered to do was to raise his brow, before his brother was once again pacing.

“Oh gods, Jake’s gonna kill you. You know that right? Like I’m almost certain he’s gonna challenge you”

Jay took another large sip of the brown and red liquid. “He’s gonna be king…” Jay said, for the first time out loud, although it had been the only thought he have had since you walked through the doors of their classroom earlier.

Sunghoon stopped. “Give me that damn bottle”. He took it from him and drowned three big gulps.

“Does she know who you are?” He finally asked as he looked at him.

Jay shook his head with an almost sad smile. “No” he fiddled with his hands nervously. “But I dont blame her, it was hard on her”

“So what are you gonna do? Or should I say, what are we gonna do?” His best friend sat down beside him and pulled him close

“Honestly I don’t know” he leaned back into the couch. “But we have to figure it out soon because in a few days it will literally be impossible for me to stay away from her”

Sunghoon smiled. “Well it was nice knowing you”

You were in the clouds again. Pushing against the invisible barrier, trying to get through as you screamed out for her. As you begged and pleaded for them to return her to you.

You couldn’t do this without her, so when you passed out you hoped your time had come, that this would mean you would be united.

Instead you awoke in the dark, surrounded by the moon light lilies of your own royal garden. But you could’ve sworn that a phantom hand touched your cheek.

You woke then. You always did.

This dream had haunted you since you were 8, since the day your mother had passed. And just because you’ve had it more than a thousand times, didn’t mean it wasn’t always as traumatizing as the first time you experienced it.

You tried shaking the dream off of you with a cold shower, but it still lingered in the back of your mind. It lingered when you got ready, when you packed up your things, even when you were in the queue at the coffee shop that laid on your way to school.

Despite you hurrying through your morning, you were still late. Not a good look for an heir who was just recently appointed.

And as you combed through your bag for that specific book you needed for your first class. You collided with what felt like a brick wall.

You thanked the gods for the hot weather, and that the coffee were chilled with ice. Because in that second it was all over your red shirt.

Jay was startled. Even more so when he saw who he had run into. He saw the adorable flush of your cheeks, heard your rambles of apologies. But all he could seem to focus on was your eyes and the over all smell of you, like a breath of fresh autumn air and a mix of lillies. Refreshing, but somehow still so sweet it lured him in. It was all intoxicating.

Cute. He thought to himself.

“What?” Your head shot up, and you looked at him, once again taking his breath away.

“What?!” He said a little too panicked. Had he really said that out loud? “Nothing! Nothing”

And then you smiled, gods and he swore he could’ve died right then and there.

“I’m sorry” and then you got a truly good look at yourself. “Fuck…” you swore at yourself. You had left your jacket back home so now you would have to walk around all day with a giant stain.

“I-…” Jay started, before clearing his throat. “I have an extra shirt in my car”

You raised an eyebrow.

“It’s clean! I promise, just if you’d like” he flashed you a smile and you quickly avoided eye contact.

“Yes, thank you Jay. You’re a lifesaver”

“Anytime” he said as he gestured to the door. With your back turned to him you didn’t see the little happy dance he made.

He would not lie, he was thankful of seeing you out of the Fire colors. The mere thought of Yeonjun having yet another so-called “claim” on you would be enough for him to make him blind for a decade or so. Just a little black veil over his eyes would be all that took.

But having you in his color. That dark blue so dark it almost looked black, made him lose his breath.

“How do I look?” You asked with a shy smile as you stepped out from the bathroom.

He had offered to wait with the rest of your things outside, since it would be a little cramp in there with it all.

“You look beautiful” he didn’t even think before he spoke, but the sparkle in your eyes when he complimented you was worth it.

Oh what he wouldn’t give to hold your hand, or have you on his arm. But this wasn’t the time nor the place. No this would have to be enough for now. Baby steps Jay. He thought.

He opened the door to the class and let you enter first. You apologized profusely to the teacher, whereas Jays eyes just instantly found Yeonjun’s. He gave him a cocky smile, one of defiance, one filled with challenge.

And then it hit them all. He could see it in Sunghoon’s eyes as he shot up from his chair, he could see it when Heeseung leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in disappointment.

But Jay didn’t care, not one bit. Because Yeonjun was as red as his hair, and Soobin as pale as the seafoam he raised from each morning.

You smelled like him. And it was a smell that lingered. One that claimed you to all the males in this room as his.

He found his seat next to Heeseung.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked with gritted teeth.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Relax, it’s not what you think. She spilled coffee all over herself and her shirt was as good as see through. So I borrowed her one of mine”

Lying to a friend wasn’t the best look. But what other choice did he have?

Heeseung sighed. “All things considered Jake will end up thanking you”

Jay looked at the Winter princes confused. “Why?”

Sunghoon sighed. “The two idiots” he said as he gestured to the Fire and Water prince. “Was fighting before class about which one of them should get to ask her out to ‘The autumn ball’”

Thank god for ice Sunghoon had sent over his feet to hold him his place. Otherwise he would’ve thrown himself at those two.

Did they really think either of them were good enough for his mate?

Mate. Mate. Mate. My mate.

The voice echoed in the back of your mind. You shadows clinged to you like children.

What the hell was happening today, everyone was just acting strange.

You hadn’t gotten far from campus when Sunoo and Jungwon quickly caught up to you. Sunoo smacked you on your forearm, and you let out a yelp.

“What the hell was that for?” You said with a confused look.

He returned one that insinuated you most definitely already knew.

You looked back, looking more confused than ever, so Jungwon gave you a clue and looked down at the shirt you still wore, one that still smelled like him. As a response you rolled your eyes.

“Do you know how humiliating it is that I’m getting piping, and I really do mean piping hot tea, about my best friend…”

“You mean my best friend” Jungwon coughed and sent a wink your way.

“… from fucking Taki?” Sunoo finished.

You took your friend's arms. “There is no piping hot tea. It’s more like cold spilled coffee. I ran into Jay this morning, and spilled my iced coffee all over myself. He was kind enough to lend me a shirt he had in his car”

Despite your somewhat casual words, you tried your best to calm your beating heart and you hoped your cheeks didn’t paint themselves red by the mere mention of the prince.

That of course didn’t happen.

“Oh my Gods!” Jungwon said as he laid his hands on your flaming hot cheeks. “You like him!”

Sunoo let out a screech, and jumped up and down without letting go of your arm.

You couldn’t help but smile, because they were right. You did really like him, despite having only spoken a few sentences to one another. But having his scent on you today had made you look for him in every room that you entered. It was as if your heart was singing.

“He’s good looking, okay!” You said, hoping that explanation would be enough.

It never was.

“Hell yeah he is, but so are a lot of people” Sunoo said as they both studied you.

“I’m calling Niki” Jungwon said as he pulled out his phone, you panther friend picked up at the first ring.

“Good timing Won, I just got a break” Niki said as he drowned half a bottle of water.

“So our little princess here, has a crush on none other than THE prince Jongseong”

Niki didn’t speak, he just stared at the three of you through the screen. “Sweetheart you can’t, you know you can’t” he gave you a look, and the two of you had a silent conversation through the phone. The remaining two of your group was left alone with their curiosity.

As you looked away he only sighed. “Look, how about I take you to ‘The Autumn Ball’? We can go shop for dresses and all of that tomorrow. We’ll talk there okay?” He smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes.

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you then” you hit the little red button, preparing yourself for the line of questioning the other two would have.

There was nothing worse than having to lie to the pair, but you still weren’t ready to tell them about that night, so for now you would have to distract the two.

The two of you were in your third boutique of the night. Everywhere you went you were treated as the royalty you both were. You as a crown princesse, and Niki as the singer and dancer who had everyone’s heart.

“What about this?” Niki said as he pulled out a black dress with black beated pearls on the top.

“No it’s too much in the top and way to little on the bottom”

He pushed it back in it’s place as he laughed. “I had forgotten how incredibly boring you are to shop with”

“That’s why you and Won typically let Sunoo do this stuff with me. He’s the only one that’s actually understands my vision”

Niki sat down next to you and took your hand in his. “It’s no vision, you’re just picky”

You pushed him playfully as you laughed together. He never let go of your hand however.

“You could just tell them about that night” he said so low it was almost a whisper.

The smile you gave him was sad. “No, I don’t want to. Not yet. It’s too soon”

He sighed and rubbed his face with his one free hand before he leaned back on light blue fabric on the couch looking thing, that stood in the middle of the room.

“It’s been almost two centuries” he said with a voice that sounded like he had given up completely.

“The only reason you even know is because you were the one who found me”

“And thank the gods above and below that I did. Without me there you would’ve run right back” he held your hand a little tighter, as if you would run away, run back to that time if he didn’t hold on to you.

You stood up as you looked through the new rack of black dresses the sales assistant had brought out. “Does this have a matching tuxedo?” You asked as you pointed to one of the dresses.

“Let me go look princess” she said as she bowed as deep as she could in her high heels.

“You can’t have a crush on him” Niki said as soon as she had disappeared.

You shrugged. “Why not” your hand traveled down the golden stitched dragon in one of the dresses.

“Because he wont date anyone who isn’t his mate” the words came out harsher and louder than Niki had intended.

He sighed. “Look, you already know that no one except that person can enter his realm. It’s only because of that his family haven't given up on the whole mate thing as most have. Because without that little string, no one would ever get through that mist of grey clouds, no matter how much they wanted to”

Niki stood and walked over to you. Forcing you to look at him. “And you… you couldn’t get through. You’ve already had one heartbreak in this life. I don’t wanna see you have another, especially not if I could’ve prevented it”

“He just… he smells like home I can’t explain it” a single tear escaped your eye and he brushed it away with his thumb, before he pulled you into his chest and kissed the top of your head.

“You will find your person, I know you will. I also promise I’ll make sure it happens sooner rather than later. Okay?”

You nodded into his chest as you dried your tears on his shirt. He laughed silently, but you could feel it.

“What about this one?” The sales assistant said, and Niki turned you towards her without letting you go. “It comes with a matching tux” she said with an awkward smile as she tried to look away from how the two of you embraced one another.

“Oh gods!” You said as you pulled away from Niki to go inspect it. “It’s perfect!”

Your friend just smiled, thankful that good craftsmanship still was the best way of distracting you.

The four princes were currently standing around their kitchen island as they explained just why the word on campus was that Jay was currently courting Jake’s sister.

Jake of course hadn’t believed it until you walked past him smelling like his friend, by then he had taken off for their apartment, ready to tear his friend to pieces.

Jay had however avoided him for a whole day, talking everything over with Sunghoon as they drowned their sorrows on the bottom of a few bottles of wine. They had tried to figure out just how they were to handle their very mad best friend.

He didn’t like going behind his back. But he refused to tell Jake what was going on before he had a chance to tell you.

It might not be what was right by Jake, but no matter what he did, he would end up mad. And Jay needed to tell you his side of everything in his own way, in his own time.

After a somewhat heated discussion that had ended with Sunghoon freezing Jake to the floor to make sure he didn’t attack Jay. They had all managed to explain.

Turns out all it took was Heeseung supporting their story for him to calm down. They caught him up as quickly as they could.

Jay tried to calm his frantically beating heart as he said: “I could always ask her to the ball, you know it wouldn’t be weird after this whole ordeal, and you would know she would be safe with me”

He didn’t mention how he would hate to see you on anyone else’s arm. How it would all but break his heart to see you slow dance with someone that wasn’t him.

Sunghoon nodded along. “I mean I don’t have a sister, but I’d rather have you do it than anyone of those fucks” Jay gave him a grateful look.

Heeseung sighed. “It’s not the worst idea in the world. Under normal circumstances you could take her Jake, but her being your twin and having all eyes on her might just break your cover”

Jake only shook his head. “No, there’s no need for that. Niki called me yesterday, he’s taking her. She has already agreed to it”

Jay stumbled back in chok. He tried to cover it up as a tipsy stumble caused by the wine, luckily Jake was too caught up in his own world for him to notice, as he took another sip of his wineglass.

“Do you trust him more than me?” He asked in a joking tone, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“Of course not! But I’ve known him forever, and you, you’re you know…” Jake said as he gestured towards Jay.

“I’m what?” He asked with a raised brow.

“He’s just saying you’re not really in a position to choose her anyways. So if anyone were to see the two of you at this ball they would think you were mates. And she needs to keep her options open” Sunghoon said with a little nod.

The pair had discussed that exact possibility, but that didn’t let it sting any less. Keep her options open? Over Jay’s dead fucking body.

Jake continued: “Niki’s like a brother after all, he’ll keep her safe from the predators that are the princes and high lords”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “I mean, I don’t know him as well as you. But we all know how he’s been acting since he came of age. He’s fucking worse than Hoon was after…” he looked as his younger brother with aplogoetic eyes.

The three of them looked to Sunghoon that through gritted teeth and dead eyes said: “don’t push it”

Jay reached out for his twin flame to calm him like he always did whenever she was brought up.

Jake was quick to switch the subject. “He wouldn’t. Look in the end as long as I trust him and Y/N is happy then that is what matters”

“Sure” Jay said as he emptied his glass.

A sigh escaped the lost prince as he said with a somewhat stern voice: “you wouldn’t understand okay? You’re an only child, you don’t have brothers or sisters. You don’t understand what it means to wanna give your life for someone you love…”

Sunghoon crashed his wineglass down into the marble on top of the island and it shattered by the impact.

Jake looked up at Jay who now stood with his head bowed. Not meeting any of their eyes.

“I-… I forgot that I have something I need to go pick up” he turned on his heel and walked straight out the door.

“No, Jay! Wait I didn’t…” but the door only shut behind him.

And as he looked back to his two remaining friends, they both stood cross armed and they looked like they wanted to make an ice sculpture out of him. Maybe even bury him under a glacier.

“You better fucking fix this” Heeseung said as he left the room, slamming the door after him with such force that they for a second thought the floor might catch on fire.

Sunghoon only ran after Jay, hopefully he could get to him before he disappeared.

Jay stumbled out the lobby as he tried his best to dry his eyes quick enough for him to be able to see what was on his screen.

He knew what he was feeling wasn’t fair. Jake didn’t trust him enough with you, but again why would he? He was, after all, very much lying to the male he called brother. The person who meant not only the world to him, but to you too.

He needed a flight home, or as close to home as he could. He needed space, to think, to talk to his parents and figure out his next steps.

The last couple of days had been difficult. Having you close but needing to stay away because of his brother, no could he even call Jake that now?

Jake was right, he didn't have siblings. But they had always been, Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jake. He thought they felt the same, he knew that Sunghoon did. He had shown him that time and time again.

But after that comment, could he be sure that the other two felt the same?

He sat down and hid his face from the world, and just when he was about to veil himself from the world he heard your voice whisper his name.

He turned towards you, and there right next to him were you, reaching out as if you wanted to stroke his back.

In less than a second he stood up desperate to dry his eyes. You didn’t need to see this, he didn’t want you to. But your brother had just broken a piece of his heart, and the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and without even thinking you laid a hand on his cheek, forcing him to face you.

He leaned into your touch. He was so desperate for it, and he didn’t care that you only touched him because you felt sorry for him. His heart was aching for it.

You saw how he held himself back, how he hesitated instead of taking a step closer to you. Hug. Hug. Hug. The voice in your head repeated.

So you took the step and stood up on your toes and pulled him into you, his arms snaked around you waisted as he hid his eyes in the crook of your neck. You felt him lose it, as he sobbed into your shoulder and you just stoked his hair as you said nothing.

No one even glanced at you, and you knew he had hidden you from the world of prying eyes.

His scent enveloped you and god you didn’t want to admit it, but you had slept in his shirt last night. You knew you needed to return it, but you had wanted a piece of him with you.

It had however lost his scent of summer rain and lightning. He smelled like a summer storm, and somehow it was the most comforting smell ever. And now you were standing in it, breathing it in. If only you could bottle it up and make a perfume out of it.

Despite everything Niki had told you, what he had reminded you of, you chose to live in a fantasy for a second. A fantasy where you could be his, where he could be yours. A fantasy where grey clouds and mists were what brought you together and not what kept you apart.

“Shhh… I’m right here” you whispered, and it was as if your voice was what made him relax, as if that was all he needed to be brought back to the precense.

He pulled away a little, with his head still hanging low. Gods even his hair smelled amazing. “I’m so sorry, I should go” he said as he tried to take a step back. But his arms were still snaked around you.

You smiled. “No need to rush princeling” you said with a teasing tone. You really did have a death wish.

He chuckled, the sound hoarse and low.

“If I’m your princeling, are you then my darling?” He said with a smirk and a glimmer in his eyes as they finally met yours.

Your eyes widened and as if you had been lightning itself he released his grip on you and stepped back.

“Gods I’m so sorry! I don't know what came over me.” He said with an awkward smile.

Cute. You thought.

“What?” He said, he had paled.

“Oh gods! Did I say that out loud?!” Your hand flew up to cover your mouth.

No you hadn’t. He had heard you. He only smiled. A smile so big and pure he looked like the sun itself.

You returned it and he felt the worry in his brow loosening.

“Are you okay though?” You asked and despite it might being a little excessive you once again strokes his cheek.

“I will be” he said with sad eyes. “I just need to get on a flight home - justfor a day or two”

“That bad huh?” You asked and he only nodded in response.

You sighed.

“Well in that case how about I make sure you get there sooner rather than later?” You asked.

Jay felt something cold slither around his ankle. When he looked down a little shadow hugged him there.

He let out what could only be described as a huff of surprise.

“They like you” you said, and he saw how your eyes sparkled as the night sky the resembled.

“Yeah?” He asked as he once again looked at it. It reminded him of a pet almost, somehow it seemed domesticated.

You nodded, before holding out your hand. “Do you trust me?” You asked.

He stared at your hand. And for a second he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of the two of you.

“I do” he said before taking it. What he didn’t expect was the wicked smirk that blossomed on your face as you stearnly said good before you pushed him so hard he fell backwards.

Sunghoon had just reached the lobby when he saw the scene unfold before him. Jay was never veiled to him, he had always made sure of that.

“Hey!” He yelled out to get your attention as a shadow all but ate Jay. You looked to Sunghoon and smiled kindly.

“I’ll take care of him” you reassured his best friend.

“I know you will” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest and sent you a wink.

You laughed loudly. “I’ll see you soon sweets” you said, making Sunghoon smile. Gods you were perfect for his best friend.

Then you jumped down the shadow you had pushed Jay through and followed him.

You were catapulted onto the grass of your royal garden. The two of you rolled over each other for a meter or two before you finally came to a still.

His arms were around you, and you were on top of him. Your head on his chest while you laughed with your whole chest.

“Oh that was fun!” You said as your breath finally returned to you.

“It was, does it typically catapult you onto the ground like this?” He asked curiously as he tried not to breathe, afraid it might spook you and send you flying off of him.

Instead he was surpriced to almost feel you cuddle closer to him.

“it depends” you said and lifted your head to look at him. “They take care of me, so they usually make sure I get a safe landing”

He saw the hair that dangled over your face, blocking him for looking you directly in your eyes. He felt his hand twitch at the need he suddenly felt of tucking it behind your ear.

The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds. The silence wasn’t awkward but comfortable. It felt safe being there with him.

A shadow crept up and tucked that damn strand of hair out of your eyes. And it was as if it reminded you that the two of you could be spotted by anyone in your castle and surrounding gardens, which made you recoil from him faster than he could blink.

“Here let me help you” you said with flushed cheek as you held your hand out to him.

Jay took it with hesitation and as he finally stood he gave your hand a small squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing me home” he said with a somewhat shy smile.

“Give me your phone” you said and he instantly obliged.

“There” you said after putting your number in. “Call me or text me or something if you need me to pick you up”

He smiled. “I might need to pay you for this very effective taxi service”

It made you chuckle. “Yeah? Maybe you should pay me back by making me dinner. I hear you are quite the chef” you sent a wink his way and he laughed.

“It’s a date” he said as he took a few steps closer to the giant wall of grey mist and clouds that lay in the east of the Night castles royal gardens.

“Nonetheless, I’ll let you know when I’m coming back” to you. He wanted to add, but he didn’t.

“See you soon princeling”

And as Jay almost stepped through the border, he felt a tug on one of his heartstrings. This time stronger than he had ever felt, and as he looked back at you he heard you gasp.

“I-it’s made of glass?!” He saw you point to something behind him and his heart shot to his throat.

“I… what?” He stuttered, not able to say anything more than that. His mouth was drier than the red dessert of the Fire Kingdom, but his hands were however clammy and wet all of the sudden.

He saw how you shook your head, closing your eyes, as if they were deceiving you. And when you opened them he saw your smile drop, and with your smile so dropped his heart.

“I-I could’ve sworn…” You said with a small voice.

Gods he would give everything to stay with you, to pull you close and tell you that you in fact were right. His castle was made of glass, he was in fact yours just as you were his.

But for some reason he didn’t. As much as he yearned for you, he did also respect the man he had called brother, and he needed help to navigate this mess. He might be 222 but when your parents were a little over 1100 years old, well you would be an idiot to not seek their counsel when you felt like you were in over your head.

You sighed. “Never mind” the sadness and dissapointment that had just been so prominent on your features were quickly substituted by a mask of kind eyes and a polite smile. What a true born queen you were.

“See you soon” He said before walking into his kingdom.

Hurry back to me. he heard you speak into his mind.

Always.

And just like that he was gone.

You dropped the mask and buried your head in your hands.

“Well isn’t this interesting?” A deep voice echoed behind you.

——

You groaned.

“Hello father” You said as you spun around. He was leaning against a tree nearby, hidden in it’s shadow.

“Seems like the two of us have a lot of catching up to do”

You chuckled. “That’s not why I’m here” You said as you walked towards him.

He pushed himself off the trunk of the tree and fell into step beside you. “Then why are you here my sweet daughter?” He asked with a smirk. Gods he looked like Jake when he did that.

“I’m here to pick up a tiara from the vault” you said without even missing a beat. It wasn’t really a lie, you could use one for the Autumn ball next week.

Your father only lifted a brow. “Well let’s see what we have then. While we search for the right one you might as well tell me why you’re giving the heir of the Afterlife a ride home”

___

Jay was thankful for the long walk back to the castle. He enjoyed walking through the small villages that the spirits built around the castle. He enjoyed the flowers they grew in their gardens and the music that played from the open windows whenever the sun was out.

The magics all lowered their heads in respect, nobel as well as commoner.

He spotted his mother sitting on a porch swing with a friend of hers. Her hair hid her face.

“Hello mother” he said as he stood on the other side of the fence, sending a polite smile to the pair.

“Oh sweetheart!” She stood quickly and rushed towards him, he embraced her.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” she grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them together.

He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t exactly planned - I need some guidance” he looked to the woman behind his mother that had stayed seated. She sent him an awkward smile.

His mother sighed. “Well we’re definitely here to help”

Instead of walking with him back to the palace, his mother sat down next to her friend. “I don’t really know if this is the right place,” he said with furrowed brows.

“Anything you say to me, you can say to her. She’s wiser than she looks, plus I would most likely end up telling her anyways” the pair laughed together.

Jay could do nothing but sigh. “I found my mate”

The spirit rose to her feet faster than he could have anticipated. She was in front of him in a second, her somewhat translucent eyes scanning his features.

“You finally found each other” she whispered. He saw the tears well in her eyes, it was the second time he had ever seen a spirit cry.

He nodded carefully as he once again looked at his mother. She too was crying, happy tears it seemed.

“Yes we did. I’m so sorry miss but I would really prefer not to have you apart of this conversation”

She let out a laugh, it was loud, genuine. Happy.

“Oh I’m so sorry, but there’s no way in hell I’m missing this” she said with a smile.

“Why?” he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Her smile widened.

“Because, I’m her mother and I would like to know every detail”

—-

⁺ taglist: @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @flawlessapollo6 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @azzy02 @zaycie @buggub

——

⁺ please let me know what you think! Support and feedback is literally the only thing that keeps me writing 😅

[arrowfleur]

Redacted moments that live with me 24/7

Mixed emotions addition

Aviors confession that he brought Starlight into the hellscape

Waiting for the inversion videos to drop

Sweetheart giving Milo literal head In the car (now fucking sleep aids get banned 😔 we didn’t realise how good we had it)

Gavins, ‘oh, oh’

‘Scratch it with me’

Kody literally sacrificing people to the shades ?!?!!

Darlin’ pausing the game the millisecond Asher mentioned the name ‘Gabe’

Vincent talking to stranger in the queue

When we got all of those non-canon damn squad BA’s and each of them lost control of their magic

When Milo finally shifted again

‘Drive safe’

Did I mention ‘scratch it with me’ ?

Asher talking about his ‘pack of friends’

Lasko seeking out the fucking 7/11 Gavin was working at 😭😭

The great purge of September 22, rip 🕊️

Imp!Vega explaining to pet what to do if the plan doesn’t work. To tell everyone he’d forced them to be with him

‘SCRATCH IT WITH ME?’ ARE YOU INSANE ?

Vincent being actually cracked at the start of his playlist. Why are you in my house? 🧍🏼‍♀️

Sam giving Darlin’ a key as soon as he realised they’d been waiting outside of his house

Morgan making breakfast

The Aaron & Elliot brother theory confirmation

Sam booping Darlin’s nose

Adam hiding lovely in the most traumatising place for Vincent to find them

Huxley breaking down because Xavier’s parents couldn’t welcome him back home

Blake and Besties make out sesh

Finding out that vampires and shifters have a history of hating each other

‘You feel like sunlight’

Milo’s dress sock rant

……….scratch it with me?

[cumikering]

Rugby Gaz x reader 3

2.4k | fluff You should stop making Kyle smile so much (part 1) (part 4)

For Kyle’s match that Wednesday, you dressed for comfort in t-shirt and jeans, donning the university’s baseball cap. Under the late afternoon sun, it was warm enough for a light jacket to suffice.

Attendees filled the grandstands as chatter built up. As you stood in the queue, your classmates waved at you from the upper rows. You didn’t know them too well, but you made a mental note to sit with them as you waved back.

However, when one of the organisers took a look at your ticket, she directed you to the first two rows of the grandstands. “Take any of the red seats,” she said with a smile.

You wedged yourself in an empty seat between the spectators dressed in your university’s colour, some of them even wearing the team’s jersey. It didn’t take long before the players marched out of the locker rooms to line up for kick off. The crowd went wild, jumping to their feet as the whole side of the pitch united in an energetic chant.

Kyle scanned the crowd and lit up when his eyes met yours. You waved back as your heart flipped looking at his perfect smile. Somewhere behind you, a girl shrieked “Mactavish, marry me!” making you laugh.

Despite not knowing much about rugby, you were pleasantly surprised by how much fun you had. The atmosphere was electric, the air thick with camaraderie from cheering for the same team, albeit with total strangers. The match was action packed – the back and forth and powerful tackles were a spectacle.

While Kyle was swift yet effortless as he commanded his men, you thought maybe you saw why he was highly respected. The few times he had the chance, he’d smile at you.

The air grew tense as the clock ticked away. Both teams had fought to a stalemate. The opponent was leading by 5 points, and neither team had been successful in their attacks for the majority of the second half. The cheering had quietened down as spectators grew restless as it inched closer to full-time.

When your team scored a last-minute try, it was as if the side of the pitch let out a sigh of relief before it roused again. You joined in on the swelling chant as the men prepared for the conversion kick.

The chosen player placed the ball on the ground and took a few steps back. He rested his hands on his hips, gazing ahead at the posts. His eyes dropped back to the ball, swallowing before he marched forward for the kick. The pitch dropped still for a moment before the cheers boomed as the ball flew between the posts, securing the team the close win.

Everyone cheered at the final whistle. The neighbouring attendees high fived you, making you laugh. On the pitch, players from both teams lined up to shake hands as a display of respect before dispersing into the locker rooms.

Before Kyle did, he turned to wave at you. Your stomach should stop flipping so often at that smile.

After the debrief by his coach, Gaz sprinted to the shower. He didn’t want to make you wait any longer (mostly because he couldn’t wait to see you). Sure, you texted every day, but having seen you last for your date four days ago, of course he was allowed to miss you this much, right?

He walked into the locker room with his hair dripping and a towel around his hips to his teammates still in their kit loitering around.

“Oi Gaz, what’s the rush?” Soap asked. “You’re joining dinner, right?”

“No, not tonight.”

“You know she can come with, yeah?”

He turned to his locker to dress up, hic cheeks heating up.

“You don’t have to be shy. We’ve seen youse,” someone quipped, someone who was sitting next to the grinning Saybastian.

While Gaz was eager to take you, you’d only known each other for weeks. He didn’t want to scare you, or put you on the spot by displaying what this was too fast. He had to know you were comfortable and on the same page with him.

“You never use your extra ticket privileges unless your parents are visiting,” someone else added.

Gaz turned to the speaker as he towel-dried his hair, narrowing his eyes. “How did you even know that?”

“Hard to miss the heart eyes. Soap also said you gave her a box of your favourite granola bars.”

“Oi!” Johnny smacked the lad upside the head, earning a laugh from the room.

Gaz chuckled as he shook his head. He pulled his jacket on and tossed the wet towel into the hamper on his way out. “See you boys Friday.”

The buzzing crowd had thinned when he met you in front of the pitch. Stray hair had wiggled its way under your baseball cap. You looked good in it, but how silly was it that pride filled him knowing you wore it for him?

“Thank you for making it. I hope you had a good time.” He smiled, slipping his hands in his pockets as he led the way to a nearby burger joint.

He glanced at your hand, and at the people still roaming. How true was it, that the team had seen you with him? He’d been… polite on campus to not overstep your boundaries.

“I did!” you exclaimed. “I can’t believe I never went before. I mean there were times I didn’t understand why the play stopped, but yes, I had so much fun. Some of those tackles were intense.”

“If you ever want to know more, you’re welcome to join our practice drills. Totally beginner friendly.”

You lit up. “Is that a thing, for all students? I know a friend who’d be interested.”

“Well, no, not for everyone.” Just you. He averted his gaze, cupping the back of his neck. “But if you’re interested, I can teach you the basics.”

When he looked up, you wore a teasing smile.

“Why, is it also illegal to know so little about rugby?”

He laughed. Could a man not whip up an excuse to see you one extra time?

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun, but promise to go easy on me!”

He glanced at your lips, always so sweet and inviting. “I promise.”

When you made it across the campus, he finally took your hand, squealing internally.

“Took you long enough.”

He turned to you with a raised brow.

“Thought you weren’t going to hold my hand.”

“No, no, I wanted to. But I didn’t know what you feel about that,” he trailed. “You know, with people you might know on campus.”

You shrugged, a playful smile on your pretty face. “I think you should just do it if you want to.”

He would never get tired of the way you teased him. The need to kiss you strangled him further, so he laughed, pressing his lips onto your knuckles.

Over dinner, you asked him about the match, and he did his best to explain the play. As you had dessert, he dragged his chair next to yours and pulled up rugby videos on his phone. He extended his arm behind your backrest and you scooted closer to him without missing a beat. With your eyes glues to the screen, he smiled to himself. Being close to you always felt so good.

Outside the joint, he pulled his jacket back on.

“Thanks for tonight, Kyle.”

“It was my pleasure.” He smiled, taking your hand in his. “Come on, let’s get you home now.”

You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “You don’t have to walk me.”

“I want to.”

“You just had a match, and look at what time it is.”

“Love, I don’t mean to be patronising, but I know what it’s like to walk alone at night.” He averted his gaze. “And you said you’re saving on bus fare. It’s just… I like knowing you’re safe.”

“That’s terribly kind of you, but I feel bad if you have to send me home each time. Like a chore of some sort.”

“It’s not to me. Never.” His gaze snapped to yours. “Would it make you feel better if I meet you near yours instead?”

“That’s unfair for you then.”

“It’s not. And you’re getting a new bike, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, that’s settled then.” He gave you a pat on the head. “Now let me walk you.”

You laughed, following his steps. “How do you keep getting what you want? Must be those gorgeous brown eyes.”

It was his turn to laugh. He scanned your face - that easy smile on your soft lips, the way your eyes lit up - memorising the sight of the person he didn’t want to part with.

He planted a small kiss on your temple, making you squeeze his hand with a grin.

The following week, you joined Gaz’s practice because it finally didn’t clash with your schedule.

His team whooped as he strutted onto the pitch with you that afternoon. He might or might not have announced your participation out of excitement in the group chat two days prior.

He had a smile on, smugger than he was willing to admit. Come on, who wouldn’t be smug having your hand in theirs? Look at you so sweet in your baggy shirt and leggings, the sun illuminating the stray hair around your face. You had no idea how happy you made him, did you?

He plopped your bag and his down on one of the benches before doing dynamic stretches which you followed. He led you to jog two laps before grabbing a ball from the pile.

“Okay, first lesson is passing,” he said, his hands on either side of the ball at chest height. “This is the ideal position to catch, so when you pass, aim for the chest.” He took a few steps back. “Spread your fingers, so they don’t block the ball.”

You nodded, getting ready before he threw the ball. You caught it, and the delight on your face made him smile.

“When you pass, keep your elbows tucked,” he said holding a pretend-ball while twisting his body to the side for momentum. “Only let go when your arms are almost fully extended. And remember, no forward pass.”

Your first throw almost immediately landed on the ground and you apologised profusely. With an easy smile, he reassured you it was fine as he took the ball and got back into position. The back and forth didn’t go on for too long before you improved your technique. Your shoulder and hips have opened up, allowing full range of motion and more precise passes.

“Next on the list is tackling, but I’ll need help to demonstrate,” he said to you before calling out for Soap who was leading practice.

“I never got to ask, why the nickname?”

“I’ll let him explain.” Gaz shot you a teasing smile.

Johnny jogged over, giving you his signature toothy grin and a nod.

“Hey, she wants to know why you’re called Soap.”

He squinted at Gaz. “Ye called me just fer this?”

“No, he needs your help to show me how to tackle.” You chuckled. “But since you’re here I thought I’d ask, if you don’t mind.”

His mouth twisted, as if contemplating if he wanted to tell before giving in. “In chemistry class, I had to make soap from scratch. It was ma first week on the team and I wanted tae be helpful so I brought it for everyone to use.” He sighed and deadpanned, “It wouldn’t wash off.”

You tried to not laugh, but couldn’t contain yourself when Gaz chuckled, like he always did. “You meant well,” you reassured.

“In the next class, I used less surfactants an’ got the right pH, but figured I’d spare m’self the trouble.” He shrugged. “But the name’s grown on me anyway.”

He clapped the Scot’s shoulder, passing him the ball. “Legend has it, no one can’t get a hold of this slippery bastard. He’s really good at dodging tackles.”

“I’ll show you.” Johnny jogged a few metres off to the side, holding the ball as he braced for the tackle.

Gaz bent down at the hips, his arms stretched in front of him. “Keep yourself low, this is the point of contact,” he said, pointing at his right shoulder. “Aim for their hips. That’s the safest way.”

You nodded and he charged at Soap, who sure enough, dodged his tackle with minimum effort.

“Oi, for real now! Don’t embarrass me,” he complained, earning him a hearty laugh from the vice-captain.

They restarted and Johnny thudded onto the soft grass before holding the ball out to his side.

Gaz got up to his feet before giving Soap a hand. “Always fall with the tackler. Don’t resist or hold yourself up, because that’s how you get injured. Want us to go again or do you want to try?”

“I think I’d like to try now.”

“Alrite. Gizza shout if you need me,” Soap said, jogging back to the group.

“Tackling is easier, so you try that first and I can help control the fall.”

He positioned your arms around him as he gave you directions. You were great at following instructions, taking no time at all to learn. You looked so proud of yourself tackling him repeatedly while he tried to not show how much he enjoyed the proximity.

He didn’t miss the amused looks from the rest of the team. Maybe that’s what they meant with the heart eyes.

You joined the lads for the remainder of the drill. They were welcoming, joking around and giving you pointers. While he and the team proceeded to the practice match, you waited for him on the bench.

He’d look over to check up on you. How silly was he to wish that this was a constant with you?

When he made the accidental eye contact when you were looking up from your assignment, you’d smile. He, though, would look away because you weren’t supposed to catch him stealing glances??

Gaz was screwed. But he wondered if you had the same problem, and if your friends could see it too.

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @wannabhere @eve-lie @little-mini-me-world

@rayes-of-sunshine @readabitchtofilth @queensarchive @wermoewe @winnieb00

@the-sweet-hibiscus @rowanyaboats

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can I get some dubcon ball sucking with a fem reader and a large monster? For the monster I'll let you choose BUT it has to be one you haven't written about yet.

Kabr0z Writes episode 74: Loxodon Warhammer

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: fellatio; dubcon; size difference; alcohol use; intox; anal sex

A/N: Writer's block has been absolutely kicking my ass today, so please enjoy the easiest thing close to the top of the requests queue :D I'm just happy I thought of a loxodon as a potential creature that meets both requirements!

#####################################

Fun fact: elephants have prehensile penises. You discovered this the fun way.

It started as all good nights do: in a smoky nightclub, populated by all sorts of human variants. They wouldn't normally let a baseliner like yourself in, but you knew the bouncer so as long as you didn't get weird with any of the patrons you'd be allowed. Too many issues with so-called monsterfuckers being pushy and putting people off. Just because someone has fur, a wolf head, and hardware to match, doesn't mean they're always down to fuck. So, places like this started up for variants to meet and spend their money on overpriced lager and cocktails. You weren't the only baseliner in the place, sure, but you wouldn't get in without someone vouching for you, be that a guest or a member of staff.

Now, you weren't allowed to hit on anyone, but that didn't mean you weren't allowed to be hit on. Plenty of variants start a night looking to avoid baseliners, but get enough drinks in anyone and they'll start looking to get lucky. As you stood at the bar, short skirt strategically rumpled at the back to give a good view of your pastel-pink thong as it separated your asscheeks, that's precisely what you were counting on.

You'd expected a lupine to make a move on you, maybe an equine, maybe even a felinid though they tend not to frequent places like this. What you hadn't expected was half a tonne of man in a tailored suit and the head of an elephant to step up behind you. Loxodons tend not to be party people, and it's not hard to see why. You're not small, about 5'8 and about 80kg, but this man dwarfed you in every respect. He must have been at least 8 or 9 foot, and was so broad two of you could stand abreast and still hide behind his immense bulk.

He offered you a drink, you accepted. Then another, and another. You got to talking. He was a postdoc from a few cities over, in your neck of the woods for a conference. It seems like it went well enough, he sure wasn't holding back on the drinks. Every fruity cocktail he bought you, he'd get two or three pints of beer, swigging them back with gusto. He was apparently a civil engineer with a speciality in bridge design, he'd been teaching classes for a few years including supervising a PhD student. He'd also been single for several years.

It finally got to kicking-out time: the early hours of the morning, after the band had packed up and left, long past the last train that would get you home safe, clinging to the sleeve of the massive elephant-man steering you towards his hotel. You remember him swiping his keycard to get in, then again in the lift to bring you both up to his room. The double bed was made, the sheets smelling of detergent as you fell onto it. He didn't bother moving your skirt, sliding the thong down your legs and past the six-inch heels on your feet. His trunk brushed your pussy, already wet with drunken anticipation. Your blouse was next, lifting over your spinning head, then your bra, deftly unfastened with one surprisingly nimble hand before being cast aside.

You lay there, barely able to move in your stupor. Feeling the soft sheets on your bare skin as he undressed himself. Two strong hands pulled your face up into his crotch. The musky skin of his ballsack smothered you. Every breath in bore the warm smell of his sweat. You opened your mouth, tasting him as he held you to him. You tried to pull away from him, but he wasn't done. You couldn't get a proper breath, every attempt filling your mouth and nose with the pliant skin pressed against you. Your hands slapped against his thigh. He pulled you away from him as you gasped for air. It was then you noticed it hanging above you, swaying slightly as it did. Your mouth hung open as he held you, transfixed by the huge, thick cock above you.

It curved down, the tip brushing your lips. You opened a little wider, allowing it to press between your lips, stretching your jaw open as he repositioned you. He was barely in you, but already at the back of your mouth, the flare at your tonsils. Your gags only spurred him on, massaging his tip with your mouth. Your eyes watered and he started grunting as precum leaked out, filling your mouth as his balls churned.

The cock popped out of your mouth, moving with a will of its own as it slathered precum and spit over your face, mingling with your tears and streaking your eyeliner down your face. He turned you around, bending you over the bed. One hand spread your asscheeks as his member pressed up against it, the end flexing against the tight hole as he applied his weight behind it, working himself in to you. You cried out into the sheets as he stretched your inexperienced asshole, the girth of it feeling as though he may tear you open. His hands were on your hips, shoving his immense length into you, pushing this way and that. Your hand was on your clit, numbly rubbing yourself, pushing through the pain in pursuit of your release. The sound of your fingers slopping over your wet cunt spurred him on, pushing harder as he picked up speed.

Your cries turned to moans as you gradually became accustomed to the aggressive fucking the loxodon was subjecting you to. You could feel your toes starting to curl as your ass rose up to meet him, even as he was already over a foot inside you. Your body shook around him, your breath catching and heart pounding as your moans turned back to screams of release.

The elephant behind you didn't last long with you crying and clenching. He roared as he rammed another six inches into you, making you cry out in surprise and pain. Cum started to flow from him, and didn't stop. Spurt after spurt, each one pumping two or three ounces of hot, sticky seed into your ass. You could feel it sloshing around, causing you to swell and bloat as over three litres of fluid was shot into you. You thought you could taste it, but maybe that's just your imagination.

He lifted you into his great arms before lying back onto the bed. He was soft, and warm, like a huge waterbed. His cock stayed in you for hours, shrinking so slowly after he fucked the energy out of you. You dozed off on top of him.

You woke without him in the morning, with an aching ass and a note on the pillow next to you. He had an early train, but left his phone number.

Just in case.

#######################################################

Well, this one took me all day, so the promised Sunday Spectacular ain't happening tonight. Maybe I'll start something tonight and finish it tomorrow, maybe not.

I'll catch up, don't worry

By the way, this is what a Loxodon looks like

[lvnleah]

NYE fix request for Lia wälti 💓- reader is flying to London from her home country after spending Xmas with her family and Lia spent hers in Switzerland as they have only been dating a few months. On NYE readers flight keeps getting delayed and Lia is convinced she isn’t going to make it but reader promises to not miss the first New Year’s Eve as a couple ……

racing against time | lia wälti.

The airport was chaos. You sat hunched over your phone at your gate, nervously watching the clock tick past 8:30 pm. Your flight, delayed twice already, had finally announced boarding, but it felt like time was taunting you. 

Your flight was supposed to leave at 2:30pm from Barcelona meaning you land in England at around 4pm, giving you plenty of time. However, the world seemed to be against you today. 

“You’re not going to make it, are you?” Lia asked as you stood in the line to board whilst on FaceTime to her. You could hear the disappointment in her tone, and it made your chest tighten.

“I will,” you insisted firmly, gripping the handle of your carry-on bag as you stood and joined the boarding queue. “I promised you, didn’t I? I’ll be there.”

Her sigh was faint but audible. “It’s already so late. Even if you land on time, the drive—”

“I’ll make it work,” you cut her off, determined. “I’ll see you before midnight, I swear. I love you, I’ll be there okay?”

“I hope so,” she sighed, “I love you too.”

You ended the call with one final reassurance before shoving your phone into your pocket and boarding the plane. The flight was uneventful, though you could barely sit still. Every glance at your watch made your stomach churn. By the time the wheels touched down at Heathrow, it was 11:05 pm sharp, and your heart was racing.

Grabbing your bag, you sprinted through the terminal, ignoring the curious looks from fellow passengers. You found the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in a stall. As fast as you could, you changed out of your wrinkled travel clothes into something Lia would appreciate—a sleek black dress you’d carefully packed at the top of your bag. You touched up your hair and applied a quick layer of makeup, the small mirror above the sink your only guide.

It was 11:20 by the time you stepped outside into the brisk London air. The taxi rank was mercifully empty, and you quickly flagged one down before giving them the address to Lia’s place where the party was being held. 

The car ride was a blur. You sat in the backseat with your phone clutched in one hand, the other holding a compact as you swiped on mascara and lipstick with trembling hands. The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “Big date, huh?” he asked with a small smile.

“Something like that,” you muttered, your mind already at Lia’s house.

When the car pulled up to the familiar driveway at 11:55 pm, you handed the driver cash without waiting for change and practically flew out of the car. The house was warmly lit, and you could hear muffled laughter and music inside. You hesitated only a moment before knocking on the door.

Lia opened it, her expression morphing from confusion to shock in a matter of seconds. “You—what? How are you—?”

“I told you I’d make it,” you said, stepping inside and shivering slightly as the warmth of the house enveloped you.

Your teammates were equally surprised to see you, their cheers and laughter echoing from the living room. But Lia stayed rooted to the spot, her wide eyes fixed on you as question after question spilled from her lips.

“You landed at eleven? How did you—? Did you even eat? Are you—”

You placed a hand gently on her arm, cutting her off. “Lia, I promised you I’d be here. That’s all that matters.”

Her mouth opened to say something else, but just then, the clock on the wall began to chime. Midnight. You didn’t hesitate. Stepping closer, you cupped her face in your hands and pressed your lips to hers, silencing her questions in the best way you knew how.

When you finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. The house erupted into cheers as your teammates caught sight of the moment, but you didn’t care. All you could see was Lia, her expression softening as she leaned into you.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered.

“Happy New Year,” she replied, her voice barely above a breath. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

[barkingatthemooninsteadofwriting]

First Lines

thank you for the tag @leavesthatarebrown!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!

when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed (you put me on and said I was your favorite) (79,394 words)

The Leaky Cauldron is loud as Remus queues up outside, the brick wall pulsing in time with the pounding bass playing within the club, and he can’t help but to grin as he flips the collar of his denim jacket up against his neck, bouncing on his toes a little in excitement. 

all along there was some invisible string (tying me to you) (WIP)

Remus can’t help but to be a little nervous for his and Sirius’ first official date. 

the benefits of panicked decision making (17,963 words)

“That’ll be eighteen fifty.” The man on the other side of the counter grunts and just sort of tosses his money down, coins bouncing off in every conceivable direction, scooping up his pack of cigarettes and lottery ticket before hustling out the door. 

the way to a man's heart is through the nipples (2,954 words)

Remus’ breath catches in his throat as they land on the bed, Sirius cradled between his thighs and licking into his mouth, kissing him deeply before he props himself up on his elbows and looks down at him, grey eyes burning.

don't look much like a lover (doesn't mean that i won't try) (WIP)

Sirius sighs when his GPS tells him to turn now, despite the fact that there's no driveway in sight, squinting through the darkness as he tries to find the break in the trees and cursing colorfully when he passes the turn off entirely. 

Bad Moon Rising (WIP)

Remus wakes on the ground, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around himself and the taste of blood on his tongue. 

how deep is your love? (9,850 words)

Sirius isn’t sure if he’s ever been so aroused in his life.

more than a feeling (5,219 words)

Remus sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, eyes dry and gritty as he blinks a few times before returning his attention to the transfiguration textbook in front of him, gnawing distractedly on the end of his quill.

just what i needed (4,875 words)

Sirius is a sweaty, disgusting, soaking wet mess by the time James finally calls it quits on Quidditch practice, and he hunches over the handle of his broom with a groan the second he hears the whistle blow, rain pouring down against his back. 

This might be cheating a bit, but I'm going to share the first line of a fic that I'm currently working on, currently unnamed, which is a lesbian wolfstar college-au:

“Remus! Hey, Remus!”

Remus looks up from where she’s fumbling with her keys and drops them completely, mouth going dry as Sirius Black skips up beside her, her shiny pink lips parted around a smile. 

no pressure tagging! and if you haven't been tagged and want to participate, consider this your invitation!

@slytheerin @thistlecatfics @madefortherain @em3eald @brandileigh2003 @rae-lune @raindragon-20 @sliebman10 @lavenderhaze @belovedcampfire

[kaiyunsim]

wildflower —

pairing : bf!woonhak x gn!reader

summary : you receive a text in the morning about a surprise date that woonhak planned, what really surprises you is that he brings you to a hidden patch of flowers

warnings : fluff, woonhak drives, woonhak is very clumsy but also so cute, wc : 2.2k

a/n : wrote this bc i ran into yung kai a while back :o his music is so beautiful omg. this was hiding in the drafts for a little too long

queueing : wildflower - yung kai, blue - yung kai, soft spot - keshi, i like u - niki, my heart it beats for you - grentperez

you wake up to a text from woonhak that just says: ‘dress cute? idk haha. also maybe bring snacks. :)’

you stare at the message, still half-asleep, but you smile a little. it’s very him. casual, chaotic, weirdly sweet. you throw on something comfortable, grab the snack bag you packed in case woonhak pulled something like this, and head downstairs just in time to see his car roll up.

he honks twice, then immediately looks like he regrets it. he’s sitting upright in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the wheel like it’s an exam he didn’t study for. when you open the door, he stiffens for a second, then flashes a quick, slightly too big smile.

“hi,” he says, barely above a whisper, and looks straight ahead like someone seeing their middle school crush stare back at them.

he’s not messy, just… extremely deliberate. like he practiced how to say hi on the way over but still managed to mess it up. you slide into the seat beside him. he swallows.

“you good?” you ask, buckling in.

“yeah, yeah,” he says too fast. “just… excited. or something.”

you catch him glancing at you again as he pulls out of the driveway, and then again at the next stoplight. his face is already pink. it’s cute, but also charming.

five minutes into the drive, he says, “that color looks really nice on you,” then immediately adds, “i mean, the hoodie. your hoodie. i just like the... color. yeah.”

you blink at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “you’re such a dork.”

he groans, thumping his forehead lightly against the wheel. “i’m trying, okay? flirting is not my strength.”

“it’s not,” you agree, laughing. “but it’s kinda cute.”

that earns you a quiet “shut up” under his breath, but he’s smiling, so you let it slide.

he fiddles with the AUX cord at the next red light, scrolling through his phone with exaggerated concentration. then, suddenly—

“welcome back to tire time. today we’re breaking down the anatomy of a V6 engine—”

“oh my god—” he groans as he fumbles so hard he almost drops the phone, groaning. “that was not supposed to— ugh— here.” he shoves the phone toward you like it’s on fire. “you pick. just… not car parts.”

you scroll and find his, ‘skrrr’ playlist, the one you both made together for long drives. songs with ‘windows down’ energy and ‘nothing too serious’ lyrics. the car fills with something familiar and warm, and you settle in.

“see?” you say. “this is already better.”

“you’re better,” he says before thinking, and then immediately makes a face like he wants to rewind time. “i didn’t mean like— wait. no. i did. but not— uh—”

you snort. “oh my god, again? you’re nervous at this point.”

“i’m not!” he insists, eyes glued to the road. “i just haven’t done… this before. the whole, like, surprise trip with someone i— uh... like. a lot.”

you glance over. he’s gripping the steering wheel like it might run away if he doesn’t.

“well, it’s cute and i appreciate it,” you say, softer now.

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for ten minutes. then he reaches into the bag wedged between the seats and pulls out your favorite snack, holding it out to you with both hands like it’s an offering.

“brought this for you,” he says. “well. for us. but mostly you.”

you take it, pretending to inspect it seriously. “hmm. this does improve the trip.”

“thank god,” he mutters, finally loosening up a little.

the drive stretches out into soft, golden morning light. the trees blur past, and the sky’s that barely-awake blue at around 6a.m. the music plays on low volume, and woonhak hums off-key to a song he only half-remembers.

you yawn, leaning against the window. you don’t mean to fall asleep, but the road feels endless, quiet, and safe.

when you start drifting off, woonhak sneaks a glance. just once. then again. he flushes, clears his throat, adjusts his grip on the wheel like it makes a difference. you shift slightly, and he stiffens, makes sure the road ahead is straight before reaching over to tug your seatbelt so it’s not caught under your arm. then he grips the wheel again, blinking hard to stay focused.

he doesn’t say it out loud, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth says everything:

he likes driving you places. he likes when you’re here, even when you’re not saying anything. maybe especially when you are’nt.

the car ride slows into silence as woonhak pulls off the road and onto a narrow dirt path, tires crunching under loose gravel. you glance around, rubbing your eyes, expecting a park or trail sign, but there’s nothing. just trees and grass and morning light folding softly through it all.

he parks beside a half-bent fence and turns off the engine. “we’re here,” he says, like it’s obvious.

you raise an eyebrow. “...where?”

he smiles, almost proud, then hops out and comes around to your side. “you’ll see.”

you follow him across the grass, slightly damp from dew. he walks ahead with an eager pace, too quick, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he doesn’t keep momentum. and then, of course, he trips over a root.

“wah!” he stumbles, arms flailing a bit before he regains balance, cheeks turning red. “i meant to do that.”

“uh huh,” you say, trying not to laugh.

“it’s dramatic effect,” he mumbles, brushing off his jeans. “like, boom. nature.”

but when you step around him, you stop. just beyond the uneven patch of trees is an open field. quiet, wide, and warm. the grass is tall and the sun’s low, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. a small patch of wildflowers dots the center like nature forgot to organize them. yellow, white, pale purple, a few strays in between.

you turn to him. he’s already watching you, smiling like he can’t help it.

“i found it by accident,” he says. “kinda cool, right?”

“it’s beautiful,” you breathe.

you wander into the flower patch without waiting, letting your fingers skim lightly over petals. up close, they’re even messier than they looked from afar, overgrown and mismatched and somehow perfect anyway.

you crouch down to look at one that’s half purple, half white, and when you glance back over your shoulder, woonhak is still watching. but not the flowers, you.

his expression is unreadable, not intense or overwhelming. just… soft. quiet. like he’s soaking the moment in and doesn’t want to disturb it.

you smile. “you’re not looking at the flowers.”

he blinks, caught. “what? i am. i totally am.”

you plop down in the grass, settling into a spot that feels just right. he follows, pulling the snack bag between you and popping something into his mouth immediately. he chews too loudly on purpose. “this is peak dating. snacks and pollen.”

you snort, tossing a gummy at him. it bounces off his hoodie. “you’re so dumb.”

“and yet, you’re here.”

funny conversations spark while you chat with him. he points out a bird that probably isn’t even rare, and you argue over whether a flower looks more like a cloud or a fried egg.

the breeze is gentle, enough to make the wildflowers sway in slow waves.

after a while, you pull out your phone. “take a photo of me?”

he perks up. “yeah, yeah! wait, let me make it look cool.”

you pose, half-silly, half-serious, and he crouches awkwardly to get a better angle. “okay… one, two— wait. your hair’s doing that thing. okay, three.”

the shutter clicks, and when you look over, woonhak is staring at the photo on his screen like he just uncovered treasure.

“what?” you ask.

he opens his mouth, then closes it again. then stares at the phone some more.

you crawl over to peek, and he tilts the screen. it’s a little blurry, but the lighting’s beautiful, your face lit up, eyes half-squinting from the sun. it’s candid and warm and very you.

he’s still looking at it when you say, “airdrop that to me.”

“right, yeah— totally... i was gonna— yeah.” he fumbles with the screen, accidentally turning on airplane mode before groaning and trying again.

you laugh. “you okay?”

“i just—” he rubs the back of his neck. “i’ve never had a photo of someone like that on my phone before. it’s like. really good. like too good. i don’t know what to do with it.”

you shrug. “just a picture.”

he hesitates, then glances toward the flowers, voice a little quieter. “you remind me of one of them.”

you look at him. “which one?”

he gestures vaguely toward the patch, no clear direction. “i dunno. just… one of them.”

you tilt your head, smiling. “what does that mean?”

he shakes his head, face pink. “nothing. just. you’ll get it eventually, maybe.”

you don’t, not yet at least. you just think it’s a sweet place he picked, a pretty field you’ll remember later.

he doesn’t say anything more. he just looks at you like whatever he meant is obvious. and maybe it is.

the drive home is quieter than the drive there.

no music, just the low hum of the engine and woonhak’s foot tapping nervously on the brake pedal every time the car idles. he’s staring straight ahead, chewing on his bottom lip like it’s a problem he can solve.

you peek at him as he finished parking by your house. “you okay?”

he clears his throat. “yeah. just. uh…” he swallows, then turns off the engine but doesn’t move. “…about the flower thing.”

you smile, soft and patient. “yeah?”

he glances over, then immediately looks back at the dashboard. “i— i saw this little white bloom when i came here last week. just one. it was growing kinda sideways. didn’t even know what it was called, but it caught my eye.”

you stay quiet, letting him take his time.

“i don’t know. the rest of the patch was, like, all colorful and big and… perfect,” he says, hands gesturing vaguely, “but that one wasn’t trying to stand out. it just… did. kinda like you do.”

your heart feels like it’s giving a small, surprised squeeze.

he sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “ugh, that sounded dumb.”

you reach for his hand across the console. he hesitates a beat, then lets your fingers lace with his. his hand is warm and slightly clammy, but he squeezes yours gently, like it grounds him.

“also,” he adds quickly, voice picking up speed, “i— uh— i checked with jaehyun hyung if this was, like, a good idea.”

you raise your eyebrows, amused. “you what?”

“he said flowers were cliché and kind of obvious, but that you’d probably like it anyway.” he groans. “he made fun of me. a lot.”

you laugh, not letting go of his hand. “he’s right about the cliché part.”

his face falls just a little.

“but i love it,” you say, and his eyes snap to yours.

relief hits him like a wave. his shoulders drop, mouth opening a little like he wants to say something and doesn’t know how to word it. instead, he leans back toward the rear seat, awkwardly reaching around, bumping his elbow in the process.

“wait, i forgot— i have one more thing.”

you watch as he pulls out a crumpled paper bag, opens it slowly, and reveals a small, slightly uneven bouquet. wildflowers again, some of them a bit messy from the day, others still bright and clashing in the best way.

“i made this. well, my hyungs helped,” he says, shyly. “we were guessing what you’d like. i picked the little ones. sungho hyung said the purple ones looked good. i dunno what any of them are called, but i liked how they looked together.”

you stare at the bouquet, something warm blooming in your chest.

“woonhak.”

he fidgets. “you don’t have to keep them or anything. i just thought… i don’t know. maybe they’d remind you of today.”

you hold them carefully, as if they might fall apart if you grip too hard. “you are— actually insane.”

his eyes go wide. “what? why?”

“insanely cute,” you say.

he opens his mouth to protest, but it fades into a sheepish smile. “oh. okay. that one’s allowed.”

you lean over, resting your head briefly against his shoulder. he freezes, then relaxes, letting your closeness settle.

no big declarations. no dramatic kiss in the dark. just his hand still holding yours, your fingers tracing the edge of the bouquet like you’re memorizing it.

after a while, you unbuckle your seatbelt, open the door. “walk me to the porch?”

“sure,” he says, voice small but appreciative.

you step out, flowers in hand. he walks beside you all the way to the steps, then stops.

you wave. “thanks for today.”

“you liked it?” he asks, not hiding the hope in his voice.

“i’ll remember it forever,” you say. and you mean it.

you step inside. woonhak waits by the curb, watching until the porch light clicks off. only then does he get back in the car, gripping the wheel with both hands, exhaling a long, quiet breath.

his phone buzzes in the cupholder. he taps it open. it’s that photo, the one he took earlier, sun catching your face, your expression half-squinting, half-glowing.

except now, it's in your shared album titled, "wildflower date ⛄🌼". he smiles at it for a long time.

and of course, you do too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

tysm for reading :>

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