#*crumples to a ball of dust*

[hakusins]

hyv: releases pink foxian male

my sleep deprives ass delulu ass: .... ERI!?!?!

[michaelgabrill]

Deformable Crumpled Nano-ball Coatings with Adaptable Adhesion and Mechanical Energy Absorption for Lunar Dust Mitigation

ESI24 Nam Quadchart SungWoo NamUniversity of California, Irvine Lunar dust may seem unimposing, but it presents a significant challenge for space missions. Its abrasive and jagged particles can damage equipment, clog devices, and even pose health risks to astronauts. This project addresses such issues by developing advanced coatings composed of crumpled nano-balls made from atomically thin […] from NASA https://ift.tt/U3Tl2Dg

[duuhrayliegh]

consequences

a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO

also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.

"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."

He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.

"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."

You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.

"I still can't believe he said that to you."

The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.

"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"

The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.

"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."

You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.

"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"

You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.

"Focus on me, Peanut."

Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.

Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.

You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.

“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”

Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.

“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.

"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."

This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.

"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."

You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.

"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."

There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.

"I call bullshit."

Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.

"Uh, yeah I can."

He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.

"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"

You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.

"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."

He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.

"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."

His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"

"But he--"

"Your husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."

"He didn--"

"Yes, he did."

Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.

"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."

Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.

"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."

You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.

What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--

"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we end up not working out?"

"What if we do?"

The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.

"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"

You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.

"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."

Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.

A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.

[spookyji]

OMGG SIZE KINK WITH SOOBIN GO BRRR

# soobin + free use

(nsfw + mdni, breeding, unprotected sex, slight size kink, free use) not my best but i‘m so tired so haters not welcome rn lol

god, there’s nothing more of a turn on to soobin than a flimsy nightgown,, waiting for him so cutely in the kitchen when he works late nights,, only for blood to rush south the moment he lays eyes on you. so cute,, delicate, small,, something so delicious about how easily he can ruin you. and it’s moments before his hands grasp at your curves, desperate with desire,, when he holds you down firmly against the kitchen counter, rustling of his clothes evident,, sorry, baby,, need you s’ much—

mmph— fuck… soobin groans, voice raspy with lust, fingers clenching your curves tightly as the tip of his aching cock pushes in your wet folds, warm, tight pussy sucking him slowly, god, it takes the last remnants of his patience to not fill you up in an instant, biting his lip desperately to remain in control as you whimper, so cute and small beneath him, clinging to the marble counter at the intrusion,,

a little painful, but so full ‘nd it feels inexplicably good. so perfect f’ me, his moans breathy, unable to look away from the sight of you, barely able to take him in all the way, tears glistening on your lashes as your eyes clench shut, so pretty and so small beneath him like this,, his hips meeting yours when he bottoms out, a red dust on soobin’s face as he tugs your flimsy nightgown up a little further,, after all, soobin can’t bear the thought of not being able to see the way your cute pussy takes him in so well when he’s fucking you, hmm?

god, soobin’s fucked, so lost to his pleasure, buried balls deep in your warm, wet walls, s’ pretty when you’re a mess made by him, big hand lifting your thigh up to angle deeper, nightgown crumpled ‘nd bunched up around your waist, sloppy thrusts filling you up so full, lewd, loud squelched of arousal with every messy thrust, echoing moans and whimpers against the tiles of the kitchen, so cute beneath him when you let him use you as he needs, soobin’s pretty cocksleeve. incoherent cries slipping from your lips, drool on your chin, sloppy, loud sounds of skin slapping against skin, panties ruined and pushed aside, fuck, soobin’s drinking in the sight,, ‘nd you’d look even prettier when you’re full of his cum,, but he’s so much bigger than you,, wonder if you can take all of it,,

and the way soobin whispers apologies through moans, sorry, baby, ‘m gonna breed you up, need to s’ bad, seconds before hot cum fills you full, warmth spreading through your weakened limbs, soobin’s hands holding you up as his cock twitches inside you, leaking thick, creamy seed. addicted to the way he pulls out, your cunt clenching around nothing as your smaller body tries to keep all his cream in, viscous white cum slipping out of your swollen folds,, and soobin’s not finished yet, easily picking you up ‘nd carrying you back to his bed, can’t let any go to waste, better fill you up until you’re all pretty and ruined and completely his.

[cherry-coffees]

Marriage of Convenience!Caitlyn x reader headcanons

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who does not want to get married - much less to someone she doesn’t know or have feelings for. so when Cassandra introduces you to her for the first time, all she knows is that you’re from some noble house in Noxus and she resents you. It’s not your fault, she knows, but it’s so much easier to have someone to blame for her unhappiness.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who watches Cassandra talk to your mother in silent rage, who watches you smile politely and just go along with this. this just makes her resent you even more because why are you so okay with it?

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who (very reluctantly) attends the ball in celebration of your engagement. no one know it’s arranged - everyone in Piltover thinks that a Piltovian and Noxian fell in love and oh how wonderful it is that these star-crossed lovers will bring peace and an alliance between the two regions! Caitlyn wants to scream the truth at them all until her lungs burn. but her mother would kill her, so she just stands there with a fake smile, blue gaze icy.

marriage of convenience!Caitlyn who eventually ducks out of the main ballroom and onto a secluded balcony, seeking some relief from the constant attention of the crowd, only to find that you’re already there. frustration runs through her veins, a scowl automatically gracing her sharp features because why can’t she just have a single moment alone? but her expression morphs into one of surprise when she takes in your posture: leaning against the balcony railing in your gown, your head low and your body almost crumpled — defeated.

Caitlyn can’t help but hesitate, straightening out her Commander uniform she had insisted upon wearing. She doesn’t know whether to intrude or leave you be. But, she supposes, you will be married soon. 

So she breaks the silence, stepping forward to lean on the railing beside you. “Why aren’t you in the ballroom?”

“Why aren’t you?” You counter, not bothering to meet her eyes. You stare ahead, looking out at all of Piltover all lit up at night. 

Caitlyn can’t stop the scoff that escapes her. “Too much attention for something I don’t want.”

You bob your head once, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Makes two of us.”

“Are you kidding?” Caitlyn’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing and turning her body to fully face you. “You seem to be quite content going along with everything your parents want.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhale, your breath coming out as a puff in the cold night air. Caitlyn notices this, gaze darting to the gooseflesh that prickles on your bare arms. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it. It’s better to go along and make the best of it. If I’m going to be married to you, I don’t want to hate each other.”

Caitlyn blinks, slightly taken aback. “I-“ she pauses, considering your words. “I don’t hate you.”

“Seems like it.”

“I don't,” she insists, and you finally turn your head so your eyes lock with hers. “Look-“ Caitlyn holds your gaze, a twinge of respect stirring within her. “If my parents had to marry me off to someone, I’m glad it’s you. I know we just met, but you’re very respectful, and you seem kind. I like that.” She hesitates again, eyes flicking down over your body for a split-second. “And you’re undeniably pretty.”

“Uh- thank you." You blink, wide-eyed at the unexpected compliment, a pink hue dusting your cheeks. You can't deny that being called pretty in that posh accent of hers makes you a little flustered. But you push past it, shaking your head to clear your mind and continuing. "You’re right: we don’t know each other. But since we’re getting married, I’d like to, if you’ll allow it.”

And for the first time since Cassandra broke the news to her about this marriage, Caitlyn lets herself give you a half-smile. “Yeah,” she nods, a hint of interest in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

I have loose plans to write a full fic of this so!!! Stay tuned and lmk if you have any ideas/things you'd like to see with this <333

Reminder that my asks are open!

[parfaitblogs]

roadkill ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a vacant home sits awaiting for spencer reid's return, and then he sits waiting for yours. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. cm s12 spoilers. post prison reid. most certainly not canonically accurate. in fact diana reid is nowhere to be seen. canon’s not real anyways i know him better than the cm writers. past non prison reid trauma mentioned. reader has hair long enough for a ponytail (?) word count: 2.6k a/n: happy parfaitblogs post prison spencer reid fanfic to a searows song to all that celebrate.

The air was uncomfortably still in apartment 23. Thick, coating every piece of furniture, as if it was some incredibly translucent fog. Everything had been moved, and yet nothing was different. Empty mugs sitting in his sink with a coffee stain that reached a centimetre from the top, shoes dispersed on the floor by the front door. He just might've gone crazy in prison, considering he was pretty sure he could spot the layer of dust on each and every surface. 

Your things mixed with his own. A blanket he doesn't remember ever purchasing in a crumpled ball on the couch, your laptop sitting awkwardly atop his own on his desk. But you weren't there. He could literally tell from the lack of movement happening in the space, and the fact that your bag wasn't situated anywhere his eyes could see. He also just knew you wouldn't be here. He hadn't spoken to you in three months, not even through words on a page. He was sure he'd not want to talk to you either, if the roles were reversed. 

He wants you here, regardless.

He doesn't like his apartment without you in it. It's dull, and he's too on edge to do anything about it. Letting the oppressive air suffocate him in his new position on the couch, veins still peeking through his cold skin even as his hands sweat from your blanket he had wrapped them in. It smelled of you, and it was the closest comfort he could find in an otherwise discomforting time. 

He wants you here. 

Dinner was a steaming plate of nothing. No food he could eat without being sick sitting in any of his cupboards, for his appetite had grown bland during his time in prison, and you were not a plain crackers eater. He misses your cooking dearly. He misses your rambling about the different spices you were trying out that evening. 

He wants you here. 

His shower was cold. Icy water to rinse the running sweat from his constantly uneasy state. No shampoo, despite how badly his curls needed to be treated nicely again. It was shampoo you had bought for him; shampoo you had lathered through his hair time and time again as you taught him how to take care of his curls to keep them pretty, as you had said. The smell now made him sick.

He wants you here.

His bed remained untouched. The indent of where your head lay in his pillows still there, sheets and duvet wrinkled from your no doubt hurried job at making it that morning. He refused to get into it. Instead, he curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, like a dog guarding the piece of furniture. His knees at his chest, arms around his legs. Positioned in a ball to keep him as small as possible, probably. Exhaustion never came, and his brain never silenced. He spent who knows how long staring at the doorway, out into his living room, thinking. Longing. Ruminating. 

He needs you here. 

Sunlight was peeking into his apartment through the blinds. Which he hadn't really noticed until he tore his eyes away from the medullary rays he was intensely studying, at the sound of his front door creaking open. He didn't say anything as he heard the familiar noise of your charm adorned bag rattling in the space. In fact, he almost smiled at it. He might've, if not for the aching hole in his chest. 

He had no idea if you knew he was coming home until he heard your breath hitch. You were still far away, standing by the back of his couch, your hand halfway through tugging your hair out of its ponytail. Frozen in time once you had spotted him, confirming that no. You had no idea Spencer Reid was coming home today. 

It was an awkward back and forth of breaths, and eye contact that he couldn't break even if he wanted to. You were real, and you were here, and even though you were staring at him with a heart shatteringly broken expression, he felt relief heat his glacial veins. You had not turned on your heel and sprinted away from him, and you were not screaming at him either. 

He watched your muscles relax and your brain seemingly sink back into your body as the initial shock wore off, your feet now carrying your body over to his position on the floor. 

He untangled his limbs before you reached him, grimacing at the ache in all his joints, ignoring the stickying feeling of the wound in his thigh reopening, blood coating his pants once more. 

You didn't ignore it. 

Nor did you say anything. Clocking the deep red stain on his otherwise white sweatpants, and disappearing into his ensuite to collect his first aid kit and a cloth. He couldn't count on his hands how many times you had stitched him up after he had come home from a case throughout all these years, the act awfully habitual by now. Yet, he was carefully watching your every move like it was the first time, responding to every signal you gave him to move or still. 

Delicate fingers that brushed against his thigh encouraged goosebumps onto his skin, his sweatpants now in a heap on the floor next to your two bodies. His legs stretched across your crossed ones, a quiet, "Sorry," being the first word you said to him, as he winced at the gauze pressing against the open wound. 

He murmured back an, "It's okay," while your hands wrapped a bandage around the limb, your heart rate increasing with fluster as you felt his gaze locked onto your face. 

You aren't sure what to say to him after you finish dressing the injury, and so you stand up, heading towards his closet to pull out a fresh pair of pants for him to wear instead. You weren't quite sure if he actually wanted to speak to you. For three months, you were convinced he didn't. 

He did want to be near you though, you learned. Trailing after you like a lost puppy as you moved through the motions of your post work routine silently. You didn't argue about it, even as he sat in the bathroom while you showered, or watched you intently as you boiled water in the kettle, and made a cup of tea for yourself and him. You didn't ask if he wanted one, and he was eternally grateful you had done it anyways. 

Two cups of tea sat domestically on the coffee table, a sight you had sorely missed throughout these past weeks. He was curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers entangled in messy curls and balancing your focus between his unsteady breathing, and the old cartoon you had put on for visual stimulation in the space. 

A conversation was needed to be had. One you most certainly did not want to have. You broke the silence to begin it, anyways.

"I wasn't allowed to go see you."

If not for the words themselves, then the cracking of your voice and the obvious heaviness of a sob lodged in your throat broke his heart even more. He had a lot of practice  recently in being quiet voluntarily, and yet he was truly at a loss for words right now. 

"I know," he decides on saying. "I kept you off the list."

"Why?"

The explanation felt incredibly meaningless now. It had at least made sense three months ago. And, worse than that, it was an unfair reason. He should not have decided for the both of you your limitations on seeing him based on insecurities.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," he admits, each word heavy on his tongue, for he could feel the way your fingers stilled in his hair, and he was sure your shoulders had just deflated. 

You swallow down your snarky defence, knowing it wasn't helpful or even worth it right now. Instead, you nod your head, silently, and take a few beats to decide how to respond to him. 

"I just wanted to see you," you whisper, eyes transfixed on the television screen, though your attention was anywhere but. "Just once, Spencer. JJ wouldn't even give me updates on how you were doing."

His throat bobs, and you look down at him, unsurprised to see his eyes studying your face already. 

"I know. I asked her not to. I didn't want you to worry any more than you already were."

You knew he wouldn't do well in prison. If not for how mind numbingly boring it would've been for a brain as active as his, then for how unsafe he would've been as a federal employee. Everyday, you feared the phone calls you received from any of his colleagues, waiting for the one to inform you of his death within those concrete walls. 

To know he was doing so bad he didn't even want you to know about it was quite possibly worse than any fear you had had the entire time he was in prison.

"I pretended to write to you," he informs you, quietly. "It kept me sane. Writing letters, even though you'd never receive them."

"Do you still have them?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay."

He hates how small you sound in your response. He hates himself for throwing away those letters. They may not have been the most pleasant, but they were an insight into his life during prison. One he was sure you were keenly interested in. Never mind the confessions of love he had jotted down. Daily. Reminding himself over and over what he was surviving for. Who he was surviving for. 

"I made a friend this week," he says. "I think he's a friend. He used to be in the Bureau too. We bonded over that and books. He got me my own cell, next to his. We've been playing chess. He's kept me being a federal employee quiet, and kept me safe."

The confusion that had originally swept across your face settled upon realising what he was doing, and your lips twitched upwards. Grateful once more for his eidetic memory.

"I read As You Like It today. I'm not sure if you've read it, or any of Shakespeare's works. I don't know how I've never asked that. I wish I had. I will if I get out of here. I think you'd like Rosalind. She's hilarious. She reminds me a bit of you. She has an entire monologue scolding someone because she doesn't love a man who loves her dearly, while simultaneously berating that man for being a shepherd."

"I read Romeo and Juliet in high school," you say, staring down at him, and his chest puffs in a small laugh. Your heart swells in your own. 

"I miss you everyday," your smile falls again at his words, as does his own, and you instead feel your stomach sink into the same inextinguishable black hole that permanently resided there. "I'll get out of here one day. Even if it's in twenty years. I selfishly hope you never move on if it takes that long. I'll be okay if you do. I love you."

"How many more do you have?" you ask him, fingers trailing down his face, tracing gentle patterns on the skin absentmindedly, for your mind was busy whirring about your first introduction to his time in prison.

"If I think hard enough, all of them," he answers. "It's hard to focus on much right now."

"That's okay," you say, chewing on your lower lip, staring at the two half drunk teas in front of you. "You don't have to tell me another one now."

He only nods his head, and you can only be silent from then on, unsure of what else to say to him that isn't a plead for what you had missed over three months of no contact. 

He encourages you to move to his bedroom after his body falls asleep on you once, before jolting awake after only a few seconds. You comply, and intertwined fingers drag him to the bed you had become exceedingly familiar with. 

He had never felt like a child in the present his whole life. Only ever when he looked back on the years before did he truly recognise he was young. Too young to have lost his dad. Too young to be solely responsible for his mother's health care. Too young to be battling a drug addiction. Every key moment in his life was a violent reminder of how fast he was forced to grow up. Simultaneously, he was unable to stop the time from passing. 

And yet, as you cradled his head in your hands against your chest in his bed, your heartbeat providing him a welcome comfort that you were alive and he was with you, he felt like a child. He felt too young, and, for the first time in his life, he did not feel intelligent enough to deal with any of this. 

He had caught a glimpse of his twelve year old self attending high school when he first arrived in prison. A small fish lost in an ocean of sharks. Here, he ponders whether or not that version of himself ever actually left his body, or if he was simply twelve years old and navigating this adult life fraudulently. 

"I don't know how to deal with this," he whispers into the air.

He despises the way your caressing hand stops. Though, he doesn't mention it. 

"Time, I guess," you murmur, chest rumbling against his head.

"I hate time."

"Yeah," you agree, quietly. "Time is the best healer, though."

"I hate that idiom."

"You suddenly hate a lot of things?" you ask, eyebrows shooting up. 

"Mm," he nods his head, and exhales a sharp breath of air. "Not you."

A quip manifests on your tongue, but you bite it down, unsure if he will actually comprehend your humour right now. "That's good. I don't hate you either." 

Silence settles over your bodies, though, unlike the air when he had entered the night before, it's much more pleasant. 

He breaks the quiet with a whisper. "Thank you for not being mad at me. I'm sorry I didn't let you come see me."

You want to say you're mad at him for the sake of the principle. It wasn't fair, and the way you had felt during those three months was neglected and uncared for. But then the man you had been upset with had come home, and you're very quickly learning his reasons for it all. Anger dissipates quickly when it comes to Spencer Reid, you've found. 

You also believe if you had seen him the way he is now, but without the ability to hold him the way you are, and a piece of glass separating your bodies, you'd probably be a lot less composed. 

"It's okay," you mumble. "Thank you for not making me see you like that."

He only nods his head as a response. 

He fell asleep sometime after your last comment, and you allowed yourself the time to finally look at him intensely.

His skin was bruised. Purple and yellow painting the skin all over, and you fought the urge to search for all the other marks all over his body. You were already blinking back tears; you weren't sure how much more you could handle. 

Quietly, as your hands drop from the contusions on his face to your sides, you whisper earnestly, "I love you too."

And as his breathing hitches for only a moment, you're sure he hears you, even while asleep. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[starksweasley]

Chase // Poly!Marauders

Summary: You steal something that belongs to your boyfriends and they chase you all around the castle

Word Count: 1575

It starts with a brilliant, impulsive mistake. You don’t even know why you did it—what possible logic possessed you to snatch the newly minted Marauder’s Map from James Potter’s nightstand and bolt. Perhaps it was Sirius egging you on with that mischievous smirk or the challenge written all over James’s face.

And now here you are, weaving through the crowded halls of Hogwarts, the stolen map crumpled and warm in your palm. Behind you, James’s shout echoes like thunder. “Come back here, you little thief! That’s my map!”

“You’re dead when I catch you!” Sirius’s bark of laughter follows close behind, and you can almost feel his fingers reaching for the back of your robes.

You’re laughing too, exhilaration buzzing through your veins. Students leap out of your way as you dash past, skirts and robes flying. You narrowly avoid colliding with a startled Lily Evans, who’s juggling a pile of what seem like abhorrently long essays.

“What are you doing?” she demands, her green eyes wide.

“Improving my cardio,” you toss over your shoulder, breathless.

“You’re insufferable!” Lily shouts after you, but her voice is obviously tinged with a smile.

Further down the corridor, Severus Snape’s sneer materializes in your peripheral vision. He steps deliberately into your path, wand in hand. You manage to dodge his attempt to trip you with a well-placed foot, but not without a cheeky “Nice try, Snivellus!” over your shoulder. The indignation on his face is almost worth the trouble you’re in.

“Move, Snape! Don’t touch my girl,” James bellows, darting past the greasy-haired Slytherin without a second glance, his protective tone cutting through the corridor like a whip.

Turning a sharp corner, you spot your other boyfriend—Remus Lupin. He’s walking toward you, arms full of books, his expression placid as though he’s entirely detached from the chaos that is your life. Without thinking, you launch the stolen map toward him. It lands squarely on the stack of books in his arms.

“Hold this!” you yell before sprinting past.

“What—?” Remus blinks down at the unexpected burden. Then, James and Sirius leap around the corner, wild-eyed and determined.

“Moony, give it here!” James demands, his hand outstretched, eyes blazing.

“What is going on?” Remus manages to ask just before Sirius barrels into him with all the grace of a wrecking ball. They tumble to the ground in a heap, books scattering in every direction as Sirius sprawls over him with a groan.

“Merlin’s beard, Padfoot, what the hell?” Remus splutters, trying to shove Sirius off him.

“Sorry, Moony, emergency!” Sirius grins down at him, entirely unbothered by their undignified pile on the floor.

James skids to a halt beside them, pointing an accusatory finger. “She nicked the map before we finished it! And she’s getting away!”

Remus blinks, realization dawning. “That little minx." He shifts his gaze to the hallway where you disappeared, a glint in his eye. "She’s cleverer than the two of you combined."

"Rude!" Sirius retorts, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "You’re supposed to be on our side, Moony. She’s making us look bad."

Remus snorts. "You don’t need her help for that, Padfoot."

“Exactly!” James exclaims, grabbing Sirius’s arm to haul him upright.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius adds, offering Remus a hand. “We’re not letting her get away with this.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Remus accepts the help, dusting himself off. “I should have known better than to walk peacefully through the castle with you lot running around. Lead the way, gentlemen.”

And just like that, all three boys are after you like a stampede.

You zigzag through the castle, laughter spilling from your lips. It’s a ridiculous, joyous game of cat and mouse. James nearly grabs your arm in the Charms corridor but trips over a trick step. Sirius is close enough to tug at the hem of your robes in the Great Hall, but you wriggle away. Even Remus, calm and methodical, cannot quite match your adrenaline-fueled determination to evade capture.

As you race through the library, Madam Pince’s shriek of “No running in here!” echoes behind you. You throw an apologetic wave over your shoulder, narrowly avoiding a stack of books teetering precariously near the Restricted Section.

Finally, the chase spills out onto the sun-drenched lawn. You’re panting, the blood rushing through your head turning your cheeks a bright pink. But it’s three against one, and you’re cornered. Sirius blocks your escape to the left, James is on your right, and Remus stands solidly between you and the castle.

“You have to surrender now," James pants, a victorious grin spreading across his face. "Face it, love, you’re no match for us three."

"Three brains and still no chance," you fire back, panting as your grin dares them to close the gap. "That’s just embarrassing for you lot."

You're clutching at a stitch in your side when James lunges, catching you around the waist. You shriek and flail, laughter bubbling uncontrollably. Before you know it, he’s hoisted you into the air.

“You’re going for a swim,” he announces with mock solemnity.

“Don’t you dare, James Potter!” you cry, still laughing.

But he dares. Oh, he dares. With a triumphant yell, he swings you toward the lake and lets go. The cold water swallows you whole, and when you surface, sputtering and gasping, the boys are doubled over in laughter on the shore.

“You lot are the worst!” you declare, dragging yourself toward the bank. Sirius crouches and offers a hand, but his grin is wide and unapologetic.

“Truce?” he asks.

You’re not above a little revenge. Grabbing his hand, you yank with all your strength, sending him sprawling into the lake beside you. His outraged squawk is music to your ears.

“You’re absolutely insane,” Remus remarks from the shore, though his lips twitch with a suppressed smile. "But I suppose that’s why we keep you around."

James is clutching his sides, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. "Merlin, you’re a menace," he manages between gasps, pointing at you like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all year. "And now Sirius smells like wet dog."

“Oi! Rude,” Sirius protests, slicking his wet hair back with both hands as he glares half-heartedly. "You’re next, Potter, so wipe that grin off your face."

“You wish," James retorts, stepping out of Sirius’s reach with exaggerated caution.

As Sirius resurfaces again, spluttering and cursing, you lean back in the water, wiping droplets from your eyes. "I’m the innocent victim here," you declare with mock indignation. "You three are clearly conspiring against me."

"Innocent, my foot," Remus says dryly, but there’s warmth in his voice as he kneels at the edge of the lake. "Come on, troublemaker. You’re going to catch a cold."

You eye his outstretched hand with suspicion. "Promise you won’t drop me back in?"

Remus chuckles. "Scout’s honor."

As you grab his hand and let him help you out, Sirius lunges forward with a wicked grin. "No one’s safe, Moony!"

And with that, he shoves you both back into the water, splashing James who's doubled over in fresh hysterics. Spluttering, you surface again, glaring daggers at Sirius. "You’re all really the worst!"

James, still laughing, finally steps into the lake with a theatrical groan. "Well, now I’m wet anyway. Might as well join in."

Before you can react, he’s diving in with a splash that soaks you further. The moment he surfaces, you pounce, clambering onto his shoulders with a triumphant giggle.

"That’s it! You’re doomed now, Prongs," you declare, wrapping your arms around his head in mock victory. He steadies himself under your weight, looking up slightly to glance up at you.

"Doomed, am I?" he chuckles. "Careful, Menace. You’re about one move away from being launched again."

You lean down, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of his head, catching wet strands of his hair against your lips. "This is for being the sweetest idiot I’ve ever met," you tease, ruffling his already messy hair.

James flushes, but his grin remains intact. "Sweetest idiot? That’s almost a compliment, love."

"Don’t let it go to your head," you reply, laughing as he spins around, causing water to spray everywhere.

From the shore, Remus shakes his head, calling out, "If you two keep this up, we’ll need to fish you out by sunset."

Sirius smirks, now lounging lazily at the water’s edge. "I’ll fetch the fishing pole, Moony. Let’s reel in our Menace and her besotted knight."

James rolls his eyes dramatically, hoisting you higher on his shoulders. "Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous they’re not as fun as us."

"You’re delusional, Prongs. They’re plotting your downfall right now."

Remus crosses his arms, his lips twitching with amusement. "Oh, she’s not wrong. If Sirius keeps scheming, you’re going to end up face-first in the lake tomorrow too."

"Don’t tempt me!" Sirius shouts, already pushing himself to his feet. "You know I can’t resist."

As he slowly steps into the water, James lets out a dramatic sigh. "Padfoot, I’m warning you. One wrong move, and you’ll regret it."

"Promises, promises," Sirius quips, wading closer. His grin widens, but before he can act, you splash him directly in the face, sending him stumbling back.

Laughter erupts from everyone, the sound carrying across the lake. You tilt your head back, smiling as James’s warm laugh rumbles beneath you. Moments like these, with your chaotic, wonderful boyfriends, make every stolen map and wild chase worth it.

[thesecondhandwoman]

LITTLE APOLOGIES

Kid Viktor x kid f!reader

Synopsis: You and Viktor, only little kids around the age of six, had gotten into another argument after Viktor had accidentally messed up your little trinket. Resulting in both of you throwing a tearful tantrum, your parents had to step in and force apologies.

Request: @sweetangle8

In the murky depths of Zaun’s undercity, where the pipes hissed and the metal gears clanked, a small, tense scene unfolded in the shadows of rusting machinery. Two little figures stood face-to-face, glaring at each other with furrowed brows, their tiny hands balled into fists. The air around them was thick with the tension of a disagreement, and the occasional sound of Viktor’s cane tapping the floor echoed down the alleyway.

“You—you broke it! It was my idea! You messed it all up!” You sobbed, your voice trembling as you pointed a little finger at him.

Viktor was nearly in tears, his lip quivering as he limped back a step, leaning heavily on his cane. “I—I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to help you—just… just trying to make it work!” His voice cracked with frustration, and his little face flushed as he fought back tears. “I was trying to make it better for you!”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I told you not to touch it! I said you couldn’t fix it, but you didn’t listen!” You stomped your foot, sending a cloud of dust into the air, but it only made you feel worse.

Your tiny heart was racing, and despite the anger you felt, all you wanted was for Viktor to stop looking so sad. But you were too upset to think about that right now.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and awkward, both of you too stubborn to speak, though the little sniffles and hiccups betrayed the softheartedness beneath the tension.

Just then, the familiar sound of footsteps came from behind the broken pieces of machinery, and you turned to see your parents, as well as Viktor’s father, emerging into the dim light. The sudden sight of them made your stomach twist with dread.

“Now, now,” Viktor’s father said with a sigh, adjusting his goggles and glancing at the two of you. “You two are going to work this out. Right now.”

You winced, your lip trembling. “But, but I’m mad at him!”

“I know,” your father said gently, kneeling to your level. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still apologize. You know that.”

Viktor’s father, looking just as tired, turned to his son. “Viktor, apologize to [Y/N].”

“B-but—” Viktor began to protest, his voice small and quivering, but his father cut him off with a look. He gulped, defeated.

The two of you stood there for a long moment, neither of you moving. Viktor shifted from foot to foot, his cane tapping nervously against the ground. He looked up at you with wide eyes, and you could see the hurt in his face.

“I’m… I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he whispered, his voice shaky, “I didn’t mean to mess up your thing. I—I thought it would work better, but I didn’t mean for you to get upset…” He bit his lip, looking down at his feet. His cheeks were flushed, his small body trembling a little, but he kept his eyes on you, waiting.

Your heart softened immediately, the anger you’d been holding onto evaporating like steam. You could feel the sting of tears building up again, but this time it was because of the hurt you saw in his eyes. He was just trying to help, even if it went wrong.

“I’m s-sorry too,” you choked out, your voice high-pitched and wobbly. “I… I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean to… make you cry,” you said, your lower lip trembling as you looked down at your shoes, not wanting to make eye contact. The guilt felt so big it nearly swallowed you whole.

Viktor’s lip quivered at your words, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over. “I-I didn’t want to make you upset. I wanted to help you! I just wanted to make it better…” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his little face crumpling as he took a few shaky steps forward. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice breaking.

The lump in your throat grew bigger, and before you could think, you found yourself stumbling into Viktor’s arms, hugging him tightly, your tiny body shaking with the sobs you couldn’t hold back. He froze for a moment, then hugged you back, his little hands trembling as he clung to you.

“I didn’t want us to fight,” you sniffled, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Viktor…”

“I didn’t either…” Viktor whispered, his voice muffled by your hair. He sniffled, feeling the warmth of your tiny body in his arms, and suddenly he didn’t feel so sad anymore.

The two of you cried for a moment, not just from the fight, but from the realization that you didn’t want to be upset with each other. In the quiet of your hug, the anger melted away, replaced by a bond that, even though fragile, felt stronger than before.

Finally, after a long moment, you both pulled away, wiping your noses and eyes. Viktor gave you a small, shy smile, his face still red but lighter. “I promise I won’t mess with your stuff again,” he said, his voice small but sincere.

“I promise I won’t yell at you for trying,” you said, your voice still a little wobbly but much softer than before.

As you both stood there, still feeling a little teary-eyed, your parents exchanged a glance before smiling softly. “Good,” Viktor’s father said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Now, let’s go to Vander’s bar. You both need a break.”

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the bar. Vander always had the best juice and snacks. Your stomach rumbled, and you realized you hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.

The walk to Vander’s bar was quiet, but you found yourselves side by side, walking a little closer than usual, your small hands nearly brushing. Viktor kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his face turning pink whenever he caught you looking back.

By the time you reached the bar, the other kids from the neighborhood were already there, running around and playing near the tables. The smell of fresh bread and sweet fruit juice filled the air, and you felt your heart flutter with excitement.

Viktor’s hand brushed yours, and he quickly pulled it back, embarrassed. But you smiled, and when you reached the bar, you both ended up sitting next to each other, sipping juice and nibbling on snacks.

“I’m… I’m glad we made up,” Viktor said shyly, looking down at his juice cup.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice softer than it had been all day.

Viktor smiled again, a little shyly, but it was enough. It was a small, sweet moment, and as you both laughed and shared stories with the other kids, you knew that you were starting to build something even more special than just friendship. A little crush, maybe. But for now, it was enough just to be together, side by side.

And for Viktor, in that moment, the world seemed just a little bit brighter when you were near.

[bakug0uzb1thc]

hey...uhh soo like I was thinking you could write a short thing like.. bakuogu and his girl are doing a school project and she says kat...I don't think this is gunna work for us.. i think we need to break up- sneezes, and bakugou thinks they are actually breaking up.. but the whole time she was talking about the project.. like..just somthing wholesome and a bit funny to me.. yk?

PLSSS i love this

Katsuki bakugou x reader

Misunderstanding

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

“Idontwannadoit.” Your grumbles muffled by the pillow you suffocate yourself with. You and katsuki were paired to do a tri-fold presentation about any hero of your choosing and with back and forth bickering you both landed on snipe.

You were grateful that you were paired with him but displeased that you even had to do it in the first place. “Get your ass up, I’m not doing this whole thing.” He said poking your butt to which you groan into his pillow before accepting defeat and getting up.

You had just trained that day with him but it seemed that you were the only one who was tried after sparing.

“I don’t get how you are always so on top of things, it bugs me.” You take a seat next to him looking over at the tri-fold laid out on the ground. “Tell me How you even got into UA again.” He laughed at himself as you gave him a nasty glare. “Whatever nerd.”

You reached over to one of the printed pieces of paper re-reading what it said making sure it was the right one, it was but you noticed something off.

There was no gaps where the sentences ended and it ruined the whole thing, you needed to re-type it in a different font completely aswell.

You sighed at the thought of having to re do it but you also could be saved if katsuki did it.

You started crumpling up the paper, feeling the flat paper turn into a crumpled ball. “Kats, I think we need to break up-“

The uncomfortable feeling of your nose scrunching and your allergies acting up interrupted you mid sentence and the next thing you knew you were met with a frantic katsuki.

“W-what, I was just joking i swear. Im sorry.” He was wide eyed and looked like he was about to beg like his life depended on it.

“Omg no, kat what?” You scooted over to him and tried to cover a laugh you knew was fucked up to even have. “I sneezed, i was going to say we need to break up the sentences because they didn’t space out.” You flicked his four head, “god you’re jumpy, you scared I’m gonna break up with you?”

He looked away with an embarrassed blush. “Awhhh katsukii.” You sat up on your knees and hugged his head, his Carmel sent Dusting your noes.

“Don’t scare me like that you wicked woman.” He hid his face in your chest, realizing he did actually fear you breaking up with him.

“You’re too cute katsu.” You kissed his head, leaving a slight lip stain but we don’t talk about it.

You never thought you would have to sidestep step your wording with him.

(A/n: this was far from short im so sorry 😭😭 )

[gumilvr]

˖ ֹ੭୧ stored kisses ⊹ ࣪ ⑅ — s. daichi

AUTHOR’S SCRIBBLES ! i have sm coming ohhhhh beware >:3

maybe it was the darkness soaking the room. or maybe the gut feeling that you shouldn’t be doing this.

“daichi…” you pulled away, breathless. the cause of it (other than the lack of oxygen), your boyfriend, huffed.

“relax. we still have ten minutes before they even start to get here” daichi’s smooth voice – despite his words – was low, quiet.

it’s not like your relationship was a secret. well, not after hinata almost fainted after seeing you two holding hands after class. and ran to others… to yell about it.

not secret, but private. that’s what you and daichi both preferred.

and you couldn’t complain: this small rush of adrenaline, like right now. making out in the cold storage room, with lights out. when he dragged you here and you leaned against a shelf, some balls fell down. you were cautious now, not wanting to–

“you’re thinking about it too much” he hummed and pulled you in back again, lips ghosting over yours.

“shut up” you whispered, hands traveling to rest on his shoulders.

“oh, i will” daichi grinned; you felt his smile imprinting on your lips. soon enough, he kissed you again. deeply, knocking air out of your lungs (not that there was much to begin with).

he liked the thrill but also, he always treated pre-training kisses as an energizer. sometimes it even worked too well, leaving him too buzzed because he couldn’t wait for more after the training.

you felt his hands sneaking around your hips, pulling you even closer to him. something rattled, probably a broom. a mere stick was barely on your mind, as you were too occupied by daichi’s tongue slipping between your lips. you moved your hands to tug at his hair and–

and a bright flash of light caused you to yank his locks harshly.

“MY EYES!”

your eyes shot wide open, meeting your boyfriend’s equally shocked brown orbs. and his pink dusted cheeks.

“what happened, hin– SWEET LORD!” tanaka screeched, peeking into the storage room.

you pulled away quickly, dusting off your crumpled shirt. both yours and daichi’s state left clear signals of what you were just doing. you really should get out of there but those goddamn idiots kept blocking the way out, acting as if you and daichi kissing was the most interesting event ever.

“that’s gross, get a room” tsukishima grunted and you were terrified to see basically the whole team at the door.

“we literally did” you bit back and let out a sigh of relief when you saw coach ukai. he whistled dramatically and shoved noya away.

“nothing to see here, boys. just your leader being a man. now go before y/n beats you all up” he laughed.

you looked at daichi, who was still collecting his composure. you leaned closer and fixed his hair (messed up by you, accidentally). the boys snickered but one cold look from daichi shut them up.

“have fun, baby” you whispered, not wanting to embarrass him even more. then, you cleared your throat and pecked his cheek. on your way out, you added: “see me after the training!”

asahi gasped, sugawaru just giggled.

“he’s so beating their asses today” coach ukai mumbled with a small smirk.

back to haikyuu mlist ! gumilvr copyright 2025 !

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Bullied x Reader (Chapter Two)

You’ve only got one of the thumbtacks in when you hear the voice.

“I knew it. You little shits think you’re funny?”

Wyatt freezes mid-laugh, one hand still inside the teacher’s desk drawer. The string of paper clips he's been threading together dangles uselessly from his fingers. You don’t even have to look—you know it’s Oliver. His voice is like gravel ground into bruised skin, and it sticks to your spine like cold sweat.

You turn.

He’s framed in the door like something out of a nightmare, arms crossed over his broad chest, his lip curled in disgust. There’s a reddish smear on his jaw—old blood, maybe. Or ketchup. Or both. It doesn’t matter. It feels like a warning.

Wyatt swallows hard, eyes darting to you.

You’d picked this classroom because it was supposed to be empty—Ms. Drew was at a conference, the janitor was always late, and it had the best angle for rigging the water cup over the doorframe. It was a classic prank. Dumb. Harmless.

But now Oliver’s here.

He steps into the room slowly, like he’s savoring it.

“So this is what you two do when you’re not blowing each other behind the gym.”

Wyatt stiffens. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

You feel it building—the silence stretching thin, the knot behind your ribs winding tighter. You step forward instinctively, like your body wants to shield Wyatt, like maybe if you say something quick enough, loud enough, funny enough, it’ll all dissolve.

But Oliver moves faster.

You don’t see the fist coming.

It’s not until your jaw explodes in white-hot fire and your legs give out under you that you realize he hit you.

Oliver hit you.

There’s a crack as your back slams against the desk, a dull thunk that echoes through the empty room, and then everything goes muffled—like your ears are full of cotton and the lights got too bright. You blink and see Wyatt’s face inches from yours, his hand on your arm, eyes wide and wet and wild.

“Hey,” he’s saying, his voice shaking, breaking. “Hey, hey, hey—look at me. Look at me, you're okay—right?”

You try to sit up, but your head is spinning. Your mouth tastes like blood and chalk dust.

And then you hear it.

Wyatt’s breathing shifts. Sharp. Hollow. The kind of sound you’ve only heard once before—when Oliver cornered him behind the gym last fall, and Wyatt didn’t fight back, just stood there trembling, hands balled into fists he never used.

But now—

Now he moves.

Wyatt stands. Slowly.

Oliver’s laughing. “Oh, what? You gonna cry about it?”

But Wyatt doesn’t say anything.

He picks up something from the teacher’s desk. You don’t see what it is until he’s already crossing the room.

It’s the heavy brass apple paperweight—the one Ms. Drew always complains about but never throws out because it was a gift from her dead husband.

Oliver doesn’t see it coming.

Wyatt hits him once. Then again. Then again.

And then everything goes red.

You scream his name.

Wyatt doesn’t stop.

The third hit lands with a wet sound that makes your stomach twist. Oliver’s body crumples like a dropped puppet, his limbs splayed, a smear of blood on the white tile. His eyes are open but unfocused. There's something wrong with the way his head is tilted, like his neck is loose, unhinged.

Wyatt stands over him, panting, black hair falling into his eyes. There’s blood on his hands. On his shirt. On his cheek. He looks like he’s waking up from a dream—or falling into one.

He turns to you.

And in that moment, something in his face fractures. Not fear. Not regret.

Something else.

He drops the paperweight.

The sound of it hitting the ground is deafening.

You push yourself up on shaking elbows, your cheek throbbing, your vision swimming. You stare at Oliver’s body, then at Wyatt. Your chest won’t stop heaving.

“Wyatt,” you whisper.

His voice is hoarse. “He hit you.”

You don’t know what to say.

“I saw him hit you.” He says it again, like he needs you to understand. Like maybe if he says it enough, it’ll make it okay. “He hit you.”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

-------

You taste copper and dust. Your lip’s split; every breath rattles. You don’t think—your body moves before your mind can catch up. You scramble to your knees, fingers numb as they close around the blood-slicked brass apple. You don’t know why. Maybe because it feels like an anchor. Maybe because it's better than looking at what Wyatt did.

What you let happen.

Wyatt doesn’t stop staring at Oliver, his hands dangling at his sides, fingertips trembling. He looks like he’s going to say something else, something terrible, but nothing comes out. You see the moment he realizes—really realizes—what he’s done. His face folds in on itself like wet paper. He staggers back a step. Then another. Then his back hits the wall, and he sinks to the floor with a choked sound like he’s trying not to cry or vomit or both.

You’re both in shock, but someone has to move.

Someone has to fix this.

Your fingers close around Wyatt’s wrist. “Come on.”

He doesn’t budge.

You grip tighter. “Wyatt, we have to go. Now.”

Something in your voice must reach him—he blinks, like surfacing, and lets you pull him up. He stumbles after you, wide-eyed and silent, leaving red fingerprints smeared across the doorframe as you drag him down the hall.

The school’s dead quiet. The late bell hasn’t rung yet. There’s still time. You move fast, backtracking toward the French classroom, to the staff bathroom right next to it—the one with the flickering light and always-locked supply cabinet. No one ever goes in there.

You shoulder the door open and yank him in after you, locking it behind you with fingers that barely work.

Wyatt’s still shaking. He hasn’t said a word.

You drop the paperweight into the sink and turn on the faucet. The sound of the water gurgling down the pipes fills the room, a thin, awful static.

He flinches when you grab his hand, but doesn’t stop you. You hold his wrist steady as you start scrubbing the blood away. His skin is warm. Too warm. His breaths come in tight, short gasps.

“He’s not dead,” Wyatt says, so quietly you almost miss it.

You glance at him. His eyes are glued to the mirror, but he’s not really looking. Just... watching himself fall apart.

“He’s not dead,” he says again, but this time it sounds like a question.

You don’t answer.

You scrub harder.

The blood doesn’t come off easy—it's already drying, dark at the edges. It’s under his nails, in the cracks of his knuckles. You use paper towels and hand soap and whatever you can find. Wyatt’s shoulders shake. You think he’s crying, but he’s silent.

“You didn’t mean to,” you say. “You were protecting me.”

His head jerks toward you, and for the first time, you see something raw in his expression—more than fear. More than guilt.

Devotion.

“You believe that?” he asks, voice cracking.

You pause. The air between you feels electric. Too heavy.

And the truth is, you don’t know what you believe.

But you nod.

Because maybe if you say it enough, you’ll believe it, too.

There’s a knock at the door.

Both of you freeze.

Then a voice: “Someone in there?”

It’s a teacher. Mr. Carson. He always takes the back stairwell from the teachers’ lounge around this time.

You mouth quiet and Wyatt holds his breath.

The door rattles.

You hold Wyatt’s hand so tight you feel your own pulse in his bones.

Then footsteps retreat. Fading. Gone.

You don’t breathe again until the silence returns.

Wyatt sinks down onto the grimy floor, knees drawn to his chest. You join him. Neither of you speak.

Minutes pass.

And then he says, “We can’t go back.”

You look at him. “What?”

“Back to before. To how it was.” His voice is flat now, all the emotion scrubbed out. “I saw him hit you. And I—I did what I had to do.”

You want to say it wasn’t his job. That it was a mistake. That you should’ve run. Called someone. Done anything else.

But the words don’t come.

Because deep down, some part of you isn’t sorry.

And maybe he sees that in your face.

Because Wyatt reaches for your hand again, and this time it’s not trembling.

It’s steady.

“Whatever happens next,” he says, “I won’t let them take you from me.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Not really. Your throat’s raw and dry, your head still buzzing from the hit and the flood of adrenaline that came after. You should say something—something sane, something calming, something that separates you both from what just happened.

But all you do is nod again.

Because maybe it’s easier than thinking. Maybe it’s safer than feeling.

Wyatt shifts beside you, adjusting his back against the cool tile wall. His eyes are rimmed red, but his breathing is even now. Controlled. Like he’s already stepped into a new version of himself—one that doesn’t flinch at the sight of blood. One that doesn’t regret.

“I’ll tell them I did it,” he says suddenly. Quiet. “Just me. You weren’t part of it.”

You blink. “No.”

He looks at you. Confused. Hurt, even. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for—”

“We’re not doing that,” you cut in, louder than you mean to. It echoes in the small space. “We were in it together. And anyway…” You trail off.

Anyway, they won’t believe you. Anyway, we left prints. Anyway, it’s already too late.

There’s no good ending to that sentence.

Wyatt watches you a moment longer. Then nods.

The silence returns, thick and humming. The water in the sink is still running. The paperweight lies forgotten in the basin, blood diluted and swirling down the drain.

“Okay,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

And just like that, you both know: you’re not going to tell. Not yet. Not today. Maybe not ever.

----------

By the time the final bell rings, the two of you are long gone.

You cut across the back field, the one with the rusted goalposts and tall grass that no one maintains. Wyatt’s hoodie is pulled low over his face. You lend him your backpack—lighter than his, less noticeable. You keep your head down, hoodie up, heart hammering as the school shrinks behind you.

No sirens yet. No screaming. Just the wind and the birds and the too-normalness of it all.

It feels wrong, how normal it is.

“Where are we going?” Wyatt asks, when you reach the edge of the woods.

You don’t know. You should’ve planned better. But the world’s too loud and your thoughts too scattered.

You hesitate, staring into the dark tangle of trees ahead like they might give you an answer. The path is barely more than a deer trail, half-hidden beneath leaves and thorns, but you take it anyway. Because forward is the only direction that makes sense now.

“I know a place,” you lie.

Wyatt follows without question.

The woods swallow you both whole, cool and damp and full of shadows that stretch like fingers. Every snapped twig, every birdcall makes you flinch. You keep checking behind you like someone might be following, like sirens will tear through the quiet any second. But they don’t.

You keep walking.

Eventually, the ground slopes downward, the trees thin, and you come to the creek—the one you used to visit back in middle school, when skipping class meant freedom and not fear. There’s a patch of gravel near the water, mostly hidden from the trail. You collapse there, knees scraped, hands shaking.

Wyatt sinks down next to you. His clothes are still stained, and your lip is still bleeding. You're both a mess.

But you’re alone.

Together.

For a long time, neither of you says anything. Just the sound of the creek bubbling over rocks and the wind sighing through the leaves.

Then Wyatt breaks the silence.

“I saw the way he looked at you. The things he said.”

You stare at the water.

“I should’ve stopped him sooner,” he adds.

You glance over. He’s picking at the dried blood under his fingernails. His jaw clenches. “I’ve thought about it before. Hurting him. I didn’t mean to, not like that, but—” He cuts off. “It’s not just because of what he said. Or what he did today.”

Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t look at you. “I mean... I hate how he looks at you. Talks about you. Like you're nothing. Like he owns you.” His voice lowers, rough around the edges. “You don’t deserve that. You never did.”

You’re not sure what to say. The part of you that should be horrified—that should be running—is quiet. Numb. Instead, all you feel is the echo of what he said earlier:

I won’t let them take you from me.

He meant it. You believe that now.

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” you murmur, not looking at him.

“I know.” He finally turns to face you. “But I would do it again.”

His eyes are steady, unreadable. Not angry. Not sorry.

Just sure.

The worst part is… you believe that, too.

You hug your knees, chin pressed to your arms. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“No,” Wyatt agrees. “But we’ll figure it out.”

And somehow, you know he means it.

Not we’ll tell someone or we’ll turn ourselves in.

He means: We’ll run.

Disappear.

Start over.

“We don’t have anything,” you whisper. “No money. No clothes. Nothing.”

“We’ll get what we need,” he says, just as quiet. “We’ll wait till dark. Go back. Be careful.”

It’s so matter-of-fact, like this is just another school project. Something you can map out, bullet-point, survive.

You lean your head against his shoulder. It feels wrong, but it also feels like the only thing that still makes sense.

“You scared me,” you admit.

His breath hitches. “I know.”

“But... I’m still here.”

Wyatt doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s quiet. “I don’t deserve that.”

You close your eyes. The creek gurgles on. The sky darkens. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. A car door slams.

You don’t move.

And neither does he.

Because what you’ve done—what he’s done—can’t be undone.

And whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Whether that’s redemption.

Or ruin.

Masterlist

Tags:

@sirenetheblogger

@Osunnyside01

[kittensguts]

BOXER! ABBY.

cw, lowk intimate, bloody(? I triedshsjdbbf) make out, clothed grinding, groping, not readproof… minors dni. requested

The crowd roared as the infamous abby’s dripping fist shot into the air, blood smeared across her jaw, her opponent crumpled at her feet. Victory was hers—again—but the rush faded quick, like always. Cheers couldn’t drown out the echo of your voice in her head, the memory of your lips brushing hers, the sound of your laughter in the quiet after midnight, her chest heaving as her dilated pupils roam around for you, any glimpse.

You were gone. Had been for months now. And still, every punch she threw felt like it was meant to break the space between you. the second she spotted you at the edge of the ring—same place you used to stand when you were hers, her eyes widened a fraction- her arm falling limp as her heartbeat increased- You didn’t smile. You didn’t wave. But you didn’t leave either,

your arms crossed, swallowing the ball of saliva in your parched mouth. You don’t even know why you came here- was it the yearning? the wanting for her? your story had ended months ago- yet you didn’t want to let go of the sentences- the paragraphs of your story. Seems like she didn’t either.

you had no idea what you were doing in her backstage room, it’s still as the same you remember. But the second you saw her almost jump out the ring once she saw you- everything turned to a blur and you found yourself here- her infront of you, cupping your cheeks wirh her bloody and bandaged knuckles and fingers, her touch gentle, delicate, as of she’s afraid that if she presses too hard- you’d turn to dust.

your face was of stoicism.. your heart and blood rushing heard in your ears. You take a deep breath as you hesitantly lean into her touch. maybe your story could be rewritten?..

“M’ real abby, just me” you say softly. Pupils shaking barely unnoticeable- pulsing, your body releasing oxytocin and dopamine that abby- as if of primal- could feel it, the blood on her hands smeared all over your jawline and cheeks… her thumb shakily hovering over your lips as she prodded gently. her brows furrow as she shakes her head in disbelieving- she presses her lips to yours.

and surprisingly, you melt into it- your arms curling around her waist, eyes flickering back and shut. she presses you deep into her chipped chair- chest pressed against yours and heaving. The metallic tang of the blood being shared between your closed lips slowly seep through- making you dart your tongue out and probe at her lips

she lets out a throaty whine and parts her lips for you- your tongues dance, your salivas mix and slowly drool down your chin. your brows furrow In need as you part your thighs, letting her nudge her knee onto your throbbing cunt- you moan as your head falls back- making her soaked bandaged fingers and palm gladly cup your throat as she kisses down.. her fingertips pressing hard making you sigh out- abby was pathetically sitting down onto your thigh ss she nudges her knee against your clothed cunt- whilst she humps your thigh,

you made the blessing of fluttering your eyes open- seeing the way she was kissing and slobbering over your now bloody neck. her blond messy hair beinf pushed back by your hand- she looks up at you with her enlarged eyes- she looked high on drugs. the way she was groping and kissing at your clothed tits over your white top that she tainted with her hands.

she had always loved the devilish taste of victory, sin, and metallic tang into it. You began to slowly ride your thigh into her sopping pussy. No words spoken- you both knew eachother. She slowly neared your ear- kissing behind it as she lets out breathless chuckles and pornographic moans. You whimper and roll your eyes to the back as the fluttery feeling in your gut comes back in months.

you knew she was the only one who made the fluttery thing happen and you were certainly going back to her.

fuck me I DONT KNOW HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUES.

[rroseselavyyy]

forever - knj

pairings: namjoon x female reader

warnings: smut, namjoon ruts against reader's thigh, namjoon goes wild when he sees reader's n*pples, wine sweat and tears

Namjoon's dragon eyes found your anxious ones across the crowded room just before you looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly in recognition. Even though you were surrounded by people desperate to get your attention, you couldn't bring yourself to listen to them, not when the object of your affection was giving you all the attention you could only get in those dreams you see after crying over him, where the angels rewarded you with a glimpse of heaven in those eyes you were forbidden to look directly into.

Holding your breath, you counted down from ten, giving him enough time to throw you away from the deepest core of his memory like the crumpled paper ball you were. He seemed relaxed as he held his glass between his calloused fingers, his shadow standing out among the crowd, like a hydra rising from the sea, it grew taller the more you sank into the wall that supported you.

Blood rushed to your cheeks the moment he caught your doe eyes for once again like the predator he was. It seemed to you that Prince wanted to play with you a little more tonight. But one thing he wouldn't want to know was that you were no longer the shy little girl he once knew. He was no longer your sweetest nightmare, and you were determined not to be his perfect little prey.

Maybe you were still the same silly little girl who blushed from head to toe at the slightest attention from him. Maybe you were still the same desperate girl. Maybe it would take hundreds of love letters that he threw in the bin for you not to get excited about him.

Feeling that your calm, collected, teacher's assistant self couldn't take the adrenaline rush coursing through your veins any longer, you excused yourself from the crowd of your high school friends to find a bathroom to freshen up in, preferably one that wasn't occupied by drunk people making out like wild animals.

Just when you thought you were doing your best to chastise yourself from the sweaty bodies that turned your stomach, you felt something pour down your face in an instant, red liquid blurring your vision as it soaked your hair down to the flimsy fabric of your dress.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"

It was only after the shock had worn off that your eyes found the boy, who actually looked sorry for what he had done. You were about to say that it was okay, you saw a pair of hands clutching at his collar.

"Are you fucking blind or something?"

Fuschia hues flooded your vision, all sounds blurred in your head as you couldn't find your voice to say anything, you could only watch the scene unfold before you, as if you were nailed to the spot where you were standing.

Kim Namjoon stood up to a man for you, and even though he was by your side, he still didn't listen to what you needed, you didn't matter to him. He was so beautiful with his short hair that slightly damp from the high temperature of the room, flushing our skin like the sun shining on the hottest deserts. His tanned arms stretched beyond to get a tighter grip on the poor guy. Everything about the scene unfolding before your eyes was about you, but as you stood there you felt as if you were nothing but dust in the air as the drama you created was reflected back at him as the spotlight he so desperately craved to feed on.

His eyes met yours for a moment, and for once you were the one whose gaze didn't waver as you looked into his. His grip on the collar loosened and in that moment, for the first time in your life, you chose not to care what he did.

Disgusting feeling of your wet clothes didn't make you feel any better as people looked at you as if they didn't mind their own business just a few minutes ago, under their curious glances you walked through them as if they were curtains to make way for you as you made your way to the seemingly quiet kitchen.

Finally you sat on a countertop, not caring about the cake icing smeared on the marble surface. Nobody seemed to care that the only nice place in this disgusting place, the kitchen, where seemed relatively deserted compared to the crowded living room where everyone was tangled up in a human pool, where everything felt more alive and smothered you to the brim.

"You look beautiful in the moonlight."

He was here, flashing his dimples like a cute little puppy, as if he weren't the one who'd scared away some guy just because he accidentally spilling his wine on you. He leaned against the door, his baggy band shirt unable to hide his biceps painted in the faint moonlight.

He should have looked ugly in those glasses, why the hell did he look so hot in those damn glasses that made you look like a child?

"Graduating from Korea's best university just to attack a defenceless guy who did nothing on purpose as if you were a fucking caveman. That's very rude of you, Namjoon."

He smirked as he made his way to where you were sitting on the countertop, walking as if he wasn't in a hurry, excruciatingly slow as he watched you gulped and sink deeper into your seat.

"Always so grumpy, aren't you?" He settled between your legs, one large hand finding its way around your waist, the other stroking your cheek. The gesture was so sweet that you stopped yourself from nuzzling his palm. "I was worried about you, is that so wrong, hmh?"

"Sorry, your excellency, I didn't know there was a place for me in that pretty, intelligent brain of yours."

He chuckled deeply, leaving you with your inner voice that always ready to eat you alive. He was the type who never spoke his actual thoughts, but he was frustratingly silent at the moment, considering that his hand was sliding down your throat and now his nose was brushing against your cheek, as if he wasn't even listening to what you were saying.

"Maybe you should push that pretty brain of yours harder to think more logically. It's a miracle you got a job at the university."

Immediately you grabbed his hand to push him away, not that he moved an inch. He looked at you with those bedroom eyes, his eyelashes decorating the galaxies inside those irises, studying your face as you scowled at him in an attempt to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Maybe you should just take rejection the way I did when you threw my love letter in the trash without a second thought."

Looking at him under your lashes as if you were defeated, your hands gripped his arms went limp. He held you closer, sensing your need, holding you as if he wanted to be the only source of support you had to lean on.

"You wouldn't understand, would you?"

His hands drew circles on your wine-soaked thighs as you watched him as if he were an angel and you were in a dream, his scent clouding your senses, a warm summer breeze coming in through the window brushing against your heated cheeks.

"You can't just ask your brother's best friend out. Not even Spiderman would dare to say yes such a thing."

Everything felt so good when you were in his arms, the faint sound of the party filling the silence between you. Nothing mattered in that moment, you forgot the number of times Namjoon followed you to the ends of the earth and rejected you just as you reached nirvana, you lost count of the nights you silenced the sound of your screams, though your diary was still there to preserve the evidence.

"I don't like it," you whispered as if you couldn't breathe, wanting to hold him tighter but feeling as if you were broken to the bone. He looked pleadingly into your eyes, his never leaving yours as his lips brushed against your knuckles. "You feel like a sunny warm tropical island and then suddenly turn into a deserted place with a harsh winter. You confuse me so much, I don't like it."

"Maybe you weren't as good at reading the signals as you thought," he brought your thumb to his plump lips and sucked on it lazily, catching you off guard, making you so flustered you weren't sure how you sounded when you spoke. He brushed his bulge against your thigh as he murmured softly with your thumb in his mouth. He couldn't help chuckling as your thighs instinctively tightened around his waist, as if you were trying to pull him closer.

"Does degrading me really turn you on?" You whimpered softly, the pout on your lips making him smile even wider, as if he was really pleased with the blush creeping up your cheeks. "Can't you just keep your mouth shut?"

You felt your bodies mould together as he pressed even closer to you, his slightly damp thumb following a path down your collarbone. You couldn't help but brush the hair that fell across his forehead, and he closed his eyes for what seemed like an eternity.

"I can't help it, everything about you turn me on so much," he whispered against your cheek, his lips feeling like they were all over your face, his hand wrapped around your throat to feel your pulse, to tell him how much he excited you, and in that moment he didn't need to wait for you to tell him how much you loved him back, all the answers were written in your eyes.

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, please."

He didn't need any more answers to pull up the wine-soaked skirt of your white dress until his knuckles brushed against the wet spot on your panties. "Do I make you feel good, princess?"

He gives you a dimpled smile as you nodded sheepishly, your hand wrapped around his wrist to draw him closer, as if to satiate a thirst you never knew existed.

He let out a hiss as your wet folds never give a trouble to way in as they enveloped around his index finger, he kissed your neck affectionately, the whispers of how you were the only girl spoken like a mantra against the column of your throat. As you let out a choked out whimper that indicated that you wanted more, he never refused and gave it to you nicely. He could give you anything you wanted when you looked at him with those pretty eyes.

He pulled down the straps of your dress, his mouth watering at the sight of your bare breasts. His kisses descended slowly over your breasts, plump lips trailing wet kisses to taste the impending traces of wine, enough to make your head go numb. He took care of you so well that all your senses were filled with him, all the voices from the party faded in your ears.

Much to your surprise, his muffled moans around your nipple were even louder than your pitiful whimpers. He was savouring the moment, squeezing your breast to give his mouth more access.

He relieved his cock from the confines of his underwear, hips pressed hard against your thigh as he pushed in search of some kind of relief, feeling too drunk on your wine-soaked skin to pay attention to other places.

He lifted his head from your breasts to find your lips again. He felt your celestial walls clinging desperately to his manly fingers. Your legs began to shake and your body was no longer on the countertop, relying on him to support your weight as he desperately used your body to chase the sweet ecstasy that made you both go dumb.

No sooner had you come to your senses than something that felt like a denim jacket landed on your shoulders. Even though you were a sticky mess of sweat, his cum and the remains of the wine, you felt nothing but in bliss, legs turning jelly under his touch as he massaged the fat of your thighs. "Come home with me."

How could you say no to such an offer when he begged so sweetly?

[iris-qt]

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎

"I have never tolerated someone for so long~..."

ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

❆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 3.3ᴋ

❆ ᴀ/ɴ: ɴᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢʀᴜᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀꜱꜱɪɢɴᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ! ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɴᴜᴀʟ ᴍɪɴɪꜱᴛʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ʙᴀʟʟ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴀɴᴋ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏɢᴏᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ, ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴀɴᴋꜱ, ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴀɢʀɪɴ. ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ.

It was the annual Ministry of Magic Holiday Ball.

The one with glittering golden candles that were nearly blinding, the air thick with the scent of mulled wine and enchanted pine.

The one that always ended with your father lecturing you as you bit your lip, trying not to burst out laughing at the ridiculous faces Mattheo Riddle would make behind your father’s angry figure. 

Indeed, the merry attendees of the annual bash hated to see you and Mattheo walk in, for that instantly spelled mischief with a capital M(attheo).

This year, however, you had resolved to be the mature and elegant woman your parents begged you to be every year. This year, you were almost of age. And maybe it was time to get your act together. Call it an early New Years resolution, if you will.

And so here you were, sitting up pin straight in the enchanted carriage that stopped in front of the grand marble venue the Ministry had booked for the party. After your mother fixed every stray hair on your head, you walked in, heads donned with ridiculous Christmas hats turning to praise your elegant stride. Nothing could get in your way. Well…

“Enchanté, mademoiselle y/l/n.”

Mattheo Riddle slid in front of you with his sleek black shoes, bowing down and holding out his hand as he looked up with his shit-eating grin.

You take a deep breath fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you slip your hand into his, watching him press a soft kiss onto it, never breaking eye contact. Yeah, those eyes were as black as his cold little heart.

You sniff pretentiously, snatching your hand away quickly as he stands up, looking down at you with a knowing, cocky expression, eyes scanning every inch of your appearance.

“Since when did you know French,” you scoff, folding your arms and raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“I mean, I heard it’s the language of love,” he winks, intertwining his arm with yours as he leads you to the drink bar. “And love seems to be in the air,” he snickers, cocking his head towards Draco Malfoy and a girl he was attempting to charm.

“A very one-sided love apparently,” you snort, watching as the girl rolls her eyes and walks off with a disgusted scrunch of her nose. “Another one bites the dust.”

“Yeah, maybe we should cross Draco off the victim list this year. Poor lad’s been through it,” Mattheo pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment with a list of names, scanning it. 

You shake your head, plucking the sheet from his hand and examining it.

“What is this? Your hit list?” you snort. “I, for one, am very in favor of taking out Umbridge,” you tap her name on the page with a smirk.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I have a sick trick planned for that hag,” Mattheo grins, eyes lighting up at the thought of causing chaos and suffering. “Alright, here’s what your job is-”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you stop him, finger to his lips, frowning. “I told you I won’t be your accomplice this year.”

“Aw, c’mon, y/l/n. You didn’t mean that,” he grins, licking the finger you have held up against his lips.

You let out a disgusted sound as you wipe your finger on his suit, not surprised at his random antics. 

“Listen. You may not understand the concept, but I’ve grown up now. I’m mature.” You tilt your chin up for dramatic effect. “Therefore, I shall not be partaking in your party escapades.”

“I wasn’t aware being mature meant you have to talk like pretentious Professor Snape,” Mattheo snickered as he popped an hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. 

You hit his arm with your clutch, gritting your teeth. Yeah, you were on your last leg.

“The point is. You’re on your own this year, Riddle,” you gave him a last, pointed look before walking away to find your parents.

Riddle chuckled under his breath, watching you leave as he downed a flute of champagne in one go.

“Oh we’ll see about that,” he muttered, placing his empty glass on a server’s tray before walking off. 

Mattheo Riddle knew you were just like him when it came to a good prank. It’s one of the things he adored about you..

And in the spirit of adoration and holiday spirits, Riddle swore to himself he’d make you crack before the ball ended at midnight. Chip away at your composure little by little. And have you back to his side as his pretty little accomplice before his final, brutal prank of the night.

8:00 p.m. PRANK #1: The Enchanted Snowstorm

Riddle knew he had to start with a bit of a bang.

And if that meant pranking his lovely ex-accomplice as a form of punishment for thinking she could leave him behind on his favorite night of the year, then so be it. Riddle looked forward to the Ministry of Magic Holiday Ball every year for one reason: it was when you let loose and showed off your evil side, free from the gripping stress of schoolwork that always kept you uptight. 

You were the mastermind behind the most foul pranks they’d ever played. The one where you turned an old pure-blood-enthusiast into a hog. Or when you’d sent a boggart after the old Minister wizard that frequently denied witches powerful places in the ministry.

Oh, he was determined to get you back and impress you with the pranks he’d been planning and preparing for all year. 

Little did he know you looked forward to these balls just as often as him

Mattheo’s first prank needed to be light, clever, and just enough to make you react without jeopardizing your mature facade. Spotting you standing near your parents by the refreshment table, he smirked.

With a subtle flick of his wand from across the room, he enchanted the mistletoe above your head. Instead of remaining stationary, the mistletoe swirled and began to emit a gentle cascade of enchanted snowflakes: only over you.

At first, it was subtle and charming, just enough for onlookers to chuckle and comment on how festive it was. But as the snow began to intensify, it became impossible to ignore. The flakes started sticking to your perfectly styled hair, smudging the edges of your mascara, and chilling the tip of your nose. Your parents made awkward excuses as they stepped away from the sudden snowstorm, leaving you flustered and fuming.

Across the room, Mattheo leaned casually against the drink bar, toasting you with his champagne flute and giving you a cheeky wink. The message was clear: Still think you can outgrow me?

You purse your lips, brushing snow from your shoulders as you shoot him a glare. Determined not to let him win, you grabbed a napkin and coolly dabbed at your hair, forcing a serene smile onto your face as you joined a conversation nearby, sending a spell to dissipate the cloud of snow.

But Mattheo Riddle wasn’t done. Not even close.

9:00 p.m. PRANK #2: The Exploding Eggnog Fountain

The eggnog fountain at the refreshment table was a centerpiece of the Ministry’s holiday bash: a golden cascade of enchanted eggnog that refilled itself endlessly. Perfect, Mattheo thought, for a little festive chaos.

“Y/l/n,” Mattheo sidled up to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he offered you a drink. “I need your expert opinion on something.”

You narrowed your eyes, wary. “What now? Come to pelt charmed snowballs at me?”

He ignores the quip, gesturing toward the fountain. “Imagine this: we modify the enchantment. Just a tiny tweak, nothing big. Instead of pouring a stream, the fountain… spurts. Right into the faces of our dear Ministry elites.” 

He tilted his head toward a cluster of senior wizards by the table, including a pompous Mr. Cuffe, the Daily Prophet editor known for his grating laugh.

You bit your lip, fighting the instinct to laugh as you imagined it. “Mattheo,” you said with exaggerated patience, “what part of mature didn’t you understand?”

“Ah, but hear me out!” he interrupted, leaning in conspiratorially. “We don’t do it to everyone. Just the ones who deserve it. Like Cuffe. Remember his article that called Hogwarts students ‘unruly hooligans’ last year?”

You crossed your arms, pretending disinterest, but the corners of your lips twitched. “Tempting, but no.”

Mattheo grinned. He knew he had you hooked, even if you wouldn’t admit it. With a sly glance at the fountain, he flicked his wand behind his back, muttering a quiet incantation. The golden stream of eggnog shimmered briefly, unnoticed by the crowd.

“Suit yourself,” he said, stepping back to watch.

Moments later, Mr. Cuffe stepped up to the fountain with a goblet, puffing his chest importantly. As he tilted the goblet beneath the stream, the fountain let out a dramatic splurt. A geyser of eggnog shot upward, drenching him from head to toe in sticky, golden liquid.

The room went silent for a beat before bursting into laughter. Cuffe sputtered indignantly, his face turning as red as the poinsettias in the decor.

You pressed your lips together, trying to maintain your composure, but the sight of Mattheo biting back his laughter and raising an eyebrow in your direction nearly broke you.

“I’m not laughing,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“Oh, sure,” Mattheo smirked, leaning closer. “You’re just appreciating my genius. Admit it. You miss being part of this.”

You shot him a withering glare, though your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re lying to yourself,” he quipped, walking off to plan his next move.

10:00 p.m. PRANK #3: The Name Tag Switch-Up

The banquet hall gleamed with floating golden place cards, each enchanted to guide guests to their assigned seats at the long, elegantly set tables. Mattheo, of course, couldn’t resist tampering with the arrangement.

He leaned casually against a column near the seating chart, pretending to inspect it. When he spotted his target: a trio with a tangled web of animosity. He grinned.

Target #1: Penelope Clearwater, known for her sharp tongue and grudge-holding tendencies. 

Target #2: Adrian Pucey, her ex-boyfriend, who had unceremoniously dumped her.

Target #3: Daphne Greengrass, the reason for the breakup.

With a sly flick of his wand, Mattheo swapped their assigned places. Now, Adrian and Penelope would find themselves sitting side-by-side…with Daphne planted awkwardly between them.

Mattheo spotted you nearby, scanning the room. Perfect timing.

“Y/l/n,” he called, sauntering up with his signature smirk. “You’re going to love this.”

“Doubt it,” you replied flatly, though you paused, curiosity piqued.

He motioned toward the banquet table. “Imagine this: Penelope, Adrian, Daphne. Side by side. Tension thicker than Snape’s hair gel.” He mimed a dramatic explosion. “All we have to do is sit back and watch the fireworks.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help asking, “Why would you even bother?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Holiday spirit. Bringing people together and all that.”

Before you could protest, the guests began finding their seats. The moment Adrian and Penelope realized they were seated next to each other, their faces contorted in synchronized horror. Daphne’s arrival only made things worse; she froze in place, clearly considering whether to flee or fight.

You stood by the edge of the room, arms crossed, trying not to look too invested. Mattheo sidled up beside you, watching the drama unfold.

Adrian stammered something about moving seats, but Penelope snapped, “Oh, no. Stay. I insist.” Her tone dripped with venom, and Adrian visibly shrank into his chair.

Meanwhile, Daphne sat stiffly, her eyes darting between the two like a spectator at a particularly hostile Quidditch match. The trio descended into an awkward, tension-laden silence punctuated by biting comments and passive-aggressive jabs.

You shook your head, lips twitching. “You’re insufferable, Riddle. And childish.”

“True,” Mattheo agreed, grinning shamelessly. “But admit it. That was a masterpiece.”

Despite your best efforts, a small laugh escaped you. “Fine. A tiny masterpiece. But you’re still on your own.”

“We’ll see about that,” he teased, his grin widening. As the exes’ tension reached a fever pitch, he leaned closer and whispered, “Ready for the grand finale?”

11:00 p.m. The Grande Finale: The Umbridge Special

The final prank of the night had to be legendary—something so outrageous it would go down in Ministry holiday party history. And for Mattheo, there was no better target than Dolores Umbridge, the pink-clad, cat-obsessed tyrant who still held a high-ranking position in the Ministry.

It started with Mattheo cornering you near the dessert table, his grin so wide it bordered on maniacal. “Alright, y/l/n, I’ve saved the best for last. And I need you for this one.”

You almost choked on your sticky pudding at his sudden appearance. You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?”

“Because you might. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

He leaned in, whispering his plan in your ear. The moment he said the words Enchanted Cat Choir, you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. You quickly disguised it as a cough, but Mattheo caught it.

“I knew you’d crack,” he said smugly. “Come on, you’ve got the charm-work skills I need. Let’s make history.”

Rolling your eyes, you relented, muttering, “Fine. But if this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

Umbridge, resplendent in her usual bubblegum pink, was holding court at her table, surrounded by Ministry sycophants who feigned interest in her saccharine stories. Mattheo and you worked quietly from behind the scenes.

First, Mattheo enchanted a tray of floating teacups to swirl toward her table. The tea inside the cups wasn’t ordinary: it was infused with a harmless but temporary truth serum. As Umbridge took a dainty sip, she began to spout off every embarrassing secret she’d ever tried to keep hidden.

“Oh, how delightful!” she trilled, before adding in an uncharacteristically loud voice, “Of course, I only like my little cats because they don’t argue, unlike those dimwitted Ministry fools I’m forced to tolerate every day.” Her tablemates froze, eyes wide, while someone at the next table audibly choked on their drink.

As murmurs rippled through the crowd, Mattheo nudged you. “Phase two. Ready?”

With a flick of your wand, you activated the pièce de résistance: the Enchanted Cat Choir. Dozens of Umbridge’s fluffy, glowing cats floated down from the enchanted ceiling, meowing in unison to the tune of “Jingle Bells.” Luckily for you guys, she had brought them with her for some reason, and they were waiting impatiently in her carriage. Instead of the usual lyrics, the song had been cleverly charmed to include lines about Umbridge’s many humiliating moments.

The room erupted into laughter as the cats circled her, their glowing forms casting mocking shadows on her flustered, pink face.

“What-what is the meaning of this?” Umbridge screeched, her high-pitched voice nearly drowning out the cat choir. She jumped to her feet, trying to bat away the floating felines, but they simply meowed louder, their jabs growing more pointed:

“Frogs and frills, her tea’s a spill,

Her reign was such a mess,

Tried to rule with an iron quill,

But now she’s just a jest!”

You could barely breathe, cracking up with laughter as you watched her flounder, a mix of fury and embarrassment painting her face crimson.

Mattheo leaned in, his voice low and full of mischief. “Admit it, y/l/n. This is the best thing you’ve ever seen.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, finally surrendering. “Okay, fine. This? This was genius.”

As Umbridge stormed out of the hall in a flurry of pink robes and screeches, the crowd broke into cheers and applause. Mattheo raised his fist in victory, grinning down at you, gently grabbing your wrist to lift it as well.

“Glad you finally came to your senses,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “You’re lucky I did. That cat choir would’ve sounded awful without me and my vast knowledge of charms.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” he quipped, smirking. “Now, let’s grab some champagne and celebrate our masterpiece.”

12:00 a.m. 

As the crowd slowly began to disperse, the grandeur of the ball winding down, you found yourself standing on the balcony outside the grand hall, the crisp December air biting your cheeks. The enchanted snowflakes floating gently around you were nothing like the storm Mattheo had conjured earlier. These were serene, peaceful.

A familiar, devilish voice broke the silence.

“Escaping already? Don’t tell me you’re finally too mature for the afterparty.”

You turned, spotting Mattheo leaning casually against the doorframe. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his dark curls were a bit more disheveled than usual. Typical Mattheo: looking every bit like trouble with a capital T.

“I needed a moment of quiet,” you replied, crossing your arms against the chill. “Not everything has to end in chaos, you know.”

Mattheo raised a brow, sauntering closer. “Oh, really? Because last time I checked, you were the one who upped the charm work on the cat choir. I’d call that chaos with a side of genius.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he shot back smoothly, the corners of his lips tugging into a grin as he slipped his blazer around your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat. “Careful, Riddle. You’re almost being nice. People might start to think you actually like me.”

Mattheo stopped beside you, his grin softening into something quieter, something more real. “Maybe they’d be right.”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly recovered, shooting him a mock glare. “Is that your idea of a holiday confession? You’ve really got a way with words, don’t you?”

He chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets as he looked out at the glittering view of the magical city beyond. “What can I say? I’m not exactly the ‘flowers and sonnets’ type. But…” He turned to you, his dark eyes glinting with that familiar mischief, laced now with something softer. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in months. Not without you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and for once, you didn’t have a quick retort.

Mattheo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You keep me on my toes, y/l/n. And maybe I like that more than I care to admit.”

You glanced up at him, his usual smirk replaced with something genuine, and you felt a strange mix of emotions. Annoyance, fondness, and, above all, the kind of warmth that no enchanted pine or mulled wine could rival.

“Alright,” you said, clearing your throat, trying to regain the upper hand. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you rope me into your pranks again next year.”

Mattheo grinned, stepping back with a mock bow. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. But I will keep the seat next to me at the bar warm, just in case.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable, Riddle.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quipped, his grin widening.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, the snow falling softly around you. Then, before you could overthink it, you reached up, brushing a stray snowflake from his hair. “Happy Christmas, Mattheo.”

His expression softened, and he reached for your hand, holding it gently for once, no sarcasm, no quips. “Happy Christmas, y/n.”

And as the clock struck midnight, the laughter and music of the ball fading into the background, you realized one thing: maybe chaos wasn’t so bad, especially when it came with a boy who made your heart race like Mattheo Riddle.

[currentloser]

childhood promises

kwon ji-yong x reader

word count: 5562

content warning: yandere!gd, manipulation, creepy man once again

summary: (Unofficial) prequel to there was no other choice. You used to be school friends with Ji-yong. Despite promises made you naturally fell out of contact over time, until you ran into him again at an old hideout.

( ao3 link ) • part 2

The air in the empty classroom was thick with the stale smell of chalk dust and old books. Outside, there was a muffled sound of rushed footsteps and chatter between students as they left for the day. You, though, had landed yourself in detention and merely watched the crowd speed by. The freedom was held out in front of you, sentenced to an hour of staying after school. Across the room the teacher in charge of making sure you stayed in had started to doze off after you were forced to wipe down desks, pick up trash.

It started at a harmless doodle, Ji-yong had scribbled a sketch of their teacher. Of course though, it was exaggerated and drawn out to poke fun at their teacher. He'd shown it to you, holding a hand up to his mouth to cover for a wide smile. Though his mischievous behavior took a step further when he'd balled up the paper and tossed it to the front of the room. When the teacher had seen the piece and shown it to the class, it earned an uproar of laughter from the ground. When the teacher pointed to him, you ended up roped into the punishment alongside him. So unfair.

Beside you none other than the troublemaker himself, Ji-yong. The reason you had been pulled into this torture to begin with. He had slouched lazily in the desk he’s been assigned to for detention as he lazily flipped through a stack of worksheets. His face was locked into a perpetual pout, shuffling them rather than ordering them how he was supposed to.

“This is so stupid,” He muttered quietly and tossed a crumpled paper into the trash with a dramatic sigh, “We didn't even do anything.”

You squinted down at an old ink stain that had set into the desk you were trying in vain to scrub clean, “We? I didn't say anything, but I got dragged into this just for sitting near you.”

“So what, it's all my fault?” He shot you a look with a raised eyebrow, if the answer wasn't obvious enough.

Your feisty behavior only intrigued him further. Most students would duck their heads and play along for the sake of playing along, but when you stood up for yourself he was only endeared further. He held up his hands in defeat and shrugged, tilting his head to gesture over to the teacher. Across the room, they had let their head slowly fall back against the chair and their mouth had hung open. Now was the time more than ever to make a break for it.

You followed his gaze, slowly balling up the dirty rag you had been using and left it folded on top of the desk, “You started this.”

“You know,” His dark eyes sparkled with amusement, “We could just… leave. It's not like anyone actually checks if we finish.”

The suggestion was reckless, but much more appealing than wasting the rest of our scrubbing desks and organizing paper. You send a nervous glance to the teacher who gave a sputtering snore. You sigh and give in, pushing the folded cloth forward.

“Where do we go?” You asked, if you went home early you'd surely land yourself in trouble.

Ji-yong stood, stretching with an exaggerated yawn, “Come on, unless you're too scared.”

His confident ease was all it took for you to nod to him. He ducked down below the window, nodding in an invite to follow him along. You kept below the eyeline of the windows, trailing behind him to the open doorway. Ji-yong glanced either way, his movements practiced as he ducked down the halls. He managed to stay along the side and moved like a shadow, easily avoiding any rooms where anyone might've still been staying behind.

He ducked through a side door, glancing back at you as he pushed outside of the school. The escape was thrilling, your heart pounding as he lead you across the empty field. Finally the two of you could break out into a proper sprint, ducking past nearby houses and into a small side alley. You nearly lost Ji-yong somewhere along following him, ducking underneath obstacles before his chase finally came to an end.

There, you stumbled onto an abandoned rooftop. Hidden away behind older buildings, its age showed with vines crawling along the edges of the roof hidden behind older buildings. There was forgotten potted plants overgrown. You were too quick to notice when you'd managed to climb up to a roof level, and you stepped out onto the edge to look down. The city stretched below the two of you, only a sparse biker or car passed by. It was silent here, far away from the buzz of bigger crowds. It was distant here, peaceful.

Ji-yong took a pick exhale and plopped down on the ledge, patting the spot beside him, “No one comes here. It's perfect.”

“How did you find this?” You ask, taking his invitation to sit down beside him.

“Well, I would never be the person to serve out a detention. My parents or the school might've come looking for me, and I happened upon it,” He explained with a soft smile forming, “You’re the first one I've shown it to.”

This sudden change in demeanor was shocking, the adrenaline from running halfway across town still buzzing through you, “It's nice out here… Thank you for showing me.”

“Don't mention it,” Ji-tong waved, “Let's make this place ours. A a secret spot, for just us.”

You perked up, holding out a pinky finger for a promise, “Just for us.”

The words were light, spoken in a careless manner. A pact formed between the two of you. His voice made it feel more permanent, sealing the two of your fates. To Ji-yong, it was a promise he'd never let go of.

That had been years ago now. The wind whispered across the rooftop through the nearby terrace. Fallen leaves stirred beneath you across the cracked building. You stood in that same place you made that promise all those years ago. As school flew by, you managed to stay out of trouble and talked to him less and less. You sat in the old spot you'd shared with him before, tracing a fingertip over the warn ledge.

Ji-yong had gone and made himself something… well, a big deal. You ended up with a meager enough job to pay your bills and make a living, meanwhile he'd become an artist. The king of all of them, really. You couldn't help but be happy for him, even if you never saw him now. It only left you, swinging your legs off the edge of the building and reminiscing on your old promise.

The city was as quiet as it was back then, but footsteps behind you broke the silence, “You’re here again?”

Ji-yong. His voice had matured but it was unmistakable, breaking your concentration toward the street below. Your mouth fell open as you gazed back toward him. The way he dressed mirrored his public appearances, hidden underneath layers of clothing. He casually grabbed at his jacket and peeled it off, pulling back a beanie he wore and revealing his dyed blue hair.

“It's been a while since I last saw you,” You're taken aback, gaping as the artist casually plops down beside you.

Like all the times before, he sat right over the worn spot the two of you previously shared. Ji-yong fidgeted with his jacket for a moment before nodding, stretching out his legs. He exhaled slowly, finally looking back to you.

“Funny, isn't it?” He manages to keep his tone casual, but there was something else you couldn't quite place, “Out of all the places in the city, you came here.”

You're thrown off for a moment and nod, “I just felt like visiting.”

“Yeah,” His lip curls, not breaking his gaze just yet, “Me too.”

Ji-young leaned against the open railing. He sighed softly, grabbing onto the ledge and scooting closer to you. Your hands nearly touch where you still squeezed onto the ledge of the balcony. You didn't move, letting him come closer to you. His nails were painted bright colors, so different yet just the same as the boy you knew.

“You know, you were so worried about getting caught, but you followed me anyway,” Ji-yong spoke, breaking that silence.

As much as you wanted to ask about his career or his life the subject was on you now, “I was just being smart. You were reckless.”

“Yet, you still trusted me,” Ji-yong pointed out, his grin widening as he finally flickered his gaze back to you.

Something about the way he said it made your breath hitch. His gaze keeps flickering over your face, his gaze intent. As if he was searching for something in you, though you couldn’t have known what.

“Well, people grow up,” You clear your throat.

Ji-yong let go of the edge of the roof and reached over and held over your knee, “As they do, but some things never change,” His voice dropped to a whisper, “Like how you still chew your lip when you're nervous.”

Your stomach twisted in response. It was a bad habit you couldn't kick when you were younger, but you hadn't done it in years. Had you? And how had he even known of it?

“You used to do it a lot around me, you know,” Ji-yong continued, interrupting your train of thought, “Do I have that effect on you?”

Oh, he was smug.

You chuckled at that, letting him play into it, “I didn't know you kept that close an eye on me. Or how you remember that after how long it's been.”

Ji-yong shrugged, unfazed. A silent habit of his was rubbing his hand over his legs, pressing it back and forth. His gaze hadn't left you yet, only staring and letting the silence hang between the two of you. You couldn't help but squirm away from it, the first to break eye contact and pull your hands into your lap. His pinky stretched out to catch your hand, but he was a little too slow to trap you.

“It's simple. You caught my eye. I never forgot you,” He purred, his hand inching closer to the side of your thigh.

Your breath hitched at his words, your eyes fixed on a spot at the horizon. You tracked the road as a singular car passed by, so slow in the distance. You couldn't believe a word you were hearing. The weight of his words was so sure, they way he spoke left no room for doubt. Sure, you'd been childhood friends for a while– but hearing it felt like a romantic confession more than anything.

You raise your hand to your cheek to attempt to hide a raising flush, “C'mon, G-Dragon, we barely knew each other then.”

The words barely left your mouth before his expression shifted out of the corner of your eye. You dare to turn toward him to witness it. His grin that stretched just a little too far faltered, only for a moment. It was still enough to catch it along with a flicker of something in his eyes you couldn't quite place.

“Did we?” His voice was soft, and maybe even a little hurt, “Then I must've just imagined all of it, huh?”

You hesitated at how quickly his tone had changed. His eyes seemed to shut off from the world around him, like he had already planned for you not to take it back. His fingers twisted the fabric of his designer jeans, wearing a hole into the once nice pair. He let go, reaching out to ghost over your knee. Just over where your own hand held on. You felt pinned under it, even without contact made.

He retracted his hand just as quickly with a dry laugh, “I thought we had something back then. Guess I was wrong.”

The tone in which he spoke made that guilt in your stomach twist further than before. Even though you hadn't done anything wrong. You only promised to keep meeting with him, yet your heart squeezed like it was something deeper. Something more important. You open your mouth, and Ji-yong interrupts you.

“Forget I said anything,” He sighed with a click of his tongue, his hands retreating into his pockets, hiding himself away.

You exhaled, pushing out the guilt that plagued you so heavily, “I didn't mean it like that, Ji-yong…”

Your words were just enough for him to stay in his place, running a hand through his hair, “I guess I just built it up too much in my head.”

“No,” You press on, and this time you let your own hand grab onto the edge just beside him, nearly touching his, “It's not like I didn't notice. I just didn't think I was lucky enough you would think of me that way.”

Ji-yong's eyes instantly light back up again. He'd been slouching and closed around himself, but this sudden confession has the man beside you sitting up. All the confidence seemed to pour back into him from before. The affect your words had- quickly deciding his mood from up and down, was undeniable. Still, you brushed it off, for now.

“So, you did notice me?” He asked as his hand curled over the cusp of his knee, the edge of his hand brushing against yours.

“Of course I did. I mean, I thought you were so cool,” You feel a heat creeping up your chest and look down to your hands brushed up together.

Suddenly you felt like you were back in school again. When the two of you had shared this ledge together and you couldn't help but admire him, how easily he made his way through the halls of school. It didn't feel that long ago now as you reminisced, your past right beside you.

“Cool, huh?” He asked, his voice still a bit far away as he pressed his hand against the edge of your own.

You chuckled nervously in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I might've had a bit of a crush on you, this is embarrassing…”

That was a mistake.

Ji-yong went still for a moment. All of his idle fidgeting came to a sudden halt. The air seemed to shift around you as he slipped right back into that bubblier act he'd adopted just a moment earlier.

“So I hadn't just been imagining it,” He finally broke the silence, “You've always been special. I knew it since then.”

You flush a bit, nodding sheepishly. The sun started to set in front of you. It painted the landscape in tones of light pinks and reds, bouncing off the side of his face. He always managed to look so handsome, the light bouncing off him only made it more obvious. Red light curls at the edge of his smile that returns to his face.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” He murmurs, ducking his head to meet your gaze.

You shift a bit, half-warmed and half-unsettled by the way he looked at you. Before you hadn't picked up on it, but now it was a heavy sense he revered you. His eyes might have flickered away, but they always returned right back to yours. Ji-yong finally closes the distance between your hands. His curls over the top of yours, covering the top of your hand and squeezing it gently. His thumb pressed down against the top of your head, tracing small circles in your skin.

“I should admit, I thought of you all the time,” He admitted with a squeeze of your held hands together, “I didn't want to- no, I couldn't forget you.”

It was almost comforting, the way he spoke. His words painted a warm picture along with the carm colors of the horizon, but the way his tone came across was all wrong. You could imagine him practicing these words before he finally came to confess to you. You tried not to let it get to you. His grip didn't loosen yet, finally holding onto something he wasn't willing to let go of so easily. 

“You want to know something silly? I even passed by your neighborhood,” He grinned down at your intertwined hands, “I hoped fate would let me see you again.”

The way his eyes sparkled made it look like he was the happiest now he'd been this entire encounter. Your stomach squeezed, and you weren't sure if it was affection or something else teasing you. You could only tell yourself your mind was being too rude to an old friend, an old crush who wanted to rekindle what the two of you had after so long.

“You make it sound so sweet. You really went back?” You asked, squeezing his hand in return.

Ji-yong raises his eyebrows as if it's the easiest, most obvious thing, “Of course, we promised.”

You shake off the feeling that had risen over the back of your shoulders, lime somehow you were being watched. You didn't expect someone like him to take a childhood promise so seriously, but you never expected to hold his hands either. Your legs swing against the edge of the building and you breathe out, steadying yourself once again.

“You're a really good friend, Ji-yong,” You smile at him, still a bit flustered from the close contact.

At that, Ji-yong's smile faltered. It hadn't quite faded, but it resembled one more force than one that came naturally. His grip on top of yours becomes noticeably tighter, the close contact with his own hand making the close hold warmer than before. It wasn't painful, but it was enough of a reminder to you how much stronger he'd gotten in the years past. 

“A friend,” He repeated, tasting the words on his lips.

Unlike the first time, he's still fidgeting. His free hand plays with a stray thread and tugs it before snapping it off. He rolled up the string into a ball before slowly rolling it off the edge of his knee and watched in silence. Until it fell out of your vision, and presumably fell into the street below.

Ji-yong traced idle circles on the back of your hand, “Thats not really fair, is it? After everything we've had together?”

His smile returned to something more natural, shifting until his leg was pressed up against yours. He overlapped his arm onto yours, his body heat all too noticeable. You aren't sure if you want to argue when he starts to act this way, so you remain silent until he's worked himself up to speak again.

“I mean, if we're going to pick up where we left off,” He lifted your closed together hands, “Why don't we start now? I'll take you out‐ just like I should've back then.”

Your stomach flipped at how casually he phrased it, “I…”

As you were lost for words, Ji-yong took your hesitation as an answer, “Come on. Just one night. You wanted this all along, right?”

He left no room to argue. It was stating a fact rather than asking. His fingers tightened just a touch more, your hand properly trapped in his grasp. It bordered on starting to sting.

“I know you did,” He finally let up on you.

Though he wouldn't let you be so easily. Beside you, he kept a hold of your hand as he pushed himself up to standing. He tugged on your hand a little too insistently, assisting you in standing alongside him. Whatever plans you might've had for the day were off the table with how certain his grip was, and how happy he was to take you away.

Following him across the roof, you follow a well-known path well. The two of you are lucky to be on the side of town where a mob wouldn't appear at the sight of him, especially with the moon rising in the distance. Ji-yong walked ahead of you, his arm stretched behind you as you diverted from a well known path to the more upscale half of town. You weren't one to argue as he slipped into an elegant, tucked away restaurant.

The inside mirrored that of the rooftop. Potted plants sat at the window and false ‘vines’ crept up the walls. You recognized it as one you wished to go to a handful of times, but it had been to upscale for what you could’ve afforded. You'd never mentioned it out loud, yet Ji-yong had brought you as if it was the most obvious choice.

Stepping beside you, he let go of your held hands to place a guiding hand against the small of your back. Without speaking to the host at the entrance, he guided you with a practiced ease to the back of the building. A private table was already waiting, a centerpiece with your favorite flowers poking out of a glass vace. You couldn't help but stare at them before looking back to Ji-yong, who only offered you a smile as an explanation.

“Perfect, isn't it?” He murmured as he pulled out your chair.

You ducked your head and sat in the one he offered, taking the menu, “When did you have time to-”

Before you had time to even open it, Ji-yong gently took the menu from your hand, “You don't need to look. I already ordered for us.”

“You?–”

“I know what you like,” He grinned, sitting across from you and resting his fist underneath his chin.

With quick, unsettling timeliness- the dishes were served up to either side of your table. It was exactly what you would've ordered along with an expensive wine you previously only wished to taste. All of this weighed on you. Your favorite flowers, the order you would've gotten yourself, the table already set? It all came blow after blow, not giving you a moment to react one way or the other.

“Ji-yong,” You grab the stem of the wineglass and twist it between your fingers, “This is so much. How did you do it?”

“Come on, it's not that hard,” He chuckled, offering out his glass to clink, “A little research, a little bit of memory. I pay attention to you.”

Present tense. He pays attention to you. 

Willing your hand still you swallowed, pressing out an awkward smile and clinked glasses with him. You swirled the drink, the rich aroma curled into your senses. You close your eyes in anticipation with the usual taste of alcohol, hesitant. It was smooth, luxurious. So much out of your price ranged but exactly what you would've chosen. Too perfect, too planned.

Across from you, Ji-yong’s gaze had intensified as he leaned over the edge of the table. His head tilted as you inspected it before drinking. He watched closely as you took another sip, tracking it down your throat as you swallowed. Sighing with some sort of tenseness he had been holding, he sat back with a sense of satisfaction.

“You always had good taste,” Ji-yong mused, taking a drink of his as well, “Still do.”

Just as you barely had time to touch your food, a waiter passed by to refill your wine. As they did, they offered a polite nod to Ji-yong. A show of familiarity. He must've been here, more than once. You should have expected it, but the thought lodged itself into your head uncomfortably.

“Actually, no,” Ji-yong exhaled a quiet laugh, finally setting down his glass, “I just had to make sure everything was perfect for tonight.”

“You planned this ahead of time?” Your stomach twisted, your suspicions confirmed so easily.

Ji-yong hadn't blinked yet, “I wasn't just going to leave things up to chance.”

The possessiveness woven into your words managed to be light and affectionate. It pressed down on you in a way you couldn't ignore, confusion plagued your thoughts. How would he know you decided out of the blue to visit an old hideout? Your gaze flickered to the centerpiece. The flowers were fresh, arranged with care.

“How did you know I would be there?” You ask, carefully setting down the glass.

Ji-yong shrugged, finally grabbing his chopsticks and taking a bite of his food before answering, “Because you wanted to.”

“Are you a mind reader?” You joke, but there’s more concern behind your words than you let on.

He didn't answer you, and instead he reached his free hand across the table. He offered his palm facing upward and gave you an expectant look, waiting. You hesitated, but his desperate pout you allowed it and let your fingers brushed against his. Again, his fingers weaved between yours and he resumed those small, soothing circular motions.

“I’m lucky fate allowed us to meet again,” He said instead, “Who knows? Maybe I've been doing this, wasting a dinner reservation for weeks.”

You weren't sure if you really had a choice in joining at all.

“I mean, it's nice catching up,” You kept your voice deliberately light, “I didn't expect all this, though. It's a little much for two old friends.”

That sour word made his eyes darken for just a moment “Friends,” He repeated, letting it sit on his tongue.

“You always downplay things,” He shook his head, his grip still not letting go yet.

He leaned more into his playful tone. Yet it mixed into something unreadable, when he managed to be intimidating and unthreatening all in once. It was a whirlwind for your mind.

“I just mean this is really nice, You didn't have to do this,” You shift in your seat, “And I know I agreed, but… we haven't seen each other for so long. You didn't have to do all of this.”

“But I wanted to,” He said too quickly, and leaned forward, “For you.”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away for a brief second. Your food was getting cold and your wine was practically untouched. Rekindling a friendship was harder than you could've expected, but his gaze was so warm. His grip remained so gentle. It wasn't so much of a trap, you told yourself. No, he was just desperate. When you framed it that way in your own mind, you could find it cute. Endearing.

So, he found out what your favorite flower was. The image of him trying again and again to catch you out of the blue was heartwarming. You had to wonder how he would've found the time for it. To be such a good friend with no reward.

“Of course. I appreciate all of this. Really,” You manage a soft laugh, “I know what you said earlier, and I apologize if I created a misunderstanding. Since we haven't seen each other for so long, we can think of it as a reconnection between friends?”

As you stumbled your way through your sentence, Ji-yong still hadn't blinked, “Of course.”

The way he said it was agreeable, effortless. His expression betrayed himself, the unmistakable look of hurt beneath how he tried to play it cool. He let go of your held together hands, letting his hand sit still palm-up on the table just to the side of yours. He took another sip of his wine, setting down the glass with a little too much force.

“You haven't changed much,” He mused, “You still try to talk your way out of things when you're nervous.”

You chuckle, pushing your plate forward awkwardly, “I'm not.”

Ji-yong turned his hand. This time instead of holding you, his polished nails tapped over your wrist. A pattern you couldn't quite recognize, tap-tap-tap. You squinted in confusion at him as he did, formulating his next words.

“Friends for now?” He tilted his head.

There was a hidden promise in his words- that sometime, this would go further. He sounded sweet again, his demeanor switched up yet again to that of a close friend rather than the controlling persona he'd shown you.

Without waiting for an answer he spoke again, “You know what? We can consider this a close gathering between friends.”

Even though his food was as relatively untouched as your own, he pushed back in his chair. It squeaked awkwardly against the hardwood floor and you grit your teeth in response. It wasn't aggressive, just enough to send the signal he wasn't pleased where this conversation had gone. He crossed the table to your side, reaching across you and grabbing your phone from your pocket.

Even though your phone had a lock, he started to tap on the screen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, reaching out to grab it.

Ji-yong grinned and swung his hands away, typing quickly before returning your phone to you. Saved in your contacts was his number addressed with his name. Your mouth goes agape as you look to him, in surprise.

He's still grinning, “You shouldn't make your passcode your birthday. Anyone could get in your phone.”

“You have quite the memory,” You shut off the screen, sliding it back into your pocket, “So this was just a meeting between friends, right?”

“Jeez. Let me off easy, won't you?” He's chuckling a little too forcefully, waving over a waiter to pick up your mess. 

Stepping past you, Ji-yong started to make his way toward the door. Not yet done with him, you scamper after him. You aren't sure what you want to say to him beyond not allowing him the last word.

He looms at the coat rack before seemingly realizing he must've left it back in your hideout. 

Seeing your opportunity, you speak up, “Um… Let's meet again.”

Out of everything you expected to come out of your mouth, that wasn't it. You could've demanded how he knew all these strange things about you, how he memorized your birthday. How he set up a date for you, strangely intense throughout the whole encounter.

Ji-yong finally looked back to you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Sounds good. I'll text you.”

He winked, finally stepping out of the door and leaving you to wonder in the empty restaurant. Behind you, the waiter quickly gets to cleaning your still-full plates and wine glasses. You slowly pace to the door interrupted by the buzz of your phone in your back pocket.

Ji-yong: Let's meet again next week.

You type in your passcode to reply, only to be met with a screen reading: Incorrect passcode, try again. You shrugged it off and quickly enter it again, only to be met with the same screen. You groan and step outside of the high-class restaurant. You didn't want to seem rude with your face buried in your phone as you fought against the cursed contraption. 

Again, you enter your passcode. This time, slowly nodding as you press each number. Instead of unlocking, the device tells you it's automatically locked, and to try again in 30 seconds. Curse the thing. You pace down empty alleys, trying to remember your way back to your place. As you walk the time comes to an end.

You repeat the process, delicately and slowly entering what you know will unlock your phone. Your attempt locks you out for a minute. Groaning, you wait on the side of the street and wait for a taxi. You give the driver your address, sitting back and staring down into your phone as the seconds tick down. At a rough turn you try again, even adding an old passcode tyou used before, only to wait another five minutes. You sat your phone in your lap and rubbed at your temples in frustration.

Your technology must've been cursed. The taxi comes to a stop in front of your place and you pay, thanking them as you step out. It drove off behind you, and you sigh as you stare at your screen asking again to be unlocked. As a last ditch effor, you enter the only other passcode you remember.

1808.

Your old crush’s birthdate. To your surprise, your phone opens to the screen of Ji-yong's message. The message changed from delivered to seen, and you couldn't stop blinking owlishly down at your device. You know for certain you hadn't set it to that code, and yet…

 Ji-yong: Ah, so you remember my birthday too?

 Ji-yong: I have our reservation set. I expect to see you.

Another message popped of an image of a reservation for two at another fancy restaurant popped up, at the same time the next week. You huff at his audacity, and quickly type back to him.

It's rude to go changing things in someone's phone. >:(

Ji-yong: Cmon, I was just messing with you. Let's meet, okay?

You sigh, clicking off the screen tucking it in your pocket to answer later. You couldn't deal with his antics invading your mind. You grab your handle, the unsettling feeling of being watched crawling up your shoulders pointed directly to the back of your head. Unable to help yourself, you snap back your gaze to the empty streets.

Of course, no one was there. You stepped inside and flopped onto the couch lazily, willing to calm yourself from the whirlwind that had been your day. An itching thought clouded your mind as you closed your eyes, ignoring yet another buzz from your phone.

Maybe you just hadn't seen who was watching you enter all along.

taglist: @petersasteria

[flashbangstars]

Never a Martyr - L.J.N

Pairing: Jeno x Fem reader MDNI 18+ wc: 1.2k+.

Summary: you are a doctor working at the facility they are holding him assigned to watch over his healing. until it becomes evident he is not the villain they've painted him to be, and to him, you aren't the martyr he thought you to be.

Genre: smut, hurt/comfort, angst,

Warnings: Jeno's lowkey a dick in the beginning, getting hot and heavy in a prison cell, making out, thigh riding, swearing, and mentions of injuries.

Author's note: I seriously got this idea as I was looking at Jeno's Instagram post and wrote it in 40 minutes because I didn't want to lose the idea. I know I just wrote something for him, but this is a nice little extra with a little more spicier stuff than I had anticipated. I hope you like it and have been liking the new album, I'm currently obsessed with icantfeelanything and did listen to it like 40 times while writing this.

He nodded in acknowledgment and let the shirt fall from his shoulders. Pale skin fills your view, littered with bruises and scrapes. Pinks and purples dusting areas like watercolor. You felt your chest tighten at the sight. Your hands moved forward and tugged lightly at the wide bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder. Gently unraveling it to reveal even worse damage.

The old bandages in your hands, dangling. Hands frozen just staring at the expanse of his back afraid of what had become of him. Breaking, your hands crumpled the bandages into a ball trying to take the anger out on them, turning swiftly and walking towards the garbage can. Watching the abused wad of bandages drop in your feet stuck in front of the small metal can trying to collect your thoughts.  Staring at your hands, the white gloves, the sting of the smell of antiseptic, your stomach churned and you felt your throat tighten.

The old bandages in your hands, dangling. Hands frozen just staring at the expanse of his back afraid of what had become of him. Breaking, your hands crumpled the bandages into a ball trying to take the anger out on them, turning swiftly and walking towards the garbage can. Watching the abused wad of bandages drop in your feet stuck in front of the small metal can trying to collect your thoughts.  Staring at your hands, the white gloves, the sting of the smell of antiseptic, your stomach churned and you felt your throat tighten.

Why had they done this to him?

Turning back around he had already been facing you. His features now hint at the beginning of an emotion. Walking forward, you dug your hand into your pocket and pulled out a white roll of new bandages. Tearing it from the package, your movements jagged, unable to completely tear the packaging feeling frustration creep up. 

A pale hand grabs the roll in your hands, grasping it and taking it. Looking up at him now focused on the bandages that should still be in your ownership. Tearing the package with a steady hand and then giving it back to you. 

“Thank you.” Your voice coming out quieter than expected. 

Beginning to wrap the bandage across his chest you dragged your fingers down the expanse of hard muscle making sure it laid flat on his skin. Feeling the light beat of his heart under your fingertips. Turning him around and securing it on his back. Finishing covering the wounds

Pressing your hand flat against the loose end to adhere it. You let your hand linger on his skin as if you were trying to take some of his anguish from him. Trying to provide some sort of reminder of care and human touch. 

“I’m so sorry” you muttered, sounding like a pin dropping in the silent room. 

“Why do you care” he finally spoke, his voice flat. 

Why did you care? Your brows furrowed searching for a reason, trying to rationalize all the things you were feeling at the moment.

“They do not care what happens to us, so why do you care what happens to me” he questioned, turned around now he angled his glare to meet your line of vision, dipping his head down. 

“This-this isn’t fair” your voice faltered. His gaze sharped and he lunged forward grabbing your wrist, your back hitting the cement wall behind you. Caging you in against the wall his face now a mere couple of inches from yours. You knew he knew what the repercussions of something like this would be. 

“Your guilty conscious is not on me, go home cry, and get the fuck over it, you are not allowed to be a martyr in this story” he spat through gritted teeth. 

His glare burned into you and your stomach twisted even more, a mix of anger and confusion overcame you. 

“You’re scared and hurt and you’re taking It out on me. If this is what you need to do to make yourself feel better go ahead and knock yourself out” you hissed. 

His eyes widened a fraction as if not expecting the push back and his grip on your wrist loosened. His face softened and a look of defeat now painted his features. Dropping his head to your shoulder, his hand released your wrist and slid down to your hand. Intertwining your hands slowly, allowing you an out at any time but also asking permission if he could. His breathing ragged in the silence as you felt his facade slowly fall. 

“Do you really care about me?”  He murmured. Voice small and afraid. 

“Yes,” you affirmed placing your arm around his neck and hugging him with your free hands, bringing the rest of him close to you, the thought of how he probably hadn’t felt care or human affection in months or years was swimming around in your conscious. Your eyes glued to the window of the door making sure no one saw what you were doing. Now this was a two-person crime, you were risking your job and well.. your freedom by engaging with him. But it was worth it.

Reciprocating, his hands snaked around your body clutching you by the waist and shoulder, holding you as if he was testing if this was really real. Pulling you closer you felt his lips ghost against your neck on the skin exposed, and then press against it. The hand that was on your shoulder now cradling the back of your head. Fingering threading into your hair and disrupting the perfect order in which you had it in before entering his room. 

Your breathing quickened and your chest heaved. Sensing the reaction he slowly pushed his knee between your legs widening your stance. now impossibly closer to each other. He was trying to consume you. 

Your dress shoved up your legs and his thigh dangerously close to where you desperately needed relief. His kisses on your neck had turned hungry leaving small bite marks in his wake his hands moving you to give him more access to your untouched skin. You had been scared to touch him as if you would break him, but he had no issues handling you as if you were his only. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head and opened again to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, leveling your gaze back to the hallway reminding you of the reality of things outside of you being pushed up against this wall. His hand now felt for where he could access what was underneath the dress you were wearing.  Succeeding as he slides the fabric up your waist. Pushing your underwear aside and finding what he was after. Beginning to move your hips back and forth on his clothed thigh a wet spot forming on the crisp navy pants he had been wearing. Watching, his eyes now sparked with anticipation and hunger as you became undone even more at his hands. A vast difference from the tight-lipped doctor who had walked in 30 minutes ago.

Your hands now exploring him as if he were yours, touching and feeling with the intention of keeping and taking. Angling your head you traced your lips on the shell of his ear and whispered with each movement of your hips rocking against him,

“We”

Up

“Will”

Down

“g-get”

Up

“Your”

Down

“Wings”

Up 

“Back.”

---

thank you for reading <3