#*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

[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 😭😭 )

[rafesyangel]

What happens when rafe accidentally yells at reader?

The sun was starting to hide behind the trees, casting a warm golden light over the driveway Rafe had been working under his truck for the past two hours, covered in sweat, grease staining his forearms and the front of his shirt. He was on his back beneath the chassis, grumbling under his breath every time a wrench slipped or something clanked against metal

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed, shifting from one foot to the other like a restless child. You’d been watching him forever—first from the porch, then closer and now, completely ignored, you were growing bratty.

“Raaaaafe,” you sang out, dragging his name like a child teasing a tired parent
He didn’t answer

You walked over and squatted beside the truck
“Come ooon. You said we’d go out ” you pouted. “You’ve been under there forever”

Still no response. Just the sound of a tool clicking into place

Your fingers twitched, and in your irritation, you picked up a small pebble and tossed it” lightly” so it tapped against the side of the truck
Clink

Then his hand froze

Rafe slid out from under the truck slowly, his face streaked with grease, sweat dripping from his temple.
He sat up, tossed the wrench down, and looked at you with barely restrained fury

“What did I say earlier? Huh? I said I needed to get this done,” he snapped. His voice was louder now, sharp like the crack of thunder


“And you just keep pushing. Keep nagging. You never just listen.”

“Do you EVER stop?Do you EVER just—LISTEN for once He bellowed, voice cracking like a whip through the room

The sudden explosion in his voice made you shrink back

Your mouth opened but nothing came out. Your face twisted, and the tears came fast

faster than you expected, hot and painful
“I—I wasn’t trying to bother you,” you whimpered, backing up a step. “I just wanted to spend time with you…”

Your voice cracked at the end
And that broke him

And then your face crumpled.
Your shoulders trembled and tears spilled, fast and hot, your hands balling into little fists at your sides.
“I just wanted you to notice me…” you hiccuped

Rafe's rage dissolved in a blink
He stared at you, the guilt hitting him like a truck his features softened instantly, as if the anger had been sucked out of him by your first tear

“ baby—no, no no…”

He stepped in front of you, gently catching your wrist before you could turn away

“C’mere. Come here, little one,” he muttered, pushing himself up and dusting off his hands, voice ragged, full of regret


You didn’t even have to move as he came to you, wrapping those strong, calloused arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest

“‘M sorry, baby,” he whispered into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “That wasn’t okay. I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that.”

You clung to him, silent sobs shaking through your small frame
He picked you up gently like you weighed nothing and carried you to the old porch swing, settling down with you curled up in his lap your body curled in his like you belonged there like you always had

Rafe rocked you slowly, the chains of the swing creaking rhythmically.
One arm held you close, the other ran up and down your back in soothing strokes.

“You know you’re my girl, right?” he murmured, voice low and full of guilt. “Even when I’m mad, even when I’m tired, I don’t ever stop loving you. You hear me?”

You gave a tiny nod against his chest
He kept rocking.
Back and forth, back and forth, the creak of the swing and the steady thump of his heartbeat lulling you toward sleep.

“I got you now,” he whispered again, more to himself than to you. “I’ll always got you.”

You fell asleep tucked into his chest, your cheeks tearstained, his shirt still smelling like motor oil and sweat but it didn’t matter. You were safe

And Rafe? He didn’t move an inch with you in his hands

[slvbum]

girls day with daddy ♡ Rafe Cameron!

content: Rafe × Bunny!Reader marriage, Marie’s a mini version of Bunny and Rafe at the same time.

based on this request HERE!

Marie Thérèse had been pleading for days to get her nails done like Mommy, her big eyes gleaming with longing as she watched Y/N glossy pink nails. But when Y/N gently said, “You’re still too little, sweetheart,” Marie’s expression crumpled, her lower lip quivering, her tiny hands balling into fists, a small gesture that remind her of Rafe. Y/N’s heart twisted at the sight—her baby’s disappointment was unbearable—and she resolved to plan a special girl’s day out, enlisting Rafe to drive them without even asking him first.

“This better not drag on forever,” he grumbled, though a faint smile tugged at his lips as Marie chattered excitedly about nail polish colors from her car seat behind them.

Their first stop was an upscale salon on Main Street, its marble floors gleaming as they entered.

Bunny whispered to the stylist, “Just wash her hair with gentle, hypoallergenic products and fix her nails. I brought my own kid-safe pastel pink polish.” She handed over a tiny bottle from her purse, its label promising safety, ensuring Marie felt pampered without harsh chemicals.

The stylist nodded, guiding Marie to a cushioned chair where she giggled as her curls were lathered with a floral-scented shampoo, bubbles dancing on her cheeks. Bunny held her hand as the stylist trimmed and buffed Marie’s tiny nails, applying the pastel pink polish with careful strokes. Marie beamed, her eyes wide with pride, feeling like a big girl. Rafe waited outside, arms crossed, his foot tapping with growing irritation as the hour ticked by, though he kept his complaints to himself.

Next, they visited a high-end froyo boutique with a toppings bar brimming with options that made Marie’s eyes shine. Marie stood on a velvet stool, crafting her sundae—two scoops of strawberry froyo, a swirl of raspberry sauce, edible flower petals, and gold-dusted sprinkles, all in a handcrafted waffle cup.

“It’s a fairy treat, Mommy!” she chirped, yoghurt smudging her chin as Y/N wiped it with a linen napkin, while Rafe watched, shaking his head as the bill hit $22 for the treat.

“Outrageous,” he muttered, but Marie’s delighted grin melted his grumble as he handed over his card.

Then, Rafe drove them to the mall, where Bunny and Marie explored boutiques. He trailed behind, his wallet thinning with each stop. In a store, Marie’s eyes locked onto a deluxe coloring set she’d been begging for, a $150 art kit with premium colored pencils, watercolor paints, and a sketchbook, far pricier than Y/N deemed sensible for a child. Y/N had resisted, whispering, “That’s too expensive for a kid, Rafe,” but Marie’s soft “Please, Daddy?” and those pleading eyes broke him. He passed his card to the cashier, adding the set to their haul.

They also visited a boutique where Marie twirled in a floral dress with a ruffled hem, and Y/N picked a matching one for herself. At a Barbie aisle, Marie’s squeal over a Dreamhouse Barbie doll sealed another purchase, and in another store, Rafe bought two Jellycat bunnies, one cream with floppy ears, the other lavender, unable to resist her joy. Y/N shot him a playful scold, “You’re spoiling her too much,” but Rafe just smirked, enchanted by Marie’s voice and gaze.

When they were back in the car, Marie was vibrating with happiness in her car seat, her new treasures piled around her.

“This is the best day of my life, Mommy! Thank you, Daddy!” she exclaimed, her hands clapping.

Rafe glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Marie’s radiant smile, and felt a lump in his throat: her happiness, was worth every cent, and he knew, he was going to do everything he could to see his princess happy every day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun — written with love.

[syrecjh]

─ .✦ ˚˖🌷✧˚Windows Between Us

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Bakugo’s room smells like the aftermath of something electric — scorched dust, citrus shampoo, and the lingering tang of his sweat after training. Kirishima once said it smells like wanting to impress someone.

He nearly got launched for it.

The BakuSquad is sprawled like fallen warriors across his bedroom floor — half into a video game, half into arguments about snacks. Laughter bounces off the walls, messy and unfiltered, as summer leans in through the open windows like an eavesdropper.

And then —

a thunk.

A sharp, featherlight sound against glass.

Bakugo’s gaze flickers, not startled, just… expecting.

Because he knows that sound.

It’s not the wind. Not a bird. Not a glitch in the universe.

It’s you.

The girl next door. The girl in the window across from his. The girl who throws things when she can’t knock.

A little scrunched ball of notebook paper rolls down his windowsill like it’s shy. There’s another just outside the glass — a second one, crumpled with intent. You’ve clearly missed once already.

Katsuki crosses the room with slow, practiced boredom, but his ears are already warm.

He pushes open the window a little more, and there you are — half-hanging out of yours, elbow propped, face alight with mischief. Summer clings to you like perfume. There’s ink on your fingers. Your braid is unraveling.

“Oi, Bakugo,” you call, a grin curling at your lips, “next time catch it. I’m running outta paper.”

Behind him, a chip hits the floor. Mina stills mid-bite. Kaminari’s eyes widen like he’s watching a soap opera unfold live.

Bakugo doesn’t even glance back at them.

He leans an elbow on the sill, all loose limbs and lazy confidence, but his eyes — gods, his eyes are soft like smoke just before it sparks.

“What, throwing rocks wasn’t an option?”

You scoff. “Didn’t want you thinking it was an attack. I know how you get.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“You could’ve answered.”

There’s a beat — just the buzz of a streetlamp, the rustle of the curtains, and the faint sound of Kaminari whispering oh my god, oh my god behind him like a cursed chant.

You smile wider, resting your chin on your hand. “You ghostin’ me, or are you just playing hard to get?”

Bakugo’s gaze dips to your mouth. “Wouldn’t ghost you. You know that.”

You hum. “Then why’d you disappear after last night, huh? I thought we were bonding.”

He shrugs, but his voice lowers. “Didn’t wanna say something stupid in front of you.”

“Aw,” you coo, voice drenched in teasing affection. “What, like how pretty I looked under the streetlight?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but the smirk’s already there. His hand tightens slightly around the windowsill. “You fishing for compliments now?”

“I’m fishing for attention,” you say, tilting your head. “And I caught you.”

And then, fate curses you with timing.

You lean forward just enough — and catch a glimpse in his mirror. A blur of crimson. A flash of pink. The unmistakable sound of Sero choking on his drink.

“Oh my god—” your whole body yanks back like the window frame bit you. “You have people over?!”

Bakugo doesn’t move. Just watches you vanish like mist into your curtains.

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t alone!” your voice shouts from somewhere behind your blinds.

“You didn’t ask,” he shoots back, smug.

Bakugo grins — a slow, lopsided, shit-eating thing that does things to your stomach.

“Didn’t think I’d flirt with you in front of witnesses?” he calls after you, still not glancing behind him.

You pop your head out again, mortified. “I—I would’ve worn lip balm or something!” and then you suddenly disappeared out of embarrassment.

He chuckles — low, deep, smug — and finally turns back to the chaos that is now his living room.

Mina has tears in her eyes. Kirishima is frozen in pure secondhand embarrassment. Sero’s already got a draft tweet written in his brain. Kaminari is vibrating.

“She’s adorable,” Mina whispers in awe.

“She’s doomed,” Kirishima mutters.

Bakugo pulls the crumpled paper from the sill and pockets it like it’s valuable.

Then, slowly, like a lion lounging in the ruins of his own chaos, he turns back toward the room. His face is unreadable. Except for that smile — that quiet, victorious, absolutely whipped curve of his mouth.

“She likes you,” Kaminari gasps.

“Damn right she does,” Bakugo replies, and plops back onto the beanbag like the whole world didn’t just catch him soft.

And no one says a word when he glances back at the window one last time, just to see if you'd peek again.

[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.

[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

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@sirenetheblogger

@Osunnyside01

[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.

[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 !

[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.

[starrihan]

OMG I loved the &team Hyung line ask about girl best friend not wearing a bra! Can I request the same but with their girl best friend accidentally touching their dick?

YESSSSSS!!!! Oh my god I’ve been thinking about this after that ask too!! So let’s reverse the roles!!

each members part is ~600-700 words long

Not proofread btw 😭

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

K:

"I will grab your balls and twist them."

"I'm not giving you my last candy! You ate the rest of them already!"

He reached his arm up further, bringing the candy further out of your reach.

"But I'm on my period!!"

"Your inability to produce a child is not my responsibility. Go take Jo's chocolate or something."

"I don't want Jo's chocolate!"

You say, jumping up to try to reach the candy. He laughs as you move to try to pull his arm down, barely able to move him.

"Since when did you get so strong? I used to tackle you."

"Since you started stealing all of my food."

He was looking down at you, a devious smirk playing on his face as you continue to pull him down, but to no avail. He gets the brilliant idea to open the candy, taunting you as he takes his time fiddling with the wrapper. You're basically climbing him like a tree, legs wrapped around his thighs, one arm reaching up to grab at the candy while the other is securely grasping the back of his shirt. You were in a very compromising position. To you guys, this was normal, but to anyone else, this would look very bad.

He gets the candy out of the wrapper, even taking the time to crumple the wrapper up and throw it away before staring straight into your eyes as he slowly pushes the candy past his lips. You look at him with disgust written all over your face, getting ready to untangle your legs from around his body.

But when you go to put your feet on the ground, you accidentally step on his foot. He jumps at the pain causing you let go of your grip on the back of his shirt, quickly trying to grab the end of his shirt before falling ass-first onto the ground. You successfully manage to grab his shirt before falling, but get scared yourself when he starts choking on his candy, spitting it out.

“Dude what the hell?? You went through all that performance to mock me and eat the candy just to choke and spit it out?”

“DUDE? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU GRABBING MY DICK?!”

You look down to see that your hand, is in fact, groping his entire penis, to which you proceed to shriek and then fall ass-first onto the ground anyways. You snicker to yourself when he steps back, covering his dick in the process.

“Oh I see, you’re not with child so you had to make sure I couldn’t have one either.”

“Oh please,”

You say, getting up and dusting yourself off.

“I could make anyone want to have a baby with me if I wanted to. I just choose not to. Especially not with you.”

He feigns an offended look, hand to chest like what you said drove a knife through his heart.

“Excuse me? My children would be great, thank you very much.“

“No they wouldn’t. Think of this as me doing a favor for you. We don’t need little K babies running around.”

“You just wanted any excuse to touch my dick, don’t lie.”

You sigh, staring at the sad, choked out piece of candy on the floor.

“If I wanted to touch your dick I would’ve by now— with your consent of course.” (If it’s not a yes then it’s a no!!)

He rolls his eyes, nudging you out of the way to pick up his lost piece of candy.

“Now because of you and your hormones I didn’t get to enjoy my last candy. I hope you’re happy.”

“Me and my hormones say that you suck.”

“I would’ve— on that piece of candy if you didn’t want me so bad.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, realizing that arguing with him is pointless.

“I’m gonna go get more candy, and I will not be getting any for you.”

“Don’t touch anyone else’s dick to get them you fiend.”

༄ ༄ ༄

Fuma:

You were getting ready to go out and celebrate your best friend, Fuma’s birthday. You made sure your hair and makeup were looking good, smoothing down any stray hairs and applying a lip stain you knew was going to last you the whole night. 

He wanted to go out to a bar with you and a couple of your guys’ friends and you offered to pay for his drinks and food for the night. Upon getting the text that he was here, you hurry to put your shoes on. You smile, making your way inside the car. 

“Why are you so dressed up? It’s my birthday, not yours.”

“What if there's fine shit at the bar? I always have to look my best.”

“Wow, looking for a man on MY birthday instead of wanting to celebrate with me, how classy.”

“I am classy.”

He just rolls his eyes, laughing at your antics before driving off. Once you arrive at the bar, you find some of your friends waiting for you. 

“There’s the birthday boy!” 

K shouts, getting up to hug his friend. 

“I’m 26, I'm not a boy.” 

Fuma says, everyone laughing at the two. 

“Yeah, you're a grandpa.”

You say, earning some laughs from the rest of the group. You join them, refraining from drinking yourself as you said you would let Fuma drink for the night, opting to be his driver for the ride home. A couple of drinks in and the rest of the guys were starting to feel it, standing up and dancing to the live music that was playing. You watch as the guys enjoy themselves, waiting for your soda before joining them. 

The space was small, not really allowing for much movement but there was a little crowd of people all dancing. Everyone had their beers or their drinks in their hand so you thought it would be okay for you to bring yours as well, better than leaving it open for someone to mess with anyway. But you should’ve predicted that your little heels and a closed space wouldn’t go well, stumbling over someone’s foot and spilling your drink all down the front of Fuma’s pants. He’s already pretty drunk, so he just laughs as you pull him away to the bathroom, apologizing profusely. 

“Oh my god Fuma I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to spill my drink all over you!”

You’d say frantically, stepping into the men’s bathroom and grabbing napkins to dab at the spilled drink. You get his thighs, accidentally touching his dick in the process. 

“Are you sure you didn’t? You don’t seem too shy to touch my dick in public.”

And your face turns a bright red, not really realizing that you were brushing against it so often. He doesn’t seem to mind though, looking down at you with a smirk on his face. You couldn’t help how attractive you found him in this moment, not to mention the fact that you were basically on your knees in front of him, involuntarily closing your legs together. You rose to your feet, looking away from him and fanning your face with your hands to calm your nerves, but his stare was piercing. He takes the napkins from your hands, dabbing it around the areas you didn’t get. He throws the napkins out in the trash can that's behind you, lifting your face up with his fingers.

“If only I wasn’t drunk right now, I would’ve taken you right here and now. But you’ll be with me in the morning, right?”

He says, leaving you stunned as he exits the bathroom. You need a second before stepping back outside, needing to think back at the implications of his words. You had planned to drop him off and leave, but maybe you will stay. He was the birthday boy after all, who were you to go against his wishes?

Nicholas:

You didn’t normally mind when Nicholas asked you to go shopping with him, often enjoying it because he’d always end up buying the both of you some food or dessert. But when he spent literal hours trying on clothes at the same shop, you were starting to get fed up. 

“Remind me again why we’ve been here for 3 hours now?”

“Because I need to find new clothes?”

He replies sassily, opening the curtain to the fitting room to show off his outfit. 

“Correction, why have I been here for 3 hours with you?”

“Because I need you to tell me if this looks tough or if it's ugly.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“You asked.”

You resisted the urge to slap him, analyzing his outfit. You wanted to tease him, putting on a disinterested look, one that he met with an annoyed expression of his own. 

“Does it look good or not?” 

“Hmm… I like the shirt and the pants separately but not together, the jacket is okay, maybe with another fit it could look nice but I don’t know, I don’t like it that much.” 

Sighing, he closes the curtain and proceeds to take off his clothes. His shirt goes first, then his pants. 

“Can you hand me the dark-wash baggy jeans with the rips in the knees. They’re next to you!”

He yells out as if you’re not sitting right outside of his dressing room. You’re scrolling on your phone, grabbing the pair of jeans and handing it to him. He tries them on quickly, but dislikes them almost immediately, taking them off. 

“I don’t like these, here take them back and give me the other jeans.” 

Again, not paying attention you reach your non phone-bearing hand into the curtain, waiting for him to hand you the pair of pants. He doesn’t see your hand poking in, turning around away from the mirror and walking directly into your open hand. You close your hand in on the material. 

“This doesn’t feel like the jeans?” 

“That’s because you’re groping my dick right now.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you into the dressing room as you yelp. You see him standing only in his boxers, eyeing his fit physique when you realize who exactly it is that you’re looking at and facing away from him with your eyes shut. 

“What the fuck Nicholas why’d you drag me in here?!” 

“Why were you groping my dick so much? You don’t know the difference between and dick and jeans?” 

You can feel your cheeks burn up at the thought of you groping him so inappropriately, and in public at that. Your voice is small from embarrassment.

“…I wasn’t paying attention… I didn’t know what I was grabbing.” 

“Well you’re not apologizing. Did you do it on purpose? Did you want to touch my dick?” 

You couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t found Nicholas attractive. But in any case, this is not the situation you’d imagine yourself admitting that to him. He laughs, walking closer to you, boxing you in between him and the wall. You’re still facing away from him, too shy to face him when he’s almost fully naked. 

“Oh Y/N… you could’ve just told me you know? I am your best friend after all.” 

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you…” 

He leans in closer to you, breath fanning your ear as a wave of relief yet nervousness ripples through your body. 

“I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought of it myself…” 

You turn around, flinching at how close he is to your face. Your cheeks are burning red at the smirk he has plastered on his face, confidence radiating off of him. 

“What are you trying to say, Nicholas?” 

“I’m saying that friends are allowed to have a little fun, right?” 

Your visible gulp has him chuckling, eyes piercing into yours with his sharp gaze. You had already been here for 3 hours, what was another 30 minutes? 

Euijoo:

Today was the first time in two weeks that you would see Euijoo. Due to his recent schedules, he didn’t have much time to hang out, let alone do anything else. You arrive at the dorms, knocking on the door. You’re greeted by Harua, who looks so happy to see you. 

“Y/N!”

He says, pulling you into a hug.

“Hi Harua!”

You laugh as he lets you in. 

“Euijoo is out right now. He got called in by our manager but he said he should be back soon, no more than two hours.”

You nod your head in understanding. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.

“That’s okay, I figured this would happen, that’s why I cleared my entire schedule. I’ll just hang out till he gets here like I usually do.”

You say your goodbyes to Harua, as he had plans to go out with Nicholas, and get comfy on the couch. As time goes by, you notice your eyes are getting heavier. You lay down instead, deciding to take a nap until he gets back. 

About 45 minutes later, you stir in your sleep. Euijoo is fumbling with his keys outside, casually opening and closing the door before he notices that you’re asleep on the sofa. He laughs to himself, quietly taking off his shoes and making his way around the dorm so as not to wake you up. Upon returning to the living room, he holds back a loud laugh, your snores having grown exponentially loud. He decided to mess with you a bit, knowing now how deep of a sleep you’re in. He carefully makes his way over to you, taking his slipper off and banging it loud on the side of the sofa, causing you to jump, immediately waking you up. 

You look around frantically, only to grumble as you look up and see him towering over you, clutching his stomach in silent laughter. 

“Oh fuck off.”

You say while launching a pillow at him, going back to your original position, face in the cushions as you start to relax again. 

“I’m sorry, that was just too funny!”

He says, still chuckling as he goes to grab the pillow. He throws it on you, shaking you to make you get up. 

“C’mon! I’m hungry and there’s this spot I wanna try. You’re probably hungry now that you’re awake.”

You try waving him off, hand randomly flailing in the air as you try to shoo him away. He doesn’t give up though, gently shakes turning into tickles as you start stretching oddly to avoid his fingers. 

“Euijoo stop!” 

You cry out, laughing. He’s laughing with you until you deliver a particularly rough slap directly onto his dick.

“OW!”

He screams, toppling over you in agony. You’re still laughing as you try to move his body off of you.

“I did tell you to stop.”

“Remind me to never try to have fun with you ever again.”

He moves to sit up, wincing in pain as he does so. 

“I think you broke it.”

“I would need to do a whole lot more than that to break it.”

Intrigued by your statement, he raises a brow at you.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Could you grab me an ice pack? It’s the least you could do after compromising me.”

You get up, grabbing him an ice pack and returning with it. Still a little disoriented from sleep and fright, you reach down, going to apply the ice pack in between his legs. Heat rises to his cheeks, shifting in his seat. It’s like you hadn’t realized what you were doing.

“I can do this part myself ya know…”

And you stare at him, blush creeping up onto your cheeks as it hits you what you were about to do. 

“O-oh yeah… sorry I got carried away…”

He laughs awkwardly, taking the ice pack from your hands and doing it himself, grabbing a pillow to cover himself as the awkwardness of the situation finally settles in. 

“So… food?”

You say, trying to lighten the mood and he nods in agreement, telling you about the place he wanted to try out. 

༄ ༄ ༄

These were so fun to write

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[spellbound-rosehearts]

WORDS UNSPOKEN : CHAPTER 5

yuu falls asleep first, for once, and leona wrestles with feelings that he never meant to have.

pairings: leona kingscholar x yuu

warnings: none

notes: this is my fav chapter so far. i hope you all are as obsessed with this story as i am! i’m having so much fun writing it! leave me a comment and let me know what you think so far!

part 1, 2, 3, 4, 6

leona leaned back on the worn couch, lazily tossing a ball of crumpled paper into the air and catching it again, half-listening as yuu scribbled furiously at the coffee table. her textbook lay open in front of her, pages crinkled at the edges, highlighter marks everywhere.

"don’t over-complicate it," he drawled, watching her fumble for the right answer on her worksheet. "focus on the key concepts. break them down into smaller parts. if you keep trying to memorize every little detail, you're just going to burn yourself out."

yuu nodded, her gaze fixed on the paper in front of her. leona paused and watched her for a moment. she looked tired, the kind of tired that dragged at her shoulders and made her blink a little too slow, but stubbornness kept her going.

“you still with me?” he asked, his tone more sarcastic than concerned.

she blinked rapidly. "yeah, i’m good. keep going."

“alright,” he said after a second. “tell me again, what's the rule for conjuration theory?"

she sat up a little straighter, like she was rallying her energy. "the...uh, law of proportional trade. you have to sacrifice an equal amount of energy to create a new magical object."

leona nodded once, satisfied. "good. you might actually pass your finals."

she let out a weak groan and slumped over her notebook. "miracles do happen."

he smirked and pushed himself up, stretching his arms above his head and wincing as his joints cracked quietly. he then leaned over and flicked her lightly on the side of the head with two fingers.

"good luck, herbivore,” he said, but his voice had softened. “you’re going to need it.”

yuu mumbled a soft "thanks" before diving back into her notes.

he left her to it, claiming his usual spot by the window where the sunlight spilled in. he sprawled out there, arms behind his head, prepared to doze off.

the minutes dragged by in a thick, heavy quiet.

until... the silence in the room shifted. the sounds of pen scribbling across the paper had stopped, and the soft rustling of pages was absent. it was too still.

leona cracked one eye open suspiciously, and then he saw her.

yuu had fallen asleep. her face was relaxed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, her breath even and steady. the book she'd been so intent on studying now served as a pillow, and the pen had fallen from her hand, lying abandoned beside her.

leona stared at her for a long moment, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. then he narrowed his eyes.

typical.

stupid herbivore, working herself into the ground like that.

his first instinct was to leave her be. but she looked so small like that, folded over the coffee table, shoulders curled in. the quiet little sigh she let out as she shifted ever so slightly made something tighten in his chest. it almost felt like a string tugging him forward. annoying, insistent, undeniable.

he could just ignore it. that was what he usually did. he was good at detachment, at keeping people at arm’s length. let her sleep, let her wake up sore and cold and alone, and maybe she’d learn her lesson.

but the tug wouldn’t let go. it never did when it came to her.

his body betrayed him before his mind had even finished the thought, and he stood up.

with slow and silent steps, he moved over to the back of the couch where an old, battered blanket was draped. he shook it out once, sending a puff of dust into the air. then, with a carefulness that was foreign to him, he draped the blanket around her shoulders. the fabric slipped once, and he adjusted it, brushing her hair aside in the process.

leona swallowed hard. he lingered there for a second, looking at her face. all peaceful and soft in sleep, none of the usual stubborn determination furrowing her brow.

he didn’t know when it started, this stupid, subtle ache in his chest whenever she was near. it wasn’t a pain, not exactly. more like a weight, steady and pressing, as if something had settled in him that he couldn’t shake loose, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. he had always been able to shut out what he didn’t want to feel. yet now, with her, it was different. the more he saw her, really saw her, the deeper the ache grew. and somewhere between the moments they shared together and the times he found himself watching her over the rim of his teacup, she’d started mattering to him. he hadn’t agreed to that. he hadn’t planned it. it wasn’t like him. and still, here he was, standing over her as she slept, quietly wishing she would take better care of herself.

a muscle in his jaw twitched. he sighed, dragging a hand over his face, trying to shake the thoughts from his head.

leona pulled away slowly, going back to his spot in the sun. as he sank down into it, arms folded behind his head, he let the warmth soak into his skin. he shut his eyes, hoping sleep would come quick and wipe the weight of this softness away.

but it didn’t. it stayed there, low and steady, warm and frustrating. he told himself it didn’t matter. but part of him, the part that kept looking her way, quietly checking on her, knew better.

he could try to run from it, try to push it down, but the way his chest ached when he looked at her said it was already too late.