#*crumples to a ball of dust*

[hakusins]

hyv: releases pink foxian male

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

[michaelgabrill]

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

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

[duuhrayliegh]

consequences

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

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

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Focus on me, Peanut."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I call bullshit."

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

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

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

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

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

"Uh, yeah I can."

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

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

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

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But he--"

"You're 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.

[cherry-coffees]

Marriage of Convenience!Caitlyn 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.

[iris-qt]

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎

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

ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

❆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 3.3ᴋ

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

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

It was the annual Ministry of Magic Holiday Ball.

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

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

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

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

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

“Enchanté, mademoiselle y/l/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frogs and frills, her tea’s a spill,

Her reign was such a mess,

Tried to rule with an iron quill,

But now she’s just a jest!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12:00 a.m. 

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

A familiar, devilish voice broke the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.

[flashbangstars]

Never a Martyr - L.J.N

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

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

Genre: smut, hurt/comfort, angst,

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

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

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

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

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

Why had they done this to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We”

Up

“Will”

Down

“g-get”

Up

“Your”

Down

“Wings”

Up 

“Back.”

---

thank you for reading <3

[memorycycle]

worlds strongest woman to roll me out with a giant rolling pin and my spine shoots out my body and hits the wall and explodes into dust and a gorllia comes and whips me around like a rope and crumples me into a ball and shoots a 3 pointer and its one of those basketball nets that has blades that cut the ball and hurt the ball and damage it permanently and even if you cant see the scars anymore the ball still bounces weird after and you just decide to throw it away for a newer one and it sits there in the dump and gets used by rats

[rafedaddy01]

omg i need them going to a bonfire which rafe doesnt normally do but for reader he will and some guy tries flirting w her omg😫

Warnings: rafe gets jealous

Rafe was never one to go to social events. Especially the summer bonfire, it was gonna be crawling with pouges and he didn’t want to deal with that bullshit tonight. All he wanted to do was cuddle with you in bed, maybe a little making out that lead to sex, but you wouldn’t stop talking about the bonfire and how it’s be so much fun to go and he just couldn’t resist saying yes.

“OMG rafey, thank you so much. I promise you’re gonna have so much fun!” You babbled on and on, thanking rafe for agreeeing to come as the two of you approached the beach in his Land Rover. All rafe could think about was how he’d make sure you thanked him properly once the two of you got home.

The night was going by too slow for Rafes liking. But you seemed to be enjoying yourself. A little too much as Rafe took a closer look from where he stood. The plastic cup in his hand crumpled to a ball as he strided closer to you. He walked up to you and the asshole who was to close to you and making you laugh. “Rafe! There you are, this is Peter. He’s on vacation with his family, he’s from New York. Isn’t that cool?” You beamed up and rafe, you were too innocent for your own good. You couldn’t even tell his dick was trying to screw you. Rafe glared at Peter and the boy disappeared like dust, probably going to change his underwear. When you looked over the boy was gone but you didn’t think much about it, it happened pretty often in Rafes presence. You sipped your beer and thanked Rafe again for coming out tonight. “Let’s go home, and you can thank me properly” Rafe leaned down and kissed your lips softly before he took you home and abused the fuck out of your poor mouth.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 6 (Dubcon)

Harry Warden x Reader (NSFW)

(773 Words)

Summary: Whatever happens in the mines, stays in the mines

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, EXTREMELY dubious consent (like seriously), dead dove do not eat, descriptions of violence, guilt, confusing and shameful feelings, reader is a little delirious from the mining fumes, fear play (kinda), penetrative sex, Harry Warden being scary, coming on clothes, pickaxe threats

Notes: this one was a little tough to write, but I’m proud of how it turned out :) I’m starting to near the “oh man, I’m running out of inspo” phase, but fuck it we ball, we’ll push through LMAO enjoy the fic!!!

-

There was no time to catch your breath. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been running and you didn’t know where you could even go. These mines were like a labyrinth. The air became lighter the further down you ran. Exhaustion and gradual decrease of oxygen quality makes for a deadly duo, but you couldn’t think about that now. All your friends were dead- at least, that’s what you’ve begun to accept. Reaching another dead end in front of you, the heavy footsteps of the murderous miner pounded in the distance.

Back against the wall, you sink to your feet, feeling utterly helpless. Around the corner of the darkened mineshaft, Harry Warden- the urban legend of the town, stalks into view.

As he creeps closer, his bloodied pickaxe comes into view. You remember just an hour ago, how it swung into skulls of your peers. The screams ring out in your brain. The image of the light leaving their eyes as blood and organs pool around you is forever etched in your memory.

You feel yourself being lifted off your feet, the collar of your shirt crumpled between his gloved hands. You can’t see anything at all behind the vacant, blacked out eyes of his dust mask. The wind is knocked out of you as he slams you against the jagged walls of the tunnel. You’re forced to deeply inhale the noxious fumes of the mine, making your brain go hazy as the miner’s hands grip onto your waist, traveling under your shirt.

You let out a soft gasp that weren’t entirely sure was out of fear or arousal. You’ve been running in these mines for so long, you didn’t know what to feel anymore. On one hand, you felt scared, alone, traumatized- definitely in need of some therapy after a situation as dire as this, wanting nothing more than to push him off you and run out of the tunnels. On the other hand, you were feeling utterly amorous as you allowed yourself to get felt up and groped by a pickaxe-wielding maniac, morbidly curious to see how far you were willing to go.

Your brain was running itself completely ragged. You didn’t know what you wanted anymore. Maybe the poor air quality and fumes were messing with your head- scrambling the terror and confusion and adrenaline and lust that were fighting over how your body should be reacting.

You could hear heavy grunts and muffled breathing through his mask. He was impossibly close to you, the heat of each other making the already compact mining tunnels feel like a pressure cooker. The unintentional (or was it?) friction from one another distracted you from your thoughts. It didn’t feel right to enjoy this, especially after witnessing something so violent and grotesque, but that didn’t matter once Harry Warden unzipped his pants, freeing his aching cock.

As you felt your pants being forced down, you attempt to push off the walls, but are met with his pickaxe- dripping with that fresh crimson, to the side of your neck.

You stare at him, terrified, yet exceedingly desperate. “I don’t want to die.” You whisper.

Harry reels back, swinging the pickaxe. You violently flinch, shrieking in terror as the pickaxe is wedged into the wall beside you. Before giving you any time to settle from the fear, Harry Warden pushes himself inside you, dripping and eager.

You wail in ecstasy as his cock pumps into you so quickly. You grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself. The strangled groans from inside his mask burrow their way into your mind, mingling with the screams and pleading from your friends being violently murdered. It scared you to know how aroused you were. Your friends were dead and here you were, getting fucked stupid by the man who killed them. And you liked it.

Your orgasm crashes into you, powerfully and unexpectedly. You shudder around the miner, who sloppily continues to thrust into you, not far behind in his own release. You could now add cum to the blood and dust that stained your clothes as he shoots his load onto you.

Your tainted clothes were the least of your problems now compared to your tainted mind. The thought of what just happened finally begins to sink it. You weren’t scared or disgusted, but were more so scared and disgusted at the fact that you didn’t feel like that at all. You didn’t know what would happen next, but there was one thing that you would continue to tell yourself for as long as you had left to live: Whatever happens in the mines, stays in the mines.

[bowieandqueen11]

Strawberry and Black Tea / Sanji Imagine

Request: for the fluffy sanji request-- maybe sanji and the reader end up sleeping in each other's rooms one night because its hard for them to sleep apart. reader gives sanji a good night kiss and he just falls into a lovesick puddle on the floor.

Something short and sweet because this idea is so so lovely, thank you anon!! :)

Warning: mentions of child abuse!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

It was the Iron Mask that had left Sanji with such a distaste for the dark.

Even now, lying tossing and turning in his bunk on the Going Merry, the dark starlight that creeped through the lone porthole seemed to do nothing but shroud his eyes in a long-suppressed misery. It reminded him far too much of home. Of his father. Of nights spent trembling in dank corners: nothing but the touch of flimsy cobwebs against his outreached hands, and the ratchet of his own voice cawing off the empty stone chamber to ease the frightened child.

Until his paranoid eyes couldn’t tell of the receding monstrous shadow shrivelling up the tower was the receding form of his father, or the unyielding loosening of shrill’s death fingers rasping uneasily across the stone wall by his cage, finally come to fulfil her promise to take him away.

She grew closer and closer, until her liripipe seemed to crow through the bars as she leant down through the shadows to kiss his forehead.

He started scrambling back desperately along the dirty dust, still too young and inexperienced with the true hardships of his life to try and face them head on. Instead he buried his head into his crossed arms, tried his hardest to calm his panting breath, closed his eyes and squeezed. It was the only way, he thought in that tumultuous moment, it was the only at he would be able to hold onto his sanity. To pretend it was you. To pretend it was you. To believe it was you.

A rat scurried out of a hole between cracked shackles, sniffing the air as it noticed Sanji cowering in the corner: the same boy who had showed the rodent such kindness only e weeks before, feeding it leftover scraps of his mother’s favourite crumble, trying his best to clear the dish before his father realised it was missing. The poor thing ran over to Sanji’s shoe, it’s tiny claws pinching into the forgotten prince’s skin as it raised its little body up closer to him. But to that child - oh, that poor child - it was like bony fingernails biting into his bone and extruding coarse chills straight to the bone.

She had come. The wrong person had come. So he did what any young child would do. He started screaming.

He screamed your name. He screamed for his ma, until the screams died, choked by the wails sticking in his throat. Then he whimpered, clawing at the metal screwed against his cheeks until his fingernails were left stunted, jagged, bloodied.

He thought about how alone he was, but realised quickly that wasn’t what made him so sad. He thought about you: how you would react, how heartbroken you would be when his father announced to the world that the young Prince has perished in a terrible accident. He imagined your tear streaked face as you would watch the faux funeral procession parade in a cheerful solemnity down past the main market and into the sea, stealing away into the alleyway and seeing how alone you were.

Most of all, he felt guilty. Guilty that this was all his fault. That he had proved his brothers right. He was weak. He had destroyed his mother. He had ruined you. He was weak. And so he crumpled into a ball, falling onto his side and allowing the sweet embrace of the shadows to lap over him.

His cries had quickly fallen into pitiful whimpers. Then quiet sobs, jolting his body forward in convulsions that had left him gasping for breath every few minutes or so, only broken by the almost angelic sound of the iron wrought door being shoved unsteadily open, and the pained whisper from the top of the stairs. ’Sanji? Sanji! Where the- ow- are you?!’

'Y/-Y/n?' He clambered to his knees, and shoved his arms desperately through the bars, as if he could levitate you down towards him. 'I'm here! I'm here - please! Y/n!' His little fists began to bang on the bars as he scraped up to lean on his knees. 'Help me - get me out, please! She's going to kill me!'

It took you less than thirty seconds to scale down the remaining steps, nearly flying chin first down into the dirt. You didn't care though: not when Sanji's fingernails sliced desperately into your skin and burrowed into the meat of your arm, tugging your forehead against the cool metal of his own. You did your best to cup his face between the clunky mask, pressing your fingers down to his neck and pulling him even closer to you. 'It's alright - it's alright. I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here, Sanj. We're going to run, we're going to get away.'

He refused to let you go, even as you bit your lower lip in concentration and wiggled into your pocket to pull out a stash of bobby pins you had pilfered from Vinsmoke Reiju when you had slipped into the castle. Poor Sanji nearly flies backwards onto his behind when you finally manage to click the locked gate open, yet the realisation hardly seems to dawn on him; he's leapt on you in a second flat, knees knocking the wind out of your stomach as he tumbles his torso against your awaiting hug.

'You came', he heaved out between sobs, shoving his grimacing face into the throbbing pulse point on your neck, 'you came back for me... why would you come back for me.'

The absolute dejection in the final warble of his desperate plea made you bite down on your tongue so harshly, you had to shove it against the roof of your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from spluttering on blood. 'Because, Sanj... because you're my best friend. And I love you. And we made a promise, didn't we? We're going to go find the All Blue, but we're only going to do it together. Not one without the other, right?'

He head bobs quickly, desperately. Shaking fingers latch tighter into your back, and although he wants nothing more than to grab onto your fingers and fly to freedom up that winding staircase, he slides his legs to the side and comes to sit awkwardly on your lap like a frail bird. The soft tip of his nose tickles the shell of your ear as he whispers: 'like black tea and strawberry?'

You snort, but nod your head against the side of his curls, tightening your grip around the shaking expanse of his spine. 'Yes chef, like black tea and strawberry. Even though that sounds absolutely disgusting.' His laugh- god, his laugh was so warming, even if the sound cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up. What was less welcome, though, were the few pearly tears that slipped past the cracks slats covering his eyes and began to trace down an old bruised hollow that lay sharp and gaunt on his neck.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry-', he starts to panic again, one eye blinking open as he stares into the inky depths of the umbral shade gathering over your heads. 'This is my fault. It's my fault we have to leave.'

'No.' You grab onto his shirt, nearly making him wince, but both of you refuse to unlatch from the other. 'No. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault, and I don't want you to think that for a second.'

The authoritativeness behind your shaking words was almost enough to make him believe you.

He nods slowly, but you can tell he's doing it just to placate you. 'I love you too, by the way', he sniffles, finally leaning back enough so he could wipe what he deemed as an unsightly amount of snot away from his nose. More than you know. More than he could even put into words. More than his young, frightful heart could even yet understand. He's too bashful to look you in the eye, instead skimming his eyes quickly over the torn threads of his kneecap, but finally allowing himself a respite of calm in the knowledge that the love he had been so desperately begging for hadn't abandoned him.

Before the adrenaline could rush out of his body, he leant forward with his head still bowed, and kissed your cheek as best he could in the darkness.

You hadn't left him. You hadn't: you never would. The revelation seems to shift the world around him, coaxing him into believing the sweet twilight sleeting across his eyes was sunlight instead; even though he still felt like his life was spent as a coin flipping through the air, so unsure of where it will land - of where it belongs - of the choices it will wrought, it felt a little easier afterwards, knowing he would eventually land. That it was your hand that would catch him.

He still hated the dark. And he still loved you more than life itself. Which is why you weren't surprised to find yourself running around your room at nearly one in the morning, trying your best to discreetly gather your bed sheets and sneak off towards the boy's cabin.

Before you could even finish gathering your pillow into your arms, the melodic rapt of Sanji's knuckles had rung out through the door. It took you less than thirty seconds to slide across the planks and fling it open, but it took the poor chef a lot longer to catch his breath and try to look more put together; he was doing his best to look suave by the way he was leaning his elbow against the doorframe, but the wind swept hair gave away the fact that he had come running over the side of the ship to get to you. The soft pant of his breath, the ruddy cheeks, the slight spasm of his abdominal muscles through his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, the scratch of his teeth against his inner lip line: you knew his tell-tale sings, his idiosyncrasies far too well. The man was flustered beyond belief, even if he did his best to cock his head and beam down at you.

What really gave it away - what really, really gave it away, though, was the fact that he literally had to clasp his hands together in front of his chest and wring them to stop them launching forward and grabbing onto you with the cloying, overwhelming power of eight octopus tentacles.

You almost have to shove your hand against your mouth to stifle your laugh at the way he flicked his head back to move the hair away from his eye: to anyone else, it would have seemed like an innocent tick. But he knew, and more importantly you knew too, that it was just so his glistening eyes could wander across your face, as if the lines and marks of your face mapped out the most beautiful treasure in all the seas.

'Well, my strawberry, I hope I didn't wake you from your beauty sleep. Not that you need it! But I, I was hoping, if you were to grace me with such luck, that I may come in-'

Before he can even finish, you've grabbed the knot of his tie and have hauled him across the door line like a fisherman reeling in his hook. Sanji goes flying, landing safely in your open arms, and flopping his back down pleasantly into your hammock. Sanji's eyes widen as he comes sliding down the material towards you, headfirst, stopped only when his chest does the job for him. His arms thump clumsily around your back, using his fall as an excuse to pull you as physically close to him as he can. He huddles up against you, his hand spreading across your shoulder blade and guiding your ear down to rest comfortably just above his right pec. You flush, pretending you don't feel the firm ripple of his tense muscle: don't hear the pounding shudder of his tell-tale heart.

'I'll take that as a yes, ma chérie.'

Distracted by the way your arm falls around his stomach, idly reaching up to curl back the stray edges of his fringe behind the corner of his eye again, his legs inch closer... and closer... and closer... until his left one has plunked down above your own. You have to bury your head into his neck to stop yourself from laughing at how incarnadine his face spreads, warm pink waves radiating off his cheeks as you lift up your knees and slide your free leg in between the heavy weight of his thighs. Bless his heart, it must have taken some exertion to hold it the way he did, making sure not to place his full weight on you, but just enough that the contact was physically there.

'You know', Sanji starts, once he has calmed his heart from beating so rapidly he feared it may have flopped out through his throat, 'Zeff used to give me a kiss goodnight.'

You lift your head to stare at him incredulously. 'No he didn't. I was there for only... uh...', you lift the arm hanging over the soft skin of his bellybutton to ostentatiously count on your fingers, waving them in front of his face. 'Hm, look at that - fifteen years!?'

He leans his head down until his chin is tucked into his neck, and does his best to try and hide the way his lips are warbling into a grin; he tries to play it off as him finding your antics amusing, as he strokes his fingers tenderly over the warm cotton on your shoulder, but inside he's just so beyond giddy to know that you remembered. To know that you had been together so long. To know that after all this time, after all the two of you had been through, he would gladly dredge through the unspeakable caliginosity again, if it meant he could always arrive at this moment. If it meant, no matter what his life threw at him, he could spend every moment of it by your side.

Even if the shadows are juddering up the walls of the girl's cabin too: even if your stroking fingers can't mask the memories of death's sharp knuckles stretching out across the walls. Even if he were to land, right now, in the waves: if he were to capsize and drown, he would be happy. He would be happy, because it was your hand instead. Your hand.

Too timid still, too apprehensive to admit that which had been a heavy weight holding down the flight of his sweet heart, he hides his love behind canorous tease.

'Yeah, well, Zeff did it when he could be arsed. Which I’m pretty sure was never.'

You snort, and he delights at the sound that he had drawn out. His vice like grip on your side tightens, but you decide better than to tease him for the way he begins squirming himself against you. He finally settles properly on his side, the bridge of his nose so dangerously close to yours that you can feel the shallow warmth of his breath brush over your bottom lip.

'Well-', he starts, trying to distract himself from your proximity. He was failing horribly, of course, because his eyes kept falling down to stare blankly at the seam of your lips. 'This does sure beat sleeping on the dungeon floor, even if we do have to put up with Luffy's snoring.'

'Hm, the dungeon wasn't too bad. Cosy', you say teasingly, letting your finger dance down the shell of his ear, pointing the tip against the jut of his chin and lifting his gaze with a smirk.

'How'd you figure that, sweetheart?' The feel of your finger against his skin, no matter how miniscule the touch, was enough to make the fibres of his body burn with such a want that it almost scared him.

'Because... it was the first place you ever kissed me.'

Sanji starts, eyes widening as he feels his limbs turn to stone.

He can't hide in the shadows anymore. Now, he has to come into the light. Has to let himself be free.

'Yeah, well strawberry', he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue, and folds himself further down the hammock so his knees are drawn warmly up against your own. The shaking of his torso is only overshadowed by the widening of his eyes, so full of deep wonder the dams might have burst and drowned you if he hadn't spent so years cautiously restraining himself. You draw a finger down the pulse point of his neck, and he feels that resolve weaken.

He feels like that frightened boy again, but he knows it has to be now. He knows he's been lucky to have had the luxury of borrowed time, but the bell has tolled: the bill has come due, and now he must admit the truth of his life - of his soul - of his heart, for he doesn't know when it will become too late.

He wanted to kiss you. God, he had wanted to kiss you so badly for fifteen years it hurt. Now, now he was going to create his own light: he was going to thrive, in spite of it all. He was going to allow that child to live. The cage was open. He was free. His choices were decided by nobody now but by his own ruling, his own compassion, and he had wasted far too many years training himself to be sceptical, precise, composed.

'... If you may be so kind as to permit it... I think this beautiful ship might end up being the second.' He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He suddenly becomes hyperaware of it all: of the closeness of your thigh against his own: slick, naked, vulnerable below your pyjama shorts. Your warm breath, inching closer and closer to his trembling mouth as he juts his head back to look warily at you, so afraid he's messed everything up.

But then you surprise him; you rush forward, overwhelming and crushing in the way your lips pliantly slide over his own, licking against the inside of his bottom lip as it drops open, breathlessly.

He had been waiting for this - over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you back: heartily, heavily, with a slipping mouth awaiting your tongue, and clawing fingers coming up to rapt into your cheeks as if you were something fleeting: as if he were still spinning in mid-air, waiting for the shadows to snuff the light out again.

When you finally find the strength, the resilience to pull away, neither of you seem to be able to muster the courage to just finally admit the truth you had both always known. Sanji, instead, looks youthfully shy as he tries to hide his wanting - god, so longing gaze behind his fringe once more, although his tongue can't help but prod against his bottom lip as if in disbelief.

'Like strawberry and black tea, right?', he finally asks against the side of your mouth, nudging his nose against your own and smiling fondly.

'Like strawberry and black tea.'

[uhhlifeig]

First Present (Choose Your Own First) - Jan. 31st - word count: 277 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus paced nervously as he waited for Sirius in the dorm. 

He had asked James and Peter to go put up the party decorations earlier, so it was just him and the dust motes in the room.

In his hand, Remus held a small red-and-gold-wrapped box. It was a birthday present for Sirius that he had found a few weeks back in a shop at Hogsmeade.

And yes, sure, they had given each other presents before, but this was Remus’s first time giving something to Sirius as his boyfriend (boyfriend!!).

There were footsteps on the stairs. Remus heard them easily, with the fact that, well, he was a werewolf. He stopped pacing as the footsteps drew closer.

“Hey,” Sirius said, poking his head out from the doorway. “Prongs said you had something for me?”

“Er, yeah,” Remus said, blushing and handing the box to Sirius. “Here.”

“Ooh, thank you Moony,” Sirius beamed. He carefully took off the tape and unwrapped the paper, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. 

(Remus had always found this particular trait of Sirius’s quite interesting.)

 “Thank you so much, Moons! It’s beautiful,” Sirius gasped as he opened the box. Inside, there was a silver necklace with a moon charm. “Wait. This isn’t real silver, right?” he asked.

Remus smiled softly. “No, it’s been Transfigured into tin. Thank James for that, by the way.”

“I’d much rather thank you, Moons. Say, James and Peter are still decorating. Do you think they’ll miss us for an hour or so?”

“Nah, don’t think so.”

Sirius closed the distance between them with a press of his lips against Remus’s. 

“Perfect,” he breathed.

[rroseselavyyy]

forever - knj

pairings: namjoon x female reader

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

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

Holding your breath, you counted down from ten, giving him enough time to throw you away from the deepest core of his memories like the crumpled paper ball you were. He seemed relaxed as he held his glass between his calloused fingers, seemed taller the more you sank into the wall that supported you. He licked his lips before turning his attention to Jungkook, then you let out the breath that was beginning to choke you along with the drumming heartbeat.

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

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

Feeling that your calm, settled, teaching assistant self couldn't take it any more, you excused yourself from the crowd of your high school friends to find a bathroom to freshen up, preferably one that wasn't occupied by people making out like wild animals.

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

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

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

"Are you fucking blind or something?"

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

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

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

The disgusting feeling of your wet clothes didn't make you feel any better as people looked at you as if they didn't mind their own business just a few minutes ago, they gathered like curtains to make way for you as you made your way to the seemingly quiet kitchen.

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

"You look beautiful in the moonlight."

There he was, his dimpled cheeks beaming like a cute little puppy, as if he weren't the one who'd scared some guy by accidentally spilling his wine on you. He leaned against the door, his baggy band shirt unable to hide his biceps from the faint moonlight. He should have looked ugly in those glasses, why the hell did he look so hot in those damn glasses that made you look like a child?

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

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

"Always so grumpy, aren't you?" He settled between your legs, one big hand finding its way to your waist, the other stroking your cheek. "I was worried about you, is that so wrong, hmh?"

"Sorry, your excellency, I had no idea there was a place for me in that pretty brain of yours."

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

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

Immediately you grabbed his hand to push him away, not that he moved an inch. He looked at you with those dreamy eyes, heavy on you, studying your face as you scowled at him to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Maybe you should take rejection like I did when you threw my love letter in that bin."

You looked at him under your lashes as if you were defeated, your hands gripping his arms going limp as you couldn't bring yourself to move against him, to let go of his embrace. He held you closer, sensing your need, holding you as if he wanted to be the only source of support you had to lean on.

"You wouldn't understand, would you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Does degrading me really turn you on?" You whimpered softly, the pout on your lips making him smile even wider, as if he was really pleased with the blush creeping up your cheeks. "Can you just keep your mouth shut?"

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

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

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sorceresssundries]

Imagine: post-game Gale and Tav out somewhere with some dude RELENTLESSLY hitting on Tav. Gale can take people hitting on tav, it happens all the time and he's not insecure in the slightest. But this guy is being obnoxious and obviously making tav uncomfortable. How does Gale react and also what if they fucked afterwards

You're unhinged and I respect and love you for it.

Here you go friend. Some pure, mindless smut for you!

Pairing: Gale x female Tav - NSFW

Warnings: SMUT!!!! Public sex, blow job, probably the smuttiest smut i've smutted thus far. You have been warned. This is not regency-esque euphemistic smut. Gang, this is straight up pornography.

Word Count: 1.7k

Gale could hardly believe the brazen audacity of the merchants. His shopping trip had started off pleasantly, with Tav swishing around the market stalls in all her bare-legged, off-shoulder glory, the hem of silk dress flirting with her knees and billowing as she moved. She was exquisite, obviously, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She always managed to bring home produce at far lower prices than he could ever haggle for. He enjoyed watching her play the minx, but he did not enjoy the merchants taking liberties.

Leaning against a nearby wall, pretending to read a book, he watched as she flitted between the stalls, appraising fruit and laughing with the sellers. They couldn’t help but stare at the constellations of freckles adorning her exposed shoulders and collarbones. Gale was focused solely on her—imagining her tanned, strong calves draped over his shoulders, his hand tight in the loose braid that swung across her back as he kissed the plush skin of her breasts. He thought pushing up her skirt and running his tongue all the way up the inside of her leg until..

His thoughts halted and he snapped his book shut as soon as he realised something was wrong. The squat, bearded merchant she had been bargaining with suddenly had his hand in the crook of her arm and he was leant in close enough for her to look uncomfortable. The way she was leant back and gently tugging herself away showed she was trying to politely remove herself, with little luck. Gale felt his fists ball at his side, he wouldn’t jump in yet, he knew she could handle herself…

Then with his other hand, the merchant reached forward to move a strand of hair away from her face. It made Gale see red.

In an instant, he was there. Hot with anger. 

“Touch her again and there'll be naught left of you but a pitiful pile of dust upon scorched earth” Gale said quietly in the man’s ear, the grip on his arm a closing vice. 

He put his arm round Tav’s waist and began to lead her away from the market and back to their home. He didn’t want to embarrass her by making a scene, and he knew better than anyone how capable she was of defending herself. But, for his own benefit, he felt he needed to intervene, before another person put their hands on his wife.

“Wouldn’t want her anyway, the slutty little..” the merchant murmured as they walked away.  Gale turned sharply with palms crackling full of fury-hot weave. Before the necessary words could be spat from his lips, Tav pushed past him and with effortless strength punched the merchant so hard that blood splattered from his nose like burst fruit, and he crumpled into a heap on the floor. 

“No one dare give him a healing potion.” She snapped loudly to the other merchants as he rolled in agony on the ground. “When I come back tomorrow, I want to see skin as bruised as his pathetic little ego.” The market was now quiet apart from a few whispers bouncing between the patrons. She grabbed her husband by his arm, the basket of shopping abandoned, and left quickly. Gale was suddenly very aware of how hard he was. 

Just round the corner, barely any distance from where Tav’s display had taken place, she pulled them both into a  dark and narrow alley,  barely wide enough for two people to pass each other without turning sideways. The walls of the surrounding buildings, tall and oppressive, cast deep shadows that almost entirely blocked out the sunlight, but not completely.

Tav was pressed against him instantly, pinning him back against the cool bricks and running her hand slowly down his chest until she eventually rested her palm against the hard bulge in his trousers. 

“The thrills of combat still do it for you then?” She purred against him, the scent of the sun and the sea-breeze settled and heavy on her exposed skin as he left tongued kisses on her shoulders, her throat, her jaw. 

“Just you.” He said, breathless “Always you.” 

As they tangled together, pushing against each other with such desperation that a passerby might mistake them for a single shadow, Gale realised they weren’t completely hidden. People still wandered past, busy with errands or chattering absently with friends. Gale could hear their voices clearly, which meant he and Tav would be heard too. And if anyone stopped to look closely enough, they would definitely see Gale of Waterdeep fucking his wife senseless against the brickwork. 

“Gods.” His voice was cracked with lust. “Someone will hear us.” 

“Well you’ll just have to be quiet when you come down my throat then, won’t you? my brave hero” Her golden eyes were lidded, and voice dripping with wanton desire.

Her words sparked him. His hands were suddenly all over her, pushing up her skirt and gripping the soft flesh of her backside, stroking up her spine until gripping the nape of her neck to hold her head still as he kissed her with wild urgency. 

The sounds she made were beautiful, but risky. He had to put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet and their dirty little tryst a secret. His eyes burned into hers as he kept his hand there, and her muscles stilled completely as he moved his other up her thigh and to where she was slick and desperate for him. 

“No underwear, Mrs.Dekarios?” Gale tutted at her as he began to draw light, slow circles over her clit. All Tav could do was moan against his hand, and Gale could feel the spit from her mouth against his palm.

Tav was rarely quiet, in or out of the bedroom, and she was finding it very difficult not to cry out with peals of ecstasy under his touch. They had done this enough times now for him to make her come apart with barely any effort. He knew how she liked it slow and soft as he whispered words of encouragement in her ear. How she liked his hand on her throat, firm enough so he could feel her moans against his palm and soft enough for him to stroke her parted lips with the pad of his thumb. She liked it when his eyes burned into her, and all trace of his softness had blazed into rough, heated need.

“That’s it.” He said, quiet and forceful in the swirl of her ear “Don’t let them hear you” There was a lilt of playful amusement in his voice, a cockinesss which pushed Tav further towards her undoing. She couldn’t help but moan as his fingers increased their pressure slightly, now slick with her arousal.

She came in hot silence, him holding her steady as she bucked under his touch. He continued to stroke her through the waves of warm pleasure that crashed against his fingers. After she had settled, he kissed her slow and attentively. Mimicking what he would like to do against her warm cunt when he got her back home. 

Tav had other ideas. 

She dropped to her knees in front of him and frantically started to unbuckle his belt. “Tav” he groaned as she pulled down his trousers. “Maybe this isn’t…”  Any thoughts of gentlemanlike manners disappeared into white oblivion as she licked hard along his erection. 

“Gods” he groaned, his fingers tracing over her lips. "You look so good taking me like this”

Tav’s head spun at his words, her mind bubbling with white-hot thoughts of lust and debauchery. 

She would do this quickly now, take him in desperation while her legs were still weak from coming against his fingers. And then when they got home she would take her time doing this all over again, letting him think she would do it the same way, at the same pace, but she would draw it out in the private sanctum of their home until his wrung-out voice echoed throughout the rafters of the tower. She would delight in pulling from him noises which even he had never heard himself make before. But for now, she would settle for whimpers and groans as his hand tightened in her hair and he spilled into her mouth. 

The moans that left his chest were visceral. He loved to watch her like this, lips swollen as she moved him in and out of her mouth, the rose pink flash of lipstick smeared over her chin and his cock. Eyeliner smudged, tendrils of sweat-slick hair stuck to her neck. He could come just from looking at her. He knew that after this she would want to tidy herself up, but like fuck would he let her. He wanted to walk home with her on his arm, looking well-fucked and messy.

Tav could feel him trying to keep his hips still, so as not to push himself too far against the back of her throat, but she encouraged him forward by placing his hand in her hair so he could tangle his fingers in it as he fucked her mouth. 

He had to bite down on his other hand as he came, but it still didn’t stop the sinful sounds that spilled from his lips as his hips stuttered and he fell apart completely. 

They stayed there for a few moments, his head leant back against the wall and hers against his thigh. Both breathless and spent. 

“Do you need to go back to the market, my love?” he panted, as he pulled her up and began to press soft, lazy kisses against anywhere he could reach. “I’d be happy to get into a fight with anyone else, man, woman or child, if this is the reaction it sparks.”

Tav laughed as they left their little hideaway in total disarray, smug in the subtlety of their tryst. They were completely unaware of just how many people had heard the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios ravishing each other in public. Tomorrow, the market would be buzzing with gossip about the black-eyed merchant and the subsequent public escapades of the respectable wizards. But, fortunately, Gale and Tav would remain blissfully ignorant of it all. Tomorrow, they planned to spend the entire day in bed, making love and living off whatever food they could scrounge from their empty cupboards.