#and Jean would just find somewhere to curl up and die

[calypso-rt]

She fell first/He fell harder request (pretty please, you are my one and only writer I ride or die for) She’s your typical sweet shy kind reader kook, a jeans/t-shirt type, a friend of Sarah. He’s always ignored her though in favor of the extroverted sexy kook girls. She glows up a bit becoming more of a woman and dressing figure hugging (though not revealing. She’s still her and modest) and has decided to let go of Rafe, feeling stupid for just having a crush on someone who couldn’t care less about her. Though now she has his attention and he’s feeling some type of way being ignored/the bare minimum short polite conversation when she used to sneak glances at him at the house or find reasons to linger around him…..and he’s def not okay with guys talking to her…while he is glancing from afar with heartache…..and he’s def gonna follow when a guy leads her away from the party and make some heartfelt declaration. I WANT RAFE SIMPING AND BEING A MESS, CHASE HEEEER

-> A/N: i saw this and just HAD to start writing immediately. I love it so much thank you, anon! <3

worth the wait

-> Rafe x F!Reader

It started years ago, slow and quiet, like a secret you kept even from yourself.

You were there, always there, floating around the edges of his world like a soft breeze he never bothered to notice. A friend of Sarah’s, a Kook by default but never quite the type to demand attention.

You were the quiet one. The sweet one. The one who lingered in doorways when he was around, sneaking glances when you thought he wouldn’t see.

(He never did.)

Rafe Cameron had always been too busy looking at girls who weren’t you. The loud, sexy, confident ones who draped themselves over him like accessories, all sun-kissed skin and effortless flirtation.

They knew how to keep his attention. You? You were just the girl in plain clothing, flipping through paperbacks at parties and blending into the background.

You knew better than to hope. But that didn’t stop you from feeling.

Maybe that’s why leaving for the summer felt like such a relief.

A few months away, an out-of-state camp, something new. You didn’t have to be that girl anymore. The one waiting in the wings, the one hoping for a glance that would never come.

You threw yourself into everything: early morning hikes, late-night talks by the fire, pushing past the edges of your comfort zone until you weren’t just existing, but living.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t come back with a whole new personality, didn’t suddenly turn into one of them...the girls Rafe actually looked at.

But you carried yourself differently now. Stood a little taller. Laughed a little louder. You still wore the same clothes, but they fit you better somehow, hugging the quiet confidence you hadn’t realized you’d built.

Most importantly?

You came back over it.

Over him. Over the way you used to linger, over the ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with. It was stupid, really. A crush. That’s all it had ever been.

And if Rafe Cameron had never noticed you before?

Well. That was perfectly fine.

Except… now he did.

It happens at a party, because of course it does.

Figure Eight, same crowd, same overpriced liquor being poured into red cups. The air is thick with salt and smoke, music thrumming under your skin as you weave through the sea of familiar faces.

Nothing’s changed.

Except you.

You’re not lurking on the edges anymore, not pretending to be invisible. You’re here because you want to be, because, for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought in your own story.

And Rafe?

He’s exactly where you left him, stretched out in one of the patio chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, his attention flickering between his phone and the girl curled up next to him. Some blonde, barely dressed, draping herself over his arm like she’s claimed him.

It used to sting, seeing him like that.

Now, you don’t even spare him a second glance.

It’s almost funny, the way his head turns when you walk in: slow and deliberate, like he’s making sense of something his brain can’t quite process. You catch the moment it clicks. The flicker of recognition, the way his easy, lazy smirk falters for half a second before sliding back into place.

You’re laughing at something Sarah says, not even looking his way. Your shoulders back, your head held high, the warm glow of summer still clinging to your skin. And your eyes—God, your eyes—don’t even flicker in his direction.

Maybe it was the liquor running through his blood, but he gets up, the wasted blonde grumbling in frustration as she's pushed aside, and makes his way over to you, heart beating.

“Didn’t know you were back.”

His voice is low, smooth, the same drawl you’ve heard a million times.

You glance up at him, barely breaking stride as you move away from Sarah. “Got in a few days ago.”

His brows pull together. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Sarah knew.” You shrug, effortless, like you don’t notice the way his eyes drag over you, lingering at the way your clothes fit just right. Like you don't care.

(You do. A little. But you’d rather die than let him know that.)

Rafe scoffs, taking another step, cutting off your path like he expects you to stop for him. “Right. Sarah knew.” He tilts his head, watching you too closely. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

You smile, all polite disinterest. “Something like that.”

And then you walk away.

No nervous laugh, no lingering, no waiting to see if he watches you go.

(He does.)

And for the first time in his entire life, Rafe Cameron feels something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his gut.

It takes him a second to recognize it.

Regret.

...

Jealousy isn’t something Rafe Cameron feels.

At least, not like this.

You’re different now. And worse? You don’t seem to give a damn about him anymore.

And he feels it, really feels it, when he sees you laughing with some guy at the party.

Some Kook douchebag he barely remembers the name of, leaning way too close, making you smile in a way that burns in his chest.

His stomach twists. His jaw clenches. His grip tightens around his drink until the cheap plastic cracks in his hand.

“Dude.” Topper’s voice breaks through the red haze, amused and knowing. “You good?”

Rafe doesn’t answer. Just glares at the scene in front of him like he can will it to stop.

(You haven’t even looked at him once tonight.)

You used to... always used to. Sneaking glances, lingering, hoping he’d say something. And now? He could be furniture for all you care.

The guy leans in. Says something that makes you tilt your head back and laugh.

And Rafe sees red.

Before he can stop himself, he’s moving. Drink abandoned, footsteps quick and purposeful as he crosses the room.

By the time you realize he’s there, it’s too late.

“Didn’t think this was your type.”

His voice is smooth, dripping with something too sharp to be casual. You blink up at him, surprised, before your expression flattens.

“I didn’t know I had a type.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah?” His gaze flicks to the guy beside you, unimpressed. “’Cause last time I checked, you weren’t into desperate losers.”

The guy bristles. “What’s your problem, Cameron?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Rafe—”

But he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking at him.

His jaw is tight. His fists curl at his sides. Everything about him screams territorial, and he hates that he feels like this, like he’s been replaced, like you were his to lose in the first place.

And then you do the worst thing imaginable.

You smile at the guy.

A small, amused, totally dismissive smile, like Rafe isn’t even here.

Like he doesn’t matter.

And that’s when it hits him like a truck, like a gut punch, like a sinking, spiraling, helpless feeling.

He’s screwed.

...

Rafe has never had to chase before.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing now.

It starts with little things. Small, almost unnoticeable gestures that shouldn’t mean anything but do.

One: The Jacket

It’s late. Too late to be sitting out by the beach in just a thin hoodie, but Sarah begged you to stay for one more drink, and you didn’t want to seem like the same girl who used to fade into the background.

You shiver once, just once, and suddenly, there’s a heavy weight settling over your shoulders.

“Rafe—”

“Don’t start,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t just drape his very expensive hoodie over you without a second thought. “It’s cold.”

You glance up at him, suspicious, but he just stares out at the water like this isn’t a thing. Like this isn’t the first time he’s ever done something for you without being asked.

(You don’t give it back.)

Two: The Coffee

It’s early, and you’re buried in a book at a café, sipping on some overpriced latte when a familiar voice breaks your focus.

“You drink that caramel crap?”

You blink up, startled to find Rafe leaning against the table, a fresh cup in his hand. Before you can answer, he sets it down in front of you.

Your usual order.

The one you’ve always gotten. The one you thought no one ever noticed.

Your lips part, but Rafe just shrugs, casual. “Figured you might want a refill.”

Then he walks away.

You stare after him, utterly baffled.

Three: The Save

You weren’t going to call it a date.

Just a study session at the country club with some random Kook guy, an easy way to brush up on Econ while sipping from the drink in your hand.

But Rafe doesn’t see it like that.

He sees some guy sitting way too close, leaning over you like he has any right to, and before you can react, there’s a firm hand curling around your wrist.

“Come on,” Rafe says, voice low and final.

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

His grip isn’t tight, but it’s there. Protective. “We’re leaving.”

You scoff. “Since when do you get to decide where I—”

“Since you clearly don’t know when someone’s wasting your time.” He glares at the guy, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “Trust me. You can do better.”

And even though you should be annoyed, even though you should pull away, you don’t.

Because his fingers brush against your palm for half a second, just long enough for you to realize he’s trembling.

...

You’re not sure what you expected when Rafe finally snapped.

The party is long over. The music has faded, the bonfire burned down to glowing embers, and most of the guests have either gone home or passed out somewhere inside. But you stayed.

Not for him.

(Definitely not for him.)

You just like the quiet. The way the Outer Banks feels when it’s still. When the waves are the only sound, when the sky stretches wide and endless, littered with stars.

You tug your sleeves over your hands, exhaling softly as the wind rolls in off the water. You don’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

But you do.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low, words edged in something raw.

You sigh, shaking your head just enough to make a point. “We really don’t.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, we do.”

He sits down beside you on the sand, shoulders touching.

You cross your arms. “You can’t just—”

“Why won’t you look at me?” he blurts out.

You freeze.

He’s sitting too close, his expression a mess of frustration and something else. Something bordering on desperation.

You force out a scoff. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously.” His voice dips, softer now. “You used to. All the time.”

Your stomach flips. You hate that he remembers. You hate that he noticed now and not when it actually mattered.

“I grew up,” you say evenly. “I stopped wasting my time.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, and for the first time, he looks hurt.

“That what you think?” he murmurs. “That it was a waste?”

You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. “What else was it supposed to be?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he just stares at the ground, like he’s struggling to say whatever is clawing at his throat.

Then, finally

“I was an idiot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Rafe lifts his head, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because he’s serious.

“I didn’t see it. See you.” He shakes his head, almost like he hates himself for it. “I don’t even know why. I think—I think I was too busy looking at the wrong things, and by the time I figured it out, you weren’t there anymore.”

Your chest tightens. “Rafe—”

“I notice you now,” he says, shifting closer. His voice is rough, uneven. “I notice everything. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you get nervous. How you always pick the raisins out of the trail mix after you play golf.”

Your breath catches.

His jaw clenches. “And I hate it.”

You rear back slightly. “What?”

“I hate that I had to lose you to see you.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I hate that some other guy gets to stand where I should have been this whole time.”

Silence.

Loud. Heavy.

You stare at him, heart hammering, every instinct screaming at you to run, because this is too much, too late, too Rafe.

So you shake your head. Swallow down the ache in your throat.

“I don’t...” You inhale sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

Rafe goes still.

You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself. “You don’t get to do this, Rafe. You don’t get to ignore me for years and then suddenly—”

“I know.” His voice is hoarse. “I know. And I don’t expect you to believe me.”

You falter.

He shifts closer. Slowly. Cautiously. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“I just…” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “I just need you to know that I’m trying. That I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You swallow hard, pulse hammering.

Because for the first time, he looks at you: not like a challenge, not like something to win, but like something he’s afraid to lose.

And that scares you more than anything.

...

Epilogue: The Payoff

Rafe dedicated any free time he has to you and only you.

It's not really a conscious decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He's utterly determined to prove to you the depth of his feelings.

You’re browsing the tiny, tucked-away bookstore downtown, running your fingers along the spines, when a book suddenly appears in front of you.

"Thought you might like this one," Rafe says, leaning against the shelf like he belongs there. Like he planned this.

You eye the book, one of your favorites. The same one you used to read at parties when he wasn’t paying attention.

Your lips twitch. "You think you can bribe me with books now?"

"Not a bribe." He shrugs, but there's a telltale smirk on his lips. "Just proving I do pay attention."

You try not to smile.

You fail.

Another time, it's late. You’re shivering outside after a bonfire, rubbing your hands over your arms, when Rafe suddenly pulls his hoodie over his head, a sliver of his toned abs showing, and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," he says, but his arms are already breaking out in goosebumps.

You roll your eyes but tug the hoodie tighter around yourself. It smells like him: clean, warm, safe.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

You don’t offer.

He's forever jealous although he's resisted making a scene, knowing how much you hate it.

You’re laughing with JJ at a party when you feel it. The heat of his stare.

You glance over, meeting Rafe’s narrowed eyes across the room, his jaw tight, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

You arch a brow. Oh?

"Relax," JJ murmurs, amused. "Pretty sure your boyfriend is about to combust."

You don’t correct him.

And when Rafe gets just frustrated enough to stalk over, hand resting at the small of your back, tugging you just a little closer...

You call that a win.

But he's a bit impatient in his love for you.

It happens in his car.

You're laughing—really laughing—at something dumb he said, and he’s just watching you, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your jaw.

You stop laughing.

The air shifts. Your heartbeat stutters. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up.

But you pull away, grinning as you grab the door handle. "Not yet, Cameron."

His groan is tortured. "You’re actually killing me."

You smirk. "Good."

It takes time.

Little moments. Soft gestures. Proof that this isn’t just some fleeting fascination. That he’s all in.

And when you finally kiss him—really kiss him...

He swears under his breath, pulling you in like he’s terrified you’ll change your mind. Like he’s spent years waiting for this and refuses to waste another second.

His hands frame your face, his lips desperate and sure all at once.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"You’re mine now," he murmurs, voice thick.

You smile.

"Yeah, Rafe." Your fingers curl into his hoodie. "I’m yours."

As if you weren't always.

[magnificentbirb]

wip wednesday thursday!

thank you for the tag, @seaplease~! sorry this is a day late, i was a busy bee yesterday.

the only wip i've really made progress on lately is still carcar apocalypse/the last of us fic, so ta-daaaaa a snippet:

Oscar’s fingers curl into fists. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.”

“You don’t even like me.”

Oscar finds himself pinned by wide brown eyes, surprised and hurt. 

“I like you,” Carlos says, and the world maybe shifts on its axis.

“Really?” Oscar’s voice is dry, a defense mechanism. His heartbeat feels loud in his chest. “You’re always so careful around me.”

“Yes,” Carlos says, sounding almost exasperated, “because I always thought you did not like me.”

Oscar fidgets, plucking at his jeans. “I don’t… dislike you,” he admits, wincing slightly at the half truth. It was better if Carlos never knew just how much Oscar didn’t dislike him. “It’s just always been you and Lando, or me and Lando, not… you know. You and me.” It hurts, to say Lando’s name again after days of pretending not to think about him, but Oscar buries that pain before it can take root. He focuses instead on his own bitterness over the specter of Carlos that lingers indelibly in every corner of McLaren, treasured and loved no matter how far down the paddock he moves, no matter how many years it’s been, making it impossible for Oscar to ignore Carlos and his stupid doe-eyed face.

“Lando and I have always been close,” Carlos says quietly. “But that does not mean we can’t get along too, Oscar.”

Oscar doesn’t respond. There is blood beneath one of his fingernails. He digs it out. When he looks up again, Carlos’s eyes are closed. Oscar’s throat seizes.

“Hey.” He leans over, shaking Carlos by the shoulder. “Eyes open.”

Carlos sighs, but his eyes slide open again. “Cruel,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. 

“Deal with it,” Oscar says. And then, as a half-joking olive branch, he adds, “Lando would kill me if I let you die.”

Carlos’s jaw tightens. “If Lando is alive.”

“He is,” says Oscar, fiercely. “No body, not dead.” It’s a rule he made up that first day the world went to hell. It’s the only thing keeping him sane, some days. The only thing giving him hope that they might not actually be as alone as they feel. That maybe somewhere out there, on a distant continent, his family is still alive.

Carlos looks impossibly tired, his eyes dark with something almost like pity. Oscar’s hackles rise, prepared to get defensive, but instead, Carlos just nods.

“Okay,” he says, lying back again, eyes sliding shut. “No body, not dead.”

[sometimescherwrites]

Paint Water

Alex Adult World x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k words of smut i fear, no excuses we die like men

content: smoking with your boyfriend, making out, and giving him head. kinda switchy but mostly subby alex. written with male reader in mind but reader genitals aren’t mentioned so gender neutral. reader finishes in their pants

MDNI on this one chat

a/n: second time writing smut so give me some grace chat, fuck it we ball, written in the span of two hours while sick

@authorsofghosts surprise? look it’s our wife!!

Handsome Furs play in the background, though you’re barely listening. The blunt you’d shared with Alex lays forgotten on a not exactly empty tray, the hazy scent of weed and paint infiltrating your senses.

You’re at Alex’s apartment, you are most days anyway. You’re half convinced you could just stop leaving one day and he’d simply give you a copy of his key.

And more specifically, you’re in his lap, slowly grinding down on him through layers of clothes, hands threaded in his curls as you lick into his mouth, tasting remnants of the smoke and something… chemical?

“You taste like paint.”

“Need to stop putting my drinking water next to the paint water.” Is the response your dumbass boyfriend gives.

You nip at his bottom lip, just enough to warrant a hiss of pain before licking and sucking at it, resulting in a deep groan sounding from his throat.

“Dumbass.” You murmur as you finally release his bottom lip from beneath your own.

“Mhmm, yeah…”

Almost black irises and red rimmed eyes make it clear that he could not care less what you call him, so long as you keep kissing on him like this.

A groan leaves your chest as you try to pull him closer, tonguing him deeply as you adjust your position to be even closer. You’re nowhere near sober enough to care about a ‘neat make out session’- whatever the fuck that was.

The adjustment of your position includes a shift of your hips and his grip on them tightens, a shared moan escaping the two of you. His head tilts back, mouth dropping open as he guides your grinding over the rapidly growing tent in his pants.

Shit, he’s so beautiful like this. He’s living, breathing art.

A few more minutes of sloppy making out and needy grinding before you’re pulling away, gasping for breath.

“Shit, shit, give me a minute. Need a minute.”

The minute, of course, to make sure you don’t cum in your pants from simply making out with your fucking boyfriend.

You risk a glance down at him and find you’re dangerously close to embarrassing yourself.

Art. Alex is art.

He’s sprawled beneath you, head tilted and resting on the back of the couch, legs spread while you’re straddling between them. The tent in his jeans is enough to have your knuckles turning white.

He’s looking up at you with half lidded eyes and a lazy smile on his face. It’s not a smirk, it’s got none of the arrogance that comes with a smirk. It’s a genuine, lazy, smile that makes crinkles by his eyes.

Immediately, you know what you need to do.

You’re sliding off his lap- something he is not happy about, you can see it in the way he sits up slightly, head no longer reclining on the back of the couch, mouth open as if to protest.

That is, until he sees you settling on your knees and his head drops back like a puppet who’s string was cut and he moans, hips shifting up as if to encourage your hands.

He’s so fucking hard.

Without bothering to tease him like you normally would, you palm at the bulge once, then twice, his back arching and hips bucking into it before you’re tugging off his belt, tossing it somewhere behind you.

Once the belt is off, you waste no time shimmying his jeans and boxers down before tossing them away as well.

His cock springs up, and you know for a moment he’s experiencing the relief that comes after the painful straining. But it only a moment before it gets worse, twitching as he stares down at you with dark, needy eyes.

You spit onto his cock, the ensuing moan enough to make your hips twitch forward just the slightest. Without much else, you wrap your hand around him, relishing in the way he bucks up into it.

You jerk him off with practiced ease, watching in fascination as his cock slips through the ring of your fingers. You’re so lost in it that you barely realize he’s about to cum, until his hips stutter and you immediately jerk your hand away, as if you’d been burned.

A pathetic, desperate whine tears from his throat as you deny him, looking at you with the utmost betrayal in his eyes.

He has no right to look so perfect like this. On another night, you might’ve teased him, denied him over and over again to hear the whines and whimpers he’d make and watch him get progressively more and more desperate. But not tonight.

Tonight you just wanted to watch him come unraveled like a ball of yarn. You didn’t have it in you to tease and edge him tonight.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea- oh-“ His face contorts in a way you’ll never grow tired of when you finally take him into your mouth. The moan of pure relief that leaves him sending a bolt of heat straight to your crotch.

His hands fly instinctively to your scalp for stability as you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, a choked groan tearing from him.

He looks so perfect like this, coming undone from just your mouth. Each time you take him deeper down your throat, he makes the most desperate sounds, and his grip tightens in your hair.

The biggest ego boost comes when you watch him lift his head to glance down at you, make eye contact, and immediately drop his head back, one of his arms flying to drape over his eyes, cock twitching in your mouth, hips bucking just the slightest, though he’s already as deep down your throat as he can get.

“F-fuck, baby, you can’t just look at me like that.”

You hum in amusement and watch his face screw up in a moan. Another unintentional buck of his hips.

“Can- can i- is this okay?” He manages to get out, looking at where your mouth connects to his pelvis and-

It’s a good thing you give him a thumbs up, because you can see the moment he goes dumb, fucking your throat with glazed eyes as he chases his own pleasure.

The way you moan with a particular thrust has him cumming straight down your throat. You’re so completely wrapped up in drawing out his orgasm that you barely even process the sudden warmth coating the fabric on your crotch.

When he finally recovers enough brain power to pull out, he looks down at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“That was… god I don’t even have words. You’re gonna have to give me a minute.”

As he comes down a bit further, he caresses your face almost reverently.

“My turn?”

Your face heats more than it already was.

“No need.”

The exact moment he realizes you came from simply giving him head, his cock gives a valiant twitch and he groans a quiet “fuck”.

Despite how embarrassing it was for you, he seemed to be incredibly into it. Helping you to your feet and slipping the now uncomfortable fabric off of you, he holds you reverently, kissing you with a soft moan of appreciation.

When he pulls away, he reaches for a glass of water, holding it to your lips.

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the paint water, baby.”

“Shit.”

[blitheringmcgonagall]

If We Died Tonight

For @mollymarymarie and @imsiriuslyreading a little Wolfstar angst with a happy ending… <33

If we could take a photo

Eternalize this moment

For the days when I don't believe

When our love gets stolen

'Cause there's no exception

And I know time will take you far from me

Let this night invade my lungs

You're all I wanna breathe

Right beside the lake, I burn for you

You burn for me

So kiss me the way that you would

If we died tonight

Hold me the way that you would

For the final time

Whatever may come, somewhere deep inside

There's always this version of you and I

So just kiss me the way that you would

If we died tonight, if we died tonight, yeah

All the deepest secrets

All the darkest moments

Oh, I promise they'll be safe with me

We've all been broken

There's no exception

But you carry it so gracefully

Let this night invade my lungs

You're all I want to breathe

Right beside the lake, I burn for you

You burn for me

(Kiss Me by Dermot Kennedy)

He finds Remus standing beside the edge of the Great Lake. He’s soaking, the rain pelting through his stupid battered jacket, the pointless one – not waterproof, and without a hood – wet curls plastered onto his face. His sodden, frayed jeans already clinging to his too thin frame, wearing his battered canvas shoes, completely useless in this weather, like an idiot. His shoulders hunched forwards – resigned, shivering. His eyes have a far-away, brooding expression, looking out at the grey waters lapping at his feet. It’s not unlike the look on his face before the full moon, except that expression is more resigned in its weariness. This one has more in common with hopelessness, a tiredness that sees no future.

He thinks he knows what that look means.

“What do you think about this whole spy thing?” Peter had asked him a week ago, interrupting Sirius’ thoughts.

“Fuck, Wormy,” Sirius said, putting down his fork with an irritated sigh. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“But who could it possibly be?” said Peter, with terror in his voice.

“No clue, Wormy, no fucking clue!” Sirius said, picking up the fork again and moving food around his plate. “Dedalus Diggle? Seems a bit of an airhead though. Or Elphias Doge? But he’s a good friend of Dumbledore’s for years. It’s none of us, obviously. And it’s not the Prewetts, or Aberforth, or Hagrid, obviously. Not Marlene, the Longbottoms or Moody… I don’t fucking know. Who do you think it is?”

“I’ve no idea!” said Peter, his voice rising by an octave. “I wish I knew.”

“Yeah, listen, Wormy, don’t think about it too much. It’ll just make you paranoid.”

He’s already feeling very fucking paranoid himself.

“Thanks, Pads,” said Peter, with a forced smile. “I’ll try. If anyone had a reason to become the spy it’d be Moony, with all the anti-Werewolf shit that’s happening. But he’d be the last person to join Voldemort’s side. He’d rather die than join them.”

Sirius stared at Peter.

“Remus is literally the very last person I would ever suspect, Pads, don’t worry, I’m not a total moron! I’d sooner think it was me or you than Moony!” Peter laughed, shaking his head as though he had said something funny.

“Yeah, whatever…” Sirius let out a harsh breath.

“I’m joking, I swear!” Peter had squirmed, leaving the newspaper on the table as he left the room.*

Peter may well have been joking, but he hasn’t stopped thinking about this conversation, or that newspaper article, replaying it over and over and over when he lies awake at night, like a faulty record stuck on a groove, unable to sleep.

Remus was due to accompany him tomorrow on an Order mission to Shropshire, just the two of them, but at the last minute he bowed out, some pathetic excuse about having ‘double booked’ himself, about ‘needing to go on a recce for Dumbledore’. Which makes zero sense, because Dumbledore picked them, them specifically, to go to Shropshire. Which, by the way, he rarely does nowadays – not since the time James Fucking Potter told him he’s over-protective of Moony and therefore a liability on joint missions. Prick. He’s probably right, but he’s still a prick, regardless. He’s also his best friend and best brother.

Only brother.

Regulus Arcturus Black is missing, presumed dead, since December 1979, nearly two years ago. The spineless, soft, clueless, poor bastard idiot.

They say he’s dead, Death Eaters and Order members alike; Death Eaters taunting him, gloating, Cousin Bellatrix’s cackling laughter shouting it out with the aid of a Sonorus during battles, knowing he will hear it and how much it hurts him, ‘You betrayed him, disowned him, left him to die!’

Not strictly true, but he may as well have, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his mother tells him. He knows this already. Regulus point blank refused his help. His father made sure of it*. But he knows for a fact that he should have done more, forced Regulus to flee with him, made him renounce his upbringing, maybe even Imperiused him into…

Continue on ao3…

[akittyboy]

Another Life (part 5): the end

Sweet Home FF | Hyunsu x Eunhyuk

Hyunsu doesn't understand what's going on, doesn't understand the sick feeling twisting in his gut, the strange thundering of his heart that resonates through his whole body like a shockwave. The monster stirs finally inside of him, dark and smooth, rearing its ugly head. And for a little while Hyunsu doesn't even remember where he is, eyes glazing over.

.

.

Wet snowflakes whirl through the cold air, finding their way inside of the collapsing structure of Green Home apartments. Everyone has already fled the building through the underground tunnel. It's just Hyunsu there, clothes in tatters, body and mind shattered, standing barefoot under the damaged alcove of the first floor entrance, right where the reinforced truck had rammed straight into the building.

Unfazed by the blasts of military fire, igniting with bright flares somewhere far off in the murky distance, Hyunsu stares blankly at Yeongsu's pink fleece scarf wrapped around his arm. It's a gentle reminder to keep himself warm, but he's cold. And alone. Exactly what he's always wished to be; for everyone to just disappear and stop tormenting him.

Even so, he never meant for his intrusive thoughts to become everyone's reality. 

Was it his fault — all of this too? This strange apocalypse? 

After all, so many people have already died as a result of Hyunsu's incompetence. He'd been too late to save Jaeheon and the one to let Uimyeong in. He'd killed Han Dusik with his bare hands. And now, how many more would have to die because of him? Maybe Hyunsu should've jumped off a bridge, just like Kim Dohun edged him to, plunging straight into ice-cold water, letting the harsh streams rip his body apart, before any of this could even begin. If he hadn't been such a coward, maybe then his family would still be alive. If only he hadn't foolishly hoped for something to change; for his cowardly friends to grow a backbone or perhaps his parents to see past their own selfish greed, past their superficial fear of not being able to live up to social norms. If only he could — but he couldn't. 

It's unfair. 

What had he done that was so wrong? Why was he worth less? Why did he have to stay silent and just take it?

Why couldn't he just kill them all?

It that what you want?

Dazed, Hyunsu still manages to catch movement out of the corner of his eye and his messy head turns sluggishly around, shoulders curled inward, legs tense and ready to spring. It's hard to tell what's real and what's merely the demon lurking inside his head when the cacophony of wicked whispers intensify into a surging roar, bleeding straight into his thoughts and clogging everything with KILL! KILL! KILL!

His right hand curls into a tight fist, nails digging into his palm. He can feel his skin bristling and bubbling, splitting apart along the length of his forearm as shards start to push through the scar, an agonizing burn forming at the base of his spine all the while his body fights against the unnatural change. Whether Hyunsu wants it or not, his body is ready to fight, to smash, to throw the impending threat around. 

His teeth ache, so he clenches harder.

But it's just Eunhyuk, dirty jeans and red flannel. A shard of light splinters from the bright military beams outside and skitters with a harsh glint across his glasses, briefly shielding Eunhyuk's eyes from view. As the leader of their ragtag team of residents, reduced to nothing but mere scraps in the span of a few hours, he still manages to stand tall and unyielding like a warrior amongst the surrounding rubble, thin lips pressed into a tight line. 

Keeping his gaze on Hyunsu, Eunhyuk takes a wary step in his direction, all the while yanking on the thin wire connected to his earbuds, ripping both pieces of plastic from his ears when the shrieking signal reaches an unbearable volume, piercing through his brain, warning him about the monster in close vicinity.

And somehow, seeing a familiar face amidst the ruins of their home, no matter how ambiguous their relationship has been, makes Hyunsu's whole world turn on its axis, rewinding everything that's ever happened. The voices stop. His knees buckle as he begins to crash like a deadweight to the ground, but Eunhyuk is there to catch him.

They both stagger to the side as Eunhyuk gathers Hyunsu's gangly limbs into his arms and holds him in a bone-crushing grip; an arm around his crumbling waist and a surprisingly steady hand fisted into his greasy hair. Slightly taller, Hyunsu folds easily around him, putting the full weight of his uncoordinated limbs onto Eunhyuk.

It feels familiar, Hyunsu notes vaguely from within the crook of Eunhyuk's neck. Yet he hasn't been in such close proximity — that didn't entail killing one another — with anyone in weeks, months, maybe even years. Not even his mother hugged him like this. Hyunsu's heart misses a beat at this particular thought, followed by a pang of sharp pain through his chest when a sea of white chrysanthemums flashes through his mind — identical black stripes running across three picture frames.

Thankfully, he doesn't get much time to linger within those awful memories when a powerful explosion shakes whatever's left of Green Home apartments with renewed force. Eunhyuk swiftly ducks his head with a muffled swear word but he doesn't stop clutching tightly at Hyunsu, tugging him even closer with a harsh grip on his neck to keep him safe, Eunhyuk's palm sticky with sweat and grime against Hyunsu's skin. The bearing walls groan alarmingly as more debris rains over them with big chunks of cement blocks and plaster clattering to the ground, peppering their hair with flecks of white, forcing both of them to inhale a mixture of smoke and cement dust that whirls over heir heads in hazy billows. 

Huynsu's chest wheezes with each agonizing breath. He can feel Eunhyuk's ribcage stutter alarmingly as well and it sends a spike of irrational worry through him; Eunhyuk is human. He can't die. Not yet. Not like this. Hyunsu grinds his teeth to hold back the ripping wail that suddenly wants to crawl up his throat, and clings only tighter to Eunhyuk instead. 

Maybe if he could just get control over his wing? Then he'd be able to shield them both from death and destruction.

"I repeat, you're all surrounded," an autonomous voice booms from the outside, cruelly invading their space. "Surrender the infected and we will spare your lives!"

A helicopter whirs far too close by the gaping hole in the wall, the loud noise scattering across the ruins of Green Home. A beam of bright light swipes against the bare walls in search of them.

Hyunsu panics, pushed into a corner like some wild animal without an actual choice of his own, his whole body starts to spasm in Eunhyuk's arms. His right arm twitches, flesh ripping apart and knotting back together as he fights the rampaging monster inside of him. It's like a rabid dog, trying to tear itself off its leash, scrambling madly to the front of Hyunsu's mind, set on taking control.

Let me out, the monster demands. Let me out so I can KILL everyone, and then you'll be free... don't you want that?

Don't you want that, Hyunsu?

Hyunsu can't control it when his head snaps back, lips already parted, eyes glazing over into pure darkness.

But then Eunhyuk's low whisper cuts through the chaos inside his head as he traps Hyunsu's trashing body within the circle of his arms.

"You're okay. Everything will be alright," he soothes.

Those words are an obvious lie, yet Hyunsu can't help the gasping breath of air that suddenly finds its way down and then back up again from the very depths of his chest. The tormenting storm settles inside of him. Everything feels suddenly clearer, quieter. And with the decrepit sense of relief come the hot tears, rapidly welling up in his eyes, causing his vision to blur. He can't help it. His sanity is nothing but a thin silver thread struggling in the wind.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles as he crumbles, voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry."

Eunhyuk is the only one to ever look at him like a real person; someone to depend on rather than an inconvenience, even now, when Hyunsu could so easily hurt him.

Hyunsu squeezes closer with a wet sob, burrowing his damp face even deeper into Eunhyuk's shoulder, hiding from whatever's out there. The military. The monsters. An unknown future. A life without Eunhyuk. Death. His trembling fingers clutch at the stiff, unwashed fabric of Eunhyuk's shirt as he clings to him, finding home in the curve of his neck, breathing in Eunhyuk's comforting scent of sweat and musk and something so purely human, so alive. It sets his insides on fire, pooling like liquid gold in the pit of his stomach... but for what purpose? 

Hyunsu knows that he eventually — soon — now has to leave, give himself up for the sake of this decaying world, to at least save the others. Save Eunhyuk and Eunyu.

He was planning to die anyway, had even set a date for it. With all things considered, he was already a dead man walking. 

Yet, he yearns for someone to save him, to reach a hand out through the dense darkness holding him in its embrace and whisk him away from this nightmare. Even back then, when they held him down and punched and kicked him over and over again during recess, or when they poured dirty mop water over his head in the school bathrooms, he wished that someone would say something — anything. Take his side, see him, make him feel human and not like an abomination, who deserved to be treated like that to repent for whatever unknown crimes he's committed.

And Eunhyuk did. It might not have come from a good place initially but he still took a gamble and placed his life in Hyunsu's hands. He'd seen Hyunsu as an equal, as someone capable enough to trust in times of need, when his own family never even tried.

This belief sparks a strange desire inside of Hyunsu. 

Something vile and shiny crawls in under his skin and stays there, simmering under the surface.

In the end, he pulls away, forlornly watching Eunhyuk's arms fall back to his sides, which causes a puff of dust rise into the air from his clothes. Hyunsu wipes awkwardly at the dampness clouding his eyes with the heel of his hand, making an even worse mess out of his dirty face than before, and then carefully unwinds Yeongsu's scarf from around his right arm. He doesn't want to ruin it, although it's pretty much soiled with blood and dust already.

"I should've given it back," he whispers, voice hoarse, as he presses the soft fabric into Eunhyuk's hand, fingers eerily cold when they brush against Eunhyuk's. It's just a piece of fleece but it feels like something else, something more. 

Eunhyuk stares at him pensively through the cracked lenses of his glasses, but then nods once in understanding while clutching at the pink scarf. The muscles strain around his mouth and his chin quivers faintly as he holds back whatever's eating at him, clawing viciously at his insides, looking for a way out. Eunhyuk's nose stings, warming with an oncoming tickle of blood, but he holds that back too.

And perhaps there are things Eunhyuk could've done better, words he should've said, but none of that matters now. It's the end of both of them anyway. 

"It's not too late," Eunhyuk tries nonetheless, even if he doesn't believe it himself. But what would he be, if he wasn't a master at extracting himself from his personal feelings?

Huysun shakes his head sluggishly in reply, expression already vacant, mind miles away from the present. He has already made up his mind and Eunhyuk's heart sinks, shoulders dropping in disappointment. Maybe he did believe in his own lie, after all.

Hyunsu's eyes are completely black, gleaming like onyx marbles in the dark, when he strides catatonically past Eunhyuk, through the main Green Home entrance and finally steps out into the illuminating snow, where the biting wind instantly tugs and bats at the tattered scraps of his clothes. Where Eunhyuk can hear gun shots being fired.

Retrospectively, it never even occurred to Hyunsu that Eunhyuk wasn't planning on leaving together with the rest of the Green Home survivors.

<< previous part | next part >>

[alex-guerin]

All of this!! I have lived in Illinois all my 35+ years, and I can attest that this is all truth!!

I would like to add a few, if I may, dear OP?

10) Layers are your friend. Seriously. Y'know those old fashion longjohns in cartoons and shit? Those things are AMAZING!! I wore a thermal shirt to work yesterday because it was so cold and I work in a poorly heated massive warehouse, and between that shirt and the hoodie I had on over it, I was melting. Co-worker had longjohn pants on under her jeans and she was about to die. Find thermal clothes to wear under your regular clothes. They will keep you so much warmer! There's even a good chance your local Walmart sells them (at least for AFABs) in the intimates department. That's where I have found mine.

11) Remember this character from Doctor Who?

This cat? Yeah, them! Yeah, pretend that's you. Moisturizer yourself. The cold is going to chap EVERYTHING! Especially skin exposed to the air directly. I was out shoveling the driveway Saturday, was only out for maybe 45 mins, came in and immediately had to put chapstick on and moisturizer on my cheeks and nose cuz they had dried out. The cold don't mess around, bro. Keep yourself moisturized.

12) Keep enough gas in your tank that if you DO end up stranded somewhere, you can keep your car running and the heater going and don't freeze. I have always been told during the winter to ALWAYS, no matter what, ALWAYS have AT LEAST a half a tank of gas at all times, just in case. The one year I ended up with two flat tires and sat stranded on the side of the road for two hours (...it was not a good night, lemme tell ya...), I was very glad to have listened to my folks and had over half a tank, cuz it kept me warm and cozy until I was able to get hold of someone able to come pick me up. Plus, if need be, if the power goes out and you have no heat, so long as your car isn't parked in a garage (DO. NOT. KEEP. A. RUNNING. CAR. IN. YOUR. GARAGE. Do not make me have to repeat that and add in the 👏 between each word!), you can go sleep in it with it running, or at least try to warm yourself up for a while. I maybe wouldn't try sleeping in it for very long, but y'know, absolute needs must.

13) Keep a close eye on your pets. Just because they have a nice thick coat of fur, doesn't mean they can't get frostbite, too. Their little toe beans are exposed to the frozen ground. Imagine if you were standing outside barefoot for more than a few minutes when it's this cold? You wouldn't like it, and neither do they. Especially if they're a hound dog. They have a lot of ear and a lot of nose that gets cold very very quickly. Make sure you aren't leaving them outside without somewhere warm and dry to curl up in.

And my last point I'd like to add...

14) Check in on your neighbors. Make sure they're okay. Especially if they're older or have very very young kids. Does the Granny and Tweety Bird across the street need anything from the grocery store? Offer to go pick it up for them so they don't have to worry about slipping and falling on ice. Offer to salt their sidewalks and driveways for them and clear them in case emergency vehicles need to get to them. The furnace at Mama Bear and Baby Bear's house next door died and no one can get there to fix it until next week? Hey, couches were invented for people to crash on when they need a place. Or if you are mechanically inclined, offer to take a look at it for them and fix it if you can.

Be kind to your neighbors, be helpful. This cold sucks, but it's only around for a little while. You just gotta stay brave, stay smart, and stay safe.

You got this, my Southern and Southwestern friends!

So Your Temperate Home is Suddenly an Arctic Hellscape

As -10F hits area’s of the US who’ve never seen such temperatures in living memory, I wanted to give some tips from a Minnesotan who’s lived with these temps as a part of my life for 37 years.

1) Don’t Get Cocky. People used to these temps may laugh at our southern neighbors freaking out about the cold because yes, some parts of the US get such temps regularly every year. These people are being ignorant assholes. Our houses are mandated to have insulation that few of your homes will have. We pretty much all have huge puffy coats, and have well established winter weather gear drives for homeless and poor folks every year. We have expensive, well equipped infrastructure for cope with these temps and with large amounts of snow. You don’t. When it comes down to it, Minnesotans know to respect the cold temps- it’s just that a lot of the ways that do it are so commonplace as to be invisible to those who already have these habits.

2) Don’t go out wet. Dry your hair or stay inside. You will loose a lot of heat if you’re wet. Same for sweat, and wet diapers. And clothes with snow on them are now WET CLOTHES. Change into dry clothes as soon as possible.

3) If you have a shitty car battery or a car that sometimes struggles to start, then try not to use it. You’re unlikely to get the kind of temps where it’s impossible to start an engine (I’ve only experienced those temps a few times. Once my eyelashes froze shut and I almost froze to death in my own back yard. Don’t be like young me. Respect the cold.) If your car doesn’t start, you could be stranded somewhere, and realistically your area’s emergency services may be pretty overrun. 

4) Very cold air doesn’t hold moisture well. Plan for extra hydration for people, pets, and plants. Even if your staying in- most home heaters pull cold air from outside, then dry it out even MORE in the process of heating it. Dehydration is a thing. Even if your home’s heater has a humidifier attached to it (if you’re not sure, then it probably doesn’t.) it’s a good idea to drink extra water. Right now I have a few pots of water just left out by heaters to evaporate as much as possible. My mom used to just heat huge camping pots on the stove all day in cold temps. Remember, dry nasal passages really muck up your bodies ability to fight airborne illness. This is not a great time for that.

5) Help out homeless folks in your area in any way you can. These temps can and do kill. And since we have more evictions than any society can conscionably defend this year, we have high numbers of homeless people. Which means area supports for unhoused folks are often underfunded and over-taxed. 

6) Let your faucets drip. I know nobody likes to waste water but if your pipes freeze they will literally explode. Your home will flood. My mother’s kitchen got completely destroyed and it traumatized my childhood dog. Justa  bit of moving warm water will safeguard you from that.

7) Do. Not. Burn. Propane. Indoors. 

8) Plan for potential power outages. Ice on the lines can cause this and again, your infrastructure isn’t prepped for this. Unplug anything in your home you’re not using to do your part to help prevent rolling blackouts.

9) Driving on ice is a SKILL. Your roads may be filled with people who do not have that skill. Please please, stay off the roads if you can- even if you have this skill these roads will not be prepped and will, again, be full of people who don’t know how to do this because it just hasn’t come up that much in their life.

Stay safe and stay kind, folks! 

[lunarcharacters]

new dress

Bellamy had never gone on a date. She knew nothing about dates. She didn't even know if she was supposed to consider this a date, or just another one of the outings Beau was taking her on. There was a difference, though, because tonight wasn't specific to a bucket list item. When they were together a few days ago, Bell mentioned that she loved pizza and Beau asked if she wanted to go to this Italian restaurant he knew and loved. Bellamy had said yes, but neither one of them had called it a date... so, was it?

She was trying not to fret over it. Even if this were supposed to be a date, that wouldn't change anything, right? She and Beau would act the same as they did every other time they were together. Plus, Bellamy didn't want to assume that Beau actually wanted to date her. They were just friends. He was the only friend she had, and Bell didn't want to screw that up by assuming he liked her. So, this wasn't a date.

Bell was waiting outside of her apartment building for Beau to come pick her up. When she saw his car turn around the corner, she stood up and waved at him. Beau pulled up to the curb and got out of his car, even though Bellamy was walking towards him already, and when she saw him she knew she'd fucked up.

Beau was dressed nicely... like really nice. Bellamy was wearing the same jeans she'd worn every other time they were together and one of the five tops she owned. She didn't have anything else and hadn't even considered that she would need to dress nicer than usual. Beau had just said he wanted to take her to an Italian restaurant... not that it was a fancy one! Nothing about Bellamy gave off "fancy"...

"I'm underdressed..." She said by way of greeting. Bellamy frowned, tugging at the shirt she'd picked.

"It's okay," Beau replied, smiling. It seemed like he could tell she was uncomfortable now, though, so he looked at his watch. "We have time... if you want to change. It's okay if you don't want to, though, I don't care." Bellamy was already shaking her head.

"I don't have anything else..." Bellamy murmured. God, she could just curl up and die.

"Then we can go somewhere else... I'll be overdressed, it's fine." Beau was being too nice to her. Bellamy was still shaking her head. She didn't move one way or the other, not taking another step towards his car or her apartment building. She didn't know what to do... Bellamy wanted to go eat, but she didn't want people looking at her because she was underdressed.

"I don't have a dress..." Bellamy explained. She had one skirt but it wasn't a nice one and she'd still be underdressed if she put it on. Her clothes had never been an issue before, because she never went anywhere. Bell wore a uniform shirt and jeans for work and didn't go anywhere else that required fancier clothes. Her entire closet could fit into one duffle bag. Her entire closet cost less than the shirt Beau was wearing, probably.

"Do you have your list?" Beau asked. Bell's brows scrunched in confusion, but she nodded. She took her notebook out of her bag and handed it to Beau when he held his hand out for it. He clicked the pen that was clipped to the notebook and turned around to lean over his car. Bellamy watched him flip through the pages until he got to the end of the list and then he wrote something down. Beau replaced the pen and handed the notebook back to her, his thumb holding the right page.

At the bottom of her ever-growing bucket list he'd written "Let Beau buy me a new dress" Bellamy was already smiling before she even finished reading the sentence. Beau was grinning back at her when she looked up at him.

"Come on," Beau said, opening the passenger's door to his car. "I know a place." Feeling ten times better than she had just a minute before, Bellamy got into his car.

Before they even got to the store Beau knew of, Bellamy decided that she'd try to find something long. The brown loafers she was wearing (and almost always wore) weren't formal, so she'd need something that covered them. She couldn't walk in heels and she hated breaking in new shoes. So, she'd just cover them. Bell also figured she should find a brown dress to match her shoes. And, because, brown was her favorite color to wear. Fall was coming up, so hopefully that store had good brown options to pick from.

"Pick out whichever one you want," Beau told her once they'd arrived. Bellamy nodded and started combing through the dresses on the racks. She didn't know what would look good on her, so she just grabbed anything brown and let the salesgirl put it in a dressing room. When she'd gone through the entire store (luckily it was a small boutique), Bell had five dresses to try on.

The first few didn't fit her right and Bellamy quickly vetoed them, but the last two she was torn on. She hadn't shown Beau the first three dresses, but since she couldn't decide between the others, she pulled the curtain back to get his opinion. "What do you think?" Bell asked. Beau looked up from his phone and his brows rose in appreciation (or, at least, what Bell thought was appreciation).

"You look really beautiful, Bell," Beau said, smiling. Bellamy's face heated from the compliment. "Do you like it?"

"I'm between this one and one other one..."

"Let's see that one, then..." Beau waved his hand towards the dressing room again and Bell pulled the curtain closed to change. The second dress was a prettier. It was silky smooth and had beads woven into the top. The skirt was flowy and brushed the ground exactly how she needed it to. Bellamy had never seen a dress so beautiful... but it was more expensive than the one she'd just shown Beau, and so she was hesitating. She would show Beau anyway because maybe he'd hate it.

Bellamy pulled the curtain again and stepped out. When Beau looked up, he let out a low whistle of appreciation. She blushed again and fought off the urge to cross her arms over her chest. "That's the one..." He declared, standing up from his seat.

"It's more..." Bell started but Beau cut her off with a tut of his tongue. She hadn't fought him up to this point, so why stop now? Plus, now that she was wearing it, Bellamy really wanted this dress. She didn't know when or where she'd wear it again, but it would be nice to have it in her closet.

Beau came over to snap the tag off the dress so that he could take it to the cashier and pay. While he did that, Bellamy went back into the dressing room to shove her clothes into her canvas bag and put her nasal cannulas back in. She also tried to fix her hair a little so that the rest of her matched how pretty her new dress was. Bell thought she looked a little silly like she was a kid playing dress up, but she was going with it.

"All set?" Beau asked, taking her bag from her. Bell smiled and nodded and let him lead the way back to his car. They made it to the restaurant just in time for their reservation and she could tell that this would be the best meal she'd ever had. Bellamy had already decided that today was the very best day of her life so far but when Beau told her to "get anything she wanted", she knew for certain. Even if this wasn't an official date, it still felt like one to her.

[frizox]

me and friends were talking about fictional couples and The Disaster pride and prejudice love confession and this came up

“I thought I might find you here.”

Joe lifts his head, stares at Nicky for a few seconds before acknowledging him with a tight lipped smile.

He's curled on himself, sitting on the floor of the restaurant's terrace while tapping away at his phone. They're alone.

This is a gift from God, Nicky thinks. He's feeling warm and confident and he knows he looks nice and he knows it's the booze but he also doesn't care.

The most fun nights of his life always included a little bit of booze.

This is his chance.

“Yeah. Needed five minutes away from the crowd.”

Nicky approaches him and, feeling bold, sits right next to him.

“I understand. It can get overwhelming.”

Joe looks at him curiously, slightly nonplussed, before pointing to the stairs.

“I was about to get back, you know, there's no need to...”

“I have to tell you something.”

Nicky wishes he could sound more rational to his own ears, more in control. He wishes for a tidy little speech or something but he also can't wait.

There's something about Joe that makes him feel starved tonight: he's never looked more stunning, not with that loose white shirt that looks like it was made to sit on his chest, not when the freckles on his face are sweetly mixed with the glitters from his eye make up, not with those golden rings on his long fingers, which he keeps on twisting.

He looks like a treat, really. Made for him.

It's only polite if Nicky says something before devouring him.

“I've been thinking. For a while. About you. These past months have been so weird for me and so intense – I really don't think I can remember ever feeling this way about anyone ever. And...I know we don't come from the same circles, and I know if I ever brought you to Christmas dinner I'd have to do a lot of explaining and preparing to do with my parents, but I also think that I really don't care.”

“Nicolo, I don't-”

“I like you, Joe. I really do. And I thought we could...maybe go out? As a couple?”

Joe looks at him.

Really looks at him (and how warm it is when his eyes and focus are on you, he never, ever wants Joe to stop looking at him, he might die if he stops), before something in his gaze shifts. Closes off.

He smiles vaguely as he stands up, leaving Nicky where he's sitting.

“Well. Thanks for telling me, I guess. But I'd rather not impose myself on your family during the holidays.”

A black hole opens up in Nicolo's gut.

That is...an answer. Most definitely an answer. Just not the one he was expecting.

“Is that...are you mocking me?”

“No. I'm clearly not laughing. I would be laughing if I were mocking you.”

“And you are...rejecting me?”

“Well, yeah but on the plus side I'm saving you the stress of explaining and preparing, so I think you will survive.”

“No, wait, that's not...that's not what I said, and you know it.”

“Oh, you didn't mean to say that I am so beneath you and your family's circles that the mere thought of having me at dinner stresses you?”

Nicky is way too drunk for this. And Joe is definitely too sober.

“NO, that's not...I meant...there may be difficulties, but it's normal...it's nothing that I wouldn't...would want to try out. Because I like you. And I want you at Christmas parties. I really do.”

For a minute, neither of them talks.

They stay there, Joe staring down at him while Nicky makes an effort to look up at Joe. His eyes end up somewhere between the shiny shiny rings on his fingers and the crotch of his jeans. It's not his fault, really, just an unfortunate position.

Joe sighs.

“Nicolo, were you the one to tell Quynh Andy would never seriously date her?”

Now Nicky makes the effort to actually look up, because what the fuck.

Joe is looking at him less angry but also...he looks almost pitiful. Maybe even merciful. Certainly not in love.

“What?”, he mumbles.

“I mean, it's a rhetorical question anyway because Nile told me it was you.”

Nicky blinks dumbly, staring at Joe's face.

Well. There would be no point in lying, he decides. He's too drunk to make up believable lies.

“So what if I did.”

“Excuse me?”

Nicky sighs, slowly standing on aching legs. He feels tired and bitter all of a sudden.

What a shitshow.

“I did. I told her to break up. It was me. And I had good reason.”

Joe is gaping at him. He'd almost look comical in his dramatic surprise if Nicky didn't feel like punching him.

“What possible good reason could you have to get yourself in the middle of two adult women dating each-”

“It was not dating. Not when one person is much more invested than the other.”

“And the other would be-”

“The one that barely texts back? That refuses to meet her friends or family? That barely says “Hi” when she meets her on campus?”

“That's because Andy is shy!”

“Quynh is shy too and she too thought that she was acting strange-”

“Yes, and I bet because someone encouraged her-”

“- and don't talk to me about shyness when she drapes herself all day on Le Livre.”

Joe covers his mouth with a hand. And then he starts giggling. Laughing. Quite hysterically, actually.

“Wait, you think Andy and Booker are a thing?”

“No, I think Andy is very comfortable around anyone that isn't Quynh, which is suspicious.”

“Maybe because you've just seen her around boys?!”

“Or maybe because I'm right!”

Their voices are loud and mixing with one another. The distant thought of someone listening to their argument finally strikes Nicky as he looks at Joe, groaning and throwing his hands in the air.

“How on Earth can you say you like me and you want to date me and bring me over to fucking Christmas dinners while you stand there, talking like that about the closest person I have to a sister!”

Nicky snickers.

“What now?!”

“Yeah, well. Of course she is.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean, looking at the state of your actual siblings, of course you'd try to find a sister somewhere else.”

Two things happen almost at the same time.

Nicolo realises he has royally fucked up as soon as he hears the words he's uttered. He feels it in the cold chill rolling down his spine and in the sudden nausea that overwhelms him.

And Joe gasps, hurt in a way that was clearly unexpected and that cannot be masked. How could it, when his eyes, open and wide and so clearly hurt, are already filling with tears?

For a minute, maybe, nothing happens.

And then Joe's phone starts to ping, suddenly.

The message notification keeps cheerfully chirping as Joe turns away from him.

No amount of time has ever felt longer to Nicky as those few second where Joe turns his back, typing quickly as he very clearly tries his best to sniffle silently, and his own guilt tears at him while the sounds of a quite evening reach them from the street below.

“Nicolo.”

It takes Nicky a lot of courage to look Joe in the eyes. His voice is steely.

“I want this to be clear and I want no misinterpretation. From the moment I met you I could see through you like a piece of glass and your quietness, your kind words never hid from me the arrogance and the sense of self importance in which you are drenched. There is no existing fucking universe where I would ever decide to be your friend, let alone your partner.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I don't care. Have a great night.”

[captain039]

PART 6 Secrets of mutation

Logan(wolverine) x reader

Warnings: Age gap, student/teacher, AOB, trauma, swearing, sexual, intimate, a little forceful, heats, smut, unprotected sex, lil kinky, angst, jealousy

Xmen X new mutants

Previous chapter <-

When you awoke for the second time that day, you groaned and shuffled stomach demanding more food. You reached around and felt no Logan by you making you sigh. You sat up slowly, stretched and went to the bathroom.

You went to the toilet before going to the kitchen again, you rummaged through the cupboards and fridge before huffing, you wanted a big dinner meal. You sat by the table and leant against it sighing when you heard footsteps. You hoped they passed but you saw Jean stop in the entrance way. You tensed avoiding eye contact as she sat across from you.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“I’m ok?” You shrugged. Aching still and overly warm, what else did she expect?

“Good, after your heat is over we can five you some medicine if you wish” she said and you nodded.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked like a little kid.

“No, I’m not mad at you” she chuckled softly.

“I know Logan is, overly nice to you, I’m not um- I’m sure he’ll just go back to normal after everything is done” you nodded embarrassed.

“He’s just being… nice?” The hole you were digging got deeper and deeper as you spoke.

“Logan doesn’t do nice, if he’s doing something it’s for reason” you avoided her eyes as she spoke and nodded.

“Right” you mumbled.

“Protective then? This will go away after I’m done with my heat, he’ll call me kid and leave me with my friends” you tried convincing yourself more than her for some reason.

“Pressure maybe?” You questioned.

“I wasn’t pressured to do anything” you jumped at the sound of his voice. You looked to him, raised eyebrow and a white plastic bag in his hand. He sat by you taking out a takeaway meal and sliding it to you. You looked at it confused as he got his own out and handed you a fork also. You thanked him softly and opened the lid and began eating.

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy your meal” Jean said and walked off. Logan huffed beside you and you tensed slightly.

“Thanks for bringing me food” you whispered and he nodded not speaking. Did he hear the whole conversation? It was he just not in a talking mood.

You were getting fidgety under the silence, you had finished your meal and sat up to put it in the bin.

“Im gonna-“ you gestured out the door and nodded as you left quickly.

You rubbed your arms looking to the ground before you ran into someone.

You apologised before seeing the guy from the other day, the one you stabbed, lightly, with your claws.

“Cat girl” he said a grin on his face. You took a step back slightly.

“You’ve got sharp claws I’ll give you that” he was taunting you, stepping forward when you stepped back. You felt your claws come out and kept your hands hidden if he tried anything.

“At least you smell good too” his grin went almost evil and you striked. Something in your mind clicked, you snarled at him his stomach slashed open. You kicked him to the ground before someone grabbed you.

“Easy” you froze at the sound of Logan. Your mind coming back, you frowned seeing the kid on the floor holding his stomach.

“Jesus! You need to lock her! Crazy cat!” The boy yelled as you began to shake.

“What-“ you muttered as Jean and the Professor came.

“I didn’t mean too” you said as others came to help.

You bolted out the back door ignoring calls. You changed into your cat self and ran outside the house borders and into the woodland area.

You ran quickly, jumping over logs and rocks before finding a suitable cave to collapse in. You panted paws aching, muscles spasming as you caught your breath. You don’t know how long you ran, you couldn’t see or hear any form of school from here. You curled up in the corner knowing you’d be warmer with fur. You let your tail rest over your eyes as you tried to cry somehow.

Morning came, sun shining brightly into your eyes, you must’ve changed in the night, shivering and naked in a cold cave.

You sighed sitting up as you rubbed your arms and hugged your knees. You had a layer of cold sweat covering your body, your heat peeking up again. You cursed at the cramps and aches in your body and leant against the cold rock.

The sun had warmed you up eventually, you had sore eyes from crying and sticky face. Sighing you didn’t bother moving, didn’t want to move, you wondered how long it would take for you to die out here.

You frowned though hearing footsteps, you listened in, it was only one person, familiar rhythm and heaviness.

Looking around you saw his figure, should’ve figured he’d follow, but you thought he wouldn’t. As he came closer he spotted you, in the corner of the cave shivering. He came closer, you saw clothes and blankets in his hand. He handed you the clothes without any words and you shuffled awkwardly to put them on. Leaning back against the rock you sighed as he laid a blanket over you and sat by you.

You stared outside, wondering what snapped inside you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him” you mumbled.

“I know” he sighed running a hand down his face.

“I wasn’t in control” you added.

“I know” he huffed and you frowned.

“What do you mean you know?” You questioned.

“I mean-“ he sighed.

“The Professor said there’s something still inside you and your friends, some sort of injection that controls your mutant side when your emotions are high” you froze at his words and wondered why the Professor never told you this.

“The Professor thought it would go away, seems it didn’t, somewhere they’re finding a way to control your mind and we can’t find out why” you stared at the ground processing his words.

“With your current state and that dick head pushing, they took over from you” you didn’t know what to think, how the hell could they do that?

“Charles thinks it’s another mutant doing it, but we don’t know” you only nodded turning your head away from him as you tried to process it again. Someone was in your head, controlling you? Is that why you lashed out the very first time? Was the overdose so you didn’t know someone was in your head. You shuddered a bit holding the blanket closer.

“Is there like, a cage or something you can put me in?” You mumbled and he raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you need a cage?” He questioned.

“So I don’t lash out again and loose control” you said biting your cheek.

“You don’t need a cage” he sighed.

“Well something then? A secret room? something I can’t get out of” you felt your heart quicken and tried to calm down invade ‘they’ took over.

“You stay with me” he said finally.

“With you? What if I scratch you to shreds?!” You snapped glaring at him.

“You can’t” he scoffed a little smiling.

“It’s not funny Logan, this is serious, there’s someone in my head controlling me!” You looked away and stared at the ground again.

“I wasn’t laughing at the situation” he said firmly.

“Calm down” you frowned looking to him at the change of his voice, an alpha tone. You took deep breaths and looked away again sighing.

“Fuck!” You yelled hands fisted. Logan was giving you a firm look as he pulled you into his lap.

“I said clam down” he whispered and you felt shivers again. You leant against his chest listening to his heartbeat and sighed. Your heat must be ending thankfully, having him hold you was enough to dull the aches. You stayed like that for a while, you tucked under his chin with the blanket around your body, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back.

“Logan” you called softly and he hummed.

“What is this?” His hand stopped at your question and sighed quietly. You sat up, resting against his thighs as you looked to him.

“Everyone I’ve loved ends up hurt or dead” he sighed and you frowned.

“I’m a soldier born and made to kill and protect, not love” he mumbled and you felt your heart break. Your shoulders sagged a little.

“Just protective” you whispered getting off his lap.

“We should go back” you said standing up as you began to walk away.

“Y/n” he sighed following you silently.

Next Chapter ->

[foli-vora]

praise you

A/N: Kicking my fic blog off with my husband, my baby, my sweet boy, Francisco Morales. I would die/kill for that man, no questions asked. I’ve been so scared to do this and share my writing but I feel good today so I’m doing this before I change my mind! I hope you enjoy, and I have so much more to come!

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/f!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: swearing and some (lots) kisses, super brief mention of love making but nothing descriptive (I’m new to warnings so please let me know if I ever miss anything and I’ll add it asap!)

+++

It wasn’t meant to just come out like it did.

There was a plan. A whole plan that had been running through his mind for the last couple months. He had thought through every little detail, obsessed over every second that would count down to it. It should be perfect. It would be perfect, because you didn’t deserve anything less. But here he was, with his big fucking mouth, ruining everything.

He tries to swallow down the small flicker of panic, the steady rise of self-loathing. Maybe it could be remedied? Maybe if he just started laughing, you would think it was a joke and let it go.

But he couldn’t bring himself to laugh, couldn’t even force out a chuckle. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from your wide eyes. They were shining in the morning sunlight drifting in through the window, your skin glowing in the soft warm rays. Beautiful.

Fuck it.

He had come this far, might as well go all out. His legs wobble slightly as he slowly falls to a single knee, right in the middle of the kitchen.

The ring! Shit.

He sees it in his mind, remembers burying it in a hurry when he heard your soft footfalls on the stairs and your sweet voice calling out to him. You had almost caught him. Almost. He had only just slammed the drawer shut when you had reached the doorway to your shared bedroom, the soft smile curling your lips enough to make him fall in love with you all over again. You had reached out for him, humming softly in pure contentment as he took you into his arms and swayed you slightly. It had been a rough day at work, which had quickly melted away the second he ordered a pizza and chucked Netflix on, satisfied to just snuggle on the couch under a blanket.

Frankie… your sweet voice is calling to him, curious and questioning, and he inhales sharply, thoughts whirling into a hazy blur as he thinks he’ll never believe he deserves the amount of love you pour into his name alone.

The pure concept of you loving him and him alone is enough to bring tears to his eyes. He feels it. Every time you hold him, kiss him, make love to him… he drowns in it. Revels in it. Your pure, unadulterated adoration for him never fails to take his breath away, and he hopes you feel his devotion to you just as strongly.

Surely you could feel it. Surely you could feel it in the way he lingers close after kissing you, softly nuzzling his nose against yours as your gazes stayed locked in a soft battle of appreciation for the other. Or in the way he would dance his fingers across your skin in pure wonderment, tracing every blemish, scar and stretchmark with a tenderness only you could bring out in him. Surely you could feel how hard and fast you make his heart beat when you two slow down in between flurries of harsh kisses and greedy hands, when you both just stopped to just… to just be.

Words. He needs words.

He had a speech and everything. He had kept a small notebook in his jeans for weeks, pulling it out and adding and tweaking words whenever he would find a moment to himself throughout the day at work. He had read over it a thousand times, could see each word scrawled over the lined pages flash in his mind, but why couldn’t he get the words out of his mouth?

“You –” he stops, almost as if trying to catch his breath. You wait, patient as ever. Always so patient, always so completely and utterly devoted to him. “You are everything to me.” He whispers, and his teeth mash together as he tries to control the lump quickly building in his throat. Your lips twitch into a small, shy smile as your eyes briefly fall to the floor before flicking back up and focusing on him. He draws in a slow breath to steady his suddenly shaking hands.

“I don’t know how hard you hit your head to want to stick around with me this long, but I thank whoever’s out there every day that you do, and I… I hope with everything I have that you’ll want to stay.” His voice wavers with the tears quickly building in his eyes but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re looking at him like that… like he had personally hung each and every star in the night sky you admired every night.

“Always,” you whisper to him, smile widening as he grins up at you.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I… I can’t imagine a life, my life, without you in it. I don’t know how you do it, but you just… you just make my world so much brighter, make everything so much better, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me. So, will… will you marry me?”

You sniffle as you fall to the floor in front of him, cradling his tear-streaked face softly between your hands. Francisco… your voice is gentle as it coos to him, thumbs tracing his cheeks. He’s putty in your hands. He knows it. The guys know it. He wants the world to know it. You shuffle closer, placing soft kiss after kiss along his forehead, nose, chin, wherever you could reach.

“Of course, I will.”

He damn near implodes when you answer. If all the pain he had endured during his life had led up to this moment, he would happily live it over and over. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, quickly pulling you in to press his lips against yours in desperation. You melt into it instantly, matching his fervent pace and then some as you wind a hand in his ruffled curls. I love you. The words fall effortlessly from his mouth again and again and it isn’t long before you’re giggling into his lips, returning the sentiment easily as your arms wind around him tightly.

“This wasn’t how I planned this,” he admits quietly, thinking of the breakfast mess crowding the counter tops, the unkept bed hair falling into his eyes and the old tattered flannelette pyjama pants hanging from his hips. You pull back, face near split from how wide you’re smiling.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

His cheeks warm before a thought suddenly slams into him like a freight train.

“Shit. Shit! Stay right here.” He’s up and out of the room before you can blink, leaving you abandoned on your knees on the cool tile floor in the middle of the kitchen. You call after him, ears straining as you listen to the muted thuds from the floor above you before heavy steps are rushing down the stairs.

He’s flustered when he returns, hands fumbling with something as he drops back in front of you, breathless and giddy as he presents you with a shiny band embedded into a smooth velvet cushion, the beautifully set stones shining in the morning light. His fingers gently pinch it from padding before he’s tossing the dark hinged box over his shoulder without a care as it clatters noisily to the ground somewhere behind him. He beams at your giggle, grinning as he reaches for your hand and slips the ring carefully onto your finger.

“Perfect fit…” he whispers, “… just like us.”

“Ugh, cheeseball.” You groan quietly with a languid smile, nuzzling into the soft kisses he was pressing to your cheeks.

“What are you talking about – you love it.” He grins, watery eyed and flushed, cheeks darkening a little more when you brush his hair back and stroke his cheeks. He brings your hand to his mouth, lips pressing sweetly against the cool band wrapped around your digit before moving to kiss along your knuckles. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, fiancé.”

He blinks in surprise before grinning, leaning forward to kiss you deeply. “Call me that again.”

“Fiancé,” you murmur, a wave of warmth rushing over you as he groans softly against your lips. He nips at your bottom lip, grinning when you whine quietly. His voice is a deep rasp when he speaks against your skin, kissing further along your jaw and up to your ear. Again. You laugh quietly, “Francisco?”

He hums in question, too busy to answer properly as he kisses and nips the sensitive skin on your throat.

“I think the food’s burning.”

“Shit.”

[akvtsuki-ari]

Around Your Neck

Warning: smut, unprotected sex/creampie, post!prison reid, fingering, oral both recieving, throatfucking, slapping, bruises idk??

Length: 4.8k 

Authors note: you know that tiktok audio that goes “whats wrong with you?,” over and over again. thats how writing this fic made me feel. based loosely after a conversation me and my wife @pastanest​ had sdkjhjkef and that gifset of spencer with that gold chain on that has me so tight. so disrespectful...

Edit: heres the gifset!!! 

Plot Summary: Prison changed Spencer. That damn chain around his neck made sure you remembered. 

Spencer Reid was… different after prison. It was something about him when he left, like a part of him was always far away somewhere when you spoke to him. He was fractured it seemed like - even though he was saving lives everyday there always seemed to be something on his mind. He was still Spencer of course, still sweet-talking and soothing when he needed to be. He never lost that odd charm about him and after those first few months he grew back to be more comfortable in his own skin but there was just something there. Something on the back of his mind that he seemed to be handling alone. 

You’d been with Spencer for a while before he went to jail, a few years and other traumatic events later - you had an idea of how Spencer dealt with pain and difficulty. He liked to let things sit and stir inside of him for a long time before he lets it show - then he gets snappy and mean for a bit after that till he sorta just breaks. In many ways, when something bad happened to Spencer you sorta just knew what things would be like for a bit, but no matter how many times he slipped you caught him. When he got shot and nearly died twice, you were there right next to him - making sure that he was going to be okay. That's just what you did, to say you were Spencers ride-or-die would be an understatement. You gave him whatever he needed, whether that be some tough love or being pampered for a few days straight. 

Spencer knew that about you, and even before prison he had this affinity for you that always made sure you knew how much he adored you. He wanted you to know that he only ever had eyes for you and that he was beyond grateful for how patient you seemed and how loving you were to him. Spencer made sure he never stopped chasing you before he went to prsion. He bought you flowers, supported you when you switched careers, and generally made sure he returned the favor in loving you but he was always chasing you still. Part of it was out of disbelief that someone could love him like that, but the other part was out of insecurity. You always told him you were always his, but he never seemed to believe you. 

Prison changed a lot of things for Spencer, but that thing about him chasing you was what changed most. Spencer was always possessive in his own right, but he wasn’t jealous necessarily. He just wanted to make sure you were okay and that no one was fucking with you or bothering you. It didn’t bother him before if you talked and flirted with Luke, or if some guy was hitting on you because you were normally so adamantly rejecting it. He wasn’t someone who was particularly upset about not having claimed you as his - before he didn’t really care. 

For the longest time you didn’t really notice just how much Spencer had actually changed how he acted towards you - mostly because he was still really sweet to you. It wasn’t like he was treating you any worse, or necessarily any better. It was honest to God, just different, more.. something. You don’t wanna use the word aggressive because Spencer isn’t the aggressive type. Spencer was calculated, and he could be angry sometimes but not often. He didn’t have a shorter fuse - hell, you could argue that prison made him more patient since he was often just lying in wait. 

The best way to describe it is probably just more confident, really. He was assertive about you being his and his tolerance for crude jokes that came your way was a lot lower. Most of the time, at least before, he’d let shit slide if it was too small. Nowadays though, if he even catches something bothering you he steps in - always finding the small of your back and pulling you closer to him like he was keeping you close to protect you. He doesn’t curse them out or get angry, just stares at them with a blank expression that's arguably more intimidating. 

You were a flirt by nature, too. You were never trying to flirt with people, but you’re one for flattery and compliments so it sure can be read that way. You loved receiving the same energy so when you did your jokes and compliments would increase ten-fold. It doesn’t bother Spencer because he knows you’re just being silly but before, he didn’t mind if the other person was serious because he knew that you’d never continue like that. Now though, when someones dropping any lines your way he’ll tell them to leave you alone no question, unconcerned about any consequence or even if that person could beat Spencer's ass. Spencer wasn’t concerned about strength like he used to be - and when you asked him about why that was he simply shrugs. 

“I’ll play dirty if it gets there,” 

Those were all small details but there were so many of them that it was starting to pile up and draw you to interesting conclusions. Sex was also a clear example of change. The first time the two of you had sex when he came back from prison was relatively the same, but you could tell he was holding something back. For the longest time, you didn’t really know what until it was the heat of the moment and Spencer wrapped his hands around your throat and ask if he could choke you - something that you’d ask for previously that he was rather unsure about doing. It was the way Spencer's eyes looked into your eyes when he did it, the way his fingers curled almost carelessly around your delicate neck - so instinctively as if the whole endeavor was so natural. When he lets you go and kisses you - you’re more than into it but you can’t help but wonder where his desire came from. You didn’t really mind how Spencer got when he was like that but damn, you couldn’t say you saw it coming. 

The more you thought about it, the more it became clear to you that Spencer has changed a whole lot more than you understood initially, but maybe the last straw was when you made a sorta silly joke about the necklace worn around his neck after prison. It was a thin gold chain, for the most part tucked underneath his clothes when he went to work. He said in many cultures gold is a symbol for blessing and spirituality and he wanted to keep that with him, and that a lot of other people in prison wore gold chains. You made some stupid joke that if he were gonna wear it all the time - he should at least have your name around his neck. You knew stuff like that wasn’t really Spencer thing so when you’d said it, even though it was pretty hot, you were mostly just joking. 

It’d been a few weeks since then. Spencer had a case that needed his attention and you were at the bullpen with Penelope waiting for everyone's arrival. You were nearly bursting from anticipation, a busy case that made you particularly clingy and had you missing Spencer more than you can explain. There everyone was, walking through the doors when Spencer walks through and wraps you up in his arms. Spencer picks you up and spins you around for a few seconds before giving you a small smile. You just hug him again, noticing the cool metal on your skin when you do. You pull back before Spencer speaks and look down - his chains never had a pendant before 

There it was. Your name, hangin around his neck like it was nothing. Spencer was sporting it with a more casual version of what he normally wears, which was basically just no tie. A white shirt and blazer, and your name around his neck. You try your very best to ignore the heartbeat in your jeans while your fingers went up carefully to touch it. Spencer gives a coy smile, watching the way your eyes look at it so hazy. Just like he wanted. He places his hand on top of yours, seeing your pretty eyes flick up to meet his. You can barely contain yourself - the chain around his neck always brought you to some interesting places but to see your name - your fucking name, around his neck so casually brought you somewhere rather interesting. 

“Um - nice necklace,” you squeak out. Spencer laughs brightly, his arms circling around your waist as you bury your face in his chest instinctively . You can feel the way his laugh reverberates and you just whine in annoyance. 

“I’m glad you liked it, might be a little awkward otherwise,” Spencer jokes. It was your turn to giggle, Spencer left terribly endeared by the sound. 

“You ready to head home, doctor?,” you say softly. Spencer nods, taking your hand as you lead the way and feeling his heart burst out of his chest, grateful to have you on him always. 

__

You guess that Spencer buying your name as a pendant on his chain was really what set you off in realizing just how possessive he was. He didn’t take it off around the house, walking around your shared apartment shirtless with it on at all times. He’d play with it constantly, fingers brushing the smooth metal while he was doing something a little mindless or that required his focused attention. It was driving you nuts, the image of Spencers chain hanging in your face was already one you returned to a lot but - now that your name was there it made the stakes of such a situation so much higher. 

Spencers just sitting and reading the paper when you finally are fed up. He always liked reading the actual newspaper, claims there's nothing quite as good but you’re tired of… well, you’re not sure what you were tired of but you knew you needed his attention asap before you lost your marbles for good. You walk over to him, moving the newspaper carefully out of his hands and folding it before sitting across his lap and crossing your arms. Spencer laughs loudly, especially as you take his arms and wrap them around your waist. Spencer just gives you a quirked eyebrow, a questioning look. You shake your head, because you’re honestly kind of unsure for what you’re asking for - you just wanted something. Dick, maybe. 

You give Spencer a look as you take his chain around your fingers again and play with it’s pendant. He already knows why you’re here, but he decides to let you figure it out. He knew before that you were the submissive type, but his response to that changed in prison. He carried that picture of you with him everyday, looked at it for hours sometimes so he could sleep - and it pissed him off when people would see it and talk about you. Spencer missed a lot of things outside of jail but you were number one - your love and affection of course, but there were other things too. Prison made Spencer particular about his possessions, that picture of you was one of the few things that was his and his alone. He didn’t let anyone go as far as touch that picture, so when he saw you again that possession just carried over. He didn’t really care, especially since it didn’t seem to bother you. Prison made Spencer realize how much he really cared for his possessions, books, chess boards, you - all things he already cared about but became a lot more particular after the fact. 

Spencer just knows. When you sit on his lap, all he can picture is him out in the yard but instead of isolated and paranoid, he’s with you by his side giving him all the restraint in the world. He’d be damned if he let anyone take that from him. You give Spencer a look he can’t explain, there's a certain innocence written on your face that makes Spencer's chest hot. His hand sits between your bare thigh as you sit on his lap, and the second you look down on it, you seem to get the clue. Spencer grips your thigh, eyes following the way yours move to try and make sense of what's happening. Your eyes are fluttery, as your head twists to meet Spencers, the two of you nose to nose. Spencer just gives you a smile, before looking down at your lips then right back up to you. You blush. 

“You’re close,” you say, not knowing what else to do. Spencer chuckles. 

“Would you like me to move?,” Spencer asks politely. You shake your head. 

“No,” you say stubbornly. Spencer licks his lips for a second before smiling again. 

“Okay. Then, what would you like me to do?,” Spencer says, holding back a laugh. Your eyes fixate on his lips when he talks, and you scrunch your face up. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble. Spencer grins ear to ear. 

“Say please,” Spencer replies, leaning in as his lips brush onto yours. He pulls away before you can kiss and you sigh. 

“Please,” you manage out meekly. 

Spencer pushes air out of his nose before he does just that. His lips are smooth, stubble touching your smooth skin as your hand moves to one side of his face. Spencer smiles into the kiss, feeling the way you melt into him. The moments before things get heated is fast, Spencer's hands underneath your shirt as his tongue slides between your lips. He kisses you slowly, patiently but that’s not quite what you want. You give him a whine, but he shows the same attitude. You keep kissing like that for a while, moving yourself to straddling Spencer's lap before using your teeth to lightly tug on Spencer's bottom lip. He gives you a small groan and you return it with a noise of approval. Spencer pulls back to look at you, his eyes telling you to be careful but his body language betraying him. You can feel the tent in Spencer pants as you weigh yourself down on his lap. 

“Don’t hold back,” you ask, hoping it’s the right thing. Spencer gives you a weary look. 

“Are you sure?'' Spencer asks. You nod, eyes looking into his. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for go,” you say repeating your safewords to him. Spencer gives you a kiss on the forehead, both for remembering your safeword but as an assurance. He’d never really been rough with you - he was a soft dom at heart and wouldn’t go as far as hurting you. You just give him a pleading look - you wanted him to be rough with you, bruise and mark you, just for a little while. The idea made your skin flush, but who was Spencer to deny you of such a request. Spencer nods softly, leading you to the bedroom. 

Spencers the first to close the door, pushing you up against as he lifts one of your legs up and kisses you slowly - fingers pressing into your thighs as Spencers tongue toys with yours. He always kisses you like that, slowly but surely introducing as much of himself to you as possible - his erections pressed against you when he does. The sound that leaves your mouth is a cross between a whimper and a moan - a broken sound that makes Spencer a little more eager. He smiles when you make, giving you a look of surprise but you don’t have anything to say. Spencer smiles down at you. 

“Go lay down for me,” Spencer requests. You just nod as you get comfortable on the bed - watching Spencer take off his grey sweatpants and boxers, the chain still around his neck. Your eyes follow his figure, landing on his erection before widening. Spencer just chuckles at you - signalling for you to take your shirt off which you do with no question. You watch his eyes as the rack themselves over your figure, panties forbidding the rest of you from being on display. Spencer walks towards the bed, pulling your legs over the edge as he kneels between them. You yelp at the sudden move, but quickly settle up again. 

One thing is for certain, Spencer always wants to make you feel good first. It didn’t really matter what headspace he was in - whether or not he was super dominant like he was today or if he was super submissive like he was when he was stressed. His touch is careful, your legs over his shoulders pull him closer instinctively but he doesn’t seem to mind. He merely pushes your panties to the side before he eats you out, kissing your clit to be gentlemanly. His tongue is careful at first, experimental lickes before he lays his tongue flat - with a soft rhythm, slowly increasing his pace to your pleasure. He gets you close like that, pausing for a few seconds on moving before sucking softly on you, making you twitch your legs. Spencers careful about this part, his speed only testament to how much he can push you, the knot in your stomach carefully being undone as Spencer continues. 

“Can I cum, please?,” your voice scrapes the surface as you ask. Spencer is busied with his mouth but he hums - feeling you unravel as your orgasm hits you with astonishing impact. Spencer feels the way you pulsate on his tongue, humming again so you feel that little vibration that sends your hands in Spencer's hair to pull you off. You’re trying to catch your breath as you finish, Spencer still adamantly eating you - making your body shiver with pleasure. He holds your hips down for a few minutes like that. You don’t really want to argue with him but you’re unsure how much you can handle as he makes you cum for the second time, a small wave of pleasure brushing against your spine as cum for the second time. When Spencer pulls away from you, orgasm covers his lips and manages to get onto his stubble. He gives you a light smile as he leans up to kiss you, hands holding your thighs as he does. You can taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Do you think you can handle letting me fuck your throat?,Spencer asks. You give him a look of surprise, trying to remember if you still had any cough drops before nodding - more than eager to let him do that if that's what he wanted to do. You just nod, ready to get on your knees before Spencer stops you in your tracks. 

“I wanted to do it while you were laying down, you know,” Spencer says, voice unsure. You’re surprised but you just shrug, laying down, your head back on the edge of the bed.  It weird to see everything upside down like this, so you just shut your eyes and open your mouth up. Spencers cock twitches at the site of you laid back for him like this, pushing past your lips a lips a bit, feeling your tongue along his tip. You pat Spencers leg, letting him know you were comfortable to let him go further, feeling his length push past your throat. You let your throat relax, gripping your thumb as Spencer buries himself nearly fully in you. His fingers find the column of your neck, brushing the bulge in your throat which makes it hard for him to contain himself. Spencers fucks your throat slowly, carefully not to push you too hard even though you were more than ready for it. You steadied yourself, the other hand in your underwear rubbing your clit to the feeling Spencer fucking you like this. 

“You’re so pretty with me down your throat like this,” Spencer comments. You moan around his length, letting him know he’s free to continue. 

“Prison made me think of all the things I could be doing to you, fucking you like you were the only thing I thought about all day. Maybe because you were,” Spencer laughs when he speaks, his hands reaching down to toy with your nipples, his fingers carefully twisting them, relishing the way you writhe under his touch. You tighten your throat around Spencers length causing him to jerk into your throat - sorta how you planned for this to go anyway. Spencers expression changes as he watches you take all of him in, his hand lightly around your neck, maybe too turned on by how the air leaves your lungs. When you pull out, spit covers your face and chin - but you just give Spencer a thumbs up and a smile, not phased at all. Spencer didn’t think he could be anymore in love with a person, yet here he was. 

Spencer helps you sit back up, sitting for a few moments to readjust to the world around you. Spencer cups your jaw, pulling your face to look at him - giving you the most adoring eyes like you didn’t just take his dick all the way down your throat, well that may be the reason why. Spencer  leans down to kiss your forehead, hands around the base of your neck as he does. 

“Good girl,” Spencers use of that phrase is spare, only using it when he really meant it. It fills you with a certain intensity you weren’t expecting, your throat already a little sore from the endeavor. You give Spencer a small hum of approval. 

“Thank you, Sir,” The honorific makes Spencer's heart ache. Spencer was a soft dom, which mostly meant that in bed you called him by his name. Sir was a sometimes thing, like when he got rough on the occasion. Sir was earned, just liked good girl was. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl,” Spencer asks. You do as you're told, arching your back completely for Spencer without questions. Spencer admires you, running your hands over the curves of your body, admiring the little wet spot that forms on your slit for him, cum running down your legs. Spencer wanted to fuck the shit out of you, wanted to see his cum spill out of you - as filthy as the thought was. You’d always talked about letting him go raw but Spencer was normally too cautious. You getting pregnant was much less of a consequence these days, like if anyone were to carry his baby into the world it’d be you and no one else. 

If anyone got to fuck you like that, it needed to be him and no one else. That was one thing Spencer knew was so different. Spencer needed to fuck you like that, raw and shameless just like only he could. Spencers fingers are too curious for his own good, one hand around your waist to play with your clit, and the other posing two fingers inside of you - brushing up against your gspot with ease. You shudder under Spencers touch, getting fingered from the back like this wasn’t what you were expecting but you weren’t upset about it. Spencers voice is warm in your ear. 

“You’re gonna have to cum one more time before I even think about fucking you,” Spencer warns. You just nod, chewing your lip as Spencer pads his fingers along you, curling them up for you to feel. He stretches you out comfortably like that, and you’re unable to really think clearly. His mouth works on your neck, biting hickies onto your throat as he does. The bruises are red and pulsating, the dark marks only bound to get darker and more visible as the days pass. Not that Spencer minded, though you did. It was a worry for later though, of course. You cum around Spencer's fingers again, unable to comprehend the level of exhaustion that seemed to come over. Still, you’d be damned if Spencer didn’t fuck you senseless. You tighten around Spencers fingers. 

“Spencer, fuck - please, please,” the begging has no particulars. It’s never for anything, instead a mindless response to Spencer and his ability to turn you on this much, to the point it was all you thought about. You were exhausted but all you wanted was for him to cum inside you and make you feel so pliable. You always were, for him anyways. 

“Sir - fuck me raw, please,” that last plea was a demand. Spencer groaned into your neck, nodding lightly, no response to your request. His fingers burned bruises into your waist, gripping on to you like he was gonna lose you if he didn’t. That feeling comes at you so quickly you can barely make sense of it, Spencers hands rhythmic in their ability as you convulse, cumming around Spencers calloused fingers and feeling every inch of them in you. You whine in disappointment when he pulls out. He just chuckles, taking his fingers and slipping them between your lips and down the back of your throat. You don’t choke, unsurprising to Spencer really. Saliva coats his fingers which he smears across your lips, just degrading enough for you to giggle. 

“Lay on your back from me, I wanna see you,” Spencer doesn’t need to finish his sentence to say that he wants to see how his cum fills you up, such a pretty sight it doesn’t need any words for description. 

You lay down, waiting for Spencer who doesn’t wait to get on top of you. That’s when you catch it again - his fucking chain. His name around your neck, hickies from you around his neck just like your name was. Spencer gets on top of you, chain hanging from around neck and all you can think is how fucking badly you needed this man inside of you. The way he had you, feeling this possessive over him made you fucking insane. You knew he’d always keep that chain on, like you were always hanging around his neck anyways but you needed to do more. You wanted to scratch his back up, steal his soul when you gave him head - everything, you wanted to do everything for that man. When he fucks you and you feel all 7inches, stretching you out - cumming inside you like he owned you because he did. So carelessly fucking you, making you cry out his name and now he had your name hanging around his neck. You’d be damned if another person even got near him. 

“Say my name when you fuck me,” you request. Spencer groans, slowly doing just as he promised, hitting your cervix before bringing his hips up - ready to fuck the daylights out of you with no question. Your eyes fixated on the jewelry that adorned him as he pounded into you, your voice totally lost to you as you feel his cock pulsate inside of you. He was relentless, the sound of his hips making contact with your backside filling the room with such a filthy sound. It was filthy the way Spencer fucked you. He leans down to you, his chain resting on your chest as he hands move to the side of your face. He wants to hit you, call you his pretty slut before he fills you with his cum. You just flutter your lashes and before he can ask. 

“Green,” 

Spencer's hands hit the side of your face roughly, the stinging sensation rather pleasing in all reality. Spencer's voice is low, an octave lower and hoarse as he pounds you out like it was nothing. 

“You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you baby? Taking all of me in, like it’s easy. What were you doing while I was gone? Bet you were getting ready for me do this to you, weren’t you. Did any of those toys you used feel as good as me,” Spencers words are callous, and degrading but you loved every second of it. You shake your head. 

“Nothing was as good as you,” your response was forced out. Spencer laughs, voice tinged with something dark. 

“Nothing,” Spencer pushes his hips as far as he can, making you cry out as he reached the edge “Nothing ever will be,” Spencer finished

You tighten yourself around Spencer, looping your legs around his waist to make sure all of him shoots inside you. He finishes with a loud groan, fucking the cum into you a last few times before pulling out. You’re more turned on than you know what to do with so you loop your fingers in Spencer's chain and kiss him, wet and sloppy as he finishes. He presses his forehead to yours as he kisses you, eyes locking with yours as the both you stare at eachother in euphoric post sex glow. Spencer breaks out into a giggle as he comes down, falling into you when he pulls out and you do the same. 

“All this because of a chain?,Spencer asks. You just nod, placing a kiss in Spencers messy hair before sighing. 

“If you ever date anyone else, I’ll be the person in prison,” you say stubbornly. Spencer just laughs a little bit more, the two of you lying comfortably as Spencer places kisses over some of the hickies he left. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,”

----

taglist:  @cynbx​ @zephyr-studiesjp​ @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @reid-187​ @louistwinslover​ @pastanest​ @nomajdetective​ @iamburdened 

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sacrifice Part 2 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown: hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the kind words! I really appreciate all of it! :)

Word Count: 3.8k

The sun was rising. You stared up at it as you walked, your cracked lips parted, mouth dry beyond belief. The cloth you’d wrapped around your head was already growing warm. Beneath your long-sleeved shirt and jeans, your body was scarred with sunburns. Your backpack hung heavy on your shoulders and scraped against your back painfully. Still, you kept walking through the sand.

Crumbling buildings lined the barren street. At the end, next to an intersection, you saw one that still had an intact roof. You willed yourself to move faster, but your steps continued in the same plodding manner as before. The sun beat down heavier.

A dry wind whispered past, bringing swirls of sand to flight. They looked beautiful in the golden rays of the morning but cut like glass as they whipped past your cheeks. With a grimace, you reached a weathered hand up and pulled some loose cloth farther over your face, squinting your eyes for protection. The sound of your heavy breathing filled your ears.

How familiar that was. How familiar exertion was. Before you could stop yourself from thinking, from remembering, you saw his face. He was by your side, smiling, goading you to run faster. He was betting you that he could reach the doors first.

“If I win, you owe me half your dinner,” came his playful tease, so vividly that you almost thought it was real. If you let your gaze wander, you could barely make out a mirage of him jogging ahead of you.

What was it you’d said, back in that other life, where you ran the Maze and lived in the Glade and weren’t as alone? You smacked your lips together now, looking for any moisture, and croaked, in a hoarse voice, “What do I get if I win?” The effort made you cough. Stopping in your tracks, you doubled over hacking. You expected to see the worn stone of the Maze beneath your feet, but there was only sand. Knives scraped your throat. You tasted blood.

“You can have anything you want,” Minho responded. You lifted your head, hoping for a glimpse of his face and seeing only sand.

Tears filled your eyes. You wanted Minho with you, right now. You wanted to not be alone. You wanted to not be here, to not have made any of these choices, to not have to keep going and keep trying and keep surviving all because of one promise. You wanted to reach the doors -- no, not the Maze doors, never the Maze doors again, the doors to a crumbling building in a crumbling town in the sun-baked, sand-ridden, abandoned Scorch.

Straightening up, you started for the building again. You reached it in a few long, purposeful strides. The door hung half off its hinges. You slipped inside, shutting it as best you could behind you, hoping that would keep at least some sand out. The inside was blessedly dark. The front room seemed kind of like a cafeteria, with a few tables and chairs and a long counter at the back. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the last cafeteria you’d been in. You wanted to spit on this place as payback.

Instead, you walked behind the counter, sunk to your knees, shrugged off your backpack, and curled into a ball. Your head pounded. You squeezed your eyes closed, pressed your palms to your temples, tried to hold back any more tears. The memory of Minho floated to the front of your mind again.

“No need to cry,” you could hear him saying. You could almost feel him tuck a finger under your chin, like he’d done before, and raise your head. “I’m still here.” And then you opened your eyes, hoping to see that cocky grin that would make the whole world would seem a little better.

But Minho wasn’t there. You weren’t in the Glade anymore. You weren’t even with WICKED anymore. You were somewhere in the middle of the Scorch, alone and trying to survive and failing.

With trembling fingers, you unzipped your backpack and pulled out your last bottle of water. It was half-empty. You stared at it numbly. How far could half a bottle of water take you? When you used to run the Maze, a lifetime ago, you never went in without at least one canteen full. Minho had teased you during your first run for taking three. You wondered what he would say now.

“We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.” That’s what he would say. That’s what he had said, right before you went into the Maze for the last time.

I tried, Minho. You wanted to scream it out to the Scorch, let every damn Crank within a hundred miles of you hear it. Maybe Minho would hear it too, back at the WICKED compound, back in the Glade. He said he would find you. You’d repeated his words so many times in your head that they were practically imprinted in your brain. They were like a touchstone, something you remembered for luck and courage.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said.

You’d never said it back. You wished you’d said it back.

You forced yourself to stop remembering and took a sip of water. It was like ice filtering through magma cracks, soothing, soothing, soothing, and then gone, evaporating and leaving behind seething bubbles of lava. You wanted more. You wanted so much more for yourself.

You twisted the cap back on and shoved your water into your bag before you did something you’d regret. Leaning against the counter, you let your eyes close. Fatigue made your limbs heavy, and the warm air settled over you like a blanket. You hoped the sun would be gone when you woke up. Then you would walk, as you had for countless nights, with no real directions in mind, only the understanding that you needed to keep moving or else you would die. Somewhere out there, there was a safe haven.

But in your dreams, there was darkness, and in the darkness, there were Grievers. The Maze walls, dripping with ivy, closed in around you as you ran. Your breaths came short and fast, more from fear than effort. You had no bag, no weapons, just the shoes on your feet and a little bit of hope in your chest. But the Grievers were closing in.

Mechanical limbs whirred, slamming against the Maze floor so forcefully the ground seemed to shake. You whipped your head around, caught a glimpse of them, turned back and ran faster, looked again and saw them even closer. Metal clanged together, the sound of razor-sharp fangs gnashing, slick with slime. A rush of wind sliced past your arm. You tried to move faster, just a little faster, just enough to keep narrowly avoiding the Griever’s claws, just enough, please, just enough to make it to sunrise--

A wave of fire burned a line across your back. The pain was white-hot, so bad you couldn’t keep your eyes open, you were stumbling and faltering and barely moving and the Griever was going to get you, only with your next step you felt nothing but open space and then you were falling and falling and falling.

You hit the ground so hard the air went out of you, and only then did you realize you’d been screaming. A moment of shock passed. Then you shrieked again. Your back burned with pain, but it wasn’t fire, not like you’d thought at first, it was a cut, huge and sprawling and parting the flesh of your back. Blood drenched your shirt. You screamed, blind with pain and fear, waiting for the Griever to finish you off or sting you and send you into a spiral of even greater misery.

Something grabbed your arms, hoisted you up, strapped you down. The Grievers have me, they’ve got me, they’re going to kill me, you thought, even as you felt human hands and heard human voices and saw human faces.

“No!” You caught a glimpse of one of them holding a syringe, a Griever in disguise. Twisting away, trying to avoid it, you let out a scream so loud you thought your vocal cords would be torn to shreds, just like your back, just like the ravaged mess that was left of your back. The needle pierced your skin.

Immediately, your yells dropped off. The people or the Grievers or the Grievers masquerading as people laid you face down on a stretcher. You couldn’t move your neck, or your arms, or your feet, but every step they took as they carried you sent bolts of lightning through your body. Your face was wet with tears, with blood. The jostling stopped. Every nerve in your body rebelled in pain, and then there was a cold hand on your cheek, forcing your chin up. Grinning down at you was the face of the devil.

You woke now with a start, a cool sheen of sweat coating your body, phantom pains chilling your back. Your heart thundered wildly. Acting on pure instinct, you shot to your feet, looking frantically around the room. She would be there, you were sure of it. The devil, with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips painted red with the blood of her victims.

But the room was dark and empty and you were alone.

You untensed with a long, slow exhalation. Tiny daggers still ran up and down your spine, dancing along the scars the WICKED doctors had said they couldn’t fix.

“An unfortunate variable,” the devil had said about the Grievers, “but necessary.”

Necessary.

You spat on the floor, wishing it was her pristine white cafeteria, half-hoping you’d look up and see her standing there so you could strangle her. But that thought was fleeting and your head shot back up in fear, scanning the room again and again to reassure yourself that Dr. Paige was nowhere to be seen.

When you were sure there was no one lurking in the night-shadowed corners, you hefted your backpack onto your shoulders and made for the door. Outside, the desert air was chill and dry. The occasional wind stirred the sand as you walked, footsteps making quiet whispers along the dusty sidewalk. Moonlight paved the way forward.

Goosebumps covered your arms as you replayed your dream, your memories, over again. Yes, the Grievers had gotten you, but not the ones in the Maze. It was the hidden Grievers, the ones who said they were good, and that they were going to save the world, and that you were helping.

“Thank you for participating, Y/N,” Dr. Paige had said. “I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The data we gathered on the group’s response to a requested sacrifice will prove very useful, I assure you.” And she’d smiled at you. She’d actually smiled, pointy, predatory canines on full display behind her parted red lips. “The data from your response will also be very beneficial. Thank you once more for your participation.”

You were too shocked. You were in too much pain. The synapses in your brain weren’t firing correctly, still stuck trying to piece together that the sacrifice was some kind of test. An unfortunate variable. “What...what happens next?”

Dr. Paige had already left. Someone lower in the chain of command gave you a nonanswer about your role in Phase One being complete.

“But what happens in Phase Two?”

There was no answer to that question, no matter how many times you asked. You asked when you were stable enough to be moved to your own room, when you were compliant enough to walk the halls of the facility with a chaperone, when you were obedient enough to eat in the cafeteria among the staff members.

“WICKED is good,” they’d say. And then they would smile at you.

You shuffled through the sand. Reaching a hand, which you pretended wasn’t trembling, into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out a meal replacement pouch with WICKED emblazoned on its side. Even as you ate, you worried. The dream loomed over you like a heavy cloud, and your food supply was dwindling. You wished for a sip of water, just a taste, a small trickle to wet your lips, something to help the powdery bar go down.

You wished you’d started hoarding food at WICKED earlier. It was only when you noticed that change was coming, that the air was electric and the people were alive, that you started to slip items from the cafeteria into your bag. The doctors had stopped ordering you in for blood tests and scans, which they had pretended were for your back, and then they stopped sending you a chaperone. It was almost like freedom.

“Code Green. I repeat, Code Green. All personnel begin preparations for Phase Two. I repeat…” The message came over the speakers while you were in your room, a barebones cell with a cot and a desk. In a flash, you were on your feet, pouncing on the opportunity. You slung your WICKED bag over your shoulders, ignoring the discomfort as it pressed into your bandaged back. Peering through the crack in your door, you couldn’t see anyone in the hall. The lights were flashing in time with the announcement, strobes of green slicing across the walls. Holding your breath in anticipation, you tried the door handle. Unlocked.

Heart fluttering, you pulled it open a crack and slipped through, shutting it gently behind you. No chaperone sitting outside. No guards patrolling. No people at all. You bolted down the hall.

Thinking about it now, as you finished your second to last meal replacement, the perishable food long since gone, you wondered why it was so easy.

Phase One. Phase Two. Thank you for your participation. An unfortunate variable. Unfortunate unfortunate unfortunate thank you for participating thank you for the data thank you for trying thank you for dying. Phase Two, I should have raided the cafeteria will you be in the cafeteria, Minho are you in the kitchen? Where are you where am I why is this happening what is--

Welcome to Phase Two.

You crumpled the meal replacement package in your hand and threw it into the air, letting it fly with the wind.

Minho’s voice was in your head. “I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons.”

You shook your head and it faded. “I would have done it if you were there,” you said. Your voice was a croak. You cleared your throat and tried, “I would have…” The words floated away. I would have tried harder to survive.

“I tried so hard, Minho.” You thought of your bottle of water, only a few sips left. “I tried to wait for you in the Maze, but WICKED took me.” Grievers and white-clothed doctors and searing pain. “I tried to wait for you at WICKED, but...I think they let me escape.” An unlocked door, no patrolling guards. The vast expanse of the Scorch beyond, and a snippet of an overheard conversation about a safe haven at the end. “I tried to reach the end. But I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Sand. So much sand. Lightning storms and a burning, vengeful sun, and a throat so dry it hurt. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And still, you walked. Because there was nothing else to do. Because you were a Runner and Runners never stopped. Because you thought this might be another test, another phase, and you wanted to reach the end. Because the mirage of Minho was nearby, talking.

“We’re almost there,” he said. You rubbed your sand-crusted eyes and tried to find him. “We have to keep going.”

Other voices chimed in, pitched low and hard to hear. You hoped you could hallucinate Newt, too, and maybe Zart and Frypan, who had tried to help, had tried, just like you tried. You moved faster, feet cleaving through drifts of sand.

“There it is!”

You missed the sound of an excited Minho. You remembered the first time he’d had a little too much to drink at a bonfire, and he’d picked you up and twirled you around. You’d never smiled so much.

The memory used to be good, then it turned painful, and now you were just numb.

You kept walking. Around you, the city was fading into sand. Ahead stood a tall dune. You wanted to stop and stare and convince yourself to turn around. But you kept walking. Behind the dune, you’d see Minho and Newt and Zart and Frypan and maybe even Alby, and maybe you would forgive Alby, or maybe not, but you would still see him because everyone would be there.

You boot punched a hole into the sand dune, sending streams of gritty yellow dust cascading down the slope. Stepping forward again, you sunk into sand up to your mid-calf. Again and again, and then you stumbled and fell in up to your elbows, and still, you crawled.

“We can do this,” Minho said, from somewhere above or behind or by your side. He was climbing with you, barely out of sight. His playful grin was audible.

“Bet I can beat you to the top,” you said before he could.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

You smiled and there were tears in your eyes and sand on your cheeks. “You can have anything you want.” And you climbed higher.

“I want you to say it back. Please say it back, Y/N. Please.” His voice was fading. You were leaving him behind as you neared the top.

Sand burrowed into the lines of your face, past the seams of your clothes, finding every nook and cranny of your body to hide in. It was in your mouth, your ears, your eyes. You struggled to breathe. Your head felt as light as a cloud. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally promised as you reached the empty crest. Still on hands and knees, you peered over the other side of the dune. The slope was empty. Everything was empty.

You rolled onto your back, eyes shut against the fading night sky. Your arm bumped against something stiff. Reaching a hand out blindly, groping for it, you came back with a stick. You looked at it through squinted eyes. Atop the stick was a flag, and on the flag in big, thick letters, the same font WICKED used for everything, were the words, “Safe Haven.”

You laughed. The bitter chuckle was alone in the Scorch. Overhead, the sky was lightening, and soon you would be alone in the daylight of the Scorch, alone in the Safe Haven.

Shrugging your backpack off, you reached inside for your water and the last of your food. The bottle was empty. You didn’t remember finishing it, but you figured you must have. You chucked it to the side, listening as it rolled down the sand dune. You wouldn’t need that anymore. The air grew warmer as dawn approached and you opened your last meal replacement. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear voices. You wondered if you were going crazy, decided you didn’t care because you had tried Minho I really tried I’m sorry please promise me I’ll see you tomorrow please don’t let it end like this please.

You took a bite of the crumbling meal replacement bar and immediately spit it back out. It had soaked up the last bit of moisture in your mouth. You tossed the package to the side, where you’d abandoned your water and your will.

The sky grew pink and orange and yellow, and, finally, there was the sun, high in the sky, and you had no idea how much time had passed while you stared, and you didn’t care. There was no further destination in mind. This was it. And with the sun up there and you down here, you hoped that maybe this wouldn’t count as dying alone.

“There it is!” Minho again. Funny how he kept saying that. And then the voices of the other Gladers chimed in again. You wondered if you would keep replaying that moment until you finally passed. You wondered how it would feel. You wondered if there was water on the other side.

The sand rushed down the sides of the dune in waterfalls. You could hear it, even if you didn’t have the energy to look. It sounded like a whisper. Beneath the whisper was the panting of a group of people.

Runners, you thought. All of the Runners before and all of the Runners after, coming to take me away. Would Minho be among them? Was he dead, like you and like those sad souls who’d been killed by the Grievers (An unfortunate variable, but necessary) and all of the people who’d gotten the Flare, which you barely understood because no one had answered any of your questions?

Why is this happening and where am I going and what do I do and how did I get here and when can I go home, please bring me home, I want to go home and I want to see Minho one last time because I never promised him back and I should have.

“Y/N?”

Minho. You didn’t have the energy to speak or even open your eyes to see the hallucination.

“Y/N!” Feet pounding against sand, then hands on your arms, looping around your back, pulling you close and shielding you from the sun. “Wake up, Y/N. Clint!”

No, Clint wasn’t supposed to be here. Clint had voted for you to be sent into the Maze. You were pretty sure you used to hate him for that, but hate took so much energy, and you just wanted to pretend Minho was holding you until you didn’t have to think anymore.

The people nearby talked unintelligibly, oscillating between murmurs and gleeful shouts. There was cotton in your ears and a blindfold over your eyes and strong hands on your back, propping you up. Then there was a splash of water on your face and the world opened up again.

There was Minho. Better than in your memories, because he was here, in full color, so perfect you needed to squint. He was on his knees and holding you. Above, Clint was pouring water over your head. All around you were Gladers.

“Minho?” you croaked, although there was no question who it was. Dark brown eyes, now filled with tears. Full lips curved up in a smile. Scatters of freckles across his cheeks. Minho.

Minho nodded and pulled you into a hug. “I thought…” he trailed off. Then he laughed, a sound so bright and so happy that the water on your skin felt a touch cooler, the sun on your shoulders a shade dimmer. “I should’ve known you’d survive.”

“There’s no safe haven,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Minho shook his head, still buried in your neck. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, you pressed a hand to his cheek, coaxing him to look at you. When he did, you leaned in and finally felt at home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: I wanted to put a longer, more serious note at the end instead of the beginning so I wouldn't deter any newcomers from reading. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for letting me try out this style! I'm not very happy with how this turned out but it was good practice. Hopefully, I can use this experience and write better pieces in the future. Thanks again for letting me experiment and for the encouragement. And my requests are always open :)

Tag List: @officialfictionalwreck @elizabeth-brown @newtsgirl-hehe @jjjmaybank @adoregin

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Wanda//for it is only temporary

Request: Can I request A Wanda Maximoff x Reader, where reader's part of sword and they get stuck in Westview somehow, maybe they get powers similar to monica, and go to wanda for help

hey! i hope you like this!! this is my first wanda request so i’m sorry if it sucks, but here you go anyway! and thank you @statticscribbles for helping me with this! i’d be lost without you.

“Hold on, what?” Jimmy says and you stop to look up at him. You’re met with concerned eyes from everyone in the room, including Hayward and your own eyes widen a little in surprise.

You cough and look away, busying yourself with the suit that you’re hoping is intact and ready for a trip through the hex. You can feel them staring at you, and it makes your skin crawl, despite the majority of them being your friends as well as colleagues. 

They’re waiting for an explanation so they can tell you how bad of an idea it is. And you know it is, you don’t need them to tell you. You’ve spent enough time sat beside the invisible wall trying to find a way in and maybe whatever has caused Monica to rewrite her DNA has seeped into you, but even if it has, at least you haven’t been through it, you’re less likely to...well, to die. And you’ll take those odds, it’s better than the almost guaranteed death of Monica. 

“Think about it, Monica can’t exactly go back in, I mean it’s changed her DNA...no offence.” You send her a sympathetic look and she crosses her arms, a small scowl pulling at her lips. “But I haven’t been in, and I know Wanda, well I know her more than all of these people with guns that are gonna be pointed at her as soon as they find her. I can talk to her, like Monica said, she clearly needs help and well, I know what she’s going through, if anyone can help her and those people that are stuck in there, it’s me.” 

“Y/-” Darcy starts but you cut her off, the tension in the air is already too heavy, it sits on your chest, making it harder and harder to breath and it’s not helped by all of the concerned looks you’re getting. 

“Plus, what era are we in now? The 80s? I’ve always wondered what I’d look like with a perm.” You try to ease the tension with a joke, but the best you get is a forced smile from Jimmy that just makes you feel worse. “I’ll be fine. I have hundreds of people monitoring everything that goes on in there, and I have you.” You look at Darcy and her expression softens. “I know that as soon as you notice one thing wrong, you’ll be the one leading the army in, but please, trust me.” You squeeze her shoulder and she sighs, slumping back in her seat. “Just let me try.” 

“Please, don’t kill me!” You panic and throw your arms in the air. Wanda’s hand lowers a few centimetres, but her eyes still glow red and you remind yourself not to breathe too hard, you know, just in case. “I need your help.” You add and her arm drops to her side. She looks behind her, at the sage coloured house that keeps the three people she holds dearest to her. She knows exactly what each of them are doing. Tommy and Billy are using their dad as a climbing frame, and she should be in the kitchen, making them dinner and smiling as she listens to their laughter. 

But then she see’s the panic in your eyes. You look scared and she knows she doesn’t know you, but somewhere deep down she feels like she does. Maybe in another life you were friends, maybe if things were different, you would be friends. 

“Listen, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.” You slowly walk closer to her and she stands straighter. “But there is a bunch of people outside of this place with guns and bombs and god knows what, just waiting to come in here and destroy it. But I’m not one of them, and neither is Monica or Darcy or Jimmy. In fact, Darcy and Jimmy have been enjoying this maybe a little too much, but that’s not the point. We want to help you, but we can’t do that if you keep kicking us out, because the people with the guns will come in and they will tear this place down, no matter what.” You explain and you watch her expression change. It goes from confusion, to anger and finally settles on sadness as tears pool in her eyes. 

“So why are you here?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks you up and down. 

“Because I wanted to talk to you.” You say and she raises her hands, twisting and turning them together and your eyes widen in panic. You quickly stand straighter and wave your hands around. “But, not anymore.” You add quickly. “Listen, before I came in here, I couldn’t do this.” You say and your eyes change from their normal colour to an icy blue. 

“Oh.” Wanda says confused and you nod slowly. 

“Yeah. I also wasn’t bulletproof and I could barely fight my way out of a sleeping bag that one time I went camping, but I can now have people on the floor in seconds without breaking a sweat. I don’t know what to do. On the way here, an older woman asked how I was and I threw her into a house across the street.” You frown and watch her think for a few seconds. “So, please help. Because, well I can’t seem to control these and I actually quite like not assaulting random people.”  

“What do you think I can do?” She blinks and glances back at her house again. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “But you created this place, and you seem to be pretty good at controlling your powers...most of the time.” You mumble the last part and she glares at you. “But well, I figured who better to talk to when you suddenly find yourself become a superher-Oh, holy shit! Am I gonna be an avenger-right sorry, not the time.” You shake your head and she stares at you blankly for a few seconds. “I’m Y/n by the way.” You add quickly and she rolls her eyes. 

“Fine.” She nods. “I’ll help, but any mention of destroying this place and I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to use your newly found powers anymore.” She threatens making you gulp. 

With a flick of her wrist, your suit is transformed into a pair of blue jeans and a very loud t-shirt. Bright eye shadow irritates your eyes and when you try to move your hair from your eyes, your met with tight curls and your face lights up. 

“Did you just give me a perm?” You ask and she looks at your hair before nodding. 

“I thought you’d like it.” She shrugs. “Don’t get used to this. You’re only here until you learn to control your powers and then I’m kicking you out and nobody is going to bother my family again.” She says lowly and you gulp. 

You’re about to reply when footsteps come running down the path towards you. You look up and see Tommy and Billy running towards you with bright smiles on their faces. Vision follows shortly after and you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds, it’s like you’re looking at a ghost. He smiles at you and you return it before focusing your attention on the boys, it’s too much to see Vision alive and well right now.

“Boys, this is Y/n, she’s just moved in across the street.” She introduces you to the twins and they grin and wave at you. 

“Hey,” 

There’s an awkward silence for a few seconds before Wanda jumps in and paints a bright smile on her face. 

“Why don’t we welcome her to the neighbourhood and go bake some cookies for her!” She says and the boys cheer before running back into the house. 

Vision waves at you, but it feels off, it’s like he’s trying to figure out if he’s seen you around. And he has, just not here. 

“Dad!” Tommy shouts and Vision pulls his gaze away from you. He blinks and follows his sons back into the house.

It’s just you and Wanda now, and as soon as Vision walks through the front door, her smile falls. 

“Remember what I said.” She says and you nod quickly. 

“Yep, only temporary.” You reply and she gives you an approving look, before walking away. You look around, hoping that Darcy and Jimmy are watching and send them an unsure thumbs up. 

The credits roll, over a freeze frame of your face, and Darcy and Jimmy stare at each other. 

“Shit.” Darcy mumbles. 

support my writing! if you want! 

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  7.2

Author’s Note:  This is the longest chapter so far!! *ehe*  Can’t wait for all the comments on this one....

Xiao eyed the three Fatui agents that were in charge of escorting the two of you to Dottore's arena the next day.  You found it rather odd that Childe and Dottore didn't accompany them this time, but didn't question it until they sought to bring only you with them.

Is this a chance for Xiao to escape?  Your gaze flit to the yaksha behind you as the agents bound your wrists with metal cuffs.  Xiao seemed as confused as you were.  "Where are we going?" You asked in hopes that they'll take you far enough away to avoid Xiao's powers.  They didn't answer you and pushed you out of the hallway.

They stopped just short of the throne room, taking a right instead of heading for those giant unwelcoming doors.  When they opened the next door, you halted.  It seemed like it was meant for some sort of conference room, but lighting was a bit over-the-top with candle lights and such.  A delicious aroma rose steadily into the air from the exquisite food that sat on the table.

"You're an idiot if you think this will woo me," you snorted as the agents removed your cuffs and left the room.  "Let's skip the crap, Tartaglia, and tell me what the hell you think you're doing."

"Why so skeptical, ojou-chan?  I just thought you'd like something to eat."  Childe held a smug smirk that complimented the devious glint in his eyes.

"Uh, yeah no.  I'll be going back to my cell now."  You spun on your heel and grabbed the doorknob.

"If you insist, I could fetch Dottore and resume your testing for the day."  When your hand froze on the knob, his smile widened.  "That's what I thought.  Sit."

You sat as far away from him as physically possible, and it drew a light chuckle from his lips.  "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check in with you."  Childe grabbed a fork with ease and began to dig into the meal.  "This kind of treatment could continue day after day if you chose to cooperate."

"Are you trying to butter me up with food?  Do you seriously not know me well enough to know this trick won't work on me?"

"I seem to recall that it worked if it was chocolate," a boyish glint sparkled in his eyes.

Your fist slammed on the table and your eyes began to glow from the agitation.  "If you're trying to pull that 'shark week' stunt again, I swear I will--"

"--'Impale me?'  Were those the words you were looking for?"

"Okay, if there is no point to this conversation other than to infuriate me, I'm leaving."

"Have you thought of what I said, ojou-chan?"  When you raised an unamused brow, he continued.  "You can make a life for yourself here.  I'm sure with your...unique abilities, you'd be able to climb the ranks and might even rise to harbinger status."

"I have no interest in becoming a harbinger."

"The point being, you could choose whatever path you want if you joined us."

"The last time I checked, the Childe I knew enjoyed watching me suffer.  Why is he going out of his way to recruit me?"

"I think it'd be much easier on all of us if you joined our ranks.  Besides, at least with us, you could find something greater in life than..."

"Than chasing the love of a yaksha? Is that what you were going to say?"  Your glare was as cold as ice.  "I have no interest in this conversation."

"Listen to you; you're beginning to sound just like him," he retorted.  "Hold off on your retorts for a moment, ojou-chan." He placed his utensils down.  "Tell me, what would your plans be if you escaped with him?"

"Like I would tell you," you sneered.

"You've just proved my point.  I can see right through you; you don't have any."  Childe leaned forward and set his chin on his hand.  He held a smile that was somewhere between teasing and cruel.  You weren't intimidated and continued to hold his gaze.  "Ojou-chan, I'll be honest.  You'll die one way or another if you managed to escape, whether that be at the hands of the Fatui, or at the doing of the yaksha.  As a matter of fact, we wouldn't be the ones to kill you; you're the one killing yourself.  Death by a broken heart sounds more agonizing than what awaits you with us."

"You're not getting in my head."

"I'm not?  Then why, ojou-chan, does internal conflict arise on your face when you look at him?"

"Maybe because I'm having a conversation with him in my head."  

"You know what I think?  I think deep down, you know I'm right.  Part of you hates me for it, but the rest of you agrees with me.  With us, you could have anything you want if you can take it.  Be it fame, fear, glory, power, money.  Even love could grow within the ranks if you so desired it."

"Is this some sort of weird courting ritual?"  You bit back, but despite the hostility you portrayed to Childe, you were beginning to falter.  "I don't care for any of that stuff."

"But what you want most is love, no?  The yaksha can't give it to you; he's incapable of it.  You can't deny that much."  Childe refrained from grinning ear-to-ear as he watched the internal turmoil reach your expression.  You had hidden your hands under the table, haven't blinked in the past two minutes, and kept shifting in your seat.  Oh, how he's gotten under your skin.  He loved watching you squirm.  "Don't misunderstand me, ojou-chan. I'm not trying to insinuate love between us; that ship has sailed.  I'm simply looking out for your wellbeing."

You gripped the butter knife that was sitting next to your plate, flipping it over as you thought of the possibility of being able to one-shot him from here.  His lips curled upward slightly as if he knew what you were thinking.  Then, you placed the utensil back down and let out a long irritated sigh.  "Your words are falling on deaf ears, Tartaglia.  I'm going back to my cell now."

On the contrary, I think you've heard me loud and clear, ojou-chan.

............................................

The second you were shoved back into your cell, the tears began to fall.  Xiao watched you for a moment before gesturing for you to sit next to him, but you ignored him and sat in the far corner of the room.  You had glanced up at him once, noticing the tears that were also falling from his cheeks and thinking he was actually crying.  When you remembered it was just a side effect and that the tears manifested involuntarily, you reburied your face in your knees.

"Are you okay?"  Xiao sat so he was facing you, but didn't come any closer to the walls.  He hastily wiped your tears away from his face.  What a nuisance.  Can't emotions manifest themselves in a more convenient way?

"Just peachy," you sniffled without raising your head.  

As if I could ever join the Fatui! He's diluted for thinking something so stupid, for thinking I'm anything like him!  You wanted to scream and punch the wall from how frustrated you were.  How dare he try and twist me around like that!  The tears continued to spill and soak into your jeans as helplessness and hatred washed over you like the tide.  Xiao, why...?

The yaksha perked up when he heard you.  "What?"  

Why can't I be free of human emotions, just as you are?  Why must I be burdened with them?

...................................................

Two more days passed, but the two of you were never taken to the arena.  Apparently the Tsaritsa had other temporary plans that required the presence of the harbingers for the time being.  So, when the time finally came for you and Xiao to be escorted out of the cell once again, you were surprised to see what looked like rookie guards instead of the usual seasoned agents.

Their rookie-ness was primarily given away by the fumbling of the keys before the cell door unlocked.  Then it was painfully obvious that these three guards were idiots by the way they swung the door open enough that it effectively gave Xiao an opening out of the sealed box.  The two of you exchanged shocked glances before Xiao bolted through the door, his lance manifesting in time to pierce through the first guard and pin him to the opposing wall outside the hallway.  

It was an outright slaughter.

Before you even had the chance to get to your feet, the yaksha was already retracting his polearm from the third guard's torso that lay on the floor.  The heavy metallic stench of blood made your stomach riot and you averted your eyes to keep the nausea under control.

"A-Are we really doing this?  Are we really making our escape?"  Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline as well as an emotion you recognized to be fear.

Zhongli...was it really a coincidence that I heard you last night, and now the guard schedules are mixed up?  Xiao furrowed his brows as his eyes danced over the bloody corpses.  "Let's move."

"Okay..."  You carefully avoided slipping on the soaked floor and followed Xiao.  He was surprisingly familiar with the hallways considering he had been blindfolded whenever he was outside the cell.  "How do you know this place so well?"

"Sight is not the only thing we are gifted," he answered as he peeked down a corridor.  "This way."

Several Fatui agents and skirmishers turned the corner as if they had been intentionally sent.  There was no way they could have heard the ruckus from up here.  Xiao waved a hand over his face, and his mask manifested with ease.  A demonic aura emanated around him, visibly blackening the immediate area around his body.  The new sight sent a chill down your spine.  "Stay out of my way."

You followed his order and ran back the way you came, using the corner as cover.  He first burst into the cryo skirmisher, who was practically first in line for a quick death.  The polearm sliced across his torso, then Xiao shoved it through his heart.  The second the blade was ripped out of flesh, geo and pyro skirmishers surrounded him.

"LAMENT!"  Xiao leapt into the air and dove into the ground with his spear.  The shockwave of his anemo burst sent spears of air ricocheting into the skirmishers.  They struggled to their feet after the devastating blow, and more Fatui agents filtered into the hallway.  Xiao performed another series of plunging attacks until no one but him was moving.  He jerked his head to the side and his mask evaporated.  "Come."

You didn't have time to drool over how hot that was--"Ah, wait, Xiao.  That's the throne room up ahead--"

If my intuition is correct...The yaksha burst through the doors despite your warning.

"Xiao--! H-huh?"  You ran after him only to run into his back.  You peeked over his shoulder to see why he stopped in his tracks.  "What's going on?"

No one was in the throne room save for the most important players of this story.  The Tsaritsa, who was standing in front of her throne; Childe, her beloved war hammer; Signora and Scaramouche, who stood off to the side as mere observers; Zhongli, with his arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury; and Aether, who held a firm look of determination.  The atmosphere was tense, even as they all turned their heads to the sound of the doors crashing open.

"I've massacred every last one of your agents," Xiao seethed at the cryo archon as the two of you approached the group.  "Our suffering is no longer."

"Xiao," Zhongli nodded, relief washing over him when he confirmed the two of you were okay.

"Thank the archons," Aether ran over and hugged you.  "I'm sorry we took so long."  He hid his surprise at how thin you were.

"You were saying, Morax?"  The Tsaritsa refocused everyone's attention, and you and Xiao stood at Zhongli's side.  The room seemed to inhabit a colder atmosphere than the first time you visited.  She could've cared less that you and Xiao killed her men.

"You've broken our contract," the archon clenched his jaw, but remained as composed as ever.  "Thou shall not interfere with Liyue or the adepti."

The Tsaritsa's gaze flicked to the two of you.  "Oh, is that so?  I told you I'd do anything necessary to accomplish my goal."

"Those who break the contract will suffer the wrath of the rock.  We have every nation on our side; the people of Teyvat are more than willing to wage war against you for your trespasses if you refuse to return the two of them."

"You think that's going to intimidate me?" The Tsaritsa let out a frigid chuckle at the thought.  "Oh, Morax.  You really are more brawn than brains.  Alright, I will return the yaksha to you."  She nudged her head at Xiao.

"And her."  Zhongli pointed to you.

"Ha!"  Another full laugh arose from the archon's lips.  "Have you already forgotten the terms of your own contract?  Liyue and adepti alone are to be untouched.  She is neither."

"You can't do that!"  Aether shouted, grabbing the hilt of his sword.

"Then I'm afraid we'll have to wage war because of your refusal."  Zhongli hardened his gaze as he continued to stare at the Tsaritsa.  You peered up at him only to realize that he was completely serious.

He wants to wage a world war for my sake?  You sent a nervous glance to Xiao, and he didn't appear to have a problem with his superior's proposition.  Neither did Aether.  Your wavering eyes came to a rest on an amused Childe, who stood across from you.  But...this bloodshed...would be my fault...

"Relax, Morax.  Her test trials are already over; we have what we need."  Your eyes lifted to the Tsaritsa.  "She won't be put through such harsh treatment again."

"Then why do you want to keep her?  Just let her go!"  Aether continued to glare daggers.  To watch his friend be taken away by a god just as Lumine had...he never wanted to feel the same pain again.  The walls appeared to close in on him as he watched the same events repeat before his very eyes.

"She'll be an excellent addition to our ranks.  I seek to recruit her; she will aid us in commencing trials for the hosts of the adeptal enhancements."  Xiao shifted so that you were mostly hidden behind him.  "She will be treated with great care as long as she cooperates."

"She will be part of no such thing," Xiao and Zhongli jinxed one another.

You couldn't pull your gaze away from Childe; it was like the two of you came to some sort of weird understanding of one another in this moment.  You were right, your eyes widened at him.  This bloodshed for my sake...I can't let them go through with this.

"You can't fight without your gnosis, Morax.  Your threats do not concern me."

I told you, ojou-chan.  Out there, you cannot live, the harbinger seemed to say with his eyes.

We'll be on the run if we took off right now.  We'll be hiding every day for the rest of our lives.  If the war actually happens instead of an escape, all these people will die for one measly girl.  Their blood will be on my hands, on Xiao's hands--And then there's the matter of my unrequited feelings...I can't deal with any of this--The world seemed to spin around you, and you grimaced at the feeling.

"So be it," Zhongli materialized his polearm.  Aether drew his sword.

Xiao tensed when he felt your despair and dread flow through him.  He glanced over his shoulder to gage your wellbeing and was still just as confused as he tried to pinpoint your thoughts.  

I can't...You gaze rose to meet your protector.  For both our sakes...

Childe's grin widened when you stepped forward.  "Stop this!"  Your high-pitched cry interrupted the rising arguments between Aether, Zhongli, and the Tsaritsa.  "All of you, stop!"  When all eyes turned to you, you took a deep breath to stop the tears from forming.  "I'll do it."

"WHAT?!"

"If she's willing to stay, your war is pointless," a thin smile spread across the cryo archon's lips.  Then she addressed you directly.  "A wise choice, young lady.  You will be treated well now that you are choosing to participate."

You spun around when Xiao gripped your upper arm.  "What do you think you're doing?"  His voice was hushed, but there was something fierce both in his gaze and his grip on you.  "There's no need to--"

Your arm left his grip, and you addressed Zhongli and Aether.  "I can't let you guys wage war on my behalf whether it's a bluff or not.  Whatever the outcome would be, it would end in thousands of pointless deaths.  I can't let you guys do this."

"But they'll kill you!"  Aether shook your shoulders, desperate to prevent another incident like his sister's.  "Don't you understand what's happening?!  You'll--"

"I'll be just fine on my own," you gave him a half-smile.  "It's not like I'll be able to live peacefully if I escaped anyway.  They'd always be on our tail.  We'd never escape the danger of the Fatui."  Xiao glared at Childe when he heard the regurgitation of the harbinger's words.

"...Are you sure you want this?"  Zhongli observed you carefully.  "Once you join the Fatui, there will be no escape."

"If it's to protect everyone, if it's to protect the three of you, I'm sure."  You weren't aware of the tears that stained your face.  You then turned your attention to Xiao, who stood back.  "Listen, I-"

"I don't agree with this," he said plainly.  "I told you there was no need to sacrifice yourself for anyone's sake.  I told you to trust in us."

"Xiao."  You threw your arms around him, feeling him flinch under your sudden touch before hesitantly placing his hands at your sides.  I can't stand around and let innocents get hurt, just as you can't do the same.  His eyes widened as he quietly listened to your prayer.  You pulled away slightly and brushed his bangs out of his face, hand cupping his cheek.  A few of your tears were falling from his eyes as he looked into yours.  You brought your forehead to his, intent on holding him for as long as he'd let you.  You may never understand this, and that's okay, but I love you.

Xiao's breath caught in his throat and his grip around you tightened.  His eyes wavered immensely, releasing more tears as he replayed your prayer in his mind.  Only, a couple of those tears didn't belong to you; they were his own.  "What're you..."

"Heh, you have no idea how hard it was to say that," you forced a laugh as more tears dripped down your cheeks, and you tore away from him completely.

Aether watched the two of you with utter confusion, while Zhongli observed you intently.  It appears she has admitted her feelings.  Xiao, will you follow suite?  His gaze flicked expectantly  to the yaksha, who was more than distraught and traumatized by the entire situation.

You didn't wait nor expect a reply.  "I will aid you," you spun around and addressed the Tsaritsa, "but it will be under my terms.  These three are to stay out of whatever you're scheming.  Not a single hair on the tops of their heads is to be harmed."

"You have my word." The Tsaritsa thought it was adorable at how hard-headed you were.  It reminded her of Childe, and also that of an ant.  Such a small insignificant being that thought it held a significant place in this world.  Absolutely adorable.

"You guys should leave," you lowered your voice as you turned back to the trio of your apparently-not-needed rescuers.  "I'm sorry I've caused you all this trouble.  Please know traveling with you three meant the world to me."  The tears continued to fall even though you failed to acknowledge their presence.

"You're serious about this," Aether bit his lip to prevent himself from crying.  "But your Granny...the village...the Lantern Rite--"

"I'll come back one day.  That's a promise," your eyes met Xiao's.  I swear to Rex Lapis, I will return.

The Tsaritsa watched you return to her after seeing your friends off.  A disturbing smile spread across her lips as you forced yourself to kneel at her feet.  "I believe you've earned this back."  She held her hand out to reveal your vision, to which you slowly took it into your hands and stared at it with vacant eyes.

You felt nothing as you attached it to your belt loop.

[charmingyong]

Noxious Cherry (1)

Part 1 | Part 2

Genre: criminal!Taeyong x fem!reader

Warnings: psycho, deception, theft, shootings, swearing, car explosion

Word count: 2.7k

Plot: You found a pink haired man lying on the ground and decided to check up on him when you should have run away. 

A/N: I AM OBSESSED WITH TY’S GTA! This genre reminds me of @taeyongtime’s Pre: Ace of Fools so do check that out if wanting another psycho read.

Gif: mine

- ❀ -

Finally home time!

The feeling of settling into your car after the end of your night shift was a pleasant one. You relaxed your head against the headrest and let the exhaustion from having to stand hours preparing the endless coffee orders leave your body before starting your car. You drove down the empty streets, a few nonfunctioning streetlamps creating a dim lighting along the sidewalks. Mindlessly, you passed by a park where a dark figure laid still on the ground.

Reaching a red light of an intersection, you thought back to the thing you caught a glimpse of earlier and something itched in you to go back and check it out. When the lights turned green, you made a U-turn and found the figure still there, unmoving.

Walking closer to it, you realized it was a boy with pink hair, eyes closed looking unconscious, though his chest rhythmically rose up and down. You squinted to get a better look of his face under the low lighting and did not spot a single scratch on the skin to hint any signs of him being injured.

Is he okay? you thought. Should I wake him up?

Worried that he could have been bruised under his clothes, you called for him. “Hello? Are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, his eyes fluttered open and his breath hitched upon seeing a beautiful face up close. You were relieved that he was alive, but grew uneasy when he merely stared at you, not responding back to you with words.

“Um, are you okay?” you asked again, hoping he would say something about why he was on the ground in the middle of the night.

He only groaned as he shifted his weight to sit upright, rolling his neck and shoulders in circles to alleviate the tensed muscles.

“Should I call the ambula-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off with a small glare. He couldn’t afford getting caught if he were taken to the hospital, especially when he didn’t even need to go there in the first place.

You bit your lip nervously, unsure what to do next. You didn’t want to be rude and leave him alone all of a sudden, but you really wanted to go home. Should you drop him home? Get a grip, Y/N! He was a stranger, and you couldn’t tell if he was safe enough to bring him inside your car. “But are you hurt?”

“It’s not that bad,” he replied. “Just take me home.”

Shit.

Looked like you were taking him into your car.

“Where do you live?” You hoped he didn’t live somewhere too far so you could get under the covers of your cozy blankets as soon as you could.

The boy cocked his head to the side and gazed at you in amusement. “Take me to your home.”

You were thankful it wasn’t summer just yet. Otherwise, mosquitoes would have entered your jaw-dropped mouth. Was he crazy? Why would anyone in their right mind ask to be taken to a complete stranger’s home? Especially one where you lived alone. “Why my home? Don’t you have one?”

He propped his upper body up with hands resting beside him, watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that you failed to notice. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The boy was adamant and wouldn’t take no for a response, making you pray to the Lords that nothing bad would happen when taking home the pink haired whose name you learned was Taeyong.

-

Your keys repeatedly failed to connect with the lock of your house. It was hard to when Taeyong’s intense gaze was fixed on your side profile. “Sorry,” you nervously chuckled. “I’m really tired from work,” you tried reasoning.

After struggling for a while, he snatched the key from your grasp and unlocked the door, pushing it open and inviting himself in. You stay rooted by the entrance, shocked that Taeyong casually opened the door and simply walked in as if it were his house.

Taeyong looked around your place, interested to see the soft-hearted person you were with various photos of your loved ones hanging on the walls.

“Do you need the first aid kit?” you asked.

He touched himself in the stomach and hissed. “Yeah.”

You nodded and went to search for the kit in the bathroom. When out of his sight, Taeyong plopped down on the sofa, letting out a long exhale and half smiled. He found it new and amusing with someone being concerned for his well-being.

With the kit in your hand, you took a moment to calm down your racing heart. Taeyong was not letting you feel comfortable for a reason that you failed to decipher. You met your gaze in the mirror and told yourself that nothing bad should happen. How could a wounded boy harm a girl?

You walked back into the living room and were relieved to see Taeyong resting on the sofa with his eyes closed. If he wanted to harm you, then he wouldn’t be lounging around like that. “I brought it.”

He hummed and opened one eye. “You can leave it there and head for bed,” he said nodding towards the small table in front of him.

“Don’t you need any help though?” What if he had any wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach?

Taeyong clicked his tongue. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have a guest bedroom. You can sleep there,” you offered.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

“But the sofa isn’t-”

“I’m fine.”  

You bit back your tongue, letting him decide on his own what was best for him. It was odd that he wouldn’t opt for a bed to let his body relax and heal faster. “Okay, I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket then.”

“I don’t need them. That throw will be fine.” He pointed at one draped over the armchair.

Were you being too pushy? Why was this guy refusing everything that you were kindly offering? “Okay… I’ll head up then. G’night.” With that, you hurriedly went up to your refuge and finally called it a night.

Once the coast was clear, Taeyong pulled off his denim jacket and shirt over his head, observing his skin.

Flawless skin.

Not a single wound spotted.

You’re a cute one, he thought and smirked to himself.

- ❀ -

You took Taeyong out for shopping the next day, as per his so-called request. It was more of a demand. You didn’t understand why he was staying at your place but decided to keep your mouth shut and hoped that he’d leave you soon.

While you wandered around the cosmetics section, Taeyong left your side, his eyes catching interest of the sparkling diamonds department.

“Hello, sir. What would you like to see?” the woman behind the counter asked sweetly.

Taeyong paid no mind looking at her and locked his gaze on a specific 2 carat round eternity engagement ring in 14k white gold. “How much is that?” he pointed at the ring enclosed in the display case.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, sir.”

Taeyong let out a whistle and propped his elbow on the casing. He turned around to search for you, finding you try on a couple of samples on your skin, and his lips curled up when seeing you pleased with the products.

The man not being by your side gave you some time to calm your heart down. You didn’t know why you felt that way with Taeyong when he hadn’t done anything to harm you. Something warned you from the inside to not trust him, even though he hadn’t done anything to invade your privacy at home. You were glad that he chose to sleep downstairs and so a part of you grew fond for him despite the short time.

Then what was this feeling that you probably made a grave mistake for helping him out last night?

You put away the product testers and searched for Taeyong, spotting the pink one easily as he leisurely passed by two security guards and picked out a pistol from its holder without them knowing.

“What the…” you breathed out. What was this guy going to do with a gun?

Taeyong made his way over to the fire alarm system and pulled it down. A loud, 3-beep pattern resonated throughout the store and numerous customers panicked, dashing out the building while the guards tried to figure out what was going on. The boy walked back to the diamonds where the employee was still there, frantically locking everything up before leaving for safety.

“Give me the ring,” Taeyong ordered. His blank expression made the woman not take him seriously and ignored him. Just when she was about to leave the counter, Taeyong held up the gun at her forehead and repeated. “Give me or I’ll shoot you.”

“B-But th-there’s a fire!” she cried. She didn’t want to die from the fire, or from the gunshot, or from her boss that she gave one of the most expensive rings away for free.

“There’s no fire. Quit wasting time or I’ll shoot.”

The guards caught up on the situation. “Hey you! Put that gun down or I’ll shoot you!” one said, while the other informed the situation through his walkie talkie.

Taeyong grabbed the woman in the blink of an eye, holding her as a shield with the gun pressed against her temple. “If you come near me, she dies.”

The guards backed away and held their hands up. “Okay okay! Let her go, man.”

I will, but after I get my ring, he thought.

He pulled the worker behind the counter, keeping her in front of him, and ordered her again. She obeyed, the fear of having to die from his gun scariest than any other consequence she’d have to face later. “D-Do you want the r-ring casing?”

“Just the damn ring.”

She handed it over with shaky hands. He shoved it inside the pocket of his jeans and shot the two guards down. The woman screamed and he pushed her away.

“Chill. I won’t kill you unless you get in my way.”

He sprinted to your rooted spot where you silently watched the scene unfold. Taeyong pulled you out of your shock self when he grabbed your hand and darted for the exit, letting your feet automatically respond to his action.

“Pass me the car key,” he instructed.

You didn’t want to, not when he shot two people in front of your eyes. But you chose to trust him than get caught now that you were technically his partner in crime. You both rushed to your car with him diving into the driver’s seat while you in the passenger. The police sirens could be heard from a distance and Taeyong wasted no time and slammed on the accelerator without putting on his seatbelt.

He went over the speed limit, overtaking the slower cars in the lanes as he tried to widen the gap between him and the flashing red and blue lights. A red traffic light was fast approaching, and cars were lined up ahead. But the boy made no plans to pull the brakes.

“You need to slow down!” you screamed.

The pink haired peeked at the rearview mirror, spotting the cops not too far behind them.

“Taeyong, stop!” Right before he could touch the stopped vehicles, he swerved the car abruptly to the empty lanes.

The lanes for the opposite direction.

You pulled at your hair, close to losing your sanity. “Are you fucking trying to kill us?”

The cops took a while to decide on the next course of action before following suit. He smirked, pleased with himself. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m good at this.”

Traffic was ongoing perpendicular to your direction and you were horrified with what the psycho was planning to do next. Without slowing the speed, Taeyong sped through the intersection once spotting an opening. Cars screeched to a stop and honked at the maniac driver.

This was a nightmare.

The very nightmare that the pink haired found thrilling.

Once on a street clear of any other vehicles besides yours and the police, you shouted, “I’m feeling fucking sick!”

“Hang in there. The show’s almost over.”

Wait…

What?

He checked the rearview again and the spacing was perfect. There were only two cars after them, making it easy for his plan to work.

Taeyong slammed the brakes and turned the steering wheel all the way, spinning the car 360 degrees. You screamed and held onto the handle tightly, shutting your eyes.

“Hold the wheel,” he said.

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it on the steering wheel. “Hold it,” he directed. After you did, Taeyong pushed your head below the windows, clear from his aim. He lowered the glass barriers and shot at an incoming auto, aiming perfectly at the one in front of the other which resulted it to swerve out of control. This caused the one behind it to collide and flip over onto its roof. And not too long after-

BAAM!

It exploded into flames, ending the chase.

-

Taeyong stepped out of your new car and you followed, slamming the door shut angrily. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Your eyes moisten from the intense anger that built up inside.

He rounded the vehicle and stopped in front of you, alarming you when he suddenly grabbed your hand.

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip was tight. “What the hell are you doing?”

His hand dug in his pocket for the stolen ring and slid it onto your ring finger. “I got this for you,” he spoke quietly while admiring the beauty that rested on your hand.

Your rage died for a moment, puzzled that he’d do such a thing to get you a ring. “Why?” Tears fell from its place and you wailed. “Why did you do it?” You never asked for any of this, from the theft to the shootings, to him even changing your car at a dealership who he was well acquainted with.

Taeyong shrugged coolly as if it was no big deal. “Just felt like it. I saw it and I wanted to get it for you. Usually I steal cars, so be honoured that I stole a beauty like that for you.” He winked at you and walked inside your house.

You took a moment to scream your frustration out, almost kicking the car before deciding against it. Walking in, you found the boy sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed.

“If you wanted to get me it, then you should have paid for it like a normal person would!”

He peeked at you through one eye. “Do you know how much that’s worth?”

It was a no brainer that it was expensive. But exactly how much… “No.”

“Twenty-five grand.”

Talk about getting all the wind knocked out of your lungs. That was nearly how much you’d make in a year and you were not going to wear it.

Especially when it was involved in a criminal act.

You ripped it off your finger and chucked it at him. He swiftly caught it as if he expected that reaction from you.

“Get the fuck out of my house! And don’t you dare show me your face again!”

Taeyong slowly sauntered to you, a predatory look in his eyes. You backed away from him trying to keep a distance until your backside met the wall. He trapped you in his arms, resting his hands on either sides of your face and wore a smug smile. “I can. But what will happen to you?”

You blinked and attempted to gulp down the ball forming at the back of your throat. “W-What do you mean?”

He lifted one hand off and showed you the ring. “They’ll be looking for this and footage from the security cameras will show that there was a boy and a girl that left together with the ring.”

Oh crap.

“I’m an expert at running away without getting caught, sweetheart. But if you don’t want to get caught, then you’ll have to keep me around. I’ll make sure both of us will be safe.” Taeyong leaned close to your ear, whispering with a hot breath that sent a shiver down your spine, “It’s my specialty.”