#it's a tag now because i keep writing them

[jaikoyaki]

My Lover

//Kang Haerin x 6thMember!Reader//Short Oneshot//

SYPNOSIS ♡︎ Haerin isn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she tells herself—until she starts seeing clips of you and Minji all over the internet.

WARNINGS ♡︎ Jealousy, Possessiveness (soft and non-toxic), Brief Miscommunication, Shipping culture, Hidden Relationship(the members know lol)

WORDCOUNT ♡︎ 1.7k

TAGS ♡︎ Jealous!Haerin, Established Relationship, fluff, FLUFF(was literally kicking my feet while writing this), Light Angst??

A/N:This is a little 1am brain fart so If I cringe at it tomorrow, I’ll probably end up deleting it lol

"MINY/N SUPREMACY!!"

"Their chemistry is insane, are we SURE they’re just best friends??"

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

Haerin scrolls through the comments under the latest clip of you and Minji’s interactions. The video itself is nothing special, just you laughing at one of Minji’s jokes, leaning into her like it’s second nature. But the fans eat it up.

The video loops again.

Your eyes crinkle when you smile at Minji. She reaches out instinctively when you stumble, her hand lingering just a second too long. And it’s not just one clip, there are dozens of them now. Edits spliced together, set to soft love songs, moments slowed down to exaggerate the way you two look at each other.

You aren’t Minji’s girlfriend.

You’re Haerin’s. Only hers.

But no one ever ships Haerin and Y/N. No one ever slows down the moments where she is the one next to you.

The thought settles in her chest, foreign and unfamiliar.

Jealousy.

But Haerin doesn’t get jealous.

…Right?

"They’re reaching." Haerin mutters under her breath.

She locks her phone and tosses it onto the bed. It’s just fan edits. Just harmless shipping. She’s known for a long time that people see what they want to see.

"Don’t let them get in your head.” 

But then why does her chest feel so tight?

Because one comment keeps repeating in her mind.

"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."

And it’s true.

Lately, you’ve been stuck to Minji like glue. On stage. In the waiting room. During interviews. Even in practice.

And Haerin remembers—earlier, while filming behind-the-scenes content, you had shoved your phone in Minji’s face, barely able to contain your laughter.

"Min, look! "Minji looking at Y/N like she's the love of her life" oh my god, the heart eyes emoji is killing me! They're reaching so muchhh."

You wheezed, whispering the last part, playfully smacking Minji’s shoulder over and over as she groaned in embarrassment.

The members had laughed. Even the staff chuckled.

Haerin hadn’t.

She had been standing by the water station, fingers curling a little too tightly around a flimsy paper cup, watching as you laughed with Minji like it was the easiest thing in the world.

‘You’re not Minji’s girlfriend.’

She let the water run down her throat, but it did nothing to wash away the strange, unsettled feeling gnawing at her chest.

‘You’re mine.’

Before she even realized it, she was walking back toward the group.

She didn’t say anything, but you noticed immediately.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" You stepped in front of her, voice soft, concern evident in your eyes.

Haerin barely nodded.

You frowned, about to press further—

"Alright, break’s over!" the choreographer called.

You hesitated, eyes scanning her face, but eventually sighed and gave her hand a light squeeze before stepping back into position.

Haerin watched you go.

She told herself it didn’t bother her.

But that was a lie.

And now, before she even realizes it, she’s standing in front of your door.

Her jealousy isn’t loud. It never is.

But when she pushes the door open, stepping into the dim glow of your room, you feel it instantly—heavy in the air, simmering just beneath the surface.

The kind of jealousy that doesn’t need words to be known.

You barely register the sound of the door creaking open before a familiar presence fills the room.

“Rinnie?” Your voice is soft, questioning, as you sit up in bed. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother knocking.

Your girlfriend.

Sure enough, Haerin steps inside, her small frame swallowed by an oversized pink hoodie, the hood pulled up with little bear ears perched on top. On any other night, you’d tease her about how ridiculously cute she looks.

But something feels off.

Despite the cozy hoodie, her posture is rigid, her expression unreadable. Haerin has always been hard to read, but this, this is different.

You frown slightly, setting your phone aside. “Rinnie?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a slow step forward, then another, her gaze locked onto yours. And for some reason, the air between you shifts, thicker, heavier.

You swallow.

Something is definitely wrong.

You frown slightly. “Is something wrong, love?”

The second the word love leaves your lips, Haerin stiffens. Then, as if short-circuiting, she speed-walks toward you, her ears turning the faintest shade of pink.

Before you can react, she climbs onto the bed, quietly straddling your lap. Her arms snake around your waist as she buries her face into your neck, pressing impossibly close.

Warmth instantly floods your chest.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her in return. "You’re clingy tonight" you tease lightly, rubbing slow circles against her back.

Haerin hums in response, but doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she tightens her grip, nuzzling further into you, her soft hair tickling your skin.

Gently, you murmur, “Seriously Though, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. A few beats pass, filled only by the quiet sound of your breathing. Then, finally, she mumbles against your skin, her voice barely above a whisper—

“Do you like seeing those videos?”

Your fingers still against her back.

Oh.

So that’s what this is about.

Smiling softly, you shift slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her hood. “Rinnie…”

She doesn’t lift her head, but you feel the way she tenses ever so slightly, waiting for your answer.

You sigh, pulling back just enough to cup her cheeks to meet your eyes. She resists at first, gaze flickering away, but you don’t let up. Your thumbs brush over the warmth of her skin, and slowly, reluctantly, her eyes find yours.

Her lips are pressed into a pout, her usual neutral expression betraying just the faintest hint of something vulnerable. It’s almost too cute to handle.

“The edits are kind of funny,” you admit, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “But they don’t mean anything.”

Haerin’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t respond.

A small pause.

“You’re always with Minji when we film,” she mutters.

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the shift in her tone.

“Minji isn’t your girlfriend,” she says, quieter this time. “I am.”

Your chest tightens at how small her voice sounds.

A soft laugh escapes you before you can stop it—not out of mockery, but out of sheer disbelief that this is what’s been eating at her. That your Haerin, quiet and composed, is sulking over some fan edits.

“Wait, are you jealous?” you tease, poking her cheek playfully.

Haerin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently takes your wrist, her fingers curling around it, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. 

“…You don’t act like that with me.”

Your teasing smile fades.

“On camera, no,” you clarify, voice softer now. “You know how careful we have to be, Rinnie. I didn’t want to make things harder for you, so I thought keeping some distance was the best thing.”

Haerin stays quiet, her gaze locked onto where her fingers are still brushing against yours.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I don’t like it,” she murmurs.

You exhale, squeezing her hand. “Then tell me what you do want.”

“I don’t want you getting shipped with Minji.”

“I don’t want you to distance yourself from me on camera.”

You hold her gaze for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

You don’t break your promise.

The next time the cameras are rolling, you make sure Haerin feels it.

During a phoning live, when Minji passes you a snack, you thank her without much thought—but instead of eating it right away, you turn to Haerin, holding it up to her lips first. She blinks, startled, but opens her mouth after a small hesitation. The chat explodes instantly.

📌@stayrkieeiiw

"Did I miss an update?? Since when were they like THIS???"

💬 @ynhaerinupdate

"WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED???"

🔁 @haerinno111

"Haerin’s little hesitation before eating lmao she was definitely malfunctioning."

During a music show, while the members are waiting backstage, you casually walk up behind Haerin and rest your chin on her shoulder. The cameras catch the moment as she flinches slightly in surprise before relaxing against you. You don’t move, just standing there with your arms loosely draped around her. The staff members barely react, too used to your antics, but the fans? They lose their minds.

📌 @gay4haerin

"WAIT, Y/N AND HAERIN?? HELLO???"

💬 @haerinsoftie

"They act like a married couple and expect us to be normal about it"

🔁@kpopfangirl24

“Y/N and Haerin have been so touchy lately???”

During a variety show game, you and Haerin end up on the same team. Every time she gets an answer right, you don’t just cheer, you grab her hands and shake them excitedly, or wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in celebration. At one point, you’re so excited that you practically tackle her into a hug. She stumbles slightly, laughing, and the members tease you, but you don’t let go.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

“The way Y/N is all over her I CAN’T.”

💬 @njzrawr

“golden retriever x black cat energy”

🔁 @idkwhotostan

“Y/N and Haerin are so clingy In here, I need them to explain themselves IMMEDIATELY.”

On a phoning live, you’re seated next to Haerin, and for some reason, you can’t stop messing with her hoodie strings. You keep tugging them playfully, leaning in close whenever she tries to bat your hands away. Eventually, you give up on the strings and just rest your head on her shoulder instead. She freezes for a second, then lets out the softest sigh before tilting her head slightly so your temple rests against hers. The moment is short, but fans catch it instantly.

📌 @ynhaerin4life

"Haerin’s little smile when Y/N leans on her 😭.”

🔁 @multistan010

"Omg...do they know we can see them..?"

💬 @fuckhybeomg

"ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS?? IS THIS REAL??"

After a long day of promotions, the group films a short vlog in their practice room. You’re exhausted, so you naturally gravitate toward Haerin, flopping down beside her and resting your head against her lap. She stiffens at first, her hands hovering awkwardly over you before she hesitantly starts running her fingers through your hair. The fans don’t miss the way she tries to hide her smile, but the cameras catch it anyway.

📌 @haerinupdates

"SHE TRIED TO HIDE IT BUT WE SAW IT. WE ALL SAW IT."

💬 @idkiwannasleepsb

"DID YOU SEE THAT. DID YOU GUYS SEE HER SMILE!?"

🔁 @Y/nupdates

“Theyre not even trying to hide it atp. #YNsold”

🔁 @haerinwinning

"Y/N used to keep her distance from Haerin, now she’s acting like a lovesick puppy… what CHANGED???? 🤨"

📌 @ynhaerin_cult

"THEM. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE TWEET. #YNSold #Theyremarriedsir"

💬 @minjynomg

"Miny/n shippers are in shambles rn"

Later that night, you scroll through the comments with a smug smile. Next to you, Haerin peeks at your phone screen, then flicks your forehead.

“Stop looking at those,” she mutters, trying to act indifferent.

You just grin, nudging her gently. “You like it, don’t lie.”

She huffs but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she shifts closer, intertwining her fingers with yours under the covers.

————

OG MY GODO I CANNOT WRITE PET NAMES WITHOUT CRINGING OFMG KILL ME NOW😭🙏

Taglist: haha I'm lazy

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[hexhomos]

Maybe I’m that one oomf that’s too woke, but I have a feeling that people being weird about jayvik is a sign of Bad Things on the rise =/ I’m old as balls and I’ve been in fandom spaces since late 2000s, and I’ve never seen people act so hostile towards a fanon mlm ship. I mean precisely in women and queer dominated fandom spaces, dudebros never change, whatever. And of course there were always ship wars. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen people act so oppressed over being into het ships, crash out over their ships not being endgame and demand from fandom content creators to accommodate them. What is happening.

I think this started happening around 2023~ to be more precise bc that's when i started getting weird ass entitled comments on OTHER gay ships. IMHO the real issue here is that we are going through fandom clash with a newgen that did not experience early internet and they take the gayness in fandom spaces completely for granted. As in, they think these little niche holes we've built are the de facto 'effortless norm' and minimize the work that's been done to create these safe spaces. This is the kind of rhetoric i keep seeing pop up:

Many of them have also grown up almost exclusively interacting with art created by old fandom graduates where queerness is presented casually. They're not watching shit from the 90's or 00's. They're not adults, so they don't have a personal contrast experience seeing that 'rep' dwindling consistently over the years. They don't remember a time before this and don't know how bad it was.

OFC there are always old ass conservative weirdos riding on this wave to be even more annoying (certain infamous viktor stan accs... lol!) but #backtotradition rightwing bullshit has been on the rise worldwide, and so are the viral tiktok tradwife alphamale detransition white supremacy grifters. Its a larger cultural problem feeding into the micro stuff we see daily and it's terrible. It's also why I tune this shit out and I stand my ground. I'll draw what I WANT to draw and I'm not going to be twisting myself into pretzel shapes to appeal to anyone and everyone; go get YOUR shit elsewhere!

I *do* think people have been getting way more entitled towards fanworks, and that comes with a heightened level of apathy. You can notice this on the decreased number and quality of feedback across twitter, as an example (seeing as that place has been consumed by the conservative grifter wave) but it's also been reported by every fic writer who's consistently used AO3 for years. Tags on tumblr aren't as widely used. The focus on 'community' has been replaced by 'DOES THIS MAXIMIZE ENGAGEMENT?'. I know from personal experience that there is this one specific asshole who, for almost a year now, has been trawling the trans viktor tag and leaving insanely long transphobic critique comments on works of newer writers to discourage them from writing. (They are always on the cusp of open violent transphobia, but shittily cloaked as 'debates' on ~natural biology~ and fantasy logic so they don't get banned. If you've seen the ao3 pfp of a smirking white haired woman before you know who im talking about.)

Things have been Bad and on the Rise for a while now. Look at the current shit on the news. Look at the presidencies around the world. And it's going to get worse before it gets better, because it always does; that's what forces people to wake up. Be annoying. Be watchful. Don't waste your time platforming or debating weirdos that should be left to die on obscurity - this is how trump got a memeable platform, and look at where we are now. Protect your peace.

[dat-town]

p.s. but i like you

Characters: Taesan & female reader

Setting & genre: to all the boys i’ve loved before au; she fell first, he fell harder; fluff, comedy

Summary: When your love letters are sent out to your ex-crushes and you spend your last break before university trying to get them back, the last thing you expect is your neighbour tagging along.

Alternatively; you write love letters when you’re ready to move on from an all-consuming crush. There are four in total: Kim Donghyun from science camp in middle school, Park Sunghee’s older brother who tutored you once, Lee Chanyoung from the holiday resort last summer and Han Dongmin, the boy next door.

Warnings: MC is a bit chaotic, a bit of jealousy

Words: 10.3k

Author’s note: shoutout to the anonie who told me that the she fell first, he fell harder trope would fit Taesan because that’s so true. i hope i did it justice!

Letting your mother help you declutter your room before moving to Seoul for university was a big mistake. You realize it the moment you open your desk’s bottom drawer only to find it perfectly organized, colorful pens and highlighters in one corner, cute stationery in the other with stacks of important documents in the back, very unlike the usual mess you had in this exact drawer, the one you use to keep little trinkets like movie tickets and your old diary with lock and key you have been too embarrassed to throw out in fears of somebody finding it. You quickly scan the contents of the drawer, check all the others too, half-relieved when you find the diary with its lock secured but it doesn’t dissipate your nerves entirely.

“Mom...” You walk up to her where she’s currently sorting your clothes by color after you’ve already separated them by season. “Have you seen the envelopes in my drawer?”

“The letters? Ah, yes. I had to pick up a package from the post office today anyways, so I mailed them for you,” your mother says matter-of-factly, not noticing the way you’re biting your lower lip nervously.

“What?” You shriek, louder than you intended, in pure panic.

“Well, except for Dongmin’s, of course. I gave his to his mother,” she continues as if it was a light-hearted chit-chat, unaware of the storm clouds collecting over your head because she’s too focused on deciding whether to put your beige or cream colored sweater on top. “What’s with them by the way? Is it one of those letter chains we used to do when you were younger?”

“No. No, no, no,” you throw yourself onto your bed and scream into your pillow when you realize she’s totally serious. She found those simple white, addressed envelopes on the bottom of your drawer and took them thinking you just never got around to send them.

However, those letters were not meant to be sent. Ever.

The thing is: you write a love letter whenever you’re ready to move on from an all-consuming crush. So they are rather goodbye letters, your closure after spending days, weeks imagining your life with just another boy before realizing that it wouldn’t work out anyways. Not that you ever do anything about your crushes and you prefer it this way. In your head you can make up all these little scenarios about holding hands, amusement park dates, watching the stars together because at the end of the day you’re a hopeless romantic. You can giggle about seeing your crush smile from far away without the disappointment getting to know them could possibly bring. You have seen enough of your friends get rejected or dumped, so nah, you don’t plan to ‘put yourself out there’ anytime soon. Especially now that high school ended and you got your acceptance letter from your dream university in Seoul and you’re so ready to leave Gwangju behind.

But now the letters are out and it ruins all your plans of a peaceful winter break.

You’re knocking on the Han family’s door as if the building was burning down, tapping your house slippers against the corridor’s floor because you couldn’t be bothered to waste more time by putting on proper shoes and outerwear just to walk one door down.

You’re still going with the momentum and almost hit Dongmin’s lovely mother in the chest when she opens the door for you but you manage to scramble backwards and try to regain your composure by forcing a polite smile on your face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Han. Is Dongmin home?” You ask tentatively, hoping, praying that she would say no, so you could ask for your letter back from her by making up some excuse. Your smile almost falls though when the woman nods and looks behind her shoulder.

“Dongmin! Y/N’s here for you,” she shouts down the hall before turning towards you with a kind smile and ushering you inside like she has always done ever since your family moved in next door when you were fifteen. “What are you waiting for? Come in.”

You mutter out a quiet thank you and awkwardly wave when you see Dongmin’s younger siblings in front of the tv in the living room but no sign of the boy.

“He must have his headphones on like usual. Just knock loudly on his door,” his mother clicks her tongue in disapproval and puts a bowl of sliced fruits in your hands before gently pushing you towards the bedrooms inside the apartment.

You gulp and follow her instructions but even if you haven’t been there before, you would know which door is Dongmin’s because it’s full with stickers of his favourite bands and there’s the unmistakable sound of guitar playing resonating through the door when you get close enough, the same sound you hear from your own room because you (unfortunately?) share a wall with the guy. You knock on the wood three times, loud enough for the music to stop and one and half inhales later it swings open, revealing the tall boy with tousled dark hair, wearing an oversized The Beatles tee and sweatpants.

It’s been a while since you have seen him from up close, so for a moment you’re rendered speechless and a wave of self-consciousness washes over you due to the state of your homey clothes and messy bun but then you remember that he has already seen you taking out the trash in you pajamas and with greasy hair as well as with the braces you had back in freshman year. Not to mention, you have a bigger, more embarrassing problem at hand than how you look.

“What?” Dongmin eventually speaks up, raising an eyebrow in question as he leans his side against the doorframe and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Okay, if he doesn’t know what you’re here for nor he’s calling you out on your childish letter, he must not have read it yet, right?

“Uhm, did you perhaps get a letter today? From me?” You find your voice finally, albeit it’s more high-pitched than normally as you awkwardly choose your words to sound as vague as possible. Dongmin stares at you nonchalantly before reaching for somewhere behind his back and holds an envelope ‒ your letter! ‒ out for you.

“You mean this?”

“Yes, exactly! Can I have it back?” You get excited and relieved, reaching for the paper only for Dongmin to raise it higher, out of your reach. You pout as you pull your hand back and dare to look the boy in the eyes as you pose the question you’re afraid to hear the answer for. “Or… did you read it already?”

Dongmin looks at you impassively, eyes searching as if he’s trying to figure you and your intentions out. Then he shrugs.

“What? The part about my beautiful eyes or that I drive you crazy?” He asks with one corner of his mouth lifting cockily as he quotes your words and you are going to have to dig a grave for yourself. Especially because both statements are still very much true apparently.

“Shh!” You hiss and you don’t even know what comes over you when you push at his chest with enough force (and the element of surprise) to push him back inside his room and you slip in too, quickly closing the door behind you before his family could hear what you’re talking about.

A moment later you realize what exactly you have done and your eyes widen at your own brazen behaviour. Based on the confused, dumbfounded look on Dongmin’s face you managed to surprise him too.

“Uhm, your mom made this for you,” you clear your throat as you push the bowl of fruits into his hands and look anywhere but his face. Which in turn results in looking around in his room that’s very like him. Band posters on the wall, concert tickets half-filling a glass jar, a keyboard by the desk, CSAT preparation books on the shelf, clothes thrown on the bed…

“Look Y/N,” he starts, his voice deeper than you remembered. But again, when was the last time you had a proper conversation other than hellos when running into each other in the corridor? “About your letter. I'm flattered but…”

“Don’t be!” You cut him off before he could reject you. Even if it’s years late and you aren’t crushing on him anymore, it would hurt your feelings, so you would rather not hear it. “You’re not the only one. I’ve written four letters.”

“Damn, Y/N. Is this some kind of prank?” Dongmin furrows his brows. He looks like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or annoyed by the sudden turn of events. You’re not sure which would be worse.

“I wish it was. My mom mailed my deliberately unsent love letters,” you sigh, face buried in your hands while Han Dongmin has the audacity to let out a short laugh.

“So who are the others then?” He asks casually while sitting down at his desk chair, putting the fruit bowl next to his laptop. Then he turns to you and motions for you to sit down or whatever that vague hand movement is supposed to be but you’re too busy fiddling with your fingers while hovering by his door, half-ready to flee.

“Uhm, Kim Donghyun from a science camp back in middle school, Lee Chanyoung from a holiday resort we went to in Jeju last summer and Park Sunghee’s brother,” you list, counting each name on your fingers. You aren’t even sure why you’re telling him this. Maybe you just want to get this off your chest and it’s not like he would post about it on his social media for laughs. He rarely posts anything unrelated to his band anyways. Plus he doesn’t even know these guys…

“Park Sunghoon? Isn’t he too old for you?” Dongmin raises a brow and you want to smack yourself. Of course, he knows him, they went to the same all boys school. It’s the best high school in the neighbourhood after all.

“Yah! He’s just two years older than us,” you correct him, defensive.

“Whatever,” Dongmin shrugs. Then he eyes the envelope slipped under the fruit bowl and mortification washes through you again. You don’t even remember half the things you wrote but you certainly remember pointing out that you were sure his band’s popularity would get to his head and that’s why it was better for you to not like him anymore. You cringe at yourself because a year and half and a few dozen screaming girl fans later, Han Dongmin seems still as laid back as ever behind his Taesan persona. “So you came to take it back before I could read it?”

“Well, yeah,” you admit, not seeing a reason to lie. It’s not like this could get any more embarrassing. “Though honestly I wasn’t really thinking. I only noticed the letters missing literally ten minutes ago.”

Dongmin hums like he finds it interesting which is funny because most of the time he looks like he doesn’t give a damn about anything. Except when it comes to music. Shit, what if he’s thinking of turning this situation into a song? He should credit you for inspiration.

“And what are you planning now? Will you break down the other three guys’ doors too?” He asks and it’s teasing, taunting. You can tell he’s pretty much laughing at you behind his raised eyebrow and curious eyes.

To be real, you weren’t thinking that far ahead yet.

“How fast do you think the Korean postal service is?” You purse your lips.

“Wait. You don’t actually plan to steal the letters back from their mailbox, right?” Dongmin scoffs but you might be considering it, so your silence is enough of an answer. “Oh you do.”

“I don’t want them to read it,” you throw your hands in the air. Just thinking about it gives you a headache and anxiety. “It’s bad enough that you read yours and now everytime we will meet, I will overthink it because you know I used to have a crush on you but I’m still friends with Sunghee and it will be even more awkward if she gets to know I liked her brother. Gosh, I should have dated my letters. Now Donghyun will think I wrote it now and not when we were fourteen.”

The more you think about it, the worse the situation is. You shudder just thinking about how cringe your letters could be looking back. Especially the one you wrote at the prime time of middle school.

“You know, maybe instead of dating them, you should have not written down the addresses,” the boy across from you points out, oh so very helpful.

“Wow, good advice, thanks. I will keep that in mind next time,” you deadpan and decide that it’s been enough of an embarrassment for a lifetime in front of the neighbourhood’s resident cool boy. You need to come up with a plan on how to get the letter back from the Park family before they could open it or forward it to Sunghoon abroad. “Anyways, I’ll be going then. Can I, please, have my letter back?”

You hold out your hand, trying your best puppy eyes at the guy but Dongmin doesn’t budge.

“Nah. It’s my letter now.”

You scowl but after a few long moments of staring contest that has you hot in the cheeks, you let out a deep sigh. He has already read it, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“Okay, bye then,” you roll your eyes and let yourself out of his room, bowing awkwardly to his mother when you pass by her and face plant yourself into your bed once you’re alone again. Stupid Han Dongmin and his amused crooked smile and pretty brown eyes. Why did he have to read it?

You plan to get back Sunghoon’s letter via Sunghee and it goes smoother than expected.

You text the girl asking about the letter and tell her not to open it or send it to her brother because it’s just a prank someone pulled on you. If Taesan gave you the idea, she doesn’t have to know nor about the white lie. It’s in the afternoon when Sunghee texts you that they just got the mail and you decide to meet up both to catch up and get the letter back. Like the sweetheart she is, Sunghee offers to throw it out but you don’t want to leave anything to chance, so you meet in a cute café, drink way too sweet winter lattes and talk about post-graduation plans.

You’re walking back to the apartment complex from the bus stop with your letter safely tucked inside your bag when you spot the unmistakably tall figure of your neighbour in the nearby park, playing football with his little brother. At least the younger boy wears a puffy coat, gloves and beanie all tucked in but Dongmin, who has always acted a bit like the street was his runway, wears jeans, a wool coat half open and only a long, fluffy scarf pulled up to half-cover his already reddened, cold-bitten ears, February cold be damned. He has his hands in his pocket as he lazily kicks the ball back to his brother but it passes him by. That’s when his eyes meet yours and you react a tad bit too late to convince him that you weren’t staring. Luckily, he doesn’t call you out.

“Mission success?” He yells over to you though and it’s so silly. Why does he even care?

“Yeah,” you nod anyway and you’re about to ask how come he’s not cold when his little brother tugs on his coat sleeve.

“Hyung, can we go back inside now? I'm freezing. Why did you even wante‒”

“Sure, back we go,” Dongmin cuts him off hurriedly and you pretend not to pay attention to their brotherly bickering. You’re surprised to hear that this time it was the older who insisted on playing outside because usually it’s the other way around based on what you have heard before but it doesn’t concern you, so you just follow the two boys, watching maybe a bit too fondly as Dongmin ruffles his brother’s hair when he takes off his beanie inside the building. On the second floor, the older boy steps to their door to key in the code and ushers (meaning: lightly push) his brother inside. Before you could do the same down the corridor, he turns to you after the closing beep of their door.

“So what’s next?”

Once again you’re taken aback that he seems so invested in the mess you've gotten yourself into but it’s not like you have anybody to tell about these things. Normally you would gossip about boy things with Sunghee but since she can’t know about her brother being concerned, you would rather keep it to yourself. Or well, since Dongmin’s asking…

“Well, Sunghee got the letter today on the other side of the town, so I’m assuming that Donghyun’s will arrive in Busan tomorrow. So…” You explain, running on the adrenalin of successfully getting back one of the letters.

“Wait, Busan?” Dongmin interrupts, furrowing his eyebrows, confused. Oh, right. You only told him about the science camp.

“Yeah, he lives there or at least used to, four years ago. So I’m thinking of catching an early bus tomorrow,” you tell him about the plan you made up during your way home from Sunghee. Taking an express bus is the fastest and cheapest way to get to Busan and make it a quick day trip. Even if the letter’s not there, you will just ask the person who lives in that house to mail it back to you when they get it. If you still have time to kill, maybe you can even go down to the beach to make it seem like you’re a sane person and you wouldn’t travel 3 hours back and forth just to get a letter back.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to look him up online?” Dongmin, the voice of reason as always, asks and you look at him unimpressed. Does he really think it didn’t cross your mind at all?

“I tried! He either has no social media presence or at least not with his real name,” you pout because seriously just how many Kim Donghyuns could there be for you to not find the one you’re looking for?

Your neighbour apparently didn’t run out of his questions though and you can see genuine, bewildered curiosity on his face when he asks:

“How do you even know his address still after four years?”

That’s a fair question (and you hate that all he asks are logical questions actually). Considering that you were fourteen when you wrote it, you should have long forgotten the exact address of your ex-crush but lucky for you, you have it written down in your dusty notebook under lock and key.

“Uhm, I might have it in my old diary. We were supposed to become pen pals after the camp but well, life happens,” you mutter, feeling a bit self-conscious admitting that yes, you are one of those girls who have written diaries. But Dongmin doesn’t judge, not for that.

“You mean, you never wrote to him,” he raises an eyebrow challengingly and it triggers a defensive reaction out of you.

“He never wrote to me either!”

“Well, good luck then, Miss Letter Thief,” he waves and slips inside their apartment before you could come up with a good retort and the way he always seems to have the last word makes you want to tackle him down in the old-fashioned kindergartener way just to shut him up. Jeez, good thing you got over him so long ago because he’s dancing on your nerves.

Even though your mother doesn’t try to hide the fact that she thinks you’re acting a bit too dramatic over ‘some letters’, she at least looks sheepish and doesn’t stop you when you tell her that you will go to Busan in the morning and come back in the evening. She even packs you snacks for the long bus ride and you throw a book into your bag as if you wouldn’t fall asleep ten minutes into the journey.

The Sun has been barely out when you leave the apartment, rubbing your palms together while you stand in the bus stop and wait for the local bus to take you to the terminal. A movement catches your eyes on the window next to yours but you think you just imagined it until the building’s door opens and Dongmin rushes out in his long coat that makes him even taller than he already is. You turn to him suspiciously when he stops a good two meters from you at the bus stop because what the hell he’s doing there at seven in the morning during winter break. You stop yourself from questioning him though because the bus pulls up in front of you soon enough and he sits behind you on the vehicle, so you don’t see where he gets off.

With upbeat music playing from your earbuds, you almost forget about him by the time you get to the bus terminal. Luckily the queue at the counter is not too long, so you manage to buy a ticket to Busan before the next one leaves. You barely get comfortable in your window seat when the aisle one next to you is taken even though there are plenty of available seats in the unreserved area due to the morning hour.

You look at the sudden occupant and your eyes widen in realization.

“What are you doing?” You shriek a little louder than what’s publicly acceptable, so you immediately apologize to the other, sleepy-looking travellers.

“What? Can’t a guy go to Busan to check out this one music store?” Dongmin shrugs nonchalantly and it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at his nonsense answer. He really doesn’t seem like the spontaneous type but admittedly, you don’t know him that well. You didn’t have to know him to catch feelings after all.

If you wanted to be honest, a few encounters around the apartment building was enough to get interested in him, even more so when you got to know that he had a band and your crush became embarrassing when you dragged your friends to the local festival where the band performed. Even though their music style isn’t really your go-to genre, he just looked so cool on stage, really in his element, very unlike the usual distant demeanor he greeted you with around the house. Then Minah started dating their drummer and you saw the band on stage a few more times, getting to love their music more and more, hanging out sometimes as parts of a bigger friend group until that one party where you saw your school’s most popular girl throw herself at Dongmin. The taste of unreasonable jealousy was all it took to snap out of it and forget about the boy’s pretty eyes, beautiful voice and rare smiles you treasured. Minah and Wonjin broke up around the same time, so at least you had an excuse not to see him more than necessary around the house.

So yeah, you probably talked more with him in the last two days than ever before and he has certainly never acted like this around you. It was getting suspicious.

“Han Dongmin… are you coming with me to make sure I don’t go alone?” You question because you really don’t know what to make of it and you can’t help but let your voice take on a playful tone.

“Pff…” The boy snorts and then looks at you with his practiced deadpan face. “I’m going, so I can laugh at how you embarrass yourself in front of this Donghyun guy.”

You roll your eyes at him. He thinks he’s so funny, huh?

“For real, why are you tagging along?” You try to come off as at least a bit authoritative with your crossed arms and serious face but it probably doesn’t work. Dongmin answers anyway.

“Because I don’t have more exciting plans for the break and it’s fun enough,” he shrugs as he slides down in his seat a bit to get more comfortable with his height. He fixes the hoodie over his head and turns his head against the backrest, looking like he’s about to go to sleep after telling you that while there you are with a hand over your heart. 

“Are my love letters funny to you?” You gasp, dramatic on purpose but a part of you really wants to shove him outside of his seat (of course, you won’t do it, not now that you’re on the highway already).

“I mean it was pretty funny that you misspelled the word gorgeous twice in mine.”

He says it so matter-of-factly but you desperately wish that he’s just teasing or else it’s mortifying that you couldn’t spell that correctly when you were almost seventeen.

“I was nervous! And it’s a difficult word to spell!” You splutter.

Seriously, what’s it about him that makes you so defensive all the time? Especially when he’s nothing but casual about your old love letter? Or is it exactly because of that?

“Do I make you nervous?” Dongmin raises an eyebrow at you with an almost smile on his lips and for a moment you’re speechless because you can’t tell whether it’s supposed to be teasing or flirty.

“I was once young and naive,” you tell him, refusing to answer because if you wanted to be honest (you don’t), then yes, he makes you very nervous, especially when he holds eye contact so long that you have to look away and stare out of the window instead.

“If you say so,” he hums and you refuse to give him the satisfaction of answering. You turn the music back on in your app and try to nap a little.

Dongmin must have the same idea because when you look his way the next time he’s peacefully sleeping. You know you shouldn’t but you can’t help but take in every small mole on his face and the curl of his eyelashes. Gosh, how is it possible that he’s even more handsome now than before?

When he stirs, you quickly look away and fish out the sliced fruits and hotteoks your mom prepared, offering to share them but Dongmin dismisses it with a shake of his head.

“What’s the order of the letters?” He asks instead when your cheeks are puffed with the sweet food but you decide to entertain him anyway.

“Donghyun’s the first, obviously. It was a two week long camp and he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. I knew I would never see him again, so I wrote that letter when I got back home. Then I befriended Sunghee in high school and met Sunghoon when I was over at hers. I had one actual conversation with him and imagined our entire lives together until he graduated and went abroad. Then I wrote yours in second year and I met Chanyoung last summer over the vacation my family went to in Jeju,” you list them off and it seems to put the boy into thinking mode because he’s quiet for a short while, letting you eat in peace.

“You don’t get crushes when there’s an actual chance of dating them? You barely interacted with any of these guys,” he points out and then gestures between him and you. “We never really talked either before this and then you stopped liking me because I ‘got too popular’,” he adds drawing ditto marks in the air probably quoting from your letter which makes you wince quietly.

You might have written to him that you got over your crush on him when their band started getting more attention, claiming that arrogant rock stars aren't your type. You certainly didn’t go into details about how their song about liking a popular girl made you feel stupidly jealous, especially after seeing him with Yein.

“It’s safer like this,” you shrug, casting your eyes down. “I like the idea of romance, like in books and movies, but not the reality of it.”

Real romance is scary. Full of rejection, heartbreak and embarrassment.

It might be the songwriter in him but Dongmin sounds intrigued to say the least.

“So you don’t actually have real crushes. You like the version of the guys you make up in your head,” he says like you’re a puzzle to solve and he’s slowly figuring you out. You don’t know how to feel about that.

“The way you say it sounds bad but… aren’t all crushes like that? You don’t have to know the person to like them,” you say and it’s funny because you never really thought about your feelings this way. But it’s true that even if you have had your fair share of crushes, none of them were very deep. You would never admit it to him but actually your ‘Dongmin phase’ was the longest but you can’t be sure whether it’s because he has been a permanent fixture in your life unlike the other boys or something else.

“I don’t know. To me, that’s just attraction. You can like them for who they are only when you get to know them,” he says and he sounds like he did think about it before.

“You don’t believe in love at first sight, huh?”

“Yeah, no,” Dongmin shakes his head and pops a piece of grape into his mouth from your snack box. You scoff but hold it closer to him and the rest of the ride is spent in relative silence interrupted by occasional short conversations.

This is how you get to know that the boy has been in Busan before with his family, so you pretty much let him lead when you get to the bus terminal in the coastal city because you’re not the best with direction. Dongmin has to stop you by holding on to your scarf when you almost get on the subway in the wrong direction and teases you about how you will get around in Seoul like that. You shrug, not worrying about it much since you will have enough time to learn getting around in a big city like the capital.

For now, you’re navigating through Busan on this impromptu day trip and you’re kind of glad you are not doing this alone. Not just because you would have most likely gotten lost a few times but because Donghyun’s address is almost an hour more away from the bus terminal and time flies faster while you talk with Dongmin. It’s nothing special, just your likes and dislikes, high school drama, sibling anecdotes and such but you find yourself smiling and laughing more often than not. When your shoulders brush at an abrupt stop of the subway car, you pull away shyly and something stirs in your chest, something familiar and almost forgotten.

By the time you get to the address written in your cute pink diary, you almost forget about the main reason why you’re here. You can’t decide whether fate is on your side or not when you manage to bump into a vaguely familiar figure on the ground floor of the building with a very much familiar letter in his hand among others.

“Donghyun!” You shriek in realization, resisting the urge to yank the letter out of his hand. He definitely grew up, almost as tall as Dongmin behind you, hair longer, covering his ears but his eyes are the same.

“Uhm… sorry, do we know each other?” He furrows his eyebrows, visibly confused. Dongmin tries to cover his snort-like laugh with a cough behind you which really doesn’t help with your embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m Y/N. From science camp four years ago,” you introduce yourself a tad bit awkwardly but luckily that’s all it takes for the boy to recognize you because his face brightens.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here? Came to check out the Sealife Aquarium?” He asks, almost excited, and you find it cute that he didn’t lose his childhood fascination with such things.

“Uhm, actually I came for that,” you point at the mail in his hands which leaves the boy confused once again.

“Our electricity bill?”

“No, dude, the prank letter you just got with her name on it,” Dongmin speaks up from behind you and you can tell just from his voice alone that he’s rolling his eyes. But it gets Donghyun to check out the envelopes in his hand and nonchalantly gives you the one addressed to him from you, like he doesn’t even care what’s in it. But when you actually take it, he leans in closer.

“You’ve got a scary boyfriend,” he whispers just as casually, so only you could hear it and you can only splutter in shock while he pulls back and jogs up the stairs with the other letters in hand.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat as you turn to Dongmin who looks as nonchalant as ever.

“For what?”

“For not telling him that it’s a love letter,” you explain, which makes the boy shrug. He opens the door for you and points towards the metro station.

“I’m choosing lunch then,” he says and you laugh at his logic, but follow him anyway. He still asks if you’re okay with Korean food and since you’re not picky, you let him choose whatever he craves.

You end up at a jjigae place, the warmth of boiling spicy soup filling you up and you blame the heat in your cheeks on it, definitely not in the casual way Dongmin serves you water or opens the hot rice bowl for you as if it’s nothing.

“So only Jeju’s left,” he comments between two spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae. Looking at you from across the table, he almost challenges you: “Tell me you’re not seriously considering flying there.”

“I mean there’s also a ferry…” You make a thinking face just for the sake of it but laugh at your own ridiculous idea and the face Dongmin makes. “Okay, okay, I know. He probably received the letter already anyway.”

You shrug casually and the boy seems surprised and maybe a bit impressed too. Getting back two letters out of four is actually a better ratio than you expected and you care surprisingly less about Chanyoung receiving his now. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Nothing much. Like Dongmin got his own and he doesn’t act weird about it. At least he certainly doesn’t avoid you or looks at you as if you were crazy like you would have thought so. He’s actually quite… kind about it. Without the letter you surely wouldn’t have spent this much time with him nor would he have joined you on this spontaneous day trip either. Speaking of which…

“Do you actually have a music store you want to check out here? We have time, so we might as well look for it,” you say, eyes on your food, blowing on the soup to make sure you don’t burn your tongue. When your suggestion is followed by silence, you look up self-consciously and fidget with a stand of hair hanging in your face. The look of surprise is clearly written on the boy’s face but when your eyes meet, he recovers quickly, shoving the rice sitting on his spoon into his mouth before taking out his phone and showing you the Instagram page of this cool store he found. You drop down your gaze from his face to his phone, feeling heat creeping into your cheeks once again as both of you lean forward over the table.

Luckily, in the winter cold outside it doesn’t stand out. Dongmin’s nose, cheeks and ears also redden by the time you make it to the music store by the sea. You look over the vinyl collection with him, asking about his favorites, inspirations and such, and while you don’t know half the bands he mentions listening to him talk has something special in it. It’s actually cute how enthusiastic he gets as he talks about music, like sure he’s all cool and nonchalant but still, you can tell he’s excited beneath that facade and…

Wait. Did you just call Han Dongmin, cool, mysterious, plays in a band neighbour, cute?

But how can you not when he walks out of that store with a new LP and a happy smile he tries to suppress when you look his way or when he’s like oh, yeah, sure, let’s go down the beach and there he is shivering from the wind like a rain-soaked black cat because he’s too cool to wear gloves even if he has ice americano in his hands unlike your hot hazelnut latte that’s warming your body and soul or the way he tries to secretly take pictures of you with your wind-blown hair in your face, laughing when you chase him down the waterfront or how he hesitates to accept the hot pack from you on your way back to the bus terminal but immediately switches places with you when a car passes by you a bit scarily close. It’s a totally new side of him that you’re discovering and you aren’t sure how to feel about it, about realizing that he isn’t the kind of guy you imagined him to be.

He’s so much more and so much better.

On your way back to Gwangju, he steals one of your earbuds and makes a comment on your music taste and you bicker about that half the journey but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your cheeks almost hurt from laughing so much when you notice new notifications on your phone and the device almost falls out of your hands.

chnyng_lee started following you. chnyng_lee hi yn! i got your letter…

“Oh my god!” You whisper-yell when you see the beginning of the message received, then quickly cover your mouth with your hand and pull the phone to your chest as if not seeing it would make it go away.

“What?” Dongmin asks with worry evident in his voice but you’re swimming too deep in embarrassment to detect it.

“Chanyoung just texted me,” you explain, still in shock and the moment it leaves your mouth, something shifts in the air. The previous light atmosphere turns heavier.

“Ah, Jeju boy?” Dongmin mutters, force nonchalance draped over his words as he turns to look ahead before silence settles on you both.

You take three long, deep breaths before unlocking your phone and opening the app to read through Chanyoung’s message properly. He’s so sweet, just how you remembered, telling you that of course he remembers you and he doesn’t think that your first meeting with you falling into the pool and him having to pull you out was awkward. He says it’s cute that you wrote to him even though you got over your crush and asks about your winter break. A sweetheart, really.

You find yourself chuckling fondly over his shy reactions and coo when he tells you about the group of elementary students he taught swimming that day. You want to show the video he sent to Dongmin too but he’s fast asleep next to you, so you spend the rest of the ride chatting with the cute boy who saved you back in Jeju.

Dongmin is quiet on the local bus too after you transfer in Gwangju but when you ask about it, he says he’s just tired, so you leave him be until you reach the apartment complex.

“Thanks for coming with me today. I… had fun,” you admit, more bashful than you would have liked to but the guy’s back to his distanced attitude, so he doesn’t even tease you about it.

“Sure, no problem,” he shrugs, seemingly eager to leave and you don't know why it bothers you so much but after everything that happened that day it’s his sudden change in behaviour that keeps you awake at night.

You wouldn’t say Dongmin avoids you. It’s more like things go back to normal. You have spent the last few years rarely running into him, so really, it shouldn’t annoy you. Still, whenever you leave the house, you find yourself looking for him and whenever you’re in your room you wait to hear his music through the thin wall between your rooms. 

It’s a random weekday evening when you run into him as you take out the recycled trash and he’s just coming inside the building.  It’s awkward, both the silence and the small talk idea but eventually it’s him who breaks the silence as he holds the door open for you:

“So how are things going with loverboy?” 

“Who?” You blink at him in surprise before realizing that he must be referring to Chanyoung with that weird nickname. “Oh, good. We’re thinking of meeting up in Seoul. He’s going there to uni as well.”

It’s actually crazy that in about a week you will be in the busy center of Seoul, getting ready for orientation week and trying not to get overwhelmed by everything that university life throws your way. You’re about to ask Dongmin when he will move to his dorm but before you could do so, he just hums and passes you by.

You refuse to think too much into it nor you allow yourself to mourn the closeness you unexpectedly found with the boy for it to turn out to be merely a fleeting experience. You cannot miss him suddenly, that’s ridiculous.

You can’t be desperate enough to wish it’s him knocking on the door two days later, can you?

“Uhm, hi!” You smile a tad bit awkwardly while looking down at Dongmin’s little brother standing on your doormat wearing a Kakao Friends Ryan patterned tee and a determined look on his face.

“Noona, can you please talk with hyung?” He asks and when he mentions his brother you can’t help but glance towards their closed door, chest heavy with unsaid feelings.

“Uhm, why?” You question curiously but keep your tone light and friendly, so the boy would know you aren’t dismissing his request, you just find it strange and unexpected. You aren’t that close to Dongmin after all.

“He listens to a lot of sad and angry music,” the boy sighs as if it was the world’s biggest problem and you have to fight a chuckle at how cute it is that he’s worried about his brother because of the music he listens to.

“Isn’t that normal for him though?” You find yourself asking because you do hear music through the wall between the two apartments from time to time and describing some of it as ‘sad and angry’ wouldn’t be far from the truth.

“Yeah, but even more than usual,” the little boy pouts and sighs again, all the world’s weight on his young shoulders. “And he says you can’t come over because you’re busy with your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you frown, confused where Dongmin got that from. Does he think that you texting with Chanyoung automatically meant you got yourself a boyfriend? Did he miss the fact that the letter for him was also written after getting over your crush on him? Oh come on, he knows you had four crushes over four years and never got a boyfriend, so what makes him think two days changed it all? And even if you had a boyfriend, what’s it to him unless… Wait, is he jealous?

“Then can you come over to play? We need four players,” Dongmin’s brother voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you let yourself be roped into a game of charades in their living room.

Needless to say your ex-crush is taken aback to see you there but he apparently doesn’t have the heart to say no to his siblings when it comes to playing a game. You pair up with his little sister who is seriously the cutest with her pigtails and excitement but her drawings are more postmodern than anything exhibited in galleries and you can’t for the life of you figure those out. Dongmin and his brother are a good team though but the eldest always makes sure that their little sister doesn’t feel bad about being on the losing team which in turn obviously means that he teases you about it instead. You still have a lot of fun though, so when you leave once it’s bedtime for the younger ones, you are giddy and high on sugar from Dongmin’s mom’s heavenly chocolate pudding.

“Sorry that my brother dragged you over,” Dongmin apologises once their entrance door closes behind him and you two stand in the corridor. You didn’t expect him to come after you despite his mother’s obvious suggestions because come on, you literally live next door, you don’t need him to walk you home. But you don't mind it because unlike your last encounter, he doesn’t seem to have his guards up making him much more approachable. Even if there’s nothing more to it, it would be nice to be friends with him, not just neighbours who pass each other by.

“No problem, it was fun,” you reassure him with a smile and don’t let the silence settle on your duo for too long. “Maybe we should make it a tradition in Seoul too, ask Chanyoung and Yoonah to join us.”

There’s definitely intent behind your words as you gawk at the guy’s reaction like a nature photographer waiting for something to happen in the wild and you can clearly see a bit of frustration blended with confusion on his face before he schools his expression back into cool nonchalance.

“Who’s Yoonah?” He asks predictably which makes your smile wider because being able to guess his reaction is almost like you know him.

“Chanyoung’s girlfriend! Didn’t I tell you? She’s so cool,” you chirp and pull up your Instagram app to show him a lovely picture of the two. Dongmin acts like he doesn’t care but he doesn’t stop you and somehow the air between you feels much lighter.

You tell him what you know about the couple’s plans in Seoul and somehow, in the middle of it all, you end up sitting on the cold concrete stairs right between your two homes and talk about the upcoming changes in your lives. You share how weird it feels to leave behind Gwangju, the only place you have really known in your life for an unknown city where you don’t know anybody. Sure, some of your classmates also move to the capital but none of your close friends, so it feels a bit like a fresh start which is both scary and exciting. He’s in similar shoes except that he has always had dreams of moving to a bigger, busier city, so he can’t wait to start his life in Seoul.

“As expected of Han Taesan. Fearless as always,” you note with a smile playing on your lips without thinking and you don’t even notice your slip-up until Dongmin points it out.

“You called me Taesan,” he says, his dark eyes wide and surprised.

“Ah right. Was I not supposed to?” You ask sheepishly because you have heard most of his friends call him Taesan as well as girls in your school who knew his band.

“No, it’s just…” The boy trails off, ruffling his hair, avoiding your eyes. “In your letter you said it’s cringe that I took up a nickname when we started the band.”

You wince audibly when he once again reminds you of a part of that infamous letter you don’t even remember and now you’re mature enough to admit that part of it was written out of petty jealousy due to his skyrocketing popularity among girls.

“I wrote that a long time ago. I got used to Taesan since,” you explain, drumming your fingers on your knee pads just to do something with them while the boy nods and seemingly contemplates your words. He sounds almost shy as he admits:

“I like it when you call me Dongmin.”

And if your breath hitches at that, it goes unheard by everybody but you because your upper level neighbour chooses that moment to arrive and complain about the two of you ‘barricading’ the entire staircase. Amidst polite apologies you say goodbye to each other and in the safety of your room, only one wall away from Dongmin, you can admit to yourself that maybe you’re not that over your crush on him as you thought.

Realizing that you still (or well again) have a crush on the boy next door doesn’t make things easier for you. Especially because in less than a week both of you are set to go to Seoul for different universities and if living next door with your schools across each other you managed to not interact all too much over these years, you fear being in the same city won’t make it easier to run into the enigma that is Han Dongmin.

It’s different this time though because you’re friends. Kind of. You text sometimes about random things like a black cat in the snow video that reminds you of him while he sends you music recs ‘to educate you on good taste’. You are over at his place every other day to play board games with him and his siblings or play snow fights in the newly fallen snow.

Like right now, when the two of you sit on one of the swing sets at the playground watching the two kids trying to build a snowman that will melt by tomorrow. It’s cold, you feel it sweep into your bones as your gloved hands hold the metal chain of the swing, barely swaying in place. It’s comfortable, sharing silence with Dongmin by your side but you like it better when he speaks, when he talks to you, when he looks at you which he doesn’t do, not now, not since he chased you down with a handful of snow only to drop it when you slipped and he caught you. Which eventually left you just chilling on the swings before either of you breaks a bone a few days before the semester starts.

“What are you doing tomorrow evening?” Dongmin speaks up in his usual, casual tone, the tone that’s passive enough for you to think that he doesn’t really care about the answer but you know it better now, it’s all just a facade.

“Nothing much, maybe watch a movie. Why?” You lean forward, holding your weight by the chains to be able to look at him even if he doesn’t turn your way.

“Would you like to come to the band’s last gig?” He asks eventually and your eyes widen, heartbeat starting to act up for no reason at all.

“Yeah, of course!” You answer, not even hesitating but you have to ask: “Last though?”

“Well, for now. We will be pretty scattered around the country once the semester starts,” Dongmin explains to your tentative question. You don’t even know how much of a relief it is until you hear it because somehow it’s hard to imagine him without music, without his band.

“Ah, okay, that’s good.”

Now that makes Dongmin look at you, all intrigued as if asking what’s it to you and it makes you flustered because heck now you have to explain yourself.

“It’s just… you’re good. You shouldn’t give up on music, especially when you like it so much,” you say, looking away, sitting back on the swing, kicking the ground a bit to give yourself momentum.

“Not worried anymore that I would become an arrogant all too popular rockstar?” The boy asks in a clearly teasing tone.

You sigh exaggeratedly and nudge him in the side but he just laughs. Of course he would use your letter against you, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you that much anymore and no, you’re not worried about that either. You’re more worried about moving to Seoul and drifting apart, losing the closeness you have now. Maybe that’s why he isn’t saying anything more either, that’s why you don’t address his unreasonable jealousy over Chanyoung or all those late night talks, the lingering looks and diverting glances. It’s not just a crush anymore, you’re one confession away from making it real because for the first time since you developed all those crushes you feel like it’s worth the risk. Dongmin is worth the risk of getting your heart broken.

The next morning Dongmin texts you to let you know that they will have a last minute practice with the band, so he just sends you the location of the local art café they will perform at on Naver Maps. You answer with a bit too excited ‘see you there!!’ which you immediately regret until he sends a heart reaction to the message. It has you squealing even when you see the icon turn into a simple like and he claims that his fingers slipped. Just to tease him, you tap a like on that message.  

You definitely make a bigger deal out of choosing an outfit for the gig than you probably should. You even ask for Sunghee’s opinion over a video call and in a weak moment of yours, you ask her to go with you but she just snorts and tells you that she doesn’t want to be stuck as the awkward third wheel when you eventually leave with ‘your neighbour boy’. You protest because why would you leave with him? But at the same time you kind of wish that you would. You live next to each other, wouldn’t it make sense? Are you too hopeful?

Scratch that! You’re young once and you swore to yourself that you won’t let insecurity or fears hold you back this time. You’re allowed to be a bit delulu sometimes.

You get to the café just in time for the performance to start. You’re still terrible with directions when it comes to new places but you calculated with that beforehand, so it’s all good. You order a dalgona latte, sweet on your teeth and warm in your hands, and settle down at a table close to the cozy winter-decorated stage where the band does last minute tuning and setup checks. You look around and see a few familiar faces from your school as well as some guys from Dongmin’s rare Instagram stories. They all cheer when the lead singer introduces the band and they start with an upbeat, alternative rock-style song. He might not sing the most but your eyes are glued to Dongmin behind the keyboard, at the way he is bobbing his head to the beat or the way he smirks when the audience reacts to certain parts, clearly enjoying it all and that’s what matters the most to you. They perform quite a few songs and you enjoy it thoroughly, regretting a bit that you stopped listening to their new stuff in the middle of second year, thinking it would be easier to move on from your crush like that. And look at how that turned out.

You have so much fun watching Dongmin perform that you aren’t even disappointed that you don’t get your own ‘Y/N moment’ by locking eyes with him through the crowd mid-song. At least not until it’s his turn to introduce the upcoming song after all the other members have already spoken between sets. 

“The last song we have for today is a new one. It’s called Just you and me and it’s a bit unpolished but I wanted to perform it tonight,” he says into the microphone propped above his keyboard and glances at you right when the audience starts clapping. You’re pinned to place by his gaze and can’t look away, not even after he does, not when he grabs the microphone and starts singing.

The song is not heavily instrumental, there’s only a soft guitar layer and a simple beat of drums from the chorus, but it stands out because Dongmin sings the whole thing and its lyrics are much sweeter than their usual songs. It sounds like a confession, echoing your own heartbeat.

When it ends, the band says thanks for all the support and drops their social media info, so fans can follow their journey along even when they are not active in Gwangju anymore. Some people, probably friends and family, go up to them to chat while they pack their instruments. You contemplate whether you should say hi to Dongmin or wait it out but you don’t have to worry about that for long because he soon comes to find you by your table.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you beam at him brightly despite the nervous butterflies in your stomach. “You were great up there. I loved the new song a lot.”

“That’s good,” he hums, looking just a bit shy with his downcast eyes and boxy smile, so different from the usual confidence he exudes on stage or when he’s teasing you.

Maybe that’s where the sudden courage comes from, the urge that prompts you to ask:

“Was it… a love song?”

Your tone is tentative, not too pushy, not too hopeful, but Dongmin’s gaze finds yours, earnest but amused, very much like him.

“Maybe. Somebody said she likes movie-like romance,” he shrugs, his smile turning smug when he notices the blush painting your cheeks. This time, you can’t blame it on the cold.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dongmin confirms and clears his throat, clearly out of his element a bit. “Are you heading home now? Cause if you wait a bit, we can go together.” 

You nod shyly and send him off to pack and say goodbye to his friends. Before you know it, you’re on your way back, talking about the band’s future plans, places he already knows he wants to check out in Seoul, how your dad plans to take you to move into the dorms by car and your mother is already emotional about it. You don’t talk about love songs and confessions, the possibility of a future together. However, you don’t want to say goodbye tonight without acknowledging your feelings out loud.

Dongmin unexpectedly beats you to it though. Once you’re in the corridor of the apartment building, he calls your name, reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wrinkled envelope, handing it over to you. You see your name scribbled on the paper and for a moment you’re taken aback because you expected his handwriting to be almost unreadable, rushed and messy but it’s so spacey between characters that it’s cute, especially if he made the effort to make it readable for you.

“To make it fair that I have your letter,” he shrugs oh so casually and scratches his nape. “Just… don’t read it in front of me.”

“You just sang a love song in front of a crowd,” you remind him of his previous bravado which makes him groan in protest and you get it now why he likes it so much, teasing you.

“It’s different!”

“Okay, I will read it when I’m alone,” you promise, holding the envelope to your chest, a part of you wanting to run into your home so you could read it as soon as possible, another part not wanting to part from the boy. But curiosity is killing you. “Bye then?”

You turn, ready to head inside but before you could change your mind and let overthinking ruin your sudden bravery, you turn back to face Dongmin and pushing yourself to your tiptoes, you peck him on the cheek.

“Kiss like we do, huh?” You ask playfully, quoting a bit of his new song and dash inside your family home before Dongmin could react or see how red you get.

If his letter is unlike what you expect it to be, you will probably dig yourself a hole in the playground and hide forever for this but you let yourself hope as you hold your breath and unfold the paper in the safety of your room.

Dear Y/N,

I can’t write sappy letters like you but I can try because you like this stuff. Romantic gestures or whatever.

I know it’s late, that it’s been almost two years since you liked me but I still want to get this off my chest. I don’t know what would have happened if you confessed in our second year because I didn’t really know you. I didn’t know how you ramble when you’re nervous or that you have this cute habit of brushing your hair out of your eyes even if it isn’t there or that you have the prettiest laugh. You’re a bit crazy because who writes love letters complimenting my gorgeous (that’s how you spell it by the way) eyes at the same time as accusing me of becoming arrogant? Who travels to the other side of the country just to get their love letter back? Who stays over playing charades with my siblings on a random weekday?

Half the time you don’t make any sense and ever since you showed up at my door asking for your letter back, you’re driving me crazy.

Sincerely, Dongmin

P.S. But I like you (if it wasn’t clear)

You squeal. Loud enough for the boy to hear through the thin wall between you. He has the audacity to laugh which makes you grab your phone.

you: don’t laugh!! you: btw i like you too! you: again you: still you: if it wasn’t clear dongmin: so unromantic you: ??? dongmin: write me a letter back you: on it! you: ♥️

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Listen I’m going insane from how you write Stan and been rereading your spicy chatting headcanons and…. Am I too greedy if I’ll ask for sex call with him?? 🥲

when the pervy old man meets his match

tags: smut, nsfw, fem reader, phone sex, competitive dirty talk, established relationship, reader is just as much of a menace as Stan

hey honey thank you so much! here it is! it's honestly just full of dialogues lmao. sorry i wrote this in a depraved frenzy and did not look back. if there are mistakes, pretend you don’t see them. if it’s too filthy, no it’s not<3 mb I'll correct it later

your phone rings and it's midnight. a little devilish smile appears on your lips. you know exactly who it is.

“finally,” you purr, picking up. “was wondering how long it’d take for you to crack, old man.”

“tch. crack?” Stan scoffs. “sweetheart, i was givin' you a chance to call first. figured you’d get too desperate to wait.”

you smirk, rolling onto your back. ”oh, is that what you think?”

“i know it.” he laughs. “ain’t had my hands on ya in three whole days. bet you’re losin’ your goddamn mind over it.”

cocky bastard.

“hmm,” you hum in amusement. “who said i haven’t had my hands on myself instead?”

“heh, sure, doll, then you just laid there all frustrated, wishin’ it was me instead of your hand.”

“oh, no, Stan,” you interrupt innocently. “i came.” he stops breathing. “mm, and it felt so good, too, made such a mess. you would’ve loved it.”

Stanley goes silent. oh, you’ve got him now. “. . . the fuck’d you just say?”

you stretch out on the bed, imagining the look on his face. jaw tight. eyes dark. grip white-knuckling his phone.

“you heard me,” you coo. “been keeping myself nice and satisfied while you’re gone.”

a lie. a blatant, filthy lie. of course you want him. but you won’t say that. not yet.

“what’s the matter?” you murmur, teasing. “dont tell me. . . you jealous of my fingers?”

Stan lets out a harsh breath. “yeah, actually,” he growls. “bet they don’t even get the job done right and you still finish all needy and desperate, just wishin’ it was my cock instead.”

fuck. your breath hitches slightly, so tiny, but Stan hears it.

“. . . ohhh, that gotcha, huh?” his voice dips, turning low. “ya can play all confident, sweetheart, act like ya ain’t fuckin’ sufferin’ without me, like ya ain’t practically drippin’ just hearin’ my voice—“

you swallow. hard. your smile fades from your confident face

“but we both know the truth, don’t we?”

no, you don't give up. “you sound real worked up, Stanley. do you need me to take care of it for you?”

a sharp inhale from the other end. “heh,” he grits out. “you wish.”

“yeah, sounds like you’re getting all hot and bothered over there. you’re already touching yourself, huh? couldn’t help it?”

“hah,” Stan scoffs, but his voice sounds weaker now. oh, you’re winning.

“c’mon, baby,” you whisper in a honey-sweet voice. “tell me. are you hard?”

he exhales through his teeth. “maybe.”

“aw, poor Stanley, been away from me too long, huh? you must be so worked up, all desperate and aching. . .”

Stan grins. “sweetheart, i’m a grown-ass man. i ain’t desperate for anything.”

you pause long enough to make his skin prickle. then softly and slowly you say quietly “so you’re not hard right now?”

fuck. his body betrays him instantly. because, obviously he is. painfully so. has been since the second he heard your voice, if he’s being honest. but like hell is he gonna admit that to you.

“nah,” he lies too quickly.

you giggle. “liar.”

“shut up,” he mutters.

“sorry, Stanley, i cant shut up, thinking about how i’d drop to my knees for you, pull your pants down real slow, press my tongue right up against that thick cock and—”

“oh, for fuck’s sake—“

“you’d be so sensitive, all needy and throbbing for me. i could get you begging in five minutes.”

“like hell you could!”

your laugh is pure evil. “oh, really?” Stan knows that tone, he’s in trouble. “wanna prove it, old man?”

Stan grits his teeth. “you little minx,” he growls. “fine. you wanna play? we play. wanna know what i think?” your stomach tightens, you're so not ready to hear that. but it's so damn sexy when he gets like that. “i know you’re sittin’ there all wet and needy, waitin’ for me to take over.”

your breath catches as your fingers start moving faster.

“aww, see? can hear it in your breath, baby. you love lettin’ me take control, huh? love bein’ my little plaything?”

you grip the sheets.

“y���think about my cock, huh?” that bastard teases. ”you ache for it and dream about me splittin’ you open, fuckin’ you deep ‘til you cry.”

your thighs press together as you try to bring yourself to orgasm while he talks.

“tell me, baby, what’s your favorite way for me to fuck ya?”

you stop for a second, breathing. “. . .i dunno, you tell me.”

Stan groans and laughs. “that’s what i thought. you like it every way i give it to ya. you like gettin’ thrown around, pinned down, bent over. like when i take my time, when i tease, when i make you beg for it. like when i spread your legs and fuck ya slow, so deep your little cunt flutters around me, just tryin’ to suck me in.”

you let out a quiet sob, rubbing your clit harder. shit. okay. he came prepared.

“remember the last time i had ya?” fuck. he's dirty for this. “spread ya out on the kitchen table, pushed those pretty little legs open, had ya beggin' for my cock while i just tapped it against that messy little cunt.”

heat spikes through your belly. your brain melting

“and you were so fuckin’ wet, so messy for me. couldn't even hold still. had to pin ya down, keep ya in place, make ya take it nice and deep. and god, the way ya screamed when i finally gave it to ya,” he groans, pumping his twitching cock. “cried so pretty for me, took every single inch like a good fuckin’ girl.”

you exhale.

“aw, babyy,” Stan mocks. “gettin’ all squirmy over there? miss me poundin’ that tight little cunt open? miss feelin’ my cock knockin’ up against your cervix?”

oh, this bastard. he knows exactly what he’s doing. knows how to talk you into a goddamn frenzy, how to drag you through every memory, making you feel it all over again. but you won’t let him win.

“eh, big talk for a man who passed out immediately after a blowjob.”

Stan huffs.

“it's just,” you muse. “i think i might need to find someone who can actually keep up with me.”

“sweetheart,” he growls. “don't fuckin' start with me.”

you grin. “what, old man? afraid someone else could fuck me better?”

“honestly, you're such a fucking brat.” he mutters resentfully.

“and you're all alone, jerking off to the thought of me like some pathetic old pervert.”

Stan groans and that sound makes you clench around nothing.

“hehe, you stroking it, old man? pumping that fat cock real slow, thinkin’ about how tight my pussy is?”

his eyes widen. wow. . . you're too brave today. he likes that. “sweet moses,” you hear him groaning.

“tell me, baby, am i right? it's throbbing? just begging to be buried inside me?”

“fuckin’ hell,” Stan hisses. “fuck, f-fuck, shit. . .”

wide cocky smile appears on your face. oh you love this. love how you can hear the tension in his breath, imagining how he’s gripping himself too tight, trying to hold on, trying not to lose.

but he’s gonna. he’s so gonna.

“y’know what i was thinking about earlier?” you murmur.

Stan swallows. “wh-what?”

you grin. “how deep you get when you fuck me.” Stan's response is low whimper when he circles his leaking tip with his fingers. “no, seriously, you stretch me so wide, Stanley. get all the way up against my cervix, push me down into the mattress, just ruining me. i love hearing your groans when i bite your shoulder.”

his breathing is much heavier now, he's already so close.

“Stanley? you close?“

“y-you’re gonna fuckin’ regret this,” he grits out.

“what’s wrong, old man? you were all big and bad a second ago. now ya can’t even keep up? i know how bad you want it, how much you miss the way i take you so deep, so tight”

Stanley is so fucking close.

“you’re leaking, huh? and you’re still trying to hold back,” another mocking sympathy from you. “so stubborn, determined not to let me win. guess i’ll just have to break you, then. oh yeah,” you laugh when you hear another moan from him. “that gotcha, huh? i know you’d love that, you’d love me getting on top, riding you all slow and deep, keeping you right on the edge ‘till you’re begging me for it, begging me to let you cum inside of me.”

“f-fuck, baby, just. . . just like that,” his voice is shaking.

“you gonna cum, Stan? gonna make a mess all over yourself just from hearing my voice?”

“you—fuck—you little—”

suddenly his phone vibrates with a notification. you just sent him a photo.

he barely has time to open it before he sees you, spread out as you fuck yourself open on your fingers.

Stan sucks in a sharp breath. “what. . . the fuck”

“somethin’ wrong?” you coo.

silence, hes silent until you hear choked loud “oh oh oh, fuckkk” and you know he lost, so fucking hard. his orgasm hits hard, violent, brain-melting, his body tensing, groaning your name through gritted teeth. you hear the sharp inhale, the shaky breath, the low, drawn-out moan as he spills messy over his fist.

“awww, couldn’t hold out, huh?”

Stan pants, breathless. “fuck you.”

“you wish,” you smirk, giggling.

“okay okay. you won.” Stanley admits, rubbing his sweaty forehead. “you won, baby.”

“but you put up a good fight, old man!”

he groans. “hot belgian waffles, what the hell am i gonna do with you?”

“maybe bend me over the second you get home and teach me a lesson?”

Stan chuckles. “oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you just signed up for.”

[bonefall]

the ShadowClan talk made me look through Brokenstar's BB Tags, and. a) is Lizardstripe still related to Finchflight, if you are keeping Finch-Dawn as a couple (with Dawncloud's age redux)? b) i keep seeing stuff about Snowtuft and killing kits, but i cant find anything actually detailing on that on the blog, and one of the older posts also mentions that Blizzardwing is either his son/grandson AND that Lizardstripe's mother was the kit he couldn't kill. what is all that about, im dying to know.

This is info that's scattered across a bunch of different posts, plus more deets and changes I haven't had a chance to dive into. Snowtuft committed an atrocity which would torment his victims and descendants for generations, for both its legacy and its trauma.

SO I wanna put as much of it as possible into one place for now, so you don't have to go guessing based on older posts. Especially since some of those posts are long outdated, but I haven't contradicted them yet.

To start the story of the two families, it begins with Snowtuft and the bloody end of the Crusade Era.

CONTENT WARNING; this is one of BB's darkest tales. It involves depictions of xenophobic violence, child murder, war crime, PTSD, abuse, and kidnapping. BB!Snowtuft's a bad kitty!

SEE: Kitten Stealing

(Also: After writing it out, I kinda realized this would be great as a BB entry on its own. I should come back and clean this up someday.)

PART 1: THE LAST CRUSADE

Cedarstar inherited the Crusades from Houndstar, continuing them more out of respect for her legacy than true zealotry.

He had actually been chosen as a deputy because he would run the Clan while she was off gallavanting.

He wasn't a pushover or anything, just prefered logistics. Him and Pinestar were tragically ahead of their time.

...but like other cats of his time, he was from a culture that didn't extend personhood beyond the Clans. So, he continued the Crusades.

Even though they weren't getting easier.

Crystal of Chelford had already used a new tool to carve a red future for the cats of the town...

and what were once defenseless little targets began to unite into organized, armed response teams.

Non-BloodClan "zones" got rarer and rarer.

The territory and underlings of an influential cat named Jay were among the last holdouts, so it's where most of ShadowClan's raids were launched.

And on one of these raids... it happened fast.

Snowtuft turned an alley and was ruthlessly attacked. He defended himself.

In the confusion, another assailant ran towards him. He acted swiftly.

It was reflex! Instinct! He couldn't tell what was coming at him. It was a split second decision.

He couldn't undo what had happened. The kitten was dead, next to its mother.

And the others were screaming, crying, terrified.

Snowtuft doesn't remember what he did next. He doesn't want to.

But Puffballburr does.

She used to see it every night.

She remembers her name, too-- Pixie. And her mom. And her littermates.

And the look that washed over his eyes when he realized the ragged flesh at his feet was a kitten.

Raw shock, electrifying shame, the dawning horror of knowing you've definitely done something that you're going to get punished for.

And when his white, blood-splattered face turned slowly towards her and her wailing siblings, she recognized that emotion too.

It's a very childlike response, really.

He needed to cover up his accident.

And he almost did, too. It was dumb luck that stopped him as he grabbed her tail and dragged her out from her hiding place. One of his clanmates heard the awful racket, and Pixie had survived just long enough.

PART 2: ONE OF US

They took her away, just like any other "honor kitten," but the Clan cats believed this was different somehow.

Something about the naked horror of what Snowtuft did, maybe. Impossible to ignore.

But it's not like he faced any real justice for it, not that Puffballkit could remember seeing. So clearly it wasn't very different at all.

His mate left him, and the older warriors regarded him with a distant sort of "shame." He was ostracized from many circles.

But Puff's siblings had not been "clan cats" so the Warrior Code did not apply to them. He faced social dishonor, not legal.

Ever-merciful Cedarstar did not want to "ruin" more lives.

"Not when the kit is far too young to even remember what happened," he said. But she did remember.

And her name. Her mom. Her littermates. That face.

She just knew, growing up, that she couldn't know about it.

Because Snowtuft was always right there, just around the curve of the den, just behind the cover of the rose bush thorns, listening.

They're ALL Snowtuft.

To admit she remembers it is to admit she isn't one of them. And if you're not one of them, the law does not apply to you.

As a kid, she couldn't articulate it. But she understood it.

Deep down to her brittle, kittypet bones. Her filthy, stillwater blood.

The ungrateful heart that beat in her chest.

Fear expressed as a constant, calm obedience of authority. A permanent dread, as if living in a pack as a sheep in wolf's clothing

So she was quiet, notoriously so.

Whoever her foster was, Puff was like a little white shadow. It's where the warrior name came from, eventually-- a puffball clinging to someone's fur. (after writing this though, half of me wants to start calling her Lambfur or Lambfrost.)

ShadowClan plunged into the Campaign Era with Heatherstar's invasion of the Mothermouth Moorland, and the massacre of some kittypet family became awkward history. Those old enough to remember still kept a distance from Snowtuft... but war took its toll.

War means death and those older members of the Clan are not replaceable.

Younger cats weren't there to see the horror of what Snowtuft had done... and time would make him bolder.

Finding growing sympathy in his apprentices, spurred on by the hardening of the culture in tandem with the official birth of Thistle Law, Snowtuft started to change history.

The official Educator of ShadowClan (still unsure who this was) had one story, and Snowtuft had one too.

"Details" were quietly changed in his. They weren't "kits" but "young cats." They charged out to aid their mother. Then maybe she wasn't their mother. Who knows.

Pullball's name was left out of these stories, on both sides. No need for the kittens to know that she wasn't one of us.

And if she was? That's a good thing for her. Living the life of a Clan cat.

He wouldn't share if "he wasn't asked," but all of his actions, his language, was a silent plea to be asked.

He wanted to forget the whole thing, because of his nightmares, his constant shame and punishment, how hard the whole ordeal made his life-- but he couldn't so it was constantly coming out of his mouth.

There was a deep resentment on his end, towards Puffballburr. How she was part of the Clan now, always reminding him. Like it was her fault.

In the end, Snowtuft didn't blame himself. He blamed everything else. The guilt was killing him a little bit every day...

But not as much as that WindClan cat's claws did. Those killed him a lot in one day!

But Snowtuft's death didn't bring Puffballburr any peace. She just felt... annoyed. Which was strange to her-- she should feel relief, but, she didn't. She was just thinking about how the next battle with WindClan would be harder without an extra set of claws.

PART 3: GOING HOME

Puffballfur is the queen of low empathy, and her emotions are... hard to predict.

Not in a chaotic sort of way, but in a "Huh, interesting, I didn't think that of all things would get me going" sort of way.

She both lives in constant "fear" but also a persistent banality. It's kind of like being in a cage with a chained tiger, but you've marked the exact spot on the floor where the tiger's chain ends.

Imagine getting nightmares that stop you from sleeping, but you know that they aren't going to come true. So you lay there with a throbbing heart, mostly feeling annoyed that you're going to be tired in the morning.

That's her life.

Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, she'd roll on her back in the nest and critique the assassination attempt in her mind.

Did he think his dumb plan through? Or did he just react without thinking? It was going to be obvious he killed a bunch of kids, whether she survived or not.

Or maybe he would have just said that the rogue killed her own kits to prevent them from becoming Clan cats. They'd probably believe that.

Either way it was sloppy. Could have had more kits if he didn't kill her sibs.

She had connections within the Clan. A foster, hunting buddies, apprentice. She was kind to them, especially when they were useful. But...

It feels like she's not like them. Like they have variables to their behavior that she doesn't. Drives and desires that are pointless, sometimes even frustrating.

Like the concept of "honor." Ridiculous. Every single person who talks about it is hypocritical about it in some way, and it causes unnecessary fights in the camp and on the border because of ridiculous ego.

She just performs it because the other cats value it-- and when people like you, you get what you want.

I'm not sure who her mate was, or if it was even just one. In any case, when she found herself pregnant, she declared Queen's Rights. I feel like she might have had a fling with someone, but got annoyed by their clingy behavior.

When her daughters were born, Bracketkit and Lizardkit, she felt pride.

Because... they didn't belong to someone else. They weren't even really ShadowClan's. They were hers.

For the first time since her mother and littermates had been taken away from her, she felt like she was looking at family. People who would always be with her.

But that didn't last...

...because a chance encounter only a few moons later reconnected her with someone who remembered her.

Not a littermate, but an older sister. Marmalade. She couldn't believe that Pixie was alive.

This is a WIP zone because I'm not sure, yet, if I'm keeping Hal's attack on ShadowClan. In any case, they continued to reconnect for moons.

The fact that she was remembered, that she could talk openly about what happened, and that Marmalade wanted her and her kittens to come home made Puffballburr's stomach flutter with excitement. She felt valuable.

And with the war getting worse and worse, this was absolutely the best choice for her kittens as well. They would be safer with BloodClan than they would with ShadowClan.

No longer would she be Puffballburr. Her name was Pixie.

ENTER: LIZARDSTRIPE

Puffballburr wasn't a bad mother, but it would feel a lot better to be Lizardstripe if she could have the simplicity to just say she was.

Her earliest memories of her mom and her sibling were outside of the camp on a cool, clear spring night, laying in soft marshgrass. Puff was laying on her back with her hind legs bowed out, a kit tucked under each paw, pressed to her fluffy, warm chest. Her face was turned upward, quietly, at the moon, as her daughters slept peacefully.

She's not sure how long after she'd opened her eyes that this memory took place, but Lizardkit looked up towards the bright, starry sky... and she remembered that the light hurt.

Her needs were always taken care of, but Puffballburr hated explaining things.

You learned quick to treat your questions like a valuable resource, and to listen carefully.

Lizardkit was sharp, much sharper than her sister. She caught onto the way that her mother viewed relationships in a very transactional sort of way-- and stayed aware of her balance.

And had to consider the cost of doing the things her mother was fond of, versus what the other kittens and queens in the nursery expected of her.

What Puffball didn't realize when her children were born was that they were family, but they were also ShadowClan. Even if this was not something she had ever felt a connection to.

Deep down, it didn't truly click with her that her children were not extensions of herself.

And when Lizardkit was a child, learning history from the Educator and getting involved in more of the Clan's goings-on, Puffballburr spent less and less time with her. Because she was reconnecting with Marmalade.

When Bracket and Lizard had their apprentice ceremony, Puffballburr was not there.

Lizardpaw's mentor was the infamously powerful, chaotic fighter, Finchflight. Bracketpaw was assigned to Brackenfoot. (There is an earlier post suggesting that Lizi and Finf were going to be related. I decided to make them mentor/apprentice instead.)

Finchflight immediately began to stress the importance of loyalty. Being one of the younger cats who had sympathized with Snowtuft and knowing the secret behind Puffballburr's beginnings, he nurtured a pain within Lizardstripe. Encouraged her to let the distance between her and her family grow.

Eventually, Puffball told her children that they were going to leave ShadowClan. They had family in the town, would be safe there, could start a brand new life together.

And Lizardpaw was shocked.

It was like everything Finchflight had said was true.

And they were going to leave her.

She reacted violently to the suggestion, attacking her mother. Told them that she was going to expose them, lead a patrol right back to their new hiding place, bring them "back home."

In defense of Puffballburr, Bracketpaw brawled with her sister. They fought viciously, until their mother separated them with a desperate, devastating whack to Lizardpaw's head.

Laying dazed on the ground, she heard an apology before passing out.

When she woke up, she was safely protected within a blackthorn bush-- with a nick on the outside of her ear.

She stayed out there for hours, not knowing what to do, where her family had gone, or what she was going to say when she got home.

But, looking at her reflection in a puddle of water, she became so angry at the idea of this being her first scar that she ripped the other ear, on the opposite side.

When the search party found her, they asked what had happened to her. If she had seen her mother or her sister, or if something had gone wrong.

"Nah. Took a nap to get away from them. Ripped my ears on the thornbush."

Later, when she would be interrogated or questioned by people she didn't want to lie to, she would tell a half-truth;

"I did it to myself. Liked how it looked. Last I saw of Puffballburr and Bracketpaw, they were upset I'd done it and left, so I took a nap."

She didn't mind that her Clanmates thought this was weird. She didn't care about whispers that it was all done for attention, or that it was dishonorable to do such a thing and they probably met a predator after storming off, and she didn't even mind the gossip guessing at the "real" reason behind her ripped ears.

The only people who ever got the whole truth were the Forget-Me-Nots. After their disappearance, Lizardstripe didn't talk about her family for years, insisting upon having no further details. Even if it meant that mystery and suspicion would hang around her like a cloud.

BLIZZARDWING: KIN OF SNOWTUFT

Snowtuft's daughter was named Lilyfur. She was a kit when her father slaughtered Pixie's family.

When her mother left her father, she also distanced herself from him. This was something Snowtuft was outraged and saddened by.

But Lilyfur's mother couldn't stand the idea of a kitten-killer trying to stay close to her daughter. How could he look at little babies, the same age as his own child, and kill them?

Lilykit grew up very conflicted. She remembered how much she loved her dad, understood that he was a kitten murderer, but he continued to be so kind to her into adulthood.

It was hard to think of him as someone who could do something so horrible.

Earlier draft had Lilyfur die and her kittens were raised by their kin, Snowtuft, but I'm currently leaning towards Lilyfur being alive but just letting him be an active part of their lives-- in spite of her discomfort.

Because the more time he spent in her life, paradoxically, the more obsessed he became with all the "time he lost out on."

Which ended up including entertaining a lot of conversations about how he'd never done anything wrong, ever, and everyone was mean to him.

Lilyfur: "ok maybe he's not evil but my dad is really annoying <:/ but he's really lonely. He needs me. and i cant take him away from his grandkits"

From this, what Blizzardwing absorbed was the idea that love and forgiveness was always tolerating your family no matter what. This would express itself in his toxic relationship with Hollyflower.

But Blizzardwing now has a sibling. I haven't settled on a name yet-- but I'm playing with him either being Angelshade or Silkflower.

I really like the name "Angelshade" as a reference to the notoriously deadly white mushroom, the Destroying Angel. But also. someone in the audience asked if I could give the prefix "angel" to a cat because it's their name, and I feel a little bad about giving it to a character who is going to be one of the nastiest little background characters in all of BB lmaooooo

i'm so sorry angel (positive), is it okay if there's an angel (derogatory)

ANYWAY, Untitled Blizzardwing Sibling grew up adoring his grandpaw.

Radicalization can be a slow creep. He loved peepaw, so if he was asked when he was young, he would happily repeat the adjusted version of history he was taught.

And then when Snowtuft died, he wanted to remember him fondly. The story slowly changed, becoming more "accurate," just getting more comfortable with the idea of dehumanizing outsiders.

So what, if he killed some kittypet? And if some kits had already been indoctrinated into their kittypet life? It was still a gain for ShadowClan, in the end.

One summer day, without warning, he came home with two little kittens. One was white, one was brown, both had the pinkish tinge of poorly cleaned blood.

He grinned playfully at Brokenstar, and claimed Queen's Rights in a singsong tone.

Because of that rite, no one could ask where he'd gotten those kittens from. But everyone knew he'd done something grim.

Those kits, Whitewater and Brownstone, grew up under the crescendo of Brokenstar's reign, both taking part in the WindClan Massacre.

Whitewater's bloody story includes joining Mudclaw's Rebellion, giving birth to three kits, a souring relationship with her son, condemnation to the Dark Forest, ends in the Battle of the True Eclipse after killing her grandson.

Brownstone's tale includes a relationship with a WindClan cat during the bloodiest period in the history of their two Clans.

And their father's story ends in Chelford, after being exiled from ShadowClan by Nightstar. His canon counterpart is the Unnamed White Rogue from Rise of Scourge, who tries to order Scourge to be his personal servant.

(the other two cats are Braketail, the "Offbrand Brokenstar" pale tabby, and Pirateheart, the gray rogue with green eyes. Glitch Warriors for the pile!)

[silcoitus]

I love all your fics sm, could you possibly write reader comforting silco after his lil breakdown in s1ep6?

ngl i feel like I'm Silco in this one and I need a reader to fix me

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Broken

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader; angst; hurt/comfort; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship

Word count: 1.1k

Betas: @medic-simp @juniper-sunny

He told you not to come with him. To stay behind in case Jinx returned. 

You didn't like what you were seeing—the way he was starting to unravel at the ends, his perfectly manicured facade crumbling with each hour his daughter was missing. You had this feeling in your gut that it was all about to go sideways, that something awful was going to happen.

But you couldn't stop him.

So you stayed in his office, sitting in his chair and staring out the large circular window. Watching his figure striding with purpose on the streets below to disappear from your view.

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he would find her and bring her back home.

Maybe everything was going to be okay.

But you couldn't shake the feeling.

That this was the beginning of the end.

There's a steady thumping sound as your heel taps along the hardwood, knee bouncing erratically as you wait.

Sure, you have things you could be tending to, but your mind is elsewhere—it’s with Silco.

Will he find her?

What will happen if he does?

You could tell by how he had spoken of her recently that his grasp on her was slipping away, her attention instead on the sister she thought dead for years. Despite raising Jinx as his own, Silco could not fight the bond shared by blood—and it was driving him mad.

You don't move from your perch for a full hour. And even then, you only rise to your feet to pace the empty office, one arm barred across your stomach as the other crosses your chest, your front teeth making short, quick clicking sounds against the tip of your thumbnail. 

A nervous habit.

One Silco hated.

But he's not here to tell you to stop.

So you keep doing it.

Waiting.

Mealtime comes and goes without any change. Your stomach protests, but you ignore it. You've taken to searching Silco's desk, hands frantically rummaging through his things to see if there could be any clue as to where his daughter had disappeared to.

None of her old drawings give you any answers, a tidy pile of them in his bottommost desk drawer. And no amount of rifling through the contents of the safe (the one hidden behind the painting whose sole keepers are Silco and you) lead to any revelations.

You’re moments away from leaving to check Jinx’s workshop when the door to the office opens. Not with a bang, but with a slow, drawn-out creak.

You have one sleeve of your coat on when you look up to see Silco's figure standing in the doorway. His hair is a matted mess against his forehead, his makeup smeared with sweat, revealing the decaying, grey skin around his corrupted eye. There's dust and grime all along his coat, vest, and pants, and blood on his gold-toed boots.

“What happened?” you gasp, ditching your coat to the couchback in favor of running toward him. “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, shuffling past you. When he flops himself onto the red velvet cushions, puffs of dirt dance in the air to settle around him. Staring ahead of him, he seems devoid of light; you could almost swear that the glow of his volcanic orange eye seems dimmer.

“Silco…” you whisper, crouching to get eye-level with him.

He looks through you, the iris of his ruined eye drifting almost lazily, with none of the vigor you've come to know. 

You take both of his hands in yours, resting them on his lap as you study him. There's a tapestry of textures along his skin, dirt and grime and shimmer and blood. You squeeze his hands as your lips press together, waiting.

You never know what Silco you're going to get: the loud, snarling, erratic beast, all roars and teeth; or the silent, fuming, cold statue, impossible to read and even more impossible to crack. You've seen every side of this man, every emotion, every reaction. 

But still, sometimes, you struggle to know how to handle him. How to help him. 

It took you many years and many fights to realize that, most times, he simply wants you to listen.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your knees are sore from where they dig into the rug, both your feet fallen asleep long ago. But you stay rooted to the spot, resolutely, dutifully holding his hands as he stares straight ahead. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in that head of his, what calculations he's running, what strategies he's testing and retesting. 

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“She's gone.”

You bite your tongue, allowing him to talk.

“I've lost her.” His voice feels so far away despite being right in front of you. A ghost of a whisper. A light, almost imperceptible breeze. “And I don't know if I can get her back.”

At last, his eyes move. They almost seem to stutter as they cast slowly—so slowly—down to meet your gaze. And when they lock with your eyes, you have to hold back a small whimper from escaping your lips.

Broken.

He looks so broken.

You've never seen him this bad before. In all your years—first under his employ, then as his partner—he’s never been this far gone. You could always count on a small, stubborn spark behind his eyes.

But that little flame is gone.

Replaced with deep obsidian, heavy and impenetrable.

“Oh, Silco…” you whisper, bringing one hand up to cradle his scarred cheek. 

Your touch breaks him further, cracking the dam of his resolve.

His good eye squeezes shut and his hands come up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he doubles over. 

He doesn't cry—you’ve never seen him cry. Instead, he tugs at his hair, his hands shaking and his breath quickening. His whole torso seems to almost vibrate with how he shakes under the massive weight of his grief.

You rise to your feet, a soft reassuring hum at your throat as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him toward yourself. The crown of his head presses to your stomach and he feels stiff in your arms, awkward and unresponsive. Rubbing circles into his back, you make soft cooing sounds as you try to calm him down, feeling so helpless.

“It's okay,” you whisper. “I've got you.”

Finally, he releases his hold on the graying tendrils of hair, his head pressing against you earnestly as he wraps both arms around your middle tightly. You return the embrace, your eyes squeezing shut as a tear escapes them. 

How you wish you could take this grief from him, endure it for him. You would suffer this pain tenfold if it meant he didn't have to.

But as you hold him in your arms, you know this is something he must overcome himself.

And when you feel warmth against your stomach—a faint dampness to the fabric of your shirt—you wonder if you'll ever be able to bring back that spark. 

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: ji-yong catches you getting in your own head so he decides to shake things up and bring you along for a much needed late-night drive

word count: 5180

tags: fluff, denial, idiots in love - everyone can see it but them type stuff

ao3 link

All was silent in the rooftop practice room, save for the soft scratching of a charcoal pencil against paper. You sat curled up on the couch near the window, your notebook balanced on your knee, fingers gripping the pencil tightly. But the page in front of you remained mostly blank—just a few scratched-out lines and half-finished rhymes that didn’t feel right.

Sleep couldn’t seem to get a hold of you tonight—your mind raced with the same thoughts, replaying them over and over until they became a blur of frustration. You stared at the clock, wishing for a few hours of peace, but the ticking echoed in your ears, only adding to your agitation. 

The quiet hum of the building surrounded you, but inside your mind, chaos churned. The notebook’s blank pages mocking your every attempt to find the right words. Your thoughts were too scattered—too many ideas, too many emotions—but none of them seemed to come together. The pressure to create something meaningful weighed heavily on you, and the longer you sat there, the more frustrated you became. Naturally. You hated this feeling of being stuck, of not being able to tap into the creative flow that usually came so naturally. You had written countless lyrics before, but tonight, nothing felt right. Every word you jotted down felt forced, out of place, as if the inspiration you once had was slipping away. The longer you tried, the more you doubted yourself. What if you were losing your touch? What if your career was over before it truly had time to blossom?

"You look miserable."

You jumped slightly at the voice, snapping your head toward the doorway. Ji-yong leaned against the frame, his arms crossed and his dark eyes almost staring into your soul.

Your heart pounded, and not just because he’d startled you. "Keep your voice down," you hissed and motioned for him to come in, glancing toward the hallway. "People are sleeping."

He scoffed but lowered his voice as he stepped inside. "Relax, it’s just us up here. Unless you think someone’s hiding in the storage closet, waiting to snitch on you."

As much as you rolled your eyes, there was nothing you could do to hide the subtle smile forming on your lips. Hoping he didn’t see, you elected to return your gaze to the notebook. "What do you want?"

Ji-yong flopped onto the couch behind you. "To rescue you from whatever creative hell you’re stuck in." He glanced at the page over your shoulder, tilting his head. "Writer’s block?"

A long sigh escaped your throat. "More like ‘everything I write sounds terrible.’ I should just go to bed and try again tomorrow, but I can’t even do that for whatever reason, so I’m just kinda… stuck here, I guess.”

He was quiet for a second before drumming his fingers against the couch. "Or…"

"Or?"

"We sneak out."

You stiffened for a second, before turning around to face him. Only to realise he had leaned closer towards you. 

"You’re insane. You know everyone is asleep in the next room, right? And most of the staff? One wrong move and—"

Ji-yong held up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it, I get it. But that’s what makes it fun." A playful smile tugged on his lips. "Come on. You’re stuck, I’m bored, and the walls in this place are suffocating right now. Let’s get some air."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. This was stupid. Reckless. If anyone saw you, rumours would spread like wildfire. But at the same time… the idea of slipping away, of leaving all the pressure behind, if only for a little while—

"Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you." You quickly stood up, moving towards the door. You didn’t even bother closing the notebook or tucking the chair back under the desk. A dangerous move.

Ji-yong grinned even wider than before, already on his feet. "Deal."

He reached the door before you could, grabbed the handle and opened it for you to walk through, his typical mischievous grin never leaving his face. “Ladies first.” 

“Such a gentleman.” You quipped and walked through, not after checking the hallway first of course.

And just like that, the two of you were sneaking through the hallways, hearts racing with every quiet step.

The tension in the air was palpable as the two of you stood in the hallway, the soft sounds of your footsteps echoing against the polished floor. Ji-yong’s eyes were gleaming with excitement. 

"You sure you're up for this?" He whispered, glancing around as if expecting someone to appear out of nowhere.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking nervously to the security cameras overhead. The building was still buzzing with activity, but most of the staff would be asleep by now. Still, the thought of getting caught was enough to make your heart race. "This is risky," you muttered, trying to stay calm. "If we get caught, we're in trouble."

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against hers as he took a step closer. "That's what makes it fun," he said with a wink. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it attractive. Unfortunately for you, he was incredibly charming.

"Come on, I know the way."

The two of you moved quickly but quietly, sticking close to the walls to avoid being seen. The dim lighting in the hallways made it harder to spot you both, and every sound seemed amplified as you tiptoed past the security desk. The guard was hunched over, lost in the glow of his phone screen, completely unaware of the two figures sneaking past. Your pulse quickened as you tried to cover up your breathing as much as you could, but Ji-yong kept a steady pace, signalling you to stay low as you made your way toward the exit.

As you neared the door, Ji-yong reached for the handle, his hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them. He glanced at you one last time, a playful smile tugging at his lips once more. "Ready?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Just don’t get us caught."

“You know I won’t.”

With one final look around, he pushed the door open, and you slipped into the cool night air, your hearts still racing but filled with the thrill of your daring escape. The moment you had stepped through the exit and carefully closed the door behind you, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a sprint toward the car parked just down the street. The night air was crisp against the mostly bare skin of your arms and legs, the sound of your hurried footsteps filled the silence. Neither of you spoke—just the occasional glance over your shoulders to truly make sure no one had followed, accidentally making eye contact here and there.

Ji-yong reached the car first, fumbling with his keys as he yanked the door open. “Hurry,” he hissed, motioning for you to get in. You certainly didn’t need to be told twice. You practically dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you just as he did the same on his side. For a moment, you both sat there, frozen, chests rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. The street outside was quiet, undisturbed. You made it.

And then, as if on cue, you turned to each other, eyes wide with the weight of what you had just pulled off.

Silence.

Then—laughter.

It started as a breathless chuckle from Ji-yong, but the absurdity of the situation caught up with both of you, and soon enough, you were doubled over, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. You pressed an ice-cold hand to your burning face, gasping for air between giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He leaned back against the headrest, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I know, right? That was way too close.” He turned to look at you again, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You looked so scared back there.”

“Excuse me?” You began, “I was being cautious. Someone has to be the responsible one here.”

“And yet, here you are, sneaking out in the middle of the night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but, once again, couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips and the blood rushing to your cheeks. The adrenaline still buzzed in your veins, mixing with the warmth of the moment. Ji-yong shifted in his seat, tilting his head slightly as he studied you for a moment. His laughter had faded, but his expression softened, something unreadable flickering across his face before briefly looking away.

The laughter had faded, but the buzz of excitement still lingered in the air. He tapped his fingers absent-mindedly against the steering wheel. “So,” he said, glancing over at you. “Where to? Or was the plan just to run away with nowhere to go?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment, leaning back in your seat as you gazed out the window. “Honestly? I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

That made him chuckle. “Wow. Such faith in us.”

“I’m just saying, the odds weren’t exactly in our favour. But I guess you do have a way of getting people to do reckless things.”

“People?”

“Me. Specifically me.” You laughed.

His grin never left his face as he started the car, the soft rumble filling the quiet space. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering outside the windows, casting moving shadows across your faces. The world beyond the car felt distant, like a dream you were slipping through unnoticed. It was rare—to have a moment like this, away from expectations, away from the prying eyes of fans, staff, and friends alike.

Ji-yong snuck a glance at you when you weren’t looking. You were tracing patterns on your arm, brows slightly furrowed in thought. He wondered what was on your mind. He wondered if you had any idea how often he caught himself watching you like this—memorizing the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought, the way you pressed your lips together when you were frustrated.

And if you knew, what would you think about the way Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung teased him for it?

Ji-yong could still hear them now—Taeyang shaking his head with an amused smirk, Daesung’s knowing glances, and Seunghyun’s relentless, dramatic sighs. Just confess already, you’re embarrassing yourself. They never let him live it down, always pointing out the way his attention lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he always found an excuse to be around you. And as much as he brushed them off, he knew they weren’t wrong. The thought made his ears burn.

It had started one evening in the studio. Ji-yong had been half-listening to a new beat, scrolling through his phone when Seunghyun leaned over his shoulder with a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Hyung,” Ji-yong muttered without looking up, already knowing what was coming.

“What is this?” Seunghyun said dramatically, tapping the screen of Ji-yong’s phone. “You’re literally smiling at your messages right now. Are you in high school?”

Ji-yong scoffed and pulled his phone away, locking it. “Mind your business.”

Daesung, sprawled out on the couch, grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Taeyang let out a knowing chuckle from his spot near the desk, looking up from his own phone. “It’s always her.”

Seunghyun wasn’t letting this go. He leaned in closer, studying Ji-yong’s face. “Look at him. He’s already getting defensive. Next, he’s gonna say she’s just a friend—”

“But she is just a friend,” Ji-yong cut in quickly. Too quickly.

The room went silent for about half a second before all three of them burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, this is bad,” Taeyang teased, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Ji-yong lie so poorly in my life.”

Daesung grinned, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Bro, you don’t even talk about your crushes, but you think we haven’t noticed how different you act around her?”

“Different how?” Ji-yong challenged, crossing his arms.

“You get all… soft.”

Ji-yong rolled his eyes. “I do not get soft.”

“You do,” Taeyang confirmed. “Like earlier today, when she came by to drop off something for the manager? You barely spoke, but the second she left, you smiled to yourself like some lovesick teenager.”

“I—” Ji-yong stopped, trying to come up with a defence, but all three of them were already grinning at him. Busted.

Seunghyun clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “You’re screwed, bro.”

Ji-yong swallowed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. No. That was the last thing he needed. If you ever heard them talk like that, would you laugh? Would you tease him too? Or worse—would you start noticing the way he looked at you? The way he felt? And, as a result, would you distance yourself from him?

He had never planned for this—to care this much.

At first, it had been simple: late-night studio sessions, teasing exchanges, fleeting moments that he told himself meant nothing. But then he started noticing the way you made the air feel lighter, the way being around you felt like a break from the noise of everything else. And now, sitting here with you, watching the city pass by in the glow of streetlights, he realized he had been in trouble for a while.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “So… what were you writing earlier?”

“A whole lot of nothing. Or… trying to write something, but nothing came out right.”

He glanced at her. “Typical writer’s block.”

“Feels more like an identity crisis,” you muttered, half-joking. “I don’t know. I just kept overthinking everything. Like… what if I don’t have anything meaningful to say anymore?”

He frowned at that, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “That’s not true. You always have something to say.”

You let out a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “You sound so sure.”

“Because I am,” he said, glancing at you again before turning back to the road. “You’re one of the most passionate people I know. Even when you don’t say anything, you’re thinking—feeling. That’s what makes you good.” His voice was steady, sure. “You just don’t see yourself the way I do.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words.

He must have realized what he said, because his fingers drummed nervously against the wheel, and he cleared his throat. “I mean—uh, the way people who know you do.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, watching as he kept his eyes firmly on the road, as if avoiding your gaze would erase what had just slipped out. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Ji-yong.”

He shook his head quickly, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just figured something out.”

You tilted her head slightly, as if considering. “Maybe I did.”

He groaned, quickly running a hand through his hair. “This is why I don’t say things.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but there was no denying the way your heart was now racing for an entirely different reason. Trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, you decided to change the subject when you realised he hadn’t explained why he was awake when he found you.

“Y’know, you never said why you were up so late.”

Ji-yong blinked, as if caught off guard. “Ah… I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is your reason dumber than mine?”

“No, just…” He hesitated before sighing. “Not that interesting.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He hesitated again, longer this time, before answering. “Because my brain is a pain in the ass.”

That made you pause. “What do you mean?”

He let out a short, quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it. “I think too much. About everything. I’ll be exhausted, lying in bed, and suddenly my brain decides it’s time to overanalyse every stupid thing I’ve ever said, every choice I’ve ever made, every possible way I could screw something up.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s like I can never just… be.”

“You mean like anxiety?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I panic, I just—” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “I second-guess myself a lot. Get stuck in my own head. It’s frustrating because I know it’s dumb, but I can’t turn it off.”

Something about the way he said it—the exhaustion behind his words—made your chest tighten.

“Why didn’t you just say this earlier?” you asked softly. The car came to a stop as you reached a red light.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to make it about me. You already seemed frustrated.”

“That’s stupid,” you said without thinking.

Ji-yong finally turned to you, caught between amusement and exasperation. “Excuse me?”

“You do it all the time,” you said, shaking your head. “You act like you have to be the one keeping everyone else together, but who’s doing that for you?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the question. His fingers drummed idly on the wheel, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a voice quieter than before, he said:

“You.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Ji-yong let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the way the air in the car felt different—thicker, heavier. “Realize what?”

He glanced at you again, something unreadable in his gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something else, something more, but instead, he just shook his head with a small smile. The traffic light finally turned green and he continued driving.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you wouldn’t forget. Not now. Not when the weight of his words settled deep into your chest, shifting something inside you that you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet. And judging by the way Ji-yong gripped the wheel like his life depended on it, staring straight ahead, neither was he.

At some point, the heavy weight of the conversation had lifted, giving way to laughter and much lighter topics. The city stretched out around you, a blur of neon signs and empty streets as Ji-yong drove aimlessly, neither of you wanting to break the spell of the night just yet.

The two of you talked about ridiculous things—the worst stage outfits you’d ever worn, the most embarrassing moments caught on camera, the weirdest fan gifts he had ever received. He nearly swerved when he burst out laughing at your dramatic re-enactment of a failed dance move during rehearsal, and you doubled over when he confessed to once getting trapped in a bathroom before a concert and having to be rescued by the rest of the guys and a few staff members.

The car was filled with easy conversation, the kind that only came when time didn’t seem to matter. But time did matter. And neither of you realized just how much until Ji-yong absently checked the dashboard clock.

“Shit.”

“What?” You turned to him, still grinning from your last joke.

He gestured toward the clock. 4:32 AM.

Your stomach dropped. “No way.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “We are so screwed.”

It took a second for the panic to fully settle in, but when it did, it was instant. You sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. “We have to get back now.”

He was already turning the car around, the easy-going vibe of the night replaced with frantic energy. “We better pray no one’s up yet.”

Your heart pounded as you mentally mapped out the best way to sneak back in, every possibility of getting caught flashing through your head. Staff members were early risers, and some of your groupmates tended to wake up for morning workouts. If even one person saw you—

“We can’t go through the front,” you said quickly. “There’s a security camera right at the entrance.”

Ji-yong nodded. “Back door. Less cameras, but we have to be fast.”

You could already imagine the absolute chaos if either of your groups or, worse, the company found out about this. You and Ji-yong locked eyes, truly realizing at the same time just how risky this had been.

Then, for some reason—maybe from sheer exhaustion, maybe from the ridiculousness of the situation—you both started laughing. Quiet at first, then full-on, uncontrollable laughter just like at the very beginning of this little side quest.

“This is so bad,” he shook his head.

You wiped the happy tears that were forming in your eyes. “If we survive this, we’re never doing this again.”

That was a lie. You both knew it.

And as the car sped through the empty streets, the first hints of morning light creeping onto the horizon, you knew this night—this feeling—was one neither of you would forget. By the time you had pulled into the parking lot, the sky had started to shift from deep navy to the softest hints of morning blue. Every second that passed made the risk of getting caught even worse.

You both moved quickly, slipping out of the car and sticking to the shadows as you made your way to the back entrance of the building. He pulled open the door as quietly as possible, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.

“Go, go, go,” you whispered, pushing him inside.

The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel deafening. You pressed your back against the wall, Ji-yong right next to you as you both listened for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

You exchanged a glance, and without a word, started moving.

The first challenge was the stairwell—safer than the elevators, but the risk of running into someone was still high. He went first, taking the steps two at a time, while you followed as quickly and quietly as possible. Every creak of the stairs made your pulse spike.

Halfway up, you heard a noise—a distant door closing somewhere above you. You both froze.

Ji-yong grabbed your wrist and pulled you down into a crouch against the railing, barely breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut, silently praying whoever it was wasn’t coming down the stairs. The footsteps paused, then faded away in the opposite direction.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Ji-yong turned to you, eyes wide. “That was too close,” he mouthed.

You nodded frantically, your heart still hammering.

The two of you moved again, finally reaching your floor. Ji-yong peeked down the hallway before gesturing for you to follow. Your dorms were now just a few doors away, and you could practically feel freedom within reach.

You made it to the door first, pressing a hand against it for stability as you exhaled. Ji-yong stopped next to you, running a hand through his hair, a tired but exhilarated grin tugging at his lips.

“We actually made it,” you whispered.

He smirked. “You doubted me?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Ji-yong opened the door. As you stepped inside, you immediately realized you weren’t alone. The familiar voices of Taeyang and Daesung were already drifting through the room, and the instant you both walked in, the entire space fell silent.

The kitchen lights flickered overhead as you and Ji-yong froze. There, sitting casually in the lounge area, were the familiar faces of your group and his—Seunghyun leaning against the counter, a couple girls from your own group scattered around the couches, and Daesung and Taeyang, clearly wide awake.

You couldn’t even hide. You hadn’t even stepped inside before they all turned toward you.

“Well, well, well…” Taeyang’s voice rang through the silence, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to join us at five in the morning.”

Ji-yong cleared his throat, taking a step back, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flicked toward you, silently pleading for a way out. “We… just went for a walk.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow from where he stood, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A walk?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you couldn’t find any words. The guilt, the tension, the fact that everyone was wide awake and clearly waiting for you two to walk in made it impossible to lie.

“You two are really bad at hiding,” Daesung chuckled from his seat on the couch. “Did you think no one would notice?”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, giving you a small, apologetic smile. “We didn’t exactly plan on getting caught.”

“Oh, but you were planning on sneaking in here, right?” One of the girls from your group smirked from the kitchen counter. “Because it’s not like we’re all waiting in here for you to walk in.”

Taeyang folded his arms, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You really thought you could just walk in and slip by us, huh?”

You let out a long sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that there was no escape now. “I guess we’re busted.”

Ji-yong leaned against the doorframe, shrugging with a small smile. “Guess so.”

Seunghyun leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he studied you both. “So, what exactly were you two talking about?”

You froze, unsure of how to answer. Ji-yong shifted next to you, glancing down at his shoes nervously.

“Oh, you know,” he said with an awkward chuckle, “just random stuff.”

Seunghyun snorted, clearly not buying it. “Random stuff, huh?” He shot you a look that you could read too easily. “I’m sure it was really random.”

“I bet it was super interesting,” Taeyang added with a raised eyebrow. “Just you two, talking the whole night away. So what was the real topic of conversation?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you avoided their gazes. “Nothing important,” you muttered, hoping to avoid the topic.

Seunghyun grinned from his spot, clearly enjoying every second. “Oh, we know it wasn’t nothing important.” He exchanged a knowing glance with Daesung, and the teasing only grew stronger. “In fact, I’d say it was pretty obvious.”

Taeyang tilted his head, glancing at Ji-yong with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, because you two are definitely good at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” You shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice faltered slightly.

Ji-yong quickly cleared his throat, standing up straighter. “We’re just really good friends,” he insisted, his voice a little sharper than before, as if to convince not just them but himself too. He gave a small, forced smile. “Nothing more than that.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Mm-hmm. Just friends? Sure.”

“Not this again,” Daesung laughed mostly to himself. Again? What did he mean by again?

“You guys are ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, trying to downplay the awkward tension growing between you and Ji-yong.

“Well, we’re not the only ones who think it’s pretty clear,” one of the girls from your group said with a knowing grin. “But if you insist…”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck again, his smile faltering. “I mean it. We’re just friends. It’s not that deep.”

Seunghyun looked at you both for a long moment, still not convinced. “Sure, Ji-yong. You’re just friends,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “But I’m telling you, it’s pretty obvious to all of us.”

“You’re really good at pretending,” Taeyang said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You quickly changed the subject, desperate to get away from this conversation. “Well, we didn’t exactly plan on getting caught by everyone in the kitchen.”

“I mean, it’s not like you tried very hard to hide it,” Daesung said, unable to keep his chuckle to himself. “You two always look like you’re in your own little world.”

Ji-yong sighed, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. “Can we not make this a thing?” He shot a glance at you, but you weren’t sure what he was thinking—was he upset with the teasing, or was he frustrated about something else?

Seunghyun raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright, we’ll drop it for now. But you know we’re not buying the ‘just friends’ act.”

You quickly turned toward your room, eager to escape the conversation. “Guess we’ll work on pretending better next time.”

Ji-yong followed suit, offering a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll do better,” he said, his voice lacking his usual confidence.

As you slipped into your room, heart still racing from the teasing, you exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling lingering in your chest. It was ridiculous, really. Ji-yong was Ji-yong. One of the most sought-after idols in the industry, effortlessly charismatic, always surrounded by people who adored him. There was no way he’d look at you like that. You were just his friend—one of the few people he could relax around without the weight of expectations. And maybe that was why it stung a little. Because no matter how much your heart stuttered when he looked at you, you were certain he didn’t see you the same way.

Ji-yong barely mumbled, just out of earshot from you, before slipping into his own room, shutting the door behind him a little too quickly. He let out a quiet breath, leaning against it for a moment, rubbing his face with both hands. Why did it bother him so much? The way the others teased, the way they all acted like something between you two was so obvious. Maybe to them, it was. But to Ji-yong, it wasn’t even a possibility. You had never once looked at him like that, not in the way he caught himself looking at you. And why would you?

He sighed, pushing off the door and running a hand through his hair before collapsing onto his bed. You deserve someone better—someone who wasn’t always stuck in his own head, someone who wouldn’t second-guess everything the way he did. Someone who wasn’t him.

And so, just like every other night where his thoughts threatened to betray him, he shut them down before they could get any further. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that whatever he felt for you… it wasn’t something you’d ever return. If only he knew this is exactly what you were thinking about him, just on the other side of the wall. So close yet so far.

But that would be the least of both of your problems when you finally found out that a video of you and Ji-yong, with your hands intertwined, running to the car had gone viral. 

taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added!!):

@thanosscross

[writing-mlm]

hi !! saw you write for criminal minds and would love to see something with spencer reid !! there aren’t enough male reader fics for him out there. personally i’m a sucker for reader being used as bait for an unsub with spencer getting jealous and taking care of reader afterwards if they get hurt. but no worries if you don’t want to write that specific scenario, i would just love to see any spencer content at all lol. i love your writing and hope you’re having a great day !!!

The stress of a married man

Summary: Spencer doesn’t like the fact that his husband is out there; his husband doesn’t like the fact that Spencer’s worrying. Pairing: Post-prison!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader wc: 2.4k Tags/warnings: reader used as bait, blood, attempted drugging, kidnapping a/n: while what im referring to won’t be a part 2, just now I wrote 2 separate fics for this request. i’ll try and push it out before next week and it’ll be around 20k words… and a marvel crossover…

Spencer didn’t want this. It’s stupid. It’s beyond stupid, it’s dangerous. He doesn’t care that there’s logic behind it— why should he? Not when you’re putting yourself in danger just to speed up a case, not when there are other solutions. 

He twists the cap of the marker as he strains, trying to think of said solutions. None are coming to his head; none that are useful anyway. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek when his eyes dart over to you; sitting in a chair getting your appearance tweaked to fit the victim pool more. A fake mole under your eye, changing your eyebrows a little bit. You’re wearing clothes they’d found in a nearby Ross, stuff that he knows you’re itchy in because they haven’t been washed yet. 

Your feet are pushed into shoes a size too small, he can tell because you’re sitting without putting pressure on them and they’re laced too loose. If you run with them they’ll go flying. Maybe that’s for the better, he quickly decides. 

He doesn’t see the irony in his worry. The same Spencer who walked into a train and took off his bulletproof vest when the UnSub had a loaded gun? The same Spencer who made Hotch kick the snot out of him? Caught himself on fire and in the middle of an explosion? Stab himself and frame the other guy in prison— that Spencer Reid? Yes. Because he’s him and you’re you. 

First name Spencer, middle name Risk himself for everyone else, last name Reid didn’t want you to hurt. He didn’t want you tossed in the back of some guy's van and hauled to wherever. He didn’t want you to experience the torture the other victims are going through firsthand. He just didn’t. 

But you’re smiling with Tara, agreeing to let Luke slip a tracker into the thrifted bracelet you planned on keeping because it looked nice. You’re listening to Emily’s specific instructions carefully, you’re understanding the dangers that you’re about to face. 

And dammit you’re still agreeing to go through with it. 

“Be careful,” He’s almost pleading— no, he is pleading. He absolutely cannot keep himself composed like the others are. He can’t. 

“I’ll be alive,” You tell him, messing with the clunky jacket that fits the same way a child wearing their dad's jacket fits. Lightly, you punch his shoulder. “Don’t go worrying about me; this is my specialty, Walter.” He nods, tucking his hair behind his ear because yes, it is. You had transferred from the Hostage Rescue Team after getting your degree. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re using his middle name. He doesn’t catch it, in fact. He just caught that you said you’d be alive when he asked you to be careful. 

“Just…” He closes his eyes, opening them when he pictures the worst. You’re staring at him from behind a paper cup of water, eyebrows raised because you’ve never seen him so worked up. So nervous before; it’s stressing you out. 

“I’ll come back, man. Don’t sweat it, please. You’re making me nervous,” Shit, he blinks an apology and wrings his hands. He doesn’t want to throw you off your game any more than he already has and backs off. 

You watch as he walks away, heading back to his drawing board. He messes with the marker cap again, this time chewing on it. It’s a set he’d gotten that day, only used by him, so he’s not worried about germs or anything of the sort. Meanwhile, you move over to JJ to go over the plan seeing as she’s going to be the bartender. 

The plan is simple. You’re going to hang out at a local bar, the one flying the highest American flag and that has some stupidly adorable couple trivia night going on but you aren’t going to play. You’re going to sit at the bar, rolling your eyes when someone gets an answer wrong because it was so obvious even a moron could get it right. You’re going to nurse a stein of sparkling apple juice dyed to look like beer. And you’re going to get the attention of the man killing people. 

Currently, you’re still on the eye-rolling part. The questions are hard, you have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about but you can hear Spencer through your earpiece saying the answers without catching himself. 

A guy approaches you as you’re taking another sip of your drink. A white man, probably in his fifties to sixties, dressed as if he was a professor, and on the shorter side. So far, this is the guy. You smile as he takes the newly vacant seat next to you, his eyes immediately traveling to the jacket around your chair. 

“Can you believe they don’t know the fifty-six element?” He huffs after no one has gotten the answer right and the announcer presses the loud buzzer. 

“Barium,” Spencer immediately tells you. 

“I know,” You scoff. “Who doesn’t know what barium is?” The man looks delighted by your answer and orders a beer. He doesn’t care what brand, just says beer and drums his fingers on the wood until JJ brings him one. He thanks her without any condensation, no sweetheart, or even a lingering look. He says a simple thank you, miss. And hands JJ a crisp ten-dollar bill. 

“The youth these days,” He shakes his head as half of the trivia goers don’t get the answer to who made the laws of motion right. “They’re spending too much time learning nonessential things like provocative dancing and texting abbreviations.”

“You’re so right, sir,” You sigh. “I’m glad my grandparents raised me better.”

“Oh, please,” He laughs, holding his chest. “Call me Vince. I’m sorry for forgetting my manners.” 

“It’s quite fine,” You smile. “I’m Kyle.”

“Well, Kyle,” He smiles back. This is the part where he’ll have you look away and he’ll slip something into your drink. You’ll look back and he’ll cheer for something. It’ll be strong based on the videos, you’ll be stumbling within three minutes. But even before that, he’ll talk you into leaving the bar so no one can notice. “Whaddya say about a game of pool?” He points to the pool table behind you. 

You look, spotting Luke and Emily pretending to pay attention to a group of frat guys playing a game. Spencer tells you that he’s slipped the pill inside and you turn back to Vince. 

“It seems crowded,” You shake your head. 

“Well, cheers to two smart guys left in a modern age of idiots?” He holds up his beer and you laugh, nodding with your bottle. The drinks and you pretend to drink it. You feel it on your upper lip, it’s fizzy and you swallow your spit to make it seem real. He watches until you set it down and runs his fingers over your ear. 

“How about some fresh air?” Pretending to be bashful, you get up and follow him out. He’s not aware that Luke and Emily follow, too. 

Spencer watches from the van's cameras as you walk out of the bar. Vince has his hand on your waist and he’s talking about things so well it’s almost convincing. But he’s saying surface-level facts as if he’s only read the summary but not the full text. He doesn’t like how Vince speaks into your neck and how his eyes seem to gleam when you start to pretend to stumble. 

You prepare yourself as you hear the red car. Because once you do, he charges you into the side and it’s enough to send someone who’d been drugged to the ground. So, you lay next to the car, pretending to fall in and out as he opens the trunk. You hear the duck tape being pulled and he steps back into your view. 

“All you youth are still driven by lust,” He says, holding your face and then applies enough to cover your mouth. He puts you on your stomach and your arms strain as he ties your hands behind you. Honestly, you’re glad he’s counting you as a youth. You know the youth surely doesn’t because boy, you’ve stopped getting carded at bars years ago. Your ankles are the next things he tapes before you’re tossed into the trunk. 

Your head hits a pipe and you groan as he slams the door closed. Rolling onto your side, you feel the car start and work on finding the knife in your pocket. The blade flicks up— it had been pinned to your pants just for this— and you work on cutting your way out. He hadn’t done a lot of layers, just three so you’re out of it quick enough. 

His car stops, at a red light, because the car is still buzzing and he’s still listening to music that hasn’t been on the radio since there was a transatlantic accent. You take the time to rub your forehead before the car lurches forward. Working on the ankle tape, you hear the line between you and the others cut. You’ve officially entered the dead zone. They’ll track you using the bracelet from here on out. 

—

It’s nearly an hour before the car stops. It’s been twenty since Spencer joined Luke in the SUV. Being trailed by local PD and two ambulances with their lights off, he messes with the FBI windbreaker jacket folded on his lap. It’s yours, it’s tailored to your arms and the collar is worn from where you continued to flip it up and down. You’ll probably want it, it’s chilly out and only getting colder. 

He hopes you’re only cold because of the weather. 

“It’s up ahead,” Luke warns before he parks the car. They can’t risk the UnSub hearing the cars so they’ll have to walk the rest of the way. He nods, fixing his gun as they climb out. The others are close behind and separate. JJ and Rossi go left, Emily and Tara go right, while he and Luke go straight. 

The driveway, if you could call it that, to the barn, is nothing more than grass that’s been driven over so many times it doesn’t grow straight anymore. They’re sickly shades of green compared to the bright green elsewhere. He looks up, seeing the car you’d gotten tossed into, and adjusts his grip on his gun. His heart hammers, pleading that you’re okay. 

A barn comes into view, the lights are on and Spencer shudders. There’s the smell of pigs nearby that makes his stomach twist before he changes his focus. The doors are ajar— some blood is on the handle. He doesn’t touch it, but it’s wet. He sees the light reflecting on it. Luke gives him a look, holds up three fingers and Spencer nods. 

He gets to two before the door gets thrown open. 

They jump back but it’s only you. You’re standing tall, one hand on the doorframe and the other gripping your pocket knife. His shoulders sag at the sight of you alive and able to stand before he looks at your face.

“You’re bleeding,” Spencer immediately has you in his grip, wiping the blood from your nose and lip with his shirt. It’s a lot, but considering it’s a nosebleed that’s to be expected. 

“Got dropped on my face,” You explain through a wince. “The others are in the barn— they need medical. I patched their wounds as best I could with whatever was lying around,” Luke nods and radios for the ambulance to make their way up. 

“And Vince?” Luke looks inside the barn and whistles. “Shouldn’t have been worried, then.” He knocks your shoulder with his fist and you wink.

“Yeah, he really wasn’t strong. He dropped me twice, once on my face and then on my back. I think my head hit a rock—“ Again, Spencer’s hands are on you as he checks the back of your head. Luke chuckles and you roll your eyes, messing with your wedding band tattoo. “I kicked the shit out of his face and then hogtied him.” You wait for a beat before looking over at Spencer. “No hogtie facts?”

“You have a shallow cut on your head, it’ll leave a small scar.” He says instead and opens up the jacket. “You should sit, we can deal with the others.” He drapes it over you and you smile, rubbing his matching tattoo. 

“Okay,” He smiles and watches as you walk to sit on a log before heading inside with Luke. He looks at the man still tied up and then looks at the knife in his hand before walking closer. The man is wriggling and trying to speak, both of which he makes a point to ignore. 

He saws at the tape before it lets go and quickly handcuffs Vince, ripping the tape off his mouth as hard and fast as he could manage with his shaking hands. Vince starts speaking but Spencer simply lugs him up from the ground in one fluid motion.

“Shut up.” He walks Vince out and tosses him over to the local PD before he finds you again. You’re helping the lady of the victims into the ambulance, setting the thick wool blanket over his shoulders. 

“I told you to sit down,” He sighs and you spin around, hands up to show you weren’t doing anything. “Baby, you’re injured, please.” He grabs your hands and kisses your neck, hoping it’ll sway you.

“EMT said it's surface level and just a little bleed, nothing to fuss about.” He ignores the first part as he steals a kit from the ambulance, checking the inside to make sure he has what he needs.

“I’m fussing,” He beckons you over with two fingers and you huff, following him to the SUV where he sets you in the passenger seat. You watch, head on the seat as he carefully puts the items on the dashboard and cleans his hand with wipes. 

“It’s cute that you’re worried,” You smile, eyes flickering between him putting on a pair of gloves and his face. “Maybe now you’ll stop being so reckless during cases.” Leaning over, you kiss his cheek but he moves back in for a kiss on the lips.

“I don’t know about that,” He smiles and gently holds your chin. “Let me know if it hurts too much, okay?” You roll your eyes but he doesn’t move so you sigh. 

“Yes, doctor,”

[herefortarlos]

Favorite 911 Lone Star Fandom Memories 🚒

Thank you @thisbuildinghasfeelings for coming up with this lovely idea and thank you @strandnreyes @nancys-braids @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @reyesstrand @she-walked-away @carlossreaders @nisbanisba @tellmegoodbye @heartstringsduet @freneticfloetry @firstprince-history-huh @carlos-in-glasses @bonheur-cafe @heartstringsduet and @goldenskykaysani for all the tags! I read every single one of you favorite moments/memories and they made me emotional and so happy and grateful to know you all and be a part of this fandom! 💖

Anyone who considers themselves a fan of the show, regardless of how engaged with fandom you are, should participate and share if you want!

rules here

Oh, where to begin?!? I am still in denial that it's coming to an end this Monday 🥲I haven't been thinking about it too much which is also why it took me a bit to write this and think of which fandom memories for me I wanted to highlight. I hope we'll all be there for each other if someone needs a little extra comfort in the days, weeks, months that follow! 💜

All the fanfiction, fanart, gifs, edits, etc. and the friends and good acquaintances made through them!

I will always be grateful to Tarlos and Lone Star because they got me to start regularly reading fics again! I used to have a 2 hour commute into NYC and I would read fanfic while sitting on the trains but doing that for 2 years unfortunately burned me out on fanfic and my previous obsession. From 2020 to late 2022, I didn't read much fic. It wasn't until I found Lone Star through FB clips and TK's iconic, "Sure ma'am but just so you know I am a homosexual", that I had found something new to obsess over and love to this degree! Tarlos and LS also brought me back to Tumblr and into fandom in the first place! After I binge watched the show up to season 3, I needed more Tarlos and so I looked through ao3 and started with tarlos fics by @rmd-writes! I saw Rae was on Tumblr and remembered that was where I used to always find fic writers to follow! So I made a new account specifically for the fandom, hello here for Tarlos 😂, and truly engaged in a fandom for the first time! I got to watch all of Season 4 live which was great, and loved seeing people's live reactions to everything on here and loved the codas, art and gif sets people made so quickly after the episode had aired!

And then of course I made fandom and lifelong friends! I started engaging in fandom by leaving unhinged and excitable tags on people's fics and works 😅, as I tend to do, and slowly started becoming mutuals with people! And then @heartstringsduet really opened me up by dming and thanking me for my tags on a fic of hers, and the rest is history 🥹. Michelle really helped me to feel open and comfortable on here and I decided to share my name with people and now I have friends that I know I'll keep in contact with despite the show ending! Some of the most kind, creative, talented, accepting and welcoming people are in this fandom and I am beyond grateful to Lone Star for introducing us! ❤️

The lead up to the Tarlos wedding!

Gahhhh, all the bts we got, and the press tour Ronen and Rafael went on and that Hello! photo shoot, pretty sure my heart stopped when we got those pictures, not to mention the 2 episode Season 4 finale! Now that was a time to be alive! It was treated like such a real wedding and there was so much amazing promotion and was definitely wedding of the year for me!

Discovering I was pansexual and being more open with my sexuality IRL!

I always knew I was queer back in college, although parts of high school definitely make more sense when I stopped to think about them 😂. But because I was in a straight presenting relationship, I never thought to be more open with my queerness? Sure I had those few friends that knew and that I could feel comfortable with, and I had 1 good fellow queer friend at the time to confide in, but I guess I was still learning things about myself and how much of me I wanted people to know? Anyways, Brian Michael Smith and Ronen's coming out story helped me to identify myself and encouraged me to be my authentic self with people! I got my first pride flag because of Lone Star, that I will continue to display outside my house to show that this is a safe place for people that need that, and have met so many diverse and other LGBTQ+ individuals because of it! And also because of that, a good irl friend of mine came out as trans to me first because she felt safe with me! So yeah, a lot of good things to thank a show like 911 Lone Star for 💗.

Finally, becoming a beta reader!

I have been so lucky and have the most fun having been a beta reader for many talented writers in this fandom! Getting to see and help people with their works before they're published, seeing lines and dialogue that I suggested go into the final fic! Without a doubt one of the best things this fandom has given me, along with the many friendships that started because of it! 💖

An OPEN and zero pressure tag for a few people that I don't think have done this yet. @reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @carlos-tk @eclectic-sassycoweyes @paperstorm @dear-viv @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @lonestardust @bubblesandroses8 @emsprovisions @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @goodways @theghostofashton @henrygrass @lemonlyman-dotcom @guardian-angle22

[cyle]

still confused how to make any of these LLMs useful to me.

while my daughter was napping, i downloaded lm studio and got a dozen of the most popular open source LLMs running on my PC, and they work great with very low latency, but i can't come up with anything to do with them but make boring toy scripts to do stupid shit.

as a test, i fed deepseek r1, llama 3.2, and mistral-small a big spreadsheet of data we've been collecting about my newborn daughter (all of this locally, not transmitting anything off my computer, because i don't want anybody with that data except, y'know, doctors) to see how it compared with several real doctors' advice and prognoses. all of the LLMs suggestions were between generically correct and hilariously wrong. alarmingly wrong in some cases, but usually ending with the suggestion to "consult a medical professional" -- yeah, duh. pretty much no better than old school unreliable WebMD.

then i tried doing some prompt engineering to punch up some of my writing, and everything ended up sounding like it was written by an LLM. i don't get why anybody wants this. i can tell that LLM feel, and i think a lot of people can now, given the horrible sales emails i get every day that sound like they were "punched up" by an LLM. it's got a stink to it. maybe we'll all get used to it; i bet most non-tech people have no clue.

i may write a small script to try to tag some of my blogs' posts for me, because i'm really bad at doing so, but i have very little faith in the open source vision LLMs' ability to classify images. it'll probably not work how i hope. that still feels like something you gotta pay for to get good results.

all of this keeps making me think of ffmpeg. a super cool, tiny, useful program that is very extensible and great at performing a certain task: transcoding media. it used to be horribly annoying to transcode media, and then ffmpeg came along and made it all stupidly simple overnight, but nobody noticed. there was no industry bubble around it.

LLMs feel like they're competing for a space that ubiquitous and useful that we'll take for granted today like ffmpeg. they just haven't fully grasped and appreciated that smallness yet. there isn't money to be made here.

[dekusdante]

Well it's that time again for another JJK rant.

So by this point I would assume that most of you know my eternal hatred towards the enemies to lovers trope when it comes to Gojo x reader stories right.

Well we are back at it again cause I am hoping people know that this type of relationship isn't one that Gojo would ever go for. Like it's one of those things that the fandom latched on to like My Hero Academia Hawks being a flirty playboy. It's not something that fits the character but it something that so many people latched on to that they now believe that it's a thing.

Like Gojo knows his worth and value. He literally dislikes those that he views as stuck up or just down right unlikeable. Aka every reader in the enemies to lovers trope. Like you are telling me you hate this guy for no reason but it's okay because your only saving grace is that he finds you attractive.

Seriously.

That is the how 95% of them go. Also to even it out they would make Gojo do some out of pocket stuff to justify the reader treating him like dirt while also always making him the bad guy even if he did nothing wrong.

I am so sick of this copy and paste trope. Now I know i don't have to read it which I don't. If I see it I keep scrolling. Although there are gems I sadly just skip past them because I'm used to the bad and boring ones. (Lowkey reminds me of the dumbest Gojo x reader story on wattpad called Debt. Freaking dumbest reader/mc I have ever read couldn't even get past the first few chapters. The first and only time this has happened)

Another thing is bad reverse harem stories. Like I don't care the reader is 18! Why are men close to their 30s trying to have a relationship with them? Why is said 18 year old trying to have a romantic relationship with freshly turned 15 year old? Look 18 maybe considered an adult but it's still gross and it would have been better if the reader was 20 and up. Also if you want your reader to have love interests that are 15 then they should at least be under 18.

I am sick of gross age gaps, don't care if you are 20 years old dating a 30, 40, or whatever just make it legal! 18 isn't a cheat code!

Also harems suck since they either end up with no one, end up with someone not in the harem, or worst not even completed. Yet, the biggest crime is as I said it before the gross 18 year old cheat code.

Finally the last of my random rant which has to deal with genders and sexyal orientation. Stop writing about boy x boy if you are only going to stereotype them. Yes gay mean may like to be more of the feminine side but NOT all of them. Not all males who prefer to be a bottom want to wear feminine clothes and act like a femboy.

Not all trans people want to be just a title! Don't include them if you are not even going to try! Same with the non binary or gender neutrals. Don't include them but give traits that have a gender that goes against their stances. It's wrong.

Also I lied this is my final rant. Stop saying it's a reader story if you are not going to be neutral. For example giving a reader appearances that instantly alienate a reader. Sure I understand fem reader or male reader tags but to then give them hairstyles, skin tones that alienate others, or ect. I'm a POC (Person of color) and it sucks when you are reading something and instantly shown you are not included. Luckily the anime community is slowly but surely getting more inclusive. No I'm talking about those that want to read reader stories from fandoms like The Boys (Scarlett Witch took over i swear) or (Squid Games I know it's in Korea but dang why can't I be american?).

Anyway that's all. I would love to read and possibly reply to comments. Some may agree others not so much which is far I am criticizing something so it's 100 okay to throw it back!

[stardustrebels]

More of You- Chapter 8

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

WC: 2.3k Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff, some angst and eventual smut. Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back, wears skirts and dresses, blushes and wears makeup.

A/N: Soft, sweet, domesticated girl dad Joel is my favourite type of Joel. This chapter gave me the warm fuzzies, and was so much fun to write, despite life really getting in the way while I was trying to write it. I hope you enjoy!

You’d barely made it through the door that day when your phone had buzzed; Joel making sure you made it home okay. You texted on and off that first day, insides swooping whenever his name popped up on the screen, biting your lip to keep from grinning too hard. 

The smile that filled his face the next morning when he saw you waiting for him outside Harrison’s made your stomach flip. He greeted you with a low “hey, darlin’”, and a gentle touch to your arm before he opened the door for you to walk through. When you suggested taking your coffees to go for a walk, he agreed on the condition that you let him pay for them. 

You caught a glimpse of a photo of a little girl pasted inside his wallet. She looked no older than seven, little face grinning from the middle of a mass of wild curls, clutching the stick of a huge toffee apple between mittens shaped like cats. 

“Cute kid,” you said with a smile, pointing to the photo. Joel glanced down at his wallet and smiled back at you. 

“My daughter, Sarah,” he said. Your surprise must have shown on your face- a sheepish look crossed his features and he snapped his wallet shut and shoved it in to his pocket. 

“She’s nineteen now. Off at college, all grown up.” 

“Oh wow,” you countered, tilting your head and eyeing him curiously. It suddenly struck you that you had no idea how old he was. “You must have had her pretty young?” 

Joel nodded, plucking both coffees from the counter and handing you one. 

When you were back out on the street you both fell in to step together. You thought for a moment that he would change the subject. It would have been easy now that you were outside, but after a sip of coffee and a deep exhale he cleared his throat. 

“I was pretty young when Sarah was born,” he said, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “Too young to really know what the hell I was doing. Her mom and I… We, um.” He glanced to the sky, as if asking for help from the almighty to explain. He paused and eventually settled on “it’s just been me and Sarah since she was eight.”

You made a ‘hm’ sound and nodded, waiting to see if he would offer up any further information, but he didn’t. You hadn’t expected him to share something so personal so soon, and it seemed like he hadn’t expected it either. 

Since she was eight. You let the words settle between you. Joel had been a single dad for eleven years. That meant eleven years of school runs, birthday parties, scraped knees and tantrums. It meant being the only one to check under the bed for monsters, being the only one she came to when she was sad or scared or angry, late nights when she was sick and there was no one else to take turns with to care for her. Eleven years of making every single decision, and being the one she relied on completely for everything. 

You tilted your head to study him, and fully understood the reason behind the underlying exhaustion on his face for the first time. It was the kind of tired that never really went away, the kind that came from years of putting someone else first. On top of all of that, he looked worried. Worried that now he’d admitted his past, you’d reject anything to do with him because of it. You were surprised, but it wasn’t in a bad way. Something deep in your chest ached for him, but he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would want your pity. 

“What’s she studying?” You said casually, before taking a sip of coffee. 

“Huh?” 

“Sarah,” you clarified, “at college. What’s she studying?”

Relief changed Joel’s whole demeanour in an instant; he lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. The way his face lit up was so endearing.

He told you all about Sarah’s sports scholarship in Dallas, that she wants to be a physiotherapist, has been dead-set on it since she was little, that she knew she couldn’t play soccer forever, but still wanted to be around it. How hard she worked to get in to college, how he’d made sure that she never missed a soccer game no matter how busy or tired they’d been over the years. You grinned while you watched him talk about her, about how proud he was of her, and how he’d supported her through the years. Your chest swelled at how simply he said it, like there wasn’t even an alternative in his mind. 

You beamed at him, “It sounds like you’re a great dad, Joel. Sarah’s really lucky.” 

He shrugged, trying to hide a blush. “I’m the lucky one, she’s a great kid.” He looked down at the lid of his cup, fingers dancing around the edge of the plastic. “I miss her.” He admitted after a beat. 

If this man got any sweeter, you were going to scream. 

Joel cleared his throat and changed the subject, asking how your work was going and whether you’d caught up after your time away. He didn’t offer up any more information about Sarah’s mom, and you didn’t ask.

You’d been talking about music as you wandered for the last half hour, and it turned out you had very similar tastes. Every time one of you mentioned a favourite artist or album, the other would light up in recognition, unearthing little snippets of common ground. Joel told you all about the guitars he planned to build when he had some free time, the kind of wood he liked to use, the care that went in to shaping the body just right, the satisfaction of stringing it for the first time and hearing it sing. It made you wish you’d stuck with music a little longer, if only to understand that feeling. You told him all about the failed music lessons you’d taken as a kid, and your trial-and-error approach to creative pursuits through the years until you’d found one that really spoke to you. 

The conversation kept flowing as naturally as it had from the start as you dipped between little stories from your lives, getting to know one another in the best way. You’d both agreed to do a loop of the park before heading back; your coffee was long gone but it seemed that neither of you were keen to part ways. 

By the time you walked through the park gates, you were walking so closely together that your fingers kept brushing against his. Each time it happened it felt as though sparks were jolting up your arm. 

You figured you could easily close the last little space between you and slip your hand into his. The thought crossed your mind more than once and your fingers twitched with the want to try. But you didn’t. Because that would mean acknowledging that you were drawn to this man whether you wanted to be or not. 

And then Joel’s pinky curled around yours. Hesitantly, like he was feeling the same pull and trying to meet you halfway. Your stomach swooped as you glanced down at where your fingers were joined and let out a tiny, surprised huff. 

Maybe, just this time, you could accept something sweet and not overthink it. So you did. 

Slowly, you turned your hand and laced your fingers properly with his. His skin was calloused but warm, and his hold was gentle, as though giving you the opportunity to pull away. You tightened your grip and glanced up at him, watching his expression shift from surprise to something soft, filled with fondness. He exhaled, a little shaky as you both fell in to step again. 

“I was wonderin’,” he started, his thumb tracing idle strokes over your knuckles. “Whether you’d want to go out sometime?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, covering your sudden breathlessness with a laugh, “We could maybe even go somewhere that isn’t a coffee shop.” 

Joel looked down at you and chuckled. “I ‘spose we could,” he said, squeezing your hand playfully. “How about I take you out to dinner?” 

You grinned and squeezed his back. “Dinner sounds great.”

He nodded, looking relieved, although he hesitated for a beat, as if weighing his next words. 

“And, uh, I got these tickets,” he said, glancing over at you, “to a gallery openin’ down town. Wondered if you’d wanna go with me?” 

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A gallery opening?” 

Joel nodded, “Yeah. My firm worked on the place, so they sent me an invitation. Figured it might be somethin’ you’d like.” 

It was such a thoughtful gesture it made your knees weak. 

“I really would like that.” you said, trying to hold back your excitement. 

You used the fountain in the park as your turning point for heading back the way you’d come and you revelled in the fact that Joel seemed like he was letting himself relax a little into this - into you. 

“So, when is this big fancy gallery opening?” You asked, 

“Friday night,” he said, tilting his head and squinting over, “that work for you?” 

You hummed in the affirmative and he said he’d send you a photo of the invite once he got to the office, so you had all the details. 

“I should tell you, I don’t know a ton about art,” he said, nudging his shoulder gently against yours, “I just helped make sure the walls ain’t gonna fall down. You’ll have to help me pretend that I know what I’m talkin’ about.” 

“Oh that’s easy,” you said with a grin, “I learned this at college. All you have to do is stand in front of any painting and nod like you’re having a deep, intellectual experience.” 

Joel smirked. “Yeah? Show me.” 

You dropped his hand and turned dramatically toward an imaginary painting, narrowing your eyes at the hedge by the path, and tilted your head to the side. Then, forcing the smile from your face you nodded and gestured in to thin air before you turned back to him and murmured, “fascinating use of negative space.” 

Joel let out a laugh that made your chest tighten in the best way. 

“Damn,” he said, shooting you a crooked grin, “That’s real good. I’d believe you were an expert.” 

You smirked back at him. “Stick with me, Miller. By the end of the night, people will think you are too.”

Joel exhaled a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Guess I picked the right date, then.” 

Your stomach did a giddy flip at the word date. 

“Guess you did,” you murmured, letting your fingers lace with his again. 

You finally reached the corner where your paths had to diverge. It was quiet now, the chaos of rush hour had long passed. Joel waved away your concern that he was going to be so late to the office and claimed that there had to be some perks to being the boss. 

When you reluctantly dropped your hand from his, his fingers lingered, ghosting over your palm. A small shiver ran up your spine, and Joel must have noticed because the corner of his mouth quirked up just slightly. He gently pulled you closer, and you let him.

“This okay?” He murmured. 

You barely heard the words over the thump of your heartbeat in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathed.

He hesitated a second longer, his thumb grazing the delicate skin of your wrist. And then, finally, he closed the last of the space between you. 

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, careful. Like he expected you to pull away. But the second you leaned in, pressing just the slightest bit closer, he melted in to you with a sigh. His hand left yours and moved to cup your cheek. Your fingers curled into the collar of his jacket, pulling him even closer as you kissed him back, a small moan escaping your throat before you could stop it. Joel moved his other hand to the small of your back, pressing you against him with splayed fingers in a way that made your head spin. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when you swiped your tongue experimentally over his, and you felt his fingers press in to your jaw, urging your mouth open to kiss you deeper. 

He pulled away suddenly, breath uneven and warm against your cheek, matching the rhythm of your own. His nose grazed down yours and he sighed deeply. 

“We should probably stop before I decide I ain’t actually goin’ to work today.” He murmured, eyes glinting as he smiled at you. 

You let out a small laugh, cheeks warm, smoothing his jacket down affectionately. He brushed his thumb against your back a couple of times before letting you go. The absence of his touch after the last hour felt foreign to you now. 

You let your hand linger on his chest and pecked a kiss to the top of the scruff on Joel’s jaw. He closed his eyes, and an almost pained expression flickered across his face when you stepped away from him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked, suddenly nervous. 

He cleared his throat and his fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to pull you to him again. 

“I sure hope so.” He said, his voice low and rough. 

You nodded, knowing if you didn’t leave soon, you wouldn’t want to at all. “Have a good day, handsome,” you murmured, tilting your head with a smile. 

He took a breath and looked at you like you’d hung the moon. 

“You too, darlin’.” 

As you walked away from him, you decided that Joel Miller calling you ‘darlin’ was your new favourite sound in the whole world. 

Next Chapter

[loquaciousquark]

you have been my #1 favorite fanfic author of all time for like 7-8 years now for your fenhawke and ive always thought "god i would give anything for quark to write solavellan" but i respected that it wasnt your thing. so imagine the pure unbridled euphoria of checking in on your blog this week to see that he finally got to you. i actually screamed. whatever you come up with i know it is going to absolutely change my life and i am so excited <3

i’m so. sad. i'm SO sad. i was so happy for a decade just being mildly annoyed every time he crossed my dash and now i am having feelings and opinions and i don’t WANT THEM and the only way to get rid of them is to write them out of me, this is why i don’t love fenris or astarion at all anymore obviously

and like, I still don’t love Solas! I still think some things he does and some goals he has are really, really stupid! but this character I created to love him really loves him, and I really love her and want her to be happy even though she lives only inside my head, and that means I need to lay down some structure around her romance to get the shape of it, to build something I can make sense of. I may not love him, but I like him much more than I did, and I certainly understand him better than I did the first time around.

And to be honest, there’s a part of me glad I’m coming to it as late as I have. I don’t think I’ve ever read a single Solavellan fic in my life (I actually had to pause here to check the spelling). I have NO idea what tropes are popular with him or what interpretations are the biggest. I have a lot of opinions on how his personality and identity work in a romance with this particular character I’ve created, but because I’ve been so siloed I have no idea if I’m bucking the grain or not, which is fine by me.

Plus, it helps I’m not going to have ten years to build up a lot of personal headcanons and jossable thoughts before playing the new game. I’m not someone who easily ignores canon when it clashes with my imagination for the major things, so I think this will (hopefully) keep me from major disappointments.

It's kinda funny; earlier today I was going back through my DAI tag and reminding myself of all my impressions from the first time I played the game. Some of them I definitely still stand by; others have completely changed. I even said twice that a Lavellan/Solas romance would be my next playthrough, which was true if ten years late.

But it's things like: apparently the first time through I loved Solas and Sera, both of which certainly were not true going into this replay. (I barely even have a memory of Solas and Priory ever being in the party together, though the historical records say I took him to Adamant.) I apparently had a lot of hopes Gideon Emery would be voicing Fenris. I originally thought Priory was going to romance Bull, which is very ?????? after all this time. (I did still, even then, know Here Lies the Abyss completely broke her as a character, and ten years on I never could fix her for good.)

I really did not expect to change my mind on Solas going into this replay, I guess is the point. I replayed because knowing the story of DAI and Solas, I felt it was a story most personalized to elves and specifically a Solas-romancing Lavellan, and that was the worldstate I wanted to take into the new game. I played it out because that's the kind of person I am (I can't just invent characters wholesale in my head) but I really thought it was going to be a perfunctory playthrough as a stepping stone to a different game and a different PC and (presumably) a different romance. I didn't expect to love this character as much as I do, and even if I don't have ten years to write her out the way I did Hawke, I feel like I still owe it to her & her doomed romance to give her a little time in the spotlight. Lucky girl!

[leftalpacavoid]

🎭 His Dear Witch ~ 🎭

It's unknown why do you even eixst. The SCP Foundation doesn't know what to do with you. You're a confusing paradox that they do not understand and most frustratingly—uncontainable in a conventional sense.

#TAGS: Nothing time twins related, SCP Fandom is slowly drawing me back, It includes SCP! Reader, The Herta! Reader, Honkai Star Rail x SCP Crossover, Potentially OOC, Reader x Canon, Witch Reader, Short Writing, The Herta! Reader x SCP character, More stuff like this would be included if interested, SCP FANS ARISE. 🔥🔥🔥

— TW?: Possesive Themes, Be Warned, 035 Being 035 As Usual, Potential Yandere Themes, He Calls You His 'Wife'.

A/N: After hitting maxed pity on herta's banner along with her LC, I decided to make an interesting crossover because I thought it would be interesting to see how this goes for The Herta! Reader Insert. (Huge bonus that I'm blessed with good stats while I'm building her. 🙏)

You’re the definition of an enigma. A literal spacefaring, unknown anomaly wrapped up in an elegantly appearance, self-aware, and untouchable persona. The Foundation doesn’t know what to do with you, and SCP-035? He’s utterly entranced.

And Who Exactly Are You in the SCP Foundation?

You are Anomaly [REDACTED], a Level 6: CTS entity classified under Euclid. They don’t fully understand what you are—just that you exist, that you have an unsettling level of influence, and that you are playing the longest of long games.

You don’t act out. You don’t cause destruction. You don’t try to escape. Instead, you watch. You let them wonder why you haven’t done anything drastic, knowing full well that the moment you choose to tip the scales, everything changes.

They don’t imprison you because they can’t. They simply keep you in containment because you allow them to.

And then there’s SCP-035.

SCP-035 has never met someone like you before.

He’s charming, cunning, and manipulative—but none of it works on you. Not because you’re immune to him, but because you let him think he’s in control before flipping the script entirely.

You’re his perfect counterpart. The ultimate tease, the unattainable yet tangible anomaly that keeps him guessing.

At first, he tries to toy with you, flirt with you, unnerve you. And then, he realizes.

Oh.

You’re not like the others.

You understand him. You see through every little act, every trick, every calculated play. But instead of rejecting him or trying to outmaneuver him, you do something infinitely worse.

You indulge him.

You let him speak his flowery words, you humor his charm—but it’s clear who the real player is in this game. He’s used to being in control, but you? You make it so easy for him to fall under your spell instead.

And it drives him insane.

The Foundation is uneasy. Not because you’re violent, but because they cannot predict what you’re doing.

Why do you allow SCP-035 to get so close?

Why does SCP-035, a master manipulator, seem to worship you?

What is your endgame?

They want to separate you two, but the problem? 035 actually behaves when you’re around.

If anything, he’s less volatile, less inclined to escape, more… cooperative. But only because he knows that if he behaves, he gets you.

035: (mocking, but with an underlying threat) “Oh? You want to take my darling away? My wife?” (chuckles darkly) “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. You wouldn’t want to see me upset, would you?”

The researchers watching? Having war flashbacks.

The Real Question is...Why You Haven’t Given Him a Permanent Host (Yet)?

Because you’re playing the long game.

You could give him a permanent body. A perfect, indestructible vessel crafted specifically for him. A host that would never rot, never decay, never fail him.

And he knows you can.

That’s why he adores you. That’s why he’s obsessed.

But you? You wait.

You let him yearn. Let him crave it. Let him wonder if today is the day you’ll finally grant him that final gift.

035: (grinning, tilting his host’s head at you) “Tell me, dearest… when will you finally stop teasing me?”

You: (smirking, brushing a hand over his mask, whispering) “Would you love me the same if I gave you everything at once?”

035: … (soft chuckle) “Ah. I see. You do know me too well, don’t you?”

And the Foundation? Losing their minds. Because whatever the hell this is? It’s not normal.

They don’t know if it’s love, obsession, or something far worse.

But they do know one thing:

SCP-035 is yours.

[29daffodils]

to plot or to not plot, that's the question

there's post under the tag that... really tickled my brain because i somewhat agree with it. but not entirely, considering i do still believe OP sounds... i dunno, something, while they are telling FK stans to “have some dignity”. so I'll just add to that, because i think fan interpretation and looking deep into a story is important, than say, just being fed all the info.

now let's start with saying i am a FKT stan and I'll be somewhat biased in my approach, but i will still try to keep this as neutral as possible.

that said, i do think jojo's writing needs improvement. a looooooot of improvement. the other day i was complaining to my friend @skyfish7 how jojo tends to use serious topics as plot devices and then does nothing with them. also the fact that he has a flair for drama and usually seems to include it in places to engage the viewers but he handles it poorly (boeing, I'm looking at you bitchass) or simply doesn't conclude them well (kant's phobia, bison's bdsm shtick, etc, i know we still have 2 eps left, don't kill me yet).

i do think OP was coming from a genuine place but also, i will take the time to defend jojo here too. because THK is not all trash. joong and dunk's characters are visibly seen to be falling in love, whereas first and khaotung's are more subtle.

i know what OP means by saying that it's still hard to believe that kant is in love with bison. because part of me feels that too. i believe a lot of it is because we do not see any detailed development where it's needed or it is skipped over in favour for more drama. like i said, jojo tends to gravitate towards big impactful scenes but he does not lay out the finer details. i am choosing to think that's just his writing style and not him just being a terrible writer. as my girl sky said, it leaves something to the viewer's imagination. and yes, she's right and i agree. spoon feeding every bit of a story is lame and boring, but sometime you do need to add little details where they are needed.

if you've already read my post about how THK seems to be losing steam, you might know what I'm talking about.

I'm very much convinced that this could have done well with a binge watch or if it were in movie format. but imo there's too many things going on with the focus distributed disproportionately among them, which in turn, i think, kinda makes the character development take backseat.

but let me add something about bikant because OP seems to be under the impression that they are simply trash.

jojo tends to make the falling in love subtle. at least for his FK characters. in bikant's case, they were both already smitten with each other from the first meeting. especially kant. he was head over heels for bison and it was very visible. it was deliberately shown. so when he does start the mission of getting dirt on him, the most visible emotion we see from kant is guilt. nothing else but guilt. and that is because it's already established he likes bison as a person. kant's character is written as someone who compartmentalizes things so even when he does find out bison's a hitman and there's proof (we see him staring horrified at the corkboard in their house) he quickly dismisses it. we repeatedly see style telling us that kant is smitten with bison. why? because kant doesn't have the mental capacity to think about romance right now, so it's style who tells the viewers his friend is wrapped around bison's little finger. the time when we finally actually see him do anything remotely truthful is ep#7 — the bowling alley and northern lights scene. kant has successfully gathered all the info he can and now he knows he might lose bison. so this one night he actually goes and lets himself love truthfully. he does all the things he would have done after that first meeting with bison. and then when bison gets shot, that's when he realises what he actually wants. the hospital scene is an important one because it cements the fact that kant cares, kant is in love, but his brain hasn't caught up to the feeling yet the idea is there, the proof is there, but he hasn't had the reprieve to sit and think and let that love marinate well. it's why even when kant says that he loves bison, it's difficult for us to believe. it's difficult for bison to believe. remember, we are viewing the beach scene from bison's pov and he ultimately asks, “you are not fooling me again, are you?” and that is the question from the viewers as well.

“you are not fooling us again, are you, kant?”

so all bison and we can do is take kant at face value and choose to believe him. that's all there is to it.

bison on the other hand? bro has been whipped since the first night. he is a hopeless romantic. he is an abused child hungering for love stuck in an adult's body. bison has been infatuated with kant from the get go, but he has also been suspicious and we have seen that suspicion slowly drop and build back up again time and time. but the moment bison actually spends all of ep#7 with kant and says, “i feel like my life is about to change”, that's him falling in love. that's him acknowledging that he is gone for good and he is finally choosing to believe kant despite the previous shady sus things he's done. bison had chosen to believe in him despite fadel warning him time and time again, and that's why the beach scene hits so hard. he is simply a fool in love. he is naive. he is the younger brother who doesn't know better. he just wanted to love, he loved and he got duped into being loved back (we all know that wasn't the case, but, bison POV like i said).

now, coming back to the point i was trying to make : do i think an extra tidbit of scene where kant's thought process was expanded on could have been better? yes.. maybe. but as a writer who likes to keep her readers interpreting and guessing, i choose to forgive jojo this time (as well). like i said, maybe this is just how he tends to write and honestly that's fine. every writer has a set of audience they are aiming for and i think there are plenty who enjoy his work (i do too, i just wish he'd tone down on the super big things suddenly being thrown in out of nowhere and then doing nothing with it).

and as far as sandray goes, boy do i have news for OP because ray is a classic example of a mentally ill abused child who is now an alcoholic and sand is a surrogate husband/caregiver growing up in poverty who puts himself last. that's their story. that's the story jojo wanted to tell, and i will rant about ray and sand and forgiveness (because OP thinks he is an asshole, so i want to make a point) but.... in a different post.

for now, this is it. i hope you forgive and understand kant. bro is trying and so are we.