#ao3 history lowkey

[927roses-and-stuff]

my first ever recorded fanfic read on ao3 🫢🫢

kinda wish ffn and/or quotev had this feature lol what was 2011/2012 me reading lol

[blindmagdalena]

First Time's the Charm

18+ 6.5k homelander x virginal reader. loss of virginity, virginity kink, fingering, mutual masturbation, penetrative sex, cunnilingus, light spanking, blow jobs, praise kink, light breath play, dirty talk. snapshot-style fics of homelander being your first in a variety of acts. AO3. fic directory

You're Homelander's biggest fan, and he's thrilled to take your virginity.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three ( male!reader ver. )

[lilflowerpot]

Hey, resident Daibazaal expert- does the planet have any moons? (Or none?) Sorry if you’ve answered this already, search is giving me nothing. 😔 I saw you talking about certain major stars, but I might’ve missed any moon talk?

You did not ask for an extensive origin myth, but this question really grabbed me by the throat without pause or mercy, so that is what you're getting.

-

One of Sa's youngest children, Daibazaal crept from the celestial womb to play where their mother had warned them not to wander, amongst the dunes Kii’ynor: boundless and beautiful and too delicate by far for the feet of a divine. When Sa realised Daibazaal was missing, and called out for Her child, they made to hide from their Mother's golden eye beneath the sparkling sands only to dig too deeply with too-sharp claws, and rip the fabric of reality clean in two; the sands of Kii'yanor swallowed them whole, and into our empty universe fell Daibazaal, with nothing but a handful of beautiful sand to keep them company. Too late now to cry for their mother, Daibazaal—brave and fierce and far too proud to bow to the lonely nothing into which they had fallen—set to work: as they had fallen, that glittering sand had spilled out across the empty void to become distant stars, with eons stretching between each one, and so with nothing else to occupy them, Daibazaal began their lonely march across the endless nothing to gather every grain.

When they reached the first, however, Daibazaal found themselves no longer alone, for the first grain flickered not with the scorching light of Sa's golden eye, but a sweet and molten thing that rose and fell in time with the unfamiliar gait of the one who carried it. Nsui, they called themselves, their voice strung with sorrow, lost.

Nsui, Daibazaal agreed, We are Nsui.

Without the heart to take the first grain from one who had been alone as they were, Daibazaal resolved themself to venture on for the second. As their newfound companion had no name of their own—long forgotten, if ever they'd known it at all—Daibazaal mused upon their quiet countenance with careful consideration; theirs was a contrary presence, inconstant yet loyal, sometimes walking in front so that their light might pave the way, and others trailing behind, a silent yet stalwart shadow. Yet no matter their position, seen or unseen, not once did they fall out of step with Daibazaal's own pace, the warmth of their company settling the heart and strengthening the soul, and thus they were named, Zera.

So it was that the two Nsui spent several eons more, before reaching another grain. This one did not glow, which at first Daibazaal thought a great pity, until upon raising the second grain into the light of the first to better examine it, there sprung upon its surface proud mountains, verdant jungles, and endless oceans of sand that reminded Daibazaal so much of their mother that they could almost hear Her familiar lullaby. This one, Daibazaal decided, would do quite nicely, and so upon their crown they bore their little world, just as their companion bore that molten light.

Before they reached the third grain, their number grew by three.

They'd sprung forth, the little ones, from Daibazaal's own shadow as it waxed and waned in Zera's light. The eldest, all valiance and vigor, took charge of their party's parade, forging forth with little regard as to whether their way was lit, and so for their fearless nature they were named Akahl. The youngest took it upon themselves to guard where Zera could not, this devoted soul ever chasing the light-bringer's tail as they painted nightfall in their wake, and thus for their protective vigil became known as Zu'nhi. The middle child was initially hidden from Daibazaal's sight just as they themselves had once hidden from their Mother, for even under the first grain's brilliance this one remained a dark whispering thing, little more than the echo that pursued their siblings' in silence, and fated to be known only by the shadow they cast; finding them quiet, as Zera often was, and so rarely witnessed, Daibazaal gave their middle child the name B'aa, for all the secrets they kept.

As fortune would have it, the third, fourth, and fifth grains were found in quick succession. Akahl was entrusted with the largest, glimmering and golden, its allure so enticing that it pulled the very sands of the second grain this way and that with the vibrant ferocity of life; while unto Zu'nhi, Daibazaal bequeathed the most luminous, shimmering and silver, its stern tranquility serving to bring discipline to the tidal ferocity that Akahl had wrought, and gifting to the second grain seasonal order. This left for B'aa a grain so dark it went near-unseen, as its bearer so often did, and so sharp that when they made to place it upon their crown it sliced the little Nsui's palm clean in two, spraying a thousand droplets of ichor across Daibazaal's brow when they knelt to comfort the child, and birthing upon the second grain the noble galra race.

Though B'aa so adored the people their blood had spawned, they were invisible to them, overshadowed quite completely by golden Akahl and silver Zu'nhi; while their siblings became the subject of ballads and art, B'aa remained the unsung shadow to their siblings' glorious light for millennia, until the sweet-tempered Nsui's heart did break and they became consumed by their sorrow, weeping tears as sharp as their pain and unyielding as their love. These tears, however, would be B'aa's salvation, pearlescent against their sombre face and inspiring such wonder in the galra that no sooner had they taught themselves the art of space travel did they fly to embrace the formerly veiled Nsui. The tears B'aa had wept for their beloved people became a blessing to the galra, as with them they forged weapons so that they may protect themselves and their loved ones from pain the like of that which B'aa had suffered: blades that could shift between a form as unassuming as their progenitor, and one that was brilliant and wicked and sharp enough to wound the divine.

[svtiddiess]

Hey! He's Mine!

Synopsis: Sometimes, you have to wonder if your boyfriend is really yours. With Seungcheol constantly hogging him (and lowkey being obsessed with him), fighting for Jeonghan's attention has become part of your daily routine. But you're not one to back down—if Seungcheol wants him, he'll have to pry Jeonghan from your cold, dead hands (and honestly, don't be surprised if he actually does).

Pairing: Jeonghan (SVT) x afab!reader, Seungcheol (SVT) x afab!reader (platonically!)

Genre: fluff, crack, established relationship

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Seungcheol and yn bicker a lot but they have a sibling dynamic so it's all good fun, Jeonghan menacery, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it anonie!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You're not the jealous type—really, you're not. But there's something about seeing Seungcheol constantly stealing Jeonghan away from you that tugs at your heart, just a little. And it's a valid feeling, you tell yourself. After all, you're his girlfriend, and it's not exactly ideal to have your man constantly being claimed by someone else. Yet, here you are, day after day, battling for your boyfriend's attention against his best friend.

"Hey! I was cuddling him first!" you protest, glaring at Seungcheol as he strolls into Jeonghan's apartment and shamelessly pulls him away from your cozy moment.

"You've had your turn—now it's mine," Seungcheol retorts, tightening his arms around Jeonghan, who looks far too amused by the whole situation.

"Excuse me? I'm his girlfriend. That gives me cuddling priority over you!" you fire back, crossing your arms.

Seungcheol just smirks. "Best friend of 12 years here. I've known him longer, so I think that trumps your claim."

"That's not how this works!" you argue, throwing your hands up.

"Actually, it's exactly how this works. Longer history means more cuddle rights," he teases, sticking his tongue out at you playfully.

"Hannie!" you whine, turning to Jeonghan for backup.

He just chuckles, shrugging. "Sorry, bubs. You're on your own for this one. Gonna have to fight him fair and square."

You let out an exasperated sigh, watching as Seungcheol smugly pulls Jeonghan even closer, clearly enjoying his victory.

You hug yourself tightly, trying to ward off the chill as you wait for Jeonghan to pick you up. The sound of a honk snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to see a car pulling up. Squinting, you notice Jeonghan in the passenger seat and Seungcheol behind the wheel. Of course, Jeonghan probably talked Seungcheol into driving—classic Jeonghan behaviour. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as the car comes to a stop in front of you.

Jeonghan hops out and immediately pulls you into a warm hug. You melt into his embrace, the cold instantly fading as he holds you close. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, "Did I keep you waiting long?"

"Not at all, I just got out here," you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses your temple once more before guiding you to the backseat and sliding in beside you.

"Why are you sitting in the back?" Seungcheol pouts, glancing over his shoulder at Jeonghan.

"Because I want to sit with Y/N," Jeonghan replies with a grin.

You shoot Seungcheol a smug look, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan and sticking your tongue out playfully.

"The front seat is way more comfortable," Seungcheol mutters under his breath.

"Maybe, but he's happier sitting with me," you say with a smirk, hugging Jeonghan tighter. "Now step on it, Uber driver, or I'll have to give you a one-star review and complain about your attitude. And trust me, I'm very detailed in my feedback."

Jeonghan snorts, trying to stifle his laughter, while Seungcheol glares at you through the rearview mirror. "You know, I don't even get paid for this," he grumbles.

"Consider it a charitable act," you shoot back, grinning. "Now, less talking, more driving. Chop, chop."

Jeonghan's laughter fills the car as Seungcheol mutters something about "ungrateful passengers" and finally hits the gas. You lean back, feeling triumphant, and snuggle into Jeonghan, who's still chuckling at your antics.

You let out an exasperated huff, glaring at the man sitting across from you. Turning to your boyfriend, you pout dramatically.

"Hannie, why is he here?" you grumble, pointing at Seungcheol, who's too busy shovelling noodles into his mouth to notice your irritation.

"Because I was bored at home and missed Jeonghan," Seungcheol remarks, barely looking up from his food.

"We're on a date," you remind him, crossing your arms.

"And I missed Jeonghan," he repeats with a grin, stuffing another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

"You see him every day! Probably more than I do!" you argue, your voice rising slightly.

"There's nothing wrong with missing my best friend and wanting to hang out with him," Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered.

"I'm on a date with my boyfriend, and you're ruining it," you grumble, shooting him a pointed look.

"Don't act like the three of us haven't gone out together before," Seungcheol fires back, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I don't want you here this time," you deadpan.

Seungcheol gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he's been wounded. "Well, I don't want you here either!"

"You're the one crashing our date!" you exclaim, gesturing wildly.

"You're the one crashing the time I was spending with my best friend!" he retorts, matching your energy.

"You guys weren't even together before this date!" you counter, your voice rising.

"And how do you know that?" Seungcheol challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I was with him the whole time!" you shoot back, exasperated.

"Well, I was texting him, so technically, he was spending time with me too," he says smugly, leaning back in his chair.

"That doesn't even make sense!" you groan, throwing your hands up.

"It does!" he insists, grinning like he's won the argument.

"Nu-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

Meanwhile, Jeonghan sits between the two of you, happily munching on his pasta, completely unfazed by the chaos. Damn, this place makes really good pasta, he thinks to himself, blissfully ignoring the bickering.

You lean back in your seat, resting your head on Jeonghan's shoulder and getting comfortable. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, and rests his head on top of yours. The two of you sit there, perfectly content, listening to the sizzle of meat on the grill and breathing in the delicious aroma filling the apartment.

"I should've changed the passcode to the front door," Seungcheol grumbles from his spot by the small electric grill in the corner. He's busy flipping pieces of meat, clearly annoyed but still committed to his role as the designated grill master. Tonight was supposed to be a BBQ night for Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but, well, you decided to tag along as Jeonghan's plus one…without letting the both of them know.

You glance over at Seungcheol and smirk. "Even if you changed it, I would've figured it out eventually. Seriously, what kind of passcode is 0001?"

"A perfectly good one! And I only changed it because you figured out the last one!" Seungcheol fires back, defensively waving his tongs in the air.

"Oh yeah, your super secure passcode of 0000," you snort, rolling your eyes.

Seungcheol pouts and turns back to the grill, muttering something under his breath that you can't quite make out. Meanwhile, Jeonghan leans over, grabs a few pieces of meat, and feeds you one. You hum in delight as the flavour bursts in your mouth.

"Cheol, your barbecuing skills suck," you comment, chewing happily as Jeonghan continues to feed you more meat.

Seungcheol's head snaps up, and he stares at you, visibly offended. Jeonghan stifles a laugh beside you.

"What do you mean my barbecuing skills suck?!" Seungcheol exclaims.

"The meat could be cooked a lot better. Just saying," you shrug.

Jeonghan pops another piece of meat into his mouth and nods in agreement. "She's right, Cheol. It could be better."

Seungcheol looks back and forth between the two of you, mouth hanging open in disbelief. His shoulders slump, and his lips form a dramatic pout. "You guys are mean," he whines.

"We'd be nicer if you grilled the meat better," you tease, grinning as Jeonghan feeds you another bite.

Seungcheol huffs and lets out an incoherent grumble, turning his attention back to the grill. You can't help but snicker as Jeonghan continues to spoil you with more meat, the two of you enjoying yourselves at Seungcheol's expense.

Sitting in the corner of one of HYBE's practice rooms, you watch as your boyfriend and the rest of SEVENTEEN rehearse for their upcoming performance. A proud smile spreads across your face as you see how hard they're working, their energy and dedication filling the room.

When they finally take a break, you rush over to Jeonghan and wrap him in a tight hug, showering him with praise. "You're doing amazing! I'm so proud of you!" you gush, your voice full of admiration. He hugs you back, laughing softly, and peppers your face with kisses as his way of saying thank you.

Just as you're basking in the moment, you spot Seungcheol heading your way. Instinctively, you step in front of Jeonghan, blocking him like a human shield.

"Hey, hey! No! This is my time with Jeonghan!" you say, holding your hands up to stop Seungcheol in his tracks.

"I just want to talk to him!" Seungcheol whines, trying to peek around you.

"You can talk to him later! I've been patiently waiting for my turn," you huff, standing your ground.

"Stop hogging him!" Seungcheol complains, crossing his arms.

"I'm not hogging him! You were with him the entire practice!" you shoot back, glaring at him.

Jeonghan just stands there, a soft smile on his face as he watches the two of you go back and forth. Seungkwan walks over, clearly over the drama, and groans. "Jeonghan, stop egging them on. We all know what you're doing."

Jeonghan chuckles, completely unbothered. "But it's so fun to watch them bicker. Why would I stop?" He grins, clearly enjoying the free entertainment.

And honestly, who can blame him? Free entertainment is free entertainment, after all.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @cherrybb96

[the-trash-site]

My favourite type of fanfiction at the moment has been 'y/n is reincarnated into fandom to save the characters from canon!'. (currently mainly reading for JJK and MHA as that's what I'm obsessed with.) There's something so pure about the plot and how the author has fun with it. With scenes where yn is lowkey simping or the actual character of the fandom being dorky.

I think the appeal (besides the amazing writing and passion given into each chapter of these fanfic, rec list below) of this is how straightforward it can be. You already know the characters, you know the canon. All you learn when first reading is what ability you get and how you fit within the world. Which is usually attending the school or growing up with the character.

But mostly, what I love is seeing the butterfly effect and the new dynamics it can create. But lately, I can't help but wonder about a fanfic that has the vibe of 'careful what you wish for'. And seeing what ripples that could make. (I write mostly of JKK and MHA but these ideas could be apply to AOT or Demon Slayer or any other fandom.)

I find it hilarious if instead, the y/n is older than the main group. Imagine being the milf/dilf of MHA. Being the same age as All Might or old enough to adopt characters like Shigaraki.

Or being the in-between age of Deku and the teachers. Where your options are; hanging out with the League of Villains, working hard asf to be a top hero to be around Hawks/the plot. Or becoming a teacher/assistant to watch over class 1A to change canon. I mean, what else are you meant to do in your early twenties? You literally have to force yourself into the plot lol

Oh, you have a favourite character, like Nanami, Gojo or Choso you want to meet? Here you go, a new life as their child! (probably be a sibling for Choso lol) Oh you met you wanted to rizz them up and treat them right? Nope, sorry, you're forced to tag along and face any challenges that would come as being a child to a; Jujutsu sorcerer/ the strongest/ a half-curse spirit.

Oh, this time you specified the thought of being dating/married to Aizawa/Geto/Toji as you died? Kinda weird but here you go! Your new life as their spouse! But only, you don't gain memories from this new life, as you only remember about the canon. Don't mind the grief and odd looks the character is giving you, their amnesia darling. It's not like you can't remember the wedding you two shared. (for maximum angst, they have the kids and you're just clueless about being a parent and saving the canon. yikes)

Okay, but what if you get super lucky? You get to be with the main character and do real help! Everything is fine in JJK but Sukuna is dead set on killing you. Every chance he gets, he uses until he kills you. But it's only after he brought you back that you learn it's because he actually loves you. After all, you're the reincarnated of his reincarnated dead wife. (not confusion at all, lol) He was just pissed that you dead centuries ago and couldn't have the life you two planned. It was his way of getting even. Definitely not annoying when trying to save characters.

Okay, for real now. Everything is perfectly fine...But what's this? Yuji and Izuku are actually yandere for you? Oh, that wouldn't change canon that much, right?

Anyway, here are my favourites fanfics;

Otherworldy attraction by Kilkyo851 JJK | on AOE and Quotev | multiple pairings | warning: yandere content

Tomorrow's sake by Kilkyo851 JJK | on AO3 and Quotev | multiple pairings

When I catch you Gege by Quinnyundertow JJK | on AOE | multiple pairings

Daybreak by sexy-captain-rexy (smolkatsudon) Star wars | poly Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker and reader pairing| on AOE

Promise: Thorin x Fíli x reader Hobbit | love angle with true pairing haven't been shown | on AOE (this one is interesting as reader has more visions than knowledge from media.)

Changing History [MHA! Various F!Reader] by summerblack | MHA | on Qoutev

The Future's Keeper [MHA!Various x F!Reader] by summerblack | MHA | on Quotev

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: You're studying on a Friday. Natalie doesn't like that.

wc: 4200 (blaze it) (im not funny)

warnings: none. I think.

a/n: happy birthday 2 me. here is another chapter. lowkey i wasnt planning on have two chapters in a row with a ? in them but oh well yolo and all that fun stuff. anyways this chapter is basically just two losers yapping (next one will b longer promise)

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: HOW CAN I MAKE IT OK?

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE ONE

The thing about Natalie Scatorccio is that she always seems to find you when you least expect it. It’s like she has a sixth sense, some radar that tells her exactly when you’re trying not to think about her—and then she shows up, smirking like she knows all your secrets. 

Today is no different. You’re sitting on the steps outside the library, flipping halfheartedly through a history textbook, when her shadow falls over you.

"Studying on a Friday, Princess?" She lets out a low whistle, "Now, that's tragic."

You roll your eyes and let a scoff fall from your lips, "Listen, not everyone can afford to just… throw caution to the wind or whatever. Some of us actually need to study."

Nat snorts as she fishes a cigarette out of her pocket, bringing it to her lips and lighting it, "I do study, just not on Fridays, like a nerd." She gives you a pointed glare, but it lacks any actual heat.

Without giving you a chance to object, she throws her duffle bag down on the steps next to you and sits down with a grunt. "Seriously, though." She ashes her cigarette, "Why're you sittin' alone out here, head in your…" She glances at the cover of your textbook, "history book when you could be doin' anything else?"

You shrug and close your textbook with a sigh, "I dunno. I guess it's just… the way things are, or whatever. Never really been the type of person who goes out on Fridays." Nat nods in understanding as she takes a slow drag from her cigarette, "Yeah, I get that. Nothin' wrong with that. But it gets boring after a while, yeah? Doin' the same thing every week, set in some constant routine?"

"I guess," You sigh and move to put your textbook into your backpack, "But don't you have routines? I mean, soccer and all that?"

"Yeah, I got some routine. Some days, I get up earlier than others to make it to practice. Some days, I spend some time after school kicking around a ball in the field. But that's not my point." Another drag of her smoke, "My point is that you can have some routine, but life is so fucking boring if that's all your life is." She rolls the end of the cigarette between her thumb and pointer finger for a few seconds before looking at you, squinting against the harsh light of the sun that beats down from behind you. "You gotta have something to shake it up every now and then, yeah? You don't gotta go to a party every week, but what's stoppin' you from goin' to one now and then?"

"It's just never been my scene, I guess. My friends and I don't really… do parties, you know? Like, we have small get-togethers or whatever, but we don't party. Never really seen myself as a party person, either." You shrug, zipping up your bag and moving it to rest on the step in front of you, "I dunno. I guess the…" You wave your hands around as you think of the proper words to use, "loud music and annoying people isn't exactly what I consider fun." A fond shake of your head and a gentle laugh, "But, hey, all the power to you if that's what you do find fun."

"You ever been invited to a party?" Nat chimes in after considering your statement for a few seconds.

You have to think about that question for a few seconds. "Yes." You finally manage, which earns you a skeptical look from the woman sitting next to you.

"Then why'd you have to think about it?" 

"Oh my God." You roll your eyes, "Because it's been a while since I got invited to one, alright? Like I said, I don't hang out with the type of people that go to parties. So…"

Nat hums at that, seemingly accepting the answer you've given her. "Alright. So what do you do on Fridays? Or the weekend? Or whenever you aren't with your nose in some book." She gestures to your backpack and the textbook inside of it by extension. "Nothin' wrong with it, but you gotta do something else, yeah?"

A huff leaves your mouth before you can stop it, "Well, you've caught me sketching once or twice, yeah? I'm a pretty big fan of that. Uhhh…" You think for a few seconds, feeling like this is an awkward first date where the person is asking, "What do you do for fun?" and it takes everything in you not to give out the most generic answers possible. "I think I mentioned meteor showers to you before? I, uh, I like stargazing. And I guess I kinda play games sometimes? Although it's usually just… simulation games or whatever. The mindless stuff."

"Right." The girl smirks to herself as she muddles over your hobbies in her head. "Drawing, stargazing, and simulation games. Yeah, you, my friend, are a walking funfest, you know that?" One last drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the step, "That stuff is fun and all, but you need some more excitement in your life."

"What? Like… stealing BuzzBalls from corner stores?" A faint smirk tugs at your lips, "Or taking joyrides in stolen Maseratis?" 

"First of all," Nat cuts you off before you can continue, "It was a Mazda. There's a huge difference. Second of all…" She hums and leans back, resting her elbows on the next step up. 

She looks over you in a curious sort of way, appraising your form and being. "You could skate. Could convince Kev to teach you a thing or two at the skatepark, as long as you aren't gonna cry if you fall. If you play simulation games, you might not be half-bad at pool or darts. Hell, even thrifting or something. Refresh your wardrobe. I swear, every time I see you, you're basically wearing the same thing, just in different variants." Then, a sly grin. "But the fun stuff? Bet I could teach you to tag stuff without getting caught. You're already an artist; you should leave your mark on some places, yeah?" Her grin widens, "Maybe I could even convince you to bust into an old factory with me." A beat, "Unless… you're afraid of ghosts?" Then, she's laughing to herself.

You try to fight the grin on your face, but it's hard when you find her smile to be one of the most contagious things you've ever seen. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you." A dramatic roll of your eyes earns another laugh from Nat, her smile wide and plastered on her face like she's having the time of her life. "But, also… I dunno. Maybe I could be convinced to try something new." "Maybe?" Nat parrots, still half-laughing. "Nah. I will convince you to "try something new"; you just haven't seen how convincing I can be yet." A self-satisfied grin replaces the smile she was wearing, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "And I can be real convincing, Princess."

And… yep. You're blushing again. Nat, of course, notices this. Her grin gets ten times toothier, clearly satisfied with herself, and she leans back again. "But," She shrugs—as if she didn't just fluster the shit out of you with a single sentence. "That's for a later date."

Before you get a chance to respond to that, you catch sight of two girls wearing practice uniforms approaching—a simple grey shirt with the mascot's name on it and some shorts. You've seen them around before; it's a small town, after all. 

Jackie Taylor—homecoming queen and captain of the girl's soccer team. Beside her, Shauna Shipman—who you… honestly don't know much about. You're pretty sure the two of them are best friends despite the fact that they seem like polar opposites. 

Something something opposites attract, or whatever.

"Nat." Jackie stops in front of the two of you, regarding you with a half-assed smile for a fraction of a second before turning back to Nat, "You will be at practice today, right? You aren't gonna ditch again to do—"

"Yes, Jackie. I will fucking be at practice, alright?" Nat cuts her off with a scowl and a roll of her eyes. You swear she's gonna add something else but opts against it.

"Well… good." Jackie nods, then glances at you for much longer than she did initially, a curious expression on her face. 

You don't have to guess why the expression is there, either. You aren't that dumb. You don't really look like the type of person Natalie Scatorccio hangs out with—not with your textbooks, sketchbooks, and meekness. No, you've seen the people she hangs out with. Misfits, mostly. There's that one goth kid, that guy with curly hair, and the redhead chick—who also plays on the soccer team with Nat. Then there are the… less than savoury characters. The people who she isn't seen around as much, but everyone knows she is around. Not hardened criminals per se, but people who are very, very rough around the edges. People who have longer rap sheets and far more "experience" being criminals than Natalie does.

Either way, Jackie doesn't comment on the stark difference between Natalie's usual crowd and you.

You give the team captain a tense smile as she looks at you, which she quickly returns before looking back at the girl sitting next to you, "We start in thirty."

"Yeah, I know, Princess." Natalie rolls her eyes, "I'm well aware what time practice starts, thank you."

"I was just trying to—" Jackie huffs and crosses her arms, "Whatever. Be there." Then she walks off, seemingly pouting, and Shauna gives Nat a shrug in apology before following.

Once the pair are out of earshot, Nat groans and pushes a hand through her bleached hair, "See, that's someone I call a princess in a derogatory manner."

You snort, "But it's not derogatory with me?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, "With you? It just… feels right. Dunno. Like that one chick we called "Crystal the Pistol" a few times. It's an affectionate nickname, or whatever." She waves a hand dismissively, "Not my point. Point is, when I say it to you, it's…" A beat of hesitation as she tries to find the right words, "Ugh. I don't know. I'm not good with words. Just know it's a good nickname, not a bad one."

"Right." Your eyes narrow slightly at that, but you don't push the topic further.

Which Nat seems grateful for, anyway. "Anyways. What the hell were we talking about?"

"Uhhhhh… hobbies, and how mine are, apparently, drastically boring?"

"Oh. Right." She nods, thinking about the previous conversation for a minute, then she gives a fond roll of her eyes and turns to you with a soft grin, "I mean… you said it. Not me. I just said you need some excitement. I'm not the one that goes stargazing for fun."

"Right. And most of your suggestions were…" You hum in mock thought, "Illegal, no?"

"'s only illegal if you get caught, actually." Nat shoots back, "And where's your sense of adventure, huh?" She nudges you with her elbow, "Gotta live a little, Princess. I know that BuzzBall was probably the first time you've ever… partaken in something illegal."

You roll your eyes and lean your back against the railing as you turn at the waist to face her, "Sorry, I don't willingly rob stores for fun in my free time. My bad."

You think you see Nat's jaw twitch at the comment, making you think you said the wrong thing, but before you can dwell on it too long or too hard, she lets out a hollow laugh. "Yeah, well, certified adrenaline junkie and all that. What can I say? Robbing stores gives me a rush." But the words come out slightly strained—like she's not telling you the whole story.

She clears her throat, clearly eager to move on from that particular line of conversation. "Whatever. Still. Like I said, I can… get Kev to teach you how to skate. Or… hell, you ever kicked a soccer ball around before?"

"In PE, yeah. But that's about it."

"Hmm." The blonde considers this, "You any good at it?" You snort, "Hardly varsity material, but I'm not, like, terrible at it or anything."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I can show you how to be junior varsity material. Shouldn't be that hard to play better than a few freshies, yeah? Maybe I'll even teach you some soccer tricks." She grins to herself, "Teach you the basics of freestyling soccer balls."

"Mm, promising a lot here, Nat. First, you're saying that you'll teach me to play good enough to beat some "freshies" in soccer, then telling me you'll teach me tricks?" You click your tongue, "How do I know you aren't gonna completely bail on me?" "Oh, make no mistake, I don't go back on my word. If I say I'm gonna do something, then you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna do it, yeah?" A toothy grin, "And that's the Scatorccio guarantee."

You snort, "Yeah, you say that like your last name holds a lot of value when it comes to trust—" 

The words are meant to be teasing, they come out in a teasing tone, but you still feel like a piece of shit the second they leave your mouth.

"I… I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I wasn't thinking—"

"Nah, no," Nat shakes her head and waves her hands, "no. Don't worry about it. I'm not mad at you or anything." A grin, likely to ease your nerves, "You're not exactly wrong either. But I'm giving you my word anyway. Which… you should take." 

"Hm." You take some mock consideration to that, "I will take it for now. But I make no promises for whether I keep it or not."

"Won't regret it." Her grin becomes slightly more genuine, "Promise."

You spend the next… ten, fifteen minutes? talking to Nat on the steps of the library, actually getting to know each other, rather than those single-minded adventures that the two of you have been on the past little while.

You trade off on the typical "first date" questions: Favourite food (Hers is apparently pizza, which you said was boring, then she rolled her eyes and dropped "Ribollita" and refused to actually tell you what that means.), fast food (Said "Taco Bell" immediately.) music (Matches her. Veruca Salt, Blondie, Nirvana, The Pixies… you get the idea. You asked her if she played the music on tape decks. She said yes. You don't know if she's joking or not.), books (She called you a nerd. Then proceeded to say, "The Anarchist Cookbook".), least favourite teacher (Mr. Miller, who teaches Auto Shop and keeps telling her repair work is sloppy.), and most importantly: the meaning of life ("ask me after I've had a tab or two"??).

After spending the past three minutes trying to convince her you don't get straight A's in every class, you decide just to show her your most recent in Physics and you… realise you left your binder in your locker.

"Crap." You sigh as you peer into your backpack, "I think I left my Science binder in my locker."

Nat snorts, "Didn't you open your bag earlier to put away your textbook? How didn't you notice it then?" "Because I wasn't thinking about it then." You sigh and close your bag, "I need to grab it from my locker. I don't—" "I'll come with you. Need to head to the locker room and change into practice gear." She cuts you off, pushes herself off the stairs, and, much to your surprise, actually waits for you before she starts walking. You try not to act surprised by this as you grab your backpack and throw it over your shoulders. When she does catch you acting surprised, because of course she does, she grins and rolls her eyes. "I said I was coming with you. Which means I am following you, and you aren't following me. Therefore, I have to wait for you. I still don't wait for people to follow me, Princess."

You can't fight the way your eyes roll and lips purse at that comment, "Right." Once you're standing, the pair of you head off in the direction of your locker.

"Dude, your locker is all the way in the old science hall? Who the fuck goes here anymore? There are zero classes near this place anymore. It must take five minutes to walk from class-to-fucking-class." She mutters, more to herself than you, and shakes her head as you two reach your destination. "Yeah, if I could have chosen my locker, it would be in the English hall. Right in the center of all my classes. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only person who has their locker in this hall." You sigh as you start to fiddle with the lock, "I've basically only seen the janitor up here. I don't know what I did to piss off whoever assigned lockers, but here I am." A sigh leaves your lips as the lock clicks open, "Admin won't even let me move lockers." Nat snorts and leans on the locker adjacent yours, "Yeah, sounds about right. They don't actually give a shit about the students here. I mean, for all the money going into athletics, you'd think they'd give us uniforms that don't chafe." An exasperated roll of her eyes, "So stupid."

"Sounds about right. Didn't the money go to the boy's baseball team or something?" She seems slightly surprised you know that but gives a nod of her head. "Uh, yeah. That's right. Which makes no sense considering we won states last year, and this year we actually have a good chance of—"

Her eyes zero in on the binder you're grabbing. "Holy shit. Is that colour-coded?" Her jaw drops in awe (or shock?), and she takes it from your hands, flipping it open. "H-o-l-y s-h-i-t. It is."

"I like having things organized by unit, whether it's a worksheet or notes!" You defend yourself, grabbing the binder back from her with a huff, "Sue me, okay!"

"Shit, I should." She lets out a low whistle, "Damn. All this for a…" She peers at the test you were going to show her, "B? Damn, Princess. That's unfortunate."

"You're making fun of me." You murmur petulantly, slamming the binder shut and shoving it into your backpack, "What's your GPA then, huh?"

Nat hums as she considers that answer, "Three point three."

"Wait." You turn to look at her, "Seriously?"

She laughs, "Yeah, seriously. I can't play soccer if I'm failing all my classes. Just because I don't show up to class doesn't mean I don't do the work for them." A roll of her eyes, like it was an obvious answer. 

"Mm. And do you do the work for them, or do you pay some unsuspecting nerd—"

"What makes you think I have the money to pay anyone to do anything?" The girl cuts you off with a snort and crosses her arms, "Trust me, I do all my work myself."

"Hey, who said anything about money?" You grin at her, "You have… dubious tendencies. For all I know, you're paying them some other way." You offer a teasing shrug, "Like stolen BuzzBalls or…" A faux gasp, "Oh my God. Am I the unsuspecting nerd?" Nat scoffs once and looks away, "Yeah, right." Another scoff. Then another.

…wait. Is she blushing? Did you just fluster Natalie Scatorccio? On accident? 

Between the way she won't meet your eyes, fiddles with the hem of her shirt, her usually pale cheeks now with the faintest hint of colour in them, and she swallows nervously? Wow. You think you did. How the tables…

You don't get too long to reflect on that before she's seemingly recovered and trying to act unaffected. "What if I am, nerd?" She leans into your personal space, "Maybe I'm looking for an unsuspecting nerd to do more than just my homework."

Now you're the flustered one. Again. "Uh—"

"I mean, think about it." She licks her lips, "The unsuspecting nerd and the resident burnout. Talk about opposites attracting. I could show you so much shit." A feral grin crosses her features, and your entire body heats up without your consent, "I could make you feel real—"

You take a step back, putting up both a metaphorical and physical space between you two. "Natalie. I don't—"

"Don't what? Oh, come on, Princess. Don't act like you haven't been thinking about it. I'm not dumb. I've seen the way you've been looking at me. Don't act like—"

You look visibly uncomfortable. Flustered, yes, but also uncomfortable. You're wringing your hands together in a subconscious act of anxiety, and whether that's because of her proximity or the situation, you aren't quite sure. Either way, Nat notices this.

You swear you see something like guilt flash behind her eyes once she realises she made you uncomfortable, but no outward attempt at an apology is made.

Natalie clears her throat and takes a small step back, the bravado dropping in an instant. "Whatever." She crosses her arms again, "Whatever. Let's just…" Her jaw tenses, and she shakes her head. "Nevermind." 

There's some very tense air that passes between the both of you as you awkwardly close and lock your locker, neither of you bothering to glance at the other, letting the awkwardness fester.

It probably would have kept festering, too, had the sound of Natalie's phone vibrating not broken the silence.

"Goddammit, I swear to God if Jackie is—" Her mouth snaps shut as she looks down at her phone, and a slow grin finds its way onto her mouth. "Ooooh, fuck yes." She looks up at you, "Say, Princess, you doing anything tonight?"

"Uhhhh…" You shake your head, "No? I was just planning on staying at home and…" You shrug, "I dunno. Relaxing, or whatever."

"Mm. I have a better idea. You should come to a party tonight."

"Oh." 

"Oh? That's it?" Nat rolls her eyes, "Come on. What was it I said about needing to get out of your comfort zone? A party is the perfect time and place to do it!" She shakes her head (and hands), "Look, it's a bonfire. If things go poorly, you can just… sit and stare at the fire and ignore everyone."

An unsure breath leaves your lips as you consider all the possibilities in your head. Of course, your mind heads to the worst-case scenario first, like a completely normal person would.

"Dude, seriously." She says, softer this time. "No pressure. It's just… a bonfire party… no, get-together, with some friends. That's it, yeah? Not like the entire town is gonna be there." She reiterates, throwing some emphasis on the fact it's "just a bonfire get-together," as if that will soothe all your nerves.

More hesitation on your part, but you can't deny the curiosity that seeds its way into your mind at the idea of seeing Nat in her element for once. "I… I don't know, Nat. It really isn't my scene—"

"It doesn't have to be your scene. It's just gonna be the place you spend a single Friday night. That's it. Don't ever gotta come to one again if you decide you hate it. Won't even bring it up again. Promise."

Even more hesitation. Even more curiosity you can't shove down and hide, for better or worse.

You don’t belong in the scene she frequents. Not really. But the way she grinned—like you were some project she couldn’t wait to take on—made you want to, even if it was just for one night.

"Come on. Drinks are free. Maybe they'll have more coolers you can try. Really dip your toes into the world of alcoholic beverages." She snickers.

Man, peer pressure does work, doesn't it?

You’re not a party person. But then again, Natalie Scatorccio isn’t just a person—she’s the reason you’re even considering it.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this…" You shake your head and sigh, "But… fine. Fine. I'll… I'll go to this stupid party."

A wide grin crosses her face. Wide and very pleased with herself. "Perfect. Good choice. Best choice, really. Won't regret it, promise." She pushes herself off the locker beside yours, "I gotta get to practice. But I will… see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." You sigh reluctantly, "I will… see you tonight, Nat."

"Hell yeah, you will. Maybe I'll even convince you to crack a beer or two. Smoke a cigarette. Real delinquent shit." She laughs at that as she begins walking off toward the gym, "See you tonight, Princess!" Nat calls from over her shoulder, "I'll text you the address!"

You watch her leave, blinking a few times in shock that she was able to convince you to go to a high school party so quickly.

"Well." You mumble to yourself, "Guess senior year isn't the worst time to go to your first party." You rub your forehead, mildly frustrated with yourself and your ability to say no, "Goddammit."

Well. Guess you have a party to prepare for, huh?

a/n: can i be so real with yall for a sec

every time i type in "natalie scatorccio" on pinterest i start feeling weird after the first few minutes cus I'm like "damn I'm fr just staring at photos of sophie thatcher rn" but I suppose it could be worse. could be staring at photos of (insert ugly celebrity name here)

[pandapetals]

Guys Night

Logan goes out with the guys getting wasted making me a big softie.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: Okay yes i know it’s lowkey impossible for logan to get drunk but idc i need him to just be a cutie and plus i loved writing girls night so whatever.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan had slowed down on the drinking after meeting you. What had once been a daily habit—a crutch to get him through the long, empty nights—had become more of an occasional indulgence. His healing factor made it nearly impossible for him to get drunk anyway, but the act of drinking had always been more about comfort than effect. A familiar ritual he could hold on to.

But when you woke up at 1:28 a.m. to the unmistakable sound of raucous laughter and slurred shouts echoing through the mansion, you knew something was off.

The soft click of the hallway light flickered on as you slipped out of bed, still groggy but now very awake with confusion. Opening the bedroom door, you stepped into the hallway just in time to see Jean doing the same, her brows furrowed as she looked down the stairs.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice hushed but tense with curiosity.

You nodded, falling in step beside her as the two of you headed toward the source of the commotion. The muffled sound of laughter grew louder as you descended the stairs, and by the time you reached the bottom, the scene unfolding in front of you was... well, chaotic would be an understatement.

There, in the middle of the living room, stood Logan—or, more accurately, half stood while being supported by Bobby, Scott, Kurt, and Hank. Logan’s usually stoic and composed figure was now swaying precariously, his arms draped over Bobby and Scott's shoulders while his head lolled back with a dopey grin on his face.

"Logan, man," Bobby was saying through his own laughter, struggling to keep his balance under Logan’s weight, "you gotta be quiet, dude, or you’re gonna wake up the whole mansion!"

You and Jean both stopped short at the edge of the stairs, taking in the absurdity of the scene. Logan, who could barely get tipsy on the strongest whiskey, was absolutely, unapologetically drunk. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy, and he was laughing—a loud, booming, uncharacteristic laugh that you hadn’t heard in... well, maybe ever.

"Oh my God," Jean whispered, her eyes wide with amusement. "Is that Logan?"

You shook your head, though you couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto your face. "My Logan," you corrected, watching in mild disbelief as he tried and failed to take a step forward, his knees buckling under him, sending Bobby and Scott staggering.

"I love you guys," Logan slurred loudly, throwing his head back again. "Yer all... yer all great! I don’t say it enough... but I mean it. You're... you're my family." His words were barely coherent, each sentence slurred into the next.

Kurt was biting back laughter as he supported Logan’s other side, his tail flicking with amusement. "Logan, you’re very... affectionate tonight."

Scott, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as amused. "He weighs a ton!" he grunted, trying to shift Logan’s arm more securely around his shoulder. "Why am I doing this again?"

"Because you love me!" Logan announced, his voice far too loud for the middle of the night. "C'mon, Cyclops, admit it—you love me!"

Scott's face twisted into a mix of frustration and laughter. "Let’s just get him to the couch before he takes us all down with him."

Before they could manage that, Logan spotted you standing by the stairs. His entire face lit up in an almost childlike way. "Hey!" he called, his voice practically a shout. "There’s my girl!" He tried to step toward you, nearly pulling everyone down in the process, before Bobby and Scott yanked him back.

"Logan!" you exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "What the hell is going on?"

His eyes found yours, and for a second, the chaos seemed to fade as he focused on you, his grin growing impossibly wider. "You’re the best thing... the best thing that’s ever happened to me," he slurred, his words heavy with sincerity. "I love you... I love you so much, darlin’."

Your heart softened for a moment, but then Logan, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion, suddenly became teary-eyed, his expression shifting from joyous to oddly vulnerable.

"And I never told you about that time," he started, his words blurring together, "when I... when I broke Hank’s favorite mug by accident, and I blamed it on Bobby... I’m sorry, Hank! It was me!"

Hank blinked, clearly surprised, though amusement danced in his eyes. "Noted," he said, shaking his head.

Logan hiccupped and continued, completely unbothered by the tears spilling down his cheeks. "And that time I ate all of Jean's cookies and said it was an emergency ration!" He looked over at Jean, who was covering her mouth, trying not to laugh. "I’m sorry, Jean... they were so good."

By this point, Scott and Bobby were both cracking up, barely able to hold Logan up as he continued confessing all sorts of things—half of them making no sense.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you said, half laughing, half exasperated, as you walked up to him. Gently, you brushed your hand against his cheek, wiping away one of his tears. "Logan, why did you let them get you this drunk?"

"I didn’t," he mumbled, looking adorably confused. "I just... I was just gonna have a drink... then Bobby bet me I couldn’t finish five bottles of whiskey."

Bobby raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn’t know it was actually possible!"

Logan hiccupped again, his glassy eyes focusing back on you, and without warning, he pulled you into an awkward, lopsided hug, nearly knocking you off balance. "I love you, sweetheart," he whispered dramatically, his words slurring against your hair. "You’re perfect. I don’t... I don’t deserve you."

You couldn't help but smile, your heart melting despite the ridiculousness of it all. "Alright, big guy," you said, patting his back. "Let’s get you to the couch before you start confessing more stuff."

Logan blinked down at you, his expression suddenly serious as he sniffled. "You’re gonna marry me, right?" he asked, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

You looked up at him, gently guiding him toward the couch as the others helped ease him down. "Logan," you said, your voice soft but full of love. "We’re already married."

He smiled and then promptly passed out, his head lolling to the side as his body went limp on the couch.

The next morning, Logan was a mess. He stumbled into the kitchen with a massive hangover, rubbing his temples as if the slightest sound would split his skull. His usual gruffness was turned up a notch as he poured himself some coffee, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.

Of course, no one was going to let him live it down.

"So," Scott stated, smirking from across the table, "how are you feeling this morning, buddy?"

"Shut it, Summers," Logan muttered, wincing at the sound of Scott’s voice.

"Oh, and Logan?" Jean chimed in, barely suppressing a grin. "I think you owe me some cookies."

Logan groaned, putting his head in his hands as the rest of the team burst into laughter.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in hand, watching the whole exchange unfold with an amused grin. Logan sat hunched over at the table, his head in his hands, and looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

"Rough night?" you asked, your voice laced with teasing, as you took a sip of your coffee.

Logan grunted without looking up, clearly in no mood for jokes. "Don’t even start," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, I’m not starting anything," you said innocently, stepping closer to the table. "Just wondering if you remember anything from last night."

He groaned again, finally lifting his head just enough to squint at you through bloodshot eyes. "I don’t remember shit," he said, grimacing. "All I know is I woke up on the couch with a headache the size of Canada and everyone won’t shut up about it."

You couldn’t help the mischievous smile that spread across your face. "Oh, so you don’t remember the part where you confessed all your deep, dark secrets? Like that time you blamed Bobby for breaking Hank’s favorite mug?"

Logan's eyes widened slightly, and he looked at you in mild horror. "I... said that?"

You nodded, doing your best to keep a straight face. "Mmhmm. And the cookies. Don’t forget about the cookies."

Jean chimed in from the other side of the room. "Still waiting on those replacements, by the way."

Logan groaned again, sinking back into his chair. "Hell."

"But, you know," you said, leaning over the back of his chair, your voice softening as you teased him, "the best part was when you got all emotional."

Logan’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he glanced up at you, still squinting from the pain of his hangover. "Emotional?"

"Oh, yeah," you said, nodding solemnly. "You were crying—crying, Logan. Full-on tears."

Logan’s expression was one of complete disbelief. "No way," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don’t cry."

You grinned, raising your eyebrows. "You did last night. You were telling everyone how much you love them... even Scott."

At that, Logan looked downright mortified. "I said I loved Summers?" he asked, his voice filled with dread.

Scott, still smirking from across the kitchen, gave him a mocking salute. "Love you too, Logan."

Logan’s face twisted into a grimace, clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. "Kill me now," he muttered, rubbing his temples like the hangover was suddenly the least of his worries.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer, the sound spilling out of you as you wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Oh, don’t worry. It was adorable," you teased, your voice playful but warm. "You even pulled me into a hug and told me how I’m the best thing that ever happened to you."

He blinked up at you, clearly trying to process everything. "I said all that?"

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, you did." You paused, leaning down so your lips brushed his ear. "And it only made me love you more."

For a moment, Logan’s expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with something vulnerable in them. He let out a quiet sigh, his hand reaching up to rest over yours, pulling you closer. "You’re messin’ with me, aren’t you?" he asked, though his voice was quieter now, less gruff.

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "A little," you admitted, "but you really did say all that. And for the record, I thought it was sweet."

He groaned again, his head dropping. "I’m never drinkin' again," he muttered, his voice filled with regret.

"Oh, I don’t know," you said with a smirk. "It was kind of fun seeing you like that. So... open." You leaned down to kiss his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to hear you confess all your feelings."

Logan huffed, but you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Guess I can live with that part," he mumbled.

"Good," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear again, "because I plan on reminding you of it every chance I get."

Logan let out a low growl, his hand tightening on yours as he pulled you around to sit in his lap. Despite his hangover and his grumbling, there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you, one that made your heart flutter.

"You’re trouble, you know that?" he said, his voice a rough murmur as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

You smiled, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his. "Only for you, big guy."

"Love you too, sweetheart," Logan whispered, the words gruff but real, the softness in his voice all for you.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #05 死

† medical emergencies †

"There's something ironic about learning to stitch wounds while he's sitting there half-naked, making your heart do things that probably need medical attention. But hey, at least if you stab yourself with the needle, there's a doctor in the house."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7,5k

rating: mature

content: V being a menace, worried Chaewon, slaps, stitching practice, getting to know the medical chief aka J-Hope, shirtless stormy men and sexual tension.

☠ author's note ☠

DISCLAIMER TIME! I am not, in fact, a medical student. Shocking, I know. My knowledge of medical procedures comes entirely from watching too much House M.D. and falling down WebMD rabbit holes at 3 AM. So if any actual medical professionals are reading this... I am begging you to suspend your disbelief (；一_一)

I did spend like two hours researching stuff though! That counts for something, right? RIGHT? The things I do for accuracy, I swear. My browser history probably has me on several watch lists by now. Between this and the weapons research for chapter 3... Yeah, I'm definitely getting flagged somewhere (◎_◎;)

BUT ONTO THE GOOD STUFF! Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please welcome our resident grumpy doctor to the stage! My love, my light, the medical chief himself - Jung Hoseok! What are we thinking? Because I'm lowkey living for his whole "I hate everyone but I'll still patch you up while cursing your existence" vibe.

Fun fact: I totally channeled my inner Dr. McCoy from Star Trek for his character. If you know, you know. And if you don't know... well, Spirk are my space parents and Bones is their bratty child. This is the hill I will die on. Do not @ me.

We've still got so many characters to properly introduce though! Remember that info dump in chapter 2? Yeah, we're gonna actually explore all of those personalities. Your girl's got PLANS.

Also, this chapter turned out way longer than expected but like... more content for you guys? You're welcome? I think? Look, my ADHD brain knows no word limits. It's either 500 words or 5000, there is no in between.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this one! Your comments fuel my questionable life choices and enable my caffeine addiction. Much love! (｡♥‿♥｡)

Caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧​​​​​​​

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You can't help but roll your eyes as V carries you through the castle like some damsel in distress. His confidence borders on cocky as he navigates the maze-like hallways, cradling you against his chest like you're made of glass. Which you're definitely not.

"Any chance we can skip this knight-in-shining-armor bit and just let me limp my way there?" You grumble, acutely aware of how your ankle throbs with each of his steps. "I promise I won't sue if I faceplant."

V's laugh rumbles through his chest. "And rob myself of playing the dashing hero? I don't think so, love."

His grin is infuriatingly charming as he spirals down another identical-looking hallway. The air smells like industrial cleaner and... cinnamon? You wrinkle your nose, trying to place that oddly familiar scent.

"You do know where you're going, right? Or should I start worrying that we're hopelessly lost?" Your tone is dry enough to kindle a fire as V makes yet another right turn. At this rate, you'll end up back where you started.

"I could navigate this place blindfolded," V assures you with a theatrical wink. "Just thought we'd enjoy the scenic route together."

"Scenic... sure." You emphasize each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster. But dammit, there's something about his playful banter that tugs at the corners of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making you smile.

You shift slightly in V's arms, trying to find a position that doesn't make your ankle scream. Each movement is a lovely reminder of how you got into this mess in the first place. t̶h̶a̶n̶k̶s̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶

The castle halls are alive with activity, but everything seems to pause as V carries you through. Other members stop and stare, probably wondering why one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae is playing nurse. Their whispers follow you like shadows.

"If you're trying to show off your navigation skills, I should mention we've passed that painting three times now." You eye him skeptically.

"Bold of you to assume I'm trying to impress you." His grin never wavers. "Though I'm flattered you think I'd go to such lengths."

The silence that follows feels loaded. This little detour isn't just about getting you to medical—it's about something else. A game, maybe, or a message. With V, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.

"So what's the real reason for the scenic route?" You can't help asking. It's weird how safe you feel in his arms, considering he could probably kill you fifteen different ways without breaking a sweat.

"Call it... building rapport." His voice drips honey-sweet mischief. "You're quite the talk of the castle these days. Thought I'd see what all the fuss is about."

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. There's something absurdly hilarious about being carried through the gang's headquarters by one of its most lethal members.

"Well, don't get too attached." The words come out lighter than intended. "This doesn't make us friends."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Give it time." When his eyes meet yours, they're dancing with amusement. "Besides, isn't this more fun than limping alone?"

More members pass by, their stares lingering a bit too long. You know tomorrow the castle will be buzzing with gossip about this little parade, but somehow you can't bring yourself to care.

"Fun's one word for it." You crack a smile despite yourself. "But just so we're clear—I'm staying out of whatever's going on between you and Jeon."

Something dark flickers across his face at the mention of Jeon, his thorny aura constricting for just a second before relaxing again.

"Wouldn't expect anything else." There's actual respect in his voice now. "You've got a mind of your own. That's rare around here."

The infirmary door finally comes into view. This weird little moment of almost-friendship hangs in the air between you.

"End of the line." V announces with theatrical flair. "I must say, this has been delightfully entertaining."

The wooden barrier of the infirmary looms ahead, but V shows no signs of letting you down. Before you can voice your protest, he shifts you slightly to pull out his digital card, swiping it with practiced ease. The panel blinks green, and he sweeps through the door like he's making a grand entrance at a red carpet event.

You're starting to feel less like a patient and more like a prop in V's latest dramatic production.

"Not you again, V. Get out of here."

J-Hope doesn't even bother looking up from his paperwork, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation that only comes from dealing with V's antics on a regular basis.

"But it's an emergency, Hobs!" V's pout is so exaggerated it should come with its own spotlight. "This young lady has been severely injured."

J-Hope finally turns around, giving you a quick once-over before fixing V with an unimpressed stare. "That's what you say every three business days."

"Ah, but this time it's different, I promise." V's grin could charm snakes, but J-Hope seems immune.

"And why exactly should I believe you?" He crosses his arms. "You know I only handle council cases and actual emergencies."

V sets you down on the nearest bed with surprising gentleness, his playful demeanor dimming just slightly. "I know, I know. But look at her ankle. It's swollen like a balloon. I couldn't just leave her hobbling around, could I?"

J-Hope sighs but steps closer to examine your injury. His touch is clinical and professional as he assesses the damage. "Fine. But this is the last time, V. You can't keep using the infirmary as your personal clinic for every damsel you distress."

"Damsel I distress?" V laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. "That's a new one. But I appreciate your assistance, Hobs. You're a true friend."

"Don't 'true friend' me." J-Hope rolls his eyes, gathering his medical supplies. "I'm only doing this because it's my job. And because she actually looks like she needs help, unlike your usual guests."

V lounges against a counter like he owns the place, watching J-Hope gather supplies. "Come on, give me some credit. I do bring real patients sometimes."

"Yeah, once every solar eclipse." J-Hope doesn't even look up from his medical kit. His earthy, sandalwood scent mixes with the sharp hospital smell of the infirmary.

V just shrugs, that playful grin still plastered on his face.

J-Hope finally turns to you, all business now. "Let's check that ankle." Then to V: "Get out."

"Think I'll stick around." V doesn't budge an inch. "Make sure she's in capable hands and all that."

"Right, because you're such an expert on medical care." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just admit you're bored and looking for entertainment."

V's laugh bounces off the sterile walls. "Maybe. Or maybe I just care deeply about my fellow gang members' wellbeing."

"Ignore him," J-Hope tells you, voice gentler than you expected from someone who looks perpetually done with everyone's shit. "This might hurt a bit."

You try to focus on J-Hope's treatment, but it's hard with V hovering nearby, his thorny aura filling the room. There's something almost fascinating about watching these two interact—like they can't stand each other but also can't help falling into this familiar pattern of bickering.

It hits you then, sitting on this hospital bed with one of the gang's most dangerous members playing guard dog while the chief medical officer patches you up—you've somehow stumbled right into the middle of Kkangpae's complicated web of relationships. And judging by the way V's still watching everything like a hawk, you're not getting untangled anytime soon.

The quiet of the infirmary shatters when the door slams open with enough force to make you jump. J-Hope doesn't even flinch—probably used to dramatic entrances by now.

Chaewon bursts in looking like she just ran a marathon, panic written all over her face. When she spots you on the bed with J-Hope working on your ankle and V lounging nearby, that panic turns to pure rage.

She doesn't say a word. Just marches straight up to V and slaps him so hard the sound echoes off the sterile walls. V, being V, doesn't even have the decency to look hurt. Just keeps grinning like this is all terribly amusing.

"Wow, you're feisty today, Chaechae." He rubs his cheek, still smiling. The nickname only seems to piss her off more.

"You absolute asshole." Chaewon's practically vibrating with anger. "I let you handle cross-training with my division for one day and someone gets hurt? What the hell, V?"

V throws his hands up, the picture of innocence. "Hey now, this one's not on me. Blame Jeon."

"Jeon?" She scoffs like the very idea is ridiculous. "Yeah, right."

You figure you should probably step in before Chaewon decides to slap V again. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but your division chief shouldn't have to deal with assault charges today.

"Actually..." You clear your throat. "It kind of was Jeon. I mean, technically it was my fault."

Everyone turns to stare at you. Even J-Hope pauses his ankle-wrapping to raise an eyebrow.

"I tried to ambush him," you explain, heat creeping up your neck. "There were these weird noises in the forest, then footsteps, and I thought maybe it was an enemy or something. Turned out to be Jeon. And then we found out it was all just V's paintball game."

Chaewon's anger dims a little as she looks at you, but when she turns back to V, there's still plenty of bite in her voice. "Paintball? Again? Are you actually five years old?"

"Guilty." V's grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "But you have to admit, it keeps things interesting around here."

"Can we focus on the actual patient?" J-Hope cuts through the tension, sounding like he's one dramatic moment away from throwing everyone out. "You can kill each other later, preferably not in my infirmary."

Chaewon's shoulders drop a little, but you can still see worry lines creasing her forehead as she moves closer to your bed. Her presence feels protective, almost maternal—which is weird considering she can't be that much older than you.

"You okay?" She asks softly, then shoots V a glare that could melt steel. "I should've known better than to let them handle cross-training. Especially those two."

V just keeps grinning like this is the most entertaining show he's watched all week. He steps back, giving Chaewon space, but you notice he doesn't actually leave. Probably hoping for more drama.

"It's fine," you try to sound reassuring. "Just a sprain. Could've happened to anyone."

Chaewon's face says she's not buying it. The look she gives you reminds you of when your mom knew you were lying about doing your homework. Meanwhile, V's just chilling against the wall, watching everything unfold like it's his personal Netflix series.

J-Hope works on your ankle in silence, occasionally muttering what sounds like curses under his breath. The infirmary fills with an awkward mix of Chaewon's worried sighs, J-Hope's grumpy instructions, and V's unhelpful commentary about proper ankle-wrapping technique that makes J-Hope's eye twitch.

"There." J-Hope finally sits back, your ankle wrapped tight in elastic bandage. "Nothing serious, but you need to rest. Keep it elevated above your heart, keep the compression on. Should be fine in a couple weeks."

Your stomach drops. "I'm sorry—did you say weeks?"

"If you're lucky." He stands up with a scoff that suggests he's seen way too many idiots ignore his advice. "Could be longer if you try to play hero."

You look at Chaewon, hoping she'll say something about how that timeline is ridiculous.

Two weeks of no training?

You'll be behind everyone else, t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶u̶s̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ completely out of practice by the time you're healed.

"I can't just not train for two weeks." The words come out whiny, but you're desperate. Two weeks of doing nothing while everyone else gets stronger? No way.

"Hell fucking no." J-Hope's voice is definite as he digs through medical drawers. "I'm not dealing with Jeon 2.0. You either rest for two weeks or I'll make it two months."

"That's why he avoids this place like the plague." V's still lounging in the doorway like he owns it, looking way too amused by everything.

J-Hope slams a drawer shut. "God forbid that fucker lets me do my actual job." He finally finds what he's looking for—a small bottle of pills. "Here." He tosses them at you with surprising accuracy. "Ibuprofen. One every eight hours. Six if you're dying, which you won't be if you actually rest."

"But—"

"Two. Weeks." Each word comes out like a threat. "Unless you want to become my permanent resident." His scowl could curdle milk. "And you—" He rounds on V, who's still grinning like this is the best entertainment he's had all day. "Get that bastard in here. His check-up's three months late."

V actually laughs at that. "What makes you think I have any control over what Mr. Stick-up-his-ass does?"

"Maybe he'll show up just to spite you." J-Hope's voice is dry as dust.

"Your optimism is adorable."

"Well, hope is literally my name." A rare smirk crosses J-Hope's face before his signature frown returns. "And you owe me, you dramatic little shit."

"As you wish, oh great healer." V throws his hands up in mock surrender, laying the theatrics on thick. "Your humble servant shall attempt this impossible task."

You stare at the bottle of ibuprofen in your hands, turning it over and over like maybe if you fidget with it enough, the label will change from "two weeks rest" to something more bearable. The thought of being benched for that long makes your stomach twist.

Two weeks is forever in gang time. Everyone else will be getting stronger, better, more valuable, while you're stuck playing invalid. By the time you're back on your feet, you'll be so far behind it'll be like starting over.

"Hey." The bed dips as Chaewon sits beside you, her presence grounding and familiar. "I can see those wheels turning. Don't stress. We'll figure something out."

"Actually," J-Hope pipes up from where he's finally managed to shoo V out the door. "You've got cross-training with my division coming up anyway. Could knock that out while you're healing. We always need an extra pair of hands here, and it'll keep you from going stir-crazy."

"Seriously?" You glance between them, hardly daring to hope. Medical training sounds way better than two weeks of staring at your ceiling.

"Makes sense." Chaewon nods, and something in her tone makes you think she's already working out the details in her head. "We can reschedule your Assassination Division training too. They can do individual sessions to work around your injury."

Wait.

Individual sessions? As in... one-on-one training? With V?

With Jeon?

Your brain short-circuits for a second before logic kicks back in. Cross-training exists for a reason—coordination between divisions is crucial in this life-or-death world you've chosen. One wrong move, one miscommunication, and people end up dead. If private lessons are what it takes to stay in the game, then t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ that's what you'll do.

"Okay." Your voice comes out smaller than intended, but you mean it.

"Good." J-Hope shoves his hands in his pockets, already looking done with this conversation. "See you tomorrow before lunch then."

"See you tomorrow, chief." You manage a smile, even as your mind races with possibilities—both exciting and terrifying—of what these next two weeks might bring.

Chaewon insists on wheeling you back to your room herself. The halls feel longer from wheelchair height, and her silence as she pushes you isn't helping. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head, probably already reworking training schedules around your stupid ankle.

She swipes her card at the elevator before you can even reach for yours. The ride up is quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and your own thoughts about how spectacularly you managed to mess up your first cross-training session.

The elevator dings open to your division's floor, and immediately you hear laughter spilling out from the lounge. Eunchae and Sakura are sprawled across the couch, but their smiles fade as soon as they spot you rolling in like some kind of injury parade.

"Holy shit, what happened?" Eunchae practically teleports to your side, crouching next to the wheelchair with wide eyes.

"Yeah, we heard all this commotion earlier but then you just... vanished." Sakura hovers nearby, her gaze bouncing between your wrapped ankle and your face like she's trying to piece together what went wrong.

You let out a long breath. "So... funny story. I tried to ambush Jeon during V's paintball game because I thought he was an enemy infiltrator or something."

"Oh no." Sakura's face does this thing where she's trying not to wince but totally failing.

"What the hell?" Eunchae's protective side flares up immediately. "Did that asshole body slam you or something?"

"Actually, no." You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds now. "He just... countered me. Really easily. I'm the one who fucked up my landing."

"That's rough, buddy." Eunchae squeezes your shoulder, and you're grateful for how normal she's making this feel. "We played it smart—just hid behind trees and watched everyone else lose their minds."

"Yeah, except someone turned out to be weirdly good with a paintball gun." Eunchae nudges Sakura with her elbow. "Better watch out, Jeon. You've got competition."

Quick footsteps in the hallway make you look up. Yunjin bursts into the lounge like she's being chased, pink hair flying everywhere, face flushed.

"I heard voices and—oh my god, are you okay?" The words tumble out of her in a rush. "I couldn't find you after all that shooting started and I got so worried and—"

"Just a sprained ankle," you cut off her spiral with what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, really."

Her shoulders drop a little, but she's still hovering like a concerned mother hen. "I got you dinner from the cafeteria. Figured you might be hungry after... everything."

The gesture makes something warm bloom in your chest. "Thanks, Yun. You're the best."

Chaewon clears her throat, reminding everyone she's still here. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Time to get you to bed. Doctor's orders."

Your little entourage follows as Chaewon wheels you to your room—Yunjin with the food tray balanced carefully in her hands, Eunchae and Sakura trailing behind like excited puppies. The scene would almost be funny if your ankle wasn't throbbing with every tiny bump in the floor.

Once you're settled in bed (after Yunjin fusses with your pillows for a solid minute), everyone finds spots to perch. The food smells amazing, and you realize you're actually starving.

"So what happened after I got taken out?" you ask between bites. "Did anyone else get ambushed by grumpy snipers?"

Sakura practically bounces in her seat. "Oh my god, you missed the best part! V did this insane action-movie roll thing when someone tried to corner him—"

"He looked like a deranged raccoon," Eunchae cuts in, making Yunjin snort water through her nose.

You lean back against your mountain of pillows (thanks, Yunjin), letting their chatter and laughter wash over you. Your ankle still hurts like a bitch, and the thought of dealing with Jeon and V for the next two weeks makes you want to scream a little. But right now, surrounded by these idiots who somehow became your family...

Maybe it won't be completely terrible.

t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶

Morning hits different when your whole body feels like it's been run over by a truck. Between last night's paintball drama and your throbbing ankle, you sleep through your usual breakfast time. Not that there's much point in early rising when you're stuck playing invalid anyway.

By the time you make it to the cafeteria, the morning rush is long gone. Your beloved croissants are just a distant memory, replaced by sad-looking toast and a fried egg that's probably been sitting under the heat lamp for hours. You grab a cup of earl gray because there's no way in hell you're touching that brown water they call coffee at this hour.

At least Eunchae's still around. She's like Yunjin's louder, bolder evil twin—in the best way possible. While Yunjin's off somewhere being productive (thanks to that whole "new year, new me" thing), Eunchae's happy to keep you company, practically writing poetry about her breakfast sandwich. The girl takes her food seriously, and honestly? You respect that.

When breakfast's done, she insists on walking you to the infirmary. You've swapped the wheelchair for crutches because hobbling around on sticks somehow feels less pathetic than being rolled everywhere like some kind of injured parade float.

You slide your card at J-Hope's private wing, expecting rejection—his space is usually reserved for council members and people who are literally dying. But apparently he's added you to his VIP list because the scanner blinks green without hesitation.

J-Hope actually looks pleased when you walk in, which is weird enough to make you do a double-take. Then again, he probably doesn't get many patients who actually follow his instructions. Must be a nice change from dealing with gang leaders who think they're too important for basic medical care.

Eunchae gives you a warm wave and friendly nod before disappearing, leaving you alone with the medical chief. The quiet efficiency of his workspace and his focused presence makes everything feel weirdly... peaceful.

"Nice to see someone following orders for once," he mutters, not looking up from what appears to be a small mountain of paperwork.

"You didn't exactly make it optional." Your lips twitch into a crooked smile.

"Never do." He grunts, shuffling papers. "Some people are just too stubborn to live."

"Can't you pull rank on them? Being head of medicine and all?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

"Oh, I do. More than I'd like." His voice carries years of dealing with difficult patients. "In here, I'm god. They pull rank, I pull rank. Doesn't matter if you're the supreme leader of the universe—I'll uno reverse card your ass so fast your head will spin."

"Bet that goes over well with the big shots."

"Their faces are always priceless." He actually smirks, tapping a stack of papers into perfect alignment. "Now, ready to learn how to not kill people with medical supplies?"

"Born ready." You settle into a chair, trying not to look too eager. After all, how hard can it be?

The infirmary honestly feels very different from the rest of the castle—all sterile air and quiet efficiency. J-Hope moves around like he's performing some kind of medical ballet, laying out supplies with the kind of precision that makes you think he could probably do this in his sleep.

Which, you guess, he probably can.

"Alright, lesson one." He snaps on latex gloves. "Stitching wounds isn't like sewing clothes. You fuck up, get sloppy with cleanliness, and your patient gets an infection. In our line of work, that's not just inconvenient—it's deadly."

You pull on your own gloves, the latex clinging weird and tight to your fingers. J-Hope picks up a suture needle, holding it between you like he's showing off a prized possession.

"What about when we're in the middle of nowhere?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "You know, during missions when shit goes sideways?"

He sets the needle down, and something in his expression shifts. The overhead light catches the tired lines around his eyes—probably from years of patching up stubborn gang members at ungodly hours.

"Field medicine is different," he says, suddenly sounding more like a battle-hardened mentor than a cranky doctor. "Clean is still better, but sometimes you've got to choose between perfect and alive. When someone's bleeding out in some warehouse, you work with what you've got."

He grabs a bottle of disinfectant, tapping it with one finger. "This? This is your new best friend. Small enough to carry anywhere, strong enough to maybe keep someone from dying of infection in a pinch."

"What about stitches?" The question slips out before you can stop it. The thought of someone bleeding out because you don't know what you're doing makes your stomach turn.

J-Hope nods like he gets it. His usual grumpiness softens into something more teacher-like. "In the field? Use whatever you've got—fishing line, clean thread, even fibers from sterilized cloth. Main thing is getting that wound closed before they bleed out or it gets infected."

He lets that sink in for a moment, fiddling with something metallic between his fingers. For all his crankiness, there's something reassuring about how seriously he takes this stuff.

"But the second—and I mean second—you're back, you bring them to me." His voice goes hard again. "This isn't permanent fixing, it's just keeping them alive until they reach actual medical care."

He holds up what looks like a weirdly curved needle. "This is what we use for stitching. Curved makes it easier to control, especially for beginners." His fingers dance over different types of thread. "Absorbable sutures for internal wounds, non-absorbable for surface cuts."

"Yeah, that means absolutely nothing to me."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right. Let's dumb it down." He reaches for what looks like a small medical kit. "In the field, you won't have time to play doctor. Your emergency kit will have basic curved needles and non-absorbable thread. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

"And the other kind? The absorbable ones?"

"Those are for surgery—internal stuff. They dissolve on their own." He waves vaguely at the door. "Out there? Stick to non-absorbable. Quick and dirty fixes until you can get them proper help."

"So it's basically just... sewing someone up?" You try not to sound as skeptical as you feel.

"If you want to oversimplify it, sure." His dark eyes lock onto yours, dead serious. "But this isn't patching up your favorite jeans. You've got to line everything up right, make it tight enough to hold but not so tight it causes damage. And for fuck's sake, keep everything as clean as humanly possible."

You nod along, trying to picture yourself actually doing this in the field. The thought of having someone's life literally in your hands makes your stomach do weird flips.

"What about really bad wounds?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself. "Like, really bad."

J-Hope's hands pause over his supplies. Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly you remember he's probably seen exactly what you're imagining.

"Then your priority is keeping them alive long enough to get to me." His voice goes flat, professional. "Stop the bleeding first. Stabilize what you can. Stitches won't mean shit if they bleed out before you finish the first one." He looks you dead in the eye. "I'm good at what I do, but I can't bring back the dead."

The words hit harder than you expected. It's easy to forget sometimes, working in Seduction, that this isn't just some elaborate roleplay. People actually die in this life.

You watch as J-Hope threads the needle easily, his movements quick and precise. When he turns to what looks like a piece of fake skin, you try not to think too hard about where it came from or why it looks so... realistic.

"Pay attention now." He positions the needle above the practice pad. "Basic interrupted suture—it's your best friend in the field. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

The way he handles the needle is almost mesmerizing. Each movement flows into the next like he's done this a million times before. Which, considering his job, he probably has. The stitches line up perfectly, neat little soldiers in a row.

"The key is entering at a 90-degree angle," he explains, demonstrating another perfect stitch. "Too shallow, it won't hold. Too deep, you cause more damage."

You lean closer, fascinated despite yourself. It's kind of beautiful, in a morbid way. Like some deadly form of embroidery.

"Your turn." He holds out the needle, and suddenly this doesn't seem so fascinating anymore. "Time to see if you've been paying attention."

Your hand definitely doesn't shake when you take it. Not even a little. And if it does? Well, that's between you and whatever poor bastard ends up needing your stitches someday.

You take a deep breath and try to copy J-Hope's movements. Your hands aren't nearly as steady as his, but he guides you with surprising patience, adjusting your grip here and the angle there. For someone so cranky, he's turning out to be a pretty decent teacher.

"Not completely terrible for a first try." The words sound almost like praise coming from him. "This kind of skill? Could mean the difference between life and death out there."

A soft beep cuts through the quiet, followed by the infirmary door swinging open.

Cool air rushes in, making goosebumps rise on your arms.

You don't need to look to know who it is—there's only one person whose presence makes the air feel this heavy, like the moment before rain.

Jeon walks in, all dark clothes and darker mood. His eyes find yours first, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns to J-Hope.

"Looks like V didn't hold back," J-Hope says with a smirk.

Jeon just grunts, which seems to be his default response to everything.

"Sit." J-Hope points to a nearby chair like he's commanding a particularly stubborn dog. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

You try not to stare as Jeon drops into the chair, but it's hard to ignore how he fills up the space. Everything about him radiates tension—from the set of his jaw to the way his fingers tap against his thigh. The guy looks about as comfortable as a cat in water.

The contrast between them is almost funny—J-Hope moving around with his usual efficient calm while Jeon sits there emanating pure "don't touch me" energy. You catch a whiff of pine and mint when he shifts, and something in your chest does this weird little flip that you choose to ignore.

You try to focus on your suturing practice, but your eyes keep drifting to Jeon. It's weird seeing him like this—quiet, still, almost t̶a̶m̶e̶ docile. The great Chief of Tactical Assassinations, reduced to sitting in a medical chair waiting for J-Hope like some kind of obedient schoolboy.

He looks... different here. Less like the intimidating force of nature who uses you as paintball bait, more like someone who really, really doesn't want to be at the doctor's. His knee bounces slightly—probably the only sign he'll allow of his discomfort.

The door clicks shut behind J-Hope, and suddenly you're very aware that you're alone with Jeon. The silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft rustle of medical supplies and his measured breathing.

You force yourself to concentrate on the needle in your hand. These stitches aren't going to practice themselves, and the last thing you need is to look incompetent in front of him. But it's hard to focus when you can feel him there.

It's just so strange seeing him hold himself back like this. Usually his presence fills any room he's in, but now he seems almost... contained. Like he's trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

It doesn't work though—you're still hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes.

The silence stretches until it feels like another person in the room. You've never been good with awkward silences, but starting a conversation with Jeon feels about as appealing as pulling teeth. Besides, what would you even say?

Thanks for using me as bait earlier, that was super fun?

"How's the ankle?"

His voice catches you off guard—low and quiet, missing that sharp edge he usually carries. For a second, you're not sure if you imagined it.

"It's... getting better," you manage, your voice too loud in the quiet room. "J-Hope knows what he's doing."

The corner of Jeon's mouth twitches up, and for a second he looks almost human. "Yeah, give that man a white coat and suddenly he thinks he runs the place."

There's this weird undertone of respect when he says it though. Like maybe he actually appreciates having someone who isn't afraid to boss him around. You get it —there's something weirdly comforting about J-Hope's no-nonsense attitude, even when he's being a grumpy dictator about your ankle.

"He definitely doesn't take shit from anyone." You find yourself smiling a little, because it's true. Even the mighty Jeon has to sit and wait his turn in here.

Something flickers across his face and he looks away quickly, like he just remembered he's supposed to be an intimidating gang leader, not someone who makes small talk about cranky doctors.

You go back to your stitching, trying to focus on the fake skin instead of how weird it feels to have an almost normal conversation with him. The silence creeps back in, but it's different now. Less like you're both waiting for the other to attack, more like... well, like two people just waiting for the doctor.

You try to focus on your stitching practice, but something feels off. There's a rustle that doesn't quite fit with the usual infirmary sounds—too careful, too measured.

When you glance up, you catch Jeon staring at... a pastry bag? One that definitely wasn't there when he first walked in. Or maybe it was and you were too distracted by his whole everything to notice.

He's looking down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe, brow furrowed in concentration. It's weird seeing the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, terror of rival gangs, looking almost t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶ uncertain about a paper bag.

What could possibly have the human hurricane so wrapped up in thought? The last time you saw him this intense, he was lining up a sniper shot. But now he's just... staring. At pastries.

Before you can ponder this mystery further, J-Hope bursts back in, arms loaded with enough medical supplies to patch up a small army. The sudden entrance makes Jeon flinch—just barely, but you catch it. His eyes snap up like he's been caught doing something wrong.

Then, in a move that feels almost panicked (if Jeon did panic, which he obviously doesn't), he thrusts the bag at J-Hope.

"For you." The words come out gruff and quick. His tattooed hand extends the bag like he's diffusing a bomb, gaze fixed somewhere over J-Hope's left shoulder.

J-Hope freezes mid-step, and honestly? Fair reaction. If this was V pulling something like this, it'd be normal—probably part of some elaborate prank. But Jeon? The same guy who treats medical check-ups like personal attacks? Bringing peace offerings?

"You know I don't even like croissants, right?" J-Hope stares at the bag like it might bite him. The disbelief in his voice makes you pause mid-stitch.

"It was the last one." Jeon crosses his arms, all defensive posture and clenched jaw.

J-Hope holds the pastry bag between two fingers like it's evidence in a crime scene. When he looks up at Jeon, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "What's the catch? Trying to bribe your way out of the physical?"

"What am I, V now?" Jeon's shrug carries enough attitude to fill the room. "No catch. Just thought I'd... you know." He waves vaguely at the bag, looking like every word physically pains him.

You focus very intently on your stitching practice, pretending you're not eavesdropping on whatever this weird interaction is. The silence stretches until J-Hope breaks it.

"Right..." He drags the word out like he's talking to a particularly suspicious child. "Since when do you do random acts of kindness?"

Something flickers across Jeon's face. His eyes meet yours for a split second, and your stomach does this weird flip that you choose to blame on hunger. The scent of pine gets stronger as his irritation builds.

"Since now, apparently." His voice could freeze hell over. "If you don't want it, give it to her. I don't give a shit."

J-Hope's eyebrows climb even higher as he turns to you, lips twitching. "Want a potentially poisoned croissant? I can test it first if you're feeling brave."

Your ears definitely perk up at the mention of croissant. After that sad excuse for breakfast this morning, you're practically going through withdrawal. The smell of butter and fresh pastry wafting from the bag is t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ tempting.

"I'll risk it." You can't help but laugh a little. "Can't say no to a good croissant, even if it comes from suspicious sources."

Jeon's eyes find yours for a split second. Something colors his face—too quick to catch—before that familiar blank mask slides back into place. He doesn't say anything, but some of that rigid tension leaves his shoulders.

J-Hope passes you the bag, but his attention stays locked on Jeon like he's trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. The pastry's still warm when you take it, and honestly? If it's poisoned, at least you'll die happy.

"Right then." J-Hope's voice goes stern. "Your turn, Mr. I-Can-Walk-It-Off. You're three months late for your check-up." He emphasizes each word like he's scolding a child. "Three months, Jeon."

Jeon responds with his signature grunt, finally hauling himself out of the chair. He moves to the medical bed a few meters away from you, and you can smell the pine notes slowly dissipating. Not that you're paying attention to how he smells. Obviously.

The infirmary suddenly feels smaller when Jeon steps into the medical bed area. There's something about the way he moves—all quiet power and deadly grace—that reminds you of his rank. Every single one of his steps looks calculated, like he's constantly ready for anything.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, and you try really hard not to stare. t̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶ The movement is unfairly fluid, drawing attention to arms that definitely come from years of training. The kind of definition that makes you think he could probably lift you without breaking a sweat. (You already know he can)

Your eyes drift to his hands—the same ones you've seen wrapped around coffee cups or handling weapons, but never really looked at before. The infirmary's harsh lighting makes the tattoos on his wrists pop, intricate designs disappearing under his black t-shirt like secrets waiting to be discovered. His fingers are long and elegant despite their strength, decorated with simple silver and black rings that somehow make them look even more dangerous.

He grabs the hem of his shirt and—oh.

Oh.

The movement is so casual it's almost offensive, the way he just strips off his shirt like it's nothing. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing to your blood pressure right now.

A tattoo catches your eye, peeking above his waistband. "Devil never sleeps" inked in bold letters right above the waistband of his pants, and suddenly you're very interested in what that might mean. t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶t̶e̶r̶

Your gaze definitely doesn't trail up his torso. You absolutely don't notice the thin silver chain you've never seen before, probably always hidden under that stupid leather jacket. And you certainly don't catalog how the muscles in his chest look strong but not bulky, or how his abs are defined but natural-looking, the kind that come from actual fighting instead of just gym sessions.

And for some stupid reason the pine scent comes back, stronger, and you realize you might be staring. But honestly? If he's going to just casually strip in front of you, he can deal with the consequences. You're only human, after all.

You try to focus on your stitching practice. Really, you do. But there's something magnetic about the way his scars and tattoos map stories across his skin. Each mark feels like a chapter you shouldn't want to read but can't help being curious about. It's not just that he's t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ physically impressive—it's the way he wears his battle wounds like armor.

Jeon doesn't seem to notice or care about your wandering eyes. He carries himself with this casual confidence that suggests being shirtless in the infirmary is just another weekday for him. He shifts a bit, settling on the edge of the medical bed.

You snap your attention back to your suture pad so fast you nearly stab yourself with the needle. This is not the time to appreciate how the fluorescent lights catch on his silver chain, or how his muscles shift when he—nope. Absolutely not. Back to stitching.

J-Hope transforms before your eyes, seemingly possessed by professional focus. He grabs his stethoscope with ease, moving toward Jeon like he's approaching any other patient. Not a deadly gang leader who could probably kill someone with his a snap of his fingers.

"Let's check that heart of yours first, Jeon." The words come out clinical, detached.

Jeon just nods, and it's weird seeing him this... compliant. His stormy presence seems to settle into something quieter.

When the stethoscope touches Jeon's chest, the room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You definitely don't notice how the metal disc sits right above one of his tattoos, or how his breathing stays perfectly steady despite the cold touch.

"Heart sounds good, strong and regular." J-Hope moves the stethoscope, all business.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes because of course his heart's perfect too.

Stupid, perfect Jeon with his stupid, perfect everything.

Jeon stares straight ahead at some fascinating spot on the wall, the perfect picture of indifference. His chest rises and falls steadily under J-Hope's stethoscope, and you definitely don't notice how the muscles shift with each breath. Nope. Not at all.

"Deep breaths," J-Hope instructs, all business.

Jeon complies without a word. The movement makes his chest expand more noticeably, and you suddenly find your suturing practice absolutely fascinating.

Super interesting, these fake stitches. Totally worth your complete attention.

Except it's not.

Your hands are going through the motions, but your mind keeps wandering. The needle weaves in and out mechanically while you try really hard not to think about the way the infirmary lights catch on Jeon's silver chain, or how his jaw clenches slightly when J-Hope's stethoscope touches a cold spot.

You feel like you're intruding on something private, which is stupid because it's just a medical exam. But there's something weirdly intimate about watching someone like Jeon—who's usually wrapped in leather and attitude—sitting here half-naked and compliant.

The needle slips.

"Shit—" The sharp sting makes you jump.

A bright red bead of blood wells up on your fingertip, because apparently you can't even do basic stitching when you're t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶s̶y̶ ̶o̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ slightly distracted.

"You okay over there?" J-Hope looks up from his examination.

You're about to brush it off when you feel it—Jeon's eyes on you. The weight of his gaze hits like a physical thing, dark and heavy and way too knowing. Like he can tell exactly why you stabbed yourself, and t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ that's... interesting.

There's something in that look—something that makes your skin prickle and your breath catch.

Is he annoyed? Amused? Or maybe...

He turns away before you can figure it out, but the heat lingers on your skin like a brand.

Jeon grabs his shirt and pulls it back on in one smooth motion. You try not to notice how the fabric clings slightly before settling into place, or how his hair gets messed up for just a second before he runs his fingers through it. Just like that, the mask slides back on—Chief of Tactical Assassinations restored, that glimpse of something more human safely locked away again.

Your finger throbs, a tiny punishment for letting yourself get distracted.

t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ Real professional, getting caught staring like some rookie. In this life, distractions get people killed. Though usually not by sewing needles.

J-Hope's already moving around the room, putting away his supplies. He definitely catches you trying to hide your pricked finger, because suddenly he's there, slapping a band-aid on it with more force than strictly necessary.

"Pay attention next time," he grumbles, but there's something almost fond in how annoyed he sounds. "These needles aren't toys."

Jeon's already heading for the door, leather jacket back in place. He moves like someone who can't wait to put as much distance between himself and this medical checkup as possible.

Can't really blame him—you'd probably bolt too if you had to deal with J-Hope's judgment this early in the morning.

He pauses at the door though, just for a second. Those dark eyes find yours one last time, and something in your chest does this weird little thing that has nothing to do with the pine and mint scent he leaves behind.

Then he's gone, and you're left wondering what kind of storms are brewing behind those gloomy eyes.

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya

[eyelessfaces]

deep crust

firefighter!poe dameron x reader

happy poevember<3 here's this little alternate universe oneshot as a treat! it takes place not too long after the events of ashes to ashes, but you can read this even if you haven't read it (though it's probably more enjoyable if you have the whole context!)

summary: poe is utterly horrified to hear you've never tried a chicago pizza.

warnings: none<3

tags: poe being a drama queen, poe being absolutely whipped, fluff, kissing, just sweet stuff and moments tbh

word count: 1.2k

I gotta admit, my non american ass had heard of chicago style pizza but had never seen what it looked like before writing this so I realized it lowkey looks unappetizing (I'm so sorry chicago people)

heat me up masterlist

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The topic comes around the first time you officially invite Poe to have dinner at your new apartment. He's properly appalled, his jaw dropping in shock as he lets go of his fork.

“You’ve never had a deep dish?”

You smirk, knowing it would draw this reaction from him – or from anyone you know here, as a matter of fact. You know from experience, and it being so amusing each time kinda participates in the fact you’re refraining yourself from trying those famous Chicago style pizzas.

You give him a shrug of your shoulder, indifferently keeping on chewing on your salad. 

“That’s fine. I’m doing fine living this way” you chuckle. 

“Oh but you’re missing out.” he shakes his head, his hand closing around his glass of wine. “You don’t know it but you’ll realize and you will hate yourself for not trying them sooner.”

He sips on his wine and you scoff, looking at him, at his handsome face bathed in the warm glow of your apartment light. “You’re so dramatic.”

He points a finger at you, a stern expression over his face. “This is a proportionate reaction.”

You huff out from your nose.

He shakes his head in feign disappointment. “I can’t believe I kissed someone’s mouth who’s never had Chicago pizza” he mutters under his breath, a laugh escaping him when you playfully swat him with the back of your hand. 

From there, Poe takes it as his personal mission to get you to try a Chicago pizza.

At first, it’s just a running joke. Every time he sees you, he manages to smoothly slip it into the conversation. 

“I still can’t believe you’ve never had a deep dish,” he’ll sigh, shaking his head in fake dismay as you roll your eyes. Or he will go off on mini monologues, exaggerating the “wonders of Chicago’s pizza crust” – as he calls it, then proceeding to babble out an elaborate description of the layers of cheese and sauce with a genuineness that borders on comical. 

And each time, you brush him off with a laugh, stubbornly sticking to your claim that you’ll get around to it eventually.

But Poe is nothing if not persistent. And the principle of making you try a Chicago pizza is also what would be considered a date with you.

One evening, you receive a text from him, a link revealing “the top ten pizzerias” in Chicago, even though he knows which one is his personal favorite. 

“It’s so you have multiple options to choose from. Whichever seems the most appealing to you” he attaches to the link.

You receive another text not long after. “I’m willing to drop my favorite place but I know the owner and he would be pissed if he learned that the man that put out his kitchen fire went to another pizzeria.”

You can’t help but laugh and text him you will think about it, but he still doesn’t let up, because he has not won until he's leading you arm in arm to a pizzeria. 

Finally, the very next morning, you receive another text from him while he’s on shift at the firehouse. “Even my crew thinks it’s crazy you haven’t had a real Chicago pizza. Don’t let us down here.”

You smile, shaking your head as you type back, “You’re relentless, Lieutenant”

Seconds later, his reply comes. “This is important. History is watching”

Characteristically dramatic. Then, a picture pops up. His face, mouth twisted into a small pout, and a something in his pleading eyes that makes you think he knows exactly what he’s doing because you’re quick to text back,

“Fine. Pick me up on Friday”

—

“I’m gonna show you the best in town” he assures you on Friday, his face lit up with excitement and a hand at your back as you get close to his pizzeria of choice. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You know, I have high expectations now” 

“Yeah, maybe I’m overselling it,” he laughs. “But trust me” he grins, pushing the door to the place open. 

Comes the time you’re served and you take your first sample of your awaited first Chicago deep dish experience. Poe has pushed his own plate aside, waiting for the conclusion, the denouement of that whole affair.

“So?” he asks after a while, forearms leaned against the table as he intently awaits your reaction. His teeth sink into his lip, gaze thoroughly focused on every micro expression of your face as you take your time chewing on your first bite.

You lightly clear your throat once you’re done, taking the time to wipe your mouth with a napkin. 

Poe impatiently shifts his position onto his seat, and you take a deep breath for the dramatic effect and impending suspense.

“Don’t get mad,” you start, pinching your lips. He stammers, his expression turning into a remorseful one at the idea you think he would truly be disappointed for you not liking it, his hand reaching for yours over the table. “–I should have listened to you. You weren’t lying” you smirk as you continue, witnessing his face clear up almost instantly, a startled laugh escaping his mouth. 

“You had me in the first half” he admits with a grin, leaning back in his seat. “See? I would never lie to you.”

You glance up at him when you savor your next bite, but he’s not eating – he’s just watching you. There's a soft look of satisfaction and an underlying sweetness in his gaze, and the expression is so open and so unmistakably Poe it makes your stomach flip. 

“You can breathe now,” you tease, lightly nudging his foot under the table. “Come on, eat before it’s cold” 

—

You keep on teasing him when you exit the restaurant, telling him that maybe his reaction was a bit too excessive and dramatic for something that is “just pizza.” Only he’s quick to exaggeratedly counter, telling you that “it’s not just pizza, it’s a life experience”

It’s cold outside as you walk side by side down the street, in a comfortable silence between the both of you. 

Your hands lightly brush and Poe's smoothly slides into yours, taking a glance over at you to make sure it is fine, and without even looking over at him, you squeeze his hand in silent assurance, firmly looking ahead of you as the feeling of his touch makes something flutter inside your chest. 

His hand is warm and his grip is steady against your fingers numb from the cold, and it feels undoubtedly right to be holding his hand.

When you finally reach your building, he pauses, still holding your hand as he faces you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Can I kiss you again now that you’ve tried Chicago pizza?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, spontaneously nodding, a wide smile over your face as you lean into him. His lips are soft as they press against yours, his grip on your laced fingers tightening when you rest your other hand at the side of his face. 

“Goodnight,” he says quietly, the feel of him lingering as he pulls back with a soft smile.

“Goodnight, Poe.”

You feel hollow saying this, already missing his presence.

You only let him go after kissing him again.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

poe dameron taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3

[alicethenobody]

OMG SAME 100% FACTS TRUE i fucking hate how the dmc fans online keep making the same repetitive unfunny dante in debt jokes while being more empathetic towards both nero and vergil. like dante tends to have isolation habits or isolate himself from others to protect others, that's a common trope in fiction in general (especially japanese fictional stories but some western stories like The Boys or Spiderman has this trope too). These people are actually fucking stupid sometimes. Not to mention without Dante - Vergil and Nero wouldn't exist in the series. I'm also glad I'm not the only one who thinks Dante is one of the more realistic responses to trauma I've seen.

The way the DMC fanbase treats my boy Dante sometimes also reminds me of how the Tekken community treats my man Jin Kazama (especially on websites like reddit, twitter, and the YouTube comments section). They always show more empathy towards his father Kazuya (who is very similar to Vergil and Sasuke, man loses his family and goes down a dark path obsessed with power. also is the father of another character but is absent in their child's life) and Heihachi (who is literally just evil...like dude fucking killed his own wife, his own father, Michelle's father, Lidia's father, Leroy's entire family. dude unleashed shrek and killed innocent people.). Yet they mock Jin's mental health issues of survivor's guilt and low self esteem and make shitty jokes at his expense a lot. Jin lived a peaceful humble life with his mother Jun until Ogre attacked and Jin wanted to defeat Ogre to avenge his mother and also avenge the other fighters who were hurt by Ogre (ex. Hwoarang's master, King's adopted father). Then Heihachi who Jin trusted for years just betrays him by almost killing him via being shot multiple times. Then Jin finds out he was born with the Devil Gene thanks to his dad and has a hard time controlling it. His father Kazuya only cares about power and wants to kill Jin to get the rest of the Devil Gene for himself and Kazuya mostly cares about revenge against Heihachi. Most of the terrible shit in his life is out of his control. Like Dante, Jin also isolates himself from others out of fear his devil gene might hurt them or they might get dragged into the problems of the dysfunctional Mishima bloodline he's trying to end.

It also doesn't help that the creators of Tekken also lowkey hate Jin Kazama too, Harada blatantly stated in multiple interviews that he prefers villainous characters (ex. Heihachi aka Harada's favorite character), and Harada always wanted Jin to be a villain like his precious Heihachi Mishima but the team disagreed at first for obvious reasons (there are already too many bad guys/morally grey characters in Tekken, Jin is supposed to be the good mishima bloodline member he is supposed to be the good guy who doesn't let his trauma or family history make him bad, and it'd just be a repeat of Kazuya's story). Then Harada also assassinated Jin's character and made him OOC in Tekken 6's shitty scenario campaign story. Jin's potrayal in Tekken 6 completely contradicts his characterization in the older games (especially his Tekken 4 ending) and Jin is just out of character in that game, but the fanbase are usually idiots who don't realize that. So the fans bash Jin even more, and oh don't get me started on all the horrible fanfiction on ao3 where Jin gets r*ped by multiple characters because he hasn't suffered enough.

Both Dante and Jin deserve better, i hate it here it's always my favs are cursed lmao. (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

YEAAAH like I’m sorry but I think people are so overly critical of his actions in DMC5. I’m always gonna be of the belief he did nothing wrong in that game except for not telling Nero Vergil was his dad but he had reasons for not telling him like… the fact that he was afraid of cursing Nero with the same life he was living if he got too closely associated with either twin. And the fact that Nero most likely wouldn’t believe him (which Dante himself said) unless he had definitive proof for him. Dante is a man weighed down by the responsibility of protecting all of humanity, something any other person would completely crack under. So he thinks he can only let people in a certain amount or else they could get hurt. It happened many times, after all. Like I’d understand the criticisms of his behavior if he acted like a toxic asshole the whole time but… he really doesn’t. At worst he’s said something insensitive a couple times which… who hasn’t done that in their life and he felt bad about it both times it happened lmao (when he upset Nero in 5 and when he accidentally made Patty cry in the anime. Like he was actively miserable the entire episode because of it.) I’ve read such a weird amount of posts bashing Dante or fanfics that do the same.

Btw I’ve never played Tekken but that sounds shitty :(

[pynkhues]

That anon is so fucking creepy and vile. It would be creepy and vile and disgusting no matter what, but to threaten to do that to two CHILDREN and someone facing domestic violence is just evil. Can you block specific anons on tumblr, or report them? Some people are just so pathetic.

Thank you to both of you, genuinely, it means a lot in a situation that now feels like - - y'know, Yeah. A Lot. I do think I was probably a bit naive with this fandom (although I do think it's the biggest one I've ever been in, honestly), but I think the mention of my sister's children is genuinely just so disgraceful and it actually is a criminal threat. So I hope that anon and the apparently boundaryless group of people they engage with realise that (although if they don't by now, hopefully they will at the end of this reply).

I was already getting dinner with my mum tonight before all of this happened, but I texted her on the way to tell her that I had Stuff to talk to her about, and y'know, I'm in my thirties, and me and my mum have always been close, amd she vaguely knows I'm 'in some fandoms', but to tell her about all of this bullshit tonight and have her opinions not just as a mother, and a grandmother to those two little boys, but also as a friend (which I'm very lucky to have her as at our big ages), and as a professional woman with a science, legal, political and journalistic background, was honestly the best possible thing to come back to earth to (so lowkey thanks for that anon, I guess?). She was outraged (and said things I could never type, haha) and funny and considerate (she already knew I wrote fanfic, but her response to me reminding her and showing her my ao3 was 'i love you, and i don't care' lmao) and, perhaps most importantly! Practical!

Which is all to say I've opened a case tonight, at her urging, with the Australian eSafety Commission, which they are taking quite seriously because of the threat of involving minors. But also generally!, So I guess well done on that, to the anon who's sent me those asks, your attempt to shame me for writing about consensual sex is actually now about you threatening a sex crime, because sending anyone porn over the internet without their consent, is, in fact, a sex crime, even before you threaten to involve literal children. I have to give them my tumblr login, but y'know what? That's okay to me, actually, given they can now track your IP Address!

(Sorry to the anons I'm replying to, this is now becoming a direct address of this [+ the friends of this] anon but - - )

I suspect you won't read this rationally, because I don't think you read much that I write rationally, but I do think you should know that you're assaulting people by sending them explicit material out of the blue, which I write, yes, and I'm going to own it if you do send it on, regardless of who you send it to. Again, yes, I'll probably be embarrassed if you share my fic and replies with people in my life, but I'm not going to be ashamed of any of it. I share it with consenting adults, you're saying you'll share it with adults who you dont give the chance to consent, and also literal children (not to harp on the point, but, anon, my nephews are 7 and 8 years old. They are currently navigating their mother's divorce from their abusive father - real people, real children, not made up ones like Louis and Lestat and Claudia - I'd ask you, genuinely, what you felt bringing them into this conversation was supposed to achieve beyond threatening me into silence? Which is - - I hate to say it, anon - - abusive behaviour).

I also do question what it is about writing sex that you find worthy of sending to family members at all? Do you think I should be ashamed of writing smut? Because that's the interpretation I get from your asks, and, again, that says more about you than it does about me. That tells me the reverse would threaten you, if I could send your behaviour or fandom engagement, or fic history to your family, you would feel threatened.

Because, okay, what's the alternative? You threaten to send my fic to my sister, okay, why do you feel that gives you leverage if you don't inherently find it shameful? I'm sharing work in a community of consenting adults, you'd actively choose to take that out of that (and before you argue this point, you are consenting, by clicking on the links of my fics). In fact, you'd choose to bring my family members into that. Why? Me and my sister talk about sex all the time, we're sisters, my fics aren't going to land on her doorstep as the surprise you think they will (but also, again, the implication of you thinking this should take priority over her literal divorce and custody case from her actually abusive husband, driving what? A wedge between us? While purporting to champion a fictional victim of it.....it's pretty transparent at this point, anon, and honestly I'd say ugly too).

Why do you think I should be threatened by her opinion of what I write? Do you think you know my relationship with my sister and brother better than me? You don't know her or him at all (that actually wasn't even his birthday btw), you don't know me, so then it's - once again - about you - and your opinion - of what I write, but is it? Because I'd posit that the degree of shame you try to place on me isn't about what I like, it's about what you like, because okay. My fics feature Louis often topping, occasionally elements of bdsm, which are literally canon at this point, your subset of the fandom has male lactation, mpreg, ABO, heavily fetishised drag, and feminisation up the wazoo, and it's not to my fancy, but I live and let live. Those are though also objectively far nicher kinks / fetishes than what I'm writing, which is two men trying to pretend they're fucking instead of making love, so y'know - - why am I the hang up, anon? If you send people I know to ao3, I'm not going to be the person they judge.

Anyway, look, you should know that my mum has also organised for me to consult with a lawyer specialising in cyber safety and international law in the next few days, and I had also started the (yeah, sure, admittedly awkward) conversation with my main workplace too about you potentially sending posts or fic to them. We've had an actor doxxed already this year, which opened the doors, and I figured, well, gosh, may as well tell them about you guys too. Again - - you might be able to embarrass me, but you can't shame me out of existence, especially when you're apparently literally willing to commit sex crimes over it. You said I was two-faced in those last asks, and y'know, I don't think I am. I think (hope) i'm someone friendly, empathetic and thoughtul, but there absolutely is a resolute, stubborn cunt in me that I inherited from a generation of Australian women, and the number one thing I was raised on by those women was that you don't bend the knee to bad behaviour.

[obligur]

im literally gonna lose my mind okay so last year i had just applied to get an ao3 account and so i couldnt bookmark stuff and idk why i didnt copy and save the link i was so fucking stupid omg. anyways.

its stucky. its a road trip fic but i cant remember if its tagged as that?. i dont remember that much about it because i was like half asleep but it was lowkey the best piece of fanfiction ive ever read. i think bucky is going to try to kill zola or something and they go across europe and stuff and steve and bucky get freaky inside a tiny german hotel bathroom. theres a very small car that theyre all squished into because i think scott and sam join them and maybe natasha. anyways i literally cant fucking remember it and ive been looking desperately for the past like fourteen months and i cant fucking find it. idk if its deleted or something or maybe orphaned but i loved it i need it back so i can cherish lovingly for the rest of eternity. ive been searching across ao3 and looking for the post where i found it rec’d and ive even gone as far as to use one of those things that can scour the internet for certain strings of words so i put some sentences i remembered into that and i guess i misremembered because it didnt work and ive checked my search history but i cleared my history before i realized i hadnt saved it but ughhh im so pissed i didnt save it anyways

PLEASE IF YOU HAVE IT OR IF YOU HAVE IT SAVED SEND IT TO ME PLEASEPLEASE PLEASEPLE ASE PLEASE LORD I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER <33333

[kirabasai]

au where an ancient briar valley general accidentally gets tangled up in the space-time continuum when he combines his unique magic with teleportation, and gets spit out into general vanrouge's era. i'm thinking this is before levan or revan or however the fuck u spell his name disappeared. i'm going to be pasting parts of my original conversation with my friend bow_to_the_king (he doesn't have a tumblr but check out his ao3! he depicts fae and lilia beautifully) below, and THEN i will be adding my spitballing additions below the cut.

me: doing stuff rn but this brain bunny entered my head. general vanrouge x time traveler except the time traveler is a past briar valley general who disappeared one day. and is as feral as lilia so ofc they initially hate each other

me: brainrotted more. they're an owl fae

me: he's an owl fae?

me: she?

me: whatever's an owl fae

me: thinking... blue hair. so it's the blue/red trope

me: ok vibes for what i have of them so far is def not a she so. gonna refer to this time traveler w he and they until i settle on whatever sticks more

me: thinking their um is usually just jumping forward in time a bit. like 5 minutes max. they use it in combat decent bit because hey what works works u know?

me: until one day he's like. super desperate. so he used his um while teleporting. which mixes..... Badly. he gets tangled up in the spacetime continuum and spit out to somewhere near a camp of lilia and his soldiers

me: it would be rlly funny if this was a time that predated the animal masks. so they don't recognize lilia as someone from briar valley and lilia doesn't recognize him as someone from briar valley, because he has a cloak and mouth veil thingy (only eyes and some hair r visible)

me: so its like a huge misunderstanding until SOMEBODY works it out. but lilia and this dude r still bitter from their first impressions. so they r constantly at each other's throats and arguing over choices and whatever

me: it's like. a power / pride thing

me: and then something something something, something something something! dadadadada blah blah blah

me: and then they kiss

(- i said something around here abt being a literary genius)

me: i just love red/blue who start off in hate ok

me: technically enemies to lovers i suppose, even though they're actually on the same side.

king: Get that duality

king: Emotion enemies to lovers

king: Two alley cats that hiss at each other but end up cuddling eventually

me: and it's extra funny because they are similar

king: Ooooo do a but where they say the same thing at the same time and then proceed to glare at each other the rest of the meeting while trying to out do the other

me: it's funny because this dude is like. actually famous. he's in briar valley history books like lilia is in the present day.

me: everyone else is like oh my god... i can't believe im in the lost general's presence.... he's such an icon... i've looked at so many accounts of his battles..... while lilia is just like

me: die

me: i do not give a fuck

me: fight me

king: They get home from deployment and Owl gets flowers and such thrown at him and has people constantly wanting to talk to him and Lilia’s just stewing in contempt (and secretly territorial about every one monopolizing Owl’s time)

me: he actually is lowkey bitter about it "oh going out to greet your adoring fans instead of training?" and owl is like. "IM SORRY??? WHAT." and then they brawl

king: Oh my god

king: They’re Malfoy and Harry

king: Rivals to lovers

me: well yes

me: but in their heads they r enemies

me: so both technically

king: That adoring fan bit is absolutely something Malfoy would say to Harry

king: In like canon

me: shit you're right

me: ah well drarry is a classic i cant complain

me: just realized im at a point i should probably name owl…

king: Seras is a cool name

king: Seras is technically a female name meaning princess, fiery, or bright

(i noted this down and told king i usually collect a handful of different names & surnames and mix and match them until i find The name)

me: seras, emil, and cyrus/kir r my first name options

me: tbh i don't actually like cyrus/kir as much as seras and emil but i need to keep my options open wait wait wait

me: emil seras

me: lilia calling him seras not as in using his last name to be respectful but as in calling him princess to mock him

king: The general is a menace like that

and then at some point mid-convo

me: also while u were gone i played a bit in picrew typing to capture general owl fae's vibes

(i sent king the ref pics i made. courtesy of this picrew and this tiefling picrew.) [insert links]

king: Ooooooo those wings look gooooood

OKAY NOW ONTO MY YAPPING AND SPITBALLING BELOW THE CUT

first of all the CLOAK. the cloak is actually a necessity. it's a type of padded armor made of thick pressed wool tightly pressed together. not only is it warm, but the way the fibers connect together and work is that it stops piercing blows from swords. it even could stop very early bullets! (not modern day). from what i can tell, this was generally worn over the rest of somebody's armor? it also wasn't exclusively armor. shepherds and whatnot also used it to keep warm, and shield themselves from wind. generally there shouldn't be a hood, but i really wanted the hood. a little feature that stuck w the armor and apparel of briar valley soldiers through the centuries (because general lilia has a hood but no cape/cloak)

it's originated in the caucasus mountains, and is called a nabadi or burka. it was generally made from sheep wool (according to wikipedia, karakul wool which is central asian in origin). it is also a style of clothing customary of males in the caucausus region at that time. at some point, around the 18th century, russia appropriated it and made it apart of their armor (which is why it is also called a burka). you can learn more about the nabadi and padded armor in general here.

something i like to do is put little aspects of myself or my heritage into my characters, which is what i did here lol. i'm half kurdish and according to my father we (as in my clan i think) originated from the caucasus mountains and descended down to where we lived in the middle east (obligatory rip kurdistan).

i thought this form of armor would be quite suitable for emil, because not only does briar valley seem to be a very mountainous region (and mountains are COLD. also from what i can tell briar valley seems to be located quite up north so. extra cold.) additionally, some of the briar valley names just feel a bit. russian. if u will. such as lilia, zigvolt (ignoring the fact they immigrated), vanrouge, etc. also russia and the caucasus region in general? in asia. close to the middle east. which is also mostly in asia. sebek coming from an egyptian god and baul sounding a lot like baal. ik real world geography has no bearing on the cultural influences of the countries in twst, and it's more generally mashing a mix of cultures together, but it makes sense in my head.

so the cloak? 100% an essential and totally canonical to the briar valley region. (i did not expect to brainrot so hard on this part oh my god.)

[matrixbearer2024]

I currently have two AUs that I don't exactly know what to do with or what to properly call them LMFAO- I'll probably write something on Ao3 for it eventually since there's a ton of BillFord and FiddStan in there but yeah-

1st AU: Timelord Stanford (Dr Who what if)

This case was inspired by an RP I had with someone's Bill Cipher on @gftimelord where the triangle starts to be on the mend with Stanford after their ruined past. This to me makes sense because the Doctor is inherently very lonely despite the savior god complex. In that AU where Ford is functionally immortal and Stan and Fidds both at some point die due to his complacency and arrogance— he searches for a companion that can actually keep up with him.

So when Bill visits him during one of those window hours set by the Theraprism, they talk about the triangle's impending demise with their plans to essentially erase him from existence. It's not an outlandish idea given that any inpatient seen as a lost cause would or could be disposed of when it comes to cosmic entities. It's simply the easier option.

The doctor(Ford) is more impulsive, nonchalant, and egoistic compared to his counterparts because he does have the walk to back his talk(this man has been broken by the nightmares and guilt he carries from the deaths he caused; also time war) problem being he doesn't fear death as much as he fears being alone. He's had a fair share of close calls with the grim reaper, but always like some horrible twist he survives. After all, it is a saying that we covet the most what we don't have.

So yeah, he jailbreaks Bill essentially and whatever power limiter is stuck on the triangle get tied to his sonic screwdriver instead and they simply go around the multiverse doing whatever. Most of the reason why Ford isn't caught yet largely has to do with how scared most entities are of him. The doctor is never armed, but it doesn't mean he won't kill.

2nd AU: Modern Era AU (Set in 2024)

This one is more of a shitpost thanks to the young trio I drew a little while back, I'll draw more of them for this at some point while I also try and figure out a decent human Bill design that I like in my artstyle.

But this AU heavily features these four idiots as Undergrad students fucking about college life as they would. This AU is supposed to feature like a more cultivated genius Stanley based around my own dynamic with my brother since I do like me some happy Stan twins.

It just so happens that Ford is also a very much EQ negative idiot and falls for an upperclassman(one year his senior) in BSSE[Software Engineering] who is a close friend to Fidds. He goes by 'Cipher' as an alias since he's a prodigy for his age and very young ethical hacker.

So yes, that's where Bill comes in. Haven't figured out what I want his full name to be yet shoot me some ideas! Ford is very shy when it comes down to talking with Bill whereas Stan is completely chill.

Both Stan and Bill get along very well in this AU because they're similarly chaotic the same way that Fidds and Ford get along because they're the ones holding the other two back from doing something undeniably stupid for shits and giggles.

All of them share some fundamental subjects together(i.e. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Statistics, Research, History, etc.) or take elective courses just so they could chill together. Stan is typically the one who adjusts to the schedule of the other three since he takes BSBA[Business Administration] and is the odd one out when Ford does BSCMB[Cellular Molecular Biology] and Fidds does BSEE[Electrical Engineering].

The FiddleStan in this AU is gonna be c r a z y mostly due to Fidds in this AU is the heir to his family's computer company, so lowkey spoiled nepo baby but also on a very tight leash with his parents. Stan is the kid where 90% of his childhood was parents either forgot him or straight up did not give a flying fuck. So these two kinda work as complements and it's why I decided to pair them together after chatting with a friend about the group dynamics.

So yeah, simpy and adoring Ford and silently aware but shy Bill + rebellious Fidds and supportive Stan. All the more when I actually plan for this AU to have some typical gravity falls shenanigans anyway thanks to a place on earth called the Oregon Vortex.

[I'll likely make fics and comics of these AUs, reply to this post if you want to be tagged for whenever I post something]

Yeah I need to properly name these AUs.

[sooniebby]

I love how much thought you put in your ocs because I got so immersed in the history that I lowkey forgot it was only some guy's oc and almost tried to search for more of mingi on ao3

Lmfao, that’s great, I always worry if I put too much thought and not getting straight to the smut lol

[sageandred]

OLD MUSINGS *issa joke but i feel it

~ A sadistic character outline...and a shameless rafebarry post ~

I don't know if anyone in the obx fandom knows what everyone in the obx fandom knows, but Rafe is absolutely 💫❤️psycho✨️ ● The Pates can try to sell me their he's a changed man narrative with the nice lil poor girl and this is no hate to Sofia, but Rafe isn't the type of character to turn a new leaf because she saw the good in him (i'm lowkey convinced there is no good and i prefer it) and he definitely isn't gonna find love and light with Kiara, who deserves better. The thing is Rafe is interesting...Rafe is a good character. He's a mess and he's convinced his choices make sense as he's a PROACTIVE TYPE OF PERSON...and his dad just died. Ward failed him and he should probably be in therapy for years now, but he won't as history has indicated (and he shouldn't).

This lil 'b is damaged as f-

...and there should be no hope for him.

The only "love" story that makes sense for him (and it still won't fix him) is this mfer—

Rafe is a character that needs chaos. He needs Barry. I don't care that it's toxic; I don't care that Barry double-crossed him and they've got a lot to work out between them now. This is the gold ship of Outer Banks.

They have c h e m i s t r y —in a way that you question the history in the time we didn't see on screen-that teeters between platonic hatred towards each other or 'they might kiss in a minute'.

They have the real stuff of enemies to lovers that could lead to them wanting to kill each other.

Rafe is a spoiled rich brat; Barry probably grew up poor and has his business hustle for survival (so, they both love money) < see! common interests!

Barry has the nicknames down that sound like they would only make appearances on AO3: "Country Club." I have a special appreciation for "J Crew lookin ass."

like I said, Rafe is a mess! He goes to Barry pretty much any time he needs someone to rely on. He breaks down at his place in the middle of the night and sleeps on the couch (that's an actual scene)!

Barry is just messy enough for Rafe with a neutral at best, skewed at least moral compass. Rafe makes him look like an angel in comparison, but he's been shady nonetheless.

They both fit the potential character-build of 'doing shit for fun'- Barry would 100% do some heinous acts for the sole purposes of bringing himself amusement. He already went along with numerous of Rafe's plans, and Rafe doesn't care..he would do things, and has gone much further than Barry in their situations.

They would be so funny to watch in a fight. They would team up. Rafe isn't that good in fights with Pogues outside of blindsiding them, and that one time Barry lost to the Pogues was because they blindsided him (after he blindsided them).

And the actors ship them! What more could you want?

In season 4, Rafe should be gone off the deep-end following Ward's death. He should be distressed and messed up from losing who he looked up to, while also having that complicated relationship he has no idea has severe flaws. We should get Rafe breaks down on Barry's doorstep 2.0, Rafe loses control in a seemingly well-thought out scheme of instability attempt #3000, and Barry follows him on this quest like they always do.