#but i love that fictional man just so much

[cyripticchronicler]

How Could I Hate You?

Paring: James Potter x Fem!reader

Summary: You’ve hated James Potter for as long as you could remember. However, entering your last year as Head Girl and James as Head Boy, you’re forced to interact with the man you want nothing to do with. What are you supposed to do when you realise he’s not the egotistical jerk you made him out to be?

T/W: None

A/N: It's been way too long!! I've been more into writing poems lately, so I haven't had time for my lovely fan fictions. However, I sat in a forest and listened to the birds sing for a while today and finally gained enough inspiration to finish writing this fic I started a little while ago (this is also my longest fic yet, so go me). I hope everyone's doing well!!

Masterlist James Potter Masterlist

You absolutely hated James Potter. His egotistical smile grated at your nerves like no other, an unhappy frown pulling at your lips every time he was around. Paired with his unserious personality and sickly handsome face, you wanted nothing to do with the man. 

However, fate - or Hogwarts for that matter- had other ideas, and both you and James Potter became Head Boy and Head girl during your last year. 

James Potter barely knew anything about you. He vaguely remembers you during third year, the meek, quiet girl that accidentally fell victim to one of the Maruader’s prank’s, leaving you with half of your hair coloured pink. The half-assed apology you received was nothing compared to the judgmental and amused looks you received in the month it took for your hair to return to normal. 

The ever-loved James had planned to mention this story to break the ice between you both. He was so used to being loved by everyone that he couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face when you merely smiled at his story and kept walking. 

He was not one to give up. “You really did suit the pink,” He jokes, bright, eager eyes looking at you in hopes of seeing just a smidge of a smile. All he got was a fake laugh in return. 

You didn’t hold a grudge against him for the prank he did years ago, but still couldn’t get over the mere audacity this man possessed with each step he took and flirty comment he made. You look over at him from where he walks beside you, head down, hands in his robe pockets. Perhaps you were being too hard on the boy. He’s Head Boy, so he can’t be that bad- “You always take things so seriously, don’t you? It’s no surprise that you’re only friends with boring nerds.” He laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. 

Ouch. Hurt stings your heart, and you attempt to shake it off. Your steps falter for a short moment, but long enough for James to notice. He frowns, worried that he’s hurt you. Before he can backtrack or apologise, you’re already ahead, speaking your first words of the night to a third-year roaming the corridors and ordering them to go back to their dorm. They roll their eyes but comply, and James feels it too late to apologise. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

“Don’t make me go,” You plead like a four-year-old, wrapping your arms around Dorcas’ right arm. She looks up from the book in her hands and attempts to shake you off, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re the one who wanted to be Head Girl. So go and fulfill your duties and patrol with the infamous James Potter.”

“He’s horrible, Dorcas,” You whine, falling down to the floor when she manages to shake you off, a low groan escaping your lips when you hit your head particularly hard. You know you’re being pathetic, but you’re allowed to be when you’re stuck walking with an egotistical teenage boy three nights a week.

“He’s the golden boy with a six-pack and a cute smile. Stop complaining and flirt!” A pillow is thrown at you to emphasise her words, and you groan once again. With a glare sent her way and a huff, you stand up from your spot on the carpeted floor, still staring at her as you dramatically open the door. 

“Don’t have too much fun!” You scoff, turning around to leave and running into the one person you really didn’t want to see. 

James Potter leans against the wall beside the door, a playful smirk playing on his stupidly handsome face. “Not too much fun, hey?” You resist the urge to pull his glasses off of his face and throw them to the floor. 

You hate that you can feel your cheeks start to heat, growing shy at the realisation that he heard what Dorcas said. Avoiding his eyes, you close the door behind you and rush down the steps, trying not to focus on the steps sounding behind you. 

It’s only when you exit the common room that he speaks again. “How are you?” He questions, ensuring his steps match with yours. “Fine.” You bluntly respond. At the awkward silence and the fact you can’t stand being impolite, you coldly ask, “How are you?”

He visibly perks up at your question, raising his head to look at you with his golden brown eyes and million-dollar smile. “I’m good! I’ve been practicing for the Quidditch match this weekend. Are you going to come?”

“No.” You state, folding your arms against your chest and looking ahead. Your shoes clatter against the stone steps, the cool night air hugging your skin. 

“You don’t have to feel bad about going alone. It will still be fun!” He smiles goofily, revealing more of his throat as he looks up at the stars. Your admiration is cut short when you process what he said. “Um…what?”

The way James’s eyes widened would have been almost comical if you weren’t so offended. “That sounds bad. You can bring people, obviously, but I just figured you’d go alone-“

“Do you think I have no friends or something?” You've stopped in the middle of the field, eyes narrowed in accusation. You dig your nails into your arm, focusing on the pain it creates instead of the pain his words inflict. 

“No! I mean - you're just always…y’know…by yourself.” He stumbles, hands raising in defence. Your tongue rolls against the inside of your cheek. “So now I’m a loner?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “No. No. Merlin, can you just listen to me?” At your silence, he continues, “I shouldn’t have assumed that you'd go alone, but can you blame me? You never go out, and I just figured that if you were to go out, you'd be by yourself.” 

The sound of crickets is the only thing that can be heard, an uncomfortable silence thick between you. You take a deep breath and turn your back to him, beginning to walk back to the castle. “I saw a movement in one of the potions classrooms, I’m going to check it out.”

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t, James. Just don’t.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

James Potter’s eyes bore into yours from across the Great Hall, and you’ve never been so grateful for Miss McGonagall as she leads you around the room, pointing at areas in the room. “This year's theme for the yule ball is going to be Winter Wonderland. You and James have two months to decorate this entire hall. I want you two working together on making a wonderfully decorated ball…”

Her words are quickly drowned out by the discomfort bubbling in your stomach. James walks away from where he is, looking around to listen in to what Miss McGonagall is saying. It’s only when she walks away that you finally process your surroundings. “Looks like we’re going to have to spend a lot of time together.” He laughs uncomfortably. 

You guys haven’t spoken since that awkward night two days ago, and he’s unsure how to act around you. “I guess we will.” You lean against the wall behind you, sliding down and sitting on the cool floor with crossed legs. Taking out a pad of paper and some charcoal from your bag, you begin a quick sketch of the room. 

You’re surprised when James sits beside you, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies. “What…are you doing?” 

He turns to look at you, dimples staring right at you. “You heard her, we’re doing this together.” He’s careful to keep a good distance, and you keep your head down, eyes on the paper in front of you. “I’m just doing a quick sketch.” 

He taps the paper gently. “It’s very good. Do you draw often?” You ignore his attempts at making conversation and instead begin a hopefully short conversation about the decorations. “I was thinking we could have white roses in the middle of each table and maybe this tree archway.” 

He sighs at the change of conversation. “Listen, about the other day-”

“James, we really don’t need to talk about it. I don’t like you, but I can remain professional, and that’s all that matters.” At the defeated, almost frustrated look in his eyes, you can’t help but scoff. “What? Can’t you handle the thought that someone doesn’t like you? As much as people say you are, you’re not all that.” You abruptly stand up and begin walking out the hall, poison lacing your voice, “I’ll send you the list of ideas I have for the ball, and you do the same. We can talk about it more next time you’re free.”

You’re already out of the room before he can utter a word. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

Despite the cruel words you uttered the last time you saw each other, James Potter shows up to your library get-together with a bright smile on his face. “Hello, love. I brought you a cupcake. Red velvet.” He places it on the table in front of you, and you shift your attention from your book to the small, delicious treat. 

“You’re late,” You mutter grumbly. Despite your angry mood, you still slowly grab the cupcake, immediately bringing it to your mouth, unable to resist taking a bite. “I’m sorry. I’m a busy man, y’know?” 

“I’m busy, too, James. We only have ten minutes to go over everything before I have to help this group of first-year students with Potions.” You scowl, rolling your eyes and continuing to eat the cupcake. 

He ignores your words and instead grabs the book you were reading in front of you. “This is a muggle book, is it not? I’ve seen my friend Remus reading this.” You yank the book back and carefully put it into your bag. “Yes, he’s the one who recommended it to me.”

In hopes of reducing personal conversation, you jump straight into talking about the ball. “Now, about the ball. I’ve given the list of things we need to Miss McGonagall. The stuff should arrive next week Monday. We need to figure out what days we’re free to decorate.” You fiddle with the cupcake wrapper, looking down at his ruffled robes rather than his eyes. 

“I’m busy on Saturdays for Quiddich practice, and I’m going to a party on Friday.” He smiles, unbothered by your quiet, grumpy mood. 

“Okay, we can do Sundays and Tuesdays after school. Now, because you showed up so damn late I have to go and we’re going to have to meet again so let me know when you’re free.” He follows you when you stand up, gently grabbing hold of your arm before you can leave. 

He forces you to stare into his eyes, and you’re surprised at the pure sincerity in them. “I’m sorry for being late. It won’t happen again.”

You take a deep breath, overwhelmed with confusion at the fact he apologised. “Okay. I forgive you. Don’t let it happen again, please.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t let go of your arm like you expected, instead, he holds it tighter. “Are you free Friday night? Come to the party with me.”

“I’m not free Friday. I have a date.” 

“A date?” His voice is deep, unfamiliar. You nod awkwardly and pull your arm from his grip. “Yeah, I’m not actually a loner, James.” You laugh awkwardly before walking away. 

You leave him standing there, gaping at your retreating figure.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

You can hear James before you can see him. His loud, heavy footsteps, matched with his obnoxious laugh, is enough to warn you about his presence.

You keep your focus on the task at hand, moving your wand up as you attach decor to the roof. He’s unfazed by your cool attitude, playfully nudging your shoulder. 

“So…” his voice grates at your nerves more than usual, “how’d  your date go?”

Right. The date. The reason for your extra pissy mood this morning. “It was fine.” You hoped he would get the hint that you didn’t want to talk about it, but James couldn’t take a sign if it smacked him in the face.

“Just fine? Tell me about it,” he pestered, gently poking your side, the hand holding your wand falters, the decoration almost falling to the floor. You give up on your task, glaring and beginning to walk away.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Cmonnnn,” his voice raises a pitch and you scowl, “tell me how it went.” He goes to grab your arm, and you move back. You scoff. “I don't want to talk about it.”

His brown, usually playful eyes turn serious in an instant. A crease formed between his brows, and a frown that didn’t suit his usually happy face painted his lips. “Did he do something?”

At the concern and genuine curiosity in his voice, you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, keeping your head down as you whisper, “he didn’t even show.” 

“Oh.” Pink tints your cheeks, and shame curls your spine. “Wel,l it’s his loss. I’m sure he would have had a blast if he went”

You clear your throat and begin sorting through boxes, trying to ignore the lump in your chest. “Yeah, I guess.” He moves to stand next to you, shoulders almost brushing while he sorts things next to you. 

“I mean it.” He turns his head to look at you, and you look back, captured by those swirling brown eyes. “Any guy would be lucky to go on a date with you.”

A shaky breath leaves your parted lips, and you're unsure why his words have such an impact on you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes never broke eye contact. Maybe it’s because he’s standing right under a lamp, and his hair looks golden brown. Or maybe it’s because his words only held sincerity- even longing, if you felt like being delusional. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

James Potter was pointing a wand at your face. 

He was all arrogance as he crept closer towards you, a stupid smirk on his stupid face, his stupid eyes alight with mischief. 

You raise your own wand, the wood cool and familiar in your hands, gripping it tightly. You watch his movements- the way his shoulders tense slightly and his eyes squint a smidge. “Expelliarmus.” His voice rings out, sure and loud. Expecting his attack, you're quick to block the spell. 

You address the crowd without taking your eyes off of the boy in front of you. “When sparring, you want to study the person. Learn their tells.” The group of students nod in acknowledgment, much more interested in seeing who will win instead of learning. 

The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher wanted you and James to come in and give a visual demonstration of sparring for some of the younger students. You were happy to agree, having only dreamed of a moment like this. 

James was making it easy to spar with him: with his cocky comments about how he was going to win and the flirty winks he keeps shooting your way, you were more than happy to get him on his knees. 

“Stupefy,” you mutter, scowling when he shouts a defence spell. “You're doing well,” he smiles encouragingly, “I’m pretty good at sparring and most people would have been on their ass by now.” 

It’s the fact that he seems genuinely surprised at your doing well that sends annoyance travelling up your spine. His ego is bigger than Snapes, Merlin could he be anymore of an ass? 

“Do you want me to go easy on you-“

“-langlock.” He’s quiet in an instant, unable to speak with his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Eyes widened in shock, the hand that holds his wand falters, and you don’t hesitate to yell, “Levicorpus.”

The forgotten crowd behind you laughs as an imaginary force holds James in the air by his ankle. “I saw you use this on someone just the other day. How does it feel to be on the receiving end?” Despite the obvious annoyance swirling in his eyes, a glint lightens the caramel brown. 

“It feels rather sickening, I’d admit,” he groans, his head getting redder by the second. You smile at his obvious discomfort. “Do you want me to go easy on you?” You mock, voice lowering in a feeble attempt to match his voice. 

Despite his complicated position, he smiles brightly at your teasing. “If you wouldn’t mind, love.” You point your wand and smile innocently. “Okay.” The loud thud of him falling to the ground is enough to make you smile.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

“She beat me at a duel. Me, James Potter.” His voice was especially loud as he walked around aisles in the library, an amusing look of shock on his face. Remus snorts from beside him, walking towards a particular genre of books. 

“Believe it or not, James, you’re not always going to win. And she’s one of the best students in the school.” Despite James’ whiny tone, his heart was filled with pride. He knew you were a good witch, and he was finally glad to witness first-hand what you were made of. 

“Now,” James catches himself before he completely stumbles into Remus, shooting the scarred man a sheepish smile. “This is the book you wanted, right?” Despite himself, James feels the apple of his cheeks turn red at the familiar book cover in Remus’s hands. 

Merlin, what he’s doing is so dorky and pathetic. But he didn’t like the idea that he knew nothing about your hobby of reading - a hobby you waste most of your days doing. So he forced Remus to come to the library with him, under the guise of wanting to pick up a new hobby. He managed to remember the name of the book you were reading and asked Remus to find it for him. 

Grabbing the book from Remus’s hands, he began walking towards the counter, hoping Remus would return to studying and leave it at that. His hopes were not answered. “I’m surprised you’re getting into reading. It’s never been your thing.”

Recognising the suspicion in his voice, James walks faster. “Just wanted to try something new.”

“Well, it’s funny you picked that book; you know this is a certain Head Girl’s favorite book?”

He doesn’t look back. “Really? I didn’t even know she could…read.” At his mix-up, he comes to a complete halt, shoulders slumping in defeat. He keeps his head down as he mutters, “Fine, I chose this book because she read it.”

“Really? I thought she couldn’t read.” At James’ glare, Remus’ amused expression turns into one of pity. “James Potter is reading for a girl. A girl that beat him in a duel, nonetheless. Do you have a crush?” James scowls despite his pinking cheeks, and Remus laughs gently in response. 

“I do not have a crush. I just think I should be getting to know her more since she’s Head Girl and she doesn’t like me much.” James finally reaches the counter, chucking the dastard book on the counter much too harshly for the librarian's liking, earning a scathing glare that he ignores. 

Remus doesn’t continue the conversation any longer, but the silence does nothing to calm the fast beating of his heart as his thoughts spiral and his breathing becomes uneven. James might just have a crush on you.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

It was becoming harder and harder to dislike James. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were ever angry at him. Sure, he’s arrogant and immature, but right now, all you can think about is the way he’s comforting a crying first-year in the hall, genuine worry coating his actions as he pulls the little boy in for a hug. 

You’re not sure what to do, standing there awkwardly in the hall and shuffling on your feet. You can’t look away; the kind look in James’ eyes is too sincere, his smile is too perfect, and his words are too warm. You’re scared you’re going to melt. 

“It’s okay, bud. They’re mean and cruel, but you’re strong. You stood up for yourself, and that’s pretty great.” You can’t take this side of James. His caring, nurturing side. 

So you turn around and smile awkwardly at one of the moving paintings. Behind you, you can faintly hear James mutter the words, “You’re going to be a great seeker one day,” then some shuffling before a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder. 

You jump and turn to meet James’s amused eyes. “What are you doing staring at the wall, love?” Your eyebrows raise, and your eyes widen, mind whirring to come up with an answer besides the truth. “I just realised I’ve never actually stopped to appreciate the stone walls.”

“You’re an interesting one,” He claims with no real malice. You just laugh awkwardly and keep walking. “Is that first year okay?”

His smile dims at the thought of the young boy. “He’s alright. I promised to take him to Quiddich training one day; he wants to be a seeker.”

“That’s awfully thoughtful of you.” You smile, raising your eyes to look into his for barely a minute before looking away. If you had looked long enough, you would have noticed the pink that travelled up his neck and painted his cheeks, mouth open like a blubbering fish. 

In hopes of looking calm and casual, he strugs off your compliment with an awkward,  “U-u,h it was nothing, really.” You’re not ready to let the conversation end. “No, it was really sweet-”

“I’m reading a book!” 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. James Potter was a stupid, awkward young man - or at least he thought so. You didn’t mind the abrupt change in topic, especially if it was about a book.

Your face visibly lit up, the warm spark in your eyes growing tenfold. “Yeah? What book?”

The casual name drop of your favorite book coming from James’ deep voice has a bright smile taking over your gleeful face. James was too happy to be blinded by such a light. 

“Really?” At his nod, you grip his arm and jump like a crazed woman. “I love that book!” You stop jumping and stare hopefully, wanting to know his every thought about the book you’ve read more times than you could count. 

“Really? I had no idea,” He laughs awkwardly. “The main character is probably my favorite.” It’s only when he starts walking do you remember that you’re still holding onto his arm, awkwardly dropping it at your side. 

“The main character?” He nods. You move your hand to fiddle with your hair. “I…She always reminded me of me. She’s always underestimated because she’s quiet, which I understand, and some of the things she’s gone through reminds me of my own memories- not that I’m saying you like her because she reminds you of me or anything.” 

At your anxious ramblings, James stops, a gentle smile pulling at his plush lips. He moves so his eyes meet yours, and you’re too captivated to look away. “No, that’s exactly why she’s my favorite. She reminds me of you.” 

Your stunned silence doesn’t bother him, and he moves closer, the soles of his shoes touching yours. A large hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re sure that you’re dreaming things when he mutters, “And that guy she’s dating? The captain of the football team? He reminds me of me. Different sport and all, but desperate for the attention of the girl.” 

The whispers of his words graze your cheek, and you’re glad he had pulled away quickly before you did something stupid like kiss him. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 

You stared at the hall like an artist would stare at their paintings. Everything had come out better than you expected, and you were in awe of the glowing lights that shimmered in the eyes of the happy students as they danced and laughed. 

Your eyes shimmered, but you were void of laughter and dance. No one had asked you to the Yule Ball, and you had no desire to ask anyone yourself. You didn’t mind being alone, you just didn’t like the pitying looks being thrown your way. Dorcas was already lost on the dance floor, and you didn’t want to ruin her night.

So you stood in the corner, smiling at the buzz of happiness that floated across the room. You weren’t alone for long. “Would you care for a dance?” James Potter was clad in a suit, standing in front of you with a playful smirk and outstretched hand. 

A laugh of absurdity broke free from your coloured lips. “Ginny has been looking at you ever since you entered the hall. Go dance with her.” Despite your words, you wanted him to stay. His presence was comforting.

“Ginny and I didn’t work hard for months decorating this hall. Now,” He shakes his outstretched hand impatiently, “let’s dance.” 

You wouldn’t be surprised if the punch was spiked because you lost your inhibitions too quickly for your liking, grasping his warm hand and letting him drag you onto the dance floor. 

With his hand on your waist and the other holding yours, you’re forced to distract yourself from his touch by the band that plays at the front, the slow, deep voice of the singer enough to make you want to fall asleep. 

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and close your eyes. 

“Tired?” The kiss he places on your neck is enough to make you wide awake again, but you still nod.

“I bet you are. You’ve been working so hard lately with the ball and with the test you had today. How did that go, by the way? I’m sure you did great-”

“What are you doing?” You tense under his touch, his words, his hands, all becoming too much. As if sensing your discomfort, he pulls away. “What do you mean?” 

You stare at him for a short moment before your gaze falls to your fiddling hands. “You’re being…kind. I don’t know what to do.”

“Be kind back, maybe?” He attempts to joke but falls short. “I don’t know why you have such a hard time being kind to me, but if I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I really do like you.”

Your silence is enough to make him pull away; you grow cold without his touch. 

“I’m sorry.” He stops his quick actions of leaving. “I’m not…I’ve been cold, and I’m sorry. You’re just so…scary. Merlin, the only interaction we had before we became Head Boy and Head Girl was when you turned my hair pink.”

He takes a step closer, and you take a step back, guilt spilling out of you in the form of words. 

“It’s just…I judged you wrongly, and I’m sorry. I really am. You’re not an egotistical and mean person. You’re actually really sweet, and it’s playing with my heart. I’m torn between caring for you like I haven’t cared for anyone before and thinking of you the way I always thought of you. 

He reaches for your hands, cradling them gently. “I understand. I’ve only really shown you the arrogant side of myself, and it’s not wrong for you to assume I am otherwise. It’s just much easier to talk to a pretty lady when I feel like I can make her mine.”

“You could have any girl in the school, and you know that.” He shakes his head at your words, the sound of laughter fading behind you as he leads you away from the hall, down corridors and through doors until you’re both outside, the moonlit glow hugging you like a baby’s blanket.

He tightens his grip on your hands and utters with a small smile, “I couldn’t have the only one that really matters because I messed it up when I dyed half her hair pink.”

You scoff and avoid his eyes. “You could have me.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Just don’t break my heart.”

“To break your heart would be to break my own. Why would I want to break something that I care for so deeply? That is worth the gold of millions of men?” He falls to his knees in front of you, hands gently gripping the fabric of your dress, looking up at you with eyes filled with more passion than a writer writing a romance. 

You let yourself breathe in the cool night air, the cold spreading against your flushed skin. “I’m scared. You’re too good for me, James. Too good for me.” Despite yourself, your shaking hand moves to cup his cheek. He places a long kiss on your palm, never breaking contact with your misty eyes. 

“Why would you say that, my love? You have so much courage. So much power and kindness.” At your silence, he slowly raises, never wanting to be separated from your touch as his hands move to your hips and his head falls to the crook of your neck. 

Your hands fall to his head, playing with his soft curls. You look up at the ceiling and sniff as a lone tear falls down your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so rude when we first met.”

“And I’m sorry for turning your hair pink.” His breath tickles your neck. 

“You’re forgiven.” 

You can barely get the words out before his lips are against yours, gentle and warm and right where you want them to be. 

[lightseoul]

TWENTY-SIX (4.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend's spending his birthday oceans away from you, and there's absolutely little you can do to celebrate his special day...right?

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-ch 431: more, established relationship, lots of cussing AND banter, explicit themes (which i will not describe in great detail for the element of surprise, but know that it's explicit), a little present for my fluff/smut girlies out there <3 (also me)

a/n. happy birthday to the (fictional. sobs) man of my dreams <3 i wanted to whip something special up for his birthday this year, especially since i started writing more seriously last september. since then, i've made so many friends on here primarily over our shared love for katsuki, and it's just been a blast (pun intended). this one kind of got away from me—this was just supposed to be a short drabble, but it ended up the way it did. still, i think it's a great read (if i say so myself), so i hope you enjoy this. once again, happy birthday, kats <3

“and then they fucking—told the waiter that it was my birthday.”

“no.”

bakugou sneers, his grimace just slightly distorted—a digital mosaic of rose-colored pixels. “it was fucking embarrassing.”

you try to imagine the picture of your boyfriend sitting awkwardly as the foreign restaurant’s staffers sang him a happy birthday, and you have to tamp down the smile that’s fighting to encroach on your lips.

“let me guess,” you quip—just loud enough for him to hear you over your phone’s built-in microphone, “it was denki’s idea.”

that grants you an eye roll, which is so animated, it doesn’t even matter that the hotel’s internet connection is so crappy, bakugou’s face morphs into an indistinguishable blob every two minutes or so.

“don’t remind me,” he retorts, “for dunce face’s sake.”

“or what?” you laugh, “are you gonna give him a good ol’ spanking?”

“fuck, no. for all i know, he’s probably getting spanked by ears as we speak.”

from a few feet away from you, a sudden sound akin to that of someone choking on their spit resonates, and you barely catch yourself from reflexively shooting a glare in that very direction. instead, you keep your gaze trained on your screen and on the ash-blonde who’s lying on his stomach with a pillow propped up underneath him, trying not to let the panic show on your face.

you’ve come this far, the last thing you need is for denki to—

“what was that?”

despite yourself, you stiffen. “what was what?”

“that sound,” bakugou points out, straightening up himself. “wait, where did you say you were again?”

“ochako’s,” you lie. she was one of your only friends whose apartment’s walls were almost the same color as the hotel bakugou’s currently staying in. and denki. and jirou.

the very same hotel you’re—

“that sounded like a guy, though,” comes bakugou’s cautious response, and it takes you a second to realize how the situation is looking like to him.

“izuku’s here as well,” you quickly supply, wishing to any divine being out there that he doesn’t ask you to point your camera at either of the couple.

thankfully, he doesn’t. what he does, instead, is furrow his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“they’re listening to our conversation?”

“chill, bro,” you force yourself to chuckle, “we just finished eating as well. we’re all just hanging out in the living room.”

now, if bakugou’s catching on to your deception, he doesn’t show it.

at least, by much.

“huh…”

“…yep.”

another scrutinizing squint. “and you’re sitting on round cheek’s floor because…?”

shit. right.

“i’m just charging my phone,” you fib, and before bakugou can get another word in and catch you in your deceit, you pipe up again.

“actually, it’s getting late, kats. i think i’m gonna head home.”

“but—”

“i’ll message you the plate number, don’t worry.”

at that, bakugou huffs, and you have to swat away the guilt that washes over you at the sight of his disappointment—disappointment that’s palpable despite his obvious attempt at eclipsing it with his worry for your safety.

he doesn’t say anything for another beat, and you take that as your cue to unplug your imaginary charger and lift yourself to your feet.

“well, i should get going,” you announce, just as he blurts something out that you fail to catch.

“…sorry,” you laugh—genuinely this time, “what did you say?”

“just—” he starts, voice lowered into a hushed whisper, suddenly appearing shy. “can we—i don’t know—call again when you get home?”

you hesitate, then remember that if things work out the way you planned them, you wouldn’t have to worry about the idea of it. still, you keep up the concerned act. “sure, kats, but don’t you have an early start tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he replies, “but another thirty minutes or so wouldn’t hurt.”

you can’t help it—you smile at that. bakugou seems to flush at the sight of you grinning knowingly, bringing up a scarred hand to rub at his face—a habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he feels embarrassed.

and, because you know telling him you miss him too would only fuel his embarrassment even further, you instead bite your tongue and wish him another happy birthday, but not before promising him you’d call as soon as you’re in bed and settled in your pajamas.

you wait for the tell-tale chime of a video call ending to go off before you dare to heave a sigh of relief.

the clamoring ensues in an instant.

“who knew bakugou was such a lover boy?”

from where she’s lounging on her suite’s expansive sofa, jirou flashes you a teasing smirk.

“excuse me,” denki exclaims from the queen-sized bed, “are we just going to breeze past the way he insulted me?”

you’ve got half a mind to comment on how you’d bet good money he’s already been pegged by the hearing hero, but decide against it—you still needed both of their help, after all. so instead, you bite your tongue, and gesture to the refrigerator.

“we don’t have much time, so we better get moving.”

“right.”

“o-kay.”

fortunately, it doesn’t take you a while to get things ready. denki manages to get the balloons inflated in record time, while jirou’s got the cake and champagne all set as you got changed into a much more flattering dress and touched up on your makeup. by the time you’re supposed to have arrived at your apartment unit way back in japan, the three of you are standing by the entrance of the musician’s hotel room, birthday paraphernalia placed in a fancy-looking cart you borrowed from reception, the air around you buzzing with nervous anticipation.

you check your watch for the umpteenth time, before looking back up to the two. “are you sure you guys don’t want to surprise him with me?”

jirou shakes her head. “nah, we already celebrated with him during dinner. we ought to give you guys some privacy to celebrate on your own.”

“yeah,” denki adds, “plus, i don’t want to be there in case things get nasty real fast.”

“denki!”

“dude!”

“what?” the electric hero cries, “kacchan can make sex jokes while i can’t?”

“you need to work on your timing, dipshit,” comes jirou’s reprimand, to which denki only pouts petulantly.

“well, i should get going,” you begin, reaching out to open the door. “he should be waiting for me to call by now.”

the two whisper their well wishes as you carefully roll the cart through the space, and you manage to mouth a quick thank you just before they quietly shut the slab of wood behind you.

you wait in the hallway for a second for denki to come out of the room and go back to his own, but that never comes.

well, then. you guess they’re not set on beating the allegations, either.

once you’re sure denki’s not coming out anytime soon, you take a shaky breath. meticulously, you let your eyes trail the row of doors that line the hallway, before they land on the number jirou supplied you with earlier today while you were still at the airport. pushing the cart that contains the lit cake and champagne—and even the dark orange balloons marking his age—right up to the doorway, you take another wobbly inhale.

suddenly, and in the face of finally seeing your boyfriend after over a month of being literally oceans apart, the exhaustion of travelling for hours dissipates from your system, leaving you almost shaking in nothing but excitement.

and you were about to lift your hand to knock on the door—really, you were—when, to your horror and without any warning, the door flings open, and you find yourself face to face with no other than the birthday boy himself.

you can only blink at the man who’s frozen midway through the passageway, his pretty face mirroring the utterly bewildered expression you’re sure you’re sporting right now.

you manage to gather your bearings first, the sole thing you can muster being: “…surprise?”

now, in the split second of thinking time this situation has granted you, you figured he’d likely curse in disbelief, maybe ask you what the fuck you’re doing here, but what you didn’t expect was for him to stand—unmoving—for a couple more seconds, before unceremoniously lifting you into a bone-crushing hug.

“katsuki!” you squeal, looping your arms around his neck and your legs around his body, holding on for dear life. “put me down!”

bakugou only squeezes you tighter in response, and you have no choice but to cling onto him for a beat longer, until he effortlessly puts you back on your feet, that same unbelieving look still painted across his features.

“what the—”

“—fuck am i doing here?” you finish for him, and he nods, scoffing out an astounded laugh.

you gesture to the cart beside you, and you make a swift mental note that the candle’s gonna go out anytime soon. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

and before he can say something in response, you jut in. “quick, make a wish and blow before it goes out.”

to your confusion, bakugou doesn’t even spare the cake a glance, gaze fixed on you.

“don’t have to.”

you frown. “what? hurry up, kats, it’s gonna—”

“i said,” he interjects, pulling you closer by your waist, and your hands shoot up to plant themselves against his chest, “i don’t have to.”

looking up at him, you gulp. “w-why?”

a smirk. “because you’re already here, dumbass.”

that's all the foreboding you’re given before you’re seized into a scathing kiss, and you barely manage to bite back a groan at the simultaneously foreign yet familiar feeling of bakugou’s lips against yours, even more so as he presses himself further against you, deepening the kiss. you let your hands snake up to bakugou’s neck as you feel his caress your sides, and you have to fight to ignore the shot of arousal that courses through you the moment his tongue breaches your mouth’s entrance, exploring it so hungrily like he hasn’t done so a million times before.

you probably stand there stuck to each other for a couple of minutes when a particularly hard bite on your lower lip lurches you back to reality—the reality that you’re very much still in a public space and that the last thing bakugou needs is to reach headlines for being seen aggressively making out with his girlfriend.

and so with much reluctance, you take a step back, and another when bakugou moves to chase your lips, before he finally gets the message and lets his arms drop to his sides, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

you take the opportunity to chance another glance at the cake, and sure enough, the candle is already dead.

“we can just cut out the parts where the wax melted,” bakugou suggests when you don’t say anything for a minute, and you look back at him and smile, nodding.

neither of you says another word for a beat, resorting to just staring at each other with your mouths pulled taut into goofy grins.

it’s bakugou, though, who breaks the silence.

“you’re so fucking pretty.”

you flush, although you snort to hide your fluster. “i can’t be surprising my boyfriend looking like a hot mess, now, can i?”

“you can, you know,” bakugou replies without missing a beat, gesturing you inside, “and i’ll still think you look fucking pretty.”

you punch him in the arm as you file into his suite, which he takes in stride before pushing the cart in step behind you.

“since when did you become such a smooth talker?”

at that, bakugou laughs that gruff laugh of his as he closes the door and turns to regard you. “well, sue me for flirting with my girlfriend.”

“stupid,” you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement, before tossing him the sincerest smile you can muster. “i missed you, kats.”

before you know it, bakugou’s back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around your torso almost too tightly, although you can’t find it in you to mind. “i missed you, too, baby.”

“were you in jirou’s room the entire time?” he asks after a moment of just standing there, limbs interconnected.

“yeah, they helped me keep the entire thing under wraps.”

“huh,” bakugou muses, rubbing absentminded circles on your waist. “didn’t know they were damn good actors. i had no idea.”

you grin. “i’ll take that as a win.”

a pause.

“you being here certainly is.”

you let out an exaggerated groan, pushing the man away and walking towards the foot of his bed, plopping yourself down onto the firm mattress. the motherfucker only laughs at you, although he’s quick to trail behind you and sit himself in the spot right next to you, not sparing you a modicum of distance.

“you know,” you start, side-eyeing the pro-hero as you take off your heels, “if you keep this up, i’m gonna start thinking you really missed me.”

“i’m fucked, then,” he retorts, “because i ain’t beating any of your allegations.”

you laugh again. “speaking of not beating any allegations, denki’s in jirou’s room right now.”

“what did i fucking tell you?”

“i know, i know. i just didn’t think they’d be so brazen about hooking up. they’re not even trying to hide it.”

bakugou sniggers, taking your hand in his. “should’ve made a bet with you.”

“you say that as if you’d take a single yen from me,” you rebut, to which he can only shrug, unable to argue with your point.

“enough about them, though,” you say a moment later, your hand still being massaged by bakugou. “what do you want to do?”

and when he only stares at you blankly: “for the rest of your birthday?”

“oh, right.”

you huff, lightly bumping your shoulder with his. “i mean, if you wanna go rest up, then we can do that, too.”

“quit being huffy,” bakugou chastises, “there is something i want to do.”

“really? what is it?”

bakugou lifts his gaze from where your hands are intertwined to meet yours, and one look is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

you instantly feel yourself flame. “really? aren’t you too tired to do it?”

“nah,” he grins, “i was gonna jack off before sleeping, anyway.”

you snort. “of course, you were.”

“what?” he says defensively. “it helps me sleep better, especially after a long day of work.”

you study his face for another second, before nodding and moving to stand up, although you don’t get to go far because of bakugou’s hold on you.

“where are you going?”

“i have a hair tie in my purse,” you answer, “let me just go grab it.”

you try to step away again, but bakugou’s grip only tightens. you glance back at him, confused. “what?”

“who said i wanted you to suck me off?”

you frown. “aren’t you still tired, though? let me make you feel good, that way you can just lie in bed and take it.”

at that, bakugou shakes his head, pulling you back to him. despite yourself, you let yourself be dragged into the space between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders while his take residence on your hips.

bakugou creens to look up at you, a serious expression etched on his features. “as fucking appealing as that sounds, that’s not what i want to do right now.”

“this thing i want to do—” he continues when you signal at him to keep going, “—is…new.”

“n-new?”

“yeah. new as in we’ve never tried it before, but i’ve been thinking about it, ever since shitty dunce face planted the idea in my head our first day here.”

you swallow. “first day?”

he nods. “it’s got something to do with—” his line of vision shifts towards something behind you, “—that.”

you look back behind you, and you’ve to stop yourself from gasping when your eyes land on it.

or rather, on the image of you and bakugou.

you whip your head to look at the man, unable to hide the shock on your face. “y-you want to do it—in front of—”

“the mirror, yeah,” he croaks, sounding like he’s trying to mask his own uncertainty, and yet, there’s no denying the determination in his voice. “only if you want to do it, too, of course.”

“yeah, no, of course,” you quickly say, “i-i want to. it’s just—frankly, i never thought of it before.”

“me too,” bakugou admits, “well, up until we arrived here and denki commented on how big the floor-length mirrors were.”

“…so naturally you thought of us having sex in front of it?”

that grants you a pinch at your side, and you squeak—more in astonishment than in pain.

“you forget that it’s my birthday, you fucking tease.”

“sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “i’m done. that was the last one.”

“that better be,” he warns, although it has no real bite to it.

“…so,” you try again after a lull, “how’d you wanna go about it?”

“here,” he gestures to the small space between his legs, “you can sit with your back turned towards me.”

“uh, sure.”

just as was instructed, you turn on your bare feet until you’re facing the mirror, and slowly sit yourself on the edge of the bed and in front of bakugou, although you’re not even fully perched against him yet, before you feel something stiff prod against your back.

you don’t get to comment on it, though, because he beats you to it.

“i know,” he huffs, seemingly self-conscious, not meeting the reflection of your eyes. “i don’t know why it’s turning me on this much, either.”

at that, you place a hand on the arm that’s circled your waist, and the other on one of his thighs, just as you flash him the most reassuring smile you can manage. “it’s alright, baby. i love it when you get this way.”

“y-you do?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him. “you know i do. now, hurry up. we don’t have all night.”

that earns you a disapproving tut, although you can see the amusement behind bakugou’s eyes in the mirror, and the very sight of it sends a wave of anticipation coursing through your veins.

jesus. when was the last time you were this excited?

“you know, for someone who’s eager to please her boyfriend on his birthday, you sure are being a brat.”

“and for someone who’s eager to try a new kink out, you sure are being slow.”

bakugou growls. “that’s it.”

you can only yelp as bakugou practically yanks the zipper of your dress down, and with it, the entire top portion of the ensemble; you don’t get to react or protest, though, because in a matter of a split second, bakugou’s hands are on your naked breasts, and you almost let out a loud moan when he gropes at them so roughly—you can feel your core throb at the all-too overwhelming sensation.

“fuck,” he groans in your ear just as you squirm in front of him, his grip on your chest unrelenting. “i’ve missed these.”

and, as if your breasts have a mind of their own, you feel your nipples stiffen at bakugou’s sentiment—a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pro-hero, who’s quick to tug at your pebbled peaks, rubbing circles and flicking on the flesh.

“shit, you like it when i tell you i’ve missed your boobs?” he rasps, and you can only rub your thighs together in response, eyes clenched close in pleasure. “what if i tell you i’ve been jacking off every night to that picture of you in your lingerie?”

“you know the one,” he goads, squeezing firmly at your chest, “the one i gifted you that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

you nod—barely—but enough to indicate that you’re still listening, which you’ve learned the hard way is important if you didn’t want to trigger your katsuki. at your affirmation, bakugou lets out a satisfied grunt.

“now, get up,” he demands, “we need to get this fucking dress off of you.”

and off of you it goes. you don’t waste a second in heeding his order and discarding the sundress of the same shade of burnt orange off you, and you also take the chance to strip off your thong—the very one you went for despite the discomfort it brought just so you could surprise your boyfriend if ever things went the direction they are heading right now.

but you’ve barely tugged it off your hips when bakugou’s hand shoots up to stop you, and you look at him in bewilderment, mind only half-working with lust. “what?”

“keep it on,” he commands, “i want you to see how pretty you look when i finger you through your panties.”

well.

you know better than to argue with him at this point, so you only return to your seat that’s becoming smaller by the minute, with his erection taking up more space even against the straining fabric of his sweatpants. it’s only when you’re seated once again do you remember to finally look at the mirror, and when you do, the sight of you sprawled limp and bare against bakugou’s muscled frame causes you to moan out loud, to which bakugou could only curse in response.

“see, baby?” he spurs, tone desperate, “this is what i have to deal with every time we fuck.”

he scoffs, just as he brings a hand down to cup your sex. “and you wonder why i get so hard so fast.”

you whine, if not for his taunting, then at the lack of friction against your core, but you don’t get to do so for long before bakugou’s free hand grabs at your chin, forcing you to look straight into the mirror and at yourself.

“quit fucking whining and watch me finger you,” he spits, before: “and don’t even think about closing your eyes.”

that’s the last thing he says before he, true to his word, slips two fingers into your underwear and thrusts them into your hole with little to no warning. you’ve no choice but to moan at the intrusion—your eyes in the middle of fluttering closed when he grabs your face again and points it forward, all the while not stopping his pistoning of his ridiculously long digits in and out of you.

“just look at yourself, princess,” he hisses, “ i love it when you look so fucked out like this.”

“uuuugh—”

bakugou snickers, not even giving you a heads up when he brings his other hand up to start rubbing figure eights on your clit. “can’t even form a proper phrase? that’s how good i’m making you feel?”

“uuugh—fuck—”

the pro-hero seems to take this as further encouragement, because he only presses harder against your bud, while the fingers that are nestled deep within you continue to rub oh-so deliciously against your walls.

the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later after that, and bakugou notices it, too, because he doubles down on his ministrations the second you start violently shaking and thrashing in front of him.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers against your ear, and you can only nod, too distrusting in your capability to say yes without whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“look at the mirror, then,” he coaxes—gently, this time—softly bumping your head with his so you would turn towards your reflection.

and, because you want to please your boyfriend on his birthday—of all days—you do.

and the sight of bakugou’s big, strong hands pumping in and out of you and rubbing frantically at your clit while you moan and squirm right up against his big, strong body drives you well over the edge.

and you cum.

and cum.

and cum.

and you don’t know how much time passes with you lying flaccid on top of the pro-hero’s torso, but by the time you come to, bakugou’s rubbing soothing circles on your waist, while your arms lie slack on top of his that are circled around you.

you shift to look up at the man, who only smiles at you—so delicately, the way he does whenever he was feeling especially intimate—you wouldn’t think he was just roughhousing you a mere moment ago.

“what about you?” you eventually manage to croak out, eyebrows furrowing in apprehension.

“what about me?”

“you didn’t get to finish, birthday boy,” you say pointedly, shifting in your seat. but then it suddenly registers how wet your butt is, and you do a double-take to make sure you’re not imagining it, when bakugou confirms your suspicions.

“i came, too,” he confesses, voice betraying his difficulty of wrapping his head around what just happened. “i don’t fucking know how, but i did.”

“…wow,” is the only thing you’re able to say for a while, before: “we should do this more often.”

at that, bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “neither of us has a big mirror back home.”

to that, you toss him a mischievous smirk, before standing up and padding towards your purse in all your naked glory. you try to ignore the way bakugou’s definitely eye-fucking you as you hastily fish out your phone from its depths, quickly making a few taps before placing it on the coffee table, a triumphant smile on your face.

“what?” bakugou asks, mirroring your grin.

“you won’t believe what i just got you for your birthday.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

[minorlyatfault]

⪩ ⪨ I'M YOUR MAN, I'M YOUR WOMAN, I'M YOUR GODDESS, I'M YOUR FOOL !

ᰔ PAIRING . . . jason peter todd !

ᰔ . . . j. todd with a silena beauregard coded! reader !

ᰔ CATEGORY . . . HEADCANONS !

ᰔ TAGS . . . silena beauregard coded!reader. romance novels on the nightstand, knives under the bed. he rolls his eyes but never misses a chapter. target dates turned emotional revelations. “i’m bad for you” type shyt & she just laughs. nail polish & tiny hearts. he reads lynn painter books & pretends not to care. protective bf but make it silent acts of love. love letters disguised as sarcasm. moral ambiguity meets pink pens & scented candles. he flinches at love but stays anyway. jason todd is confused but in loooovveee. emotional whiplash via boyfriend. mentions of trauma (lightly). softness so intense it may make him feral. you being dangerously lovable.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 NOTES !

001. reader is not a demigod !! she only has silena beauregard's personality traits !! so,, this is basically how i imagine silena if she wasn't a demigod.

002. mwamwa i love u j. todd

you guys met on a bookstore.

yeah, that overused one. not very original. but,,, it's jason.

he was brooding over the thriller section & you were in the romance section holding "better than the movies" & giggling.

he glared. you caught him. smiled. & said:

"are you judging me, batboy?"

wow.

you called him batboy before you knew who he was.

because he had the jawline. the hoodie. the eternal scowl. he looked like he lived off coffee & guilt. LIKE URGHHHHHHHHHHH

you were pink. he was pain. it was inevitable.

jason was like, "who the hell is this girl & why is she sparkly & loud & giving me heart palpitations."

& then he saw how your smile disappeared when people dismissed you.

how you gave so much love even when you were tired.

& he was like. oh no.

you took the initiative. naturally.

jason is the kind of guy who'll pine for six months before he'll ask someone out.

so you snuck your number into his book when he wasn't looking.

it was in purple ink with a heart over the i in your name < 33

he texted you two days later. about time.

"so, you gonna keep stalking me in the romance aisle or are you gonna let me buy you coffee?"

you thought he hated romance.

plot twist: he doesn't.

he pretends he does, but then he read the do-over in one sitting & texted you angrily at 3am like

"i didn't expect to CARE about these people, wtf."

he never stops you from discussing your books.

like. you'll yap for a half hour about the boy next door troupe & jason just drinks his drink, nods, & maybe every once in a while says

"he sounds like a loser. i'd never take so long to kiss you."

he's talking about wes bennett btw lol

god forbid the boy to read nothing like the movies

you paint his nails.

sometimes black. sometimes glittery pink.

once you put alternating hearts & teeny knives.

he got upset. didn't remove it for a week.

you put together a "boyfriend basket."

with treats, a hoodie you spritzed with perfume, a mini version of betting on you, & a "reasons i love you" list.

he took it home like it was a grenade.

he has your lip gloss on.

not on accident.

you kiss him so much he just ends up with glitter on his mouth.

you're always laughing & brushing it off. (he lowkey doesn't like you to.)

you sob during movies. & jason panics every single time.

he's like

"do i kill someone?

do i get tissues?

do you need chocolate?"

& you're like

"no i'm just emotionally invested in this fictional couple."

he doesn't understand but he hugs you anyway.(he's very stiff though, he's adjusting !!)

you go to target solely to vibe.

jason rolls the cart.

you toss in candles & bath bombs & glitter pens.

he pretends to sigh but secretly adoresssssss every moment of it.

you do vision boards !!

yours has pink sunsets, flowers, love quotes.

jason's has like… knives & motorcycle pieces.

but you got him to put one soft picture on it.

it's a fuzzy polaroid of you. you !!

he keeps it stuck to his helmet now.

you rant.

jason listens.

doesn't always respond immediately.

but hours later he'll return & say something like,,,

"you make me feel like i'm not broken."

& then just walk away like he didn't just devastate you emotionally. LIKE??? cruel man.

you're the first human being to ever make him feel safe. ( esp,, after,,, yk. )

like, he comes into your apartment & suddenly his shoulders relax, his breathing eases, & he's like, "this is home." not a place. you.

you make him playlists.

one for each mood.

"kiss me slow," "bad day vibes (hug edition),"

he listens to them on patrol.

every time.

you get him ready for date nights.

"jason. seriously. no more black everything."

he'll wear the shirt you've selected & complain through the entire process.

but you see him glance at himself in the mirror. just slightly.

he doesn't tell you "i love you" first. he tells him

"don't die"

&

"text me when you get in"

&

"i got that stupid tea you like."

& finally,,,,,

"i don't know how to do this. but i'm trying. because it's you."

:((((

you're all he didn't realize he was missing.

quiet. loud. gentle. shiny.

you have your heart like a crown & kiss his scars like verse.

& somehow▰somehow▰you make him feel like perhaps he's worthy of it. ( he is. )

[mountainsandmayhem]

Maid Discreetly - Chapter One

Tommy Miller x Female OC - 18+

Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or is this just kinky hot sex with an older man? TW: Reader is a fully described female character, the girl in the mood board is not just for vibes, that person will be described in detail. She's badass though, I wish I was her. Eventual smut and open door scenes featuring sub/dom dynamic. Tommy has a filthy mouth and she's a stubborn brat. The slowest of burns. Warnings for this chapter in small red below the cut. AN: First of all, thank you to everyone who made BDSMaid such a success. I expected 2 people to read it (@mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69) but boy oh boy was I wrong! Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for encouraging me and letting me scream about these two and to @lotusbxtch for being in my corner always. I can't believe Joel Miller's fictional cock brought me so many life long friends xo WC: 3.2k

My Masterlist || Story Masterlist || Joel and Kim

CW: swearing; drinking alcohol; parents just being parents, ya know?; Tommy being a dick

You

It’s silly, and completely self indulgent, but the Greater Austin Business Awards has always been a highlight of your year. It’s an evening full of glitz and glamour, of delicious food cooked by Michelin Star chefs, and golden champagne chilled to perfection. Year after year it’s the perfect evening, your dad or Maid Discreetly usually taking home an award. This year though, it was your mom who was going to be honoured. Just like you, she works at Maid Discreetly, her title though is much more impressive than yours. Tonight, she will take home a beautiful glass plaque, etched with her name right below ‘CFO of the Year’. You didn’t think anything would make the night any more idyllic, and nothing could ruin the evening; that is, until you looked at the list of award winners. When your eyes drifted down the nominees another name caught your eye. Your stomach twisted as you read it over again. Listed amongst five other businesses nominated for their outstanding contributions to environmental impact was Joel Miller, JM Construction. 

Joel fucking Miller, you thought to yourself. The asshole who broke your best friend's heart almost one year ago was going to be in the same room as you. Not only did he break a girl that you thought was shatter proof, he ruined her chances of getting her law degree here, leaving her with no choice but to move to California. You knew the latter of the argument was dramatic; Kim always imagined herself going to Berkeley, but you missed your best friend and her bubbly, and sweet redheaded ways.

You: Voldemort is nominated for an award Kim: Who? You: I refuse to say his name Kim: LOL you’re so dramatic Kim: Don’t do anything to get you kicked out You: Just some light yelling then? Kim: He’s not worth it. I’m fine, and I’ll show him by becoming more successful than him You: You get me all hot when you talk like that! Miss you. Kim: Miss you too, facetime date soon? I gotta go, just getting to the office.

Kim didn’t not say that you couldn’t say anything, so technically you weren’t going against girl code by ripping Joel a new one - lightly, of course. Truthfully, even if she had forbidden it, it’s not in your nature to not defend your friends or family. Growing up you were always encouraged to speak your mind, and tomorrow night was going to be no different; you just have to get Laren to point Joel out to you. 

The next afternoon you meet your mom at the most expensive spa in downtown Austin. This is the aforementioned self indulgent part; your father giving you and your mom his black AMEX and letting you pamper yourselves, not to mention the brand new Chanel dress you bought for the event. You lay on the plush spa bed, your freshly exfoliated, waxed, massaged, and lotioned skin wrapped in a white robe that’s softer than anything you’ve ever felt. The room smells like mint and jasmine, the soothing music washing over you as the aesthetician applies all sorts of lotions to your face. For most, this would be a time to wholly relax, and while every muscle in your body feels heavy, your mind is racing with what exactly you want to say to Joel tonight.

‘Joel? You don’t know me, but I know you. How dare you do that to Kim.’

No, you think to yourself as steam hits your face to open your pores. I really gotta give it to him, make him realize what he fucked up. 

‘Are you Joel? How dare you treat the kindest person in the world that way. I curse the day you were born, fuck face.’ 

Whoa, too mean! You say to yourself. Speaking your mind is natural to you, but being outright mean was never your strong suit. Your last ex was outright awful to you, and where you weren’t afraid to tell him to “fuck all the way off” when he told you that breaking up with him was the dumbest thing you could do, you could never find it in you to attack his character. As if a light bulb goes off, it comes to you. Joel needs your company, not the other way around. 

‘Joel? I just wanted to let you know that if you ever speak to one of my maids again, I’ll have you removed as a client. Not that you care, but Kim’s fine, thriving really, no thanks to you. On behalf of her entire friend group, go fuck yourself. You’re a piece of shit.’

You smile to yourself as your facial comes to an end. The stuffy boomers that frequent these events might not appreciate the swearing, you’ll win them over with your smile and charm though if they overhear anything. As you pad down the hall to the hair stylist and makeup artist waiting for you and your mom, you solidify your plans; once Laren points him out, it’s on. Part of you hope’s he has a date with him, all women should know what kind of man he is.  

“Where’s Laren?” You ask as you and your mom sit at the posh white and gold table close to the stage a few hours later. The giant centerpiece composed of white roses, pearls and greenery in the middle is so tall that you can barely see the person sitting across from you, a string quartet plays from the corner of the space. The ballroom of the hotel has muted beige walls adorned with gold sconces that cast warm light upwards. The crystal chandeliers around the room are on, but kept dim. This could easily be someone’s wedding instead of a business gala.

The strap of your fitted midnight blue dress slips down your arm as you sit. Your mom places it back on your shoulder with one hand, the other holding her third glass of champagne since arriving twenty minutes ago, as she responds, “She’s not coming. Her and your aunt are sick.”

You slump back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. This is going to be nearly impossible now. “Sit up straight, kiddo,” your dad says, his voice soft yet stern. 

“I’m almost twenty five,” you state as you straighten and grab your water glass, hoping the cold liquid will extinguish the rush of frustration that courses through you. Without Laren, none of this can happen. You have access to all of Joel Miller's information; his address, phone number, the credit card number the company charges for his cleaning services too. Everything except his identity. Maybe you could ask your dad to point him out? He would have been the one to get him to sign his contract. 

Your dad settles in the chair on the other side of your mom as you pull out your phone to try to google Joel again. Just as you open your web browser, your dad leans forward, his hand touches your wrist before he speaks. 

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” He says, smiling as your eyes meet his. You force a closed lipped smile back. 

And that right there is why asking your dad is out of the question - always a kid. Even though your business degree hangs on the wall of your office, your dad still sees you as that little girl who cried when he dropped you off at your first ballet lesson. You’ve been working for your dad for about eight years. He hired you at seventeen as a maid, and you’ve worked your way up to where you are now, leading the hiring and training departments, as well as coordinating schedules when clients need added services or maids fall sick. Recently, you took on supervising the procurement department, as well. You’re grateful for every promotion and extra task you’ve been given, but what you really want is to help with the client side of things, to start learning how to be your dad, you just aren’t sure he feels the same way.

You spend dinner glancing around the room, hoping to be able to figure out who Joel is. Truthfully, he could be anyone, this whole space is full of wealthy, handsome older men. You press your full, red stained lips together and excuse yourself from the table. Your nude Prada heels click along the floor as you make your way to the bathroom, and you strain your ears as you pass every table for any mention of Joel. After washing your hands you look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the loose curls of your dark brunette hair that stop just below your shoulders. Your signature winged eyeliner could not have come out more perfect tonight, nor could your staple matte red lip. The clapping of the crowd has you hurrying back to your seat.

You sit on pins and needles as the awards begin, they’re intensified when pictures of each nominee light up the large screen at the back of the stage; win or lose, you’ll know exactly who Joel is now. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when Joel’s category is announced. Pictures of each of the nominees splash across the screen, but when JM Construction is announced it’s just their logo and when Joel doesn’t win you are right back at square one. You down a glass of champagne to wash down the acidic taste of disappointment that lines your mouth. You don’t think you’ve been this dispirited since Santa Claus didn’t bring you the Mia St Clair American Doll in 2008.

Your father presents the award to your mom, and after she dabs at fake tears with her napkin, she hauls you up on stage with her. You feel a cool breeze on the back of your thighs as you climb the stairs, the slit up the back of your pin skirt parting with each step up that you take. Unlike most people, you actually enjoy being in front of groups of people, and the depraved thought that you may have just shown almost all of Austin's most wealthy your ass on your way up the stairs has you fighting a devious smile.

As the awards end, the party begins. You don’t feel like drinking the free wine or champagne, so you head towards the bar. A group of four women meander ahead of you and the urge to push past them is tamed only by the mention of the one name you’ve been trying to catch all evening.

“Yes, same Joel Miller,” the one woman says quietly. “Her husband played poker with him. I heard they had topless waitresses!”

“Clubs like that don’t exist,” says another woman. 

You smile to yourself. You were one of those topless servers, and you know clubs like that definitely exist. You’re devastated for Kim, but so very jealous of what she got to experience at JMKink.

“I’d be divorcing him too, that’s disgusting.” That statement comes from a woman with yellow blonde hair and a cross necklace, you recognize her from an obscenely large family photo that used to hang in one of the homes you used to clean. You also remember her from that time you walked in one time on her and her husband having a threeway with the pool boy. 

The first woman speaks again, “Heathens. I don’t know how that’s legal! And worse, he’s here and getting nominated for awards.”

The fourth woman, who has been surprisingly quiet the entire time finally pipes up. “He is kind of handsome though.”

Her friends look at her like she just said she was going to marry Ted Bundy or something. “What?” She says defensively, “Obviously what he’s doing is gross, but he is a handsome man. I can see the appeal for young, impressionable women.”

“Trash doesn’t mix with class,” the yellow blonde woman, who was being taken to Paris when you walked in on them says.

You outright scoff at their insinuation that Kim was impressionable when really, women like them are the problem. Prudes and hypocrites 

The blonde woman spins to face you. “Do you have a problem?”

“Nope,” you smile at her as her eyes widen in recognition. “Feel like pointing out who this ‘trash’ is, or should I start pointing out ‘trash’, too?” You use air quotes around the word trash, never taking your eyes off her.

It's her turn to scoff now, rolling her eyes. You raise an eyebrow and cock your head at her, silently challenging her. You might not be quick with insults, but you have no issues calling her out, especially since she tried to get you fired, claiming she caught you with the pool boy. Thank god your dad saw right through that and she ended her contract at Maid Discreetly. The few heartbeats of heated silence are broken when she jerks her head towards the corner of the room. 

“Black suit and bowtie, leaning against the doorframe,” she says through gritted teeth.

You follow her gaze, eyes landing on Joel. Without another word you spin towards him and start to walk away from the women. This is it, your moment to tell Joel exactly how you feel. You hate that as you get closer you can see exactly why Kim fell in love with him. Tall and broad, with dark hair and eyes; you’re surprised to see she’d fall for a man with a mustache that full, but he pulls it off in the same way cowboys or Tom Selleck does.

You steel your face, repeating your pre-determined lecture in your mind over and over. The click of your heels draws Joel’s attention, and his eyes burn a trail from your toes to your eyes; him checking you out only pisses you off more. You stop in front of him, despising that even in three inch heels you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. This man looks like the type that can show you a good time, really talk you through it, but before he can get a chance to try to charm you, you poke a perfectly manicured finger into his chest and speak.

“Joel? I just wanted to let you know that if ever speak to one of my maids again, I’ll have you removed as a client. Not that you care, but Kim’s fine, thriving really, no thanks to you. On behalf of her entire friend group, go fuck yourself. You’re a piece of shit.”

His hazel brown eyes dance around your face before he smirks.

This motherfucker!

Tommy

Tommy didn’t want to be here, so much so that he stood on the balcony sipping his bourbon as the awards were called. He only stepped inside when he heard the category Joel was nominated in being announced, and when someone else won he let out a relieved whoosh of air, spun around and went back outside. Every person in his room was just trying to prove who was wealthiest; Tommy probably wasn’t even in the top fifty in this room, where Joel easily would have been top five. That nagging voice in his head kept reminding him that he’ll always be in his older brother's shadow.

The awards wrapped up, and after waving down one of the girls handing out champagne and convincing her to bring him another bourbon, he leaned against the column by the door that led to the balcony. He was calculating his exit, as soon as the crowd around the bar cleared he was high tailing the fuck out of here. 

Before he even knew what was happening, a sharp fingernail jabbed into his sternum as he was getting yelled at. Now he really didn't want to be here, but fuck was this scrappy brunette in front of him pretty. So pretty that he blocked out most of the words that tumbled from her lips as he watched the flush spread across her cheeks and down her long, soft neck. He stopped himself from thinking just how low that blush went down her chest, even though the sweetheart neckline of her dress was like a beacon to her perky breasts. 

He likes a girl with a little fight in her, a girl with confidence and who is unafraid to be herself. This girl, who is currently telling him to go fuck himself, is all of that. Plus, she looks like she walked right out of a 1950’s film; almond shaped green eyes that slowly turn amber as they reach the pupils, full lips painted red, and her pin up style dress that bunches around her curves perfectly. The only thing bringing her into this decade is the slender gold septum ring that sits tight to her slightly upturned nose. 

He can’t help himself but to smirk when you finish chewing him out.

“You got the wrong guy,” he says, lowering his voice to a deep timber before adding a mischievous, “Sweetheart.”

 You step back and he immediately misses the warmth of your body close to his. “Oh…”

He should stop there, let her apologize and get out of here like he planned. Instead, he steps into your space, dropping his face close to yours and whispering. “I’m his brother,” before turning on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking outside.

You shock the hell out of him when you say, “Well you can fuck yourself by proxy then!”

Again, he should stop, let it go, but goddamn he wants to see you all riled up and flustered. He turns back to you, his long legs eating up the distance he created in two strides. His dick revels in the little gasp that passes your lips at his sudden movements.

“You know, sweetheart,” his eyes stay locked with yours, “Your little tantrum would be a lot more believable if you weren’t undressing me with your eyes.” 

He watches as your jaw goes slack and your cheeks flush an adorable crimson. Were you actually just thinking about him naked, or did he just cross a line? Just in case it’s the latter, he prepares himself for the slap he rightfully deserves.

“What? I wasn’t…how do,” you sputter, trying to form a comeback. “You’re disgusting.”

He smiles again before he watches you spin on the balls of your feet. Perfectly manicured toes showing in the peep toe opening of your heels. The angel on his shoulder begs him to stop, but the devil on the other side tracks the way the slit on the back of your dress flashes the back of your olive tone upper thighs, already sun kissed by the exceptionally warm June Austin has been experiencing. 

He clears his throat and then calls after you, “I’m at table twelve if you want to see the real thing.”  

He watches the stutter in your step, hoping that you’ll come back and yell again. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued to your ass as you disappear into the crowd. Not until he can no longer see you does he turn around and go back outside.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #14 死

† camping trip mysteries †

"You'd have never said you'd be involved in a Council of 9 meeting at any point in your life; yet here you are, suddenly thrusted into a mission with the Chief you've just hooked up with, because your life couldn't possibly get more complicated."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k

content: female friendships, silly conversations, Vyunjin, dodgeball, AD being horrible with throws, cryptic stuff, council meetings, having to work with jeon officially, gang loyalty and bestie gossip

☠ author's note ☠

 I really milked this camping trip for all it's worth, huh? Three whole chapters of outdoor shenanigans! I regret NOTHING. Anyway, here's the conclusion of our little nature excursion! Hope you enjoyed this slightly more chill setting (apart from, y'know, chapter 12's 👉🏻👌🏻 situation) because don't worry—there's PLENTY of time for everything to go spectacularly to shit later <3

MY KIWI HEAD 🥝🤧 I genuinely love him so much and I'm as surprised as you are! Who would have thought?? I seriously had ZERO intentions for Takama when I started this—no plan, no backstory, nothing. He just showed up in my brain one day demanding rights.

Maybe I love him so much because he's the only one with more than two functioning brain cells? Like, the man is just... chill. Nice. Using his fucking brain. Being all wise and grounding while everyone else is having emotional crises left and right. THE VOICE OF REASON IN THIS CIRCUS.

Takama x Reader endgame??? Jkjk this is a Jeon Jungkook fanfic ☝️ ...which doesn't mean shit won't happen before/after 👀

ANYWAY I'll leave you to make your own assumptions about our kiwi boy. All I'm saying is that sometimes characters write themselves into your heart and there's nothing you can do about it. Is it just me as an author having unhealthy attachments to my own creations? PROBABLY! You tell me!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go cry about my fictional characters for the fifth time this week. It's only Tuesday. Send help.

xoxo 💋

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The morning hike with Chaewon was exactly what you needed—fresh air, quiet trails... No drama.

But of course, you can't have nice things in Kkangpae.

Not when you return to find V lounging on a log like some tragic hero while J-Hope patches up his split lip.

"What the hell happened here?"

You eye the scene, already getting a headache. The thorny scent of roses fills your lungs as V gives you what immediately recognize as a smug smile.

"Just a little disagreement." V's smile is all teeth despite his busted lip. "Jeon can get rather feisty when he wants to."

J-Hope just rolls his eyes, clearly done with V's bullshit. He hands you a sanitary napkin without looking up, too busy sorting through his medical supplies—which basically means please help me deal with this drama queen.

You crouch next to V, ignoring how his eyes track your movement like he's a cat and you're the bird he wants to catch. The napkin comes away bloody when you dab at his lip, and his body tenses slightly under your touch—barely noticeable if you weren't trained to pick up on these things.

"Careful now." His voice drops low, playful. "I might bite."

You don't miss a beat.

"You bite, you get no help." The words come out flat, unimpressed. "I'm not one of your fangirls, V."

His games might work on others, but you've seen enough of his thorny side to know better.

Those roses have teeth.

A low chuckle breaks the tension. J-Hope's back with his medical supplies, but V's still watching you—though now with something that might be respect.

Or whatever passes for respect in that thorny mind of his.

"You really had it coming this time." J-Hope clicks his tongue, cranky doctor mode fully activated as he settles back down. "Jeon isn't someone you poke for fun without expecting consequences."

"Me?" V's eyebrow shoots up, all wounded innocence. "I was just having a friendly chat. Who knew our brooding Chief still had some fight left in him?"

The act doesn't fool anyone—especially not J-Hope, who (you bet your ass) has been patching up the aftermath of V's friendly chats' for years.

"Friendly chat?" J-Hope scoffs, dabbing at V's lip with more force than strictly necessary. "You two always turn everything into a dick-measuring contest. One of these days someone's gonna end up with worse than a busted lip."

V leans toward you like he's sharing a secret, mischief written all over his features. "He's just worried he'll run out of medical supplies if we keep this up."

You expect J-Hope to snap back—he usually does when people get like this.

But he just sighs, shoulders heavy with a worry that feels too genuine for the Kkangpae's ruthless doctor.

"Or maybe I'm worried you'll end up with a split skull, dumbass."

It's weird, the way it dribbles from his lips—like actual concern.

Which is weird in a place like this, where caring too much can get you killed. But then again, J-Hope's always been different. Maybe that's why he's one of the few people V actually listens to.

Sometimes?

V's eyes meet yours, like he's either hunting for something or escaping whatever was swirling in the doctor's pupils. Though, as everything with V, it vanishes instantly behind that shark-like grin.

"Ah, Hobi, always looking out for me. What would I do without you?"

"Probably be lying in a ditch somewhere." J-Hope says it casually, but his snark feels less blunt now. 

He gives V's shoulder a quick pat—kinda saying 'you're patched up, now get out of my face.' V nods his thanks, but his attention is already sliding back to you. His gaze lingers a bit too long, assessing.

"You've got a steady hand," he drawls, and you know he's not just talking about your first aid skills.

Thorns prickle your skin.

"And you've got a death wish." You hand the bloody napkin back to J-Hope, keeping your voice flat.

Unimpressed.

V's laugh shatters in the quiet. "Oh, you're interesting. I like you."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" You arch an eyebrow at him. "Coming from someone who just got his ass handed to him by Jeon, I'm not sure how much that's worth."

His smile widens; ever so slightly. Like what you said made him feel something—bad or good, you really don't care, but it's like his vines are slowly creeping into your lungs.

You just sigh, shrug it off. It's not your problem.

You've got enough on your plate without getting caught up in whatever dick-measuring contest is going on between V and Jeon.

Your attention abruptly shifts to Takama, sitting cross-legged in the grass like some zen master on his coffee break. Despite looking perfectly relaxed with his can of coffee, you know better—the man's probably cataloguing every movement in a three-mile radius.

He's just that kind of observant. It's just how he is, what he does, that much is clear from your training sessions with him.

Persistent without being belligerent; consistent without being insistent.

It's weird seeing him in casual clothes. The navy sweater and white collar combo is a far cry from his usual tactical gear, making him look almost... normal. Like he could be anyone's slightly intimidating older brother instead of Jeon's deadly second-in-command. Even his loose jeans seem deliberately chosen for comfort rather than combat.

He doesn't move a muscle as you approach, eyes fixed on the horizon like his mind has found refuge among the spongy dunes skittering away in the sky.

Or maybe he's just really into his morning coffee.

You plop down beside him, the damp grass immediately soaking through your pants because of course it does.

"Peaceful morning, isn't it?"

You break the silence, knowing Takama won't. Man's got the conversation skills of a particularly stoic rock when he wants to.

There's something calming about his presence though.

Like he's the drizzle after the hurricane.

Plus, he probably won't try to murder anyone over breakfast. Unlike some people you could name.

"Peace is rare around here." The corner of Takama's mouth quirks up slightly. "Savor it while it lasts."

You settle into the comfortable silence, watching the horizon paint itself in morning colors. Next to Takama, even coffee breaks feel philosophical.

"You and V," he starts, offering you the can. "You get along?"

You grab it and take a sip, considering your answer. The coffee's gone lukewarm.

"Hmm."

Yeah that's your answer, because you don't really know what to reply. It's definitely not a yes, but you don't... hate him either?

"He's a wildcard, but I can handle him," is what you end up settling for.

What follows is Takama's laugh—quiet, understated like everything else about him.

"V is... unpredictable. But he's loyal to the gang, in his own way." He pauses, choosing words carefully. "Just watch your back. Testing people is how he entertains himself."

You pass the can back, watching him take another sip. The liquid works through a swallow down his throat, and his Adam's apple bobs slightly. His head tilts towards you when he notices you've gone silent.

"And Jeon? How do you find working with him?"

The question makes your skin prickle, and you know it's not because of how sudden it is—but because of something else, as well.

Images from last night force their way through your mind like a wiggling worm unwilling to let go—callouses on skin, that silver lip ring, the way he'd touched you like you might break.

You take your time answering, very aware that this is Jeon's right-hand man asking—and that your neck probably still has marks his mouth left behind.

But you're not about to tell Takama that.

"He's... intense." You focus on shredding a blade of grass, needing something to do with your hands. "But we kind of... get each other, I guess."

Takama finally looks at you, and fuck—there's way too much understanding in those gray eyes.

Because with V you have a noncommittal answer.

But you just said you get along with Jeon. Kinda.

He doesn't comment on it, and it makes sense—being Jeon's second means he probably sees more than most.

About how hard exactly it is to be in Jeon's circle. Not part of it, not even near—just hovering.

It's not easy, you know that much.

"Jeon respects strength," he says quietly, like he's sharing a secret. "Stand your ground, and you'll earn his respect."

A pause. Then he adds, hushedly:

"Maybe more."

Your pupils flicker between his, trying to parse whatever the hell he means—but nothing in there gives you a hint.

He simply smiles, getting up and helping you up too.

You both turn back to watch the camp wake up, the morning routine starting to buzz around you.

Someone's cursing about cold showers. Someone else is complaining about AD.

You take another sip of lukewarm coffee, letting the bitterness ground you. It's easier than thinking about what maybe more might mean, or why your stomach churns at the thought.

Besides, you've got enough on your plate just dealing with regular Jeon.

You don't need to add cryptic messages to that mess.

The peaceful morning doesn't last long—because this is Kkangpae you're talking about.

Moon's voice cuts through your post-gossip haze, drawing everyone to the center of the camp like a very formal shepherd. Some people look about as thrilled as you feel about being up this early.

"All right, everyone!" He's got that tone—the one that says 'this is mandatory fun and you're going to like it.' "For today's lunch, we're doing something different. Group bibimbap, but with a twist: you'll work in pairs."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd. You catch Takama's eye—he just raises an eyebrow like 'here we go again'.

"These pairings," Moon continues, all business in his long coat despite the casual setting, "are chosen to mix different divisions and personalities. It's about teamwork and learning from each other."

You barely hold back a snort. Trust Moon to turn lunch prep into a team-building exercise.

Your attention snaps back when he calls out, "Y/N, you're paired with JM. I expect great things from you two."

Well, that could've been worse. At least JM's not likely to stab you over vegetable chopping techniques.

When you reach him, he's already smiling that gentle smile that makes him look more like a kindergarten teacher than a gang's financial mastermind.

"Looks like we're a team." His voice matches his whole vibe—calm as a lake on a windless day. "Any ideas on what we should tackle?"

You're about to answer when a groan cuts through your chat with JM.

You turn to see AD looking like someone just deleted his gaming setup, while J-Hope's already got that 'done with this shit' smile plastered on his face.

"Bro, why the fuck am I always paired with your annoying ass?" AD slumps against a tree, all dramatic like the gremlin he is.

J-Hope just rolls his eyes. "Because Moon loves to torture me, that's why. Come on, let's just get this over with."

Your eyes inevitably roam around the clearing, taking in the other pairings.

Jeon and Chaewon—they acknowledge each other with matching professional nods, something like 'we respect each other but let's keep this strictly business' hovering over them.

Takama and Jessi make an oddly perfect pair, his zen energy somehow containing her wildfire spirit as they huddle together, already plotting.

V's got Yunjin trapped in what looks like his usual chaotic storytelling, though she seems to be holding her own—and then there's Eunchae and Sakura, who look like they're planning to turn lunch prep into some kind of competition.

Meanwhile, Kazuha's hanging onto Moon's every word like he's sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just bibimbap instructions.

"So." JM's gentle voice pulls you back. "Should we handle the veggies? I think we could make a great team in chopping and prepping them."

"Sounds good to me." You find yourself matching his easy smile. "Let's show them how it's done."

At least someone in this chaos circus knows how to be normal.

You follow JM to gather supplies, falling into an easy rhythm. His gentle energy is oddly reassuring, and makes even veggie prep feel zen.

Plus, he actually knows what he's doing, which is more than you can say for half the pairs around you.

Because AD's already whining about something while J-Hope ignores him completely.

Yeah; that's Kkangpae for you.

But then you catch sight of V with Yunjin and your stomach turns, why, you don't know. Poor Yunjin's holding her knife like she's never seen one before, eyes darting around nervously.

And its knives, so yeah, V swoops right in.

"Let me show you," he purrs, and fuck him for actually sounding smooth.

You see his hand sliding over hers, like he isn't the same person who had blood on his lip an hour ago.

"There's a rhythm to it, like a dance." You watch him press closer, caging Yunjin with his body while he guides the knife. "Feel the movement. It's about confidence, purpose."

"Like this?" Yunjin's voice is small, breathless.

"Exactly like that." He eases into it. "Every slice tells a story of precision and care. And you, Yunjin, have a knack for it."

You grip your own knife tighter, fighting the urge to stab those thorny vines right out of the air. He's charming, you'll give him that.

But you fear the sweet floral scent roses simply masks decaying waste underneath.

And he needs to stay the fuck away from Yunjin.

You can't help noticing how she melts under his attention, all shy smiles and batting eyelashes. Like a moth drawn to a particularly deadly flame.

"There, you're a pro now." V steps back with a wink.

"Thanks, V." Yunjin beams up at him. "I think I've got it from here."

A slight movement catches your eye—JM's knife has stopped mid-chop.

His gaze darts between V and Yunjin like he's watching a car crash in slow motion, and it's real subtle, but you catch the way his jaw tightens.

"JM," you keep your voice casual, "you seem a bit distracted. Everything okay?"

He snaps back to his vegetables, gentle smile sliding back. "Oh, it's nothing. Just... observing the dynamics. It's interesting to see how different personalities interact, don't you think?"

You nod, watching V circle Yunjin. "True. Especially with V. Makes you wonder what goes on behind that smile."

"Exactly." His smile is halfhearted at best. "Sometimes, the most cheerful faces hide the deepest stories."

The way he says it makes you wonder just how many of V's stories JM knows.

And how many of them keep him up at night.

You and JM fall into a comfortable rhythm again, just hearing AD complaining about something, Eunchae's bright laughter, the clatter of pots and pans.

Then—crash.

Your head snaps up, muscles tensing automatically. Old habits die hard in Kkangpae.

It's Chaewon.

She's standing frozen, an overturned pot at her feet, staring at one of Jessi's guys like she's seen a ghost. His hand hangs awkwardly in the air where it had brushed against hers. You can see her breathing speed up—tell-tale sign of panic she's never shown before.

JM's knife stills mid-chop. Before you can blink, he's already moving toward her.

Jessi's there too, quickly motioning for the guy to back off—and he does, looking confused and apologetic, but you notice how Chaewon's shoulders drop slightly once he's out of reach.

JM murmurs something to her, too low for you to hear (though you bet that gentle voice of his could probably talk down a rabid bear). Chaewon gives a tiny nod, but her knuckles are still white where she's gripping her sleeve.

When Jessi touches her shoulder, you catch that silent conversation between the three of them.

The kind that comes from knowing someone's demons intimately.

"Alright, everyone, back to work." Jessi shouts. "Nothing to see here. Let's keep the focus on the task at hand."

Everyone turns back to their tasks, but you don't miss how JM stays close to Chaewon, or how Jessi's eyes keep scanning the crowd like she's daring anyone to make this worse.

JM hovers near her for another minute before coming back to your chopping station, and when he does, he picks up his knife and starts slicing carrots like nothing's happened at all.

"Guess we all have our off days, huh?" You keep your voice light, casual. No pressure.

JM's knife stills for a moment. He doesn't look up.

"Everyone has ghosts they're running from." The words come out soft. "Some just hide them better than others."

You let the silence settle. There's an unspoken rule in the gang—you don't go digging in other people's graveyards unless they hand you the shovel first.

"I'm gonna wash up," you mutter, already heading for the makeshift sink, feeling like he needs some silence before being back to normal.

Behind you, JM's knife resumes its path against the cutting board.

You're shaking water off your hands when footsteps approach from behind. Months in Kkangpae have taught you to be alert even for something as mundane as washing up after veggie prep.

"So you do know how to clean up."

The low drawl sends heat crawling up your spine. You know that voice—and the smirk that goes with it—without having to turn around.

"Turns out, I'm full of surprises." You flick excess water in Jeon's direction, catching his dangerous half-smile when you glance over your shoulder.

His chuckle hits you right in the gut, deep and rich and —fuck—suddenly all you can think about is last night.

His hands, his mouth, the way he'd made you shatter.

"Surprising indeed." There's that smug tone again. "Especially since I recall someone being too fucked out to help with cleanup duty."

"Well," you drop your voice low, just for him, "if you hadn't made such a goddamn mess, there'd have been less to clean up."

Your body remembers how close you'd been—how you'd ground against each other like teenagers, desperate and needy.

How his cock had felt pressed against you, so close but not close enough because someone didn't bring protection.

The frustration from last night still burns under your skin, reminder of what could have been.

If he'd just been prepared...

Jeon steps closer, and—fuck—even after last night, his presence still makes your skin prickle.

"A mess, you say? The way I remember it, you were just as responsible for the chaos."

"Chaos?" You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as heat crawls up your neck. "Don't flatter yourself, Jeon. It was... mild disarray at best."

His grin widens, and you hate how your eyes keep tracking that stupid lip piercing.

"Mild disarray? You were panting like you'd run through every back alley in Seoul."

You scoff, trying not to remember how he'd made you shake, how his hands had felt mapping every inch of you.

"Breathless, maybe. But let's not blow it out of proportion."

"Hah." His eyes narrow. "You've got a sharp tongue. But we both know—"

A shout from across the camp makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his for a split second before you step apart, smooth as shadows. Professional. Like you weren't just thinking about climbing him like a tree.

Again.

You turn away, finally letting out that breath you'd been holding.

The banter gets you hot under the collar but fuck if you don't want more. Not that you'll admit that.

Even if part of you is already plotting round two.

This time with actual protection. Because seriously.

"Anyway," his voice cuts through your thoughts, "we should get back to work. Long day ahead."

"Right." You nod, and then go right back to prepping veggies.

Yeah. This is going to be a very long day indeed.

The smell of bibimbap hits different after spending all morning chopping vegetables next to JM's weirdly zen energy.

And yup—everyone's gathering around the portable tables, looking stupidly proud of their contributions like they didn't just spend half the morning complaining about Moon's team-building exercise.

You grab a spot next to Yunjin, who's already halfway through telling you about her latest drama obsession; eyes practically sparkling as she waves her chopsticks around.

"No but listen—the main lead thinks his brother died in that fire, right?" She leans in close, pink hair falling in her face. "But then in episode sixteen we find out he's actually been alive this whole time! Living in China!"

You nearly choke on your rice. "That's the most unrealistic plot twist I've ever—"

"Mind if I join?" Takama's calm voice slices through Yunjin's enthusiastic plot summary; slight smile that makes him look more like a monk than Jeon's deadly second-in-command.

"Pull up a chair." You scoot over to make room. "Yunjin's educating me on the finer points of melodrama."

"Ah." His eyes crinkle as he settles in. "The ones where everyone's secretly related and nobody stays dead?"

"Exactly!" Yunjin beams. "Like this one where the brooding CEO's got a secret relationship—"

"Should've fought harder for the meat distribution," you murmur, poking at your mostly vegetable bibimbap.

Before you can finish sighing about your protein deficiency, Takama's chopsticks appear in your line of sight, depositing a generous portion of beef onto your plate.

"Here. I prefer vegetables anyway."

"Liar." But you're already mixing the meat into your rice, trying not to look too pleased. "Thanks."

Yunjin pouts at that, surely expecting some meat too (even when her plate shows basically 0 vegetables anyway). You kick her under the table, and she almost bounces with a chuckle.

"So, V's actually a really good teacher," she says dreamily, pushing her rice around. "Did you know he used to work in a restaurant?"

You cough.

V's "restaurant" experience probably involved more knife-work than cooking.

"Is that so?" Takama asks, slightly puzzled.

"Mhm!" She sighs, all starry-eyed. "And he's so patient. The way he showed me how to hold the knife—"

"Speaking of knives," Takama cuts in smoothly, "your technique has improved, Y/N. Been practicing?"

You're grateful for the subject change. Watching Yunjin moon over V is like watching a butterfly land on a Venus flytrap.

"Yeah, well. Can't let the Seduction Division down, right?"

His smile is small but genuine. "Right."

Movement then catches your eye—Chaewon's heading your way, black bob bouncing with each step. She smiles when she spots you, but you don't miss how she falters slightly when she notices Takama. Her eyes dart between him and the empty space beside you, calculating.

For a second, you think she might turn around.

But then she simply strides over like she owns the place, sliding into the spot next to you.

You don't miss how she angles her body away from Takama, though.

"What's got everyone looking so serious?" She bumps your shoulder playfully. "Don't tell me Yunjin's got you all hooked on her dramas too."

"Not all of us can be as cultured as Yunjin." You grin as Yunjin pretends to be offended. "We were just discussing the finer points of V's... cooking techniques."

That makes Yunjin blush, but Chaewon's eyes sharpen. You catch that protective glint—the same one she gets whenever any of the male members get too close to her division.

"Oh?" Her voice is light, but there's steel underneath. "And how did you find our resident psychopath's teaching methods?"

"Come on, he was really patient!" Yunjin pipes up. "And his hands were so—"

"Speaking of hands," Chaewon interjects quickly, "I heard there was quite the incident at morning coffee. Something about Jeon's right hook meeting V's face?"

Trust Chaewon to steer the conversation away from V's charms while gathering intel in the same breath. Sometimes you forget she's your Chief for a reason.

Heels on grass make your eyes stutter behind Chaewon's silhouette.

It's Jessi; obviously—who claims the spot next to Takama, all long red hair and confident energy.

She's probably the only person who can make eating bibimbap look like a power move.

"Well, well." She waves her chopsticks at your little group. "What's this about dramas? Please tell me someone's finally calling out how unrealistic those chaebol storylines are."

"We were discussing layers," you explain, watching her pile kimchi onto her rice with the same precision she probably uses to plan weapons shipments. "You know, how people aren't always what they seem."

"Like how our fearless Chief here—" she angles her head towards Chaewon, "—pretends to be all business, but I caught her crying over cat videos last week?"

"That was one time." Chaewon tries to glare but can't quite hide her smile. "And you promised not to tell."

"Please." Jessi snorts. "Everyone knows you're a softie under all that badassery. Remember when you threatened to shoot that guy who made Eunchae cry?"

"He deserved it." Chaewon's voice goes flat, protective instincts flashing. "Nobody messes with my girls."

"And that's exactly what we mean," Yunjin pipes up, somehow making even this observation sound sweet. "Everyone's got different sides. Like how Jessi acts tough but always saves the last strawberry milk for AD."

"Oi—" Jessi points her chopsticks at Yunjin threateningly, but there's no malice in it. "Just for that, you're testing all the new rifles when we get back to the castle. Someone needs to make sure they don't jam."

Something about the easiness of the conversation makes something unfurl in your chest.

It's weird seeing these deadly women just... being friends. Sharing lunch and inside jokes like they aren't some of the most dangerous people in Seoul.

But then again, maybe that's exactly what Yunjin meant about layers.

"Sooo," Jessi prompts, "who wants to share their deep dark secrets? Come on, don't be shy."

"Real subtle, Joo." Chaewon rolls her eyes, but you catch that tiny smile she always gets around Jessi. "What's next, trust falls?"

"I'd let you fall." Jessi winks, making Chaewon snort into her rice.

Takama, who's been quiet this whole time, surprises everyone by speaking up. "Sometimes the secrets we keep aren't about trust. Sometimes they're about protection."

"Like how we all pretend AD doesn't secretly feed the stray cats behind the castle?" Yunjin singsongs then.

That breaks the tension, sending ripples of laughter around the group.

Even Takama cracks a smile.

"Or how Jessi acts tough but cried during that dog commercial last week?" Chaewon dodges the grape Jessi throws at her head.

"That dog was reunited with its family," Jessi hisses, but she's fighting back a grin. "Forgive me for having a heart."

"Yeah, buried somewhere under those nine inch heels."

You smile at that, and you note how the sun is high over head now, warming skin through the trees.

You should probably get back to work—those intel reports won't file themselves. But for now, you let yourself enjoy this moment of peace.

Even gang members need lunch breaks sometimes.

Dodgeball is usually fun. Keyword: usually—because when it's among deadly people... competitiveness is too light of a word.

You're in the middle of debating some strategy with Yunjin when Jeon's presence immediately freezes the whole camp. One second you're planning how to take down AD's team (he might be a tech genius but his aim is shit), and the next—

"Meeting. Council of 9, now."

Jeon's voice is calm, as usual. But it's precise, blunt in a way that makes your hackles rise. His face gives nothing away—typical—but something in his posture screams urgent.

The Council members share quick looks before following him into the trees. Moon's already at his side, glasses catching the sunlight. Chaewon squeezes your shoulder as she passes, and Jessi winks at Yunjin, but neither stops to explain.

Just like that, your cozy little camping trip turns into a war room—playful energy from moments ago gone, leaving behind the familiar sensation that comes with being in a criminal organization.

"Damn." Yunjin drops onto the bench beside you, pink hair falling in her face. "Even on a camping trip, we can't escape the threats."

Your little lunch group now feels weirdly empty without Jessi's loud energy and Chaewon's dry comments. You catch yourself staring at the path where they disappeared, like maybe if you look hard enough you'll develop x-ray vision.

So much for that epic dodgeball tournament you'd planned. Although honestly? Getting hit with rubber balls suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

"It's just how things work around here." Takama shrugs, wiping sweat from his shaved head.

Of course the dodgeball game's been put on hold, everyone too distracted by the Council's sudden disappearance to focus.

"Hey, Takemichi!" Eunchae bounces over, still flushed from running around. "Any idea what's going on? You're like, Jeon's right hand and all."

Takama's eye twitches at the nickname, but he doesn't comment on it. "No clue. But Jeon doesn't call meetings without good reason. Especially not during planned activities."

Your eyes drift to where the Council members vanished into the trees. It's odd seeing Jeon actually interact with people—the man's about as social as a brick wall. Even J-Hope, who he supposedly tolerates, barely gets more than grunts out of him most days. That whole don't-fuck-with-me hurricane aura of his keeps everyone at a safe distance.

And yet.

You'd fucked him.

Well, kinda.

Heat crawls up your neck as you mentally reminisce about last night.

Pride mingles with something else as you remember that untouchable Chief's face when he came all over your belly.

Focus, dumbass. Now isn't the time to replay your greatest hits. If Jeon's gathering the Council in the middle of fucking dodgeball, something's definitely wrong.

"Do you think it's..." Yunjin chews her lip, lowering her voice. "MDF?"

The mention of Myung-dong Faction makes everyone's faces go pale.

"Hard to say." Takama's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "But we did just wreck their trafficking ring. Hanjun's gone now. They're not known for letting that kind of thing slide."

You share a look with Yunjin and Eunchae. You remember Hanjun from your last mission—the way he'd crumpled when Kkangpae was done with him.

The way his whole operation had fallen apart like a house of cards.

Sakura's usually bright face is serious as she crouches next to you. "If it's MDF, we're fucked."

"They've been too quiet." Kazuha runs a hand through her wine-colored hair, eyes scanning the treeline like she expects assassins to materialize. "That's not their style. Not after what we did to their golden boy."

And she's right, isn't she? MDF isn't known for their forgive-and-forget attitude. Their silence these past weeks has been... unsettling. Like holding your breath underwater, knowing you'll have to surface eventually.

"Whatever it is, we need to be ready." Eunchae sighs. "Can't let our guard down. Not even here."

"We need to be united now more than ever." Takama's voice rumbles low as he scans the treeline."Division only makes us vulnerable, they might aim for that."

And he's right; because Kkangpae's strength isn't just in its firepower—it's in moments like this, when everyone's got each other's backs.

"Whatever the Council needs," you say, meaning it. "We've got their six."

The group falls quiet, the forgotten dodgeball lying between you like some sad metaphor for your interrupted normalcy. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls. You almost miss it under the sound of your heart pounding.

A rustle in the bushes makes you lean back.

Though it's just J-Hope, looking way too serious for someone who was laughing at AD's failed dodgeball throws ten minutes ago.

"They need you." His eyes find yours, steady and unreadable. "Jeon asked for you specifically."

You share a quick look with Takama, and he's wearing the same exact puzzled expression as you.

"Me? Why would he—"

J-Hope just shakes his head. Great. Because being summoned by the dude you almost fucked last night during a secret Council meeting isn't complicated enough.

But you don't really have much choice, so you trail behind J-Hope like a kid being called to the principal's office, mind racing faster than your heart.

What the actual fuck could Jeon want? And why during the middle of dodgeball, of all things?

The Council's little forest hideaway comes into view, and suddenly you've got nine pairs of eyes drilling into you.

Great. Just great. Nothing like being stared at by the most dangerous people in Seoul while you're in workout clothes and probably still red-faced from almost getting beaned by AD's wild throws.

Jeon stands like a statue among them, and he speaks immediately upon seeing you.

"We have a situation that needs your input."

No greeting, no explanation, just straight to the point. Pure Jeon. You'd roll your eyes if you weren't so aware of every Council member watching you.

"Remember your first mission?" Chaewon continues. "The women we rescued? You were the only one who actually saw them in that room."

Of course you remember—hard not to, even if you wish you wouldn't.

That cramped, dark room with its rusty bars and stale air. Women huddled in corners like broken birds, some too afraid to even look up when you'd entered.

Your first real taste of what the Seduction Division actually does.

Not the glamorous spy shit you'd imagined, but the ugly, necessary work of saving people from monsters.

"Remember what any of the women looked like?" Chaewon presses.

You try to remember, but the thing that comes first is the smell of fear and desperation—thick enough to choke on.

Then it's their faces. Burned into your brain. And then... hers.

"There was one girl," you start carefully, watching the Council's reactions. "Couldn't have been more than eighteen. Skinny thing, but her eyes..."

You pause, searching for the right words.

"Even in that shithole, she was... I don't know. Like she was just waiting for a chance to burn the whole place down."

You catch the tiny shift in Jessi's jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her weapon.

The air feels like a forest fire waiting to happen.

"Dark reddish-brown hair," you continue, the details getting clearer as you speak. "Matted to hell, but you could tell it was beautiful once. And the way she held herself..."

"That's enough." Jeon interrupts you. "Your recollection could prove useful. We believe that girl is connected to one of our own. This isn't some random MDF hit."

Your stomach drops. Because shit—that... That changes everything.

MDF might be brutal, but they're not stupid.

Kidnapping someone connected to Kkangpae? That's not just an attack—it's a message.

A very personal message.

You watch the Council's faces, trying to read between the lines.

If MDF knows enough to target someone specific, how much else do they know? How deep have they dug into everyone's past?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

"Now we know this is personal." Chaewon's voice is ice-cold, all business. "The question is, how do we respond?"

"We hit back." Jessi's voice cracks like a whip, raw and broken. "Show those fuckers what happens when you mess with Kkangpae."

J-Hope reaches for her shoulder, ever the voice of reason. "I know you want blood, Jessi. But an all-out war will only get innocent people killed."

Jessi jerks away from his touch, but you see how her hands shake. 

"I should've been there," she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. "I should never have left them alone."

The pain in her voice makes your chest tight; you've never seen Jessi like this—like she's barely holding herself together.

"Why don't we just storm their headquarters and slaughter them all?" V (who's been conspicuously quiet until now) raises his voice.

The guy is just leaning back against a tree, playing with a butterfly knife like he thinks he's the Joker or something.

"Picture it." His smile grows wider, more unhinged. "Their precious hideout painted red, bodies everywhere. We could string up their leaders—or what's left of them—as a warning."

JM gives him one look—one that somehow manages to pierce through V's psychotic haze. Like he's the only person besides RM who can actually rein him in when he gets like this.

V slumps back with an exaggerated pout, thorny aura receding slightly. The switch from bloodthirsty to playful is so fast it gives you whiplash.

"As entertaining as that sounds," JM's voice is steady, like a calm lake washing away V's chaos, "we need precision here. Not a bloodbath."

"You never let me have fun." V whines like a kid denied candy instead of mass murder. "But fine, we'll be civilized."

JM turns back to the Council. "Please continue. V's just... working through some things. He understands the need for balance."

Jeon's face gives nothing away, but you notice how his jaw tightens. Having to share space with V is bad enough—having to listen to his murder fantasies is clearly testing what little patience he has left.

"As I was saying..." Jeon continues.

JM gives V another one of those looks and V slumps against the tree.

The thorny scent of roses fades to something more bearable, though you can tell he's just waiting for another chance to suggest mass murder.

"I might have a better idea." AD clears his throat. "A bloodbath would be satisfying, sure, but we need intel first. Something clean and quiet that gives us some advantage."

You watch him run a hand through his messy blonde hair, thinking three steps ahead while looking like he just rolled out of bed.

"We know where their hideout is. Send in a small team, two people max. Get their data, their plans, their weak spots." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Information is better than bullets right now."

The Council members exchange looks. Even V stops fidgeting with his knife. You catch Jeon's shoulders relaxing slightly—he knows a good plan when he hears one.

"Stealth does play to our strengths," Jeon admits, and his eyes flick to you for a split second. "Who did you have in mind?"

AD jerks his chin toward you.

"She's perfect for this. Hanjun's well acquainted with Flower now, but Y/N? She was only there for the takedown. He never had time to report back about her or the other girls. But between all of them," he adds, "she's the only one who got to see all the girls."

Suddenly you've got nine of Seoul's most dangerous criminals staring at you. But you meet Jeon's gaze head-on, refusing to flinch.

Finally—a chance to prove yourself.

And maybe get some answers about what's really going on with MDF.

"She's just an ensign." JM mumbles. "She's gonna need backup."

The Chiefs exchange looks, probably running through a mental list of who they could trust not to fuck this up. Your heart's still pounding from being called in, from learning about this mission that could change everything.

"Jeon will lead this operation." RM's voice leaves no room for argument. Like he's announcing the weather, except the weather is your hookup being assigned as your partner.

Amazing, really love that for you.

"You're picking him for stealth?" V's voice goes high with indignation, like someone just insulted his knife collection. "I'm literally the Chief of Stealth Assassinations. What the actual fuck?"

Thorns prickle the air, sharp with offense. You definitely catch Jeon's tiny smirk—he's enjoying V's tantrum way too much.

"Jeon has the discipline this requires." RM's tone could freeze hell itself. "We can't afford your... creative interpretations of orders right now."

V opens his mouth—probably to suggest murdering everyone involved, knowing him—but JM slaps a hand over it. The look V gives him could kill a lesser man, but JM just raises an eyebrow.

"This mission's success is crucial." RM continues like V isn't plotting JM's death with his eyes. "We need strategy, not chaos."

You watch Jeon's face carefully. His expression gives nothing away, but you just know he's thinking the same thing you are:

How the fuck are you two supposed to focus on a stealth mission when you can barely keep your hands off each other?

"Come on," V's voice drags after getting rid of JM's hand, "we all remember how well these two work together. Like gasoline and a lit match. Either they'll kill each other or fuck like rabbits. Not ideal for a stealth op, eh?"

JM smacks his shoulder, but V just grins wider. Your face burns as Jeon goes rigid beside you, like a gathering strength.

If looks could kill, V would be six feet under from the glare Jeon's sending him.

You stare very intently at a patch of grass, fighting the urge to squirm, because V has no idea how close to home that "fucking like rabbits" comment hits.

Or maybe he does—you can never tell what that psycho actually knows.

"Enough." JM sighs. "RM's guidance is sound. Jeon, you're our best strategic mind. Tactical is probably our best approach right now."

Jeon's jaw works for a moment before he gives a sharp nod. "Understood. I'll lead the operation."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Stuck on a stealth mission with the guy you've secretly hooked up with, while his psychotic sworn enemy watches and makes sex jokes.

Just another day in Kkangpae.

"For now," RM's redirects the conversation swiftly, "let's focus on the task at hand. This camping trip was meant to build unity and trust. We can't lose sight of that."

Unity and trust.

Right.

Because nothing says team bonding like sending you and the guy you're dying to have sex with to infiltrate enemy territory while pretending you've never seen each other naked.

"There will be time later to prepare for the mission." He adds. "But while we're here, I expect everyone's full commitment to this team-building exercise."

Jeon surprises you by actually looking... chastened? as he gives RM a short nod. "You're right. My priorities were misplaced. I apologize for the disruption."

And that's... New. You've never heard Jeon apologize for anything.

But then again, RM's probably the only person in Seoul who could make him bow down. The amount of respect Jeon has for him is almost an entity of its own.

"No need to apologize." RM's stern expression softens slightly. "Let's refocus together on strengthening our bonds as a crew."

More team bonding. Because that's exactly what you need right now... bonding,̶ ̶o̶r̶ b̶o̶n̶i̶n̶g̶?̶

You give Jeon one last look before V's voice cuts through, all manic energy as usual.

"Last one back has to clean everyone's dishes!"

And then he just... takes off running like the psychopath he is, thorns receding with him. Because of course he'd turn this into a competition.

"Oh, fuck no!" Jessi kicks off her heels, already sprinting after him in bare feet. "I am not cleaning after his ass."

Chaewon and JM share this look—probably something like 'we're both too dignified for this shit' passing between them before they're running too, probably realizing nobody wants to risk V winning anything.

"How childish." J-Hope rolls his eyes, but AD's already got that gleam he gets when someone issues a challenge.

"Childish?" AD's grin is pure evil. "I bet I could eat enough for ten people. Give you something real nice to clean."

"You little shit—" J-Hope takes off after him. "Get back here!"

You glance back at Jeon and RM, both still walking like they're above such peasant activities.

But fuck it—you're already sweaty from dodgeball, might as well commit to the chaos.

"Think I'll take AD's strategy." You flash Jeon your sweetest smile. "Eat everything in sight, let someone else deal with cleanup."

You're running before he can reply, laughter bubbling up.

And then, merely a few second later, you hear his steady footsteps turn into something faster.

Looks like even the mighty Chief can't resist a challenge.

The campsite comes into view through the trees, and you pick up your pace.

You jog into the clearing, lungs burning, only to find V and RM already there.

What the actualfuck?

"How did RM beat us?" The words come out between gasps.

The man runs a criminal empire in designer suits, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be able to outrun anyone.

V just grins that Cheshire cat smile of his and then, Jessi, Chaewon and JM stumble in next, all tangled together and cackling like teenagers.

"JM's face when I almost tripped him—" Jessi wheezes, red hair wild from running.

Everyone else filters in gradually, catching their breath and comparing notes on who cheated (definitely V).

But oddly enough, there's no sign (or sound) of J-Hope or AD.

Then—

"You absolute fucking cockwomble, let go before I rearrange your face!"

"Not happening, you lil' bitch. I'm not cleaning your blood off the floor again!"

You turn to find J-Hope and AD crashing through the underbrush like drunk bears, locked in what has to be the world's most undignified wrestling match. AD's blonde hair is full of leaves, and J-Hope's pristine turtleneck is covered in dirt.

Seoul's most dangerous gang, ladies and gentlemen.

Truly terrifying.

"You wanna fucking go, asshole?" AD thrashes like a feral cat, trying to land a hit on J-Hope. "I'll rip out your spine and use it as a fucking ethernet cable!"

But J-Hope's got him locked down, using his height advantage like the bastard he is. AD might be scrappy, but the doctor's got experience wrestling patients into submission.

"You need to get out of this unscathed first, you dumbass—"

"Then I'll download your consciousness into a punching bag," AD snarls, still fighting. "Have you getting hit for eternity, you piece of shit!"

Their little death match stumbles closer to camp. J-Hope's got AD in a headlock now, ignoring the increasingly creative threats being spewed at his face.

"I'll be patching you up after this, you psychotic gremlin." J-Hope finally slams AD into the dirt, probably enjoying this way too much. "Maybe I'll sew a live rat in your stomach. Let it chew its way out through your organs."

They keep wrestling, but it's getting pathetic—like watching two drunk uncles fight at a family barbecue. Both of them are red-faced and panting, shirts half-ripped from trying to hold each other back.

You can't help noticing they look wrecked—covered in sweat and leaves.

Actually...

"They must've been holding each other back the whole way here." You snort.

No wonder they're last. These idiots literally spent the entire race trying to murder each other.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" V's voice rings out like a demented game show host. "Our esteemed winners, graceful as ever!"

J-Hope and AD freeze mid-choke hold, finally noticing their audience.

The look of pure horror on their faces is priceless.

"Dish duty it is, boys!" Jessi's grin is absolutely feral.

AD shoves J-Hope off like an angry cat, but they're both too winded from their pathetic wrestling match to do more than hurl insults at each other.

"This is all your fucking fault!" AD jabs a finger at J-Hope's chest, looking about as threatening as a wet Pomeranian. "If you hadn't grabbed me—"

"My fault?" J-Hope's voice gets higher. "Big words from someone shaped like a fun-sized candy bar!"

"Say that again, you overgrown fucking giraffe!" AD tries to lunge but stumbles, still panting. "I fucking dare you!"

RM steps in before they can start round two of the world's most embarrassing fight.

"That's enough, you two. We all enjoyed the show, but it's time to work."

They both shut up immediately—even AD knows better than to test RM's patience. But the glares they shoot each other could probably melt steel.

"Can't believe I'm stuck with your ass for cleanup duty," AD grumbles, brushing leaves out of his blonde hair.

"Trust me, I'd rather perform surgery blindfolded. But maybe next time you'll think twice before dragging me down with you."

"As if I need help being slow from someone who runs like a drunk giraffe."

Their bickering fades as they head back to camp, still shoving each other like kindergarteners fighting over the last juice box.

Well. At least you'll enjoy a show during dinner time tonight.

One would think dinner time would be dulled down now, after the Council meeting earlier.

But nope—gang members are scattered around the fires like this is some post apocalypse scavenging situation.

You can't help watching V with Yunjin. He's leaning in close and probably whispering some bullshit about knives being romantic or whatever gets him going.

And Yunjin—sweet, perceptive Yunjin who usually sees right through everyone's bullshit—is eating it up. She's doing that thing where she plays with her hair, pink strands twisting around her finger while she giggles at whatever murder joke V's telling.

You snort into your food, because you just don't get what's it with these two.

The weirdest part? Even knowing what V's capable of (the rumors about his "artistic approach" to killing make your skin crawl), you kind of get why people fall for his act.

He's got that whole dangerous charm thing down to an art.

"Hey stranger!" Eunchae drops onto the bench beside you, nearly knocking over your drink. Sakura slides in more gracefully across from you, because someone in your division has to have coordination.

"What was the super secret meeting about? You went in looking normal and came out all..." Eunchae waves her chopsticks vaguely. "You know. Intense."

"Classified." You shrug, trying not to think about what that meeting means for you and a certain hurricane-aura'd Chief. "Above your pay grade."

"Ugh, you're no fun." She slumps dramatically against your shoulder. "I wish I could join the Council just to know all the juicy stuff."

"We're here if you need to talk," Sakura adds quietly, and fuck—sometimes you forget how perceptive your division can be.

"Thanks." You bump Eunchae's shoulder, warmth blooming in your chest. These idiots might be professional honey traps, but they're your idiots. "I mean it."

You go back to your food, half-listening to Eunchae's story about some mark who thought cryptocurrency was foreplay. But your eyes keep drifting to V and Yunjin.

What's your friendly neighborhood psychopath plotting this time?

However, the first drops of rain quickly hit your food like tiny bullets. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a full-blown downpour because of courseit does.

Nothing like a surprise shower to end your deeply suspicious dinner observations.

"Oh, come on." Eunchae snatches up her plate, already running for cover, chestnut hair plastered to her face by the time she makes it three steps.

Your eyes snap to where V still has Yunjin trapped in conversation. They're both getting soaked but Yunjin's still hanging on his every word, pink hair turning darker in the rain.

"Yunjin!" You pitch your voice to carry over the rain. "Unless you want to catch pneumonia, might want to wrap it up!"

She blinks like she's coming out of a trance, finally noticing she's halfway to drowned. The spell breaks—thank fuck—and she hurries over to you, gathering her stuff with slightly shaky hands.

"Thanks for the save." Her voice is quiet, almost sheepish. "Got a bit... distracted."

"Yeah, no shit." You grab her arm, steering her toward your tent. "Let's get inside before we both melt."

You dodge through the chaos of gang members running for shelter, curses mixing with laughter. Someone—probably AD—slips in a mud puddle and lets out a string of creative profanity that would make a sailor blush.

The relative safety of your tent feels like crossing a finish line. The rain hammers against the canvas, but at least you're dry.

Well. Drier.

The rain doesn't let up for hours, turning the campsite into something out of a moody indie film. But inside your tent? It's like a sleepover bubble—wrapped up in cozy blankets and the glow from Yunjin's phone where some poor actor is having his third dramatic breakdown of the episode.

Yunjin's using your stomach as a pillow, pink hair splayed across your hoodie while she decimates the bag of chips between you. Every few minutes her hand dives in without looking, too focused on whatever absurd plot twist is happening now.

"This one's actually decent," she murmurs, smiling at the screen where someone's probably discovering their evil twin or something.

"If you say so." You can't help grinning as the male lead clutches his chest like he's having a heart attack over a text message. "These writers must be on something wild. Like, who comes up with this shit?"

Her giggle vibrates against your stomach.

"That's why they're fun! You never know what's coming next." She tilts her head back to look at you. "Kind of like living here, right? Never a dull moment in Kkangpae."

"God, don't jinx it." But you're laughing too because she's not wrong. Your life has definitely taken some drama-worthy turns lately. "Though I hope we're at least more realistic than that."

You both fall into easy conversation, trading comments about the show and today's chaos. When the male lead starts laying it on thick with the female lead, you see your chance. Time to figure out what the hell V was playing at earlier with all that knife teaching.

"So." You poke Yunjin's side with your toe, aiming for casual. "What's with you and V today? The whole knife lesson thing seemed... weird."

Yunjin doesn't look away from her drama. Of course she doesn't.

"I mean, have you seen him?" She sighs dreamily. "He's like a walking thirst trap. Those hands..."

"Oh my god." You stare down at her pink head in disbelief. "You'd actually fuck him? Like, actually actually?"

She finally tears her eyes from the screen, twisting to grin up at you with zero shame. "Why not? Life's too short not to ride at least one psychopath, right?"

The silence stretches.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at your horror. "You wouldn't?"

"Jesus fuck no." You mime gagging. "You know he probably has some weird murder kink. Like, he'd probably want to chase you through a haunted house with a knife while dramatic music plays."

"Haunt play?" Her eyes go wide  before she breaks into giggles. "That's... weirdly specific. But don't knock it till you try it, right?"

"Yun." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "He'd probably set up a whole haunted house just to get his rocks off."

"Okay but..." Yunjin props herself up on her elbows. "Haunted house but make it sexy? That's kind of genius."

"You're actually insane." You shove her shoulder, both of you dissolving into laughter. "I swear to god, if I ever hear spooky music from his tent—"

"You'll what, call the ghost police?"

Her laughter shakes your whole body, bright and infectious, and the small space of the tent makes this ridiculous conversation feel somehow safer, more intimate.

Just two girls discussing their terrible taste in men while hiding from a storm.

Even if one of those men happens to be Seoul's most notorious psychopath.

Yunjin flops back down, using your stomach as a pillow again. The drama's still playing on her phone, but you're too busy thinking about V's games to focus on whatever chaebol drama is unfolding now.

"For now," she sighs dreamily, "I'll stick to living through these ridiculous romances. Much safer than the real thing, right?"

You hum in agreement, watching raindrops race down the tent's surface.

"Sounds smart. But if you do decide to test out V's haunted house kink..." You poke her side. "I want every single detail. For science."

"Deal." Her giggle vibrates against your stomach. "But only if you keep saving me from his 'passionate teaching moments'. My knife skills are fine, thanks."

"Always."

The word comes out softer than intended, but you mean it. In Kkangpae, real friendship is rare as fuck. People either want to kill you, fuck you, or use you—sometimes all three.

But Yunjin? She's different.

And all the while; the rain keeps drumming steadily against the canvas, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.

In here, none of that exists.

Not V's thorny games, not Jeon's hurricane, not the Council's secret meetings.

Just you and your best friend, safe and warm while the storm rages on.

For now, anyway. Tomorrow's another story.

goal: 400 notes

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[deangirlsstuff67]

Soldier Boy’s Girl

Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: You get the version no one else gets the pleasure of knowing.

Warnings: None

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

Six months ago your Uncle Billy recruited you to be on his team for the fight against superhero’s. Considering your past involving any of them, it made sense.

They had found the weapon that was going to take down Homelander once and for all. Your job? It was simple, babysit the volatile ticking time bomb of a supe.

Seems easy right?

Uncle Billy knew you could handle yourself easily. You weren’t actually what he would call fragile or gentle by any means. What none of them were expecting was for you to grow attached to Soldier Boy.

For you it was different, while they were the same person, you fell hard for Ben, you’re learning to love Soldier Boy. Learning to separate his two personalities made living with the man so much easier.

Yes there was some Ben in Soldier Boy.

There was definitely Soldier Boy in Ben, he usually came out when you were withering underneath your boyfriend, begging him for more. That cocky grin, the I’m the man energy, all of it comes to light in the depths of your bedroom.

—————————————————————————

Today was a rough one for Ben. They went to herogasm and let’s just say it didn’t go as planned. Homelander showed up and a fight broke out between the two supes, innocent people got hurt in the process.

Soldier Boy comes off as a cocky, give zero fucks, rough, rude killing machine to many people. They all thought he was cold hearted and never cared when others got hurt by his hand.

To be fair he played that role well.

When the front door opened that night you instantly felt the sadness and regret rolling off your boyfriend in waves. Uncle Billy had called and told you what had happened. Preparing you for what mood Ben may come home in.

You had a glass tumbler full of his favorite whiskey locked and loaded. Ben came into view seconds later, no words were exchanged between you. You knew better than to pry, he’d come to you when he was ready.

Handing him his whiskey and kissing his cheek you simple walk to the bedroom to finish folding laundry.

Half hour later you hear the bedroom door close behind you as you continue putting clothes into the right drawers. Spinning on your heels you see Ben sitting on the edge of the bed staring at a spot on the floor.

Making room you crawl up beside him leaning against the headboard in silence. He wants to talk and you know that. Talking doesn’t come easy for Ben, growing up in a world much different than today’s day and age.

Softly he spoke, “I didn’t mean to hurt those people. I’m not a bad guy y/n.”

You make your way over to him, simply crawl into his lap, using your fingers to force him to look at you.

“I know you aren’t Ben. That was an accident.” Leaning in you capture his lips for a loving kiss. Holding him close as you rake your fingers through his hair.

You feel the stray tears falling from his eyes hit your shirt. To the world he’s a big, tough soldier, but in the comfort of your house Ben is so much more.

No one would have ever guessed he would have such a gentle side to him. You make him feel safe. You never judge him. You’re patient and loving.

Looking into your y/e/c eyes he asks you, “why do you love me doll?”

You kiss his tears away smiling at him, “because I’ve never met a man like you. You’re special Ben. The moment we met I knew I was done for. You’re filthy, moody, strong, caring, protective, and loving. You have a way of making me feel alive no matter what we are doing.” One more kiss to his sweet lips before adding, “plus you are amazing in bed.”

Winking at him as you start getting off his lap. Ben lets out a growl as he grabs you again and throws you into the pillows.

“Let’s see just how amazing I am shall we doll?”

This is why he loves you. You’re patient and kind to the man everyone deems a killer. You listen when others judge. Not to mention you can handle both the gentle and rough side of his personality.

“Come on Soldier Boy, let’s see what America’s hero can do.”

—————————————————————————

Taglist:

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @spnaquakindgdom @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @tspmoff @nancymcl @syrma-sensei @yvonneeeee @deansimpalababy

[nquesoxlies]

https://www.tumblr.com/nquesoxlies/780567152604463104/let-people-be-upset-about-their-favorite?source=share

tbh there's also something a loooot of ppl need to learn calling "setting realistic expectations." i personally wouldn't want eddie back without an on-screen conversation between him and CHRIS about what CHRIS wants, otherwise his entire plot in texas would feel kinda moot with a throwaway "yeah chris is fine with coming back to LA :)" since this plot was big enough for eddie to drop everything to go finally make things right with his son. i didn't expect for him to show up for the two-parter. meanwhile, everyone i saw who was momentarily disappointed bc no tommy was like "ah well, we know we're almost definitely getting him next episode bc of leaks" and went on to enjoy the episode as a whole

its genuinely fine to go "aw no eddie? :(" its Not fine to review bomb an episode and repeatedly bitch about the director not putting ur favorite man in the episode when it makes 0 sense for him to come back so quickly and without showing us that he IS still working on being a better dad to chris. hell, go write fanfic about it where eddie IS back instead of review bombing!!! that's probably a way more fun use of time than review bombing!!!

honestly, these fans make me dislike eddie more and more ngl which isn't even the actor or the writers faults at all. if he leaves the show then it's not going to impact me that much unless his ending is fully unsatisfying, and that'll be more of a "cmon, writers, you knew this was where this was going, do better." i have never watched the show only for eddie like these people have. came into the show expecting to love madney + henren and ended up very emotionally invested in bathena while enjoying buck and eddie as well. i'm on the same page as a lot of ppl who have been here longer than i have been: we love the entire show rather than just eddie. honestly, i think half of these people don't even like buck. i already know most of them don't give a shit about the rest of the show from insulting ravi over him distracting buck with tommy to turning josh into the "number 1 b*ddie cheerleader" to ignoring henren unless they can use them as a "gotcha!!! you don't actually care about queer rep!!!" like.

@ BoBs: do YOU? because every time there's queer rep that threatens ur fanon ship, u actively get homophobic about it down to, what, 600? of you PROUDLY admitting you would commit a hate crime to make your stupid ship canon--including both real men and fictional characters like josh and tommy in your "i'd hate crime for them teehee!" bullshit.

idk queso its just wild to me how often i also see the "eddie diaz pretty pretty princess who wants to paint his nails!!!" like. painting ur nails isnt gendered, the fuck? BoBs see anyone gender non-conforming and goes "wow, inherent sign of queerness, i am very smart :)" while feeding directly into toxic masculinity with the idea that if you don't adhere strictly to what's deemed masculine, then clearly you're queer. even if you say you're straight and know you're attracted to women and only women, you're gay because you (checks notes) have emotions and cry over your friends and did ballroom dancing when you were younger.

anyway if im being petty then i kinda hope that eddie leaves to focus fully on chris and making a life for the two of them in el paso and ravi takes his place on the team so that we get indian rep permanently on the show for a bit! i think he could bring some new life into the team (regardless of whether the show goes on for one season or more) and it'd be nice to see buck in a mentor position to him. plus i'd love to see his dynamic with the rest of the team <3 i am still available to play his love interest who is there for a single episode before being relegated to one-off mentions <3 /hj

Yes to alllllll of this, Annie!!!

What's ironic to me, based on something you mentioned, is the nail painting. They want sooooo hard for RG to actually be gay yet an actor who does paint his nails (for self-harm reasons) they call a slur and tell him to die.

Like???? Wtf are we doing???

(I know your ask is about the characters but that shit will always rub me the wrong way about Ryan stans)

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Eighty Five)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s

We Got Issues

Part Eighty Five: Y/N catches up with Cillian after spending the day with Clíodhna - he's at the hotel and suffering from his eventful night, but he's good humoured despite the damage done. But Y/N can't escape the insidious nature of the man who threatens their family when he pops back up. Y/N is catapulted into mental darkness by news she never wanted, sparking memories she tries to forget. [Fluff/Whump/Threat/Angst/references of SA & CSA]

@cherrycilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01

This update contains sensitive inferences towards sexual abuse and child sexual abuse. Please be mindful of your mental health and triggers. There are not full and frank descriptions, but there are insinuations and references. Please skip this if you feel this will be too much.

Leaving the unit that evening, after settling Clíodhna down and ensuring you had pumped as much breastmilk as you could, you make your way through the corridors with one goal in mind - to reach out to Cillian. Your phone begins buzzing like it's possessed as you near the entrance doors, and you draw it from your pocket to a handful of alerts. There are a small mountain of text messages from Cillian, each one getting progressively less incoherent as they go on. Poor sod is clearly in a state, be it down to his injury or his hangover, and you wonder in your mind what his mood is like to be around. You want to laugh, but you're still worried and still hope that he's okay. The latest message, evidently sent about a half hour before you'd left Clíodhna but had only just registered, is a sorry state of affairs.

I know you're wihh our girl but call me when you get ouut. Paidi said he spoke to you. Death warmd up here. Don't think I cna actually get sick any more. Ring y eah? Love you x

You smile at the wealth of typos, but are pleased you can actually make sense of it, and quickly set about ringing him as you step out into the early evening sun in the carpark. He answers after two rings, and he sounds worse for wear. “Missus,” he says in a grumbling voice.

“Hi,” you say softly. “How's the war-wound?”

You hear him scoff. “Ah, sure… it's fairly sore. Five stitches. Cunt of a thing.”

You smile, peeking around you to remember the car’s location, and walk towards it. “And how's the hangover?”

“Brutal.” He laughs huskily. “How's Clíodhna?”

You smile again - still, she's on his mind. “She's great. I'll send you over the photos I took today, she was making these little sounds...little sniffles. She makes faces like she'll cry, but she hasn't yet. I still feel weird for wanting that.” You say, shaking your head, as you take the car keys from your pocket. “So, come on, what happened, Cill? Do you remember?”

He sighs noisily, “Ah, I do, mostly. I just think went over Páidi's feet, like. But, sure, I wasn't exactly sober…” he says and you can hear the smirk on his lips.

“Must have been some fall, though. Stitches and a concussion? That's a hell of a bang. I hope to God nobody spotted you and took photos. From what Páidi did manage to explain, you were diabolical at the hospital.” You say gently. “When Páidi called me this morning, out of his mind drunk, he laughing about you throwing up and talking about…Helen Mirren?”

“About wha’?” He laughs again. "Helen Mirren?"

“Ask your brother! He didn't make a whole lot of sense, but evidently he's also in favour of your erections.” You chuckle.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, and you can hear the thicker accent and humour behind his tired and croaky voice.

“Ask Páidi!” You laugh. “I take it nobody is in a state for driving home tonight. You guys are staying back another night?”

“Yeah - Chris is going to drive in the morning.” Cillian says quietly, and then you hear him yawn loudly.

“Do you have anything to take for your head?” You ask as you climb into the car, dragging the door shut noisily.

He chuckles lightly. “They gave me some good stuff, but I've not had that. We've enough paracetamol there between us, it's doing the job.”

“Well, look after yourself. You absolute idiot! Was the show good before that?” You ask him.

He sniffs right into the phone and you cringe. “Yeah, it was deadly. What I remember of it.” He laughs a little. “I miss ya now though. You're alright, yeah? Everything okay at home, and up the hospital there?”

“Fine, love. Absolutely fine. No visitors, no sign of our friend, only one idiot outside the hospital and he just stood taking photos and asked where you were. I nearly shat myself about you, but otherwise it's been a fine, quiet, normal weekend. Except you not being here. In fact, I even had a message or two from Aran, asking after Clíodhna and when I sent him and Malachy photos, Malachy texted back with a big smiley face” you say softly, smiling. You hear him give a happy sigh - you're not sure how you know it is, you just know. “I'm really glad you've had a good time, besides the head injury, but I have missed you, too. So much.”

“Yeah, well, I'll be back tomorrow and then you needn't be missing me.” He says, too quietly, and you know he's not alone. You'd forgotten you'd booked two double rooms, so you assume that Páidi or one of the others was close by. You get your answer when he starts talking into the room, “...no, it's Y/N. Wha’? No, sure why would I ring Mum? Get away, you langer. Go on…Fuck off, I'm talking…” it's Páidi he's sharing with, then, and the thought of that makes you laugh. You kind of wish you were there, peeking in, just to see them fucking around and winding one another up as brothers. “Here, I'm gonna go, alright. Páidi's a prick…I know you're already out, but kiss Clíodhna tomorrow morning for me, yeah? And I'll get up to the hospital as soon as we're back in Dublin, alright?”

“Of course I will” you smile softly. “Go on, off you go and rest. Look after yourself, all right? Tell Páidi I said to be nice to his big brother or I’ll hurt him.” You laugh. “I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah… I love you too.” he says gently, and then breathes deeply.

When the phone goes quiet and the call ends, you miss him even more. You toss your phone onto the passenger's seat of the car and dug the key into the ignition. Before you can turn it, there is a sharp knock against your window, and you turn your head, startled, and feel your heart thudding when you see Martin Ellis standing there with a shit-eating grin.

“Ah, don't be soft, Y/N. Open the window.” He says, still grinning. Though muffled through the closed glass, you can hear him well enough. His accent is both lilting and sharp. The Cavan sound varied, you'd noticed, but he had such a distinctive voice. It makes your skin crawl.

“Go away.” You say firmly, shaking your head.

“Don't be like that, you're my wee sister.” Martin laughs sickly.

“I said go away!” You scowl, “Fuck off. There is nothing that you can do to hurt this family. Nothing. So just fuck off.” You snap.

“Here, are you sure about that?” He asks, and that grim smirk is still on his face.

“Absolutely. Now fuck off.” You turn the key in the engine.

“Sure, maybe I can't hurt your perfect wee family. I imagine aul Cillian's been so scared I'd do something, he's already done it himself. Has he? Yeah? Of course he fucking has. He thinks he's on top now, does he? Cock of the walk with the new baby and all. But, I'll tell you something, there's one thing he can't do, that I can.” Martin says, and the grin grows wider.

You hate yourself for being drawn in, but you raise your eyebrows and say, “Oh, really?”

“Oh aye - I can tell you news to shake you.” He holds up a piece of paper and then pushes it against the window. “Can you read that there, Y/N? Can ya? Do you see what that says? That name up there… Isn't that your murdering Daddy? …And come here, doesn't that say there he's after being convicted again, on historical sexual abuse claims?”

You swallow hard as you look at the printed out sheet, from some news document. It is indeed your father, Richard [Y/L/N]. And it does list historic sexual abuse as a reason for a new prison term. You scan it then look across the glass, back at Martin. “I don't care where he is.”

“But they want to bring more charges,” Martin continues, “They want to review reports from when you were a wee girl, Y/N, and they want to talk to you. Does aul Cillian know about what he did to you when you were wee? Did you tell him? Does he know it was your murdering Daddy who was the first man to touch you? Does he know what he used to make wee Y/N do for his friends? Does he know what wee Y/N had to be taught not to do when she moved into her foster home…?”

Your entire body shakes and you find it hard to control your breathing. “Go away.” You say, gritting your teeth.

Martin grins once again. “God Almighty, my old pal Cillian did get his hands on some damaged goods, didn't he? Why does he fight me so hard to protect you? Or is it the shame of people finding out about you that he does it for? Oh aye, you'll get the call soon. And the paps, and the cameras… he'll learn it all then, won't he? And the perfect little life the two of ye have built won't look so fucking rosy, not when the world knows what Cillian Murphy was at behind his wife's back, with his mistress who needed to be told that no, we don't touch every man we meet, and we certainly don't lie back and take what Daddy gives us… I wonder does the social services know that that wee baby in there has damaged goods for a Mammy?”

“Do not go near my daughter.” You yell and you slam your left hand hard down against the steering wheel. “You don't even talk about my daughter! Fuck off!”

He steps back one step, and holds his hands up, still displaying the paper. “As you wish, soon-to-be Mrs Murphy.” He raises his eyebrows and once again, he grins. “Good night, then.”

As soon as he's far enough back, you fully start the car and immediately drive out of the parking space. You know you probably shouldn't be driving, as your eyes stream and your heart races, but you need to know you're away from the man and his words. How does he know about your father now? Who told him? …And how the hell did he get access to anything regarding your past of that nature? Who did he think he was? Of course you'd shared details with Cillian - you'd never been so base as to fully describe every inflicted act, but he was well aware that your father had been sexually inappropriate towards you when you were small. You wanted to call him - you wanted his voice in your ear - but you needed him here, to hold and inhale him to feel grounded and secure, to remind you that you are not now what you were then, that you are not now where you were then. But he's far away and he's incapacitated, and all you can do is cry, and drive, and wonder who else your father laid hands on when you were a child.

You realise, when you stop the car on your gravel driveway, that you're not entirely sure how you got from just outside of the city into Malahide, and yet you can't remember anything beyond the carpark of the hospital. You pull the key for the ignition and sit back in the seat. Your face feels dirty, stained with tears you're sure you've cried the whole drive. You glance to your left, looking at your phone, and wonder if calling Cillian now is too selfish. He's in pain, and okay some of it is self inflicted, but what can he do from there anyway? And surely, all you'd do is brew an anger in him he can do nothing with - and then it's Páidi and Cillian that'll suffer while you, possibly, could feel better from the talk. You convince yourself it's the wrong move, but what grows in you is a need to get out what you think, what you feel, and the lack of outlet feels stifling. Who can you call? Who can you vent to? There's nobody in your life today, besides Cillian - who has ninety percent of the story - who knows a single thing about you. God, all you want is Cillian. His arms, his smell, his soft words, his hair against your cheek as you pull closer and closer to him. Closing your eyes, you rest your head back on the seat fully and try to scrub the memories from your brain, silently cursing Martin Ellis the entire time. It had been many years since you'd even thought about your father deeply, and yet, with Martin's cruelty, you sit there with the smell of his breath and the feeling of his hands, and you feel sick to your stomach.

You remember a song you'd heard many years back, by an American singer who had cried through her performance of it, and you mutter the words to yourself in the car and try to think about Cillian and Clíodhna. “...back then I didn't have anything you needed so I was worthless, but piece by piece he collected me up off the ground where you abandon things, piece by piece he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old. He never walks away, he never asks for money, he takes care of me, cause he loves me. Piece by piece he restores my faith, that a man can be kind and a father could stay….”

You breathe out with pursed lips, and open your eyes. The smell of him is gone, and the feel of his hands no longer lingers on your body. In their place, slowly, come the memories of comfort and love with Cillian. His words in your ear, his soft and gentle hands, his understanding of the words you use when it all got too much in those earlier days. You can row - hell, Cillian had thrown horrible words about your father at you when you were pregnant - but you always knew that it was Cillian who had stayed, and who honoured you, and who showed you, through his sons and now Clíodhna, what a father was supposed to be. He'll be home tomorrow, and that thought keeps you sane.

You are not who you used to be. You are not where you used to be.

.

[my-stories-vault]

Thanks so much for the tag, @jollyhunter ❤️. So adorable, lol.

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that will show up in each category:

fictional character

date / night date

gift

outfit

dessert

love quote

I dunno how that ribbon thing's a gift but that's what appeared, lmao. (However, being a writer, I might just gift my man a meaningful quote 😭🤣.)

No pressure tags (sorry if you've been tagged before): @bettystonewell @aylacavebear @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @middleearthislife @maddie0101 @losers-clvb @voodoochildthings @ambiguous-avery + whoever wants to join in!

did this on littlelamy this and wanted to try it again: created by @cowboylikemily

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that will show up in each category

fictional character

date / night date

gift

outfit

dessert

love quote

npts (and anyone else who wants to do it!): @soldiersgirl @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @cherrygirlfriend @inbred-eater @bluemerakis @dollyfiles @bittersweetfig @pieandflannel @beausling @bejeweledinterludes @ultravi0lence14 @h8aaz @sacr1ficialang3l @losers-clvb @mahi-wayy @fuckedupfate @wintfleur @wvyik @emeraldcrs @saltcxrcle @xoswiftieprincess @vmiina @multiversefanfics @legalmente-loca @j2archives @faiszt

[godricgryffinsnore]

Hi Della, I am gonna be shameless and ask for a Friedrich Harding angst to fluff. LIKE LEGIT ANGST. Please make me tear up or bawl my eyes out. idc. I need to feel something. Maybe she fell first but he fell harder type of trope??? Maybe Harding believed Anna is it for him but in reality it’s the reader whom he really wants? HSHSHHAHAHA I AM BABBLING AT THIS POINT BUT I HOPE YOU GET WHAT I MEAN. 😭

The Wrong Name In The Dark ♡ : A Friedrich Harding Fan Fiction.

pairing : Friedrich Harding x female!reader

summary : A hauntingly poetic tale of unspoken love, aching devotion, and soul-deep yearning, where shadows of the past threaten to eclipse a heart that has waited too long to be seen. In the quiet ruins of heartbreak, love finds its voice—and redemption.

warnings : Intense emotional angst, Themes of unrequited love and emotional neglect, Mentions of crying, grief, and internalized heartbreak, A scene with mistaken identity/intimacy, Begging, emotional vulnerability, and desperate confessions, Heavy gothic imagery and melancholy tone, Mentions of blood/curse (Nosferatu themes), Redemption arc and emotional healing. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. This is a drabble, i.e, an extremely short fiction.

word count : 1k

main master list <3

della's note : Tally, I swear I didn’t mean to fall headfirst into Period Piece Aaron Taylor-Johnson brain rot, but here we are 💀 I originally dodged the movie 'cause I’m a certified horror wimp, but your request made me brave—and now I’m emotionally destroyed and weirdly grateful?? I had so much fun writing this (read: sobbing into my keyboard), hope you like it!! Sorry it’s short, blame Friedrich’s brooding. I really hope you like it though <3. Oh and btw, this is split into 7 parts of grief prioritizing the moments instead of dialogues. OH AND BTW, I AM HONOURED TO WRITE THIS!! Your fan fictions are my sole happiness!

banners : @uzmacchiato and @roseschoices

I. THE NAME THAT WASN’T YOURS

You learned to live with shadows.

They curled around your ankles like smoke, crept into the lining of your soul, and whispered lullabies of silence. And he—Friedrich Harding—was the storm inside the silence. A man cloaked in enigma, all stern bone structure and unspoken tragedies, the very embodiment of winter itself.

You loved him in secret.

Loved him in the way the moon loves the tide—always pulling, never reaching.

You watched him turn his gaze toward Anna with the weight of something ancient, something cruel. She was light. The kind of light that blinds. You, on the other hand, were the soft candle left burning in the church long after the choir stopped singing.

You were not her.

And he—he never looked at you the way he looked at Anna.

Until he did.

But by then… it was far too late.

── .✦

II. THE FALL

There was a night—the night it all split open.

He was feverish, haunted. Nosferatu’s curse bled from his skin like ink. You found him crumpled in the cathedral ruins, whispering her name like a prayer—Anna, Anna, Anna—as if it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing into ash.

You knelt beside him, hands trembling, heart breaking.

“Friedrich,” you whispered. But he didn’t hear you.

Only her name passed through those cracked lips.

You should have left him there. But love makes masochists of us all.

So you stayed. You wrapped your arms around his broken body, even as the night swallowed you both. And when he reached for you in his delirium, mistaking your warmth for hers, and kissed you—God—you let him.

Because you were nothing if not loyal to your own destruction.

── .✦

III. THE AFTERMATH

He didn’t speak to you for days after that night. Not a glance, not a word. Just that tortured silence of his.

But you saw it.

The change.

He looked at Anna like she was the sun. But he looked at you like you were the stars—distant, yes, but constant. Always there. Always waiting.

And still… he said nothing.

You cried in the chapel one evening, when you thought no one could see. The pews were empty. The sky outside was bleeding.

But he saw.

He always saw.

── .✦

IV. THE TURNING

When Anna left—when she chose another—you expected to find Friedrich broken.

Instead, you found him quiet.

A dangerous kind of quiet.

He came to you that night, soaked in rain, cloak dragging behind him like a shroud. You didn’t move from your place at the window, didn’t flinch when he dropped to his knees before you, head bowed like a penitent.

“Say something,” he rasped. “Please. Anything.”

You blinked. “Why? So you can hear my voice and pretend it’s hers again?”

He flinched. Good. Let it hurt.

“I was blind,” he whispered. “And worse—I was a coward.”

You didn’t respond.

He crawled closer, his forehead resting against your thigh now. “I see you now,” he murmured. “Not as a shadow to her flame. You were always the fire. I was too much of a fool to notice until I burned.”

You pushed him away, stood up. The silence between you was almost holy.

“I needed you to love me first,” you said softly. “Not when she was gone. Not when I was convenient.”

“I didn’t fall in love with you because you were there,” he choked. “I fell because you never left—even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“You still don’t,” you whispered.

── .✦

V. THE BEGGING

“I’ll earn it,” he swore. “Even if I must worship the earth you walk on, follow in your shadow, crawl through the dust just to be near you.”

You turned away, heart in your throat.

“Please,” he begged. Begged. “Say you hate me. Curse me. Slap me. Just—don’t walk away.”

You spun around, eyes blazing.

“I do hate you,” you spat. “For all the nights I spent praying you’d see me. For the times you called her name while holding me. For breaking something in me that I didn’t even know could break.”

Friedrich’s face crumbled. “Then hate me. But let me love you now. Let me stay.”

You stepped forward. He reached for you like a dying man reaching for God.

And finally—finally—you let him touch you.

── .✦

VI. THE REDEMPTION

He did what he promised.

He worshipped you.

He touched you like you were made of stars, loved you with the ache of a man who almost lost his soul. He never said her name again. Only yours. Again and again, like a rosary.

You weren’t second choice.

You were the last choice.

The only one.

The final chapter in a book written in blood, silence, and yearning.

And when he kissed you again—not in delirium, not in grief, but in truth—the ache inside you softened into something tender, something eternal.

── .✦

VII. THE END

He no longer lived in the shadows.

He lived in you.

And for the first time in forever… you weren’t alone.

You were chosen.

You were seen.

You were loved.

And as he held your face, whispering, “I was always yours. I was just too blind to see it,” you wept—not for what was lost.

But for what was finally, finally found.

[bethanydelleman]

Thoughts on a gender bent pride and prejudice? It’s something I’ve been rolling around in my brain for a few days but I’m curious about your thoughts on it

I think you already have a gender-bent Mr. Darcy in Emma's Emma Woodhouse, who is a wealthy heiress, snobby, and sure that her opinion is right on matters of love (the Harriet Smith/Charles Bingley parallels are right there!). Elizabeth Bennet gender-bent is the witty clergyman, Henry Tilney from Northanger Abbey, though he does come from a much wealthier background.

Five Bennet boys would be off to secure professions (except Jane, who would likely inherit). If Miss Darcy was twenty-eight and her sixteen year old brother had inherited, that would be an interesting dynamic (female Wickham trying to seduce a younger man?), though I think Miss Darcy would have married by now. Charles Bingley already plays a somewhat feminine role, with his modesty and being dissuaded out of a marriage by his family, I don't think a gender swap would affect that couple very much. I started a fan fiction with Lydia gender-swaped and she could do so much more damage as a young man! Can you imagine?

One final note, I often find in fan fiction that people will change circumstances drastically, Darcy is a second son, Elizabeth was abused growing up etc. and not change the personalities of the characters very much at all. This annoys the crap out of me, because 1. why even change the circumstances then and 2. it makes zero sense. Darcy is the way he is because he was the only child, a super rich heir, and male. Emma is far more polite than Darcy, it's probably because she's female and the societal rules are just that much more strict for her. Can you imagine anyone reaming out Darcy if he said something like that to a Miss Bates? No, they'd be like the people of Meryton, polite to his face and complaining behind his back. Elizabeth may have crappy parents, but they do let her do whatever she wants. She'd be stifled and different if she grew up at Mansfield Park under the strict Sir Thomas. Gender matters a lot because of the social expectations around you, changing the genders would change the people.

[monstas1ut]

Unforeseen

SATORU GOJO x black!nerdy!reader

Summary

__ garden tool!Satoru Gojo is the hoe of jujutsu college, he’s known by many.. for good looks, funny commentary, and a big slinky dick he can’t keep in his pants. What happens when he gets ahold of black!nerdy!reader who has read too many smut books…

Content

__ black!reader, female!reader, gojo is a hoe, unprotected risky sex, creampies, slight power bottom!reader, dirty talk, floor sex, oral, worshipping cock, pussy drunk Satoru, lots of teasing

___ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

A/n : I did not read this over…lol

Sweet angels almost always fall to the inevitable conclusion of becoming corrupted. Could anyone imagine the bright blue eyed whore of a man being a sweet angel? The answer to that daring question was no. Not even the most artistic souls that specialized in imagination couldn’t see that man being anywhere near angelic. Sure, his hair was as white as precious angel wings but his actions made even the devil flustered.

If there was one person on campus that knew nothing of this so-called angel, they must be new to the school. And how funny is that? Your eyes were all bright and bold behind your lens, only trying to read the printed words in the sweet book that you brought a few days ago. Unfair to you, your friend continuously spat out nonsense about a certain someone. To be honest, you had no care or wonder about this person, you didn’t care if his dick was 50 feet, you just simply weren’t interested.

Being new to a college was like death already. The large buildings, the huge campus that felt like a terrible maze, the shitty yet interesting students. All of it was truly too much for you, a girl who radiated sweet angel energy.

“And they said he got like 40 bodies”

“Anddd that is a walking std..” you muttered this under your breath, flipping the thin page of your book as you breathed in the sweet calming air of the library. Honestly it’s the most comfortable library you’ve ever been in. Nobody was really here, that is, other than you and your lovestruck friend who had her whorish tendencies. However, you judged her not one bit. Sometimes men are just too hot for their own good.

“He is not. I heard he got tested for everything last week.” With confidence boosting from her and her tongue making an appearance to show how excited she was.. it made you laugh. “Girl. That boy got his business practically runnin ‘round here like a roadrunner.” You blurted out, still keeping your quietness to a level. It was quite hard to do so, especially since what she said was so hilarious. This.. Gojo guy really had the bitches after him.

You shall not be one.

That’s what you said in your head when you began leaving the library with your friend. That’s what you thought. There’s just no way a real life guy could compete with the fictional glory of men. When they were written correctly your pussy was like an excited dog, and as the owner of said sex organ, you had to tell her multiple times to sit down. But as stated, you only feel that absorbing need when it’s a fictional man.

So how come the second you see this Satoru Gojo guy walking past the library, your pussy starts leaking? It was far from realistic, it was like a poorly written love at first sight scene. The slow motion occurs, Sakura flower petals are flowing right past you and he’s giving you the most sinister smirk. He might’ve winked at you as well but you did not look hard enough to tell. You just about burnt your heel considering how quickly you turned on it. And if you had pearls they would be clutched in both hands.

Ridiculous it was. That man was over 6 feet tall, his jawline was sculpted by God personally and his eyes were just unreal. This was so unreal that it pissed you off… Not only that, but that was your first encounter with him, though, luckily not your only.

Swallowed up by your thoughts and smutty little brain, you began having some dreams about him. It was quite unfair as well. You weren’t an ugly girl, no, but your confidence with talking to men and the way you portray yourself just wasn’t giving you a great outcome. A hobbit you were, so, every party, every event, you merely stayed away. Those things were filled with horn dogs and cheaters. Not saying you aren’t a horny beast but you could control it.

Besides, while college life is filled with unexpected events, drama, and experiences, you always focus on school itself. Maybe that is why Satoru found you so interesting. It was obvious actually, obvious to everyone but you. See, considering you are new, you do not know Satoru’s character or the way he goes about things. Number one thing he loves doing is making it seem like he’s fairly interested in a girl. Sitting next to her constantly, being all sweet, showing genuine interest in her hobbies… The man was slick in his own twisted ways.

But unfortunately he has met his match.

According to everyone else, you brought the opposite of Gojo Satoru to the school. You were the female angel, sweet and kind, quiet yet attentive. People felt genuine energy flowing from you right into them, and your beauty fit the description of your own character traits. You were that sweet angel that people spoke of. But people still fail to realize that as a teen, Satoru was a sweet angel too. And what happens to all sweet angels? Unforeseen circumstances.

“Liar… Just tell the truth already…” Your pretty eyes glanced around the shabby room filled with boxes of books and some old computers here and there. Today you were tasked by the librarian to switch out some books that were rotting on the shelves. It was a rich Friday, and she always entrusted you to not do anything drastic on Friday. But oh was she wrong this time…

“Okay so I’ve been with aroundddd…. 10, 35…- 60 people. Porn stars got more bodies than me!” There he is in all his stride, attempting to swallow you up in this trap of innocence. With over 60 bodies theres just no way a drop of innocence would even save him. Not to add salt to your wound, but his troublesome, sky blue eyes were watching you intently while you walked around the room. He could notice your slight tremble, your anxiousness and your heat that radiated off you. He knew when a woman wanted him , and he was sure you did.

At first he thought you’d want nothing to do with him. A girl that keeps her bag so deep in her side, filled with books and notebooks for each class? That’s an organizational trait, and that burned him like holy water burning a demon.

“You don’t consider yourself a pornstar by now? You practically fucked every girl in our government class” you might’ve been a bit more on the blunt side, staring into his eyes without a lick of trouble casting. To be frank, Satoru enjoyed the sass from you. It was something he hadn’t experienced, he also enjoyed watching how your sun kissed skin would glow just under a shitty light. He wasn’t falling in love, no, he’s just never had someone like you before. You’re merely a sentence on his checklist.

Fuck y/n till she’s drooling out.

And the only reason you’re even on his sinful checklist is because he simply figures you’re a freak. There’s a premonition he has of you, this creative picture in his mind that he knows is about 80 percent true. For one, you enjoy hiding your physical assets instead of showing them off. Secondly, his glimpses of the front covers of your books has done him well to know that you’re smut crazy. Third, you are quite pretty without makeup.

He wants that.

“Nah.. maybe for you I could be. I’m not taking anything up the ass though” his joke was met with his own slight laughter as he leaned more against the frame of the door. Great, trapping you in here. You had no idea how he even knew you were here. One second he’s drowning in people at a party he threw himself and now he’s here messing with you at 11am. He really wanted to check you off his list…

It made you cringe, but his appearance was nothing to cringe about. He was wearing one of those nice fitting compression shirts, a black one with those forbidden, unspoken, grey sweatpants. Who doesn’t love that..? Who doesn’t love the obvious pole in his pants, all rock hard and just aching for you to play with it. His mischievous little playful smirk started to show while your imaginary scene took over.. He caught you staring at his bulge and that was just game over for you.

That’s before your eyes sharpened, you finger demandingly pointing in his direction.

“I’m not fuckin you Satoru…” you stood your ground, only having those thoughts disperse into thin air. You were serious.

“I’m not fuckin you Satoru~ . That’s what you said to me.. remember~?”

His joking manner made you sick to your stomach, or maybe it was his cocky smirk that revealed his pretty white teeth. Either way, the joke was on you for now. You were the one with a cock deep in your throat. It ached, but your gag reflex was minimal. Satoru took interest in that quickly. He wondered what you did to train it that way…

“Do you go around just sucking dick?.. how come I can fuck your throat-… shit-.. like this?” Satoru will admit, as much as he loved teasing you, a part of him was just a tad bit worried. Your piercing, dark eyes were staring up at him with glossy barriers. And this is while he’s slowly slipping in and out of your throat. He’s never had a girl do such a thing. It made his heart flutter, it made his cock jolt.

“Naughty girl~.. i knew I was right.” He chuckled a bit, mixing with a deep rumble of a moan as he tensed up. He could feel your pretty little pink tongue caressing the underside of his cock. Monster, that’s what you were, especially while your knees burned and stung. No matter to you, all you could think about was making this man crazy about you.

Your chin was drenched in your own saliva, but a satisfied look attached to your face. Satoru stopped rocking his pelvis into your face because he felt himself slipping. As a sex god, there’s no way he’d fail to deliver, especially to a virgin. Then again, with the way his baby blue eyes watched you grip his cock finally.. and start bobbing your head? Satoru felt that hint of heaven he’d never truly experienced.

An electric shock stunned him. “Oh fuck-… this is gonna be fun..” He could barely speak without a groan releasing from his throat, of course it was going to be fun.. But he hasn’t realized that this fun was going to be all yours. He hasn’t fully grasped the concept of you, and that was truly unfortunate. This man’s cock, how pretty and thick it was.. how it had a slight curve… the way it held weight, you loved it. You had to cherish it.

Call it worship, call it using.. you simply couldn’t care, you just enjoyed sucking his cock. You slurped up your saliva that was mixed with his Precum, he tasted a bit too salty but it would do. You spit the naughty substance right back on his cock before slurping it up all over again. Shoving his cock back inside that wet cavern of greatness. That tongue of yours definitely enjoyed his tip more than anything. Swirling it around the pink sensitivity, Gojo could feel his knees buckle. It happened so quickly that he felt like he was going to fall.

Did he want to back out? You were a shitty little demon, he kinda did but he would not back down. He noticed you were a demon when you’d personally slap his weighty dick on your tongue. Only to make a moan slip from your throat when you swallowed him again.. Your throat was so tight, he could feel his stomach turning in knots as he tried absolutely so hard not to hurt you. See, Satoru is known for gripping a girl’s hair but for some odd reason he noticed that you were just a little too precious to his cock for him to hurt you like that.

Besides, he was going brain dead anyway. From being nothing but a whore, he didn’t have much brains anyway, but now he was just gone for good. The room was filled with the gross sounds of gurgling and dry moans that could make your pussy just drip. Speaking of, you were so damn horny that you were using one hand to caress that pretty cock Satoru had.. the other had slid to your nether regions. You played with the pretty, glistening pearl that was between your pussy lips.. completely entranced with sucking on this man’s cock. It shocked Satoru.. he couldn’t believe his eyes.

You were having so much fun.

“Fuck.. stop… shit-.. shit-…” Satoru doesn't really know what happened to him, he doesn’t know if it was your tongue underneath his cock, the slurping, the sucking, or the fact that you were touching yourself at the same time… or maybe it was the moans that vibrates against his cock. All of it was unfair, he didn’t know what it was but he needed to cum… he didn’t want to.

“Damn-…” he repeated, his usual jokes were gone, he couldn’t think of anything or say anything. All he could do was stare into your mischievous eyes as he finally gripped at your hair. Sure it hurt, but you couldn’t think straight either.. you’ll scold him later.

But with such an angelic, sexy moan coming from past his lips, you didn’t know if you could scold him. Especially not with your mouth suddenly being filled with warm, white, sticky cum. It was all so sudden, and it was just as much as the others said. So much came out of him… so much to swallow. That sent Satoru over the edge, that was it… you took first place in sucking him off… but god did he want to rip you off of him. He was overstimulated… and you were still slurping up every drop. Your lips felt like hell to him right now, he was actually jolting.

“Ah-… ah shit.. get off…”Satoru finally caught his breath when you actually did. His cock not yet limp but it was sensitive. But what was more sensitive was his ego, and you were tearing it down by smirking up at him. Fuck, it got his blood boiling. Satoru was not one to get mad and he wasn’t officially mad but he had a smidge of agitation. You really think you could just do that to him? What else did you think you could do?

“You didn’t taste that good but your dick is pretty.” You said bluntly, your angelic facade completely washed away as he leaned back onto a nearby wall. There was absolutely nothing in the room but dusty boxes and a table that would probably fall if you two were to fuck on it. He was still recovering, but he got a thrill just watching you look around.. he just knew you were looking around for a place to fuck.

“You faker… You gotta have about 20 bodies under your belt..” the white haired male spat out, genuinely confused. You slightly rolled your eyes before you started to slowly remove your pants. “Just three.. all previous boyfriends so this is the first time I’m dealin with a guy outside of a relationship..” you admitted, giving him a playful smirk before your pants dropped.. leaving you in your comfy hoodie. But gojo could see.. your body was as beautiful as he knew it to be. “I’m not seeing it. You been with more-..”

“It’s bout’ to feel that way reallll soon”

The way you said that gave him a reason to brace himself. Although, that still wasn’t enough for what was now happening to him. All he could see was a huge, juicy ass bouncing on him as he laid on the cold rustic floor.. Satoru was damn sure happy you were turned the other way, because his eyes… those pretty eyes were just rolling back without hesitation. The second you slid his cock in, it felt like sweet sensations. Those walls were so tight together, like nobody has ever been inside. But, your feet were planted on the floor with ease, and you were just bouncing and bouncing.

The shitty little room you two were in was so empty, so the echoes of your thick ass clapping, was loud. Satoru was damn near afraid you’d break his pelvis from bouncing down like that. But his worries disappeared once he heard those melodies come from your mouth.

“Big ass dick… Course’ you’ll have girls runnin.. but they can’t take it as good as me..” you spoke clear, but your moans were lacing each word. Satoru could understand you, and he could see it with clear eyes. You took his cock like a champ, it disappeared every second into your soaking wet cunt, all brown, sloppy from saliva and Precum. All satoru could do was reach forward and take a tight feel of your ass cheeks. He kind of pulled them just to watch your tight pussy take his pale girth, and your asshole winking at him…

“Damn sure can’t…” Satoru’s words were slurred, this man saw stars in the air as he breathed out shakily. It was hard for him to keep good oxygen in his lungs because you were bouncing it out of him.. The sex was so intense that he was sweating.. and he wasn’t even doing the moving for once. His limbs were sticking to the floor and surely that was unsanitary but all he cared about was your pussy.. oh that pretty thing. The man began to chuckle, feeling like he was loosing it inside your cunt.

How did you know he was losing it? He was trying so hard to keep his moans in, and his toes were damn near crossing over each other.. like he was begging for some help.. he felt betrayed even though he predicted this! He was the one that said you were a secret freak! He was the one that said those smut books probably did you well…

“What the fuck is happening…”

“You gettin harder… that’s cuz you about to cum..”

“No I’m nottt-..” Satoru sounded like he was whining, but he knew his legs weren’t trembling for no reason. You could feel it, your orgasm wasn’t truly there yet but you hoped he was getting there. You needed to teach him a lesson. “I’m so gonna fuck you till you-” poor thing couldn’t even finish his sentence. He choked up, all while he felt the bell being hit. That last bounce you gave him was enough for the snake to take his breath away. His moan almost sounded inhuman, rugged as he splashed his cum in your pretty kitty.

He couldn’t even pull out, he had no time to do that. That wasn’t even an option…

“Till I what?.. finish your sentence..” you teased him, slowly slipping him from your death grip of a pussy. He watched the white substance drip from your hole and it just put him on alert. His cock was still standing, and that’s what amazed you. “Till my buddy goes down..” Satoru breathed out, realizing it was just not budging. He knew he had to fuck you.. and from what all you just did to him? He had to ruin you… and the second you proposed yourself to him? Your pretty ass in the air with that perfect arch slightly covered by that obnoxious hoodie?

“You’re a faker…”

It just had him stunned… he should’ve known when you took of your glasses before sucking him off.. he should’ve known when you’d speak so bluntly. How come he was so right but it was still unpredictable?

“You’re just-.. too good..” he whispered, getting right behind your plush ass. He almost felt like he was torturing his cock by slipping it back inside that warmth of yours..his cum mixed with your juices started gushing around his cock, dripping down his balls…

“I’m gonna tap out again, man…”

ⓒ Monstas1ut, do not copy

[transformersconfessions]

I love meta posting. But there's one criticism of canon that I'm actually too afraid to post, and that's an explanation of the issues with D-16 in Transformers One. I genuinely find his story deeply offensive, but I'm too scared to explain why. Constantly, I see people construct straw men about how fans who didn't like his arc are just bitter that a kids' movie wasn't going to argue that killing a dictator is a good thing. A claim I'm not even sure has merit given that in a deleted scene Orion Pax does suggest that Sentinel may deserve to die (though it should be a decision by the collective). But for me, that's barely my issue. Throughout the entire film, every single act of violence long before that assassination was framed as much more serious and scary than the brutal violence enacted by the other heroes, including when D got the High Guard on his side vs. when Elita-1 did literally the same thing.

I think that if you compare D in this movie to someone like TFP's Megatron, you can see that he's an attempt to push the incredibly insidious trope of an oppressed person rebelling against the system who takes it too far. TFP Megatron, despite leading a slave revolt initially, did go on to kill the entire planet. But D-16 almost quite literally did nothing wrong. The thing that triggers everyone's fear was him shooting a few statues depicting propaganda.

I'd be remiss not to mention the fact that D-16 was voice acted by a Black man as well. What the movie is truly depicting is the story of how scary it is that an oppressed guy portrayed by a Black man rebelled violently, and of the the oppressed guy portrayed by a white man who also rebelled violently and killed people, but who refused to kill the oppressor at the top and was blessed by God for it... and then he banished the former to a place he and his army may be killed by Quintessons.

I despise stories like these because they allow moviegoers to hate somebody from an oppressed minority group but have plausible deniability about it. "It's a tragedy and he's sympathetic and look, he took it too far, it's actually really mulit-faceted." And this trope is so insidious because if anyone tries to point out it's problematic, people will bring up all the wrong the fictional character did... not understanding this isn't a real person. That people made choices writing and framing the narrative. And it hurts me seeing people of color also seemingly falling for this and believing this is progressive somehow!

I expect the Notes on this to be full of attempts to headcanon a way out of these readings. But as for me, I'm relieved that there may be no more of this series.

*

[eleanoroliphant]

idk i'm enjoying tht more since fred died but i keep seeing so much wasted potential. this show has no stakes anymore, nothing about its world building and the inhabitants of that world strikes me as consistent, they all just go where the plot wants them to. it's giving game of thrones final season, honestly.

i get it, mayday isn't made up of professionals, but the jezebel plan is way too amateurish for an organised group. and they're willing to treat the women as collateral damage? seriously? to overthrow a state that already treats them as such? the commanders' hq felt like a much better target, at least there would have been no women there.

june's treatment of moira and luke feels infantilising, but then again so feels the writers'. these characters aren't really characters anymore, they're just plot devices put there to highlight june's heroicness. luke's had the same two lines over and over again for the past couple seasons, they might as well have killed him off one or two seasons ago but then they wouldn't be able to do a love triangle like in the romance show disguised as dystopian fiction they turned this into.

lawrence has literally no shade of gray anymore, the writers are so in love with brad they're just letting him take over his character. sure he's effectively raising a child that's not even remotely his, but it's like he's doing it because he has to, because gilead expects him to. i now expect him to geuinely fall for naomi in no time, it's a fan fiction trope but that's what you get from a fan fiction show.

rita sees nick as a commander and doesn't *for a second* question his inherent goodness? after everything she's seen. granted, rita is a forgiving person and a bigger person than most people in general, she's even given serena some grace in the past, but how doesn't she at least suspect that a man who raised so much in so little time might not be 100% on her side?

and then we have wharton who is a conservative commander and yet he's so easily talking about coveting someone else's wife? and criticising fred for the way he treated serena? i can understand this would have been the bare minimim to get serena to marry him in a few weeks but how does it make sense? we might be in new betlehem but it's still the state of gilead. (all this or he's diabolical and playing with her feelings the way most delusional people thought mark was)

[misandriste]

ELOISE BRIDGERTON + being mistaken for a suitor

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.