#i don’t really know what’s happening but I thought this was funny :)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Bradford Has a Valentine's Day Princess

Part 2 of Bradford Has a Princess

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Leading up to Valentine's Day, you - Tim Bradford's princess - learn exactly what your relationship and Tim's treatment of you mean.

Warnings: fluff! princess treatment, brief angst (harassment), Tim is protective and soft and gets called 'king'

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

A/N: I had to Google makeup, nails, and restaurants for this... Based on the impeccable whipped Tim idea from @nevereclipse!

February 11th – Los Angeles, CA

“I’ve got a buddy with a vacation house in the Caribbean,” Aaron offers, scrolling on his phone in the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

“Good for you,” Tim says.

“Or I can get you in touch with my girl Shayla; she’s a product developer for Estee Lauder.”

“What is it exactly that you’re trying to do, Thorsen?” Tim asks, turning slightly in his seat as he slows for a stop sign.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and it seems like you’ve set the bar pretty high with the whole ‘princess treatment’ thing, so I’m just trying to help,” Aaron explains. Tim’s brows lift, and he adds, “Sir.”

“I appreciate the intent – or I think I do – but I’ve got it under control,” Tim assures him as he prepares to continue patrolling.

Aaron watches Los Angeles pass outside the window for nearly a mile before he says, “Dior is having a sale, by the way.”

“I know,” Tim grumbles. When Aaron looks at him quickly, wide-eyed at his response, he threatens, “Tell Angela and see what happens.”

Tim sighs as he slides his key into the lock. Between Aaron trying to help with Valentine’s Day plans and a car full of frat boys who ran from a traffic stop and made the rainy afternoon extraordinarily long, Tim is more than ready to sit back and relax. Closing the door behind him, he shakes his head and smiles.

“Why does it smell like food in here?” he calls.

You wave from the kitchen and don’t answer. Tim rounds the island and wraps his arm around your waist to pull you away from the oven.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, holding you against his side.

“I thought you were smarter than this,” you answer, smiling brightly. “I’m cooking.”

“I told you I’d cook tonight, and every other night,” Tim reminds you. “Or get takeout.”

“Yeah, and I really appreciate that, but you’re stressed. I can tell.”

“Are you saying I have wrinkles?” Tim challenges, tightening his arm around you.

You hum as you look at his face, then run your fingers under his jaw. “I was going to say your shoulders are tense, but now that you mention it-“

Tim shoves you away gently and grabs you before you can catch yourself. You laugh as he lifts you onto the counter, then pout when he blocks you from getting down.

“I’ll finish,” he says, holding your hips. “Sit there and look pretty.”

Resting your arms on Tim’s shoulders, you lean forward and kiss him. The oven chimes as the timer ends, and Tim pulls away from you with whispered gratitude.

“You didn’t let me do anything,” you remind him.

“Check the table by the door, please,” he says over his shoulder as he bends to remove dinner from the oven.

You tear your eyes from Tim as you slide off the counter – and ignore his demand of “Careful!” – before you walk toward the door. There’s a metallic pink gift bag with silver accents around the edges on the table. You use the braided handles to lift it, then smile at the card beneath it. Carrying both back to the island, you smile at Tim.

“What’s the special occasion?” you inquire.

“Another day with you?” Tim offers with a shrug. “Does there have to be a special occasion?”

“I suppose not. Can I open it?”

“No, I just got it for you to look at the bag,” Tim deadpans.

“You’re not funny,” you reply, “but at least you’re pretty.”

“We can’t both be pretty but unfunny,” Tim points out.

“Then I’ll be funny,” you decide.

Tim laughs, putting the oven mitts in a drawer by the oven. He nods as he walks to your side, and you pull the white tissue paper out of the bag before you gasp.

“Tim!” you exclaim as you lift the pink and white Estee Lauder bag. “It’s so pretty!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tim replies, sliding his hand onto your lower back. “If you want different stuff, we can return it.”

You unzip the bag slowly, then unwrap the tissue paper to read the names of the items within. “Is this the Rebellious Rose lipstick? I’ve been wanting this one!”

“Rebellious should be a good fit,” Tim muses.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day gift I’ve ever gotten,” you say as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him.

He lifts his hand to glance at his watch and says, “It’s not Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s close enough,” you point out as you lean back, keeping your hands on his sides.

Tim holds your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, leans in, and says, “You’ll know when it’s Valentine’s Day. Now sit down, I’ll plate the food.”

February 12th

“What do you want for Valentine’s Day?” you ask as Tim uses a fluffy towel to dry your hands.

“You,” he replies, setting the towel aside.

“I mean as a gift. Chocolate? Creatine?”

Tim chuckles at your second idea. He holds your hands in one of his as he opens an alcohol pad with his teeth.

“I’m off work for once,” he says as he carefully drops your hands. “So, I’ll handle plans and gifts. I just want to spend the day with you.”

“As opposed to what you’re doing right now?”

Tim looks at you through his lashes, then shakes his head and returns his attention to your hands. He wipes the alcohol pad across each of your nails and drops it in the trashcan beside your vanity, where you’re sitting with your legs bracketing his hips.

“It says to shape your nails,” Tim says, looking at the instructions beside you. “Do you want to do that?”

“I did it last night,” you answer, watching him rather than checking your nails. “I’m good.”

Tim nods, then opens the box by your left thigh. He removes the press-on nails and then directs your hand to rest on the counter beside them. Carefully, he lines one up on your forefinger nail.

“That fit?” he asks.

You look away from him to examine the fit. “It’s perfect. You’re good at this.”

“It’s not rocket science.”

“Yet most people mess it up.”

Tim puts the other sizes back in the box and opens the nail glue, flitting his eyes to the instructions again.

“If I mess up, you can get them fixed before Valentine’s Day, right?” he checks, looking up at you.

“I won’t have to.” Tim continues to look at you, so you sigh and say, “Yes, I can.”

With a firm nod, Tim applies a thin layer of glue to the first nail, then lines it up with your cuticle. He places your hand on his left palm, then gently presses the nail down with his right thumb. When he finishes, he tilts your hand gently to check it, then moves to the next nail.

“I can’t do my skincare while these set,” you remember as he finishes one hand and moves to the next. “Ooh, they look great though. Thank you!”

Tim mumbles what you assume is you’re welcome. He’s focused on you and doing this correctly for you, so you watch him with a smile. He closes the nail glue and slides it into the box after the last nail is secure.

“Look good?” he asks.

You nod and pucker your lips, requesting a kiss. Tim leans forward and kisses you, then pulls back and opens the cabinet with all your skincare.

“Which face wash?” he asks.

“The oil cleanser, please. It’s the orange-y one,” you reply. “I can do it in thirty minutes.”

“We need to leave in an hour, let’s get a head start.”

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” Tim replies. “But stop talking, I’d hate to accidentally waterboard you this early in the day.”

“Later, then,” you agree with a nod.

“Maybe you are the funny one,” Tim muses as he wipes a wet washcloth across your forehead. “Feel okay?”

You nod, and Tim gently washes your face. He lifts your chin and moves his fingers in gentle circles, imitating your motions – the ones he has watched reverently, in awe of you, many nights as he waits for you to return to his side.

“Moisturizer, right?” Tim checks as he pats your neck dry.

“The Estee Lauder crème. It’s still in the bag,” you request. “I really like the night stuff.”

“It smells good,” Tim muses as he uncaps the moisturizer.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going for brunch, so I know what to wear?” you ask.

“Your outfit’s on the bed,” he says rather than answering. “Makeup?”

“Uhm,” you hum, dragging out the sound as you turn to look in the lighted mirror behind you. “I think just lipstick, brows, blush, bronzer, and mascara. Unless I need a full face?”

“Your face is perfect like it is,” Tim mumbles as he replaces the moisturizer into the pink bag and retrieves your new lipstick.

“But you’re the pretty one,” you remind him.

Tim shakes his head as he raises a bronzer from your custom makeup drawer – which he built (with some help from Nolan) and installed for you. You nod, and he sets it by the sink as he gathers the other items you mentioned.

“Do you think the Dior Addict Lip Glow would go with this lipstick?” you ask.

“As much as I love you and enjoy touching you face,” Tim begins. “I have no idea.”

You frown before you say, “Maybe I should return you then.”

“You could find another Valentine by tomorrow.”

“Kojo, for sure.”

“Oh, yeah, he’d be honored,” Tim agrees. “Unfortunately, he’s spending Valentine’s Day with Lucy.”

“Ah, so he’s nearly as spoiled as I am.”

“Probably more.”

Tim finishes cleaning up the minimal mess he made, organizes your makeup how you apply it, and then returns to you. He faces away from you, bends his knees, and hooks his hands behind your calves to pull you forward.

“I can walk,” you argue, smiling as you wrap your arms over his shoulders.

He stands, lifting you into a piggyback carry as your nails finish setting. “Better safe than sorry.”

In the Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills elevator, you shift under Tim’s arm.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “These heels are new.”

Tim looks down at the shoes he bought you the last time you took him shopping. “Do they fit?”

“Yeah, just need to be broken in, I think,” you reply. “They’re just pinching under my ankles a little bit.”

The elevator opens on the rooftop, and Tim removes his arm from your shoulders to hold your hand. He gives his name at the door of The Rooftop Beverly Hills, and you’re quickly seated with a panoramic view of Beverly Hills and the Los Angeles skyline. Tim sits on the same side of the table as you and holds your hand in his lap as you read the menu together.

“Celebrating Valentine’s Day early?” the chef asks as he checks that the patrons enjoy their meals.

“Not exactly,” Tim answers. “Just enjoying some time together.”

“Well, you’re a beautiful couple. Order anything from the menu, I can prepare whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you,” you reply with Tim.

After he leaves, you whisper, “This place is expensive, Tim. Let me pay half the bill as part of my Valentine’s Day gift to you?”

You bat your eyelashes, and Tim considers your request.

“Sure,” he decides.

Yet, fifteen minutes later, he excuses himself to use the restroom and pays the bill without telling you.

In the parking garage, you hold Tim’s arm as you attempt to keep weight off your ankles, regretting wearing brand-new shoes on a date.

“I can go get the truck or I can carry you to it,” Tim offers. “Your choice.”

“I can wait here, if you’re sure,” you reply.

Tim smiles, kisses your forehead, promises to return quickly, and then jogs into the parking garage. He should’ve splurged for the valet, he thinks.

“Good morning,” a man greets as he exits a Ferrari illegally parked in a handicap space.

“Morning,” you reply.

He drops his eyes to your dress, then down your legs to your sleek back heels. You cross your arms over your chest uncomfortably, watching for Tim.

“You’re very pretty,” the man continues as he walks toward you. “I’m Jett.”

You begin to reply that you’re not interested, but he continues talking.

“Are you staying here or just having a Galentine’s-type thing?” he asks. “Pretty girl like you probably has a lot of friends.”

“I-“

“I got my ‘Rari as a Valentine’s Day gift to myself a few years ago,” he brags, clearly flexing his arms as he slides his hands into his pockets. “Say, what about a Valentine’s Day ride? I’d be happy to take you out tomorrow.”

He moves closer to you as he speaks, and you step back, ignoring the pain from your heels. You look toward the ramp, but Tim isn’t back yet.

“I’m not interested,” you say as he waits for an answer.

“C’mon,” he presses, reaching for your arm. “It’s not marriage, just a drive.”

A car door slams and you look up quickly. The tension in your shoulders eases when Tim walks around the front of his truck.

“Back up,” he demands lowly. “Nobody teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

The creep beside you – whose name you’ve forgotten – dares to laugh and stay beside you. “How ‘bout you get back in your cheap little truck and let us get back to our conversation?” he tells Tim.

Tim’s jaw ticks as observes the man, and then his eyes flit to you and soften.

“I already told you no,” you say.

“Babe,” the man sighs, raising his arm to wrap it around you.

Tim lifts the hand closest to you, and you take it as you move to stand behind him.

“She said no,” Tim reiterates darkly. “If I have to tell you no, you won’t be able to do this again, even if you wanted to. So do everybody a favor and go.”

The man looks at you over Tim’s shoulder and scoffs.

“Whatever. She isn’t even that hot,” he mumbles as he walks toward the elevator.

Tim doesn’t move as he watches him until the doors close. Then, his muscles relax, his fingers slot between yours, and he turns to face you.

“You okay?” he inquires.

“Yes,” you promise, squeezing his hand gently. “Thank you.”

Tim looks at your eyes, then nods when he sees that you’re okay. He helps you into the passenger seat of his truck and leans across you to buckle your seatbelt. As he prepares to close the door, you extend your arm and say, “Wait.” You lean out carefully and point to the Ferrari. “He parked illegally.”

Tim smiles as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “That is the best Valentine’s Day gift you could give me.”

“Hey! You didn’t let me pay!” you realize as he closes the door and calls dispatch.

“Weird,” you murmur as you lock your phone and set it aside.

Tim raises his arm and invites you to curl up at his side before he asks, “What’s weird?”

“My streaming services should have renewed this week, but none of them were charged yet.”

“I paid for them,” Tim says, navigating through the comedy section of one of the aforementioned services.

“What? Why?”

“I watch all of it with you,” he points out as if that’s reason enough.

You know better than to argue with Tim, and you know it’s part of how he shows love, even if you wish he’d let you show some in return. The key to loving Tim Bradford, you’ve realized, is knowing that he doesn’t give and receive love in the same way. After you realized that he loves spending time with you, hearing your voice, and knowing you’re close, you learned how to love Tim Bradford with the same intensity he loves you – just in your way.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day,” you remind him as the sun sets. “We could watch a rom-com and no one could judge you.”

“The people who would judge me are under the impression I’m living in one,” he replies, smiling as he tugs you closer.

“That makes you the rom, and I’m the com, right?”

“Just for that, we’re watching basketball.”

February 14th – Valentine’s Day

A gentle sea breeze blows across the deck as you tell Tim about the heart-shaped cupcakes you want to make. His hand had been on the back of your chair as you ordered, but now that you have his full attention, his fingers find their way up, toying with the end of your hair as he nods with your explanation and enjoys your excitement.

Tim wraps your hair around his fingers, then gathers it in his palm and lifts it gently before repeating his loving ministrations. You feel his movements against your exposed back and eventually trail off, meeting Tim’s eyes as he watches you.

“Do you want to make them tonight?” he asks. “We can stop at the store after we leave.”

“We can make them another day,” you answer. “I don’t want today to end.”

“There will be more Valentine’s Days.”

“But they won’t be the same. This one… Today has been perfect because of you.”

“And I’ll try to make the rest perfect too.”

“So, you really don’t care that your friends think you’re whipped, and you wouldn’t do something you didn’t want to just because I’m younger and you care about me?”

Tim sits straight in his seat, and his hand spreads across your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Valentine’s Day is a day on the calendar-“ he begins.

“It’s a weekend with you,” you interrupt.

“It’s a day on the calendar,” he repeats firmly. “But this – what we have – it’s forever. I enjoy doing things for you, getting things for you, and spending time with you. But I love you. You. Not what my friends think or the fact that you called me a cradle robber a few weeks ago. I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re the only one I want.”

“And the princess treatment is part of that. So don’t ever question that I care about you, and I want to do all of this for you. Whether it’s February 14th or June 30th.”

“What’s June 30th?” you ask with a smile.

“An example,” he replies, chuckling. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Tim pushes his fingers into your hair, tipping your head gently, lovingly, as he kisses you. Waves lap peacefully onto the shore beneath you, and you lean against Tim as the perfect night in the perfect relationship continues.

“Hey, where’d you learn the term princess treatment, king?” you ask, attempting to hide your smile.

“The same person who told me about the free Estee Lauder gift bag.”

“They never give things away for free.”

Tim shrugs, and you kiss him once more before someone delivers a dozen red roses and another gift bag with your dinner.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiiiii, stumbled across your blog when trying to find COD fics to gush over and yours are SO FUCKIN GOOD. I love how you write the TF 141 guys!!

My personal fave is Simon and I thought the SFW ABC’s HC were so cute! I’m wondering if you’d be interested in writing a NSFW ABS’s for him as well!

Don’t rush it or feel pressured to do it tho. Thank you pookie ❤️

Oh my goodness! I remember the SFW Alphabet I did for Simon. That was forever ago, back when I first broke 1k followers. Compare that to now with over 6k and if feels like ancient history.

I am more than happy to do a NSFW Alphabet for Simon!

Word Count: 1.1k

NSFW Alphabet Template

A = Aftercare

Aftercare all depends on the relationship. If it’s a quick fuck or a casual thing, Ghost isn’t really all that interested in providing aftercare. He might allow a brief cuddle, or some stiff conversation, but he’s more interested in getting his dick wet. But if Ghost is in a steady, serious relationship, then aftercare is important to him. Not that he knows what he’s doing. Aftercare is not his jam, but if he cares about you, he will make sure you have it.

B = Body part

Ghost loves his hands. He loves that he can kill with them yet bring pleasure as well.

C = Cum

Ghost has a terrible breeding kink. Watching his cum ooze out of his partner makes him fucking feral. Not only does the sight of it turn him on, but he’ll verbalize how good his cum looks dripping out of you.

D = Dirty secret

During his final year of secondary school, Simon got into some serious trouble, and nearly ended up expelled. It wasn’t his fault though, and he felt scorned. So, to retaliate, he fucked the principal’s daughter (a classmate of Simon’s) on the man’s desk. Took her virginity while the principal was in a meeting and the two of them should have been in class.

E = Experience

Ghost is experienced with sex but not experienced with love. He can fuck you all goddamn day and turn your limbs to jelly. But the intimacy part is difficult for him.

F = Favorite position

Face down, ass up. Not him, of course, but his partner. For Ghost, it’s dominating and rough and fulfills every primal urge he has.

G = Goofy

More serious than goofy in the moment. Doesn’t mean that Ghost lacks a sense of humor. The guy can crack a joke, but if he is a bit silly in bed, the humor is dry and might go over your head. Ghost prefers to be completely invested in the moment, and his level of silliness isn’t something he’s thinking about. Now, if something happens during the act that’s actually funny, he will laugh and won’t shame himself or you for it.

H = Hair

Doesn’t care about hair but hygiene. Body hair doesn’t scare him nor does a decent bush. Didn’t shave your legs/armpit/bikini line/face/etc.? Ghost could give a shit. If you’re willing and consenting, and he’s willing and consenting, body hair doesn’t even factor into it.

I = Intimacy

Ghost is terrible at intimacy. Sorry y’all, but he is. Doesn’t matter if it’s a quick fuck or a committed relationship. This man will literally approach you and be like “you want to fuck?” and expect a very clear yes or no answer to the question. But hey, at least he’s clear when it comes to communication.

J = Jack off

Ghost is a rigorous masturbator. The every day kind of masturbator. While he prefers his privacy, nothing is sexier to him than when you’ve been a bad boy/girl/one and Ghost decides what you need is a bit of punishment. He’ll restrain you and make you watch as he jerks off, giving himself pleasure while giving you nothing. Not until you’re a begging, whimpering mess.

K = Kink

Breeding, primal, semi-public, CNC, breath play, BDSM

L = Location

Cramped, enclosed spaces. In the car, against a wall, on the sofa, in the shower. Basically, anywhere where Ghost can feel big. He enjoys having a sense of largeness about him, that he’s trapping you under him. That you cannot escape him when he’s fucking you.

M = Motivation

This man is constantly down to fuck. Sure, talking dirty is fun, but what he really wants is clear communication first. Tell him you want to fuck him, and tell him plainly, and then the two of you can do whatever. A clear, “fuck me, Simon” sets him OFF.

N = No

Simon leans heavy on consent. His hard “no” is no clear “yes.” If you cannot communicate that you clearly want him, he’s immediately turned off. That also includes how he sets up a CNC with you.

O = Oral

Gives and receives equally. He doesn’t necessarily prefer one over the other. But when he does receive, he is vocal. Ghost wants you to know that he appreciates you going down on him, but also how much he enjoys it. When it comes to giving, Ghost is sloppy…but in a good way.

P = Pace

Ghost mixes it up depending on position. If he’s looking to draw it out, he’s going to go slow just because he wants to watch you squirm and wiggle. But otherwise, he’s all rough edges, wants to hold you down and fuck you until you’re both senseless and dazed. Even in his roughness, he won’t hurt you, but he might leave some marks behind.

Q = Quickie

Loves a good quickie. Just say the word and Ghost will bend you over or put you on top of the nearest surface and go for it.

R = Risk

As long as Ghost has your enthusiastic consent, he’s down for anything. If there is anything new you want to try, he’s open to do it, but is also good about setting boundaries especially if this new thing might possibly harm you or himself. A risk taker, but understands that the risks might outweigh the benefits.

S = Stamina

This man has the stamina of a fucking horse. He can go for miles if he paces himself. Ghost isn’t the kind of guy to tap out after one round. Sure, he might need a few minutes to breathe, but he’ll be ready to go against shortly after.

T = Toys

While he doesn’t personally own a plethora of toys, Ghost isn’t afraid of using them. His favorite ones are the kinds that vibrate…especially if he can use them on you and have complete authority over the controls. Expect to be edged and have your orgasm denied constantly.

U = Unfair

Ghost isn’t a tease unless he thinks you’ve earned it as a punishment.

V = Volume

Ghost is vocal but he’s not loud about it. If he’s going to drop praises, he’s going to say it like he’s passing on a secret. You don’t find this man yelling his pleasure to the ceiling. He’s all soft grunts and groans. But you? You can be as vocal and loud as you need to be.

W = Wild card

Ghost is a visual creature. He enjoys simply watching you. Watching you get dressed and undressed. Watching you shower. Watching you get ready for bed or ready for the day. He loves looking at you wearing something sexy or nothing at all. He stares.

X = X-ray

Under those clothes, Ghost has a decent bush. Keeps it lightly trimmed but a bit wild. Absolutely a good mix of length and girth. Just above average size. He fits…snuggly.

Y = Yearning

When it comes to a committed relationship, Ghost yearns for you all the time. He is always ready, and always eager if you are. He thinks about you constantly.

Z = Zzz

If it’s just casual sex, Ghost is falling asleep immediately. The man is a rock. Lights out. But if this is a committed relationship, Ghost will stay awake long enough to get you the aftercare you deserve before promptly passing the fuck out. Sorry, but he snores.

main masterlist

[honeyhotteoks]

₊ ⊹ ⟡ too hot to handle (송민기 ♡ s.mg)

your neighbor has more to give than you bargained for.

style: bullet drabble pairing: non idol!mingi x fem!reader word count: 1.8k tags/warnings: smut, pwp, light fluff, neighbor!mingi, fem!reader, big dick, like monster cock level she can't do anything with it, sub!mingi, like super sub, dom!reader, teasing, praise, heavy use of good boy/perfect boy etc., makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, face riding, lots of dirty talk, dick on clit action, controlled orgasms, edging and overstim, eventual piv notes: this has been on the brain for longer than i could ever tell you so hopefully it's a fun one x

[masterlist]

The problem with your neighbor isn’t that he’s hot. It isn’t that he’s funny and charming, and it definitely isn’t the crush bubbling between the both of you. Those would be normal problems, problems you tell your best friends about. 

The problem with your neighbor is that his dick is too big. 

You find that out at the same time you find out this giant who lives next door to you with the deep voice and a penchant for calling you “pretty girl” is actually not the dominant you assumed he would be.

Mingi is actually shockingly, surprisingly submissive. 

And you shockingly, surprisingly, love that more than you ever could have guessed. 

You figure that out while you’re straddling him on the couch, and when you roll your hips just right you feel the impressive hardness of him and hear the neediest whimper you’ve ever heard from a man at the exact same time. 

It takes you thirty minutes more of making out and shedding clothes for you to get a good look at his cock, and when you do it grinds the whole almost-fuck to a stop.

And -

“I know,” He breathes, his eyes softening, “it’s okay if you don’t want to keep going.” 

You blink at him, unable to hide the trepidation in your eyes, “It’s not that I don’t want to try,” 

“It’s okay,” He sounds dejected, but also like this has happened to him before and that fills you with nothing but sharp determination. 

“Hang on,” You lay a hand over his bare chest, still straddling his lap, the impressive length and girth of his cock standing between you. 

“Listen,” He sighs, “I get it,” 

“Mingi,” You interrupt him, “I’m not kicking you out,” 

“You’re not?” His eyebrows raise. 

“No,” You smile, “I do think we should maybe… work up to things,” 

“Of course,” He rushes to agree, his hands sliding up and down your bare thighs. 

“It’s just,” You grimace, “I haven’t had sex in a long time, like a really long, kind of embarrassing amount of time,” 

“That’s okay,” He soothes. 

“I’d be lying if I said I thought I could take you,” You sigh, “but Mingi, I’d really, really like to work up to it,” 

“Yeah?” He grins like he just won the lottery. 

“Uh-huh,” You swallow a little nervously, “just maybe not tonight?” 

“Right,” He nods, “anything you want,” 

“Is that okay?” You check, sliding closer to him, his bare cock brushing against your abdomen. 

“Okay?” He nods, “Of course, it’s… I mean, I like you. I want to do whatever you want, that’s what I want,” 

He’s a little flustered, still walking a nervous line like you might change your mind, or he’s worried about coming on too strong, and you take him in for a moment. 

Somewhere inside, you find the boldness to ask the question you’ve wanted to ask since you heard his first whimpered moan, “Mingi,” You murmur, “is that what you’re into? Doing what I want?”

His eyes flick over your face, but you don’t miss the way they darken up at the idea and he nods, “If you’re into that,” he says, “but I can take over if you need me to,” 

You wonder how many girls have begged him to be more dominant. How many girls have pushed him to go to a place that isn’t entirely comfortable for him, when he clearly wants the opposite. 

“I’m into that,” You tell him, “don’t worry,” 

You both click together like kinky little puzzle pieces, and despite the fact that you’ve never had his dick properly inside you, you’ve been having sex for weeks. 

You get creative. 

Mingi and his giant cock seem to love nothing more than making you feel good, especially when you use his big body to get yourself off. 

The first few times you hook up it’s the basics, getting to know each other, getting to know each other's bodies and what makes each other tick… but by the fourth time? The fifth? 

The fourth time you’re a horny mess, probably a breath away from ovulating and ready to climb his tall ass like a tree, and so all the hesitation you’ve had about being too much for each other flies right out the window. 

With him pinned to your bed you ride his thigh like it’s a pillow, barely looking at him as you get yourself off, and when you’re done all he can do is beg you to do that again, but on his face. 

He whimpers when his tongue first slips inside your folds, when he feels the weight of your body sink onto him. His hands grip your ass and between sucks and moans he begs you to ride him, to fuck his face and never stop. 

With your hands on the headboard you take it just like before, eyes closed, head thrown back, your moans spilling out into the room . 

He comes untouched that time, ropes and ropes of his hot cum painting his chest and stomach, panting apologies into your thighs, and that’s when everything changes. 

Now you tell him when to come. How to come. Where to come. 

You discover that he loves to be edged and you love to be overstimulated. 

A perfect combination of opposites. 

You make him beg for things, ache for things, his cock leaking against your lips as he whines. 

“Please, please, just a taste, just a lick, please, god, please,” 

And sometimes you let him have it, but most of the time you don’t. 

He seems to like that even more. 

Mingi and his big cock have found so many other ways to get off that you almost never want to give into having him inside you, because what if your dynamic changes? The anticipation is the delicious part, the denial, the almost-almosts. 

The way he begs when he’s on his knees between your splayed thighs, his shaft rubbing against your slick folds, sliding over your clit - that’s when you almost break. 

“You f-feel so good,” He shudders, thrusting his hips slowly back and forth so that his cock slides up and down your aching center. 

“Mm,” You sigh, relaxing into the mattress, “good boy,” 

His cock twitches at that, “Thank you, thank you,” 

“Go faster, baby,” You beckon him down with a come-hither motion, “fuck me like you mean it,” 

He freezes, “I-inside?” 

“Did I say inside?” You counter. 

“No, no, of course, I’m sorry,” He stumbles past that assumption and shakes his head, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks. 

You nod, a silent push to get him to move faster, and he scrambles to comply. 

He braces himself over your spread form on the bed, your hips slotting more tightly together, and then he braces his forearms on either side of you and starts to thrust. 

“Faster,” 

His hips speedup. 

Every brush of his shaft over your swollen clit makes you want to writhe and moan beneath him, but keeping control is the fun part for him, so you stay focused. 

“That’s it, baby,” You brush your fingers through his shaggy locks, “such a good boy,” 

He moans, but keeps the pace. 

“Mm,” You sigh through an almost moan, “baby, your cock feels so good inside me,” 

His hips jerk, a stammered groan on his lips. 

The tease was meant for him, a reminder of where his cock isn’t, but heat spreads through your belly at the idea of what he might feel stretching you open for real. 

“Say it,” You open your legs wider, angling your hips to get the sensation right. 

“Your pussy feels so good,” He pants. 

“Don’t stop,” You direct him again. 

“So tight,” He whines, “so wet,” 

“More, baby.” 

“S-so perfect,” He shudders, his eyes tightly closed, “thank you for l-letting me fuck you,” 

“Oh,” You murmur warmly, “that’s my good boy.” 

He chokes, his thrusts getting harder, a relentless rut of his wet cock against your dripping pussy and you bite down on your tongue at the impulse to beg him to fuck you for real. You’re dizzy, orgasm drunk, and your nails dig into his hips to hold yourself steady. 

“Please,” He pants suddenly, eyes flashing open to find yours, “please, may I come?” 

You’re too close for that, “Hold it, baby,” 

His expression tightens in tense control, “P-please,”

“I’m close,” You tell him, “hold it,”

Tears prick at his eyes and you feel the wet string of his precum on your belly, but he listens. 

A moan pulls free from your chest then, your pleasure fast approaching, and you breathe in hot fits and starts. 

“Come on my cock,” He begs, pleads, “I’m so good for you,” 

Your orgasm crashes into you sideways, the relentless stroke over your clit sending you into pleasured little shakes. 

“Please, I c-can’t, I can’t hold it,” He fists the sheets, his voice a thready wet pant. 

“Come,” You give him all the permission he needs, “come inside me, baby, fill me up,” 

He shudders, thrusting hard twice more, and with groaning moans he spills his release all across your belly, spattering you both in hot cum. 

He’s shaking, trembling, but you run your fingers through his hair and soothe him soft like always. He’s your good boy, your perfect boy, your most obedient boy. 

In the aftermath, when you both come down from your messy, full body pleasure, you find each other in the sheets. 

With kisses across his knuckles you nuzzle into him. 

“Next time, I want you for real,” 

He’s hesitant at first, but you’re ready, you’re sure. 

The next time, you play softer. You’ve learned each other so well, but this time it’s your turn to be vulnerable with your body and he doesn’t let you down for a second. 

It’s a slow process, full of sweetness and foreplay. He’s learned how to make your body sing over weeks and weeks of hookups, and he knows he can make you wet enough, relaxed enough to take him. 

The stretch is achingly delicious. 

And once he’s finally inside you for the first time, your bodies connected in every possible way, you realize he was worth the wait. 

And you fit together in more ways than one. 

As it turns out, your boyfriend’s big dick isn’t such a problem after all. 

[ribbonedreverie]

“Unsent Love Letters”

Words they will never say, letters they will never send.

──────────

💌 Osamu Dazai – “To the One Who Almost Made Me Stay”

My love,

I wrote this knowing you will never read it.

Isn’t that the safest way to say what I mean?

I have always been a man of contradictions—laughing at things I do not find funny, living in a world I have no interest in staying in, reaching for love while knowing I will never hold it long enough to keep.

You, my dear, were the cruelest of them all.

Because you almost made me want to stay.

And that—that is something I can never forgive.

You saw too much. You noticed too much. You looked at me as though you understood, and I have spent too long hiding to let someone see me so clearly.

And yet, I almost let you.

Almost.

If there is another life, I hope I love you properly in that one.

Yours (but never truly),

Osamu

💌 Chuuya Nakahara – “To the One I Would Have Burned the World For”

Hey, doll.

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

Maybe it’s because I never told you enough. Maybe it’s because I told you too much. Maybe it’s because you left, and I don’t know what to do with all the words I never said.

I would have burned the world for you. You know that, don’t you?

I would have given you everything I had, even the pieces of me I don’t know how to share.

But love—love is cruel.

And I am my own kind of monster.

I wonder if you ever think of me. If you ever wonder what would have happened if we had met in a different life, in a different world, where love did not come with a price.

I would have been better for you in that one.

But here? In this one?

I loved you the best way I knew how.

And I hope, somehow, that was enough.

Yours, always,

Chuuya

💌 Fyodor Dostoevsky – “To the One Who Thought They Could Save Me”

My dear,

You were a fool to love me.

A fool to believe in me.

A fool to think that someone like me—a man built of conviction and cruelty and ruin—could ever be softened by something as fleeting as love.

But you tried anyway.

You touched me like I was something fragile. You spoke my name like it was something worth whispering. You kissed me as if you thought I could be saved.

And for that, I will never forgive you.

Because for a moment—just a moment—I wanted to believe you.

That is the greatest sin of all.

I will not apologize. I will not beg. I will not ask for you to stay.

But if you do—know that I will ruin you in return.

Yours, if you dare,

Fyodor

💌 Nikolai Gogol – “To the One Who Should Have Known Better”

Ah, my dear!

Do you regret it? Do you wish you had run? Do you ever think back to the moment we met and wonder if things would have been easier if you had never looked my way?

Because I do.

I think about it often.

I think about how simple it would have been if I had never touched you, never kissed you, never let you get close enough to make me hesitate.

(Oh, what a terrible thing—hesitation.)

But you were fun. You were so fun.

And I am not a man who lets go of his entertainment so easily.

So tell me, darling—was it worth it?

Would you do it again?

Even knowing how this ends?

With a smile,

Nikolai

💌 Sigma – “To the One Who Made Me Feel Like More Than a Gamble”

I’m scared.

That’s all I know how to say.

I’m scared of what it means to love someone. I’m scared of what it means to be loved. I don’t know if I deserve it, if I know how to return it, if I know how to hold something that is not meant to slip through my fingers like all the other things I have lost.

But I wanted to try.

With you, I wanted to try.

I wonder if that is enough.

If you could be patient with me. If I could learn how to love without fear.

I don’t know how this story ends.

But if you are in it—I hope it is a happy one.

Yours (if you’ll have me),

Sigma

💌 Ryunosuke Akutagawa – “To the One Who Showed Me Softness”

I do not know how to say this.

I do not know how to say anything, really—not the things that matter, not the things you want to hear.

So I will say this instead.

I see you.

I see the way you wait for me to speak, the way you listen even when I have nothing to say.

I see the way you do not flinch when I reach for you, the way you do not ask for things I do not know how to give.

I see the way you are patient with me, even when I do not deserve it.

And I think—I think I love you for it.

I do not know if I will ever say this aloud.

But if you ever wonder—know that I have never tried this hard for anyone before.

And if that is not love, then I do not know what is.

Yours, in whatever way I know how,

Akutagawa

💌 Ranpo Edogawa – “To the One Who Already Knows”

Why would I write a letter when you already know what I’m going to say?

You always do.

You read me too well. You know my moods, my habits, the way I lean against you like a cat seeking warmth but refuse to admit I need you.

You know I will never say I love you outright—because it’s obvious, isn’t it?

I do not waste time stating facts.

I do not waste time on things that are already understood.

But if you need to hear it—if you ever need proof—just look at the way I let you stay.

Look at the way I let you close.

Look at the way I never correct you when you assume I love you.

Because you are right.

You always are.

Yours (as if that wasn’t obvious),

Ranpo

──────────

There’s something tragically beautiful about unsent love letters—words aching to be read, confessions swallowed by time. They hold a love that lingers, untouched by reality, forever suspended in what-ifs. Perhaps in another life, I sent them. Perhaps you read them. But here, they remain unread, and maybe that’s where they were always meant to stay. ♡

[runninriot]

Another Love

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event It's Complicated

wc: 1.966 | rated: M | tags: past friends with benefits Eddie/Jeff, newly established Steddie, unrequited love, complicated feelings, mild hurt/comfort, friendship | also on ao3

   “Guys, this is Steve. Steve, these are the guys. My best friends, who will not embarrass me today. Right?”

Eddie laughs, tries not to let his nerves show by making a silly grimace in the direction of Gareth, who lovingly scoffs and rolls his eyes, says ‘You don’t need us for that, you’re pretty good at embarrassing yourself‘, just to be a little shit. And maybe that’s good, because it means they’re not pretending to be something they’re not. There’s no need to mask who they are in front of Steve, Eddie knows that.

He knows that, once they’ve warmed up to each other, they’ll get along just fine. But still, he can’t shake the funny feeling in his gut.

This is a big deal for him, finally introducing his boyfriend to the people who, apart from Wayne, mean most to him in this world. He wants, no, needs them to accept this new person in his life, because there is one thing he’s absolutely certain of – Steve is here to stay.

Gareth and Doug, being the lifesavers they are, immediately start wrapping Steve up in a conversation and it helps ease Eddie’s nerves a bit. But out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the tension in Jeff’s shoulders. Can sense his resentment of the situation even if Jeff is obviously trying his best not to show it.

He stands off to the side, pretending to tune his guitar which he’s definitely not. Eddie knows he’s already done that before even coming to the venue. Out of all of them, Jeff’s always been the closest to a professional.

It’s something Eddie admires, one of those things he loves about him.

Jeff and Eddie go way back, met long before Gareth and Doug entered the picture. They’ve been friends forever, through thick and thin, always together against the rest of the world.

He’d never admit it out loud but Jeff’s opinion matters most. And that’s not only because he’s his best best friend. It’s also because he doesn’t know what he’d do if Jeff didn’t give him his blessing. There’s so much at stake here, so much to possibly end in ruins. This is so much more complicated than just wanting his friend's approval - there's more to consider. More to fight for. So that's what Eddie is willing to do.

   “Hey, man,” Eddie claps Jeff on the back trying to act casual, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach. “Can we talk?”

   “If it’s about your boyfriend, then no.”

Jeff takes a big swig from his beer, the look in his eyes unusually cold and distant.

   “Come on, man. I thought we agreed that-”

   “Well, I’ve changed my mind. Look, Eddie. I’m happy for you, I really am. But you cannot expect me to put on a brave face and pretend that this doesn’t fuck me up.”

His words slice through Eddie like a knife, sharp and quick, no mercy on his heart.

Eddie probably deserves it for thinking he could ignore the giant ass elephant in the room and simply wait it out. Wait for the problem to solve itself, for everything to go back to normal, back to easy. Because truth is, there is nothing easy about this.

Eddie knew from the start that this would be complicated, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t. He knew and yet, stupid as he is, he still hoped they could just... move on. Not forget but maybe lock up the memories of a different time and go back to how things were before. When they were just friends, no feelings involved. At least not those kind of feelings.

   “I’m sorry, Jeff,” he says, head tilted down to avoid his friend’s piercing gaze, “I know it’s-“

It’s what? Hard? Unfair? Well, yeah, obviously. At least from Jeff’s point of view. But what is Eddie supposed to do? He didn’t choose to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have feelings for Jeff, only they’re different now. Not that he ever-

It’s a cruel thought, even though it’s true. They both know it because Eddie never pretended to be in love when he wasn’t. Was he attracted to Jeff? Oh, absolutely. Otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up in bed together. More than once. And it wasn't just the prospect of easy sex that had Eddie coming back for more - it was the thought of falling asleep in Jeff's arms. To be held by someone who makes you feel safe and cared for. He loved the kisses and giggles and how okay it was to be vulnerable and open because there's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide because Jeff already knows everything about him.

The problem is, while it had all started out as casual fun between mates, something changed over time. Something Eddie noticed too late or he would’ve ended it sooner. Jeff never told him about his feelings, so that’s on him, but it is just as much Eddie’s fault because- he should’ve known anyway. Should’ve noticed the shift. But he hadn’t. Or maybe he simply refused to acknowledge it. Selfishly ignored it until he couldn’t anymore.

When he met Steve, he instantly knew he needed to put his cards on the table and come clean about what this would mean for him and Jeff. Told him about this guy he likes – ‘Don’t know if it’s mutual but I’d like to give it a shot, see where it’s going. Maybe it’s nothing but maybe- I think he could be the one.’

And at first, Jeff seemed to be fine with that. Said he understood that they couldn’t hook up anymore. Said he’d miss the fucking but ‘Eh, whatever.’

Only it wasn’t whatever.

But Eddie was so lost in his own head, so caught up on Steve, Steve, Steve that he didn’t see what it was doing to Jeff. Didn’t notice him pulling away more and more until Gareth mentioned it. Asked if something had happened between the two because they were acting weird.

So, when he finally confronted Jeff, things seemed... okay. Better. At least that’s what he thought when Jeff told him he’d get over it, that he just needed some time to adjust. Promised Eddie that nothing had changed when it came to their friendship but right now, Eddie isn’t so sure about that anymore.

And it kills him.

Makes him lie awake at night because he can’t stop thinking about all the worst possible outcomes. What if this breaks up the band? What if Eddie loses his best friend?

   “I don’t want to lose you, Jeff.”

    You’re up in five, someone calls from the side of the stage and Eddie knows this is the worst possible timing for a heart-to-heart. They should be getting ready, he should be talking to his boyfriend who he abandoned and left with people he doesn’t really know, in a place he’s never been to before. But he can’t step away, can’t leave it like that, not when Jeff still hasn’t said anything.

   “I need you. You’re my best friend and I- I love you.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, to use this word, this feeling that is the cause for this mess and the reason for Jeff’s pain. But it’s the right word nonetheless, because it’s the truth. Eddie loves him. Maybe not like he loves Steve but different from the way he loves Gareth and Doug. This love goes deeper than friendship, soul-deep.

   “I love you. You’re important to me and I know- I know you're hurt and I am sorry but I can’t change that my heart belongs to Steve.”

Eddie can’t stop, knows he should because right now, he’s only talking himself deeper into the hole he dug for himself. But he refuses to lie, refuses to try to appease Jeff with false hope – he needs to know where they stand. And if that means Jeff will tell him to fuck off, if that will be the end of their friendship, then-

   “I hate you.”

Eddie’s heart stops at Jeff's words, eyes filling with tears as he braces himself for the biggest regret he'll ever have in his life.

   “I hate you so much for even thinking you could ever lose me!”

They’ve got eyes on them now, Eddie can feel it, but he doesn’t care. Can’t, not when Jeff moves closer, taking one of Eddie’s hands to place it on his chest, right above his heart.

   “It hurts. It fucking hurts. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, just sniffs and blinks away the tears blurring his vision.

   “It’ll take some time for me to... get over this. But you and me, we’re bound for life, man. So don’t you ever think you’re getting rid of me. You hear me, asshole?”

Jeff smiles at him and even though there’s still sadness in his eyes, Eddie can feel that he means it.

   “Uh... sorry to interrupt but, um, they said you’re up next so I-“

When Eddie turns to the voice coming from behind, he finds Steve standing there, hands in his pocket, nervously looking to the side.

   “I’ll be down there somewhere. Have- have fun.”

Steve’s about to turn around, ready to step away but Eddie can't let him go like that, so he stops him.

   “Baby, wait!”

He looks back at Jeff, hoping, praying to find what he’s searching for in the other man’s eyes.

   “Go on, your boyfriend looks like he’s waiting for a kiss. Would be rude to leave him hanging.”

   “Are you gonna be mad at me if I do?” Eddie’s not asking for permission to kiss his boyfriend, not really. But he’s willing to tone it down around Jeff if that’s what it takes.

Jeff scoffs, lets go of Eddie’s hand and takes a step back.

   “So mad. But I’ll get to have you all to myself for the next 40 minutes so I guess it’s fine,” he jokes and it feels like a peace offering. Like maybe it’s the first step to better, before hopefully they can go back to how things were when everything was good, not complicated.

   “I love you,” Eddie says again just because.

   “Love you too, man. Now go take care of your man and then let’s get this fucking show started.”

Eddie nods, taking another moment to look at his best friend before walking over to Steve.

   “Everything good with you and Jeff?” Steve asks quietly as Eddie wraps his arms around his middle to pull him close.

   “I think it will be, yeah.”

Eddie's glad he never made a secret out of his past with Jeff, couldn’t bear withholding something so crucial from Steve. He needed him to know that no matter what, Jeff will always play an important role in his life. That if Steve wanted to be with him, he’d have to accept that there will always be a place in his heart that’s occupied by someone else.

Steve throws a look over Eddie’s shoulder and smiles to himself before leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

   “Is that all?” Eddie asks when his boyfriend pulls away, leaving him longing for more.

   “For now,” Steve confirms with a wink, “Your friends are waiting.”

With that, he wanders off into the crowd and Eddie, for the first time in weeks, feels a weight lift off his shoulders and heart.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated.

Maybe it just needs time and trust and mutual understanding.

He’s willing to try, willing to do everything to make this work

Because what he’s definitely not willing to do, is to give up one love for another.

[vandme12]

This has been rotting in my head for so long, how would the KC cast react to a powerful figure Mc? Ronin added mc because he just thought they were a writer needing inspiration, but what if they were actually a big influential figure in politics, media etc? Maybe they’ve hired Misaki before to get rid of someone? Maybe V knows them from charity meetings? How would it all unfold?

I really loved writing this! Whoever asked, Please ask me more head canons! The concept, would be they're a powerful "person" who usually gets people to kill off "bad" people! This is my longest head canon!

Ronin Beaufort!

At first, you were just a fun little distraction. Some writer looking for inspiration in the darkest parts of the world? Yeah, yeah, he’s heard that one before. But you were flirty, sharp, and a little too comfortable around him, which made you interesting.

So, he let you stick around. Took you to some bloody, brutal places, spun his words like knives, toyed with you just to see if you’d flinch.

But you didn’t.

You kept up. You even pushed back.

And damn it, he loved that.

You made things fun.

So fun, in fact, that he didn’t question it. Didn’t stop to wonder how you were able to navigate his world so easily, how you had this natural charisma that could turn heads, how your words carried weight in a way that felt… important.

He didn’t put the pieces together—until he saw your face on the news.

He’s at some dive bar, half-watching the TV, when he sees it. Some big political scandal. Some business shake-up. And right there, center screen, is you.

Your name. Your title. Your power.

His brain short-circuits.

He just stares for a good five seconds, drink frozen halfway to his lips.

“What.”

Immediate, sharp, loud laughter.

“Oh, what the FUCK?! You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

He’s laughing so hard he slaps the bar. The bartender jumps. Other people in the bar look at him like he’s crazy.

Because of course. Of course, the one person he’s been dragging into the worst places, letting into his world, kissing, touching, —

Is actually one of the most powerful people in the world.

The moment he gets his laughter under control, he’s grinning. Big. Sharp. Wild.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t this a fuckin’ surprise.”

The next time he sees you? Oh, he is not letting you live this down.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself.

“Sooo, babe. Anythin’ you wanna tell me? Y’know, like—what the fuck?”

If you try to act casual about it? He grabs your chin, tilts your head up, and just grins.

“Nah, nah, don’t gimme that. You mean to tell me I’ve been callin’ you ‘sweetheart’ and sneakin’ you into crime scenes, when I should’ve been callin’ you Boss?”

If you flirt back? Oh, he eats that shit up.

“Ohoho, you’re playin’ dangerous now, darlin’. You know what happens to people who turn me on and surprise me? Bad, bad things.”

He’s so into this.

Like, obnoxiously into it.

He starts calling you titles sarcastically.

“Ahh, my beloved CEO, let me open the door for ya.”

“Oh no, did my precious politician have a rough day? C’mere, lemme make it all better.”

“D’you think world leaders would shit themselves if they knew you were makin’ out with a serial killer? ‘Cause that’s funny as hell.”

But beneath the teasing? Oh, he’s obsessed.

He already thought you were a perfect match for him, but now?

Now, you’re not just smart. Not just dangerous in your own way.

You’re untouchable.

Bottom line? He is so in love with you it’s disgusting.

You’re powerful, you’re dangerous, and you’re his.

And that? That’s all he ever needed to know..

“So, what’s the play here, sweetheart? You gonna bring me down? Put me in the headlines? C’mon, gimme a scandal—make it a good one.”

If you tell him you have no intention of exposing him, that you’re here for your own reasons, he’s intrigued.

“Ahhh, so you’re just a little freak, huh? Love that for you.”

“So, tell me, baby—how’s it feel, bein’ the most dangerous person in the room for once?”

And when you smirk and say, “I’m always the most dangerous person in the room,”—Oh.

Oh, he loves you. Because it’s true, isn’t it? Ronin might be a killer, but you—you have real power. The kind of power that doesn’t need a knife to cut people down. AND that? That’s hot as hell.

Misaki

At first, Misaki thought you were just some random writer that Ronin picked up for fun. Maybe you were looking for inspiration in the darkest corners of the world, and hey, Misaki could respect that.

Until, one day, they’re watching TV in their bunker, shoveling cup noodles into their mouth, and—

Your face is on the news.

Immediate choking.

They nearly drop the noodles.

They stare.

Blink once. Twice.

Wait. What the fuck.

They scramble for the remote, turn the volume up, and suddenly, their world is spinning.

"HOLD ON—"

Because there you are, center screen, name plastered in bold letters. Some scandal, some massive political shift, some media shake-up—and at the heart of it all? You.

The person they’ve been flirting with. The person they’ve been spending nights with in calls.

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, BACK THE HELL UP—!"

They’re gripping their head, pacing their bunker, absolutely spiraling.

“You mean—you mean to tell me I’ve been flirting with someone who can LITERALLY change the world?! Oh my god—oh my god, I’m so broke, I can’t handle this—"

The next time they see you? They’re standing there, arms crossed, clearly trying to look intimidating but failing miserably because their face is still stuck in pure existential crisis mode.

“Sooo. You got anythin’ you wanna tell me, boss?”

If you just smirk and go, “Oh? You didn’t know?”

They groan loudly.

"OF COURSE I DIDN’T KNOW, YOU JERK! Oh my god, I was out here thinking you were some struggling writer, and now you’re telling me you could probably buy my entire life with a single check?!"

Cue another breakdown.

And if you’ve hired them before? Oh. Oh, that’s interesting.

“Hold on—wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me I’ve been talking to one of my clients this whole time?!”

They go through a full existential crisis.

But once the initial shock wears off? They’re intrigued.

“Okay, okay, but real talk—why the hell are you hanging out with us? You could be anywhere, doing anything, running the world, and yet, you’re here. Why?”

If you flirt with them? They malfunction.

“H-Hey, don’t distract me! This is serious! You—wait, what do you mean I look cute when I’m panicking?! That’s—STOP.”

But deep down? They FEEL KYAH!

If you say something like “Because I like you”

��They malfunction.“LIES. YOU’RE A LIAR. DON’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT—”

But deep down? They’re kicking their feet.Because holy shit.

Someone that important thinks they’re important.

It’s the worst and best thing to ever happen to them.

Angel

At first, Angel just thought you were another charismatic, ambitious person—someone drawn into her orbit the way most people were. She didn’t question it too much. You were charming, clever, and played along with her public persona so well it was almost addictive.

Then, one day, she sees you on the news. Not in the background. Not as a guest. You are the news.

Maybe you’re a political powerhouse, a media mogul, an elite CEO—whatever it is, you’re big.

Cue an instant mental shutdown. She’s staring at the screen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and for once in her life, completely speechless.

“… Wait, wait, wait. What?!”

First, she replays every conversation the two of you have ever had, wondering how she missed the signs.

Second, she assumes you just didn’t tell her because… well, why would you? She wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

Third? Immediate concern.

Because she knows powerful people. She’s been around them.

And most of them are monsters.

But you? You’ve always been kind to her. Sweet. Playful. The same way she is with you.

…So why does this still feel like a dream?

When you finally come home, Angel is sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a frown on her lips—but her eyes are soft.

"Sooo…" she tilts her head. "Is this the part where you tell me I’ve been secretly dating royalty, or—?"

You try to explain, but she just leans closer.

"And when, exactly, were you gonna tell me that you're kind of a big deal?"

Pout. Full pout.

But she’s not actually mad. Just incredibly intrigued.

The more she learns about your influence, the more protective she gets.

She knows the price of power. She knows the pressure. The weight. The expectations.

And she knows what it’s like to need approval.

She’s quiet for a moment before reaching for your hand.

“Are you happy?” Her voice is gentle.

You nod, but she studies your face carefully, trying to find the cracks.

“You promise?”

If you squeeze her hand, reassure her? She melts.

She wants to believe you. So badly.

Angel is soft with you in ways she isn’t with the world.

She may be a perfectionist. She may be needy for attention. But with you?

She doesn’t have to perform.

She can just… be.

And that’s a rare, precious thing.

And she will make fun of you for the way you talk in "serious mode."

"Ooooh, look at you~ all professional and intimidating~"

But deep down? She’s proud.

She just expresses it through teasing.

She knows power changes people.

And she worries about that. About what it might do to you.

But she also loves you too much to let it push her away.

“No matter how big or important you are…” she murmurs, curling up against you. “You’re still mine.”

And honestly? There’s no one else in the world she’d rather love.

V

The moment, you open your video feed to see him for the first time he knows who you are.

V already knows who you are.

He’s rich. Powerful. Connected. No one reaches his radar without him knowing everything about them.

So when your face appears on his screen, he isn’t surprised.

What surprises him is the fact that you recognize him, too.

You tilt your head, lips curling into an amused smirk.

“Mr Valentin Viljoen, right? We’ve met before.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Yes. And you are—”

“I'm your kind!” you interrupt smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Without ever spilling a drop of blood.”

That makes him pause.

His posture tenses. Just for a second.

Because… that’s not wrong.

He’s seen your name in places that matter—a ghost behind the curtains of power.

You don’t get blood on your hands.

You hire people to do it for you.

At first, he’s wary.

You are the kind of person he hunts. The kind who orchestrates death while keeping their hands clean.

The kind that believes their cause justifies the means.

And yet…

You don’t silence everyone. You don’t kill for profit or ego.

You kill corrupt politician. The ones who slip through the cracks of the system. Like him.

He watches you closely after that.

“You play God,” he says one night, his voice measured. “Deciding who lives and who dies.”

You meet his gaze, unshaken.

“So do you.”

The two of you challenge each other constantly.

You push him to see the necessity of what you do.

He pushes you to consider the weight of it.

“Your assassins are no different than the people I kill,” he says coldly. “They’re just a tool you use to maintain control.”

You hum thoughtfully. “And you’re just a weapon that wields itself.”

Silence.

A game of chess with no clear winner.

But there’s one thing he can’t ignore.

You don’t kill the innocent.

Your network, your power—it’s built on a foundation of purpose.

And whether he likes it or not…

You’re not the villain he expected.

He watches you more than he should.

He listens to how smoothly you speak, how effortlessly you manipulate a conversation without a single lie.

He hates how drawn he is to it.

“You play dangerous games,” he mutters one night.

You smirk. “So do you.”

And he hates that you’re right.

He’s used to keeping his distance.

But you make that impossible.

The sharp way you tease him, the way you dance on the edge of his moral code.

It gets under his skin.

“What the hell are you?” you ask one night, head tilted. “A hero? A killer?”

His lips press into a thin line.

“What are you?” he counters.

It happens slowly.

At first, he tells himself he’s just keeping an eye on you.

But then it becomes habit.

Seeking your voice, waiting for your messages, analyzing your movements.

He finds himself protecting you before he even realizes why.

Because the moment someone tries to take you down?

He’s already one step ahead.

“You should leave,” he mutters after taking care of a hitman sent after you. “Disappear.”

You laugh softly. “And let them win?”

His jaw clenches.

He should walk away from you.

But he won’t.

Because for all his righteousness…

He can’t let you go.

[riovidql]

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me — AGATHARIO

“Honey, I’m home!” Rio said as she walked through the door, getting out of her shoes and losing her coat. “God, you will not believe the day I had. I swear, one of these days it will be proven that stupidity can kill. Then I will finally have pea- Agatha…?” She stops, because Agatha is nowhere to be seen, or felt, for that matter. What the fuck?

“Uhm, Agatha? Scratchy?” She shouts. No answer. Fuck. “Fuck, did I walk into the wrong apartment again?” But then a little ball of fur comes running down the hall, stopping precisely in front of her. She kneels down. “Hey, bunny. Where’s your mama?” She, funny enough, scratches behind Scratchy’s ear as she picks him up. He looks like he knows, but won’t tell. Well, of course he won’t tell me where she is, he can’t talk.

“Okay… Scavenger hunt it is then. And you,” she looks directly into his eyes. “Are coming with me. Agatha won’t murder, burn, bite or whatever she’s… We’re… Uhm. She behaves when you’re around! You’re my shield, is what I’m saying. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Agathaaa! Where the fuck are you?”

She looked everywhere. Even under the rugs. A woman could never be too safe. And honestly, it’s Agatha. And Rio could, obviously, try her phone. But one thing about Agatha Harkness is she absolutely, completely, despises phones. And technology over all; (some will say it’s because she doesn’t know how to use it, she will deny profusely, she just is above it).

Rio was tired. She had a long ass day at work, and she needed sleep, and no one could argue she did not look for her wife, Señor Scratchy was witness. Though that rabbit always chose her wife’s side anyway. Useless, traitor bunny. But she did send her a text, though.

As she laid down on the couch, with the little pet comfortably under her chin and the low, background noise of the TV, she dozed off. She wouldn’t know what time that actually happened or how long she was napping for… People were taking longer to get to the fucking point, traffic was ass, the elevator was broken so she had to take the stairs, and this nosy neighbor stopped her for unsolicited advice, boring gossip. And she still had to go look for Agatha. If you asked Rio, she would say that day had approximately 87 hours. And counting.

And as if it couldn’t get worse, she woke up from her sleep with a killer headache. National Fuck Rio Vidal Day, fuck me. ‘Did Agatha at least get home?’ was her second thought, but as she was regaining her consciousness and taking in her surroundings, the smell caught her senses. “What the fuck?” It smelled like…? Chicken? And bechamel sauce? And was that Agatha moving a spoon on a pan? Wait. Was Agatha cooking? Just for how long, exactly, had she been out for and did she or did she not mistakenly alternate realities? “What the fuck.” She says a little more loud this time, making Agatha look over her shoulder with a smirk.

“I thought you were dead.”

“And then you decided to cook? Aren’t you just the most romantic thing in the world.” Rio scoffs.

“Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

“Charmer.” Then Rio remembers. “Where the fuck were you? And why didn’t you call, or text? Or left a fucking note stuck on Scratchy?”

“Out.”

“Out? That’s all you have to say after disappearing for hours and making me turn and toss and destroy this apartment looking for you?” Rio crosses her arms, mildly annoyed by her wife’s nonchalant responses.

“It didn’t look like you were turning and tossing and destroying this apartment when I got here.” Agatha was smiling big now and oh, Rio fucking despised her. Fuck Agatha, was what she was going to do later.

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes, lying down on the couch again. “Just be quiet. Someone decided it was a good idea to play drums inside my head.” And just like that, she dozed off again.

When she rose, it was to a glass of water and two ibuprofens placed on the coffee table in front of her, which she gratefully took. Maybe she didn’t really despise Agatha. Or maybe the water was poisoned. Either way, she looked around and she saw that her wife was on a stool leaning over their countertop, her back facing Rio as her body looked like it was focused. Was Agatha writing hate letters to Jen, again? Standing quietly, she made her way to her wife, not wanting to startle her. Fine, she didn’t want to make Agatha aware she was snooping around her business.

That was when she saw it. Agatha was drawing. Drawing plants, elaborate ones. The pages on display had four different kind of greens, each one with their own description and functionality, all painted and shadowed, except for the one she was just starting to work on. Rio was actually, maybe for the first time in her life, stunned. Well, except for when Agatha climbed on top of her in bed and-

What was even weirder was that Agatha was so focused on her task that she didn’t even notice Rio lurking behind her. Or that Rio was actually shedding real, big ass tears. Cry baby. “What is that?” She finally spoke, which she wished she didn’t ‘cause now there was a hand coming to slap her and Rio was caught off guard and there was no way she could react fast enough to dodge a very loud, and painful, slap on her face. “Are you fucking crazy?” She shouted after a few moments.

“If you didn’t stand there like a freak for God knows how long and scared the shit out of me, all of this could’ve been avoided.” Agatha continued to draw.

“And somehow it’s my fault.” Rio wasn’t finding the situation cute anymore.

“Yeah, it is. Good girl.” You could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Oh, fuck off.” She continued lurking. “What are you doing.”

Agatha actually blushed. “What I was doing was dinner, but somebody decided to sleep. Again.”

“Quit stalling, Agatha. What is this?”

“I’ve found a hobby.” She said simply.

“You’ve found a hobby? And it has something to do with plants? The very same thing you tease me about every single day and call me a nerd for?”

“Just wanted to know what the hype was all about. So I’ve been taking a few classes, going to some lectures, you know how it is.” Rio has no idea how it is.

“About plants?” She deadpans.

“Obviously.”

“Right.”

Agatha turns to look at Rio and says, “Dinner is ready.”

Rio is speechless, dumbfounded, stunned (again), blabla. What the fuck was wrong with her wife? Maybe she shouldn’t have got up today.

“Wait a minute.” She grabs Agatha’s arm as she stands. “You? Made dinner? And it smelled good? And we’re still alive?” Rio wasn’t so sure about the last part.

“Sue me for wanting to make something nice for my wife?”

Huh. “Am I missing something here?”

“God, Rio. You’re so annoying. I fucking made you dinner ‘cause class ran late and traffic was awful and I got here after you and felt bad. And your ass was sleeping so infuriatingly cutely with Scratchy, and you looked so tired. I am taking botany classes and going to approximately a million lectures a week about plants because you do so much for me and I just wanted to show you that I care too. Was that what you wanted to hear?” Agatha made her best to look annoyed, but Rio knew her and could see just the tiniest spark of insecurity in her eyes. She pretended she didn’t see. Or she would be feet deep buried.

“My love.” Rio said weakly. God, she loved, hated, her wife. Agatha eyes softened at the two words.

“Can I go back to my drawing now?” Leave it to Agatha to run from any type of emotional moment. Even after years married. This bitch.

“Ah yes, and you’re gonna tell me all about those classes of yours. How long have you been keeping this from me? And what is up with that draw game. I did not know you had it in you.”

“I have very skilled hands, I think you of all people would know that.” Agatha winked at her. Show off.

“Debatable.” Then Rio started running for her life. This time she had a good reaction time.

HEY! i just love these witches so much it really got me back to writing after YEARS. if anyone see this, i hope u enjoy it :)

[hxrsheykisses]

Plsplspls gimme the eltingville club members with a rlly trashy punk reader. Like 2000s trashy but just so happens to like pink and junk plsplsplspls I think it'd honestly be so funny 🙏🙏

-🦇

JEEZ! PETE THOUGHT YOU WERE A BADDIE! He was the first one to spot you out walking on the sidewalk, looking all sexy and shit and he knew he had to take a shot. This didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of his crew, and they understood why Pete went all cornball when they saw you.

You were the stuff—you ARE the stuff! It’s crazy how they never seen you before around her, and what were you doing in a neighborhood like this anyway? What really pieced you together was your style, you just stuck out in the most alluring way possible and they couldn’t take their eyes off of you.

It took them a LONG time to get the courage to talk to you. Pete? He tried numerous times to get you to slide your number but Bill, Josh, and Jerry held him back from doing so because they didn’t need him scaring you off. It was an awkward moment…weird. They haven’t ever seen a girl like you before just prancing around. It was new for them!

Turns out, you’re a pretty cool gal! You had that vibe to you where it just had that confident punch to it. You weren’t overly bitchy, you weren’t loud and obnoxious—and you weren’t a “stupid femoid” either. You had class!

Your outfits were both cool and…weird combos but hey! You wore them out anyway despite the contrast and how some of the patterns on the clothes didn’t come together—you made it come together! It was how you held yourself that kept them going—it was pleasing to see and kinda hot too.

All this confidence would make them kinda intimidated by you because again, they never had a girl around them before and they are all useless. When you first started hanging with them, they thought that eventually you’d just turn up to be a stuck up bitch who just kept them around because you had nothing better to do or you wanted to pull a joke off them. So it was a tough couple of weeks for all of you because of that distrust and wariness.

Mall shopping was like…a 24/7 thing. You were constantly upgrading your closet with the jumbo amount of clothes you’d buy and made them follow behind you while carrying all of your bags. Of course they didn’t say anything (Bill may have but not for long) cause I mean…you’re a baddie. And who knows when they’ll get lucky like this again?!

Other people in the neighborhood would be confused…like HELLA confused! What’s a girl like YOU hanging out with boys like THEM? It didn’t add up right! There was like mini controversy about this cause how did they bag the baddie of the neighborhood??? Don’t get me STARTED on Joe’s ass either cause he was making faces and shit wondering why you waltzed up in his shop with his most annoying ass regulars? AND comes to find out that you hanging around them? Yeah, he definitely pulled the guys aside and told them that you were probably gonna dump them on the side of the road—he was the one that egged on that toxic thoughts of distrust in the beginning.

You guys are just weird. You’re a weird bunch.A VERY contrast bunch. You’ll have to get the boys in check sometimes because they can be a little TOO weird and creepy and you wouldn’t stand alongside some nasty little boys who have jack off rituals. You can’t STAND it when they argue either cause it’s always some petty shit and they are WAY too grown to be acting out like that and their parents aren’t doing shit hardly so you gotta step in! Put them in their place GIRL!

Also, anybody who is in that 2000s style, you are lowkey a BADDIE. Idc. All the outfits eat every single time.

[aviradasa]

I love your writings dude! Sm! Seeing some laddie hcs from you would be sick! You don’t see much of him from the movie, nor the book even if it adds a little bit more. I feel like they focus on star more. Maybe his dynamic with the boys and stuff? How was he found? Who is he closest with, probably Dwayne and Paul tbh. Also do you think he knows he’s a half vampire? I feel like he would be more scared of David and Marko, mostly David. What does he like to do for fun since he literally lives under a rock. Does he have the same music taste as the boys, can he watch films, can he read and what does he like to read? Also does he have any friends or is he just with Star and the boys all the time. I feel like that would be no because maybe parents o the boardwalk wouldn’t want their children around the boys. I have these kinds of thoughts all the time, about the boys and Star too but with the hcs and fics I can read I feel like I can piece them together better than laddie considering there’s little writing about him. (A funny thing too, would the boys try to not cuss around laddie? I feel like Paul would do it on purpose so Star would get mad or something)

Omg I have been waiting to do these for so long. It won't let me post the long version on here though so I'm gonna make an A03 account.

General laddie hcs

I HC Laddie as the star's younger brother, and when she got involved with the boys at first, she was having a good time. Then something happened to their parents and Laddie was going to be put into the system which Star didn't want to happen so she wanted to leave and David wouldn't let her so she made a deal with him to take Laddie so that she would stay Laddie is indeed closest to Dwayne because he and Laddie have similar personalities. Laddie is kinda quiet and pretty shy for a kid his age and Dwayne Remembers that when he was that age he was very similar. Laddie also likes Paul a lot cause Paul has a little bit of a soft spot for kids and he's the one that spoils Laddie. if Laddie sees something on the boardwalk, and he wants it. He's going to Paul cause he knows Paul will make it happen even if Star or Dwayne say no. Dwayne kinda helps Star raise Laddie cause he saw her struggling with him at first and decided to help. They are basically besties who share a kid. Now, laddie mostly Avoids David because after David took (kidnapped) him, laddie became attached to him at the hip. After all, he was just grateful to be with his sister again. But David was not having it. He wasn't trying to be an ass he just didn't want to get attached to the kid Cause he knew that with the life they lived he may not survive and he just didn't want that on his conscious so he pushed him away. Now Marko kinda freaks Laddie out a bit because Marko can be a bit..unstable. Marko Can have these really drastic and really sudden mood swings, It doesn't help that Marko will lowkey be really good with Laddie for a little bit, like showing him artwork, helping fix His stuff to suddenly just freaking the fuck out whenever Laddie comes up to him so he just Avoids marko. Laddie absolutely loves playing games with the boys and star.his favorites are physical/board games due to the cave not having electricity. He LOVES hide and seek.His all-time favorite. Some nights star will help him convince the other boys to all go outside to play with him. Another favorite of laddies is tag.But he doesn't like playing with the boys cause they are a lot faster than he is, But he does play with Star,and when Max allows it, he loves playing tag with Thorn. He also likes going To maxs house cause he can watch Scooby doo.It's his favorite show He also absolutely loves watching Jem and the holograms As well! laddie also likes to make up his own games.However, some of his games start to worry Star because they are a bit violent, and it makes her wonder if some of the things he's hearing may be influencing him wrong. Especially when Laddie ran up to her with a ripped-up teddy bear and asked her if she thought the Bear learned its lesson yet. She snatched that bear so quick- and then she had a long ass talk with him about no more torturing teddies When asked why he did it, and all Laddie said was that “he didn't like how it talked to his friends.” She thought that was weird cause Laddie didn't have any human friends. It's not that he's not allowed to have them but he just doesn't try to make them. After that whole deal though, star and dwayne Were talking and decided that everyone should start watching what they say around the kid Cause it's clearly fucking with him. Laddie Hates the censorship. He's at that age where hes in the “I'm not a little kid anymore” stage. He just wants to be part of the gang. So he goes to eavesdropping. He hears a lot of stuff he shouldn't, and it's also how he ends up learning he's a half-vampire. Laddie honestly didn't know what an actual vampire was. He had only heard the dumbed-down kid story versions of vampires but he was still scared. The boys also influence Laddie's music taste a lot. He loves all kinds of rock/metal cause of Them.they are his biggest role models so what they like. Laddie likes. Music, style, hobbies, if they like it, so does he. After learning the boys are vampires though all laddie wants is to be one which really makes it hard for star to resist giving into the pressure.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

some type of skin.

PAIRING — billy russo x reporter f!reader

CONTENTS — ficlet; fluff; tiny bit of angst if you squint really, really hard; a dash of pining; references to some canon-typical violence; some very mild innuendo.

SUMMARY — after a harrowing experience, billy surprisingly takes the matter of your personal safety into his very own hands.

W/C — ~1.6k

NOTES — so I decided to write something short and fun for @elixirfromthestars’s cinema writing challenge and honestly, i’m not 100% satisfied with this (when am i ever tho?) but also trying not to overthink this too much. please excuse me while I continue to scream into the void about this stupidly beautiful man. I apologize in advance for the person I have been and am going to be for the next few weeks; ben barnes has such a firm grip on my fucking throat lmao 🤭

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

When he asked you to meet him here at Anvil headquarters so you could finally interview him for that story in the Bulletin, this isn’t exactly what you were expecting. 

Instead of being seated in his second floor office overlooking the main part of the warehouse, you’re standing in the basement dressed in your crisp white blouse, hastily pressed pencil skirt, and low heels. You toy with the press pass hanging around your neck, unsure what to do with your hands. 

Your interview subject, however, seems quite relaxed save for the slight wrinkle between his dark brows as he very deliberately lays out several objects on a table in the middle of the room. He’s switched out his usual sharp business attire for a green pullover that looks soft to the touch, dark cargo pants, and a pair of combat boots. 

It takes you a few seconds to find your voice, because does he have to recline against the damn thing like that? He looks tall and lean, but damn it when he’s like this, showing off the corded muscles in his arms and shoulders, you cannot doubt that he’s an ex-Marine. 

“Russo?” 

“Hm?” He hums distractedly. 

“Are those knives?” 

Well, that gets his attention. He lifts his head and finally makes direct eye contact, and a shiver shoots down your spine. 

“Yeah, they are,” he confirms casually, as if you’ve just asked him if the sky is blue. He leans his hands on the table, shamelessly giving you a slow and careful once over before he frowns a little. “You’re gonna have to change.” 

“I feel compelled to tell you Karen knows I’m here,” you say quickly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow when he just chuckles like you’ve said something adorably funny. “Also, I thought we were doing an interview?” 

Billy Russo stares expectantly at you for a few seconds, lips slowly turning upward into a mysterious smile that you know has captured hearts all over the city. 

But you won’t fall for that, will you? 

Nope. Not in the slightest. 

“Nah, not yet anyway. Sorry, darlin’.” 

Ignore that! You scream mentally, but your brain does not cooperate. “Then what am I doing here, Lieutenant?” 

Whoops. His head snaps up again, his already sunless eyes getting darker by the second. Without breaking the intense eye contact, he just gestures around the room as though it’s oh so obvious. 

“Self-defence training.” 

“And why would I need—ugh, I don’t have time for this, Billy.” You heave a sigh, dropping all pretenses now, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

You’ve always known that Billy marches to the beat of his own drum, ever since the two of you met when Karen introduced you a few months ago while you were researching for a story about army veterans—a friend of a friend’s, she’d said, but never elaborated—but this seems excessive. 

“You wouldn’t have come if I were honest,” he says, his smile falling away in an instant, the glint of amusement in his eyes disappearing like smoke in the wind. “I don’t need to remind you of the… unpleasantness that happened last week.” 

“And yet here we are,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m fine.” 

“You were attacked,” Billy corrects, walking around the table to perch himself on the edge closest to you. You roll your eyes; as if you’ve forgotten. Getting ambushed in front of your apartment by two masked assailants isn’t exactly an easy thing to forget. 

“Everything worked out, didn’t it?” You uncross your arms and saunter over to the table, ignoring the heavy weight of his gaze on you. And it really had! 

Just as one of your would-be kidnappers, whatever it was they wanted, hit you in the face in retaliation for you kicking him in the shins and biting the other on the arm, your neighbour had come out of the apartment building just in time and began screaming bloody murder. They had no choice but to drop you and run, leaving you dishevelled and bruised, but otherwise fine, on the sidewalk. 

“They could come back,” Billy points out, since they obviously didn’t get what they’d come for, the same thing the police had said when they arrived just minutes later. You didn’t think much of it, though. Karen had had her fair share of run-ins with such undesirables, and she assured that this just meant you were pushing precisely the right buttons as a reporter. 

Even so, she still urged you to call Billy for protection.

You wonder if he gets all of his clients to undergo this self-defence training, or if he always personally offers to instruct them.

“Can’t guarantee it won’t happen again,” Billy doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. The two of you stare for a moment, engaging in a silent battle of wits that you, of course, end up losing when you’re the first to look away. He nods at the various knives and daggers strewn across the table. “C’mon, pick one and we’ll start small.” 

“Small?” You squeak as you eye the particularly ornate handle on one of the knives that honestly looks more like a short sword. 

“Aw, don’t be scared,” Billy chuckles and pats you on the shoulder, watching with those hawkish eyes of his as you consider your options. “This is a safe space.” 

Is it though? You wonder as you pick up a small dagger closest to you. “Wouldn’t guns make more sense since I’m not exactly trained in hand to hand combat?” 

“I am training you. And you’re not ready for guns yet,” Billy grins when you unsheathe the dagger, eyes widening just a fraction at the way the blade glints in the light. “‘Sides, picturin’ you with a knife is way hotter. You gonna wear a thigh holster?” 

You flick the tip of the blade in his direction, “Watch it, Russo. I’m armed.” 

But he just laughs, a sound that comes with a dangerous surge of pride in your chest, “That’s not how you hold a dagger.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you bristle, cheeks warming and trying not to watch, enraptured, as he stands up to his full height, his boots thumping heavily on the concrete. 

“Careful,” he warns, but he sounds more amused than offended as he closes the distance between you in just a few small strides. “You’d better play nice if you still want that interview.” 

But there’s nothing professional about the way he steps behind you, the way his arms pull you back against his chest, or the way his hand lands on yours to adjust your grip on the dagger’s handle. 

“Not all of us can be badass ex-Marines, can we?” It takes everything you have not to stammer, not to gulp nervously when you feel the calloused ridge of his trigger finger caressing the same spot on your own hand. 

“Yeah, well, I believe in you,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as his free hand comes down to rest on your hip, warm and heavy as it guides you slowly into a proper stance. “Bend your knees a little.” 

“Pretty sure I hired you so I wouldn’t have to take matters into my own hands like this,” you huff in annoyance, grumbling but following his instructions anyway, feeling a bit silly doing this in your work clothes. He never did give you a chance to change. 

“Please, you couldn’t afford me,” Billy murmurs so low against your ear that it sends a shiver down the side of your neck, all the way to a certain part of your anatomy you refuse to acknowledge at the moment, his beard slightly rough against your cheek. Is he doing this on purpose? “Also, did you technically hire me if I’m doing this pro bono?”

“Yeah, and on that note,” you grow bold when he squeezes your hip in encouragement, leaning back against him with your arm extended, your hands joined together, the tip of the dagger’s blade angled upward at an imaginary assailant. “Why are you? The Billy Russo I know never works for free.” 

You see, you know precisely the kind of man Billy is. He would never invest this kind of time and energy into something like this, not unless he had something to gain from it—

Even without looking back, you feel his dark obsidian gaze on the still healing bruise that’s formed on the side of your face. His fingers tighten around yours, there’s a slight hitch in his breath you can feel with his chest pressed to your back, and the hand on your hip slides forward and around to your other side in an almost embrace. Protective, possessive, and maybe even a little petrified.

—or unless he had some type of skin in the game. 

And suddenly, despite the way you’re dressed and your hilarious lack of experience, you start to feel pretty invincible. You allow yourself a proud grin, squaring your shoulders so you stand a little taller in his arms.

They fall instantly, however, when Billy steps away and moves to stand directly in front of you. You feel immensely colder at the loss of proximity. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got,” he’s smirking again, all that vulnerability and whatever warmth you sensed in his body language once again hidden away behind a layer of arrogance and swagger. He beckons you with a come here gesture of his hand. 

“What?” You blink. 

“I’ve just broken into your apartment,” he states matter-of factly, “what do you do?” He coaxes you again with another wave.

“But wait!” You almost shriek, your bout of confidence once again faltering. “You didn’t even teach me anything yet!” 

“I need to see where you’re at first before I can teach you, darlin’,” he’s still smirking, half condescending and half amused, and your hands twitch to fling the knife at his stupid head.

“I’m at nowhere! I’ve got nothing! And you don’t even have a weapon, I could slice your damn face off!” Or worse, scar it. 

Billy laughs again, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. “Oh, sweetheart, you can certainly try.” 

fin.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. followers with zero engagement, serial likers and blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER THREE

"You’re too tense," Lia had said, her voice laced with amusement as she stirred her coffee. "You act like the world is resting on your shoulders all the time."

Mingyu exhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat. "Because it is."

Lia rolled her eyes. "Dramatic much?"

He smirked but said nothing. She always saw through him, no matter how much he tried to keep his walls up.

"You should let yourself breathe once in a while, Mingyu."

He scoffed. "Says the woman who never takes a break."

Lia hummed, tapping her fingers against her mug. "Maybe. But I have my reasons."

There was something wistful in her tone, something almost unspoken. Mingyu had wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just watched as she glanced out the window, her gaze distant.

"Sometimes, we don’t have all the time we think we do," she murmured, almost to herself.

He slowly opened his eyes, pushing the memory down before it could swallow him whole. It had been happening more lately—Lia slipping into his thoughts uninvited, her voice whispering between the cracks of his mind.

Mingyu let out a quiet breath, forcing his focus outward. That’s when he saw you.

Standing a few meters ahead, deep in conversation with Caro.

His stomach twisted.

The resemblance was uncanny. The same sharp gaze, the same delicate bone structure, the same damn eyes. But that’s where the similarities ended. Lia had carried a quiet sadness, the kind that settled into the corners of her smile. You, on the other hand, held yourself like you had nothing to lose. As if you were ready to fight the world before it could take anything from you.

And yet… something about you felt familiar. Not in the way you looked, but in the way you existed. Like a puzzle piece he didn’t realize he had lost.

Mingyu clenched his jaw. It was ridiculous. You weren’t her.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, he couldn’t look away.

-------

“So, I’m meeting Elias for lunch today.” You keep your voice low, barely above a whisper. Caro groans, her face twisting in frustration. “You’re actually going through with this?” You cross your arms. “Of course, Caro. I need to know why my family is so hell-bent on keeping me away from him. Like they suddenly give a damn about me.” Your voice hardens. “I need to understand why they sent Mingyu after me like some damn attack dog—with a gun, no less.” Caro sighs, dropping onto a nearby bench, picking at her waffles. “This isn’t going to end well.” You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I know. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.” Caro looks at you, unimpressed. “There’s a difference between doing nothing and running straight into a burning building.” You scoff. “Then I guess I’ll find out how bad the fire really is.” She glares. “That’s not funny.”

You shrug, but the truth is, none of this feels funny. None of this feels like something you can just brush off. There’s something deeper, something no one is telling you. Caro leans forward, her voice quieter now. “And what if Elias is exactly who they say he is? What if they’re actually trying to protect you?” You pause for half a second before shaking your head. “Then they should’ve told me the truth instead of playing these games.” Caro chews on her bottom lip, staring at you for a moment. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” “No.”

She exhales heavily, tossing the rest of her waffle into the container. “Alright. If you’re gonna do this, at least be smart. Meet him somewhere public, text me the location, and for the love of God, do not go anywhere alone with him.” A smirk tugs at your lips. “You sound like my babysitter.” “I sound like the only sane person in your life,” she corrects. “And what about Mingyu?” "That is one thing I need your help with." You look at her pleadingly.

Caro throws her head back with an exaggerated groan. “You have actually lost your mind.”

You clasp your hands together in a pleading gesture. “It’s just thirty minutes, Caro. You don’t even have to do much—just keep him busy.”

She levels you with an incredulous look. “Keep Mingyu busy? The same guy who stormed in like a damn action movie villain? Yeah, sure. Let me just ask him about his favorite rom-coms and hope he forgets about murder.”

You sigh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, you’re being reckless,” she snaps, pointing a fork at you. “You’re walking straight into a trap, and now you want me to babysit the guy who’s probably plotting ten different ways to take out Elias as we speak.”

“Caro.” You look at her, your expression softening. “I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.”

She presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” You flash her your best hopeful smile.

She exhales sharply. “You owe me so much for this.”

“I’ll buy you coffee for a week.”

“Try a month.”

You bite back a groan. “Fine. A month.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Look, I just need a distraction. Take him for coffee, pretend you have some urgent favor to ask him, I don’t know—flirt a little."

Caro chokes on absolutely nothing. "Excuse me?"

You resist a smirk. "Oh, come on, you’ve flirted with worse."

Her glare sharpens. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I would rather die than flirt with Mingyu. Third, he would see through me in ten seconds."

"Not if you’re convincing enough," you argue. "You’re a great liar when you want to be."

"Gee, thanks," she deadpans.

You huff. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You better.” She stabs her waffle with unnecessary force. “Because if this goes wrong, you know he’ll take it out on me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Caro lets out a dry laugh. “Right. Because you’ll be so available to save me while you’re having lunch with the guy everyone keeps warning you about.”

You wince. “Okay, fair point.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. Then she looks up at you, her expression more serious. “Eva, are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then you nod. “I need to do this, Caro. I need answers.”

Caro exhales, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But if I die because of your dumbass plan, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

You grin. “Noted.”

---

Caro peeked into the living room and instantly regretted it.

Mingyu was standing by the window, arms crossed, exuding a level of intensity that made her insides shrivel. He looked like the main character of some noir film—brooding, mysterious, and very much not someone she should be bothering right now.

She could leave. She should leave.

Instead, she made the absolute worst decision and cleared her throat—way too loudly.

Mingyu turned, dark eyes landing on her.

Caro froze. “Uh. Hi.”

Mingyu just raised an eyebrow.

She pointed vaguely behind her. “I was just—uh—walking. Past. And then I thought, ‘Hey, why not…uh…check if the air is good in here?’”

Silence.

Eva, hidden behind the doorway, slowly dragged a hand down her face.

Mingyu just stared. “The air?”

“Y-yeah.” Caro nodded way too fast. “You know, like, sometimes different rooms have different…air qualities?”

Oh God. What was she even saying?

Mingyu blinked. “Right.”

Caro coughed and shuffled further into the room, trying to act normal but failing miserably by walking like a malfunctioning robot. “Sooo…” she dragged out, flopping onto the couch. “Do you…uh…do this often?”

Mingyu looked at her like she was an unsolvable puzzle. “Do what?”

“Lurk. Stand around. Look like you’re plotting a murder.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not lurking.”

Caro squinted at him. “You totally are.”

He didn’t reply.

She tapped her fingers on her knee, forcing herself not to fidget. “Sooo, uh, what are you doing? Like, actually?”

Mingyu turned back toward the window. “Keeping an eye on things.”

“Vague.”

Silence.

You pressed both palms to your face. This was physically painful to witness.

Caro shifted in her seat. “You know, I—uh—used to think you were scary,” she blurted out.

Mingyu glanced at her. “Used to?”

Caro let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But now I think you’re just…uh…very…serious?”

Mingyu didn’t react.

She tugged at the hem of her hoodie. “Which is totally fine! Nothing wrong with being serious. I mean, I’m serious. Well, not that serious. But like, sometimes I can be. But not in a broody way, more in a ‘wow, she really overthinks everything’ way, which is honestly worse, because then I start spiraling and—”

Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you always like this?”

Caro snapped her mouth shut. “Like what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at her.

She blinked. “Um. Yeah. Kinda.”

Mingyu exhaled. “Great.”

You clenched your jaw. This is taking too long.

Caro, seemingly oblivious to your growing impatience, straightened. “Well, since we’re, uh, talking, I have a question.”

Mingyu gave her a look that screamed do I have a choice?

Before he could answer, Caro suddenly perked up like she just had the best idea in the world. “Wait! Actually, come with me for a second.”

Mingyu frowned. “Why?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s important.”

He stared at her, unimpressed.

You could feel the plan crumbling before your eyes.

Caro pouted. “Come onnn, just humor me.”

Mingyu sighed like he was already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. But, to your relief, he followed.

You quickly scurried ahead, heart pounding. The plan was simple: shove him into the room, lock the door, and run.

Caro, still rambling about nothing, gestured toward a door. “Yeah, yeah, just in here! Super important thing I need to show you—”

Mingyu barely had time to react before Caro practically shoved him inside and Mingyu caught her hand and she got dragged too.

You didn’t hesitate. You darted forward, slammed the door shut, and turned the lock in one swift motion.

A moment of silence.

Then—

“What the hell?” Mingyu’s voice was sharp, irritated.

You took one breath, two—then bolted down the hallway.

Caro’s voice, muffled through the door: “Uh. So. Funny story—”

 Caro.”

“—I think this might not be the room we intended—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

No. No way.

“Caroline,” Mingyu’s voice was deadly.

“…Yes?”

“What. Room. Is. This.”

Caro let out a nervous laugh.

“Well. So, funny thing… this is—uh—Seungcheol’s room.”

Silence.

Then Seungcheol, voice dry as hell: “You two want to tell me why I’m locked in my own room with you?”

You turned on your heel and sprinted.

-----

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your glass, eyes flicking up to watch Elias as he skimmed the menu. The restaurant was nothing special—just a quiet, unassuming café tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore, the kind of place no one would think twice about. Perfect for a conversation like this. Elias looked… normal. Too normal. Dressed in a plain black sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, he almost blended in with the other customers. If you didn’t know better, you'd think he was just some regular guy meeting a friend for lunch. But you did know better.

"So," he said finally, setting the menu down. "I wasn't expecting this invitation." You forced a small smile. "Figured it was time we talked." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Talk about what?" You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "You tell me." A slow, amused smile tugged at Elias's lips as he leaned back in his chair. "You invited me, sweetheart. Shouldn't you have something to say?" You clenched your jaw at the nickname but let it slide. "Fine," you said, leaning in slightly. "Why is my family so desperate to keep me away from you?" Elias didn’t react immediately. Instead, he picked up his water, took a slow sip, and set it back down with deliberate ease. "Now that," he said, "is a very interesting question."

You arched a brow. "And?" His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And I think you already know the answer." You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into your lap. "If I did, I wouldn’t be here." Elias studied you for a moment, then sighed, like he was deciding how much trouble this conversation was worth. "Your family," he said finally, "isn't exactly known for their honesty. So tell me, Eva—what do you think they’re hiding?" You didn’t blink. "I think it has something to do with you." Elias let out a short, quiet laugh. "Smart girl." Your stomach twisted.

"That doesn't answer my question."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Let me give you some advice," he said, voice softer now, almost gentle. "There are some things you're better off not knowing." You swallowed. "And there are some things I can’t afford to ignore." Elias held your gaze for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smirk. "You really are your sister’s shadow, huh?" Your breath caught for half a second before you forced herself to stay still.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you kept your expression steady. "How do you fucking know Lia?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care.

Elias simply smirked, like he had been waiting for you to ask. "Now, now," he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table. "That’s not a very polite way to continue a conversation."

"Cut the shit, Elias." You leaned in, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table. "You brought her up for a reason—so answer me."

Elias exhaled, tilting his head like he was considering his next move. Then, slowly, he sat back, shoulders loose, gaze amused. "Lia and I… crossed paths," he said vaguely.

Your stomach twisted. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

Frustration burned in your chest. He was toying with you, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but not enough to actually tell you anything. "When?"

Elias let out a quiet chuckle. "Persistent."

"Answer me."

He sighed, shaking his head as if you were some naive little thing. "Let’s just say Lia and I had some… mutual interests, once upon a time."

Your grip on your glass tightened. "You’re lying."

Elias arched a brow. "Am I?"

Yes. No. You didn’t know.

What you did know was that your sister never mentioned this man. Not once. And if Lia had been involved with someone like Elias—someone your family clearly saw as dangerous—why had she hidden it?

Unless… they weren’t hiding Elias from you.

They were hiding you from Elias.

The thought sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to keep your cool. "Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested."

Elias just smiled. "Oh, but you are, sweetheart. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here."

You opened your mouth to snap back, but before you could, a shadow passed over the table as the waiter arrived with their drinks.

"Here you go," the waiter said, setting down the cups. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You shook your head. "No, we’re good. Thanks."

As the waiter walked away, Elias picked up his cup, swirling the liquid inside lazily. "I’ll give you one more piece of advice," he murmured, not looking at you. "If you keep digging, you better be prepared for what you find."

You clenched your jaw. "That almost sounds like a threat."

Elias finally met your gaze again, his smile still in place but his eyes colder now. "It’s a warning."

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the napkin in your lap. You had walked into this dinner thinking you'd get answers. Instead, you were leaving with more questions.

You met Elias’s gaze head-on. “What do you know about her?”

Elias took a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his cup like he had all the time in the world. “Lia?” he mused, setting it down with a soft clink. “I know quite a bit.”

Your nails dug into your palm beneath the table. “Then start talking.”

Elias exhaled through his nose, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “You remind me of her, you know. Stubborn. Reckless.” His eyes darkened slightly. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you forced yourself to remain unfazed. “Did you know her well?”

Elias tilted his head, like he was debating how much to give away. “Well enough.”

Vague. Again.

You clenched your jaw. “She never mentioned you.”

His smirk deepened. “That’s because she didn’t want you to know.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. “Why?”

Elias leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Because she was protecting you.”

You felt your breath hitch.

Protecting you?

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, voice tight.

Elias just watched you, unreadable. Then, after a moment, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at him, to demand he stop playing games and just tell you the truth.

But you couldn’t let him see how much he was getting to you.

Instead, you inhaled sharply and sat back, mirroring his earlier ease. “You like talking in circles, huh?”

Elias hummed. “I like seeing how much you already know.”

You stared at him, searching his face for anything—any crack in his smug exterior that might give you an edge. “She’s dead,” you said, voice flat. “If you know something about what happened to her, I suggest you stop being cryptic.”

Something flickered in Elias’s gaze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

You straightened. “You do know something.”

Elias’s fingers tapped lazily against the table. “I know a lot of things.”

“Did you know her before she died?”

Elias smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

You pulse pounded in your ears. If he was telling the truth—if Lia had been involved with him before she died—then why had your family never mentioned it?

And more importantly…

Had they known?

You swallowed hard. “What was she protecting me from?”

Elias exhaled, shaking his head. “You really are stupid if you think I am going to tell you that easily."

Elias leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Elias’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the power in the world. “It’s simple, really. You do something for me, and in return, I give you the truth you’re so desperate for.”

You didn’t trust him—not even a little—but you also knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He had answers, and you needed them.

Still, you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You haven’t even told me what you want.”

Elias’s fingers drummed against the table, his gaze flicking over you like he was sizing her up. “There’s something I need retrieved. Something I can’t get myself. And lucky for me, you happen to be in a… unique position to help.”

That set off every alarm in your head. “Why can’t you get it yourself?”

Elias let out a low chuckle. “Because, sweetheart, some doors don’t open for people like me.”

Your stomach tightened. You already knew this was a terrible idea, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what exactly am I retrieving?”

His smile was razor-sharp. “A file. Locked away in a place you have access to.”

A cold weight settled in your chest. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m stealing from my own firm.”

Elias tilted his head. “Who said anything about stealing? Just take a little peek. Let me know what it says. That’s all.”

You wanted to walk away. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to cut ties with whatever mess Elias was dragging you into.

But then you thought of Lia.

Of the secrets.

Of the protection you never even knew you needed.

Your pulse hammered as you met Elias’s gaze again. “And in exchange, you tell me everything about Lia?”

Elias smiled like he had already won. “Every last detail.”

You exhaled slowly. You were really going to regret this.

“Fine,” you said. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

[eggbabey]

welcome reddit refugees

[kacievvbbbb]

Say what you will about the clown, but you can’t deny he is a clown of the people.

[akito-shinonome-daily]

Can you put Chibi Akito under a bridge like a troll? I am imagining him as the troll asking a question or for the bridge toll.

[cranberrymoons]

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[james-spooky]

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