#like she and i can make our own choices for our own lives and that has little to no impact on yours

[nick-writes-stuff]

Special Delivery

Hwang In-ho x gn!reader

summary: After Dae-ho goes into shock, you decide to take the ammo out to the rebelling players. You witness your closest ally turn on the other players, but after you are injured, he proves his loyalty to you. (~5k words)

!warnings: canon-typical violence, seriously injured reader, mentions of PTSD, swearing, use of y/n

---

As your friends started planning to overpower the guards, you couldn't help but feel nervous. While you believed in the cause, you just had a bad feeling that this wasn't going to go the way they hoped. When the group split apart after Gi-hun's presentation of his plan for the upcoming brawl, you found yourself sitting next to Young-il. You tried to ignore your heart leaping every time your shoulders touched, no matter how fleeting.

“What do you make of all of this?” He asked you.

You sighed with a shrug. “I don't know. I think it's a worthwhile fight, but it won't be an easy one.” You said. You glanced over at him. "And you?" You asked.

He nodded slightly. “I don't know either. We tried so hard to make it through the games, so going out there and risking our lives feels like we're throwing it all away.” He said.

You paused for a moment. “I could give you the lecture of ‘It's for the good of the people’ but that's bullshit.” You said.

He turned and looked at you, surprise evident on his face.

You turned to look at him. You spoke with a serious tone. “You don't have to do this, you know?” He stared at you for a moment. “You can say no.”

He shook his head. “I can't just abandon them like that. That's hardly what a good friend would do”

“You have every right to value your own safety over the good of the people, so deciding not to help doesn't make you a bad person. ” You said softly. “It's your choice.”

He sighed. This conversation was fascinating to him when he considered his position. Would you still say that if you knew who he really was?

After a moment of silence, you looked back over to him. “I won't think of you any differently if you decide not to help stop the games.” You said softly.

His breath caught in his throat as he turned to you. He was suddenly aware of your proximity to him. His eyes landed on your lips, but before anything could happen, he heard the commotion coming out of the hall that led to the bathrooms.

He leaned back a bit before clearing his throat. You felt your cheeks flush, but you didn't say anything. You made your way to where your alliance was typically placed and crawled under the bed.

As this plan continued to unfold, you got increasingly more nervous about how good of an idea this was. You knew that some of them had military experience, but this seemed like an uneven fight. What were a dozen starving, sleep deprived players with limited ammo going to do to take down the small militia carrying out these games?

Before they left, you took a step toward them. “Good luck out there.” You said. Your eyes scanned the group before landing on Young-il. “Come back here safe, alright?” You were both speaking to the group and him specifically. He smiled slightly, giving you a nod before following the rest out.

You stood still there for a moment, but you eventually sat on a bed near Jun-hee. She was really the only one you knew who was still in the room. You've talked to some of the others before, but she was the only one you really felt safe around. You would be screwed if none of them returned. All of your allies were in danger. You'd be left alone.

Even outside of the strategic aspect, you didn't think you would be able to get over their deaths. How could you? Especially Young-il. That first night after Red Light Green Light when neither of you could sleep, it cemented him as your closest friend here.

And you tried to hide it as much as possible, but your feelings for him had grown more than platonic. You knew it was stupid to let yourself catch feelings while in a death game. You mentally scolded yourself every time you felt butterflies in your stomach whenever he laughed at a joke you made. You pretended you didn't feel sparks fly anytime you accidentally touched him. When he grabbed your hand during Mingle, you felt like you could faint.

The only thing that made you hesitate was the fact that he later used that hand to break a man's neck right in front of you.

He knew what was happening despite your attempts to hide it. He found it fascinating, but he couldn't lie and deny that the feeling wasn't mutual. It would be hypocritical to call you naive when he was in the same boat. He had come into the games to watch over Gi-hun and learn more about what makes the man tick, but he found something that intrigued him even more. You.

Maybe it was twisted for him to say, but he was very curious about how you would react when you thought he was dead. And that thought led him to consider finding a way to let you live. But what would you do if you found out he was pulling the strings?

You didn't know what to feel right now. You wanted to be hopeful, but you couldn't quell the feeling that something was going to go wrong. That feeling only grew when you saw Dae-ho rush into the room. He was trembling, fumbling around in the pockets of the deceased guards. You stood up, moving toward him. “Dae-ho, what's going on?” You asked.

He stumbled over his words, hardly getting out a coherent sentence. You thought you heard something about ammunition, and your assumption was confirmed when he shakily grabbed a magazine. You turned back toward Yong-sik and his mother. “Can you guys help gather their magazines?” You asked. Dae-ho stammered out a word of thanks for your help.

The four of you gathered all of the ammo the guards had on their person. It wasn't much at all, definitely less than 20 magazines. It would help a bit, but this seemed like it wasn't going to be enough. Geum-ja had the idea of wrapping them up in his jacket to make a makeshift bag. She said something about having to do that back in the war. You couldn't really focus on her words as Dae-ho ran back to the hall. You took a deep breath before going back to your spot.

You didn't get to stay there that long. He ran back into the room with his hands over his ears. You grimaced, knowing he was probably reliving memories he'd rather forget. But then it hit you that he never delivered the ammo. They needed that ammo desperately.

Despite your better judgment, you got up from your spot, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Geum-ja called out.

You looked back at her. “They need that ammo.” You said. You left the room before you could change your mind.

You saw the radio, but you left it there. You wouldn't know how to work one anyway. You found the ammo where he dropped it. You wrapped it back up and started walking into the unknown.

You quickly noticed the broken security cameras, likely Hyun-ju's doing. You followed them and the sound of the gunshots. It made you nervous that you were running into danger, but you couldn't help but imagine how grateful Young-il would be when you brought it to him. The way the lines around his eyes would crease when he smiled.

You stopped yourself from continuing the thought. Daydreaming would get you killed out here.

You didn't see any guards on the way. You didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign. You did eventually find Hyun-ju and the others. Well, some of them.

She looked shocked to see you. “Y/N? What are you doing? Where's Dae-ho?” She asked. She was glad you got here in one piece but she was somewhat shocked at the poor decision making that led to you coming here unarmed.

“Dae-ho is out of commission. I think he's having a PTSD episode.” You said. From what you had gathered, Dae-ho's time in the Marines wasn't exactly a good one. She gave you a knowing look. You set out the magazines on the floor. One of the men came to start distributing the ammo. They got 2 clips each, if that.

You looked around at the people she had left. “Where's everyone else?” You asked. Your heart dropped to your stomach, but you were somewhat relieved by her words.

“456 and 390 ran up ahead a while ago to try to find a control room. They got pinned out there. Young-il and two others went to try to help them.” She said. You tried to hide your instinctive wince upon hearing that. Did he really have to go out and play the hero?

“Do they still need ammo?” You asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I can run it out to them.” She said.

“Maybe you should stay here. You guys are the last line of defense to the others.” You offered.

She chuckled lightly, but she was definitely confused. “And what are you suggesting?” She asked.

You shrugged. “I could take it.”

She shook her head. “Hell no. That would be a suicide mission, especially without a gun.”

“Who said I wouldn't take a gun?” You countered. Unfortunately, there were a few downed allies among them. Their guns lay next to them without their magazines.

You really didn't want to take the gun.

“Have you ever held a gun before?”

You shook your head. “I could still take one. How hard could it be?”

She looked very annoyed by your statement. She knew there would be no use arguing with you. “I'm not giving you a gun, but if you want to run in there blind and unarmed, I'm not gonna stop you. I'll at least make sure you have some cover.” She leaned down and pulled a few magazines for herself before gesturing to you to take the rest. As you scooped up the rest of the ammo, she yelled “Covering Fire!”

You dashed your way across the balcony they were shooting from. You eventually made it into a set of hallways in a different design scheme than the stairs. You hoped that was a sign that you were on the right track.

And you were on the right track. You could tell because they had made a trail of dead guards, bloody footprints, and broken security cameras.

You were surprised that there weren't more guards out and about. They seemed innumerable every other time you saw them. During Mingle, there had to be 100 guards at least helping to carry out the game. It made you a bit suspicious, but you didn't have much time to think about that.

The sounds of gunfire got louder and louder until you saw movement down a corridor. You stopped to peek out from the corner. You were greeted with teal jumpsuits. Jung-bae and Gi-hun.

You moved close to them. “Hey, don't shoot me.” You called out. Gi-hun jumped and turned toward you. His gun was pointed at you for a moment before he realized it was you.

“Jesus, Y/N, you scared the shit out of me.” He said, exasperated from shock.

Your name got Jung-bae’s attention. “Y/N? What are you doing here? Where's Dae-ho?” He asked.

You hesitated for a moment. Would Dae-ho want you to tell him? Would he be okay with showing that vulnerability, or would he want you to hide that and maintain his ex-marine facade? You decided to tell the truth. It was easier to explain than making up a lie. “I think he's having a PTSD episode. He couldn't come back out here.” You said.

Jung-bae gave a knowing look, just nodding. You hoped that meant he understood.

“But why did you come here unarmed? That's too risky.” Gi-hun asked.

You chuckled. “Hyun-ju wouldn't give me a gun. She was going to run it over to you, but they… took some casualties.” You said, trailing a bit on the last few words. “Where's Young-il?” You asked, raising your voice to be heard over the gunfire. You started to pull out two magazines for Gi-hun from the bundle, handing it to him as he answered you.

“You just missed him. He and two others ran ahead to find a way to ambush them.” He said.

You grabbed two more clips from the bundle for Jung-bae. “Cover me?” You requested. He leaned over and began shooting at the guards. You dashed through the gap, dropping the clips near the man before trying to find where the trio went.

It was fairly easy to guess where they went, seeing as they were only trying to get around the guards. There seemed to be only one way to do that. Everything went quiet for a moment. That made you even more cautious, checking around each corner before you continued. Eventually, you saw who you were looking for. Another figure in a teal jumpsuit with no guards around.

You realized you were smiling. You were happy that he was okay and that you would be able to help him after all and-

A series of gunshots rang through the hall. Your smile dropped. You felt your blood run cold.

If the guards fired… why was Young-il still standing still? As he took a step forward, you slowly crept toward him, praying that he didn't hear you.

“It's over, Gi-hun. I'm sorry.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You peeked slightly around the corner.

That image would forever be burned in your mind. Young-il was very much alive. He was low to the ground, holding out the radio to the player as he took his last breath. Then fired one more shot into the man's head. He turned a dial on the radio with certainty.

You heard him clearly. You were sure of it.

“Let's wrap this up.”

You started to back up, but you stopped when he turned. Your escape was interrupted by his voice.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asked. He turned toward you and, in turn, pointed the gun at you without thinking about it.

You froze, instinctively dropping the magazines. You held up your now trembling hands.

He looked at you confused, almost hurt that you thought he would shoot you. Then he realized he was still holding the gun. “Oh shit. No, no, I'm not going to shoot you.” He said, slinging the gun's strap around his shoulder.

“What the hell just happened?” You asked, mostly just confused but also a little nervous.

He sighed. “I know, I have a lot to explain but we can't stay here, okay? Follow me.” He said.

This confused you further. After what you just witnessed, you weren't going anywhere without a bit of explanation. “Where are we going?”

Before he could respond, you heard a pair of footsteps coming from behind you.

Two armed soldiers were coming up the hall. You raised your hands again. One aimed at you. The second lagged behind the other and tried to stop him, reaching for his shoulder and shouting “No, don't!” But he didn't react fast enough, and the soldier put a round in your gut before realizing who he was aiming at.

You screamed, hands shakily touching the wound. Your hand came back bloody. You stumbled slightly, but Young-il caught you, helping you down to the floor.

The voices around you were coming in and out of your awareness. You could see that Young-il was saying something to you, but you only saw his lips moving.

In-ho looked you over. “No, no,no. This wasn't supposed to happen, I'm-” His gaze then darted up to the soldiers.

He glared at the one who shot you. His tone was cold but you could hear the intense anger behind it. “I believe I made the instructions very clear. Player 134 was to be unharmed. Also, your aim could use some work.” He said before aiming his gun at his head and firing.

At the noise of the gunshot, you cried out, thinking someone was going to come finish the job. He looked back down at you with concern. “Hey, hey, it's okay.” He murmured softly.

He gently peeled the shirt from your wound. You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. “Sorry.” He said. The wound looked to be away from any vital organs, mostly a flesh wound. “You're gonna be fine. I'm going to get someone to help you, okay? You'll be okay.” He rambled, both reassuring you and convincing himself.

He stood up and addressed the soldier who was still living. “Get them to the doctors. If they die, so do you.” He ordered before storming off toward the management room. Honestly, he was going to kill him anyway since he saw his face.

Unfortunately, he still had a part to play in this special game. He entered the control room, going into the restroom that had been deemed the dressing room for the special game. He needed to get dressed into the Front Man ensemble, but first, he tried to scrub your blood from his hands. His hands were trembling, and his breathing was fast. He felt like he could still see the red staining his hands no matter how long he washed them. If you died, he would probably see it for the rest of his life.

Your memory of the next several hours were flashes of hot pink and black and too much blood. You were taken to an area of the compound that was clearly not meant for players to see. It was very industrial compared to the surreal colorful halls meant for the players.

You were eventually lying on a table with someone who appeared to be a doctor standing over you. You heard someone stressing that you were supposed to be kept alive and with your organs. You would have laughed if you weren't in immense amounts of pain. Eventually, you blacked out.

-

You came to on a leather couch in a room you didn't recognize. You felt the dull ache radiating from your side. It took all your willpower to lift the fabric off your stomach. The wound was bandaged up, which was a good sign. They wouldn't have taken the time to dress your wound if they were going to kill you.

Before you could even think about getting up, you heard a door open. You stayed still, not being able to see who it was. You could hear the faint sound of a dial tone, and you heard a voice.

“Front Man speaking:” He started speaking. The voice was coming through a voice filter, but you knew who it was. It was him.

“I believe I made myself clear during our discussion, but apparently, I was mistaken.” You heard him say.

He paused for a moment, presumably listening to the person on the other end of the line.

“I gave them an order which they disobeyed, and we both know what happens to people who disobey orders.” He said.

Despite your better judgment, you decided to attempt to stand up. You slowly sat up, holding your breath and wincing from the pain. You didn't make a sound even though it was intense. From there, you stood up with fewer difficulties. You took a few steps toward him until he started speaking again.

“The player is fine, luckily.”

He was talking about you presumably. And whatever the person on the phone said pissed him off even more.

“It doesn't matter what you think about the orders. You are expected to follow them. I don't care if you think my feelings are clouding my judgment. That's not for you to decide. Now you can either stop your train of thought here or we can discuss your future here in this operation.”

You opened your mouth in surprise. His feelings? What feelings? You were shocked and excited at the prospect that your feelings may be mutual.

“Continue the protocol as usual. The next vote will take place at 0600 tomorrow morning. I'll see you then.” He said shortly before putting down the receiver. He turned around and froze when he saw you.

He stood there for a moment, expecting you to say something, but you just stood there silently. He was confused for a moment until he remembered you were seeing the polygonal facade. He pulled off his hood and the mask, tossing the latter to the floor without a care.

You had already known it was him. That was an easy assumption to make. But seeing the concerned look flash across his face as well as the realization that you had been listening made the butterflies return to your stomach.

“Hey.” You said softly.

He smiled. He closed the distance between you and pulled you into the gentlest hug you had ever had. This hug had been meticulously planned in his mind, just like every other action he takes. He thought out the placement of his hands, the tightness of his embrace, everything.

You melted into his arms, taking in a deep breath and leaning into him.

On the other hand, he was tense, like he was carrying a heavy weight. Which he was. He was carrying the weight of his fear that you would hate him for every decision he has made.

“Thank you.” You murmured.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you.

“Like I got shot.” You said. He could hear the smirk in your voice. You laughed a bit at your own joke, but he just let out a deep sigh. At this, you pulled away to look at him.

He looked anxious, an emotion you never saw in him. Even in the most dangerous situation, he managed to keep a cool and level head. It's something you admired in him, so seeing him so worried about something was concerning. But you need clarification.

“Young-il, what's going-” You began, but he cut you off.

“In-ho.” He said.

“Hm?” You hummed in confusion, eyebrows knitted together.

“My name is In-ho.” He said.

You didn't have much of a reaction to that statement. “In-ho, what's going on?” You repeated. He was taken aback by how nonchalant you were about this whole thing. He just admitted that he'd been lying to you and hiding his identity, but you didn't seem to care.

“You're all stitched up. The doctors made sure of it.” He said

“I mean with what happened before that.” You said. Your voice was a strange mix of stern and soft. You were trying to be gentle, but you wanted answers.

He sighed. He felt his heart drop as he began to speak. “I'm the one who organizes the games.” He admitted. You didn't seem shocked because that felt very obvious to you. “I went into the games to watch Gi-hun and make sure he couldn't succeed with his attempt of a takeover.” He said.

You nodded. “What happened to them?” You asked.

He didn't look at you. “Jung-bae is dead. The higher-ups have plans for Gi-hun.” He said.

That did surprise you. From how Gi-hun explained it, you had assumed the man in the polygonal mask was the man in charge, but apparently, he wasn't as pivotal as previously thought.

“Did you really tell them not to hurt me?” You asked quietly.

His gaze landed on you quickly. “Of course I did.” He said, matter-of-factly. He felt that was obvious. He cared about you more than he could wrap his head around. “I didn't want you to die in here. If you hadn't come out with the ammo, I was going to arrange a way to get you out safely.” He said.

Your eyes widened with surprise. “Oh.” You murmured. You paused for a moment before speaking. “You know, I only came out with the ammo because of you.”

“I'm still not sure what happened there. Why were you the one bringing the ammo?” He asked.

You sighed. “Dae-ho came back and tried to gather the ammo. I think he went into shock. He wouldn't leave, so I brought it out. I didn’t think that would end well if you all ran out of ammo.”

He nodded. “By the way, what were you thinking? You went without a gun?” He asked, playfully scolding you for the poor decision.

You scoffed. “Hyun-ju wouldn't give me one.” You insisted.

“I don't blame her.” He said with a smirk.

You crossed your arms, sending him a lighthearted glare. “You know, next time I'll leave you to rot.” You said, even though you knew that wasn't actually a possibility in this scenario.

He laughed. “How about there's no next time?” He offered.

You smiled at him. After a moment of quiet, you asked the question that part of you was dreading. “So what happens now?” You were afraid he would send you home. Would you ever see him again? He wouldn't kill you… right?

He seemed to have been dreading that quite as well. “I could arrange a ride to the mainland if you would like.” He said softly, trying to gauge your reaction to the statement. “But if you don't hate my guts and think I'm an irredeemable person, you're welcome to stay here if you like.” He offered. He sounded defeated almost, like he already felt like you hated him.

You had to hate him, right? Everyone always does. He put you through all of this. The bloodshed, the danger, the trauma, it was all his doing.

Maybe others would despise him. But not you.

“I told you already, ‘I won't think of you any differently if you decide not to stop the games.’ Remember that?” You asked. “Nothing's changed.”

He shook his head adamantly. “But I put you through all of this. You got shot for goodness sake.” He raised his voice somewhat at the end, clearly getting more emotional. He couldn't pinpoint what emotion it was, but you knew it was just anxiety.

You reached out and touched his shoulder, hoping it would catch his attention and get him to look at you. “You saved my life. Without you, I'd be in a black box.”

“But I-” He said shakily.

“The blame isn't as black and white as you think it is.” You cut him off. You took a deep breath, shoulders shaking slightly. “Plus, outside of here, it probably would have been worse for me.” You said. You hadn't talked about it much, but it wouldn't have been much longer until your debts would have caused some serious dangers to you.

He still wouldn't look at you, so after a few seconds of silence, you continued speaking. “At least here I met you.”

His breath hitched at your words. He finally looked at you, and you could have sworn his eyes looked somewhat misty. You pulled him into a hug.

He quickly reciprocated the hug, no longer as tense as the first, but he was still cognizant of your injury. He tried his best not to shed a tear. He was just so happy. After years of being alone, he finally found someone who wouldn't shut him out just because of his position in the games.

More than that, he finally found someone who he didn't have to push away because he was afraid of them turning on him once they learned of his work.

Cutting ties with his brother was the hardest thing he'd had to do in his life. After the confrontation with Jun-ho, he thought he would have to resign himself to a life of isolation and live with the fact no one would see him as anything more than a ruthless leader ruling with an iron fist and a penchant for murder.

You didn't take much care to the moral dilemma he created. Playing the games firsthand and seeing so many of your friends die really changed you. This same thing would have happened out there. Maybe this wasn't the best solution to this societal issue, but you sure as hell didn't have a different one that would actually work.

Regardless, you really cared about In-ho. You had grown to trust him the most, not only in the games but probably of everyone in your life. You didn't care that he had been hiding his identity or that he was running the death game that could have killed you. He cared about you. He went out of his way to keep you safe. Hell, he was willing to break the strict rules of the games just to save you.

And he'd do it again in a heartbeat. If his work somehow put you in danger, he would do anything for you. He'd burn it all down if he must. You were the first person who had managed to break through the walls that he had put up.

You pulled away from the hug, still standing close to him. When you looked up, he could see a slight mischievous glint in your eye, but he missed your eyes taking a glance at his lips for a fraction of a second.

“You know, after almost dying, I'm going to do something I would have regretted not doing if I had died.” You said. Before he could ask, you grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer to you, pressing your lips against his.

He was surprised for a second, but he quickly began to kiss you back. You smiled slightly against his lips.

This should be something that felt foreign to him. He hadn't kissed anyone since his wife passed. It should remind him of her, but this was an entirely new feeling for him. Kissing you just felt so right.

You felt the same way. He kissed just like you thought he would. Everything felt methodical and planned, but there was also some underlying force underneath it all. It was exhilarating.

When you pulled away, you both were breathless. He chuckled lightly. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.” He said softly. You nodded in return.

There was still more you had to talk about. You wanted more information about how he got involved in the games in the first place. You wanted to know what happened to Gi-hun. You wanted answers, but you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer.

But maybe this was a decision that would doom several thousand people's lives. You could be dooming Gi-hun by not taking the initiative to get information. Maybe you could save him or even stop the games entirely.

Or maybe you'd be performing a suicide mission. It would ruin the strongest connection you have forged. You could be kicked out of this place and back onto the streets. You would be at the mercy of the loan sharks waiting to take out their prey. Maybe the soldiers would kill you on the spot for trying anything. Maybe In-ho would have to kill you. You'd become another face that would haunt him whenever he dared to close his eyes.

Perhaps it was selfish, but you didn't care.

[aliennazero]

☆Headcanon: brother-sister coding, hear me out

I need to get this post done before whatever that will happen in chapter 192. So even if I only got two more days for this theory to be around, I'll be glad that I finally let this out from my chest after a while. So, don't take whatever I will ramble about as something super serious.

First of all, maybe you guys will look at me and says, "what the fuck Alie they're like two different unrelated characters" and while that's true for now and so far, I just... can't really took my eyes off from this "siblings coding" the more I read Chainsaw Man. And I have some reasons and theories why (disclaimer: I did a crazy reach all over the direction) and I found it very interesting.

Reason no. 1: Their First Meeting & Re-occurence

Hirofumi is the first part 1 character that Asa meets (even before Denji). So, I think it's reasonable for me—the reader to be intrigued on what is Fujimoto's plan for their seemingly "not important" (but why be the first?) relationship.

My initial thought is that: oh, they might become friendlier in the future or even become lifelong enemies. Then I remember Hayakawa Family—Aki and Power as the first ever Denji's buddy, specific on Power.

Because even though narratively and character writing-wise Power and Hirofumi are fundamentally different, both of them are written initially to form false narratives that they'll become a token love interest for our protagonist(s) aren't they? They also share a somewhat similar strawberry cake motive, makes me wonder why.

Alsoooo, I think the way Hirofumi & Asa's Devil Hunter Club "date" being portrayed as very differently from Hirofumi + Denji and Hirofumi + Fami "cafe date" (a.k.a. work-related mandated date) is important, somehow.

Reason no. 2: Personal Motives and Untold Family Narratives of Asa Mitaka

We know since the very first time we met her that Asa is very lonely and her motives circling around getting a companion (either a boyfriend or a friend) and living selfishly (which as we can see right now is backfired rapidly, but I'll talk about this separately later, maybe in the future).

However, there's one aspect of her motives that's kinda underlooked, and it's her relationship with family member. Yes, we got a glimpse of Asa and her mom (never with her father so far) and Asa with her lovely pet—Crambon, however they already died years ago, and Asa blame herself for it.

It's unfair that in this world, she still had her family, as they said. So maybe she already gives up on that idea. Which is where the true weights of this headcanon come from. What if, she still could have it? Even though she never asked for this directly. Her getting a family again that she was maliciously accused of unfairly having, could be very nice, actually. Even if it's a very insufferable or a miserable mess workaholic kind of brother (or twin brother).

Reason no. 3: Hirofumi's Motives

This deserves its very own post just like my plan to talks more about Asa's living selfishly motive but to make it simple, Hirofumi lied at the very start because he already formed a parasocial relationship with both Asa and Denji by giving them options to have a somewhat nicer normal life (Denji not becoming Chainsaw Man, and Asa making a distance from Denji to prevent her from turning him into her weapon and thus also prevented her to feel down because of the guilt) even though he knows that another choice never really exist to begin with.

(Asa doesn't necessarily have to be his sister to add more depths to this motive. I just think won't it be very funny if Hirofumi was like collecting information all around, confirming that Asa Mitaka is indeed the incarnation of War Devil in weird case then he took a look at her Koseki then boom they have the same dad!? What the fuck was that. Here comes new responsibility that his father left behind, I guess)

As what we know so far, Hirofumi took his job and his responsibility very seriously and very neat about which one he could improve or "change" for everyone's sake involved. IF Hirofumi and Asa are indeed siblings (or half siblings) however, this gives more explanation on his involvement and his own personal interest. Hirofumi is not easy to read, but he still overshares to Asa (chapter 121 when he agrees on Asa's takes about solitude) and "taking care" of her.

Reason no. 4: Just Take a More Look at Them

Taller than average? Check. More athletic than average? Check. Insane face card? Check. Unbelievable amount of yearning? Check. Arguably suicidal? Check.

Both of them being a human stuck in status quo between human vs devil war like hostages in their own prison—Hirofumi stuck as hollow used cop for Public Safety and Asa stuck as War Devil very own vessel—with absolutely nothing, no one really on their side (Fumiko and Fami as mean of even more control over both of them)? Check.

Even as concept alone, child soldier and war maiden incarnate siblingsm could be developed to be something, very interesting.

Okay, now into more theories territory.....

Theory no. 1: Asa and Hirofumi are the Result of Kishibe Fucking Around and Found Out Post Quanxi Rejection Era

Why Kishibe would do that? Idk but it's a funny math because if Kishibe is in his early 50 now then 17 years ago would be him in his 30s. If Kishibe become devil hunter in his early 20s and meet Quanxi shortly after that and become buddies for 9 years then, the year just lined up lmao. How much chances of them being an oopsies baby thus explaining their very different last names but strangely similar physiques and even narratives? Not zero.

There are two options regarding this though. It's either they're twin siblings or half siblings. Half siblings mean they have different mothers but same dad, and twin siblings mean they have same mother but got separated at some point during their lifetime (Hirofumi went with Kishibe and Asa went with her mama who probably re-marry or just simply raising Asa alone and lying about her dad getting eaten by devil or something because her love story with that drunkard crazy man is just that bad).

Kishibe avoiding child support for 17 years and this is the consequences, also both of them got their ass kicked out by the very same lesbian who rejects their father, I'll say it's a beautiful storytelling.

Theory no. 2: Sinister Look on Vol 17 Cover and "Hirofumi will appear in Asa's Dream"

We will get into a more sinister area here because I believe the Makima-esque vibes, "necessary evil" narratives Hirofumi brought up to the table are not coincidences or neglectable at all. Even more sinister because his cover is him standing in front of alleyway just like how Makima cover is her in front of the door in Denji's dream.

Which led me to think that this could indicate something. However, kinda different on how it was portrayed, I think this make things clear that Hirofumi is not endgame antagonist since his cover came a bit too early than what we—the reader anticipated (there is absolutely no fucking nobody in the fandom that expecting Hirofumi to get a cover during before the cover reveal). However, he might be the key into Asa's end dream reveal later on.

Maybe he will appear on her dream being vague as fuck, or maybe direct her dream into a more "false happiness" directions since all he did is lying (see reason no. 3) to distract her focus on dead chickens. Personally, I think the latter will be more interesting because it will be the opposite of what Makima did in Denji's dream, if this "Hirofumi will appear in Asa's dream sooner or later" theory is true. The government and the church need Asa in her stable conditions to unleash Yoru anyway.

"Then what does this imply into your siblings theory"—because siblings should take care of each other, ideally. And I think it will add more depth, if true of course.

Theory no. 3: Hirofumi Cares About Asa (maybe more than what we see on-screen)

To put on more disclaimer, this is just what I imagine to fill out the gap in between narratives and it connects to reasons number 3 (again). Despite how he positions himself and blending in the crowd like invincible, Hirofumi is actually easy to care and feel guilty too (and the reason why he could kill the Immortal Brother assassin in part 1 is because he has the ignorance privilege, but with both Denji and Asa? Not so much).

I have no strong basis for this theory I just have my own feelings and a dream, and this is basically what I think Hirofumi has done so far for Asa (subtle) in the story:

Hirofumi just let Yuko loose and kill Asa's bullies during Justice Devil Arc. This may sound dark, but it fit his character in a way that he's okay with doing violence as long as it could benefit his mission (and maybe this time his personal interest too). Because he knows Asa got bullied at school. If this could solve her bullying problems, then why not? That's why Hirofumi is just sitting around during the whole fight until Denji interfered.

Hirofumi is the one who brought Asa to hospital after Falling Devil Arc (which is somehow in line for how I think he's Denji blood-giver in the same arc). Because well, I don't think Public Safety cared enough to get her conditions checked, but Hirofumi is aware about her injury conditions (arguably this is so that she could be a bargaining chip for Denji but we know that the main chip is Nayuta, I think Hirofumi just want to let him know just because also let me have this imagination for the sake of this agenda).

The reason why Hirofumi didn't or more likely can't kill Asa during CSM Church Arc is not necessarily just because War Devil has become stronger. Paneling focus on their face's expressions indicate that Hirofumi just can't bring himself more to do so (after he saw Asa's hand and her in pain), thus making him fail this mission to capture War Devil dead or alive. It's the guilt kicking in.

I think Hirofumi is somewhat relieved after he saw Asa's hands are back (yay) in Aging Devil Arc. Also, that's what he put his focus on FIRST after he got vomited out before asking his own situation even.

Personal View and The Main Takeaway (really): I need this to be real just because I think it will be so fucking funny

To end this unbelievably long ass post, I think it's important to note again that they have like five screentime together and I'm just insane. But if I should be honest, this is not me being rational at all, I just think the whole situation would be funny up to seven more factors if my ramblings are true.

Because this headcanon imply that the fandom meltdown towards them (as individuals or as in characters dynamics) is unnecessary at all. Like aside from Hirofumi being read mainly as queer, maybe him acting kind of mean and nonchalantly distant (and somewhat awfully playful) towards Asa are just because he like being petty and doesn't want to look like he wants to bang his sister (as a sister myself, yes I do feel the need to annoy my other siblings whenever I can just because I could and it doesn't have to be hatred, sometimes it's the love aggression kicking in).

Lastly, thank you guys for coming to my yapping ted talks.

[meangirltogoodgirls]

hey rent-lowering post but my wife is Actually Detransitioning and i am actively supporting her in that process, if you can't handle that you don't Have to be here. like you can get lost, it's cool. Bye.

i love my girl no matter what, it's her body and her life and her decision to make and you can all deal!

[venti-death-watch]

yknow based on freminet’s emphasis on being controlled & the director’s weapon vs making his own decisions, and looking at xiao’s everything, if one of the house of hearth kids is going to betray the fatui/join the traveler i’d kinda expect it to be him

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

…

[deityofhearts]

do y’all remember on my previous blog when I made a post asking if ppl had fend for yourself night (because I was genuinely curious) and people assumed I was asking because I didn’t and called me all sorts of things like privileged, spoiled, ableist, selfish, etc and decided I was some rich spoiled person who never lifted a fibber despite the fact that I have always had fend for yourself night and grew up in poverty and that my sisters and I had to parent ourselves and take care of our mother more than she did us? isn’t it funny how this website has always lacked reading comprehension and basic empathy or the ability to think without attacking people based on facts they made up and decided is true?

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[leebrontide]

I think one thing we need to address in the US if we want to de-stigmatize multi-generational households that include ADULTS from multiple generations, is that parents need to learn how to have adult relationships with their offspring.

Should my daughter deign to live with me when she's an adult she will not be my some vassal that has to obey my household rules. She graduates into being a peer in setting and managing the boundaries, cleanliness and appearance of our home.

Too many parents want to have relationships with grown ass adults in which the parents maintain control and authority, and in which they leverage money and history to get their way from an adult who, very reasonably, wants to be able to make choices and have influence. And then those parents wonder why their kids keep their distance!

But then people act like I've lost it because I let my 5 year old pick the color of paint in her room- a room I seldom spend time in except to take care of her, and a room in which I want her to be comfortable and happy.

I'm not gonna let her choose a paint color for the kitchen right now, because she's capricious and bad at negotiating so we can pick a color we all like. But when she's an adult, if she's still living here? Why shouldn't she get to influence her environment?

People like to have agency. We limit the agency of children because they make choices without the full ability to understand the results (sorry baby, you are gonna get vaccinated for pollio even if you don't like it. You don't understand pollio).

But limiting an adults choices in their own home, just because you don't think that home should be a real home for them because it's just for you, is kind of an asshole move, to me.

No need to argue with me if you disagree. You can have your own opinion.

But I couldn't treat my kid that way, and I have seen enough to know that not every parent treats their adult children like permanently incompetent interlopers.

I didn't just buy this house for ME. I bought it for MY FAMILY. My baby is my family, and she will be no matter how old she gets.

[odairfilm]

In the epilogue of Mockingjay, Katniss only refers to her children as 'the boy' and 'the girl'. We never learn their real names. Throughout her life, Katniss has never really been allowed privacy or the ability to make many of her own decisions. Whether this was caused by the living conditions of the Seam and having to constantly provide for Prim and their mother, or by the fact that she was forced into the scrutiny of the public eye when she was reaped/volunteered and became the face of the rebellion- The Mockingjay.

So then all of this passes, she and Peeta are living together in District 12 in the Victor's Village, and they are finally allowed to choose how they want to live. After 15 years, she decides that she's ready to have kids. They can be raised in a safe environment with no Games, no threats. So the one choice she makes at the end is to keep their names from us, the audience. The one thing that gives us our identity before anything else. The one thing that, essentially, makes us who we are (also Suzanne is so meticulous with picking names throughout the series, so it would be special to Katniss and Peeta). She decides that that's only for her and her family to know.

We, who have literally seen every inch of her life from the reaping up until now, are being told that no, we don't get to see parts of her life without her permission anymore. And it always makes me so emotional. Like yes! Take back your life! Rest. Live. Love. But on YOUR terms and no one elses.

(I posted this on my TikTok acc @narniachrons as well. It wasn't stolen, I swear!)

[doberbutts]

One of the really insidious ways black people in media get treated is that despite our stereotypes expanding outside of "thug" "slave" and "prostitute", we are still very limited on *what* we can be portrayed as.

It is no shock to me that the two black women in Veilguard, for instance, are either medium toned like myself or a nonhuman skin color (introduced as a woman). It doesn't escape my attention that the only black woman in Baldur's Gate list of companions is also a nonhuman skin color. Dark skinned black women are still considered too unattractive to include as potential romanceable candidates, as it *also* does not escape my attention that the darkest we've had was Vivienne who was simultaneously regarded as an incredibly unlikeable character by huge swaths of the fandom and also unavailable for romance.

But moreover- why can't the bubbley nerdy cute mage be a black woman? Why can't the shy but resourceful archer be a black woman? Why does the black woman have to be someone with their guard up, walls as high as a skyscraper, cynical and callous? Why can't the black woman be the warm and loving Wynne, or the somewhat naive yet devout Leliana? The stalwart and just Aveline? I know plenty of Isabelas, and Viviennes, and Neves, and Taashs, but I also know plenty who are Merrill, or Bellara*, or Harding, or Cassandra, and I even lived with a Sera for a while. Why can't she be Bethany or Morrigan?

The closest we had was Josephine, who again is still fairly light skinned, but at least she has a bit more flexibility. And she isn't a companion, so her screen time is fairly minimal if you're not taking the time to romance her.

*And I don't begrudge Bellara too much, as A: I adore her and B: I'm pretty sure she's our first visibly Asian companion which is a milestone in itself. My point is more that Bellara could be black with virtually no story change because I know plenty of bubbly chirpy friendly black women who have a deep love of their hobbies and interests, who are bisexual and even prefer women, with deep trauma in their pasts, and yet the choice to *not* do that speaks to a problem the media has in their depiction of black women that is far bigger than Bioware.

And it doesn't escape my attention that the men have this problem as well- Wyll and Davrin* are both regarded as boring by their respective fandoms due to the choice to play it safe and stick with the extremely good and upright and just knight character instead of giving them something more messy- Astarion and Lucanis could be black with, as said, little-to-no change in their storyline because I know-even have dated- pansexual former sex worker black men with intensely complicated feelings about sex and intimacy, and I've had plenty of ex-con soft yet dangerous men holding themselves at a distance to prevent themselves from hurting anyone as my friends and even extended family.

I know plenty of intensely nerdy and probably autistic black guys who will infodump gladly about their special interest to the point of it consuming them. I know plenty of black guys with martyr complexes who think they have to tear the world- and themselves- apart just to fix what is broken in this world. I know plenty of black guys who, despite their own inability to get their shit together, are like a port in a storm every time you talk to them. I know plenty of black guys who are extremely educated and well respected within their field, with gentle yet commanding demeanor. Any of these characters *could* be black, and yet they aren't, and the choice to do so is again far bigger than Bioware and Larian.

*Davrin, like Vivienne, being the darkest and first blatantly black male companion instead of potentially able to be ambiguously "of color" like Zevran, Fenris, and Dorian. Even more damning that they'd considered, like Sera, making Solas blatantly black in his concept art and instead chose to make him a pale egg.

As someone desperate for representation, it becomes quickly obvious as I take inventory of what roles black people are given that we still aren't considered as complex and nuanced and interesting. We're allowed to be more than we were before, but we still have a long way to go.

[phagodyke]

day 2 of no wifi.. hanging in there 😔😔😔😔

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。FAMILY SECRETS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! + mom! reader, reader is referred to as “mommy” and “wife,” girl dad toru <3, family shenanigans in the grocery store that are unfortunately inescapable when your husband is gojo satoru

“ok,” you nod, looking over your grocery list. “i think that’s everything—”

“mommy, can we please get this,” your daughter looks up at you pleadingly, tugging at your sleeve as she holds a bag of candy—she has satoru’s eyes, wide and blue and so easy to give into. you look at her for a moment before pursing your lips.

“no, satoru. we can’t get this bag of candy.” you turn to the devil himself, glaring at him as he whistles innocently.

“what’re you lookin’ at me for, sweetheart? our little peanut here wants—”

“satoru.”

“fine,” he deflates. you pinch your nose as you sigh.

satoru, in his thirty plus years of life, has surprisingly never had a cavity for how much sugar he consumes. he’s good at taking care of himself, he argues, there’s no chance he’d ever get a cavity. that is, until recently. he visits the dentist and has not one, but two cavities—you think this is a rather alarming sign that he needs to cut back on the sweets, so you take matters into your own hands.

and, well….he’s not handling it very brightly.

“you thought i’d cave just because you tricked our daughter into asking?” you raise a brow, making him huff as he pouts.

“what kind of heartless soul could say no to those eyes?” he asks in disbelief, waving a hand at the small carbon copy of your husband as she blinks up at you, “i mean look at her! she doesn’t deserve the word no.”

“she definitely needs the word no so she doesn’t end up spoiled like you. and i’ve had plenty of practice,” you shoot blandly, “i’ve said no to your eyes all these years haven’t i?”

“even crazier,” he mutters, “i have the most adorable eyes, how could you say no?”

“it’s pretty easy if you ask me,” you shrug.

most people tend to call satoru arrogant—humble is not usually used in the same sentence as gojo satoru. evidently, they’ve never watched him interact with you before—you always find a way to humble him. he’s starting to think he’s the butt of every joke in his own marriage.

“please, baby?” he pouts deeper, “i’ve been good! i floss!”

“no.”

“what if i fold the laundry for a month?” he bats his lashes.

that’s tempting, you have to admit. folding laundry is a very boring job, you’re more than happy to hand it over to satoru for a bag of candy that barely dents your wallet. but then you find your resolve again, crossing your arms as you stare at him unimpressed.

“no, satoru.”

“two months?”

“nope.”

“did you only marry me for my looks?” he asks in disbelief, “because there’s not one ounce of love in that heart of yours.”

“this is for your own good, satoru,” you say firmly, “you had two cavities. how much sugar have you been consuming lately? and don’t think i don’t notice you skipping meals when you’re busy—a chocolate bar does not replace lunch.”

you’re glaring at him, drilling him for his health choices that are not his fault—he’s a busy guy, and he can’t help that a chocolate bar on his way to a mission is all he can squeeze in sometimes. maybe a protein bar would be a better option, but they’re not as tasty, and satoru thinks he deserves to be happy. and then, from the end of the aisle, you hear a few snickers coming from passerby’s. he pouts deeper at the thought of being laughed at as he gets scolded by his wife in the middle of the breakfast aisle.

“what’s the point of living if you’re gonna be miserable?” he groans, “we might as well just start going to bed at nine pm too, while we’re at it. and—”

“that’s actually a lovely idea,” you hum thoughtfully, “you certainly could use the sleep, couldn’t you?”

he glares at you petulantly, sulking as you grab the bag from your daughter’s and put it on the shelf—it’s not the right place, but taking a trip to the candy aisle to place it where it belongs is only venturing deeper into the lion’s den. you’re not letting satoru have more options to choose from.

“you seein’ this, angel?” he turns to your daughter, “you see how mean mommy is? she’s not letting us have candy. make sure you remember that when i ask you who’s your favorite again.”

you roll your eyes, snorting. satoru asks her playfully one night who the favorite parent is—it’s a meaningless question, meant to be a joke and nothing else. you’re sure he expects her to say both—but he gets his feelings severely hurt when she giggles and points to you, staring in disbelief as you grin in victory and kiss her cheeks. you even rub salt on the wound when you mumble she’s your favorite baby too.

he’s starting to really think he’s a victim in his own household.

“but mommy gives me candy,” she tilts her head in confusion.

oh no. she’s not supposed to say that—she promised not to say that. why can’t children ever keep a filter on their words? and why can’t they keep their promises?

almost like in slow motion, both of your eyes widen. satoru pauses. you start to sweat. he turns to face you slowly, in abject disbelief.

“what?” you laugh nervously, “no i don’t! we don’t have any candy at home—”

“she keeps it in her drawer!” your daughter adds, as if she wants to see your downfall.

you love your daughter, you really do—but sometimes you think motherhood is a punishment for whatever sin it is that you’ve committed in your previous life. satoru crosses his arms and taps his foot.

“what happened to we’ll all give up sweets together so you’re not alone, toru,” he mocks your voice, squinting at you accusingly. “so we’re a family of liars now?”

“toru, listen—”

“i trusted you.”

“baby—”

“what happened to our wedding vows? what happened to in sickness and in death? a little cavity is enough to change all that? i’m scared to think what you’d do if i lost an arm.”

“well, you’re not the strongest for nothing,” you point out, chuckling nervously, “so we have nothing to worry about there.”

“i can’t believe you,” he spits, turning away from you with crossed arms and a quiet hmph.

“toru, you can’t expect us all to give up sugar just because you can’t stop making poor health choices,” you argue exasperatedly.

so what if you secretly enjoy a kitkat here and there? you deserve it for dealing with not one, but two children at home every single day—sometimes three if shoko comes over, her lifestyle choices aren’t any better. satoru should let you enjoy a piece of candy or two until he fixes his terrible habits that could very well set a terrible example for your very young and impressionable daughter.

“well, i have adult money of my own,” satoru huffs, “and as an adult, i’ll be purchasing my own candy to hide in my own drawer that i won’t share with you since we’re now apparently a family that doesn’t think sharing is caring.”

“i don’t know if i’m raising one child or two,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face.

satoru grabs the bag of candy off the shelf, promptly placing it in the cart before walking off ahead of you as he pushes it. your daughter grabs your hand and smiles, tugging you along.

“c’mon mommy,” she says brightly, “you said we can go to the park!”

—————— BONUS ——————

“are you serious, satoru?” you ask incredulously, watching as he comes back to sit on the other end of the bench, ice cream cone in hand.

he didn’t even bring you one—what an asshole.

“oh sorry,” he shrugs, “i figured you and our daughter were planning on getting ice cream on your own without me. since, you know, apparently you guys love to have lots of things without me.”

“you’re being so dramatic—”

“i want ice cream too!” you hear a small voice call from the distance, making you turn to your daughter as she sprints over to you from the playground, eyeing the cone in satoru’s hand.

“you heard her,” he drawls, licking at his strawberry ice cream mockingly, “why don’t you go buy her a secret cone. i won’t look.”

being a single mom of two is a full time job, you think, you didn’t sign up for this.

guess who has two cavities ?? a certain brother of mine. guess who’s entire household has to give up sweets now for their brother’s inability to have proper dental hygiene ?? if you guessed me, you might just be psychic :O

[tinylittlebab]

bleh everything SUCKS

[cherrybomb107]

I literally wouldn’t have cared if they decided to pull a Cyberpunk Edgerunners and kill off our entire main cast save for one or two characters and let the bad guys(the establishment) win. Tragedy isn’t the problem. The problem is the way they went about it. The show had so many plot threads to tie up, there was never any time to truly reckon with all the tragedies that were occurring.

Ekko losing his tree because of Arcane poisoning would be tragic. Notice I said “would be” because that plot line is literally never addressed again. It gets brought up, and then forgotten about. Vi being hit by her girlfriend after she makes the decision to put on the uniform of her oppressors and contribute to oppressing her own people in pursuit of a little sister who she can’t accept has changed is tragic on multiple levels! That’s some compelling shit! But the show never meaningfully addresses these issues or lets Vi react to them without throwing her into a new situation where she has to fight and lose something again. All Vi has ever done her entire life is try and fail to protect her loved ones. She gets punished for trying. It’s almost like the universe itself is out to get her! But we never see Vi break down and pick herself back up. We never see her make any choices to do what’s best for her. The plot decided for her and that’s the problem!

Vi and Jinx deciding to go their separate ways after all that they’ve been through would’ve been tragic. These two sister who love each other more than anything having to break apart for who knows how long and holding onto the hope that maybe they can reunite and be sisters again is gut wrenching…or at least it WOULD be if they actually decided to separate! Vi didn’t decide to leave her sister, Jinx didn’t decide to leave Vi, the narrative forced them apart! The narrative keeps ripping them away from each other and it’s starting to feel intentional. Trying to tell the audience that the only way Vi can truly be happy and choose herself is by having her baby sister die and being forced to live with her girlfriend in a city that will be extremely discriminatory towards her is not it. I’m not saying that Vi and Jinx have to ride off into the sunset together. But I am saying that if going their separate ways really was for the best, the show wouldn’t spend so much time trying to convince us of that. It would just happen organically. Which, to me, it didn’t

Jinx losing Isha was yet another tragedy! But the show doesn’t really show Jinx grieving and then deciding to fight for what she believes in after Ekko convinces her to try. She tried to kill herself five times. FIVE TIMES!!! How on Earth did she go from that to a badass piloting an airship, dripped out with her new outfit and steeled sense of resolve? We don’t know because it happened offscreen! I understand the show had time constraints, but come on. This plot line deserved more time to shine. Sevika being on the Council is a tragedy. It’s an empty gesture for one, and majority rules for two. That means Sevika will be forced to try to barter for Zaun’s freedom while being surrounded by a bunch of classist Piltie pricks who despise her and everything she stands for. She will be talked over and talked down to. That’s not a happy ending! But the show frames it like it is! And I’m sorry but if you can’t watch interviews of the writers saying their thoughts on the show and you genuinely believe that they have the range to write Sevika being on the Council as thoughtful commentary? No comment😭😭😭

Caitlyn’s corruption arc is yet another tragedy! Both because of what happened to her AND the fact that the arc wasn’t done! Caitlyn’s arc was supposed to show how no matter how “good” and “kind” a privileged person believes them self to be, their unconscious bias and prejudice against the out group will rear its ugly head the second they experience a fraction of what the marginalized group has been experiencing for centuries. It was so easy for Caitlyn to say “I understand now. How easy it is to hate them.” “Those animals!” “I thought you were different, but you’re not. It’s her blood in your veins!” How easy it was for her to weaponize The Gray. How easy it was for her to work with Ambessa and co sign martial law despite knowing better. How easy it was for her to risk killing a child just to get to Jinx. That’s super compelling! But the problem is we never see Caitlyn wrestle with her decisions. Guilt should be eating her ALIVE and all we get is a complete 180 from her after a time skip! Then she does nothing to redeem herself! And once again, no the writers absolutely did not intend that to be commentary on how the privileged are able to get away with things the lower class would be imprisoned/killed for. If they did then Caitlyn could’ve had a confrontation with someone from Zaun, whether that be Sevika, Ekko, Jinx, Vi or someone else, where they call her out on her hypocrisy. Then we would see her wrestle with that and realize the monster that she’s become.

Unfortunately, all these tragedies are not given the proper narrative weight they deserve. Or they’re not treated as tragedies when they so clearly are! THAT’S the problem! It’s not tragedy, it’s the framing! And it’s the way y’all are so condescending whenever someone criticizes the show. Why is every single critique met with “You didn’t watch/understand the show”? Why is it always “What were you expecting?” “You’re just mad it didn’t go your way.” “You’re just a hater.” “You have no idea how hard writing a script is.” “They planned the story from the beginning, this is how it was supposed to be.” And on and on and on. It’s exhausting! Why is it so hard for y’all to understand that it is possible to understand and have love for something but still have gripes with it? It doesn’t mean I love the show any less! It just means I’d love it even more if not for these certain aspects of it. That’s it, that’s all🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Your Witch (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: It's your hand in marriage in return for ending the terror against your town, and your parents have decided. The Witch of the Westview Woods is to be your wife. No matter how much you might protest.

Words: 7k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, shades of self harm, toxic family relationships, virgin R, oral (R receiving), shades of a praise kink

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme@grilledcheeseandguavajelly

“I will not.”

You glared at your parents, arms crossed over your chest, lips pursed. Anger was coursing through your veins, hot and acute, making you vibrate. You had to keep from growling at them, or lashing out. This was a level of disrespect you weren’t willing to live with. This was a step too far. This was the straw that was breaking the camel’s back.

“It’s already been arranged,” your father said, his arm around your mother’s shoulder, providing a united front.

“I won’t,” you said.

“It’s your duty,” your father said.

“Duty?” you scoffed, “and what of your duty as my parents?”

“What would you have us do?” your mother demanded.

“Not sell me off like some farm animal for your own comfort,” you spat.

“The Witch of the Westview Woods has made her request clear. If we give her you she will leave our town alone,” your father said.

“I doubt she even knows who I am,” you muttered.

“You are more than aware of your reputation in town. She made her choice. You are to be hers and in exchange our safety will be ensured. You should feel honoured to be serving our town,” your father said.

“I’d be more honoured if I wasn’t the sacrificial lamb,” you said, “you would never have agreed to this if it was James she asked for.”

Your younger brother was the favourite. You knew it. You parents knew it. Everyone knew it. If the Witch had demanded him, your father would have fought tooth and nail to keep him. But the moment it was you being asked for, he was shoving you out the door. James was the heir, you were just a measly daughter. No one needed you except to increase the social status of your family.

No wonder you were being sold off to the first witch that came along.

“And I don’t see why it has to be a marriage,” you said before they could give a half hearted excuse.

“We’re not risking you running off after you’ve been collected by her,” he said.

“I can run off when I’m married to her,” you muttered.

“You’ll do no such thing,” your mother snapped, “now, stop this silliness. This a show of good faith. An exchange. She receives something precious to us in return for our safety.”

“You don’t have to pretend as if you’re not excited about this,” you said.

“It’s a great honour to be chosen by her,” she said.

“Then you do it!.”

You stomped away, hiking your skirt up to speed up. Slamming your bedroom door behind you, you let the entire household know exactly how you felt. Falling back on the bed, you buried your face in your pillow and screamed.

The Witch of the Westview Woods had been terrorising your town for as long as anyone could remember. Children stolen in the night, fires set, storms tearing the roofs off homes. Floods and locusts and droughts. One thing after another that no one should be capable of. But she had magic and no matter who was sent to slay her, she triumphed.

And you were being handed right to her.

If you survived to the years end you would be surprised. It made no sense for you to be the exact thing that would save the town. If it all it took was marrying her, how hard could it be to vanquish her?

This whole thing reeked of something. You just wish you knew what it was.

And yet you found yourself being shoved into a white dress the next afternoon, your hair pinned tight enough to bring on a headache and makeup painted over your face. Poked and prodded, your mother’s servants got you ready for the moment your life was going to end.

Walking towards the church, your father was your guard, his hand around your arm keeping you from slipping away and living life as a vagrant. Anything would be better than the fate that awaited you at the end of that alter.

The organ music began and on heavy feet you were dragged down the aisle. Fuming, you refused to even look at your bride as you were forced to stand in front of her. You were slow to drag your gaze up her body, over her bare feet and deep purple skirts, over her laced up bodice and into bright blue eyes. Your mouth fell open, shocked by the woman staring back you with an assessing gaze and lips curling up into a smile.

This was not a wild hag living in the woods. This was a woman beautiful enough to steal your breath. This was a problem.

One way or another, the Witch of the Westview Woods was going to kill you.

Her voice was husky as she repeated the vows, blue eyes burning you as her gaze rested on your face. You stumbled through your own vows, the wind taken out of your sails. The anger had fizzled out in the face of this woman, so unexpected, so unlike anything you could have anticipated.

Her hand took yours, warm and steady where you felt unbalanced. She slipped the ring on your finger, the cool metal heavy and you found yourself having to swallow past a lump in your throat. You whispered your I do and then her hand was grasping yours and she was dragging you out of the chapel.

“Come on, hon,” she said, “we have a wedding night to get to.”

Your cheeks heated.

You didn’t even glance back at your family as she practically flew out of town. Her hand was steady in yours, gripping tight enough to hurt. She plunged into the forest, branches whipping at you. Any time you stumbled, her strong arm would curl around your waist and steady you before taking off again.

The house that emerged from the trees was small, a cottage covered in ivy, plants snarled together in the garden, a soft light glowing in the window. She shoved the door open, pulling you into the interior of the home. It was comfortable, a fire burning in the hearth. Books were in tumbling piles and there was an armchair draped in a soft looking blanket. She dropped your hand, stepping further into her home.

“Home sweet home,” she hummed.

She flopped down into her armchair, grinning up at you. You hesitated at the door, the lace of your dress scratching at your skin, buttons pinching, too tight to breathe properly. She was watching you from behind wild hair, assessing you.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked.

“No,” you said, taking a step forward.

“C’mere, hon,” she said.

On unsure feet you drew closer to her. Long fingers reached out, snagging on the skirt of your dress, the lace dirty and ripped from your flight through the forest. Her fingers ran over the material, looking up at you from under lowered lashes.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to slip into something more comfortable?” she asked, voice a low rumble that had your knees turning to jelly.

“I didn’t bring anything with me,” you said.

“Even better.” She brightened, “do you need any help?”

You squeaked, cheeks aflame as your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. She chuckled, falling back to slouch in the chair.

“Feel free to wear anything you find upstairs,” she said, nodding towards the stairs.

You lingered a moment before making your way upstairs. It was only one room, a large bed dominating the room. You skirted around it, doing your best to ignore it. The wardrobe had clothes spilling out, a mishmash of materials, all in shades of purple.

You tore the buttons from the dress, doing your best to get out of it. You didn’t bother trying to be careful, never wanting to see the torture device again. Reaching in, you grabbed the first dress you could find. Lilac was not a colour you were often given over to wearing, but you supposed it was the best you had. You opened the window, throwing your heels outside into the garden, your feet thanking you for it.

Padding downstairs on bare feet, you found the Witch curled up in the chair, a book open in her lap. A bunny hopped past and you found yourself smiling.

“Señor Scratchy likes you,” she said without even glancing up from the page she was reading.

“You have a pet bunny?” you asked.

“Every witch has to have a familiar,” she replied.

“Is that a rule or a guideline?” you wondered.

Her gaze finally dragged up to you and something in it darkened, sweeping over you in her dress. You froze but her grin was pleased.

“Well, aren’t you a vision in purple,” she purred.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Lingering by the stairs you let her look her fill. Your weight shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what she’d be expecting from you. It was your wedding night. You knew how these things usually went.

“Do you cook?” she asked once she was done.

“Do I…? I can,” you answered.

“Good because I’ve been missing that skill for more years than is polite,” she said.

“I can do that,” you said, nodding to yourself.

The kitchen was small and pokey, washing up needing to be done before you could even begin cooking. Having something to do with your hands made it easier being in that cottage. You could focus on that rather than the woman in the other room.

She was nothing like you’d expected. She was hardly the horrifying figure of legend you’d spent your entire life hearing about. She wasn’t even particularly mean as far as you could tell. Disarming, flirty, overwhelming, sure. She was all those things. But not horrifying.

You passed her a plate of food once you were done, doing your best with the ingredients you could find. She didn’t look up, taking it from you, fingers picking at the food. You lowered yourself onto the rug in front of the fire, eating your own meal.

“Not bad,” she muttered, mouth half full of food.

You looked up from the flickering flames, watching her eat. She hardly had the manners that had been drilled into you by your mother. Eating with her hands, she tore through the meat with her teeth, looking half wild. Her eyes were roving over the pages of her book, not paying you any attention.

The sky had darkened outside the window, the only light coming from the lamp lit beside her and the fire you were sitting in front of. The light played over the planes of her face, cheeks sunk beneath sharp cheekbones, eyes shadowed, skin pale. She truly was beautiful.

Maybe you could make this marriage work.

“You’re staring,” Her voice was a low rumble.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Just say whatever is going through your pretty little head,” she said, finally looking up at you.

She pinned you under her gaze. Her tongue dragged along her lips, and you found yourself considering all the things that tongue could do. Your cheeks flamed and you had to remind yourself this was a woman who went out of her way to hurt people.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” you blurted out.

“Were you hoping for some wizened old crone?” she asked.

“The stories were hazy. No one’s seen you in a while,” you replied, “and you’ve been around a while so…”

“So you naturally assumed I would be ravaged by the hands of time,” she said, “aren’t you lucky I wasn’t.”

You pressed your lips together, fingers wringing at your skirts. You hadn’t anticipated flirting. You hadn’t prepared for it. You hadn’t figured out how to respond to it.

“Aren’t you just adorable,” she hummed, “I promise I’ll make you a very happy wife.”

The implication of her words sent a spark of heat through your veins, right between your legs. If she kept talking in that voice, it would be so easy to ignore all the evil acts she’d done and let her have her way with you. No one in your town had ever elicited this reaction in you.

“Yes, that’s the look,” she said, “I picked well.”

She settled back in her chair, smirking at you. You ducked your head, not able to handle her scrutiny. Although, if the way your heart was racing was any indication, the wedding night with your new bride wouldn’t be as bad as you’d thought it would be.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you stood, collecting her empty plate from the arm of her chair. Washing up, you ignored the sound of her in the other woman. This was hardly the life you were expecting to have for yourself. Even in the last 24 hours, you’d grown used to the idea of spending your life with a hag whose company you could never enjoy.

The Witch had turned out to be both beautiful and charming, if not incredibly disarming.

“Come here, hon,” she called through the door.

On unsure feet, you returned to her. She was standing by the fire, staring down into it. You paused behind her, waiting.

“It’s been a long day. You must be tired,” she said.

“I suppose,” you said.

“Come on. Bed time.”

Her hand slipped into yours, tugging you up the stairs. Anticipation curled in your stomach. It wouldn’t be so bad. You might even enjoy it. With the Witch. And not the hag you’d been expecting. There would be no need to close your eyes and think of something else as she got on with it.

“Here,” she said, shoving a gauzy piece of fabric at you.

“You want me to change?” you asked, staring down at it.

“Unless you want to sleep in that dress, but I promise you that will be more comfortable,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Sleep well, hon,” she said, one foot already on the top stair.

“You’re not staying?” you asked.

She paused, eyes sweeping over you.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you should get your rest,” she said.

She left you standing by the bed, clutching a negligee, wondering what you’d done wrong. Trying to ignore your disappointment, you changed into the nightdress, the lace and gauzy material sexier than anything you’d owned back home. You left those thoughts, slipping into the large bed. It was comfortable, more so than you’d been expecting, the blankets soft and warm, the sheets smooth. Laying your head on one of the pillows, you stared up at the ceiling.

Many hours passed, alone in the bed, ears straining for the sound of the Witch down below. The stairs creaked as she climbed them, padding on soft feet. You closed your eyes, not wanting to be caught disobeying orders. The soft thump of fabric hitting the floor, a shuffle, and then the mattress was dipping beside you.

“Does the bed not meet your standards?” she asked into the darkness.

You sighed, eyes blinking open.

“It’s very comfortable,” you said.

“Were you waiting for me?”

The bed shifted. Her warmth brushed against you and a hand slid over your waist. You stiffened, then forced yourself to relax. This was more what you were expecting. Touches and a bed and the cover of darkness.

“Relax, hon,” she whispered, the hand retreating.

You turned your head, staring at her in the darkness. She rolled over, presenting her back to you, leaving you nothing back dark hair to look at. You watched her breathe for a moment.

“What should I call you?” you whispered across the distance.

“What?” She rolled to look at you.

“I can’t keep calling you the Witch,” you said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Huh.” She rolled back to where she was before, not giving you an answer.

You watched her for a moment more before you sighed. Rolling over, keeping your back to her, you closed your eyes and did your best to relax.

“Agatha,” she whispered. You froze, “my name is Agatha.”

You settled down, holding her name close to your heart, like it was something precious. No one in town knew her name. This was just for you.

From that day you settled into some kind of routine with Agatha. You’d wake early while she luxuriated in bed long after the sun had risen. You’d clean and cook and tend to the garden, doing all you could to turn her cottage into a home. Agatha would swan in and out of the house, sometimes gone for hours, singing under her breath, or muttering curses.

In the evenings, she’d curl up in her chair and you’d sit on the rug, whiling away the hours in companionable silence. You’d embroider or begin the process of drying herbs, or stare at the flames as you thought with Señor Scratchy in your lap.

You hadn’t been back to town, nor had you heard from your family. They’d well and truly abandoned you the moment you’d said I do. Truth be told, you weren’t sure you wanted to see them. They’d given you up so easily and clearly weren’t missing you. In your cottage deep within the Westview Woods, you were comfortable and safe and calm. You knew your place and you were never forced to do anything you didn’t want to do.

Sometimes you’d catch Agatha watching you. Blue eyes peering out the window as you worked at taming the garden or glancing up from a book as you cuddled with Señor Scratchy. Each time it made you self conscious but you never asked her about it. The relationship was tenuous at best. You didn’t want to upset her.

She would still flirt with you and she still seemed to gain enjoyment from flustering you. But she wasn’t doing anything to treat you like a real wife. You had no clue what it was she was getting out of this arrangement other than a maid. If that was what she’d wanted, she could have just asked for it. The wedding wasn’t necessary.

And yet you were her wife and you would be until one of you died.

It took about a month before you cracked open one of her books one night. You had no idea what she could be reading and your curiosity got the better of you in a moment of boredom. Looking down at the page, the incomprehensible symbols made no sense to you. Flicking through more and more pages, you tried to understand.

“Interested in magic?” she asked.

Startled, you dropped the book. Apologising, you snatched it up, turning to look at her. She was standing in the doorway, night pressing in behind her, returned from wherever it was she disappeared to for those long hours. There was an errant leaf tangled in her hair. Standing, she froze as you reached out, tugging it free and throwing it behind her, out the door.

You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to her. Her face was so close to yours you could count the shades of blue in her eyes. Your breath froze in your chest and you stilled.

“It’s not safe to learn magic on your own,” she whispered, reaching for the book in your hand.

You let her take it without argument, a sense of shame from being caught reminding you how this conversation had started. You stepped away from her, putting distance between the two of you. After weeks together, you thought her ability to fluster you with just her presence were gone, but your heart was thundering and you felt breathless.

“If you’re looking for a mentor, I’m more than happy to teach you,” she said, voice softening.

“You’d teach me magic?” you asked.

“What are wives for?” she said, sweeping into the room, depositing the book on top of a tilting stack. If the way you were feeling was any indication, wives were for a lot more than teaching magic.

She settled you on the rug, taking her usual place in her chair. At her feet, you gazed up at her, trying to ignore the way there was a throbbing between your legs and fire in your veins. She reached out, taking your hand, delicate fingers manipulating it until it was in a position that met her approval.

“Alright, the first thing you should know is that your power comes from deep within you. Not everyone has enough to create even a spark of magic. Do not feel disappointed if you can’t. It takes a very special woman to do even the most simple of magic,” she said.

“You must be the most special woman in the world then,” you said, looking at the point where her hand met yours.

When she didn’t respond to you, you looked up. She was staring down at you, something unreadable in her eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“I suppose I am,” she replied, but it wasn’t with the cocky little tilt of her head you’d grown used to, “now, burrow down deep into yourself. Find that well of power, see what you have.”

You closed your eyes, feeling her finger stroke over the palm of your hand, trying to find what she was talking about. All you found was the fire she brought out in you, the anger still simmering at your family, the disappointment and hurt you’d been carrying for longer than you could count at your place in the world. It was why you kept your hands busy, refusing to look too deeply into the way your family had let you down.

It burnt. Lingering on it hurt. The scars left on your soul were sore to the touch. You pressed harder. The pain, at least, was a relief from the feeling of shame you carried with you at all hours of the day.

“Well, would you look at that.”

You blinked your eyes open, finding light reflected in Agatha’s eyes. Cradled in the palm of your hand was a pale blue energy, roiling and rolling in the air. Your mouth fell open, staring at it, trying to wrap your head around what you had done.

It flickered out.

“Apparently I’m not the only special woman in this house,” Agatha murmured.

You cheeks heated, eyes widened as you stared up into her face. She lent forward, fingertips brushing over the apple of your cheeks, soft and gentle, barely there, making you shiver.

“Yes, I chose very well,” she said, drawing back.

Under her assessing gaze, you did it again and again and again, until your head began to hurt. She put you to bed, tucking you in, fingers gently running through your hair until you fell asleep. Just a month ago, you could have never imagined being treated so comfortingly by her.

So began the next phase of your routine. Your days were your own but your nights were Agatha’s. In front of the fire, sitting at her feet, a desperate need to please her, she taught you to wield and control your own power. Her murmured praises and her soft touches made your head spin, addictive and heady, only spurring you on for more.

Watching from the window one afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the boughs of the trees above, you focused on Agatha wandering through the garden. You’d tidied it since arriving, giving it more order, planting things you found out in the forest to go with what you already found strangled under the weeds. Your hands had been in the dirt, coaxing life back into the garden.

She bowed her head over a flower, you thought maybe smelling it. A smile bloomed over your own face, watching her as she moved around the garden. She was so gentle with the plants, pausing occasionally to look at the work you’d done. You wished you knew what she was thinking but she was always so enigmatic. You never knew what was going on behind her eyes.

When she returned to the cottage, a flower was clutched in her hand, petals soft, a new bloom. You looked up from the book she’d asked you to read, legs curled beneath you, skirt pushed up around your knees to bring some cool air to your skin. Spring had well and truly arrived.

“Are you working for me?” she purred.

You nodded, watching her swaying hips as she approached. All those touches and all that praise had only made it harder to pretend as if she didn’t set you alight. She crouched in front of you. With careful fingers, she tucked the flower behind your ear. Your breath caught. She tilted your chin up, the touch of her fingers against your skin making you heat again. Her eyes roved over your face, drinking you in.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

It was like being pierced by an arrow. You would have fallen into her in that moment, the words begging for a kiss tingling on your lips. Before they could spill out, she stood, leaving you on the rug, breathless and wanting.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she said, turning from you.

Her skirt fanned out around her calves and just the flash of skin had your mouth drying. It wasn’t as if you’d seen the sight before, but every time it only made you more desperate to see more. It took a moment for her words to make sense to you.

“You are?” you asked, scrabbling to your feet.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, fingers tracing over the spines of some of her books, “I have business in the next town over. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” you said, voice small.

“You might want to go visit your family while I’m gone. You must be missing them,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Aw, don’t pout, kitten,” she said, curling her arm around your waist as she turned back to you, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her hand burned through the thin fabric of your dress. It was these touches that drove you mad. You always wanted more, to feel that touch on every inch of your body. She pulled you closer, soft curves pressing against yours in a way that had your head reeling.

“Try not to miss me too much,” she said before releasing you.

You could only watch as she moved back to the door. She lingered in the doorway, snatching one last look at you before she swept out of the cottage. Despite the fire roaring and the sun streaming in through the window, you felt suddenly cold.

The days stretched without Agatha in the cottage. The bed was too big and although you could sit in the chair before the fire at night rather than the hard flagstones beneath the rug, it left you feeling unsettled. You lazed through the days, perking up at every little sound, hope climbing up your throat only to be crushed back down when it wasn’t her return.

When the storm swept in, you felt the first pangs of worry. Sequestered in the house, you were climbing the walls, not able to drown your worry in work in the garden. The cottage was clean and there was only so much folding and refolding of clothes you could do before you began to question your sanity.

Lying in bed, you did your best to keep your thoughts away from Agatha. With the storm raging outside, it was easy to conjure images of her getting hurt or stranded, flashes of lightning striking her down too far away for you to find her and bring her home. You tossed and turned, the bed feeling huge and empty and cold without Agatha in it with you.

A crash from downstairs had you jolting up. You froze, listening intently. Another bang. Crawling to the edge of the bed, your heart was thundering, fear seeping into your veins. Sneaking to the top of the stairs, you peeked down.

A shadowed figure was standing in front of the fire, burnt down to their embers. You grasped the closest heavy object, a candlestick fancier than anything else in the cottage that you’d never quite built up the courage to ask about, and crept down the stairs. The figure didn’t seem to hear you, bending to stoke the flames. Raising the candlestick above your head, you swung.

A pale hand whipped out in a flash of lightning, grasping your wrist. The candlestick clattered to the floor. You gasped.

“This wasn’t quite the warm welcome home I was hoping for,” Agatha said.

“You’re back,” you said, breathless, heart thumping for a whole new reason.

“You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

You threw yourself into her arms, not even bothering to answer her. The joy at her reappearance in your cozy cottage was overwhelming. She chuckled, catching you, pressing her face to the top of your head.

“Now this is more what I was hoping for,” she said.

She trembled in the cage of your arms. Pulling back, you realised she was completely soaked through, wet hair stuck to her skin in a tangle. Her clothes were plastered to her and she was shivering. You ran your hands down her arms, feeling the goosebumps, grasping her hands.

“You’re freezing,” you said, “come here and warm up.”

You sat her down in her chair, stoking the fire until the flames began to blaze again. You turned, finding her gaze locked on you. It was dark and dangerous, roving over you with a level of possession you weren’t used to. Your knees trembled, turning to jelly as she drank her fill.

Glancing down, you realised your negligee was clinging to your body, wet from the embrace you’d given her, see through in all the places you weren’t sure you wanted it to be. Your eyes met hers again, your shiver nothing to do with the rain water seeping into your skin. Her tongue ran along her lower lip, stealing your breath.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” you whispered.

“Is that an offer, hon?” she asked.

You’d missed her. You wanted her. And from the way she was looking at you, she wanted you too. So why not take what you wanted? She certainly had when she’d demanded a wedding.

“Yes.”

Her face brightened before it settled into something more predatory. Holding a hand out to you, she pulled you towards her. You fell into her lap, a small squeak on your lips. Her hand slid up your thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

You lent forward, capturing her lips in an all consuming kiss. She growled, hands grasping you, dragging you closer. You whimpered into her mouth, hands clutching at her shoulders. She burned beneath you, every point of contact making you quiver. Her lips were searing hot as they made their way down the column of your neck. Your head tipped back, giving her more access, fingers burying themselves in her hair. Her name was a breathy moan on your lips. When her teeth sunk in, you groaned, pressing her closer.

“We’ve been married for months,” you murmured, breathless, desperate for her.

“We have,” she said, whispered into her skin.

Her tongue ran over your skin. You forgot what you were saying, luxuriating in the feeling of her worshipping your neck. Her hand was pushing up past the hem of your negligee, seeking out warm skin.

“You were saying, hon?” she asked, lips brushing your skin.

“Oh uh…” Her fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh, “just that you…”

“I?” she murmured, finding the vulnerable spot behind your jaw.

“You never asked me to fulfil my wifey duties,” you sighed.

“I’m not a monster who forces young women to got to bed with me when they don’t want to,” she said before her lips closed over your earlobe.

“But I did want to,” you sighed, “I do.”

“So I’m gathering, hon,” she said.

You kissed her again, already addicted to her taste. With arms stronger than you were expecting, she lifted you, laying you down on the rug you’d spent so many evenings on. The fire was warm from so close, the air heating the chill of the night. A clap of thunder boomed above the house. You jumped, before laughing, self conscious at your own reaction. Her smile was fond.

“You know, when I gave you this nightie, I was hoping you’d look as delicious as I’d imagined,” she said, one hand stroking down your side, “it looks even better when it’s wet.”

She drew back, looking down at you. The front was completely soaked through, practically baring you to her faze. You shivered, breath stuttering. The look in her eye suggested she wanted to eat you alive. Her hand stroked between your breasts, pressing against your stomach when you wriggled beneath her.

“Stay still, pet. I’m enjoying my new wife,” she said.

Both hands cupped your breasts through the lace and silk of the dress you were in. Each nipple was already peaked, pebbling from the chilled water you’d had pressed against your skin. Palming them, she watched your face. You whimpered, not used to someone else touching you like this.

“You make such pretty noises for me, pet,” she said right as she pinched your nipples.

Your back arched up into her touch, offering yourself to her. Your hands grasped her hips, breathing coming fast.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked, watching you writhe under her touch.

“No,” you sighed.

“Really?” She sat back to look at you, a look of pleasure passing over her face, “I’ll be your first?”

“No one ever made me want to before,” you replied, pushing your hands under her skirts, wanting to feel her skin. It was as soft as you’d imagined, the muscles of her thighs strong under your palms.

“You are a gift,” she said before swooping in to kiss you again.

You lost yourself in it, your entire body a live wire underneath her. She hummed when your hands delved further up her skirt, the fabric still heavy with rain. You pulled away, ignoring the displeased noise she made.

“I wasn’t kidding about getting you out of these wet clothes. You’ll catch your death,” you said.

“Well, if you insist.”

She stood, pulling the dress over her head. In the firelight, she was nothing but enticing shadows and soft curves. You stared, overwhelmed with how beautiful she was. You could spend the rest of your life looking at this view. Pushing up onto your elbows, you let your gaze travel over her, practically drooling. You pressed your thighs together.

“Do I pass muster?” she asked.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you breathed.

Something shifted in her face, almost as if you’d surprised her. In the shadows, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought her cheeks might be flushed. She lowered back onto her knees, straddling your waist. Your hands skimmed over her ribs, feeling her inhale beneath your fingertips. You cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms.

“I think it’s only fair that I return the favour,” she said, “after all, I got you all wet.”

Your cheeks heated and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, but you let her peel the negligee from your body, throwing it aside. Her hands were everywhere, barely touching you. Your whimper only had her grinning down at you.

“Use your words, pet,” she said.

“Touch me,” you begged, “please, Agatha.”

“All you had to do was ask,” she said before her hands were back on your body.

Her lips were soon to follow after, wrapping around one nipple. Your strangled moan only seemed to spur her on. The rumble of a groan vibrated through your body and you arched up into her mouth.

Her hands were sliding further down your body and you felt on fire. When she began to press kisses to your sternum, making her way down your body, you gasped. Her hands were gently as they parted your legs, settling between them. You had no idea how she was doing it, but your entire body was a live wire, sending you insane with how good it felt.

“I need you to tell me if you’re about to change your mind,” she said, her lips pressing the crease of your thigh, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop once I’ve tasted you.”

“If you stop you can go back out into that storm right now,” you said.

“I knew I chose right.”

Your head fell back as her tongue made contact with the hot throbbing between your legs. You cursed, loud enough to be heard over the thunder still crashing up above, and your hips jumped up into her mouth. Her talent didn’t just lie in magic, although it felt pretty magical whatever it was she was doing. You gave yourself over to it, uncaring that you were being too loud or too desperate. Nothing had ever felt as good as her mouth on you.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her there, hips undulating. When her lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves you knew resided between your thighs, you made a choked noise, her name unintelligible. She was moaning, the vibrations driving you crazy, spinning higher and higher. Your legs were trembling where they rested over her shoulders.

When the dam broke, you screamed, clutching at her. Looking up your body, she caught your eye, the smouldering burning in her gaze only making you wonder what she would look like when you returned the favour. She drew back, her grin very satisfied despite you being the boneless body on the rug.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you whispered.

“You’ve never…?” she asked.

“Never like that,” you said.

The fingers in her hair tugged her up your body. Your legs curled around her waist as you kissed her, tasting yourself on her tongue. She chuckled, drawing away, fingers running over your lower lip.

“You are a wonder,” she said, “I knew you would be that first time I saw you.”

“When did you see me?” you asked, sure you’d remember if you’d seen her before the wedding.

“I’d heard rumours of the town beauty, grown into a woman of marriageable age. The way the men were hoping to own you. I’ll admit I was curious. And then, there you were, wandering through my woods, a basket of flowers on your arm. I happened to be passing by as you stopped to speak to a lovely little bunny and I knew I had to have you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m never wrong about these things.”

“So that’s why you asked for me specifically,” you mused.

“I wanted the prettiest girl in the village,” she said before she swooped down to kiss you again. For a while, you could get lost in it.

“Agatha,” you sighed when her lips began to trace a path down your neck again.

“Come, pet. I’ve had a long journey and I’m tired. I’d much rather sleep in our bed,” she said.

She rose, holding a hand out to you. You grasped it, letting her haul you to your feet. Stumbling you fell against her body, warm skin against warm skin, making your head spin. She slipped her arm around your waist, holding you close.

She swept you up into her arms, carrying you up the stairs. Depositing you on the bed, you stared up at her until she slipped between the sheets, taking the place that had been empty for too many days. She held her arms open to you, letting you curl against her her side.

“I’m glad you chose me to be your wife,” you whispered, face buried in the place her shoulder met her throat.

“As am I, hon,” she murmured, lips pressing to the top of your head.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax properly for the first time since she’d left. Her fingertips were trailing over your skin, stroking in a comforting rhythm. You were on the edge of sleep when you heard her soft whisper.

“I didn’t expect you to stay.”

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head up towards her. She was already gazing down at you, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I gave you leave to return to your family. I was expecting to find our home empty upon my return,” she said.

“But we’re married,” you said.

“That’s never stopped a woman before,” she replied.

“Why would I choose my family when I have you? They’d never forgive me for leaving you. They gave me no choice in my future,” you said, “I don’t want to ever see them again.”

“They didn’t?” Her fingers tightened in your hair.

“They told me I’d be marrying you. There was no discussion, no understanding that perhaps I didn’t want this.” You shifted closer to her, legs tangling together, “stupid girl. How could I ever not want you?”

“I’m a centuries old witch that terrorises local towns?” she suggested.

“Maybe, but you’re my witch,” you said, “and more importantly, you’re my wife. And I choose you. I didn’t like when you were gone. I was counting down the minutes you’d return.”

“Next time, would you like to come with me?” she asked.

“Please,” you said.

“Then you will,” she replied.

Your lips brushed her skin as you settled against her again, closing your eyes, kissing the closest part of her. Her breath hitched and she tightened her arms around you. Holding her close, you sighed, letting yourself relax again. With her home you had nothing to worry about anymore.

“More fool your parents for handing over the only person who could bring me to my knees,” she murmured, so soft you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it.

Slipping closer to sleep, comforted by the sounds of her breath and the warmth of her skin, you thought maybe being forced to marry the Witch of the Westview Woods was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

[luvismenu]

Only When It's Us — JJK ,, index ,, about taglist

Chapter 02 — distraction ✎

fic summary: you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

nsfw warnings: smut; lots of kissing, lots of touching lol, oral (male recieving, fem too? kinda), sucking fingers, doggy style, unprotected sex (shes using birth control so yep, be safe!) use of ‘good girl’

wc: 6k

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @kyuupii @fluttershypoo @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @mar-lo-pap @jungkooks-wife @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @leemonis-blog

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @sweetmimosa28

abt series taglist: send me an ask w the series title !!

“i have to go.”

“why don’t you just come back home? you can start over, and this time, maybe you’ll be more like your brother.”

you sigh.

“mom, i don’t want to be him,” you say quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. on the other end, you hear her let out a soft, disapproving tsk, a sound that always manages to make you feel a little smaller.

“aren’t you clearly struggling with school? if you were here with us, with your brother, we’d help you. you’d be fine,” she insists, as if coming home would magically fix everything.

you roll your eyes.

“i really have to go.”

“___, just listen to—”

but before she can finish, you end the call, staring at the blank screen for a moment.

there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, one that refuses to fade, no matter how much you try to brush it off. its like a quiet reminder of all the things you’re trying to avoid.

go back home?

after everything you’ve been through to study what you want, to finally live on your own terms. every argument, every latenight fight with your parents, all just to claim a bit of freedom.

you worked so hard to break free from their expectations, to stand on your own.

you even transferred universities just to escape the constant pressure back in your hometown. no matter what you did, it was never enough. every choice was somehow wrong, not ‘their way.’

you can’t go back now.

not until you’ve made it, not until you have something real to prove them wrong. you have to be successful, if only to show them that your way was the right way all along.

“hey, are you done thinking? never seen anyone contemplate cheerios this hard.”

min yoongi’s low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up, finding him behind the cash register, his lips curving into a small smile.

“just wondering if i can actually trust your store’s products. what if you are some sort of cheerio secret agent and you're trying to poison me?” you joke, handing him the money.

“oh no, you figured it out. we’ve been poisoning the cheerios. now how am i gonna explain to my boss that our mission failed?” he dramatically placesb a hand on his forehead as if you revealed his deepest darkest secret. you can’t help but chuckle, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit.

“bad day?” he asks, his gaze softening a bit as he opens the cash register.

min yoongi; your friend.

well, he's more like your senior. he graduated last year and he is working parttime at this convenience store cuz he thinks in this way he could spend some time outside.

you didn't question him about it any further.

you don’t usually come here unless it’s an emergency, and breakfast for tomorrow qualifies as pretty urgent, or so you tell yourself.

“something like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods slightly. “well,” he begins, “i’m sorry i can’t give you a discount,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

you chuckle, the corners of your mouth lifting. “aw, that’s too bad. i thought i might get these cheerios for free.”

he smiles softly, “maybe some other time,"

you smile back at yoongi and turn to leave. but then you almost bump your head against a man’s chest, stumbling back in surprise.

that was close.

you look up to apologize, but your words get caught in your throat as you take in his appearance.

he’s handsome.

no, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. his face is sculpted to perfection, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. his dark eyes seem to pierce right through you, and his long, dark hair falls effortlessly over his forehead.

but there’s something else,

he looks... mad?

you quickly gather yourself, your cheeks warming slightly. “sorry,” you blurt out, stepping aside to let him pass.

as you walk out of the store, you catch a snippet of conversation behind you.

“are you still upset about her, jungkook?” yoongi’s voice carries just enough for you to hear.

you try to shake it off, not wanting to dwell on whatever is unfolding behind you. it’s not your business, after all.

you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you leave the store, and try to focus on the tasks ahead of you.

“it doesn’t make any sense, hyung,” jungkook scoffs, the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“when did she ever make sense?” yoongi replies dryly, not backing down as he meets jungkook’s glare. the tension in the air feels thick, but yoongi isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

“from my point of view, you’re now a free man. free from all the bullshit you’ve been through,” yoongi explains, hoping to lift jungkook’s spirits.

“what bullshit? i was happy. we were happy,” jungkook frowns, his confusion evident. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to comprehend yoongi’s words.

“that’s what she wanted you to think,” yoongi replies, his tone serious. “and to be honest, that’s what you always did. you did whatever she wanted. you changed for her.”

“i loved her,” jungkook insists, his voice a bit softer but still filled with conviction, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“did you? really?” yoongi presses, searching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of doubt. he knows this is a tough conversation, but it needs to be talked out.

jungkook looks away and mutters. “you don’t get it,”

yoongi’s expression softens. he presses his lips together as he looks at jungkook, feeling bad for him. “i’m sorry, jungkook. but you really have to let it go now. it’s been two weeks. it’s time to start moving on.”

jungkook stays silent.

instead of responding, he reaches for a lollipop displayed near the cash register, the bright colors contrasting sharply with his gloomy mood. he hands yoongi some money, more than what the lollipop costs, as if he’s paying for more than just candy.

“do you want the change, or can i keep it as a tip for my great service slash friendship?” yoongi tries to lighten the mood, hoping to bring a smile to jungkook’s face.

and it does.

jungkook’s lips curl into a faint smile, a small but genuine response. “keep it,” he says softly.

as jungkook turns to leave, yoongi watches him go, feeling sad for his friend.

“bad day indeed.”

you're sat on a bench in the park near the convenience store, lost in your own thoughts. the quiet sounds of the evening settle around you, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and your own sighs mingling with the cool air.

you’re not really thinking about anything in particular, just letting your mind wander in that aimless way it does when everything feels overwhelming.

then, a loud voice cuts through your thoughts.

“no, i know you're hiding something from me!” someone snaps, his voice taut with irritation. “fine! have it your way then.”

curious, you glance over and recognize him immediately; the same man from earlier at the store, the one you’d nearly bumped into.

he’s pacing as he talks on his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in exasperation. his jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him even from a distance.

after a moment, he ends the call with an aggravated sigh, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he makes his way into the park, still visibly upset. he barely notices his surroundings as he walks closer to where you’re sitting.

he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath as if willing the frustration to melt away. you can’t help but stare a little, like an idiot.

then his eyes snap open and land directly on you.

“got a problem with me?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence between you.

you blink, startled, and stand up instinctively. “excuse me?”

he turns fully to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. “i asked, you got a problem with me?”

“no.” you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“good.”

wow. nice attitude.

just as you’re about to walk away, he calls out again.

“never seen you around here before.”

“pardon?” you turn back, surprised.

“you’re yoongi's friend, right?” he asks,

you cross your arms, giving him a wary look. “why do you care?”

he shrugs, almost nonchalant. “my bad, just curious. never seen yoongi smile at a normal customer before, so i assumed.”

“oh,” you reply, softening just a bit. “well, i guess you could say we're friends.”

he raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you guess?”

you offer a small shrug of your own. “he used to help me when i was still a freshman, and he still tries to whenever he can. i'd say he's like my teacher, in a way. it’s not like we hang out or anything, though.”

he tilts his head, considering your words. “well, consider yourselves friends. trust me, he doesn’t just help anyone.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, still wary. “and who are you, exactly?”

“jeon jungkook,” he says, extending a hand with a surprisingly polite nod. instinctively, you reach out and shake it, his grip firm. “since you're yoongi's friend, i think we go to the same university. though this is the first time i’m seeing you.”

“same, i am ___,” you pull your hand back.

“what are you doing here, in the middle of the night? didn’t your parents ever tell you not to go out alone?” he asks, the way he talks is somewhere between teasing and serious. you can't quiet get what it is but something about it grates on your nerves, like he's playing at being concerned but in a way that feels almost mocking.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, meeting his gaze head on.

he doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head slightly. “i always come here,” he says, his voice calm, almost like a matterof fact.

“same,” you respond. “during the day.”

he quirks a brow, “so why are you in my night shift?”

you scoff, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “this isn’t your place or ‘shift,’ you know."

“well, you come here during the day; i come here at night. sounds like shifts to me,” he says with a shrug, and you catch the playfulness on his face.

“guess i’m overtiming, then,” you say, glancing away to hide your own smirk. “don’t mind me.”

he stays silent.

“you’ve got your own shit to deal with, huh?” he says, his voice breaking the quiet.

“why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, catching him a little off guard. “i mean, you don’t even know me.”

he raises an eyebrow, unphased. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, mimicking your answer from before.

you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “i don’t think i want to talk about my problems with a random stranger.”

“problems…” he echoes, looking you up and down like he’s trying to figure you out. “let me guess. got into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“no,” you say quickly, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have one.” for a second, you think you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. “what about you? girlfriend mad at you?”

his face shifts, something almost vulnerable passing over his features before he looks away. “guess you could say that,” he mutters. “since she broke things off with me.”

a silence stretches between you two.

“i’m… sorry to hear that,” you finally say, feeling the awkwardness settle around you.

you didn't expect that.

honestly, the idea of someone like him getting dumped hadn’t even crossed your mind. a guy who looks like that—that intense aura—doesn’t exactly seem like the type to get left behind.

you assumed he’d be the one calling the shots, the one walking away. but here he is, single and clearly dealing with the aftermath of something that’s weighing on him. its surprising.

a thought crosses yourmind.

if someone could leave him, someone who had a place in his life and a claim to his heart, maybe he’s not as perfect as he seems on the outside. maybe there’s something beneath the surface, something that’s harder to deal with than his looks would suggest.

it’s like a puzzle you didn’t even mean to start solving, yet here you are, wondering if there’s more to him than just that handsome face.

but then you shake the thought away. he’s a stranger. a random guy you happened to bump into, quite literally, at a park in the middle of the night. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

because, really, why should you care?

whatever his story is, it’s none of your business.

“anyway, hope you figure your problems out.” he says, his gaze flickering away as if he’s eager to dodge any deeper conversation.

“likewise,” you reply.

without warning, he pulls a lollipop from his pocket, holding it out to you. “here,” he says, waiting for you to take it.

you reach out slowly, raising an eyebrow. “thanks?”

he smirks, “again, did your parents never tell you not to take candy from strangers?”

“maybe i like to be a little rebellious,” you say, smirking back at him and he shakes his head smiling.

“well, go ahead, eat it. i don’t want you tossing it away. i spent a lot on that sucker,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face. despite the oddness of the moment, a corner of your mouth quirks up.

you unwrap the lollipop, examining it with a critical eye before giving him a look that says it all.

he catches it, tilting his head in curiosity. “what?”

“i don’t think i like raspberry flavor,” you admit, holding the lollipop up like a trophy of sorts.

he squints at you, “you’ve never tasted one before?”

you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “i don’t like raspberries, so i’m guessing this is more of the same.”

he shakes his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “that’s pretty bold, making assumptions without even trying it.”

“just give it a taste; maybe you'll like it,” he suggests, a teasing smile forming on his lips, clearly wanting you to try it. deep down, he doesn't even like raspberry flavor; he just picked it out randomly at the store.

“uh, no thanks. i don’t want that nasty taste on my tongue,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little . “but thanks, you could have—”

your words are abruptly cut off as he grabs your hand, the lollipop still held tightly between your fingers. in one swift motion, he leans in, wrapping his mouth around it. his tongue swirls around the candy, and then he pulls it out, his lips glistening with a reddish-pink hue that matches the flavor.

you're completely taken aback, eyes widening in shock.

oh what the fuck.

“yeah, you’re right. it does taste nasty,” he says, licking his lips as he releases your hand. “give it to me, i'll just throw it away or something”

suddenly, the lollipop feels trivial compared to what he just did. you stand there, completely speechless, your mind and heart racing as you try to process what jus happened.

“what?” he stares at you.

“you’re good with your tongue,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think them through.

he pauses, his eyes widening for a second, and he chokes on nothing, almost like he’s been caught off guard mid-breath. “uh, what?” he finally manages, blinking rapidly.

realizing how that might’ve sounded, “i just meant... the lollipop. you seemed pretty skilled with it,” you clarify, though you’re aware it’s not really helping.

what are you even trying to say?

he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips now. “uh-huh, sure,” he says, teasing you. “that’s what you meant.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t flatter yourself, i was just making an observation.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, dark eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place, makes it hard to pretend that slip of the tongue didn’t mean more than you intended.

“so, do you want to suck on it?”

“huh?” you blink.

suck on what now?

“the lollipop” he clarifies, a small smile playing on his lips.

oh.

you clear your throat, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “no, definitely not, especially now that you had your tongue all over it.” you try to scrunch your nose, but any attempt at showing disgust falls flat with the heat rising in your cheeks.

“alright then, just asking if you changed your mind,” he shrugs, still holding your gaze.

“i still don’t want it,” you say quickly, trying to sound convincing.

“okay.” he blinks, unfazed.

“okay,” you repeat, awkwardly.

he gestures to the lollipop still in your hand. “uh, so… are you gonna keep holding it?”

you glance down, pulling your hand back. “i’m gonna throw it away,” you declare, though it feels a bit ridiculous now, given everything that just happened.

“i hope so,” he says, one side of his lips quirking up.

why do you kind of like his smile?

you try to shake your thought off, tossing the lollipop into a nearby trash can, trying to act as casual as possible.

“well, guess that's the end of that,” you say, hoping to sound nonchalant. he nods as he crosses his arms.

you raise an eyebrow, mimicking his stance. “do you usually hand out half-eaten lollipops to strangers?”

he laughs, low and soft, the sound surprisingly warm in the quiet night. “only when they look like they need a little distraction.”

you tilt your head. “oh? and what made you think i needed one?”

his eyes meet yours, his expression softening. “just a hunch,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “we all got stuff we’d rather not think about, right?”

a pause.

there’s something unspoken between you two, a quiet understanding in the way you hold each other’s gaze.

he's right.

you are stressing about things you'd rather not think about, things that seem to cling to your mind no matter how hard you try to push them away.

and then there's him, a stranger but somehow not, going through his own mess. you can see it in his tired eyes, the way he keeps looking off into the distance as if trying to shake off whatever weight he's carrying.

you realize you don’t mind it; you don’t mind his company, or even the strange comfort of this shared silence.

both of you are here, each trying to forget whatever it is that’s eating at you. maybe that’s why this moment feels so easy.

”yeah,” you finally say, “guess we do.”

“i gotta go now,” you announce, hoping to put an end to whatever weird tension is building between the two of you.

he doesn't say anything. no goodbyes, no attempts to stop you. so you turn and start walking away, trying to shake off whatever just happened.

but before you can take more than a few steps, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. you stop, surprised, and turn back to face him. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to make you pause.

you meet his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something intense, something that makes your stomach flip.

“would you like a distraction?” he asks, voice low, almost like a whisper meant just for you.

you blink, not sure if you heard him right. “what?” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

instead of answering, he tugs you gently closer. your body stumbles forward, and your hands land on his chest to steady yourself. his heartbeat is strong under your palm, and suddenly, everything feels too close, too intense.

he looks down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “i think i do,” he mutters. “don’t you?”

your mind is racing, trying to make sense of this.

is he asking what you think he’s asking?

he’s a stranger. someone you barely know beyond a couple of conversations and an awkward encounter in a convenience store.

yet there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it hard to think straight.

“yes,” you hear yourself say before you can even process it.

his lips curve into a satisfied smile, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

the world seems to stop as his mouth meets yours. it’s not hesitant or soft; it’s urgent, as if he’s been wanting this for longer than the short time you’ve known him. his hands slide up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

your fingers clutch his shirt, feeling the heat of his body against yours. it’s messy and impulsive, and he doesn't even care that you’re both in the middle of a park, under the dim glow of the streetlights.

right now, all you can think about is him. the way he tastes, the way he kisses you desperately.

maybe you do need this distraction.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen. his lips are soft, and you moan as if you're melting into the kiss. there's something about the way his mouth moves against yours; like he's been waiting to do this.

“wait—” you pant as pull back, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to gather your thoughts. he looks into your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he asks in a low voice, “what happened?”

“we're... we're outside,” you point out, glancing around.

he tilts his head, his brows raising slightly as if that’s the least of his concerns. “so?” his voice is low and almost teasing, like he finds your hesitation cute.

you let out a scoffing laugh, “what do you mean so?wee’re literally in a children’s park.” you gesture to the swings and slides nearby, deserted at this hour but still... it’s a public space.

he pauses for a second, “my car’s parked just over there,” he nods towards a sleek vehicle at the edge of the park, his lips curling into a smile. “we could, uh... relocate or—”

before you can even process that, your curiosity gets the better of you. “wait— you have a car?” you cut in, a little surprised.

he chuckles. “yeah, and it’s a pretty one at that.” there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this back-and-forth with you, like it’s some sort of game.

you sigh, still trying to wrap your head around the craziness of this entire situation. “okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself, deciding to just go with it. what’s the worst that could happen?

he releases his grip on you, but only so he can grab your hand and guide you towards the car. the walk feels a little awkward now, a heavy tension hanging in the air. you're not sure what to say.

what’s the protocol for walking towards a car with a guy you’re about to hook up with?

as if sensing your nerves, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “come on, my car’s comfy. don’t worry,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. the way he’s holding your hand... it’s surprisingly tender, making it feel just a little less awkward.

when you reach the car, he opens the back seat door for you. you hesitate for a second, “you won’t, like, kidnap me or something, right?” you half-joke.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “for someone who’s so aware of the things you shouldn’t be doing, you sure do them anyway,” he teases. his words send a shiver down your spine, both a warning and an invitation.

but you ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind. instead, you climb into the seat and he follows you right away.

“why are you—” your words are cut off as he crashes his lips against yours, the urgency in his kiss making you lose your breath. one of his hands grips your waist, pulling you against him, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head for better access.

the way his lips move against yours, hot and hungry, sends sparks shooting down your spine, and before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth, matching his intensity. your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, eventually locking behind his neck as if he's your lifeline.

“are we seriously gonna fuck in your car?” you gasp, your words shaky when he pulls away just enough to start trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“no,” he breathes and sucks on a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing the skin before he soothes it with a slow lick. “just couldn’t stop myself,” he admits, voice low and breathy, and then his mouth is back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

your hands move restlessly over his broad shoulders, wanting to feel more, wishing his clothes were gone so you could touch him everywhere.

his hands roam your body like he's memorizing it, fingers pressing into the curves of your waist, teasingly brushing against your chest. each touch has you arching into him, wishing he'd just tear your clothes apart already.

it's all too good.

too overwhelming, and before you know it, five minutes have passed with the two of you tangled in each other. when he finally pulls back, panting, his lips are swollen and glistening. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, both of you staring at each other in the dim light of the car.

he’s leaning back slightly, his hard on pressing against your thigh. it’s impossible not to notice how turned on he is, and it only makes your own arousal spike.

you're so fucking wet right now.

you’re laid back on the seat, eyes locked on him, watching the way he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing it back revealing his forehead.

“hotel? or my place?” he asks, trying to catch his breath “hotel’s just a minute away, but my place… well, it’s a bit further.”

you can practically see the options laid out in your mind like a checklist.

a) go to the hotel, have your fun, and slip away without looking back. no strings, no regrets. just a quick fuck and disappear like it never happened.

b) go to his place, let him fuck the shit out of you, see if he’s worth all this heat between your thighs. maybe wake up in his bed with his arms still wrapped around you... and if he's good enough, maybe get his number so it doesn’t have to be a one time thing.

you bite your lip, your decision already made before you even realize it.

“yours.”

the drive to his apartment is quick, the tension between you both barely held back. you're glad it’s late at night, because the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other and you don't want anyone witnessing it.

the second you step into his apartment, the door slams shut behind you, and it's a scramble to rid each other of clothing. shirts are yanked off, belts undone, pants shoved down until you're both stumbling towards his bedroom in a mess of heated kisses and needy touches.

“o-oh fuck—yes baby, suck it just like that,” jungkook throws his head back, moaning, his breath ragged. he’s sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets. you're on your knees between his thighs, sucking him hard, your lips stretching around his thick length.

you glance up at him, eyes half lidded, watching the way his abs flex as he tries to keep himself steady. “shit... you look so fucking hot,” he rasps out, voice rough. his gaze darkens, and he pushes himself up, one hand threading through your hair.

“can you take it, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

you know exactly what he’s asking. you nod, barely managing it with your mouth full, and he smiles, almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming.

“good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough on your hair. “tap me if it’s too much.” and with that, he starts moving his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, but you relax your throat, trying to take him in. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him moving in and out, his groans echoing off the walls.

“fuck—you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and raspy, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, it forces a choked gasp from him, his hands instinctively tightening in your hair.

your eyes water, tears pooling at your lashes, but you don’t stop, even as your throat aches. your nails dig into his firm thighs, using them for balance as he fucks your throat. you want to show him just how much you can handle.

“i’m gonna—” he grunts, voice rough and strained. a hot burst of his release fills your mouth, and you swallow it all, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. his chest heaves as he watches you, mesmerized, as your tongue slides slowly along his length, cleaning up every drop. his jaw clenches, the sight clearly driving him wild.

“get up,” he orders, voice still a little breathless, and you obey instantly, letting him pull you to your feet. “on the bed, all fours.”

you get onto the mattress, positioning yourself as he asked. there's a moment of stillness as you feel his gaze roam over your exposed body. your heart races, anticipation building as you wait for his next move.

“you’re dripping,” he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath is hot against your soaked core. he licks a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips. his mouth envelops your pussy, sucking and licking with an rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath before moving up, positioning himself between your legs. his right hand trails upward, skimming over your skin until his fingers brush against your lips.

instinctively, you part them, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. the low chuckle that escapes him tells you just how much he enjoys it.

“you like that, hm?” he asks. you moan softly around his fingers, your response muffled but desperate.

he withdraws his fingers, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. leaning down, he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly until your back is against his chest. you can feel his length pressing against your ass, you move your hips a little causing a little friction.

his hands slide over your breasts, kneading them with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

you melt into his touch, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his fingers pinch and roll your hardened nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” his voice is soft against your shoulder as he places feather light kisses along your skin. he nips gently, his hands never stopping their teasing, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes when his fingers pinch just a bit harder.

“y-yes,” you mewl, voice shaky with need, “fuck me, jungkook.”

he squeezes your breasts harder, a groan rumbling from his chest as he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder.

“yeah? can i fuck you raw?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whimper. “p-please.”

his grip on you loosens slightly, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes dark, like he's stopping himself. “you sure?” he asks, one last time, his tone gentle but urgent.

you nod quickly, breathless. “i’m on the pill,” you assure him, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“fuck. okay, bend over.”

without hesitation, you resume your previous position, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. he groans softly at the sight, his hand sliding down to rub slow circles over your entrance.

he teases you, slipping a finger inside, making you moan softly as your walls flutter around him. he withdraws his finger, watching the way you clench around nothing, desperate for more.

grabbing his cock, he taps the swollen tip against your slick hole. you whine, impatience leaking into your voice, “just fuck me already.”

a smirk curves his lips, and without another word, he pushes into you.

you grip the sheets tightly as you take him in fully, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. a choked gasp escapes your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious burn that quickly morphs into pleasure.

each inch fills you so completely, leaving you breathless, your body trembling at the feeling.

“fuck,” he groans behind you, his voice low and rough, a sound that makes your toes curl. “you’re so tight, baby... taking me so fucking good.” the words are almost a growl, filled with barely restrained control as he fights the urge to pound into you.

his hands move to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, steadying himself as he sinks even deeper.

your moans spill freely now, raw and needy, muffled slightly by the pillow you bury your face into. he starts to move, slowly at first, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

the rhythm is torturously slow, each stroke making you whimper, your back arching even further in a silent plea for more.

“please... more,” you manage to gasp out, your voice shaky. “jungkook, i need it.. need you.”

“yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace, thrusts becoming sharper, each one driving you into the mattress. “want it harder, baby? want me to ruin you?”

“yes.. yes mmph- more!” you cry, your voice breaking as he slams into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. your nails claw at the sheets, the friction of his hips against your ass making stars dance behind your eyelids.

his fingers snake around to your front, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs it in tight, quick circles. your entire body jolts, your hips bucking back against him as you let out a loud, broken moan.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, that's a good fucking girl,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, your walls fluttering as you near the edge.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls against your ear, bending over you now, his hot breath fanning against your neck. he bites down on your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to drive you wild.

“you're gonna cum like the good girl you are?”

“yes n-ngh.. i’m close.. s-so close,” you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. his fingers press harder against your clit, his thrusts turning frantic.

“cum with me, baby” he demands, his voice thick and commanding. that’s all it takes. your body shatters. your vision going white as you scream his name. your walls squeeze him so tightly, milking his cock, and with a deep, guttural groan, he loses himself too, spilling inside you as his thrusts grow sloppy.

he stays buried inside you, his chest heaving against your back, both of you panting heavily. he leans down to press soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

after everything that just happened. you've made up your mind.

you're definitely going to ask for his number.

a/n: erm.. don't get into random strangers cars !! haha