#maniac with a fork

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls- Swan Song-Part 6- Salty Nears Her Retirement

I am preparing for the end of Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls. It's been 2 and a half+ years on Tumblr but I must retire the series. It's mostly Lorelai's fault that the show has become unwatchable. Fuck Lorelai Gilmore. If a combination of boredom, a whim to write again, and enough fortitude to suffer through the misery that is the back half of this season somehow get the best of me in the future I'll crank out another episode, perhaps. idk. We��ll see. When we last left her, She-Demon From The Pits of Dean-Blowing Hell Lorelai Q Gilmore was giving Rory the third degree about Rory potentially engaging in driveway/ front lawn intercourse with Jess. Alas, he will never be so lucky. Emily and Rory are sitting around waiting for Mr Blue Balls to show up. He's late of course, because he's fighting a vengeful swan who's actually the zombie of his fuckbuddy he murdered, on his way home from Walmart. Me sitting here thinking how he managed to encounter Swan Shane when he is supposed to be coming to dinner on his way home from work. Did he make a detour to Stars Hollow on the way home or did the Beakening happening before he got to work that day? And then he had to put up with ribbing about his black eye from the other Forklfiters? And since it’s a Friday, did he go to school like that or just ditch? Huh. So many questions. Emily: There was a big tie up on the 84 (highway) earlier. He's probably smack dab in the middle of that. Sure. Sure. A Traffic jam.

Rt 84 is a real highway in Connecticut that actually does lead to the Walmart in Hartford. You know I had to google that shit. Apparently, Rt 84 is also known as "The Yankee Expressway." It briefly crosses the border into New York state. It is an approximately 3 hour drive from Rt 84 to Locust Street in Philadelphia (162 miles). Emily helpfully suggests calling Jess on his cellphone, and he does not have one. That's what you think, Rory. He had one, but after the dance marathon when he was throwing Shane's limp body into the lake, he dropped it, and his phone insurance plan didn't cover Acts of Axe Murder. Swan Shane found it and has been racking up a hefty long distance bill.

This cracked me up. He doesn't "believe" in cellphones. Well, the man has a philosophy. Like Uncle like Nephew, I suppose, but Luke and Jess are going to have to get with the times. It's going to be hard to be a low level drug dealer with Tawd and run a publishing company and keep track of all your conquests as a raging manwhore without a phone, Jess. One of your book groupies is DTF and you're gonna tell her to booty call you on your landline, lol.

SO much better. Mmm. Mm, where was I?

Jess Mariano, winning the favor of old people by adopting his Uncle's Amish ways. Then quickly losing said favor of old people. Emily predicts a future where "Robots will carry people from place to place." Like...a self driving car? Or a home robot that physically picks you up and carries you from room to room and tucks you into bed? AmyShermanPalladino is a visionary, regardless. Emily is so excited to meet Jess. Le sigh. Nothing in this show can ever Not Be A Disaster. Gilmore Girls' alternative title is The Nothing Is Ever Not A Disaster Show. It's fine since I'm quitting this show anyway.

"I put up my horny hair for this?"

I see he wore his best Thrift Store Dumpster coat to dinner (it's last appearance. Good riddance). If only Shane was still alive, she could have helped you put on some concealer over that bruise. But you had to hack her body into chop suey with an axe.

Emily seems to...not notice the Beak Mark? Or she is being hella polite? She doesn't even flinch.

Yeah. Yeah. We know who he is. Jess must have drove there in a blind stupor because when he shows up again in season 6 to this same exact house, he doesn't remember who lives here. A couple of good swan kicks to the head will affect your memory I suppose.

Not gonna lie, I'd be doing the same thing as Rory and badgering him about it all night too. Emily casually asks "is this new" and "Does it hurt" like she expects all of Rory's boyfriends to come to dinner with black eyes. It's just an average Friday.

Of course you're fine, baby. *pets his head*

That ol' "The Yankee Highway was jammed" chestnut.

Emily expresses her fears of men who drive big trucks as they are "hopped up on bennies and goofballs." Not me having to google what sort of drug a goofball is... "A goofball is a simultaneous co-injection of methamphetamines and opioids.” I'd ask how Emily knows this, but those old rich society people know their drugs. Jess is thinking how does this old lady know more about drugs than I, the future low level drug dealer? I never said Jess was a good drug dealer, that's why he never rose through the ranks and Tawd fired him.

I feel this is a reasonable line of questioning...and I was gonna say, maybe you should believe him that he didn't get into a fight, and let it go, but he did lie to you again later and say he got whacked in the face with a football by one of his nonexistent friends...and you believed him...anyway I don't know where I was going with this. Rory is clearly too horny to think straight right now. She's got some crazy Dick Fog. You could tell her the moon was made of cheese right now and she'd ask what kind. (she likes Parmesan).

I will not have any more of this I-84 slander! And get this thirsty axe murderer a drink, will you?

No, baby. This is not your beloved Hot Dog Stand that nourished you with love and heavily salted meats throughout your childhood when your mother wouldn't.

Me, robotically: Milo Ventimiglia is a lifelong vegetarian.

This sounds so ominous. Does Jess eat his victims after he axes them? He couldn't look, sound and act like more like a murderer n this scene if he tried. Emily: I don't know how anyone can resist eating meat! Jess: It's why we have teeth. Stop it you two. You're scaring me. Emily (To Rory) This one eats anything! Jess (thinking) I wish that one was eating my meat right now. Emily remarks that Rory and Lorelai are a "medical marvel" because they are not bloated like whales for the amount of junk food they eat. Jess thinks back to his childhood opening his lunchbox at school to find his mom packed cigarette ash sandwiches.

Thank you, servant. Get that coat out of here. I am sad that if I quit writing I won't get to his Employee of the Month ceremony (definitely one of the greatest moments in the entire show)

His WalMart manager was the only person who ever truly believed in his potential.

Emily imagines that Walmarts are "Wonderful stores". She's never been inside a Walmart, but she owns stock in the company. Employees of The Mart frequently wish for the sweet embrace of death. If Emily Gilmore ever stepped foot in a Walmart, she would combust. Sooo many Poors.

At least you have a choice where you want to be buried. Shane was not so lucky.

Yes, I too am curious about when The Beakening happened.

He looks terrifying. Rory, you better end your line of questioning or you're going to end up at the bottom of the lake with Bloaty too. He's got a fork and he's not afraid to use it!

Rory of course accuses Jess of getting into a fight with Dean. I lost my bingo card when my old computer was fried a few weeks ago, but I'll symbolically mark off a Rory is Still Preoccupied With Dean square. Dean Dean Dean, blah blah blah.

Yep. Who died and made Dean King of Gilmore Girls. AmyShermanPalladino, I guess (she's not dead). Alright, this spat calls for a Play By Play. Rory refuses to believe Jess that his shiner didn't come from Dean. Jess accuses Rory of sabotaging his attempt to make a "Quasi positive" impression on her grandmother. Say QuasiPositive 3x fast! Jess is only here as a favor to Rory. He does not want to be here. He won this dinner in a badly executed trade for one of Rory's crappy used books and a tongueless peck on the lips that wasn't worth a nickel. Jess complains about raisins in the salad. Back at the pond, Shane complains that she misses being a human, but she would beak Jess again for a piece of his salad, including the raisins. Raisins are like swan crack. Rory asserts that since Jess didn't deny he was sucker punched by Dean in his "Whole speech" (of about 10 seconds) it must mean its true. Jess bemoans that everyone should leave him alone.

Wielding a sharp fork in his hand, Jess gives Rory a chilling homicidal glare. Emily returns to the table. Salty will continue this gripping dinner theater saga in the next chapter because she's almost out of room.

[irritants]

people online being shocked and appalled that the panthers went to meet with the president is reminding me of this

these are not your babygirls these are upper class majority white men with pack mentalities who get their noggins rattled so much their brains are baby shit soft and that doesn't even matter considering a large number of them did high school in hockey development programs or flat out just did not receive a high school education because their parents and coaches prioritized hockey. a high school education would not save them either mind you because they are at their core would-be frat boy freaks who are completely incapable of any form of critical or independent thought. Like i guarantee you 80% of the league (american or not) voted for or would have voted for donald if they were able to. ask an NHL player what a tariff is and he'll just start fucking drooling. sorry to burst your delusional bubble but why are some of us feeling like. buyer's remorse over getting into hockey in the last few years. are we dumb

like i joke about my parasocial bond with matthew tkachuk from time to time but he's just some fucking man. i view him as like a chewed up barbie doll i carry by the hair and leave in the sandbox why would i be looking to him as a beacon of morality have you fucking seen him. like yeah it sucks to see and i'm pissed off out of principle but who the hell would put actual faith in any of these guys sorry.

it's always great to see the small handful of players who do have functioning brains and empathy skills that surpass a toddler's speaking up where they can but like... what crazy pills are you guys taking. you know fanfiction isn't real right. all this isn't to say we shouldn't care that it happened either by all means you can and should make it expressly clear that it's shameful and disappointing to be shaking hands and giggling with the man who's burying the country and in turn the world but HOW are some of us shocked. putting that much faith into NHL players of all people goes beyond rose-tinted glasses and enters rose-tinted horse blinders territory. anyways if you want to watch professional athletes who are actually intelligent and charismatic instead of blank slates to project onto and write RPF about then get into the NBA they tend to actually have backbones and personalities there 👍

[kiemiu]

pda w/ boyfriend chris | ( gender neutral!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship headcanons wc 518 (library) + (request)

boyfriend!chris who wipes crumbs from the side of your mouth. "you're so messy, baby." he'd murmur with a teasing tone. but nothing could displace the fond look in his eyes as he gently brushed away the layer of salt that gathered on the corner of your mouth.

boyfriend!chris who shields your eyes from the sun if you forget your sunglasses. "can't have you goin' blind, now can we? how will you look at your handsome boyfriend?"

boyfriend!chris who keeps a hand on your lower back when you're walking together. he likes the feeling of keeping you close, and letting the whole world know that you're his. more often than not his hand will drift down to squeeze your butt when you least expect it.

boyfriend!chris who sits next you on dates. he can't stand being farther than an arms length from you. and even if he can reach over the table and hold your hand, nothing compares to the warmth you radiate.

boyfriend!chris who enjoys feeding you more than eating himself. he'll cut up your food and separate the sides of the dish so they're not touching and get mixed in together. "say 'aah' baby." he'd softly say, his mouth staying slightly agape until you clamp down on the fork.

boyfriend!chris who wraps an arm around your legs when he's sitting and you're standing. he'll lean his head against your hips, his thumb gently rubbing circles into the skin of your thigh while you run your fingers through his hair. "mm, feels s'good baby." his words slurred as he basks in your affection.

boyfriend!chris who rubs his face against your neck. when he's feeling more clingy than usual, he'll rub his face on your neck as if he was a kitty. always smiling when you'd burst into soft laughter from being tickled by his stubble.

boyfriend!chris who holds all of your bags when you go shopping together. he groans and complains about his arms hurting and how he wants to go home while also refusing to go wait in the car or even let you leave his direct line of sight.

boyfriend!chris who likes to give you back hugs. he'll gently rock you side to side while the both of you stand away from the line in front of the cash register, patiently waiting to pick up your order. he'll dip his head down next to your ear and softly ask "y'okay?" after you've been standing for awhile, and give you a gentle squeeze when you nod in confirmation.

boyfriend!chris who gives you piggyback rides. even though chris adores the way you look in heels, he prefers you to be comfortable more than anything. so, when you complain about your aching feet, chris is quick to remove your shoes and offer his back to carry you on. always laughing like a maniac when you yell at him for running or when he acts like he'll drop you.

boyfriend!chris who loves you so much, he doesn't care about making other people uncomfortable when it comes to his affection.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @madifilipowiczslvt

[kunasthiast]

family jewels

the thing about you and sukuna was that you were the most annoying kind of married couple.

hot. loaded. and completely, delusionally obsessed with each other (to the point that it gets most people who see you outside annoyed at your PDAs). 

which is why it was absolutely no surprise that when you decided to throw a party to celebrate closing another billion-dollar deal… you were also the LAST ones to show up to your own party at the fucking club.

you two were forty minutes late.

forty. fucking. minutes.

it was enough time for your friends to empty two champagne bottles, start several arguments, and contemplate abandoning you entirely.

“they're late,” geto said, deadpan, flicking his lighter open and closed in a steady rhythm, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

“they’re always late,” choso sighed, swirling his whiskey like a man who had seen too much. 

“they’re probably fucking in the car right now,” shoko said, already halfway through her third drink. 

meimei, perfectly composed as always, took a long sip of her champagne. “or in the alley. they’re not picky.”

“if they don’t show up in ten minutes, i’m eating their cake,” yuki announced, already reaching across the table. 

the VIP lounge you reserved wasn’t tucked away upstairs or anything fancy. no — you specifically picked the main floor, where everyone could watch you be the beautiful, arrogant bastards you were.

plush velvet couches.

towering flower arrangements.

the bartender assigned exclusively to your table wore a $500 shirt and a grim expression.

because when rich, hot stupid motherfuckers drank — they drank like they were personally challenging god. gojo’s words, not yours, ‘kay?

“you think they got distracted by shiny objects,” gojo said, pushing up his sunglasses. “they're like fucking toddlers. with a joint checking account.”

toji just grunted and leaned back in the booth, looking like he regretted agreeing to socialize with these idiots. the whole group practically vibrated with boredom and thinly veiled resentment. 

and just as yuki was lifting her fork — the club doors slammed open. 

and in you walked — a vision in skin-tight black and gold, all legs and smugness, absolutely glowing under the strobing lights. there you were. walking in like you OWNED THE BUILDING.

sukuna was behind you, one hand lazily on your lower back, looking criminally hot in an open-collar shirt and a black jacket he wore like he didn’t give a single fuck.

you were laughing at something he said, adjusting your necklace, looking unfairly hot, and just… honestly, you both had the radiance of people who had just had incredible sex. and knew it.

shoko groaned into her glass. “disgusting,” she muttered.

"i can smell the sex from here," toji said bluntly, nose wrinkling. 

“they’re fucking glowing,” yuki said, shielding her eyes dramatically.

“puh-lease for the love of god, make it stop,” gojo said, voice scandalized. “that’s post-nut clarity.” 

you practically skipped into the booth, tossing your purse onto the table and sliding into the seat beside meimei like you hadn't just made them all wait almost an hour. 

“hi besties!!” you chirped, grinning like a maniac.   

“we said ten,” geto said, voice clipped.

“ten-ish,” you said brightly, throwing up finger guns at him.

“what the fuck is ten-ish,” choso muttered, half-tempted to throw his drink at you. 

“fashionably late,” sukuna chimed in smugly, sliding into the booth beside you and throwing his arm over the back of your seat like he was posing for a magazine cover. “you're welcome for gracing you with our presence.” 

“40 minutes late for a goddamn billion-dollar celebration to a club you’re only 8 fucking minutes away from and you’re both too smug about it," gojo said, visibly offended. “someone punch them.”

“surprised you even showed up” sukuna replied to gojo, who miraculously took off his damn sunglasses inside the club. 

gojo laughed, flipping his sunglasses down lower on his nose. “i don't abandon my friends,” he said, flashing a grin. “even if they're late, horny, and morally bankrupt.”

“thanks, darling,” you said sweetly, blowing him a kiss.

gojo caught it midair and dramatically pretended to shove it down his pants. “gonna save that for later.” he said with a wink. 

“can i throw up now,” toji muttered, nursing his whiskey.

“only if you aim it at gojo,” meimei said dryly, clinking her glass against yours.

you and sukuna settled in as if you hadn't just made everyone’s blood boil — kicking your legs up onto the plush seats, stealing yuki’s drink without asking, and laughing like this is your last day on earth. 

“so why are we actually here,” toji asked, clearly so done with the night, tipping his head back against the booth.

you sat up straighter, practically glowing with excitement.

“because,” you said, dramatically flipping your hair. “we closed a billion-dollar deal, signed the paperwork, and immediately celebrated by fucking on the kitchen counter.”

choso made a noise like he was dying, “jesus christ.”

“also drank a whole bottle of dom p,” sukuna added proudly, lifting his glass in salute.

“then fucked again,” you said cheerfully as if this was the most normal convo you have with your friends.

“then passed out naked on the living room floor,” sukuna said, like he was giving a TED Talk on life excellence.

meimei only nodded, approving and unbothered — she understood the grind. shoko started chanting "divorce, divorce, divorce" under her breath like a curse.

“ew,” geto muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. gojo howled, sloshing the champagne bottle he was drinking from everywhere.

“and because we’re very generous people,” you continued sweetly, resting your chin on your hand, “we decided to share our joy and wealth by hosting a little party for our beloved friends.”

“you could’ve just venmoed me,” yuki deadpanned.

“gojo still owes me five grand,” geto said, side-eyeing him.

“gojo owes me a liver,” shoko added.

“you people are fucked,” sukuna said fondly, taking a lazy sip of his whiskey, as though he didn’t just contribute to the stupidity and fuckery of society.

“we learned from the best,” toji said, sipping his drink like he was the moral compass of the group. (no one is.)  

you and sukuna accepted the compliment gracefully, grinning like heathens.

—

after several rounds of drinks, a round of flaming shots, a group selfie where everyone looked hot and insane, and gojo almost arm-wrestling toji for the last fucking slider, the inevitable happened. the girls wanted to dance. 

“let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” shoko whooped, already yanking you out of your seat.

“leave the fossils here,” meimei said, flicking sukuna’s ear as she passed.

“hey!” sukuna barked, swatting at her.

“catch me first, grandpa,” she sang over her shoulder.

“i’m killing her later,” sukuna muttered under his breath, nursing his drink.

you giggled, leaning down to kiss his lips. “be good, baby,” you whispered in his ear, sliding into his lap with a level of sweetness only you could pull off.

he caught your chin gently, tilting your face up until you were staring into that lazy, molten gaze.

"i’ll be watching, sweetheart," he promised, voice low and dangerous.

you almost melted but shoko was having none of it. she yanked you away like the world was on fire and your ass was the hydrant.

—

the dance floor was a nightmare in the best way (or not). a sea of heat and bodies, music thundering so loud you could feel it in your teeth. you and the girls lost yourselves in it — hair whipping, hands thrown up, laughing so hard you thought you might dislocate something.

meanwhile, from the booth, the boys watched you girls like an ancient greek chorus of judgmental old men who had seen far too much in their lifetimes.

“gojo’s recording again,” geto noted, eyes narrowing at the screen like it was some kind of horrible documentary..

“obvs, for blackmail purposes,” gojo chimed in with his stupid grin, filming you for some future hostage situation.

“you know sukuna’s gonna murder someone if someone looks at her wrong, right?” toji added, the corner of his mouth curling.

“good,” sukuna drawled, lighting a cigarette lazily. “saves me the trouble.”

but then. oh boy. holy shit. the universe really decided to put on a show. so now here they are as they all watched this current situation you’re in unfold like a goddamn movie.

you were twirling mid-spin, lost in the music when a presence loomed too fucking close. you stumbled, catching yourself — and then there he was. some frat boy in a very tight compression shirt and leather jacket, grinning (or was he smirking??) like he was the stupidest human alive.

“hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning way too close. “mind if I buy you a drink?”

you blinked at him, momentarily stunned.

“uh,” you said eloquently.

before anyone could even get a word out, shoko immediately stepped in, body tense. yuki shot the frat boy a look, already calculating his odds of survival, while meimei simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

from the booth, gojo couldn’t hold it in anymore. “holy shit,” he cackled, loud enough to make everyone of the guys in the booth question why they’re even friends with this idiot. “is that kid hitting on your wife?!” he nearly choked on his drink, and you could hear the evil grin on his face even through the loud music.

“kid’s got a death wish,” geto added, deadpan, as he took a sip of his drink.

sukuna just... stared. amused, maybe. a little deadly.

and because you were inexplicably tipsy and feeling spiteful as hell, you decided to indulge the idiot. 

“i’m married,” you said brightly, like this wasn’t the most obvious thing to say. you even held your left hand out, showing off the wedding ring.

the kid didn’t even blink. didn’t even pause.

“yeah? that just makes you hotter.” he grinned. 

you gawked at him like he was a bug under a magnifying glass and said, “i’m thirty-three.”

he didn’t skip a beat. “even better. i like older women,” he said with an obnoxious smirk, clearly thinking this was the best pickup line in human history. “i’m twenty-one.”

you choked on your laugh, the absurdity hitting you like a slap to the face. meimei couldn’t hold it in either. she bursted out laughing, clutching her sides. shoko dropped her whole tense body and started snorting like an animal.

“oh my god,” you gasped, clutching your chest dramatically.

“nah, for real,” he said, all smug with his unearned confidence and flashing you a crooked grin. "age is just a number, right? you’re hot as fuck. i bet you could teach me a few things.you even look like a milf, sweetheart.”

“kid, you’re still learning how to legally drink,” you muttered, giving him your best deadpan. “don't you have bedtime?”

he just grinned, all cocky. “already graduated, actually. and i'm single.”

before you could figure out how to escape this kid – or an even better line to shut this idiot down – two hands slid firmly around your waist. chin on your right shoulder. yep, there he was, the 6 foot 5 man who was practically crawling up on your back to make this infuriating little frat boy disappear. 

familiar. possessive. and you can definitely hear gojo’s fucking laugh even through the loud ass music.

“congratu-fucking-lations, kid,” sukuna’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, smooth  and lethal. he leaned in, voice low to whisper against your ear, “s’there a problem here, baby?”

you practically melted against him, relief and smugness washing over you in equal measure. now, this is the golden ticket to freedom.

the frat boy had the audacity to stare sukuna down. “who the fuck are you? take your hands off her.” 

sukuna just raised a single, judgmental brow at this stupid college boy who had ego as high as an ant hill. 

and of course, your friends were too busy losing their shit, watching this trainwreck unfold like spectators at a live reality show. even toji, who was usually too cool for this nonsense, was straight-up laughing. and gojo was still recording all of this shit while laughing too loud. swear, his asthma might attack him anytime because his laugh is now borderline violent.

“look, just piss off, baby boy,” you grinned like a devil as you crossed your arms with sukuna still hugging you from behind.

and he did NOT appreciate that.  

“tch, you’re not even that hot, old bitch.”

oh. oh. this kid’s so dead. nobody’s fucking safe when someone tries to pick a fight with you.

sukuna released his grip just enough for you to stretch out like you were preparing for a fight, cracking your knuckles like you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“you don’t even go that route, kid,” you said casually, stepping forward. and then you fucking slapped him across the face and kneed him so hard in the balls that everyone could’ve heard it. 

the frat boy crumpled in on himself down to the floor, gasping for air as his hands went straight to his groin. his face contorted in pain, and for a split second, every person in your vicinity was watching this ridiculous scene.

“hope your jewels can still be passed down to the next generation, sweetie,” you added with a sweet smile, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

and then everything – more like everyone – erupted into chaos.

gojo, still holding his phone, burst into uncontrollable laughter. "holy shit, i’m definitely saving that one for later," he snickered, barely holding it together. "this is gold.”  

shoko clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, while yuki simply shook her head, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered amusement. meimei was fucking clapping like she just watched an opera.  

toji smirked, raising his glass as if in salute. "that's what you get for trying to hit on a woman who's been married to a literal demon.”

choso, ever the quiet one, sipped his drink, watching the scene unfold like it was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. while geto was quietly smoking his joint (you don’t even know where he got that from).

and sukuna? he just stood there, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face, though he didn’t say anything at first. the corners of his lips quirked up, just enough for anyone who knew him to catch it — he was fucking entertained. his eyes lingered on the frat boy, crumpled in a heap, hands clutching his junk like he just met the wrong person. 

“you’re a goddamn menace,” sukuna drawled to the boy on the floor, voice low and silky, though there was something dangerous dancing beneath it. 

his gaze shifted back to you, and the way his lips curled could’ve been mistaken for a grin if you weren’t paying attention to the warning in his eyes. “baby, you could’ve just let the kid walk away, but nah. had to go full savage on him.” 

you smirked, crossing your arms as you leaned against him. "what, you don't like me owning the night?” 

his grin deepened, though there was a possessiveness behind it that made your heart skip. "you think i'm bothered by it? sweetheart, i love it when you make a show of your chaos. just means i get to clean it up." his hand slid lower around your waist, tugging you closer.

the frat boy whimpered at his feet, and you tilted your head with mock sympathy. “you really thought you had a chance, huh? i’m married to a fucking demon, sweetie.” 

sukuna’s eyes flashed darkly, his voice cold and lethal. “you should’ve known better than to fuck with her. now you’re lucky if you can walk outta here without me breaking your legs.”

gojo’s laugh could be heard across the floor, loud and obnoxious. “yo, i gotta save this for future blackmail,” he cackled, still recording with that goddamn grin plastered on his face.

the rest of your crew was losing it too. shoko snorted, clutching her stomach, yuki barely able to breathe between fits of laughter. meimei shot you a wink, clearly loving the spectacle.

"you really are a milf," yuki teased, eyes twinkling like she was seeing the real power you wielded.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin creeping up. “yeah, i’m a milf,” you said, leaning back into sukuna’s embrace. “deal with it.”

sukuna, still holding you close, watched the wreckage unfold and let out a soft, dark chuckle. "the things i let you get away with," he muttered, as the frat boy finally dragged himself away, still groaning.

you were high on the chaos, on the way your demon didn’t even need to lift a finger. "you love it," you said with a knowing grin.

he looked at you and whispered against your ear, “you bet your ass i do, baby.”

—

a/n: lol this was actually just supposed to be a short drabble 😭😂 but took me almost 3k words aaarrgh aodjidjsk and this was based on a tiktok i saw 😭😭😭

[gremlingottoosilly]

Kidnapper!konig with reader watching a documenter about her own mysterious disappearance or "death" on netlfix

Konig allows you to use the microwave to make popcorn without being watched over - it's progress. Usually, when you are allowed in the kitchen(mostly when he really falls into the domestic fantasy and wants you to play housewife, he would always watch you, never letting you as much as to pick up a fork without his knowledge. You understand the sentiment - you're still kidnapped, Stockholm syndrome be damned - and he doesn't trust you yet. Still, the action of making popcorn all on your own is a small victory of your independence. You like it. He prepares the couch for your weekly movie night - it's weird to have your kidnapper be so nice to you, but you already know that the guy craves routine. He needs you to be his girlfriend while also kinda being his mommy and a sex toy and housewife all at the same time - so, you have movie nights, crazy sex where you can punch him in the face and moan as he rearranges your organs, and occasional cookouts where you have to make him dinner that could probably feed at least 10 people. You curl down next to him, allowing the guy who kidnapped and broke your legs to hug you. He still smells like blood - probably one of his less fortunate victims, always screaming down in the basement and messing up with your sleep. You tried to tell yourself that it's not your fault you were the one to gain his affection, that it's not like you wanted to be the favorite plaything of a maniac, but it's futile. You're the one who is getting fed nice foods, sleeps in the same bed as him, and gets his tongue buried in your cunt like it's the last meal he ever got. You hate yourself for caving to his whims so easily, but he drops his hand over your shoulder and passes some of the really good snacks that you like so much. You throw him a quick thanks as he turns on the TV.

You thought they wouldn't do a documentary about your mysterious disappearance so soon - you thought it wasn't even a year since Konig took you in, but, apparently, it was. Time is weird when he threw away all the clocks in the house and didn't let you out of the bedroom until last month. You watch the documentary, wondering if it's a weird loyalty test. If he thinks you're going to be angry at him for showing you this. It's been so long since you were free that you don't even remember what freedom tastes like. Konig passes you the popcorn as you snuggle and watch all the possible causes of your mysterious death. You feel a hand grasping your thigh, playing with the soft flesh and slowly creeping to your pussy - you're not allowed any underwear under the shirt he gave you. You just stare at the TV screen, allowing him to use your pussy as an antistress toy. Journalists don't even get a single point right.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑫𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔/𝑶.𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒍𝒆

She’s so precious I just want to squish her. Mentions of weight. Not in a bad way though.

Ona sat at the kitchen table, arms crossed tightly over her chest, glaring at the plate of food in front of you like it had personally offended her. You were oblivious, humming to yourself as you took another bite, sighing in exaggerated satisfaction. “Oh my god, this is so good.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “You are evil.”

You looked up, feigning innocence. “Me? What did I do?”

Ona narrowed her eyes. “You know.”

You bit back a smile, twirling your fork through the pasta, the creamy sauce clinging to the noodles. “I really don’t.”

Ona groaned, tilting her head back. “You cook every day. And every day, you make something delicious. And every day, I have to say no.”

“You don’t have to say no.” You retort.

Her head snapped back down, eyes widening in betrayal. “Sí, lo hago!”

You shrugged, taking another bite. “Not really. It’s just a few extra carbs.”

Ona muttered something under her breath, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“That you can eat whatever you want!”

You smiled, nudging the plate slightly toward her. “You can eat whatever you want too.”

Ona scoffed. “No, I can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Says my diet plan.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your diet plan is ridiculous.”

She gasped dramatically, hand over her chest. “It is not ridiculous. It is for my job.”

“And my job is to make you suffer by cooking really good food.”

Ona groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “You are actually trying to kill me.”

You laughed, reaching out to tap her wrist. “Just one bite, baby. You know you want to.”

She peeked at you through her fingers, lips pressed together.

You wiggled the fork toward her. “Come on, just a little one.”

Ona’s eyes darted between the fork and your face, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to refuse. But then, with a defeated sigh, she leaned forward, allowing you to feed her the small forkful.

Her groan of pleasure was immediate. “Ugh, mierda.”

You grinned. “Good, right?”

She chewed slowly, eyes closed. “So good.”

You leaned back, smug. “Told you.”

Ona swallowed, shaking her head. “This is why I gained three pounds.”

You burst out laughing. “Baby, it’s three pounds. No one even noticed.”

“I noticed!”

You scoffed. “Because you weigh yourself like a maniac.”

Ona groaned, flopping back in her chair. “I have to be disciplined.”

You tilted your head. “But are you happy?”

She hesitated, then sighed dramatically. “No.” She grumbled petulantly.

You smirked, nudging the plate even closer. “Then eat.”

Ona stared at the plate. Then at you. Then back at the plate. With a defeated sigh, she grabbed the fork from your hand.

“Solo un poco más,” she mumbled.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead)

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

He had tried to push through, really, he had, but the journey back to the Faerie Kingdom alone is long, let alone Crisipia. It didn't take long for the children to notice his sluggishness, and they insisted they find somewhere for Pure Vanilla to get some well-earned rest before they continue.

He can't be surprised by his exhaustion. Time in the Spire was a strange, nebulous thing, but however long he'd been there, he hadn't had any chance to rest, and he hadn't rested for a good while prior to setting foot in the Spire either. And all that wasn't even considering the exertion that his spar with Shadow Milk had required.

Pure Vanilla winces slightly, a bare twinge of guilt that he brushes past by turning his head against the pillow. They had found an abandoned old cottage, half buried under encroaching plants but fairly untouched inside. Pure Vanilla had helped dust the place off before Gingerbrave put his foot down and banished him to the bedroom. He can hear the children bickering amongst themselves through the wall now, and warmth sweeps through him along with that stubborn little flicker of guilt.

He's meant to be the adult here, but here they are, fussing over him. He's also meant to be sleeping right now, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries. Pure Vanilla's whole body aches like a fresh bruise, something deeper than exhaustion, and the mattress is uncomfortably hard beneath him.

It almost makes him miss his room in the Spire, which is a silly thought, because he barely spent any time in it. He was only able to sit down on the bed for a few moments before the children came knocking, but that had been enough for him to notice how the mattress was as soft as marshmallow, inviting him to sink into in like he sunk into the Yogurt River. He imagines it would be a balm for his pains now.

Even in his listless haze, he remembers being surprised by the effort put into the construction of that room. The care taken to replicate his bedroom in the Vanilla Kingdom, like a reflection of nostalgic comfort. It was thoughtful. Shadow Milk was thoughtful.

Pure Vanilla's thoughts have been full of Shadow Milk, too. They always circle back to him, fragmented into different, clashing tones. There's the horror, the anger, the maniacal cackling, the snarled threats, the barbed jeers, the glint of bared fangs and forked tongue, the children struggling in his grasp, the distress, the despair, the sensation of falling from the top of the Spire for forever and for a second, down, down, down, down.

But- but there's also always, eventually, the snatches of something past the veil of dark and malice. The room, the almost patient way he taught him about the cards, his half-lidded eyes over the game boards, the genuine joy that overflowed out of him, bubbling up like he couldn't contain it. The warmth as Shadow Milk had cupped his face between his palms, noticeably careful with his claws against his cold cheeks. The warmth as he repeated again in a softer hiss, almost a reverent whisper, "Now, you are mine," before pressing their foreheads and Soul Jams together.

The frustration always tumbles into fondness, and the fondness always leaks into the frustration. At this point, Pure Vanilla is certain the merging of the two is creating a new emotion entirely, but he isn't sure what it is, even though he's become quite the expert in merging.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

The guilt hasn't quite subsided yet. In fact, it only continues to curl gently in the pit of his stomach, switching targets with every shift in topic his thoughts take. He thinks, maybe, he should have tried a little harder to stop Shadow Milk when he made his escape from the Spire, or said something slightly different. Perhaps, if he had, Shadow Milk would believe that his kindness was backed by determination, that the offer of friendship wasn't simply a whim of the moment.

But there is nothing to be done about it now. The past is the past, Pure Vanilla is far too familiar with that fact, and no Cookie can live without making a few mistakes. All he can do is accept it, let it breathe and move forward.

Pure Vanilla exhales, laying a hand on his Soul Jam. It pulses faintly beneath his fingers, and the familiar hum grounds him as he focuses his attention elsewhere, away from the hard mattress and the little cottage and the children's muffled chattering. He splits his consciousness in two, peeling away from reality as he wraps himself in his other-realm.

It's a new development, but wielding it is as easy as breathing, like an extension of himself. The bright white that greets him might be blinding to most, but to him, it is welcoming and soothing. Slowly, he blinks dozens of golden eyes open, bracing for some disorientation but pleasantly surprised when there is none.

Instinctively, Pure Vanilla searches for Shadow Milk within the space, because up until now, he has only used it in his presence. Even though he knows better than to really expect it, he is still slightly disappointed when all he sees is white and gold, unrolling smoothly and peacefully outward.

Somewhere in the distant nowhere, and in the immediate everywhere, Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Still, he stretches himself thin across the other-realm, the sensation of his dubious tangibility strange and perfectly natural. He nudges against the wobbly, not quite real edges of the space, feeling along the fuzzy lines in an attempt to find Shadow Milk's other-realm.

He knows the two are connected, because he was only able to discover his other-realm through Shadow Milk's. Technically, it had been a single other-realm then, woven by their joint power, but the emotional fallout of the confrontation that followed had forcibly seperated them. There must still be a lingering connection, some way for him to reach him.

And yet, Pure Vanilla cannot find a single trace of that energy he knows so intimately now, dark and cool and slithering. There is no evidence of the other-realm's other half anywhere - Shadow Milk must have closed it off from him, antsy that he would try something like this. It makes it feel like Pure Vanilla really is alone here, drifting in the glittering waves.

Pure Vanilla wouldn't exactly say that he misses it, but there is a certain nostalgia when he thinks back on his memory of Shadow Milk's other-realm. The weightlessness, the relaxing chill, the suffocating pressure in the air, tightening around him, made to confine, made to protect. Shadow Milk had delighted in inviting him inside it, into something special for just the two of them. It seems the invitation has now been revoked.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla could try and push through to Shadow Milk's other-realm anyway. He has the ability to try, at least, with the power he has now unlocked, to pull at the stitches that keep Shadow Milk's other-realm sealed and see what happens.

Pure Vanilla doesn't. He decides to give Shadow Milk his space - it might have been for the best that he didn't try too hard to stop him back at the Spire, after all. He doubts Shadow Milk would have taken kindly to it then, and he probably wouldn't take kindly to it now, not yet.

Settled by the thought, Pure Vanilla closes a dozen golden eyes and blinks back into reality. The hard mattress and the little cottage and the muffled sound of shuffling through the wall. He wonders what the children are doing out there.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

This mattress isn't helping and neither is his inability to sleep, but he thinks very little would actually help. Despite his strengthened power, any attempt to heal himself with his light had done nothing, since the problem isn't physical. Exhaustion worsens the feeling, but it isn't the core of the issue either.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches, and he knows why.

Pure Vanilla has never felt like he was incomplete or lesser, but in the instant when he and Shadow Milk merged souls, he had suddenly felt like More. More than himself. Like something he hadn't even known was missing slotted into place, bringing sweet relief.

For the first few moments, it had been nothing but an overwhelming bliss, his cunning plan stuttering away with his thoughts under the tide of rightness. Shadow Milk's dark and cool and slithering energy intertwined with his, spilling into each other, trading components like they were old friends that couldn't share everything that had happened since they last saw each other fast enough. In a way, that was what the Soul Jam was. What they were.

It was in the middle of this dizzying exchange that Pure Vanilla had caught that tiny drop of longing buried deep within the twisted rush of the rest of Shadow Milk. It was familiar, so familiar that Pure Vanilla almost mistook it for his own, but no, it was far older than his. Far older than him. It was bitter and crystallised into a hard, jagged thing, warped by the malice of the rest of him.

He had immediately wanted to reach for it, pull it out from where it was lodged, but that was when they had parted, just enough to come back to their own bodies. Souls are abstract things rather than physical, so it wouldn't have worked anyway.

Their power was blended into one, buzzing as a near tangible connection between the two of them, and it was so, so warm. No, maybe not warm as it would be defined as temperature. It was...comfortable. The sensation of being embraced lingered even though Shadow Milk had pulled away, like their souls had remained moulded together despite their physical distance.

Until they hadn't. Until the connection snapped, leaving a ravenous ache behind.

Pure Vanilla isn't actually sure who it was that caused it. He hadn't been meaning to sever it entirely, because he still wanted to fish out that frozen loneliness, but he could have done it accidentally. Shadow Milk could have done it in the flare of his anger, ripping it apart with his growling teeth. Maybe they were both partially responsible, pulling at both ends until it broke. Whatever the case, it leaves him like this.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches.

Pure Vanilla is no stranger to loss, and so he is no stranger to longing. It has lived in his heart for most of his life, sneaking in one day as he watched White Lily's back grow smaller and smaller, unsure of what he could do to make her stay, unsure if he should do anything. It is a thing that mutates and grows with every loss he collects, sometimes lying dormant but inevitably rearing its head once more. He is used to the feeling of it, the tender ache that follows him.

This, though, is new and different, incomparable to anything else. It is not a longing of the heart. It is a longing of the soul, engulfing his heart and his head and his body along with it. It is almost unbearable, an absence felt so strongly it is like half of him is gone. Half of him is gone.

Half of him is gone.

It had been fine when Pure Vanilla hadn't known any differently, but now that he has experienced being More, that missing piece is stark and unavoidably painful. And Shadow Milk has been carrying this burden for far, far longer than he has, for thousands and thousands of years. From the moment his Soul Jam was broken down by the Witches.

It's no wonder he's so resentful. Pure Vanilla has barely nursed this ache for a few hours, at most, and it is already agonising. He cannot imagine nursing it for what seems like a stagnant eternity, with no hope of alleviating it.

No, Pure Vanilla would never have been driven by this ache to do the things Shadow Milk has done, but he can sympathise with it. He can understand it.

Of course he can. He's the only one who can, because now it is not only Shadow Milk's ache. It is theirs. It has always been theirs, even when Pure Vanilla was unaware of it.

Pure Vanilla sighs shakily, fingers idly tracing the smooth surface of his Soul Jam. Its pulsing rhythm syncs with his careful breaths. He shifts, grasping it and gently pressing it closer to his chest, as if that could somehow help alleviate the ache.

It doesn't. He knows what would, he knows who would, but he isn't here.

It's alright though, he tells himself. They will see each other again soon. Shadow Milk promised it, and even if he hadn't, they would have been drawn back together eventually. This feeling is proof of that.

And when they finally meet again, Pure Vanilla can reach out for him again, and keep reaching out until Shadow Milk believes him when he says he understands. Until Shadow Milk sees his sincerity. Until Shadow Milk takes his hand.

Then, and only then, they can become More again. Not a Beast of Deceit. Not an Ancient Hero of Truth. Just the two of them, together, a fragmented Soul Jam of Knowledge made whole.

Pure Vanilla's whole body is warm, chest bubbly like soda.

He knows it won't be easy. Shadow Milk is lonely, but he is also not good, not as he is now. He is prideful, arrogant, controlling, sadistic and cruel. Pure Vanilla knows all that first hand. Friendship will not fix everything, but it is a good starting point.

Besides, he feels like he owes it to Shadow Milk to try. Or, rather, he owes it to himself.

His desire to befriend Shadow Milk is mostly out of kindness and partly out of selfishness, he is self-aware enough to admit that. In doing this, he is proving a point against Shadow Milk's cynical philosophy, and he is ridding himself of this soul-deep feeling. As long as he can convince Shadow Milk to give him a chance, to stay, then neither of them will ever have to feel this way again.

Pure Vanilla's whole body aches with warmth.

He is pulled from his drifting thoughts by shouting in the other room, followed by an audible squeak and a loud crash. Pure Vanilla sits up in the bed in alarm, already leaning over to the cabinet to reach for his staff, even though he was supposed to be asleep. If he was, that certainly would have woken him, anyway.

"What was that crash?" He calls, concern thick on his tongue. "Gingerbrave? Wizard? Strawberry?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Gingerbrave replies, with a yelp to his voice that makes his words very unconvincing. There's a scuffle in the next room, before loud footsteps hurry over to the bedroom and the door opens, Gingerbrave standing in the opening. His grin is sheepish. "We were just trying to get a book from the top of the bookshelf, but we were all too short."

"I could have gotten it with a spell, if you'd given me any time at all to think before you tried to lift me on your shoulders, you brute!" Wizard berates him, marching up from behind to wack him on the head with his Candy Wand. Little sparks of lightning buzz out, and Gingerbrave yelps again at the harmless shock, turning around with a petulant frown.

Before the two can inevitably start arguing, Strawberry pops up between them, fidding with her sleeves as she looks at Pure Vanilla with worried eyes. "Um, we didn't wake you, did we?"

Gingerbrave jolts up at that, whipping back around to face Pure Vanilla with a guilty look. "Ah, shoot, that's right! Sorry, Pure Vanilla, we didn't mean to be so loud."

"We wouldn't have been so loud if you hadn't acted stupidly." Wizard grumbles at him, but the way his shoulders hunch give away the fact that he feels bad about it too. Gingerbrave spares him a pout, and Pure Vanila chuckles, endeared by his children as always.

"No, no, there's nothing to apologise for." He reassures them. "I was just waking up, anyway."

A simple little white lie, just to keep them from unnecessary worrying. Another gentle chuckle, quieter, swept away by his breath – Shadow Milk should be proud of him.

The children, at least, instantly ease. Pure Vanilla continues, shifting to get out of bed, staff in hand. "How about you three take a turn of the bed and have a nap? You haven't had a good opportunity to rest either."

The children blink at him, exchanging some silent glances as if communicating telepathically. Eventually, Wizard pipes up, "Well, it would be nice, but are you sure, Pure Vanilla? You haven't been asleep for all that long."

"Yeah, do you feel any better now?" Gingerbrave tacks on, placing his hands on his hips, trying to put on a stern face.

Pure Vanilla smiles, fondness filling him once more at their blatant care for him as he softly replies, "I do, I promise."

For every lie there is a truth, like how a coin has a heads and a tails. So Pure Vanilla means it when he says that, flipping the coin of his white lie to a sincere truth.

He does feel better.

Pure Vanilla's whole body still aches, but it has lessened slightly at the reminder of their inevitable next encounter and the opportunities that come with it, almost as if relieved.

[dia-souls]

Diabolik Lovers Dark and Horrific Facts (Based on HDB and MB Games and CDs) part1/part2

(⚠️ Violence, humiliation, torture, rape,... ⚠️)

Shu threatened to blind Yui with a dart and humiliated Yui in front of his brothers. (HDB dark.08)

When Yui tried to convince Shu to go home faster because it was raining, Shu pushed her to the ground and stepped on Yui's fingers, breaking them. (Do-S Kyuuketsu Vol.6)

Shu gave Yui a knife and asked her to cut her neck so that Shu could drink blood more easily. And Shu squeezed Yui's neck to the point of suffocation to suck more blood. (Do-S Kyuuketsu Vol.6)

When Reiji saw Yui reading his experiment notes, he tried to strangle her to death. (HDB Maniac.07)

Reiji imprisoned Yui in the dungeon and chained her hands and punished her with a whip because he saw her talking to Shu. (HDB Dark.07)

Reiji forced Yui to drink a tea that was poisonous to his potion and used her as his test subject. (Do-S Kyuuketsu Vol.5)

Ayato used Yui's face as a target for playing dart and threatened her. (HDB Dark.07)

Ayato threw Yui into the lake and tried to drown her, even though Yui did not know how to swim. (HDB Maniac.03)

Contrary to the belief of some who think that Ayato has never beaten Yui, he slapped Yui hard right at the end of the CD to keep her awake and suck more blood from her. (Do-S Kyuuketsu CD Vol.1)

Kanato stabbed Yui with a fork and injured her body. (HDB Dark.01)

Cordelia and Richter had sex in front of Kanato when he was a child. (HDB Maniac.prologue)

Kanato threatened Yui that if she doesn't find Teddy, he will rip her to shreds. (HDB Maniac.01)

Laito grabbed Yui by the neck and squeezed her neck tightly, trying to suffocate her. (HDB Drak.07)

When Yui resisted Laito, Laito took her into the bathroom and held her head under water. (Do-S Kyuuketsu CD Vol.4)

Laito turned some of the previous brides into his familiars and told them to attack Yui, then after that he killed them all himself. (HDB Manservant.end)

Subaru took Yui to the bathroom and tore off all her clothes and tried to rape her. (Do-S Kyuuketsu CD Vol.2)

Subaru took Yui to the torture chamber and forced her to choose how to punish her. When Yui didn't, Subaru chained her hands and left her there alone. (HDB Maniac.02)

All the brothers threatened Yui to suck her blood until she dries up.

[bahrtofane]

about time

things have always been easy with trent, attached to the hip since you could remember. your other half, his biggest supporter. things were bound to turn romantic no? everyone was rooting for it, secretly you always were too. 

your first date as a couple goes more or less how you planned, awkward and full of teasing. 

word count : 3.1K+

watch it : mild jealousy, cuties, fluff fluff, kinda domestic near the end?

—--

“eat your food." 

you squint, "what the hell else am i doing, you eat your food."

he scoffs, "im literally half way done with my plate."

"it's literally not even a proper portion of course you're almost done." you point at his tiny little section of steak on about a tablespoon of mash potatoes. 

he waves you off and makes a comment about the "liberty of a kitchen."

you ignore this and take another bite of whatever the hell you ordered. you don't remember. you were too busy trying not to focus too much on the man in front of you.  the all black outfit is insanity, you know he only went for it because you told him ages ago all black looks the best on him. and now here you are. suffering

you just nodded to whatever the waitress was saying. though she could have done with less ogglying at your date. your trent. 

you take pride in knowing your his go to, his best friend, his #1. you've been by his side longer than you can remember being without. he's your other half in every sense. before the fame and money, lavish life and dwindling time. he's always been yours somehow. 

maybe you should've known at some point that feelings were bound to be brewing. 

everyone and their mother had told you. hell, even your own mother had told you so. but you waved them off. he's my friend, no trent is my best friend, ew no that would be so weird, i can't even stand hin on a good day, he's annoying, nope just friends. 

now look at you. seated across from each other, his sleeves rolled up while you eat in candle light. the dark blue drapery of the establishment makes this feel way more intimate than needed. and the chandeliers that hang over your head are enough to make you stare in wonder. 

his sharp features almost soften like this, tucked away in a far corner away from prodding eyes and unnecessary media attention. where it's only the two of you in your little bubble, and the soft live piano that travels from the main foye. you enjoy this, but mainly you enjoy him. 

you noticed he cleaned up his facial hair for this, it makes your heart melt. the silver jewelry that shines on his golden skin is a mirror of the silver that drapes across you. he told you to wear silver. the maniac. he planned this all the way down to the damn jewelry. 

(the both of you are matching in general, which makes you feel something closer to insanity, it gives you a thrill when people’s gazes wash over the two of you and they can so easily tell you are here together. for each other. the stares you got while walking in don't go unforgotten.)

he's the one who dragged you to this restaurant, one much more fancy that you care for. any establishment that calls for floor length dresses to eat is above you, but he insisted. even taking time to tell you how stunning you looked on the way here. your cheeks were on fire the whole time you tried to come up with a counter, failing miserably and just telling him he looked handsome too. 

what a gentleman, driving you here and keeping a hand on yours the whole time. you were sweating the whole time. this whole thing is new to you. but you try not to explode while you sit across from him, sipping on your water to avoid eye contact. 

trent pretends to suddenly be very interested in the silverware, but you don't miss the way his gaze still manages to shift over to you, landing somewhere between your eyes and lips.

you sigh loudly, your appetite disappearing while you push your plate in front of you. 

"do not even start." he warns, fork raised and pointed at you. 

"i didn't even do anything ! what's with you tonight. "

"could ask you the same thing," he mumbles between mouthfuls of his steak, "you're being, very weird."

"im on a dinner date with you how else do you want me to act."

he coughs awkwardly at this, "i don't know ! normally. you haven't made fun of my shoes yet. where's the old grouchy evil and conniving friend i know. you're too, " he waves his fork in the air trying to find the right word, "civil."

you snort, "that's a mouthful. i don't know this whole dynamic shift is taking a while to get used to, " you shrug.

"we need to stop saying i don't know so often." he sighs, rubbing his eyes aggressively. 

you choose to ignore that bit, "and i need to be civil in public or your adoring fans might have my head."

he rolls his eyes, "that's a stretch."

you wave him off with a hand, "you never know. crazy people do crazy things."

he looks at you fondly at this, giving you one of his signature smiles, you look away and change the subject as fast as you can think. you don't need weak knees in a high end establishment. 

"you know i would've been just fine with takeout and a movie." you mumble softly.

he gives you a soft look " i know, but i wanted to make it special. take you out somewhere nice for a change. we never do that."

"you're not going to let me pay are you?" you muse.

he gives you a look, "im offended you even brought that up. i hope you know you're never going to be paying for things ever again right."

"and i hope you know i'm going to fight you over it the whole way through."

he finds this amusing, "yeah yeah yeah shut up and eat your food, i think my socks are sliding off my foot."

"i don't want to hear about your sweaty foot while i eat trent, gross." you fake gag. 

"cry about it." he dead pans. 

you narrow your eyes at him, "i'm going to talk about the pimple i popped on my shoulder, in great detail. is that what you want?"

"ew gross hell no. no more socks or feet geez." he scoffs. 

you cackle, "problem solved then."

he rolls his eyes but goes back to eating anyway, cutting his steak with way too much force than necessary. 

you on the other hand have to play tug of war with the fabric of your dress in order to keep it where you want it. 

"you want to leave don't you?" he comments. 

"that obvious?" he nods, "yep," popping the p.

"i don't want it to seem like I'm ungrateful for the effort or anything, because i swear it's not like that. i'm happy to be with you regardless and yeah. we don't have to leave." you try to explain. 

as much as you enjoy spending time with him this isn't your scene. you're aching to go home, and so are you poor ankles. these heels can only be worn for so long and they are coming up on their expiration date for the night. maybe trent can help take them- no fuck. bad. bad bad. this is a dinner, you're at dinner be civil. 

trent seems to be none the wiser as his attention remains on you. 

"why would we stay if you don't want to ?" he looks at you confused, brows drawn together, arm propped up against the table while he waits for an explanation. 

"because you're the one who wanted to come here?" "so? if you wanna go home then we'll go home."

home. oh. he's starting to refer to his house as home. for the both of you. that does something to you, you're almost dizzy. god how can one person be so sweet. 

"we can finish up and head home? i really don't mind." you suggest. 

he hums at this, "alright then. we’re stopping by the chinese place you like so much, you didn't even eat. "

"to be fair, the portions are the size of my pinkie and i think they took too much creative liberty in the kitchen." you wrinkle your nose. 

he giggles, that shy little spurt of laughter, the one you love so much and always try to coax out of him, "i forget the flavors can be uh, adventurous with most of their dishes. "

you chuckle, "definitely adventurous."

he flags down the waitress from earlier who bats her eyelashes one too many times at him while you roll your eyes. he gives you a glare while he pays, before you can open your mouth. while you get up, dusting your dress down, he presses you flush to him, effectively shutting down any advances. you can't help but grin at the little act. even if your skin is on fire from the contact.

your lead out the back by one of the valets to avoid the busy main section and the endless cameras that wait for you from the front.

you step out to a colder night than you expected, rubbing your arms in a futile attempt to warm yourself up. the valet steps away to retrieve his car while you shiver harder than a skeleton animatronic in a halloween pop up store. 

trent notices, coming up behind you to wrap both arms around your waist, pulling you close. 

"cold?" he has the nerve to ask, flush against you and the damn dress that clings against your skin, his breath tickles your ear while you lick your lips nervously. his arms are much more muscular up close. the whole of him is, you can feel the efforts of his training as they hold you. good lord you're going to lose your mind. and the chest you're pressed up against? do not.

"a little." you whisper back, afraid to say much more.  

he hums, rubbing your arms for you, sending goosebumps all the way down your spine, and he has the audacity to chuckle at your reaction. 

"cars gonna be here soon."

you can only nod dumbly.

he unlatches when the car comes into view. thanking the man with a clap on shoulder, almost like an old friend, and a generous tip.

he opens the door for you, holding his arm out to help you balance, sweet of him. 

you duck inside while he says his last thanks and goodbyes to the valet, turning on the heat first thing when he gets inside. 

the drive is silent, not much to talk about after you confessed your love to each other just days before. 

you could almost laugh at the complete 180 from this week to the last. youre so so glad it ended up this way nonetheless. you don't think you could handle another second suffering in silence. 

how it all went down makes you cry in full honesty. it was an argument. over fucking instagram. you were bitching about the girls who are on his dick and he called you over protective and you defended yourself because duh. that somehow had spiraled into how he's insane, and then your relationship. and then you stormed out, don't ask, you don't remember. 

he tracked you down at your place with flowers as an apology and you just lost it, because what kind of friend gets flowers and calls in just platonic?

lucky for the both of you it wasnt platonic, not to him, not to you. 

he confessed first, that you were more important to him than any of the women he follows combined and so much more. you're his everything can't you see that? he loves you, in every sense. he hates seeing you upset so please, don't cry. 

you kissed him, slow and hesitant while he broke out in giggles. 

"does that mean what i think it does ?" he had whispered against your lips. 

you nodded, shy and tender. 

"i need to hear it. please, say it." breathless, at the cusp of losing his grip on everything. 

"i love you trent, more than i think i can explain. you are my other half yeah? my everything."

and so here you are, watching the shapes of the city breeze past you as the gps guides you to your beloved chinese take out. you can almost taste the noodles you're so ready for it you're starving. 

a hand rests on your thigh, softly tracing shapes the rest of the way there and you hide a smile. you don't think you'll ever get used to any of this new found affection. things you once only day dreamed of having now right in front of you.

you're drowsy by the time you pull into the familiar parking lot. you giggle at just how ridiculous the two of you look. stepping out of a probably hundred thousand dollar car, if not more. dressed like you're going to the ballon d'or. all while walking into a quiet little family own take out spot. 

trent takes your hand again, while you fight to bunch up your dress to get over the obnoxious curve. 

he fights a smile while locking the car behind you. 

"you try getting over this mountain in heels and this long ass dress i dare you." you hiss. 

he snorts but keeps his mouth shut as you inside the familiar space. sighing in glee. 

the kind older woman who always takes your orders doesn't bat an eye at your dress, but welcomes you with a warm hug. 

“the usual?” she beams, even at this time of night. cheery as ever. 

“yes please !”

she smiles, getting to work making your order while you drum against your thigh. bad habit. 

you’re very thankful it’s as late as it is, the place is dead empty. a little safe haven. 

you reach into your purse but mr “i’ll pay for it all” stops you. 

you tsk, “come on this is my spot. i want to tip her well. let me at least have this after that fancy meal.”

“i said i would pay,” he states firmly. 

“i know, but paying here is special to me. and i want it to come from my hand. she deserves it after all the kindness she’s shown to me over the years.” you gesture to her wrapping up your boxes. 

you remember when you used to be a student low on cash, she would always fill your plate with double of everything or just give you the next size up, and extra dessert, free drink. the little things, life is all about the little things. 

he sighs, “fine fine. i won’t take this away from you. “

you smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. he waits for you on the side while you go up to the counter. 

she smiles at you knowingly, “finally made a move on that one huh?” 

you blush, “we both made moves and things worked out well. “

she grins, “finally. i thought it would never happen, you know. maybe i’ll get to see your kids too huh?”

you chuckle, kids with trent huh. not a bad idea, “maybe you will.” you sigh fondly. handing her the money. 

you hand a few boxes to trent and motion to the door before she catches on. but it’s a little late. 

you sneak out of there while she’s yelling at you to take your change, “keep it ! it’s all for you !!” you shout back. giggling while you and trent make your escape. 

the ride to his house is filled with laughter and you don’t ever remember being happier. 

its all giggles and shy smiles as he leads you up to his home, hand in hand while you race up the steps and make a dash for the elevator. the door man gives you too a look but doesn’t comment, yet. you know he will sooner or later but you don’t care. 

the take out boxes are split in between the two of you as you hold them snug against your chest. humming softly as the elevator opens. 

the ride up is filled with soft teasing, and more compliments. 

"im serious!" he shoves you gently, "you look, incredible." 

your face burns with enough heat to power an oven, his words do a number on you and all you want is to hear them over and over. but you don't say this. 

"you look so handsome trent." is all you find to reply back. 

a shy smile is what you get in return as the elevator opens. the walk is familiar but your feet are making it feel much longer than needed. 

he opens the door and you dont waste a second collapsing on his couch, groaning at the pressure finally being off your feet. he takes the boxes from your hands and sets them on the living room table, kicking his shoes off somewhere as he organizes them just how you like. 

"eat first then change?" he takes a seat next to you. 

you shake your head, "don't wanna ruin the dress."

"alright," he nods

you attempt to get up but your feet are swollen by the looks of it and you could cry at the though of taking another step in these damned heels. 

you reach over carefully to begin the effort of getting them of you but holy fuck is it taking much longer than needed.

"you're taking so long," he groans, scooting down to raise right ankle to rest gently in his knee, hands working slowly. 

you sigh in sweet sweet relief when the intricate lacing finally comes undone and your foot can breathe. he does the same to the left, bringing it up to rest against your right.

 your head falls back against the couch cushions, eyes closed and relaxed. it gives you a moment to really appreciate it all. to appreciate him. 

you crack your eyes open when he gives your leg a gentle tap, all done. 

you swing your feet back to the ground, scooting up closer to him. it's a beat of silence where he watches you, wait for your move. and you press gentle kisses on both cheeks, then nose, one on his forehead, and finally his lips. 

he can't keep his hands to himself at the end, a hand finds your waist, tugging you closer to him, impossibly close. the other cups your cheek gently. 

you won't part till you run out of air, panting gently against each other's skin.

"thank you." you mumble against his lips.

he hums, "anything for you. you know what."

you could reach the clouds like this, could reach the stars.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt.10]

This part is written for @wisteriavines to 'Bad for Business' by Sabrina Carpenter

Every time Tim thinks there's no further extent of trouble to possibly push, Danny is right there to prove him wrong.

Sitting with him at Potions was one thing. Getting involved with his exploring escapades was another - the Room of Requirement was truly a marvel even if Tim had no use for it. Yet. Because he might have a few ideas about it for later. Getting to know the Weasley twins was on a whole different level: the duo, even if Gryffindor, were simultaneously the best and the worst kind of acquaintances to have. Between them, Lee Jordan - another Gryffindor prankster in training - and Steph and Danny, Tim was really not sure how they've not been expelled yet.

Then, there was Danny's weird sort of friendship with all the ghosts in the castle; they seemed to tolerate the boy far more than they did any other students. Tim decidedly didn't want to know why. Not because he thought Danny wouldn't explain it, no, he totally would, but Tim feared he would go permanently gray or lose his mind afterward, so he didn't risk it.

That's all not to mention Danny's ongoing battle of wits with Professor Snape and his 'purely educational' visits to Professor Kettleburn and Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwats' Gamekeeper. Tim had a strong suspicion that Danny used them both as a free pass into the Forbidden Forest, but, again, what Tim doesn't know he can't lay awake at night and obsessively worry about.

They were really much too different. Danny was all sunshine laughter when Tim liked to keep a two feet radius distance around him. Danny was determined to befriend absolutely everyone in the castle when Tim was perfectly fine spending his time in the quiet company of books. Danny liked to experiment, Tim stuck to the instructions in the book. Danny was more often serving detention after his classes than not, Tim hadn't had one ever since he stepped foot in Hogwarts.

He could go on, but, on the other end of it all, Tim couldn't deny there were also plenty of things similar between them.

They both liked to learn. Not in the nerdy way Tim's seen Ravenclaws do it, seeking knowledge for the sake of knowledge itself; they researched whatever was interesting, diving head-first into any and every topic that sparked their curiosity. They held family above all else - House rivalry be damned, Tim was not ignoring Jason and Dick when they came to check on him, and he cheered for the eldest Wayne during the Quiddich matches. Or, well, he did when Dick was not playing against Slytherin, that is. Danny's sister, Jasmine, was also on the Gryffindor Quiddich team, and Tim has seen the boy cheer for her despite the different Houses as well.

They were both not shy to break the rules - yes, Tim hadn't had one detention for it yet, but that was just because he was loads better at not getting caught. Wayne household was a great training ground for it. Danny, by the looks of it, rarely bothered to cover up his tracks. A Hufflepuff trait, Tim supposed - he took all the credit for what he's done, good or bad.

In any case, over the last four months, all those differences and similarities led to them being far more than simple partners in class or acquaintances. They were friends, and, given Danny's attitude and bluntness, Tim never bothered to hide the fact.

And yet, when on the first day after Christmas break, Danny just sits down beside him at breakfast, Tim drops his fork.

Because, and Tim does look around to make sure, even if he is sure, they are at the Slytherin table.

Cassius stares at them both from across the table, Flint clicks his tongue so loudly that Tim is pretty sure even people at the next table can hear him, and Pucey gives the intruder a vicious glare. But Manson grins like a maniac and immediately switches her seat from opposite of Tim to right on Danny's other side, so it's not all bad. Well, Tim sincerely hopes so.

"Morning," Danny greets everyone, either not noticing the stares or ignoring them completely, which is, honestly, a rather impressive skill. If there's anything Hufflepuffs are better at than every other House, it's their impenetrable cheerful attitude.

"Morning," Tim echoes, when nobody else does. Samantha snorts and elbows Danny from the other side.

"Was it just me, or you haven't graced anyone with presents yet?" She asks in lieu of a greeting, and, actually, that's a good point. Tim had spent his Yule break at Waynes, and he knew Danny wasn't staying at the castle either, even though Sam did. She argued that she didn't want to spend any more time alone with her parents than absolutely necessary. Thinking back to the offensively pink room that Tim still sees in his nightmares sometimes, he thinks he understands why.

In any case, Tim, as the dutiful young Heir he was, has sent Danny's gift - a limited edition potions book he shamelessly took from Drake Manor second library - to him back on Christmas Eve. And hasn't received anything back, aside from a new practice snitch, but that one was signed as 'from Fenton family', not 'from Danny' specifically. So he was also wondering if Danny was saving his own gifts for after break, when he can give them in person.

"Ah, seeing right through me," Danny chuckles and puts his bag on his lap, rummaging through it. "Here you go, now please stop bothering me about it," he rather unceremoniously shoves a poorly wrapped, brown paper package right into Samantha's arms. And then he turns to Tim, his smile brighter than the sun itself, and places something cylindrical, wrapped in cloth and tied with a blue ribbon on the table in front of him, "And this one's for you."

Tim puts his knife and fork down and picks up the present, weighing it in his hand. He's grown to like this kind of game that the Waynes taught him: rather than tearing the wrapping open at the first chance, you take time to appreciate the gift, trying to guess what's inside just by the feel, weight and sound.

It's hard and a little heavy - metal or glass rather than wood. It doesn't make any sounds even when Tim brings it closer to his ear and shakes it a little, watching Danny's eyebrows rise in amusement.

"Is it some sort of container?" He takes a guess, and Danny gives him a slightly startled, but still nice laugh, his eyes sparkling with something warm and maybe excited.

"Yeah, you can say that," he agrees, resting his chin on his palm and leaning on the table. Manson makes a few delighted screeches behind him, but the boy pays her zero mind, focused on Tim.

Tim eyes him carefully, "Promise me it's not going to bite my fingers off or explode in green goo," he demands because, with Daniel Fenton, one can never be too careful. But Danny easily draws a cross over his heart and smiles again, "I swear it's nothing that will cause temporary or permanent damage."

That's as good as it's going to get, Tim guesses, and sets the present back on the table, untying the ribbon. He is great at keeping a straight face, but his fingers are almost literally itching for him to find out what the gift is, and he is barely able to keep his impatience at bay at this point.

It takes him less than three seconds to finally unwrap his late Yule gift, and when he takes the cloth away, it unravels... a jar.

A plain glass jar, sealed with a cork on top and full of... mist? fog?

Tim tilts his head to the side and throws a puzzled look at Danny, but the boy keeps on smiling. Then, he reaches for the jar and taps on the cork on top; not in any kind of pattern, just tap-tap-tap, like he's trying to wake up whatever it is inside the glass.

The mist reacts immediately. It swirls and moves, shimmering in all the colors of blue and silver, and Tim, who still keeps one hand on the jar, suddenly feels the glass becoming warm under his palm.

"Remember you told me how it's always kind of chilly in your common room?" Danny asks from beside him, "I know it makes sense - you're all literally living under the lake - but I thought it might get cold at night, so, here you go, a night light and a portable heater in one jar. No need to recharge or renew charms on it or anything, it's entirely self-sufficient." He sounds proud of it, and Tim thinks that he knows why: this must have taken a lot of effort to make, especially since they are both, well, first-years. Tim's warming charm lasts a little more than two minutes, and he is great at Charms. Danny's warming charm barely works at all.

But this jar is actually giving off a constant, slightly pulsing under Tim's palm heat - kind of like a heartbeat - and the swirls of silver inside are mesmerizing. Before today, Tim thought that Jason's night light was the coolest, showing the replica of the actual night sky on his ceiling. But this is so much better.

And so much warmer. Tim doesn't like the cold, and Hogwarts, being a giant stone castle built way before heating was invented, is not the most comfortable place in winter. Of course, there are loads of charms, spells and runic enchantments that keep the place from freezing, but Tim can't help but shiver sometimes, when the chill still makes its way all the way into his bones.

But the jar in his hands is giving off a steady, soft wave of warmth, and Tim wraps his cold fingers around it, slowly breathing out. It's perfect. Totally worth being a late gift.

He turns to Danny, gratitude on the tip of his tongue, but stops short when the boy meets his eyes. For a moment, Tim thinks that the shimmering blues inside the jar are of the exact same color as Danny's eyes.

But then he blinks, and the illusion is gone.

Although, the warmth stays, and, maybe, it's coming not only from the jar in his hands but also from somewhere deep inside his chest. He can't tell, since wherever it's coming from, it's pulsing in the same, steady rhythm.

"What is it made of?" He asks, bringing the jar closer to his chest.

Danny blinks, seemingly taken by surprise, and looks to the side for a moment, "Ah, um, it's-"

"Will-o-wisp," Manson suddenly cuts in, leaning over Danny's shoulder, her eyes on the jar and her face strangely pinched, "That's a chunk of a ghost's soul you're holding there."

Tim's eyebrows shoot up. And, judging by the sudden pause in the lull of the conversations nearby, not only his. Danny's cheeks become red, which, in contrast with his pale skin, looks like someone used too much blush on him.

"Err, yeah, it is," he confirms awkwardly, "Don't worry, though, the ghost consented, and it's safe, and I, well, I kind of done this before, so it's all fine and you can't return it anyway," he rambles, picking up his bag and standing up, his cheeks, ears and neck still looking like they are a moment away from spontaneously setting on fire. "Merry late Yule, I hope you like it, bye!" And, without giving Tim a chance to reply or react, Danny is already running out of the Great Hall.

Tim turns his confused gaze to Manson. The girl, apparently paying no mind to her friend's weird behavior, is back to assembling a monstrous sandwich. That has no meat or eggs in it, now that Tim is looking closely.

"You're vegan?" He asks before the thought even registers, and he expects her to snap and hiss, just like she always does. But, surprisingly, she doesn't. Samantha Manson only gives him a considering side-glance and shrugs.

"I am. Got a problem with that?" She doesn't look like she is trying to pick a fight. Or, well, not actively, at least.

"No," Tim shrugs and goes back to his own breakfast.

The jar full of a ghost's soul is still pressed closely to his stomach and feels like it's slowly warming him from the inside out.

Tim reminds himself to thank Danny for it later, when he is not running away from the Slytherin table in panic.

—☆—☆—☆—

Breakfast at the Great Hall vibes:

The jar:

[Picrew]

I know it's technically their first day back at school, so they should be having classes after breakfast that day, but when I started writing, I planned for this scene to happen over break, hence, have Tim, Danny and Sam in their more casual wear:

Tim is cold, Danny doodles on his jeans and likes muggle fashion. Also, in the original scene, Sam was off to go to the greenhouses next, hence the overalls and the shirt that she doesn't care for if it gets dirty.

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

Honestly, when I first heard the song, I immediately went 'that's Tim struggling to not feel his immense feelings for Danny', and I was in the process of planning my Hogwarts AU at the time, so it kind of spiraled. It might not be as in line with the song lyrics and vibes as my other game pieces, but god knows I'm in love with this bit. Also, since we are here at this topic, I'd like to say I'm so very grateful to @wisteriavines-side blog for their literal immediate reblogs of whatever I write, it always fills me with warm feelings all over when I see your reblogs. Your side blog is one of the few that I've grown to recognize at first glance and, just, thank you. It's a little thing, but it means a lot <3

Anyway, notes!

It's January now, just past the Christmas break - as you might have guessed from the text lol - and the prankster team has been made fully aware of each other. By that, I mean the twins (the sneaky but loud and boisterous as we all know them), Steph (the innocent who is always incredibly hard to catch in the act), and Danny (pulls the weirdest shit that is technically not against the rules most times and always admits it was him when asked). They rarely ever team up - and everyone prays they don't, it's a recipe for disaster - but they also hold a fair bit of rule-breaking solidarity among them, never ratting each other out.

By this point, Danny has put a pause on his Hogwarts exploration and switched to the grounds around the castle. Everyone is of an opinion he is going to choose Care for Magical Creatures as his elective when the time comes.

Yes, that jar holds a piece of Danny's soul. Yes, Sam knows it - she is great at connecting the dots, and she knows Danny's secret. This is also the moment when she realizes that Danny likes Tim in a very not-friendly manner. She is going to come to terms with it rather quickly, though, because in her mind, that means Tim is no competition for her. He is never going to take her title of 'Danny's best friend', so why bother fighting with him?

On the topic of presents, Danny got Sam a whole bunch of poisonous mushrooms that she kept obsessing over when she came to visit the Febton house - specifically, their garden that's full of all kinds of odd things that don't grow anywhere else. Maddie and Jack refused to give an eleven-year-old a fungae that could quite literally kill her if touched without any protection, but Danny has no such reservations, and he is pretty sure Sam is cautious enough (it's not the first time she is handling something deathly poisonous, not that any adults know that).

[ <- part 9 | part 11 ? ]

P.S. a lot of shit happened in my life recently, so, as of now, this series is on hiatus.

[dyeher]

warnings| breeding, mentions of pregnancy.

notes| *maniacal laughter* unedited-read at your own risk. also, this would probably be iwa in a rut, if he were an alpha.

It’s the babydoll.

That’s the first clue. It’s a light blue and so incredibly sheer that the matching thong beneath is easily visible through the material. The lacy cups that should be holding your breasts are failing miserably if he’s being honest. He’s not complaining but, he’s confused.

Or he was.

Until the first breathy moan left you as you took your first bite of the cake on your plate. The sound had settled in the bit of Hajime’s stomach and unleashed a hoard of bees. He’s shifted, eyes flirting from the spilling flesh of your breasts to the sinful way your lips wrap around your fork and his brain had begun to melt.

“Uh- what’s the occasion?”

He bites his tongue when you blink lazily at him. If he didn’t know better he would have simply assumed your intentions were pure. But the overly innocent way you’d told him you just wanted to dress up was enough to have him squinting skeptically at you.

“Really?”

You pout and his cock jerks hard, a sudden vision of that perfect pout wrapped around his cock. You nod, shrugging delicately as you continue to devour your cake. Hajime takes a bite of his own dessert, eyeing you warily when you stand to take your plate to the sink. The babydoll flutters around the top of your thighs and Hajime swallows hard when you bend to put your plate in the dishwasher.

A little later when you’re cuddled on your couch together he senses a restlessness about you. It’s in the way you keep shifting against him. Rubbing your breasts against his chest, pressing soft kisses against his chin and jaw and throat. He’s not sure what’s gotten into you but it’s making him nervous. You’ve been horny before but you’ve always been straightforward about it. If Hajime didn’t know better he’d think you were trying to seduce him.

And though Hajime knows he should never look a gift horse in the mouth he’s a little apprehensive. He wants to know why.

So he asks.

And he regrets it immediately.

“I want you to get me pregnant,” you admit.

And yes, Hajime understands now why he should never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He almost asks you if you’re sure but you’re dressed in this slinky little babydoll, draped across his chest, peppering him with little kisses that go straight to his cock. It would be stupid to ask you that. And he’s not opposed to getting you pregnant. Nope.

In fact, the prospect of filling you with his cum sends an unfamiliar—but not unwelcome—surge of arousal through him.

At least, he thinks it’s arousal. He does.

Until he’s folded your thighs onto his shoulder and fucked you both sweaty and sticky and disoriented and you let that first plea out. That first “please give me a baby”. The unfamiliar—but not unwelcome—emotion surges through him again and he realizes it’s not arousal.

It’s something carnal and raw and possibly unidentified in the grand scheme of things but it makes the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck stand on end. It reduces his cognitive functions to only the ones needed to keep fucking you into the mattress. He can barely speak, can barely think with the sudden overwhelming need to bury himself so deep inside you that you can never be separated again.

You’re squealing and you might be saying something but the roaring in his ears at the hypnotic fluttering of your pussy around his cock is deafening. Hajime is consumed by the sinful sucking of your walls as they coax his orgasm from him. As they wrestle his cum from him.

He cums with an undignified sound that he hopes you have no recollection of. Stars explode behind his eyelids—or maybe stars just explode because he doesn’t know if his eyes are closed or not. He shudders as you cum around him, your nails dig into the muscles in his back and arms, your breasts press against his chest until he realizes you’re trying to tug him closer. Like you’re trying to drag him deeper. He’s fairly certain if he shifts his cock any deeper you’ll end up in the ER. His cock gives one, two, three violent lurches as he cums.

And then his muscles go lax and he fully collapses on top of you, his cock still buried deep enough that he’s fairly certain he’s rammed himself into your honest to god cervix. He should be concerned but from your dopey smile and the way you’re petting his back he’s obviously not done any real damage to your insides. Though he thinks you might not be able to walk for a little bit. Hell he might not be able to walk.

That orgasm was like nothing he’s ever had. He feels as though he’s emptied his soul into your little pussy. Like you’ve reduced him to a breeding bull.

And maybe you have because fifteen minutes later he’s got his hands cupping your hips as he watches, mesmerized, while his cock disappears into your pussy over and over and over, slick from a ridiculous amount of your cum.

And then a little while later he pins you to the floor and fucks you again. And then in the shower. And then in the kitchen; on the counter, against the fridge, on the floor.

“We have to get you nice and full if we want to get pregnant on the first try,” he tells you. It doesn’t even sound like him. Whoever this person is they desecrate every viable surface in your home.

Hajime doesn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed when you have to call in sick for work the next day.

----

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #06 死

† charming forks †

"In Kkangpae, respect is earned in blood—even if it's just from a fork to the palm. But it's the hurricane brewing in Jeon's eyes as he watches you handle yourself that has you wondering if maybe there's more than one way to catch an assassin's attention."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5k

rating: mature

content: croissant speculations, bestie gossip, AD being a menace, sope behaving like a married couple, fork-y confrontations and Jeon’s curiosity being piqued (because apparently man’s got other emotions apart from his default stick-up-his-ass one).

☠ author's note ☠

WAIT WHAT?! IS IT POSSIBLE?!

JEON HAS...

*whispers dramatically* F E E L I N G S?!

Did our resident ice prince really look at someone with something other than his patented "I'd rather be literally anywhere else including possibly on fire" expression?!

Okay, in all seriousness—stop coming for my boy. I can FEEL some of you judging him through the screen. He has feelings! They're just... buried... under several layers of trauma, bad decisions, and leather jackets. You'll understand him better eventually, I promise. Maybe. If I'm feeling generous. Which I rarely am (￣︶￣)

Here's the thing: I make my characters complicated on purpose. Humans are messy little disaster creatures, and I want my characters to reflect that beautiful chaotic energy. Everyone's actions are based on the personalities and backstories I've created—some of which you have NO idea about yet. *laughs maniacally* Every character has nuances, and I really hope I'm portraying that properly. Watch me stress about character development at 3 AM while chain-drinking tea because coffee stopped working six chapters ago.

ANYWAY! AD HAS ENTERED THE CHAT. The chaotic technology gremlin of my heart! And Sope's dynamic? *chef's kiss* Two cranky old men pretending they don't care about each other while absolutely caring about each other? BEAUTIFUL. MWAH.

I know it's hard to picture everything now because you're just getting the tiniest glimpse of all these relationships. But trust me, there's an intricate web of backstory that you'll discover eventually. Have fun grasping at straws in the meantime because I'm not making it easy for you! Where's the fun if you know everything THIS SOON?!

THERE IS NONE!!!

So hang tight, be patient, and maybe save those curse words for later chapters. Trust me, you're gonna need them. I have PLANS. *ominous music plays*

Love you all, you disaster enablers. Stay hydrated!

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Your crutches click-clack against the stone floors of the castle, and it's weird how normal this feels—hobbling through what used to be some fancy abandoned castle and is now home to South Korea's deadliest gang. Nobody even looks twice at you. Then again, in a place where missing fingers are basically fashion statements, a sprained ankle's hardly worth noticing.

The infirmary door swings shut behind you, cutting off the sharp smell of antiseptic and the muffled sounds of people who definitely had worse mornings than you. The hallway feels almost peaceful in comparison. Almost.

The elevator dings, and suddenly you're face to face with what looks like pure rage wrapped in a hoodie. He storms out like the elevator personally offended him, all baggy clothes and barely contained fury. The track pants and oversized hoodie stand out here—most gang members dress to intimidate, but this guy looks ready for a gaming marathon.

You freeze, crutches awkward under your arms, as he practically radiates "don't talk to me" energy into the hallway. Something about him seems familiar, though you've definitely never met. He brushes past you, and the scent of fresh lemons hits your nose—which is when it clicks.

AD. The genius behind Cyber Intelligence. The guy who designed the security system that keeps rival gangs from turning this place into Swiss cheese. His reputation around here is... interesting. Brilliant but brutal, the kind of person who'd hack your phone just because you breathed too loud near his workspace.

You shuffle into the elevator, trying not to drop your crutches or your dignity. Your card beeps against the scanner, and you hit the button for the fourth floor—home sweet home, or at least as sweet as a gang's seduction division can be.

The doors start closing, giving you one last glimpse of AD's retreating back. The whole encounter probably lasted thirty seconds, but it sticks in your mind. You've heard stories about him—how he practically lives in his division's "gamer cave," how he's as loyal to Kkangpae as he is allergic to basic human interaction.

The elevator hums around you, and you can't help wondering what pushed his buttons today. Guy looked ready to set something on fire with his mind. Though maybe that's just his face. Hard to tell with the Council of 9 sometimes—they've all got enough trauma to keep a therapy practice in business for decades.

When the doors open to your floor, the familiar buzz of the Seduction Division wraps around you like a blanket. Back to your world of honey traps and carefully crafted lies. Still, you can't quite shake the image of AD's fury from your mind. 

Guess that's life in Kkangpae—even a simple trip to the infirmary can turn into an encounter with one of the gang's most notorious leaders.

The Seduction Division's floor buzzes with its usual afternoon energy as you hobble through on your crutches. Half your colleagues are sprawled across the common area sofas, deep in mission talk, while others practice their best "come hither" looks in the wall-length mirrors. Just another Tuesday in the art of professional manipulation.

Kazuha doesn't even look up from her iPad as you pass, that wine-red hair falling in perfect waves around her face. She gives you a quick nod though—which, coming from her, might as well be a bear hug. The girl's got that whole "ice queen who could definitely ruin your life but chooses not to" vibe down to an art.

Your shared room feels like heaven after all the hopping around on crutches. Yunjin's exactly where you expected—spread out on her bed like a pink-haired starfish, head hanging off the foot end while she watches what looks like another one of those melodramas she's obsessed with. The contrast between her bubblegum hair and the pastel yellow bedding is probably giving interior designers somewhere an aneurysm.

She brightens up when she spots you, hitting pause mid-dramatic confession scene. "How was medical training?" She twists around to face you, and you can tell she's dying for some good gossip. "Did J-Hope make you practice on oranges?"

"Nah, straight to fake skin." You drop onto your bed, grateful to finally get off your feet. "Though he did spend like twenty minutes ranting about how everyone in this gang stitches like they're drunk toddlers with safety scissors."

The memory makes you laugh. For someone who literally saves lives for a living, J-Hope's got the bedside manner of a grumpy cat. Though you guess when you're dealing with gang members who think they're immortal, maybe being nice stopped working a long time ago.

"Oh!" You perk up, remembering the best part of your morning. "You'll never guess who showed up while I was there."

Yunjin's eyes go wide with interest. She's always been a sucker for castle drama.

"Jeon." You try to keep your voice casual, like you're not still thinking about how he looked without his shirt on. t̶o̶r̶s̶o̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶d̶s̶

Yunjin bolts upright so fast her pink hair whips around her face. "No way. Jeon? What happened?"

"Medical checkup." You grin at how invested she already looks. "You should've seen how much he didn't want to be there."

You can still picture it perfectly—the way he filled the doorway like some dark cloud of attitude, all black clothes and that stupid leather jacket. Even his quick scan of the room felt dismissive, like everything beneath his notice was personally offending him.

"But here's the weird part." You lean in closer, lowering your voice like you're sharing state secrets. "You know how he's usually all... you know, Jeon? Like someone carved him from ice?"

Yunjin nods eagerly.

"Complete different person around J-Hope. I mean, still grumpy as hell, but like... almost human? It was like watching a statue learn to bend."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyes go wide. "Are we talking about the same person? Mr. I-Take-Orders-From-Nobody?"

"Oh, it gets better." You can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "He brought J-Hope a croissant."

"A croi—wait." Yunjin sits up straighter. "Oh my god, that explains this morning!"

You raise an eyebrow. "What about this morning?"

"Okay, so you know how he's basically married to that coffee machine, right?"

"First cup of the day, every day," you confirm. Everyone knows that—it's like some weird ritual. The sun rises, birds sing, and Jeon appears to claim the first coffee like it's his divine right.

"Well." Yunjin's practically vibrating with excitement now. "Me and Kazuha were having breakfast, and there he was, just... lurking by the pastries. Like, full-on stalking them. We started betting on what he'd pick because honestly? What else do you do when one of the gang leaders is having an existential crisis over baked goods?"

You frown, something not quite adding up. "Wait, he told J-Hope it was the last pastry left."

"Bullshit." Yunjin flops onto her back, pink hair spreading across her pillow like cotton candy. "It wasn't even 7 AM. The breakfast spread was packed—Kazuha and I had front row seats to his whole pastry-hunting performance."

She stares at the ceiling for a moment, like she's replaying the scene in her head. "Actually... now that I think about it, he was really focused on the croissants. Like, weirdly focused. Standing there analyzing them like they held the secrets of the universe or something."

You both fall quiet, trying to make sense of Mr. Ice Prince going on a dawn croissant mission. It's such a small thing, but it feels... significant somehow. Like finding out your scary math teacher collects Hello Kitty merchandise.

"Well, worked out for me." You shrug, trying to sound casual as you show her the pastry bag. "J-Hope doesn't even like croissants, so."

The look Yunjin gives you could only be described as suspicious. 

“Okay but like... isn't that weird to you?" She sits up straighter, getting that expression she always has when she's about to drop some tea. "Jeon's on the Council of 9. He works with J-Hope all the time. How does he not know what the guy likes?"

"What do you mean?"

She leans forward, eyes sparkling like she's solved a murder mystery. 

“Think about it. Our fearless Chief of Tactical Assassinations spent ten whole minutes picking out the perfect croissant for someone who hates croissants." Her grin gets wider. "But you know who's always having croissants for breakfast?"

The implication hits you like a truck. No way. There's absolutely no way Jeon would... t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶

"You're reading way too much into this." You try to sound dismissive, but your voice comes out weird. "He probably just grabbed whatever was there."

"Uh-huh." Yunjin's not buying it. "That's why he spent longer choosing a croissant than most people spend picking engagement rings."

You throw a pillow at her face. She's being ridiculous. 

Just because Jeon accidentally got you breakfast doesn't mean... anything. He's still the same guy who used you as paintball bait yesterday.

Even if he did pick out a really good croissant.

The weight of Yunjin's words hangs in the air. The idea that Jeon—Mr. Perfect-Planning-Everything—might have deliberately chosen that croissant... it makes something weird flutter in your stomach.

No. Absolutely not.

"As if." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "How would he even know what I like for breakfast?"

Yunjin just gives you that look—the one that says she knows something you don't want to admit. "You're both always in the cafeteria at dawn, right? Haven't you noticed? He gets his coffee right when you're picking out your croissant."

You pause. She's... not wrong. Your early morning schedule does line up with his weird first-coffee-of-the-day ritual more often than not. But the thought of Jeon actually paying attention to your breakfast preferences? t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶c̶u̶t̶e̶ That's ridiculous.

"But why would he suddenly bring me breakfast?" The question comes out smaller than intended. "He doesn't even like me."

"Maybe he doesn't dislike you as much as you think." Yunjin's voice goes soft, thoughtful. "He's still human, you know? Under all that ice. Maybe he actually felt bad about your ankle."

Her logic makes an annoying amount of sense. But accepting that Jeon might have done something... nice? That he might have been paying enough attention to know what you like? That feels like admitting something you're not ready to face.

Could Jeon really have...?

No. t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ There has to be another explanation. The idea of him noticing your habits, remembering your preferences, actually feeling guilty enough to do something about it—it doesn't fit with the cold, distant chief you know.

Except... maybe it does. And that's even more unsettling than the alternative.

"You need to stop watching those dramas. They're rotting your brain."

"Fine, don't believe me." Yunjin pouts, folding her arms like a scolded kid. "But when has anything in this place ever been simple?" There's this knowing look in her eyes that makes you want to throw another pillow at her, but she mercifully drops the subject.

The pastry bag crinkles as you grab it, desperate for any distraction from t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ this whole situation. The croissant looks perfect—because of course it does, this is Jeon you’re talking about. 

Except for that small bite you already gave it back in the infirmary.

You break it in half, offering part to Yunjin like a peace offering.

One bite and—oh.

Oh.

"This is really good," you manage between bites, trying not to sound too impressed. 

Because you hadn’t really had time to savor it, appreciate the taste. But now you do, and holy shit. You've had your fair share of castle croissants—there's a reason you drag yourself out of bed at ungodly hours to get them—but this? This is something else entirely.

Stupid Jeon and his stupid perfectionism. Everyone complains about how anal he is about everything, but apparently that extends to pastry selection too. 

That's just annoying.

"God, I could eat like five of these," Yunjin mumbles around her mouthful, and you hum in agreement.

You both enjoy the quiet for a moment, just appreciating good pastry and each other's company. Then Yunjin sits up straighter, switching into work mode. "Hey, while you're here—mind helping me with something on my iPad? I'm stuck on this one part."

You scoot closer as she pulls up files full of charts and data. This is the real meat of gang work—not the glamorous missions or dramatic showdowns, but hours of planning and strategizing. You and Yunjin fall into an easy rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other and finding solutions.

It's nice, actually. Just you and your friend, doing what you do best, making plans that could mean life or death for someone someday. 

You know, normal people stuff.

Lunchtime at the castle is its own brand of chaos. 

The cafeteria buzzes with life—metal trays clanking, conversations overlapping, and the smell of whatever's cooking today making your stomach growl. 

It's kind of wild how this massive, well-lit space becomes neutral ground where gang divisions actually mix. 

Even if it's just to argue over the last pudding cup.

Yunjin, being the angel she is, grabs a tray for you since you're still stuck with these stupid crutches. You point out what you want—some spicy stir-fried pork that smells like heaven, a mountain of steamed rice, and enough kimchi to make your breath lethal. The kind of comfort food that reminds you of simpler times, before your life involved paintball ambushes and medical training. Yunjin goes for her usual rabbit food—some fancy salad and seaweed soup.

Finding a table is surprisingly easy. There's this unwritten rule about leaving some spots open for people who need the extra space—like, say, someone who got their ankle twisted during a certain chief's brilliant bait plan. So you snag a spot near the food counter, perfect for people-watching.

The cafeteria has this weird energy to it, like a tide of people flowing in and out. Some grabbing quick bites between missions, others lingering over coffee and gossip. It's probably the most normal part of living in a gang headquarters.

"Look who's eating alone again." Yunjin's voice drops as she stabs at her salad, and you don't even need to look up to know who she means.

"Does he ever eat with anyone?" You can't help asking, because seriously, what's with Jeon and his lone wolf act?

"Sometimes." Yunjin talks around a mouthful of greens. "His division members join him occasionally. Especially Takama."

"Who's Takama?" You mix some kimchi into your rice, trying to sound casual.

"His second in command." She covers her mouth as she chews, ever polite even in a gang cafeteria. "You know, deputy officer of Tactical Assassinations."

You can't help but smirk at the way Yunjin's eyes light up. Your roommate might be shy around strangers, but get her talking about castle gossip and she transforms into a one-woman intelligence agency. Her weird talent for reading people makes her better at gathering intel than half the Seduction Division.

"Okay, tea time." She sets down her fork and turns to face you fully, going into full gossip mode. "So Jeon's basically a lone wolf in the cafeteria. Only exceptions are Takama—his second in command—or sometimes J-Hope."

You take another bite of your food, settling in for what promises to be an interesting breakdown of castle dynamics.

"And get this—J-Hope hardly ever eats here. Man's practically married to his office. But when he does show up?" She leans in closer, lowering her voice. "It's either with Jeon or AD. Those two are like his pet projects or something."

"AD and Jeon?" The combination sounds about as likely as V starting a knitting club. "Wouldn't have called that one."

"Oh no, you'll never catch them together." Yunjin waves her fork for emphasis. "There's this weird... thing between them. Nobody knows why, but the tension's so thick you could cut it with a knife. Still working on figuring that one out."

She drops her voice even lower, like she's sharing state secrets. "AD's basically a cryptid though. Lives in his gamer cave like some kind of tech hermit. But word is, if you hang around the snack bar at 3 AM..."

You snort at her dramatic delivery. "Very spooky."

"And get this—he's apparently even grumpier than J-Hope. But somehow they just... click?"

"Grumpier than Dr. Cranky?" You raise an eyebrow. "That's actually impressive."

"Right? Like, next-level antisocial. But I guess their matching bad attitudes cancel each other out or something. They're both fluent in asshole."

"Well, you'd know." You gesture at her with your chopsticks. "You're the people-reading expert here."

"I mean, I haven't seen everything firsthand." Yunjin shrugs, picking at her salad. "But J-Hope's probably the one Jeon tolerates the most. Now V, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, no need to finish that sentence." You snort. "Those two are about as friendly as cats and dogs."

"Right? They hate each other's guts. Though V's weird because he gets along with everyone else—or at least pretends to. Hard to tell with him, honestly." She pauses, eyebrows shooting up as she glances across the cafeteria. "But he seems weirdly obsessed with JM lately."

"JM?" You follow her gaze. "The finance guy?"

"See the guy in the fluffy cardigan over there?" She tilts her head subtly. "That's him. Usually sits with Chaewon and Jessi. He's like, genuinely nice to everyone, which is probably why he puts up with V's... everything."

"Christ, he must have the patience of a saint."

"Right?" Yunjin snickers. "Meanwhile V's like this social chameleon—just plops down wherever he feels like. No fixed spot, just vibing with whoever catches his attention that day."

"What about Chaewon?" You ask, genuinely curious about your division chief. "You mentioned she sits with Jessi?"

"Yeah, see that woman with the red hair next to her? That's Jessi. They're basically joined at the hip, which makes sense." Yunjin lowers her voice. "Only women on the Council of 9, you know? Gotta stick together in this boys' club."

"Must be rough up there." You watch the two women, something tight forming in your chest. "Especially for Chaewon, considering how she feels about men. Makes you wonder what they went through to get those positions."

"Yeah..." Yunjin's voice goes soft. "Gang leaders don't really talk about their past lives. All I know is Chaewon came from another gang. Might explain some things..." She trails off, watching your division chief for a moment before shaking her head. "But that feels like the kind of story you don't ask about, you know?"

"True." You push around some pork with your fork. "What about RM and Moon though? Never seen them down here."

"Oh god, you won't." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively. "Those two are like urban legends in the cafeteria. Pretty sure they're permanently glued to their office chairs, buried in paperwork."

You're about to ask more when something in the air changes. You feel it before you see it, like a wintery breeze sweeping through the room, chilling and unmistakable. Conversations stutter and restart, heads turning just enough to look casual. 

When you follow everyone's not-so-subtle glances, you spot him immediately. 

AD, the human thundercloud from this morning, has decided to grace the cafeteria with his presence. 

His hoodie's pulled low over blonde hair, and everything about his walk screams 'touch me and die.' He moves like someone who's one minor inconvenience away from committing cyber crimes.

He heads straight for the food counter, completely ignoring the line of people waiting their turn. His eyes scan the options like they've personally offended him. You can hear the quiet grumbling from the queue, but nobody seems brave enough to actually say anything.

Well, almost nobody.

"Hey man, line starts back there." Some new guy who clearly hasn't learned the castle's pecking order yet pipes up.

AD turns his head so slowly it's almost cinematic. The look he gives this poor idiot could probably crash every computer in South Korea.

"Shut the fuck up unless you want your keycard to mysteriously stop working." His voice is barely above a whisper but carries enough venom to kill a small army.

The new guy practically shrinks into himself, mouth snapping shut like a trap. Everyone else in line suddenly finds the floor tiles absolutely fascinating. You get it—when the guy who controls every digital aspect of your life threatens to lock you out of the castle, you shut up and take it.

AD turns back to the food counter like nothing happened, loading his tray with... well, everything. It's like watching someone who hasn't eaten in days try to make up for lost meals all at once. Spicy Korean chicken, Caesar salad, pepperoni pizza, and a bowl of ramen that definitely wasn't meant to be a side dish. The combination is as chaotic as his reputation.

When he turns to survey the cafeteria, his eyes briefly meet yours. The air around you drops several degrees, like someone opened a window to a winter morning. Even under that hood, his gaze is sharp enough to cut glass.

He chooses a table not far from yours, dropping into the chair with a sigh that sounds like it started somewhere around his soul. The curious looks from other members bounce right off him as he attacks his food with the same intensity most people reserve for coding or murder.

Then J-Hope walks in.

The medical chief spots AD immediately, and his eye-roll is probably visible from space. With a huff that screams "not this shit again," he marches over to AD's table like a man on a mission.

"Oh, this'll be good." Yunjin leans in, practically vibrating with excitement.

You watch as J-Hope plants himself at AD's table, hands on hips, radiating disapproval. Whatever he's saying gets completely ignored—AD just keeps eating like J-Hope isn't even there. But instead of giving up, J-Hope drops into the chair across from him, apparently settling in for the long haul.

It's kind of fascinating, actually. J-Hope's clearly telling AD off about something, probably his hermit lifestyle, while AD responds in what looks like grunts and eye-rolls. But the weird thing is... he's letting J-Hope stay. For someone who just threatened to digitally exile a guy for speaking to him, that's practically a declaration of friendship.

"They're like a divorced couple who still lives together," Yunjin whispers, barely containing her grin.

You snort into your rice. "Yeah, if both of them were the grumpy one."

It's hard not to stare at AD. There's something fascinating about watching someone who practically lives in code actually interact with humans. The guy who could probably crash South Korea's entire infrastructure with his phone is sitting here eating pizza with salad. 

He's weird for a Council member. The others, like Jeon or V, you can picture them leading divisions. But AD? He feels more like some urban legend the gang created—the grumpy gremlin in the tech cave who might lock you out of your room if you breathe too loud near his servers.

You try not to be too obvious about watching him, but it's kind of mesmerizing. Even now, with J-Hope clearly giving him hell about something, AD maintains this icy distance. Like he's tolerating human interaction because someone forced him to remember he needs food to live.

The cafeteria noise provides perfect cover as you and Yunjin lean in slightly, totally not eavesdropping on what might be the grumpiest conversation in Kkangpae history. 

"For someone who's supposed to be a genius, you eat like a fucking teenager with a death wish." J-Hope's voice carries that special blend of medical concern wrapped in pure irritation.

AD doesn't even look up from his food crime scene, just keeps shoveling spicy chicken into his mouth with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn't seen sunlight in days.

"I'm not kidding, AD. Your last medical results were shit." J-Hope leans back, crossing his arms. "Or did you delete that memory along with your basic survival instincts?"

AD finally looks up, his expression screaming 'I'd rather be getting a root canal than having this conversation.' "Can you not? I can handle my own fucking health."

"Yeah, clearly." J-Hope's voice drips sarcasm. "Because staying up for three days straight surviving on energy drinks and spite is peak healthcare. What's your plan when it catches up to you? Hack yourself a new liver?"

A ghost of amusement flickers across AD's face before he squashes it. "Maybe I will. And while I'm at it, I'll program myself some immunity to your bullshit."

"You're impossible." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just eat something green occasionally! I'm tired of playing doctor because you think vegetables are optional."

AD stabs a piece of lettuce with enough force to kill it twice, moving with exaggerated slowness. "There. Happy?"

J-Hope gives a narrowed stare, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "No. Eat another one."

"You're so fucking annoying." AD turns away like if he can't see J-Hope, maybe he'll cease to exist.

You and Yunjin share a look, biting back smiles as you watch AD and J-Hope's weird version of friendship play out. 

It's kind of sweet, in a grumpy-meets-grumpier way. 

Even in Kkangpae, where everyone's got walls built up to their eyeballs, sometimes you catch glimpses of actual human connection. Even if it's just two cranky leaders arguing about salad.

But the peaceful moment doesn’t last long.

Harmony shatters when a group from V's division walks in. The atmosphere shifts immediately—you can feel it in the way conversations quiet down, in how other members subtly shift away. V's assassins always move like they own the place, all swagger and deadly grace.

Your stomach drops when one of them breaks away from the pack, heading straight for your table. He's tall, probably handsome if you could get past the douchebag energy radiating off him. 

He plants his hands on your table, leaning into your space like he's got every right to be there.

"Hey princess, heard about your ankle..." His voice drips fake sympathy before sliding into something that makes your skin crawl. He leans closer, close enough that you can smell whatever cheap cologne he's drowning in. "When you recover, how about some private lessons? I bet you could teach me all about seduction..."

The suggestion hangs in the air like something rotten. 

Your mind floods with comebacks—each one sharper than the last, each one perfectly crafted to cut him down to size. 

But you keep quiet.

Not because you're scared. Not because you don't have anything to say. But because you know how this game works. 

In Kkangpae, everything's about power. One wrong move, one moment of weakness, and suddenly you're marked.

And being a woman in this testosterone-fueled nightmare means always watching your step, always calculating the cost of each word.

Your silence apparently pisses him off more than any insult could. His face twists ugly, that fake charm vanishing like smoke. "I'm talking to you, bitch."

You catch Yunjin starting to rise, all protective big sister energy, but you grab her arm. This isn't her fight. Besides, you've dealt with worse than some bruised ego in a leather jacket.

The cafeteria's gone weirdly quiet. You can feel eyes on you from every direction—AD pausing mid-bite, J-Hope's exasperation shifting to concern, V watching like this is better than cable. Even Jeon's stopped pretending to eat his lunch, those dark eyes fixed on the scene playing out.

You finally look at the guy, really look at him, keeping your face blank. 

“And I'm not interested."

The words hit him like a slap. His face goes red, then purple, and suddenly his hand twitches.

The whole cafeteria seems to hold its breath. 

You catch flickers of movement—Chaewon half-rising from her seat, JM's eyes going wide, Jessi's hand twitching toward what's probably a knife.

But it's Jeon's reaction that catches your attention. He hasn't moved, hasn't said a word, but the look he's giving this guy is like a typhoon gaining speed. The kind of stare that promises violence, calculated and cold and absolutely certain.

Not that you need the backup.

The moment his hand comes down, you move. 

The fork in your hand becomes a weapon, and you catch his wrist mid-swing, driving the tines deep into his palm. The movement is smooth, precise—exactly what they taught you in training. Always use what's available, turn everyday objects into advantages.

He screams (more shock than pain probably), stumbling back like you've burned him. His eyes are huge, that macho confidence evaporating as blood wells up around the fork still stuck in his hand. 

Everyone goes dead silent. 

Like their brains are recalculating, adjusting their mental image of the new girl who just stabbed someone with cutlery.

t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶

"Maybe think twice about who you're messing with next time."

He yanks his hand back with a string of curses, blood dripping onto the pristine cafeteria floor. His face twists ugly, like he can't decide if he's more hurt or pissed. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

You lean back in your chair, channeling every ounce of b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ confidence you've got. The fork might have been impulsive, but now it's time to play smart.

"Someone who has Chaewon's ear." You let that sink in for a second. "And you know who Chaewon's best friends with? Jessi. You know, the one who handles personnel management?" Your smile feels sharp enough to cut. "Wonder what they'd think about some guy from Assassinations harassing their girls."

The color drains from his face so fast it's almost funny. 

Nothing like dropping two of the scariest names in Kkangpae to make a man rethink his life choices. You can practically see him doing the math in his head—is harassing the new girl worth potentially pissing off not one, but two Council members?

"You wouldn't—" His voice wavers between threat and panic.

"Try me." You cut him off clean. "This isn't even about me. You really think they'd let this slide? Their division members getting pushed around by some wannabe tough guy?"

His jaw clenches so hard you're surprised his teeth don't crack. The rage is still there, but now it's got a healthy dose of fear mixed in. Good. Maybe next time he'll think before running his mouth.

"Fucking bitch," he spits, but the words don't have much bite anymore.

You glance pointedly at the bloody fork still sticking out of his hand. 

"Get me a new fork while you're at it. You got blood all over this one."

The cafeteria's still dead silent, everyone probably wondering if they just witnessed career suicide by cutlery. But hey—sometimes you've got to stab a man with a fork to make a point.

He shoots you one last glare before stalking off, still cursing under his breath. 

You watch him go, noticing how the other assassins suddenly find their lunch absolutely fascinating. 

Funny how quickly tough guys back down when someone actually stands up to them.

Conversations resume, though noticeably quieter than before. You can feel the weight of everyone's stares finally lifting—some impressed, others probably wondering if you've got a death wish.

Everyone's except Jeon's.

When you turn to meet his gaze, something's different. Those dark eyes catch yours across the cafeteria, and something electric passes between you. It's different from his usual dismissive glances. Like he's seeing you properly for the first time. Not just as the new girl from Seduction, or the one who twisted her ankle during his paintball game. But as someone who can hold her own.

His expression hasn't changed—he's still got that perfect poker face—but there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. 

Something that feels almost like respect.

His lips twitch, just barely, before he looks away. 

But that tiny almost-smile says more than words could. 

Maybe stabbing someone with a fork is all it takes to impress the mighty Chief of Tactical Assassinations.

t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[hurtspideyparker]

Then how about some WinterFrost? (Loki x Bucky)? Anything you'd like.

"I don't know about this Thor, I mean I'm all for second chances, but isn't it against his entire identity to...be good?"

"No, of course not! He just likes a bit of mischief. He'd never wish senseless harm on you all."

Steve and Bucky exchange glances.

"What about—"

"I said senseless! He very much had a purpose last time, he was just a bit misguided. He's content on helping us this time. He can't dominate a world with another sorceress in the way."

Tony steps up, hand waving.

"So he wants to help us because he's the one who should be supreme leader? Yeah, changed."

Thor laughs, and no one joins him.

"Listen, friends. It's not like last time. It's a personal thing. Loki is a very jealous person, and Enchantress is always getting in his way. Magic user to magic user, yes?"

The Avengers all huddle together, excluding Thor.

"I don't trust him."

"Yeah no shit Tasha, but what other option do we have."

"I don't know Clinton, maybe not inviting the homicidal maniac to watch our backs?"

"I can still hear you!" Thor butts in, everyone ignoring him.

"It doesn't seem like we're Loki's targets."

Bucky sends Steve his signature glare at the optimistic comment, "if you think he has a straightforward motivation for once, you've fundamentally misunderstood him as a person."

"Oh and you know him so well Manchurian Candidate?" Tony brisks.

Steve steps in-between his two friends, "Tony, don't start—"

"No, I wanna hear what he has to say. Go ahead Stark."

"As amusing as this is, not nearly enough of the attention is on me."

They all whip around, the man in dark leather grinning at them from beside Thor.

"Thor, we didn't even agree yet."

"Nice to see you too Man of Iron. See, my brother isn't in charge of me. It does seem that you're all a bit out of your depths, so I'm gracing you with my assistance. It's all right, mortal men are often confined to their material weapons."

"Brother! Glad you could join us." Thor goes to land a heavy hand on his back, but the palm goes right through the illusion.

Bucky jerks when the gun held loosely in his grip is ripped from him.

He spins around, sharp eyes finding another pair of watchful blues.

"Ah, the soldier. You see I, too, have a little ice in my veins. I think we'd get along."

Bucky startles back a step.

"In your dreams, freak."

Loki lets his smirk fester, seeping uncomfortably into Bucky's skin.

"Ah, I like you. And this," his fingers graze the metal arm, sending shivers up Bucky's spine despite the lack of feeling in the limb. "Is most fascinating."

The metal arm shoots up faster than anyone can blink, grabbing the trickster by the neck and shoving him against the wall.

"Oh look, this one's real," Bucky snides as Loki drops the firearm and tugs at the metal fingers around his throat.

"Buck..."

"No, Steve, I actually I agree with him for once." Tony says, watching on in intrigue.

"He isn't going to be helpful if he's dead." Natasha says with the same amount of interest she chooses a fork with; which is very little and yet a surprisingly non-zero amount.

"It would be most kind of you to let my brother go, and wait till after the battle to initiate his well-deserved punishment."

Loki just gives a sheepish grin and taps on the fist constricting his air flow. Bucky doesn't move and the tapping becomes a bit more frantic until he's released.

Loki gasps for a few moments, "how generous of you. I think I like the arm even more now."

"Kinky," Clint says at the same time Bruce remarks "gross."

"Whatever," Bucky says, "he can stay. Best case scenario both the witch bitches die in battle."

* * *

Neither of them die, but Loki does succeed in capturing the Enchantress and Thor leaves to bring her to Asgardian justice.

His brother doesn't go with him.

"Who wants to celebrate me!"

The Avengers stare at him blankly.

"Spoil sports. I just did you all a true favour out of the kindness of my heart. I'm not even trying to enslave you, I only wish to be entertained with wine and dance. You all enjoy such affairs, do you not?"

Loki waves his hands, turning Tony's living room into one filled with warm lights, live music, and piles of steaming food.

"Ah? Yes?" he asks with a charming head tilt.

Tony is the first one to break. "Yeah, fuck it. Let's have that drink," he succumbs, heading straight for the liquor table.

"Did he kidnap that band or are they an illusion..." Clint whispers to Nat, who shrugs.

Steve convinces Bucky to stay around, and Bucky convinces Bucky to stay by keeping himself close to a bottle of whiskey.

"Hello my soldier."

Bucky rolls his eyes and doesn't turn around.

"What, you want your punishment now?"

"You make it sound so enticing," Loki leans on the bar beside the man.

"It won't when I choke you out. I thought green was your colour," he sips from his tumbler with a slow ease.

"Trust me, I've been known to look good in blue."

The voice isn't Loki's and Bucky startles, finally turning to it.

It's Steve—or, well, Loki wearing Steve's appearance. He's in his signature blue Captain America suit, beautifully strong and looming.

"What are you doing?"

Loki leans closer, lowering his voice.

"Is this how you like it?" the mischief conflicts with Steve's honest and proud tone.

"Stop."

"Hm," Loki hums, before his body morphs into Natasha. Her hair is long and wavy down her back, a tight black dress emphasizing her...everything.

"You're right, that's probably old news. This what you're in the mood for?"

Bucky looks behind him uncomfortably, but none of the other party goers notice the second Natasha.

"How low is your self-esteem?"

"What?" as close as Loki can appear and sound like someone else, his tone is all wrong. Natasha would never be caught off guard.

"I said, how low is your self-esteem that you think you need to be anybody else but yourself to get me to like you?"

Loki morphs back into himself, nose held high and scoffing, "is that your story now? I recall you wishing me dead."

Bucky shrugs and swirls the remaining alcohol around in his glass.

"Yeah well, you didn't kill us, so I suppose you're alright for now."

"Huh." Loki glides closer, eyes devouring the sharp lines and darkness in Bucky's face.

"You are truly a beautiful specimen."

His hand reaches up, moving towards Bucky. He flinches and eyes Loki warily, but Loki continues to move forward slowly until he's running a hand through the other's hair. Bucky relaxes, sighing into it.

"I like your darkness, your tortured soul. Your arm..." Bucky's metallic fingers flex on instinct, and he resists the urge to hide them under the table.

"Sure."

"It's true. It's, fascinating. I too have a darkness, most don't understand. Tell me, do they fear you too?"

Loki chases Bucky's modestly downcast eyes.

"See, that's why I've learned to embrace it. You cannot be disappointed in something's existence when you orchestrate it, use it to your advantage."

"Well what if I don't want them to be scared?" Bucky says, letting Loki capture his baby blues.

"Well then maybe you play the hero for a bit."

Bucky's lips open slightly in understanding. Loki lets his fingers curl the others hair behind his ear before removing his touch. He steps back ever so slightly, feet prepared to turn.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Bucky stands, grabbing Loki's hand and lacing their fingers together in a near crushing grip.

"Okay." Bucky says one last time, and tugs Loki along and away from the festivities.

* * *

"Did you just see that?" Tony's eyes shoot up, hands moving sporadically between Natasha and the couple leaving the party.

"Mhm," she says into her glass.

"They. He. What?"

"Yep."

Tony continues to stare long after their bodies have disappeared.

"I am so telling Steve."

Natasha tilts her head all the way back to get the last dregs of wine, Tony jostling the couch as he gets up and rushes to find the Captain.

"Clint?" she says once the glass is truly empty.

He shoves twenty bucks into her hand with a grumble.

[millersgirl80]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby (Part 2) 18+

Pairing: Dbf!joelxf!reader

Word count: 1.6k or so

Warnings: unprotected p in v (Joel pull out game strong af, keep it wrapped)

Summary: Joel goes on a date…

Notes: Sorry this took so long. I promise it'll get better! 😫🫣

Previous Part Here, part three here

I leaned against the kitchen counter, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air, when my dad comes downstairs on the phone.

“Just a girl from work. Trust me, you’ll like her. She’s cute and fun. Just hired at the office. Don’t be late!” Dad laughs before hanging up the phone. “Playing matchmaker?” I smile grabbing the coffee pot pouring my cup full. “Something like that, just sat Lisa and Joel up on a date.” I spilt the hot coffee on my hand as those words left my dads mouth. “Thought Joel didn’t date?” I say cleaning the mess up. “Yea, so he says. Maybe this will help him out” dad shrugs.

After sitting in my room after what felt like hours, I got a shower and got dressed heading downtown for some much needed shopping therapy. I went to a couple stores getting some new outfits for the coming fall. After shopping I headed to the diner to meet my friend hanna for some lunch. “So after you fucked, he just left?” He summarizes my experience with Joel. “Pretty much, he’s usually at the house everyday. It’s been a week and dad’s been going over there.” “He sounds like a dick.”

“I just don’t get it, Hannah. One minute he’s all over me, and the next it’s like I don’t even exist.” I say poking at my salad. “Maybe he freaked out?” She sighed. “Maybe” I look down at my untouched salad “It just feels so awkward now. I keep wondering what I did wrong.” I slide my plate off to the side. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, well, I’m not saying sleeping with your dad’s best friend is right, but if this is what you want. Then go for it!” She smiles. “Go talk to him!”

“I would but he getting ready for a date tonight” I roll my eyes. “I’m just gonna go home and rot in bed with ice cream and watch friends” I huff paying for my food getting up. “Count me in!” Hanna quickly follows.

Joels pov

Joel!” Mike shouted across the diner, waving like a maniac. I sighed, dragging my feet toward him. The place was crowded, the sound of forks clinking and laughter filling the air. I spotted her before I reached the table—a girl with dark curls and bright blue eyes. She was smiling, I straighten up a bit.

“Hey, this is my buddy Joel,” Mike said, gesturing to me like I was an award-winning trophy.

“Hi, I’m Lisa!” she exclaimed, standing and extending her hand. I took it, feeling the warmth of her palm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah? All good things, I hope.” Mike winks to me and walks off. I chuckled awkwardly and slid into the booth across from her.

“Mostly,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m sure you have a lot of secrets.”

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression light. “Nothing too scandalous.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“I mostly just hang out,” I replied, “You know, work and the occasional barbecue.” I shrug “Just hang out”

“Barbecue, huh? I bet you make a mean brisket.” She smiled, and I felt a flicker of something in my chest. It was nice to be here, but the thought of Darlin’ crept back in, making my stomach twist, like it has been for a week.

“What about you?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “What do you do for fun?”

“I love hiking and photography. I actually went to Big Bend last month. The stars out there are incredible.” She sighed dreamily. “I took a bunch of pictures. You should see them.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, forcing a smile. The longer we talked, the more I felt the weight of my situation. Darlin’ was always there, a shadow in my thoughts.

“So, Joel, what’s your deal?” Lisa asked, her gaze catching me off guard.

I cleared my throat, trying to focus. “I work in construction. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.”

“Construction? That’s cool! Do you enjoy it?” she asked, leaning forward, her interest piqued.

“Yeah, I like working with my hands. It’s satisfying seeing something come together.” “built the gazebo down at the park. The one with the flowers?”

“You built that?” Lisa exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to let the compliment go to my head.

As the night wore on, I tried to focus on Lisa, but every time I would focus on her. I'd find myself thinking about darlin bent over the counter in her kitchen. I was reminded of the invisible thread connecting us. After we finished our dinner we exchanged numbers and headed to our vehicles. “Do you wanna come back to my house with me?” I turned and asked Lisa “sure. Lead the way.” Lisa smiled out of her window. The drive to my house was quick, considering I was arguing with myself about whether I should do this or not.

When we arrived at my house, we raced to the door, I tumbled through the door, Lisa’s lips locked in on mine. Her hands expertly unbuttoned my shirt, as her fingers tracing the contours of my chest. My breath quickened as I undressed her, my hands shaking slightly as I revealed her soft curves.

I guided Lisa towards the bedroom, our lips never parting. I kicked my door shut, as I backed her up and laid her down on the bed, my eyes taking in her naked body, but I couldn’t stop the images of darling playing in my mind.

I positioned myself between her legs, taking a moment to try to get darlin out of my mind. "Fuck me, Joel," she whispered, wiggling her hips, her voice thick with desire.

I thrust into her, as Lisa moaned loudly, her nails digging into my back as she urged me on. The sound of our flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with our loud groans. My guilt momentarily faded as i moved in and out of her body, my mind starts to betrayed me, flashing images again of darlings innocent face and soft moans. I thrust harder thinking of Lisa to push the thoughts away, but the forbidden fruit of my best friend's daughter was too tempting to ignore.

"Harder, Joel..I’m gonna cum!" Lisa cried out, her body bucking against mine.

I complied, pounding into her with renewed vigor, my own desire reaching a fever pitch. I felt her clench around me as she came. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and i pulled out finishing on her stomach, my body shaking with the force from my orgasm.

As my breathing slowed and returned to normal, I rolled onto my back, feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt. Lisa snuggled up against me, her hand resting on my chest.

"That was incredible, Joel," she purred, her breath warm on my neck. "I can't wait to do that again."

I nodded, my mind already elsewhere. "Yeah, it was..."

She placed one last kiss to my cheek, before standing up and getting dressed. “I had a lot of fun tonight Joel. Call me anytime.” With a sweet smile, she walked out the door.

Darlins pov

After hearing about Joel's blind date with Lisa, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. A couple weeks has passed since I seen or heard from Joel. I made my way to Joel's house . My heart raced as I climbed the stairs, my mind filled with questions and a growing sense of anticipation.

I knocked on the door, my knuckles rapping against the wood with a rapid rhythm that mirrored my racing pulse.

Joel, unaware of the visitor behind the door, open the door with an urgency. His handsome face, slightly weathered by the years, fell at the sight of me. "What are you doing here darlin?" He stepped aside, inviting me into his house, looking out behind to make sure no one saw me go in.

I entered, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, I turned around to face Joel, almost bumping into his chest. "Joel, I need to talk to you," I said, my voice laced with a mix of anxiety and determination.

Joel walked past me and led me in to the living room. "What happened between us was a mistake it shouldn't have happened and it’s not going to happen again.” Joel says sitting on the couch.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered her courage. "I heard about your date with Lisa."

Joel's eyes fall from my face as shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Yea, Mike set us up." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the guilt was evident in his expression.

"W-was it…Did it go well?" My voice softening. "

Joel's heart sank as he heard the pain in my voice."Yes, I had an excellent time.” Joel huffed

My eyes welled up with tears, I held my emotions in check. "Oh," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Did you fuck her?" I asked bluntly, blinking the tears away. The words felt like knives, slicing through my heart, but I needed to know. “Thats none of your business darlin.”

“It is when you were inside me a few days ago,Joel.” I spt back at him. “How was it, was she better than me?” I asked. “Or was she just another body to you?”

Joel's face flushed, and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

"That’s great." My voice cracked, feeling my composure starting to crumble. "I uh… I should go, glad we could talk.” I quickly say, making my way back through the front door across the street to my car. Joel called after me a couple of times but I ignored him driving off.

I drove to Hanna's house, getting out of the car, and knocking on her door frantically. “He slept with her.” I walk past Hanna. “He, who?” Hanna ask rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Joel slept with Lisa!” I said plopping on her couch letting the tears fall.

“Oh you poor thing!” Hanna sits beside me rubbing my back. “What happened to me?” I asked wiping my tears away. “I use to be able to do this, sleep with someone and just act like nothing happened, but then I fuck Joel ONCE and I feel like I'm the clingy girlfriend!”

“Look at me, this situation is different, you've had your heart set on Joel as long as I could remember, maybe he does feel the same way and he just can't come to terms with it.” Hanna comforts me for a little bit longer until then tears fade away.

“I know what we need to do.” hanna smiles. “The day of the barbecue, come over and get ready here. We will go together!” she smiles.

I stay the night with Hanna not ready to go home or have the chance of seeing Joel again today. I often ask Hanna what she has in mind for the barbecue and she just responds with, “You'll see” and a smirk.

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (9.2)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: tension, sexy mobsters, fluff, talk about sex, making out, voyeurism, established Stucky, mentions of a foot job

Indecent Proposal (9)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Our pretty angel is still asleep Stevie,” Bucky smirks while watching his husband stare at you. “What are your plans for tonight? Do you want to go easy on her or ruin her completely?”

Steve smirks. “I will make her feel so good and fill her up. Our sweet doll will melt in my arms, just like you did when I kissed you for the first time. But we need to go easy on her only for today. She needs a rest, or we will break her.”

Bucky laughs. “Baby, it was you whimpering after I shoved my tongue down your throat and my hand down your pants. You’ve been putty in my arms.”

“I think you remember wrong, Buck!” Steve’s eyes darken and he purses his lips. “You were the one moaning my name first.”

“Because you were so damn good a sucking cock,” Bucky grins. “You still are the best, baby. No one can compare with that dirty mouth of yours.”

“Debatable, babe,” Steve shrugs. “I agree on the fact that I’m the best at sucking your dick.”

“So…breakfast and naughtiness or only breakfast…?” Bucky hopefully looks at his husband.

“Well, you are already needy, and we should let Y/N sleep a little longer,” Steve slaps his husband’s ass. “In the showers, dirty boy. I want you to scrub the naughtiness off your skin.”

“Ha, like hell,” Bucky snickers and runs off, shaking his ass on purpose. “Catch me if you can, Stevie. If you catch me, you can scrub the naughtiness off my back.”

“How do you feel?” Bucky smirks knowingly as you hobble toward the kitchen counter. “What about breakfast? Ready to shovel down all the delicious food we made for you?”

You quirk a brow at Steve. “You made all of this?” While you glance at the food, Steve and Bucky look at each other. “Really?” You grab a plate and a fork.

“Uh-the cook made it,” Steve admits, earning a punch to his biceps from Bucky. “Hey, we don’t lie in our relationship.” Steve points out. “Y/N is part of this relationship too, and we won’t start it with lying to her.”

“Ah, we are playing knight in shiny armor today,” Bucky clicks his tongue. “I can be so good too. I can play houseman and use the vacuum cleaner.”

Steve snorts at his husband’s antics. “Buck, calm down. I only meant that we shouldn’t start our relationship with Y/N with a lie. She already knows that we are no angels.”

“How about we eat that food your cook made,” you step between the men to stop them from fighting. You don’t know yet that this is not a fight, but flirty banter. “It smells great.”

“You heard our girl, she’s hungry.”

“For cock?” Bucky grins. “Right, baby doll. You like a good cock.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Yes, I do,” you pat his chest. “But now that my brain is working again, we should talk a little before I eat your husband alive.” You turn around to wrap your arms around Steve’s neck. “Right, pretty man. I’m gonna ride that dick tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky slaps your ass. “This lady is hungry for you, Stevie. I’m afraid you cannot go easy on her. She wants to eat you alive.”

“First I want to eat pancakes and some eggs,” you snicker. “But I wanna sit in Stevie’s lap this morning. Maybe rub Bucky’s cock with my foot.”

“What?” Bucky choked on the coffee he tried to drink while you turned your attention toward his husband.

You look over your shoulder, smirking. “Don’t you like a good foot job, Bucky? I can make you cum only using my cute toes.”

“She’s a maniac Stevie and I love it!” Bucky is giddy to explore all of your kinks with you and Steve. “She’s a dirty girl too.”

“No sex this morning,” Steve tuts. “Y/N is right. We need to talk about a few things. The sex with both of you is amazing, and watching you is a turn-on. But we wanted to have her in our lives for more than good sex.”

“I wanna sit on your lap while we discuss all the things we forgot to talk about before we started,” you push Steve onto one of the chairs and hop onto his lap. “That’s better.” You grin and press your lips to Steve’s.

“The most important thing is to agree that we never lie to each other. This relationship and having a baby together will only work out if we are all on the same side.” Steve says and points out that they lied to you before.

“We agreed to not kill Scott but-“ Bucky huffs as his husband throws him an angry look. “What?” The brunette shrugs. “You wanted us to be completely honest. In all honesty, I enjoyed getting rid of that piece of shit.”

“You killed Scott,” you hum, and hide your face in Steve’s neck to nibble at his sweet spot. “Good. I think he was talking to the cops. I cannot risk that my men get arrested. How shall I survive without their cocks pounding me at least once per day.”

“What?” Steve and Bucky hiccup in unison.

“What?” You lift your head to smirk at Steve. “I knew that you wouldn’t kill him for me after I asked you to do so. But I knew that you would kill him for yourself because he lied to you. That hurt your ego and pride.” You giggle as Steve looks at you like you grew a second head. “I just had to lean back and act like I didn’t hear about his death already.”

“A match made in hell,” Bucky starts cackling loudly. “Stevie, she’s the one!”

Part 10

Tags in reblog.

[starsfic]

The Week After, Chapter 2: Day 1

Summary: Short one, because it was mostly sleeping.

They woke up on a couch.

It was an old couch in what looked to be the remains of a small break room. The lights were turned off, leaving only some light to peer through the cracks of the open door, so few details could be seen, like the dust that clung here and there and the plastic chairs surrounding about two tables. What they could see was the age of the room, left to rot unlike the pristine parkour palace.

…Well, almost pristine.

They pulled out their phone and winced at the lack of response. Hopefully, they got their purse back, it had their phone charger in it. There was a clock on the wall, but as they squinted, they realized they couldn’t see.

Oh. Wait. They weren’t wearing their glasses.

Morgan had to wonder how long they had been asleep to not notice that fact first. They stood up and reached around. After a bit of fumbling in the dark, they found their glasses. The sport strap was still on. They pulled it on and realized about four things.

The clock was a Frankie clock, the position of his arms suggesting it was eight in the evening. Someone had taken off the Frankie onesie, leaving them in the gym shorts and tank they had come in, the floor freezing through their socked feet, with the shoes next to the couch. There was a McDonald’s bag sitting next to where their glasses had been, faint warmth still coming off. The third thing was that Frankie was standing in the corner of the room next to the door, staring at them.

They stared at each other. It was just like when they stumbled across him the first time. He had been staring at the cameras and then slowly turned towards them. Morgan had been too baffled and just a touch scared to think of running as he straightened up and then suddenly burst to life-

“Oh good!” he said, clapping his hands. “You’re not dead!”

Morgan stared. “Were- were you worried I was?” they asked.

“Well, to be fair, you did pass out on me very suddenly,” he said, reaching over and turning on the light. They felt a hiss come out at the sudden invasion of light, blinking colors out of their vision. “That was very rude of you, dear.”

“Sorry,” they said, unsure of what else to say. When their parents or siblings had said something similar, they had always felt a rush of anger that meant that their house was filled with yelling. Instead, shame rushed up, foreign in their body. “I think it was because I was suddenly out of a life-threatening situation.” To be fair, Morgan had been running around for hours, avoiding danger like Death had an arrest warrant for them. It had been exciting, but also exhausting. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Hm,” Frankie said.

Morgan decided to move to the next topic. “Did you buy me McDonald’s?”

“No, the staff who came by did,” Frankie sounded very pleased by this. “The movers wanted to give you a reward for surviving. They left your stuff by the entrance, by the way.” There was a pause. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“Stop it,” Morgan said, reaching into the bag. And, wow, they had gotten them a bunch of stuff. Their mouth began to water at the smell of hotcakes. They couldn’t remember the last time they splurged and bought any kind of takeout. The past few months had been full of the cursed cereal that had the texture of packing peanuts and, after a few months of eating it straight, tasted like medicinal grape.

Frankie paused as they didn’t even bother with a knife and fork, yanking shreds of the pancakes off and shoving it in. “No,” he finally said, maniac glee lining his voice. “You did me a favor by living. So you have to deal with me.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked around a mouthful of fries. They needed to slow down, but they were so fucking hungry.

“They were going to get rid of me,” Frankie explained and Morgan had to stop at that. “After this season, they were going to scrap me and recast the position because with the show only lasting a few minutes.” The mania suggested this was an unusual amount of trauma dumping, so they just shut their mouth. “But now I’m getting upgrades that that brat got years ago!” He laughed, gripping his fists together.

…well then.

“I’m glad for you?”

“You should be!” Frankie said, turning and opening the door. “I’m glad you’re not dead. If you need to replace your bandages, there should be a first aid kit in the cabinet. Bye!” And with that, he slammed the door behind him. There was a pause and then he opened the door. “By the way, you do have some tax paperwork to fill. Apparently, it’s very illegal to not pay you for all you’ve done.”

“Isn’t it also illegal to host death games in the first place?”

Frankie chuckled. “Yes! But the IRS doesn’t ask questions about murder.” And with that, he slammed the door shut.

Morgan blinked and then sighed.

They could worry about that later.