#the only thing is i do use my brain cells

[diserbillyti]

I actually think people who respond to institutional ableism by calling the person committing those acts "schizophrenic" or "retarded" are doing far, far more harm than good. Not just because the words hurt my fee fees. Consider:

Elon Musk does a Nazi salute, his fanboys claim it's because he's autistic, and the internet lurches toward pointing out, no, his behaviour cannot be explained by autism. The internet even spotlights some soc. med. accounts claiming to be autistic explaining how autism does not determine beliefs or explain his consistent pattern of behaviour before this event. The conversation ends. Excellent, no notes, exactly how this kind of thing needs to work out. There is no better conversation that can come from this situation on social media.

RFK Jr., current Secretary of Health and Human Services, has incredible institutional power. He can, will, and is affecting disability outcomes in real time. He says he believes autism is caused by vaccines and wastes an insane amount of money funding probably useless research identifying the "environmental causes," instead of building support services. He says that psychiatric medication, the kind that many schizophrenics essentially need to live, is addictive and harmful. He says he wants to round up all of the severely cognitively disabled people and put us in open-air prison "wellness farms" in a direct call to a bright, shiny, rainbow capitalist solarpunk chic return to institutionalization - he is thus threatening the direct abuse of compelled treatment laws.

This is, to be clear, one of the most serious threats to disabled people in recent American history. Someone who directly wants to harm us, and believes this will help us, has the wheel. This is how all of those scary Arkham Asylum health prisons you've seen in movies like Shutter Island and, uh, what's a movie tumblr's seen... probably Sucker Punch? Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula? anyway, this is how those "sanitariums" happened. The only distinction between this and Eugen Bleuler is that where Bleuler spoke like a fatalist, RFK Jr. and his supporters paint the exact same systems and fears with an optimistic brush by not precluding the concept that this might cure us, when we know it won't.

So how do people respond this time?

Well they see that RFK Jr. has a lot of radicalized, cult-like, conspiracy theorist beliefs, and because he believes things that are not true, they --

accuse him of being schizophrenic.

they say he's sick and needs help. he needs to be given the right meds. he needs to be in a padded cell.

this reinforces the idea that schizophrenics are nutso dangerous people who fundamentally lack the ability to have a say in our own treatment.

which is also, again, contrary to deinstitutionalization.

the very position one wants to have when opposing RFK Jr.'s institutionalist proposals.

This should be obvious because using the very diagnosis of people you allegedly want to defend (come on, no you don't, you think if it was just us specifically sent to those prisons that "at least normal people would be safer." i can see you, margaret - you care about cute level one autistic people only) as a slur is like... dude. Come on.

This is entry level basic "why can't I say the N word?" stuff. This is literally the most basic overt concept possible in any kind of understanding of human rights. You can't say the N word, or say that Jewish people will do anything for a dollar, or that womens' brains are smooth and fit only for the kitchen, for the same reason you shouldn't accuse RFK Jr. of being schizophrenic while defending the rights of schizophrenics:

because it dehumanizes people.

That's it. That should be the only standard necessary to shut your fucking mouth.

Before one commits to speech one must ensure their speech can pass through the five gates:

is it true? no. you don't know he's schizophrenic. you're just using a big word emotionally.

is it kind? no. you're attempting to vilify this man by calling him disabled.

is it beneficial? no. you're directly walking backwards by doing this.

is it necessary? i actually think that no able-bodied person's opinions about disability are strictly necessary, but more directly, would the world be the same if you simply did not call RFK Jr. a "schizo" on bluesky?

is it the right time? obviously fucking not, margaret. we're quite literally fighting for our lives here and you're in there like

[chickenisamazing]

Dear lord what did I do wrong to have to get into bi/pan discourse with a teenager on the internet in the year 2023

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde (Here) | Diasomnia (Here) A/N: HUZZAH YET ANOTHER SERIES FINALLY COMPLETE

Habits You Steal:

Heels (Developed): Malleus is quite tall. No, scratch that. He towers over everyone. The horns give him an added height that really sells the deal. Unless you want to crane your neck back and develop a hump? It's wise to start wearing heels.

Prose (Inherited): Malleus. We love his little riddles and mysterious aura . He obviously read the wrong script and came straight out of an early 2000s YA novel named 'Evermore' or something akin. Yet he quite literally cannot get to the point sometimes. It’s a Diasomnia thing for sure but he’s the worst of the litter. It's infuriating. On one hand, your vocabulary has vastly improved. If only he could rub off on Grim, Professor Trein would be ecstatic. The problem is that sometimes you lapse into an 18th century sonnet, and your friends give maximum shit for it. Especially Ace. No mercy.

“Apologies everyone, it’s now past twilight hour and both the prefect and I need to conclude our evening agenda. Please excuse our absence and continue to delight in the night’s festivities.”-> Dear god Malleus - just say you’re going to walk them home and that you’ll see everyone in the morning. The misunderstandings that come from using big words is worse than sounding improper.

Sleeping on your side (Developed): Malleus requires a special pillow to sleep and it's one of those long ones that is positioned center of the bed. Most nights he rests like the dead, flat on his back so his horns don't tear the cloth. Laying on his side is a challenge, but he also wants to be touching you. It's one of those scenarios where once someone who's touch starved gets a taste, they can't go back. So most nights you'll sleep on one side (doesn't matter which) with either your head on his chest or your arms wrapped around one of his. Oh yeah - you get to keep one of those fancy pillows in Ramshackle. It's stored in a spare room but grim steals it quite a bit since the quality is high. The nights Malleus isn't around, you'll wake up with Grim smothered in your arms instead. Guess the whole 'can't go back' thing doesn't apply ONLY to Malleus here.

Luck (Inherited?): Fae blessings are a thing - we have confirmation within a 'discussion' during the main plot. I won't say when to avoid spoilers. Point is, the partner of Malleus Draconia most definitely has fae favorability cast upon them. You could make a HEFTY deal with Azul if he ever found out, so maybe keep the knowledge in your back pocket for a rainy day. Maybe offer to sit by him during a game of poker? Haha, no. You're actually 100% unaware. Only other fae can sense a blessing, and Lilia isn't a snitch. Expect your luck to turn around. Perhaps not entirely, but enough for the grey hairs to stop sprouting prematurely. It's difficult for other fae and supernatural to sense who placed a blessing, but they can recognize raw power. There is only one person on campus with enough magical potency to cast such a powerful charm. All thy need is two brain cells to connect the dots (some do lack this, unfortunately). You won't be sucked into any messes such as the Ghost Bride, etc. anymore, at the very least.

"Hm? I've little to no involvement with the others in my dorm, dearest. Yet, is it not a good happenstance that they treat you with the upmost respect? Do other dorms behave so uncouth that you are wary of proper manners? Diasomnia would welcome you, all you need do is ask." <- It is technically not a lie? He's not explicitly making anyone behave a certain way, but surely the strong aura acts as a deterrent for anyone with bad intentions. It just so happens that most fae-born students reside in Diasomnia. Not that he'd take kindly to any of his acting like anything but proper gentlemen towards you. This includes Sebek, by the way. The tonal whiplash with this one is insane the moment he recognizes Malleus' magic.

Gargoyles (Inherited): There is not much to say on this topic. Malleus is the sole member of Gargoyle Studies, and while he won't force you to join? It would make him very happy. You will become accustomed to travel and find comfort in desolate places. The dewy chill in deep ruins, nature's overgrowth from time's passing - certainly Malleus revisits places he once knew held life, and have been left to deteriorate. You can't truly feel the heavy nostalgia as Malleus can, but the appreciation is still shared.

"I once deeply enjoyed the solitude of ruins. The weathering of time somehow captured in architecture. Trapped in place as the world continued to live on. Yet I now find more joy in sharing them with you, rather than basking in their atmosphere alone. It perplexes me, and yet I find no problem with it." -> Malleus discovered the happiness that comes from simply being near someone you love. He just...doesn't realize it yet? It's a difficult feeling to characterize in words. Different than with his family, certainly. The entire point of going to a ruin was to enjoy the abandoned atmosphere. Malleus cares for his family yet there is a divide. Unspoken, and unable to be crossed. His world turns while he remains at a stand still. Yet whenever he discovers a new ruin, he couldn't find that tranquility he used to. Enjoying it alone is almost unthinkable - harrowing. He can't without you, or else it feels lacking. Even if you sit together in silence, he'd be happy. He just wants you there, your reactions, your company - it brings life back to the emptiness. Leaving the place more harmonious than he found it, coating it with pleasant memories for future visits. Hopefully ones where he is not alone.

Habits He Steals:

Artistry (Developed): Malleus has plenty of time to develop skills. The resources as well. He's fearful that one day your memory will become just that - a memory. One where he cannot picture your face in his mind. Where he's the only one left who recalls your existence. Be it because you pass on, or decide to leave him prematurely and return 'home'. Even if he firmly believes that there is nowhere more 'home' for you than in Twisted Wonderland. Regardless, he doesn't trust others enough. He needs to capture your likeness on his own. With his hands rather than magic - even if using magic to do so is child's play. He does not tell anyone of this budding desire or disquiet in his heart. Not even Lilia, who's likeness is forever immortalized in textbooks. The unspoken implications are too much for Malleus to confront.

People Watching (Inherited): It’s a work-in-progress, getting Malleus to see people as…well, ‘people’ and not subjects or those he’s obligated to protect. To cure his social awkwardness, there’s a need to get him ‘loosey-goosey’ and in touch with improv. What better way than to people watch? Except you don’t just sit there with him to observe. Malleus is thrown for a loop when you start making up backstories for everyone - based on their clothes, what they might be doing, or whatever else. None of it’s true. The ideas are all super embellished and with characterization holes…but it’s fun, and it gets him to think about how specific a person’s life can become, whether they live a lengthy life or not. Something utterly pointless to do, suddenly becomes one of Malleus’ favorite pass times.

Earth Slang (Inherited): It's a give and trade scenario. He improves your vocabulary, while you do Lilia proud by being the newest gremlin on Malleus' shoulder. Rather than teaching him Twisted Wonderland slang, it's much more entertaining for him to learn Earth lingo. Which is different. It's our metaphors, legends, and phrases like 'it's raining cats and dogs'. You're going to talk in SpongeBob quotes to him and he's going to believe it's philosophical. How novel, indeed. He gets to learn more about you as a person, and you get to have a bit of fun while also fostering a language shared only amongst the two of you? Like a secret code that friends have, or lovers? Huhu. It's not hard to crack at all but still fun.

"Hm? An 'updog'? Is this another saying or legend from your world? No, I have never heard of an 'updog' anywhere in Briar Valley. What is an 'updog'? A terror of some kind?" <- Heh.

Domestic Tasks (Inherited): Be still Sebek's heart, because bro might need to be resuscitated. Malleus wants to help you. Except he's found a situation where there isn't anything he can offer? Sure, he can offer coin and trinkets. Anyone can. It also is not his place to insert himself and solve your problems. You're an independent human and he isn't foolish enough to overstep that. So? Acts of service, even if said acts are 'beneath' him. This revolves back to him simply enjoying your presence, no matter what. Since you come with him to enjoy hobbies, it's only fair he does the same. Now he doesn't fully believe that you 'like' cleaning, but it's what you do most. So he'll help hang the sheets outside and then cast wind magic so they dry faster. He'll set up security charms outside Ramshackle, and enchant the paint brushes to freshen up your fence while you both share a pot of tea on the porch. You seem happy, and even a tad amused. So he'll relinquish some pride. If only for you to smile.

“Do all without magic need to take such…’extreme’ measures to clean windows? Please do not perch on the sill like this when I am not near. Else allow me this task, a simple water spell is far more proficient and safe” -> Man catches you ONE TIME, leaning out one of the second story windows to clean the outside glass and his heart skips a beat. Not that you wouldn’t make a lovely gargoyle on the roof, but spare him. He cannot fathom why one of the ghost residents can’t do it in your stead, but Malleus much prefers your feet planted on firm flooring (who’s going to tell him about all the holes and weak floorboards in Ramshackle?)

Nicknames (Developed): Malleus ceases calling you 'Child of Man'. There are many other children of men. It just so happens to be his default when you met. You are more. Much more. Which is why you cannot be his 'Child of Man'. Malleus actually takes to calling you your name more often than not. Names are meaningful, after all. Yet he dubs you 'Mooncalf' as well.

“Mooncalves are beautiful creatures that inspire. A name given to ‘those who dream’. That is what you do, is it not? Dream, and bring novel ideas that spark life in others.”

Strength (Developed): This is quite difficult. Controlling his strength when touching another is like trying to crack an eggshell with a power-saw. Yet the more you are together, the more he desires to touch you. So he has to learn. Since if he ever injured you, Malleus would never forgive himself. Often he hovers near, guiding you yet never making direct contact. His palm hovering near the small of your back as you walk, or taking extreme care when holding your arm. He's broken more teapots than you can count, and it takes months to share a bed. The fear of hitting you in his sleep caused insomnia for days...just, goodness. Don't even start on his tail. That thing has a mind of it's own.

"Fascinating...Hm?. No, no. I am by no means upset. Quite the contrary. Could I trouble you to humor my curiosity with examples? Oho, this is a wonderful evening indeed." <- Malleus showcases one of his pointed smiles - chin grasped between thumb and index as he listens intently to his juniors go in great detail about how you've begun to resemble him. The one other students will shy away from, but little do they know just how genuinely overjoyed he is. At first they showed mild distaste for the Ramshackle Prefect daring to go after someone like Malleus Draconia, yet all know better than to admit such a thing to his face. Else pity the fool. Yet nothing could dour his mood, their formal report reading like a lovestory in his mind. It is not that he is 'naive' to your mannerisms. You are always changing - as are many - and he would not dare to make any assumptions. Yet if others are noting these subtle changes as well? Malleus is...overwhelmed. Joy, appreciation, humor, and a bit unsettled if one asked for full honesty. If you are admiring him, including him in your person, as much as he is to you? It's an intimate commitment that comes once in a lifetime for his kind. He needs to think, but for now he will enjoy the 'implications' as much as he can.

Habits you steal:

Light Feet (Inherited): The king of jump-scares, ladies and gentlemen. Lilia is quite the cheeky fellow. He wades through corridors, skulking around like a bat on the walls. Both body and humor seem to ascend to new heights with this one - who without a moment's hesitation will drag you into his schemes. You may not be able to float, but that is no excuse to clomp about like an oaf! No, my doves, the greatest joys in life come from a good thrill. Others learn to keep a keen eye out for this bat's lover, as you slink about and appear at the most random moments.

"Oho!....my, my - your stealth is improving by the day. Don't get too cocky now, else I'll be forced to show you how a professional jump-scare is done!" <- Leona KingScholar himself has threatened to stick a bell collar on you, those from Savanaclaw taking a step back as you begin to resemble the more worrisome Diasomnia residents by the day. Dropping from treetops and banisters aplenty, the trickster ghosts at Ramshackle love their new fourth (and fifth, counting the ancient bat who haunts the halls just as much as they do).

Impish Glint (Inherited): Kehehehe~ it's physically impossible not to mimic that mischief laden smile of Lilia's! It's not as intimidating without the fangs and blood-red eyes, yet still oh-so charming. Why, the bat himself finds it positively adorable. It's one thing to have others call him cute - he now gets to witness the effect first-hand. The fact others can point your resemblance to him is just an added bonus. All you're missing now is the pink streak in your hair...can he? It would make such a lovely memory!

"Well aren't you just the most fetching gremlin this world has ever seen. Come along dear, I want to stir some youthful envy!"

Nose Picking (Inherited): Just kidding lol.

Historical Info-Dumping (Developed): One can only be corrected so many times before learning a topic inside-and-out. History lessons are a breeze with a personal dictionary at your disposal. Lilia is happy to help, but get ready for long stories with his bias weaved in-between. He never outright lies though, and it's a fine evening to sit with him by firelight and talk the night away over junk food. Treat it like hearing the story of an elder veteran. Except Lila has hundreds of stories to tell. There will come a day where your knowledge abut Twisted Wonderland extends far beyond what you ever knew of Earth - and you are the person people come to for notes. Even the studious Riddle Rosehearts trusts your word-of-mouth as much as his precious texts (only for history though, fair warning).

Speed Dial Takeout (Developed): This one is self-explanatory. Lilia's curiosity in the kitchen isn't something you want to deter him from. Let bro live his life, so long as it doesn't lead to the end of yours. It took months to find the TWST equivalent of speed-dial Chinese, yet a slip to Azul along with some recipes was enough to get the ol' ball and chain rolling. The food already exists, but you just had to plant some ideas to make sure that 3am last-second-craving availability was indeed an option.

"Don't look so glum now - once the oven is fixed I'll whip up a batch of Silver's favorite Mushroom Bisque! Ah - there's no need to cry. Now where did I put those takeout menus...." <- Now it's just Lils, Silver, and yourself chilling out at midnight with some egg rolls and moo-goo-gai pan after the fourth oven's been blown up in the past year. Thank Seven Malleus worked a plan with Azul set up a chain in Briar Valley, else y'all would starved.

Briaran (Inherited) : Briar Valley is indeed a land of tradition. You don’t need to learn their language to converse with fae. Most people in TWST are Bilingual - knowing common tongue and that of their homeland. Plus there are spells to help. Very few speak the ancient dialect from hundreds of years ago, which dwindled out after the war between man and fae with the ushering of a new generation. You already speak common tongue, but as for Lilia? Fluent in multiple languages. Ancient Briaran being one he slips in from time to time. You will undoubtably pick up many phrases of Briaran. Especially when he converses with Malleus, Silver, and on occasion Sebek. The third still a beginner to his personal chagrin. It’s like being a child in an immigrant household where your elders talk in their native tongue when they don’t want you to understand the conversation, so as a kid you gradually put together meanings through context. Y’know, as they go in between languages.

"I hadn't thought it possible to fall fall deeper in love - yet as always, you continue to surprise me." <- Lilia never asked you to learn, but nothing makes him melt faster than seeing you pick it up. You’re listening to him. He won’t ever jest over this, no matter how tempting, afraid it might deter you. He adores the way you mumble words under your breath, even if they’re mispronounced. He will only interfere if you ask, and be more than willing to teach. Ask him.

Habits He Steals:

Walking (Developed): Aside from when he's cheeky and looking to have some fun? Lilia will not float near you. He prefers to walk, feet firm on the ground, his hand in yours and enjoy the sweet serenity. There isn't a need to rush. Not anymore. Strolls with Malleus are a commonly discussed subject, but with Lilia? It's less like a sonnet in steps and more akin to walking the streets on a cold, winter night. Plenty of laughter as your linked arms swing between. Somehow slowing your steps on purpose, drawing out the time shared. Even if your lungs hurt a bit and joints are stiff. You don't have to. He could easily zip you both wherever need be, but the journey is part of the fun. He's gone his entire life at differing paces - and now Lilia is happy to match his final gait alongside yours.

Repeating Others (Developed): This goes hand-in-hand with you learning Briaran. Without prompting, Lilia will often repeat things his sons just said in common tongue. Sometimes dropping context clues so you can piece things easier. Not in a way that makes it obvious for you (sparing your feelings), but definitely noticeable to others in the Valley. It's an unspoken understanding not to ask 'why' he repeats himself two maybe three times tops.

"...eh? Scuzele mele. Ne vom întâlni în trei ore pentru antrenament. Da. Pentru practică. Asigurați-vă că nu vă zăboviți, altfel veți rata antrenamentul! - why that face, Sebek? Careful or your muscles will freeze like that khee hee!" <- Does it come unnatural? Maybe, but two out of three of his conversation partners can usually pick up when you're struggling to understand something. Sebek fails, but wouldn't dare question Lilia's speech and risk offending him. Translation: "My apologies. We'll meet in three hours for practice. Yes. For practice. Make sure you don't linger, or you'll miss practice!"

Intimacy (Inherited): Lilia is cheeky with most, but not touchy-feely. Not in the way that matters. He becomes clingy. It's odd being with someone actively seeking to be at his side all the time...and yet he does not mind. Which is unheard of for the loner - he spent 700 years of solo trips, wouldn't change a single one (okay, maybe a few. He could do without some scars), but the taste of a couple's vacation? A couple's intimacy? Romanic candle-lit dinners atop the castle ramparts, legs dangling over the edge as mindless talk comes and goes. Hiking through mountains hand-in-hand. Running raids online, shouting at each other from the next room? Sipping mimosas on a cruise ship - picking out souvenirs for your family an tasting cuisine. Even if it's places he's been before...with you? It's all new.

""You know...it was quite cruel of you to leave me behind. When? On that little journey to Fleur City, of course! Be it ten years ago or not - I understood at the time that it was a decision out of your hands, and yet you hadn't brought me any souvenirs...the hurt lingers to this very day and can only be healed through another vacation, won't you be my guide this time around?"

Normalcy (Developed): Lilia actively pushes the cute bit with others. Many portray his character as two sides of one coin: Lilia the General, and Lilia the Cheeky Prankster. What you get to see is...just Lilia. Not even Lilia The Father - because even with his kids, he has a part to play. Has to set a good example. Is it corny to say that he doesn't have to act cute for you, because he trusts you'll adore him? Isn't that what love is? To truly release your guard around him and not stress? It's like how on earth we all have our work mode, family mode, public mode, and then...well, us. The person we are when in a quiet room, alone, and simply being. That is the Lilia you, and only you, get to see. Lilia wouldn't get involved with someone that couldn't bring this side out of him. The one jamming out to metal while pretzeled on the ground, sifting through his wardrobe and eating burnt crisps out of a bag with chopsticks.

Time (Developed): In his last hundred years of life, with his magic dwindling, Lilia casts a glamour that lets him physically age with you. Not technically a habit, but also something he would never have spared the energy on without you as a deciding factor. Time comes for us all. He’d rather not emphasize this to his sons more than necessary…but they’ll watch you age. In an odd way, this is Lilia’s greatest ode to you. To them. To himself. You won’t have to age alone, watching him in a standstill as he’s been the past 700 years. This is his final thrilling experience, his final adventure- to grey and feel time in his blood beyond magic.

"You are as lovely as the day we first met, dear...surely I'm just as cute too, no?" <- No matter how quick you reply, he still is the same cheeky lil shit at 780 as he was at 700. Only with one heavy case of arthritis.

Nicknames (Developed): Lilia calls you ‘Dove’ for reasons best derived on your own rather than my telling. He will also be an ass and use teasing ones like 'shnookums' and 'poppet', but dove is for the softer times. On very rare occasions he will say ‘inima mea’ which is Romanian for My Heart, also known as Briaran in the world of TWST.

"Why, thank you! Kee hee hee, is it so obvious that I adore my little dove beyond comprehension? I've finally found my 'partner-in-crime' as you kids say, and my days have not been this lively in many years. Humor the musings of this old-timer, enjoy the blessings life offers while they are within your grasp." == Those who have lived as long as Lilia in Briar Valley are witnesses to his personality change. The general from hundreds of years ago is not the same bat flying about. He's a prime example for fae and humans alike that time changes us all - and so he doesn't mind popping in to humor gossiping soldiers. If anything, he hopes his open adoration serves as an example that it's never too late to welcome sweeter things in life. Family, friends, adventure, and even the once in a lifetime 'eternal love'.

Habits you steal:

Calling Lilia ‘Dad’ (Inherited?): Not Father. Just Dad. Daddio. Peepaw. Pops. Ye old man. So informal. So funny. Lilia loves it and Silver turns red every time. One? Because you’re already thinking of him and his Father as your family. Two? Please. Please, let him breathe. Flustered is the most consistent emotion he shows aside from that graceful little smile of his, and people are starting to notice. He’s not used to such bluntness and it’s killing him. You need to be more careful! Not everyone knows about his situation! Lilia is such cheeky as shit over it and teases his son every off moment. Welcome to the Vanrogue’s, my friend. It’s a clusterf*ck. You’re going to love it.

“…N-no, I haven’t seen father since lunch. Perhaps check over near the club rooms. I can escort you before my next lesson, come along and take my hand.” -> Silver will never get used to you asking ‘Hey, have you seen Dad anywhere?’. He bites back the warning for you to lower your volume. It’s turmoil - truly. He doesn’t want you to ‘stop’ per-say…but maybe keep it in private? He adores your energy but the rumors.

Compliments (Inherited): Silver gets plenty of compliments. He’s amazing, after all. This is a habit because his reactions are priceless. Why is it developed? Because the man in question is the most wholesome being to exist. He effortlessly drops one-liners out of thin air, and then has the gull to act confused when you clutch at your chest. Silver is brutally honest when it counts. His words and his reactions are genuine. Truly priceless. His confidence desperately needs that bolstering, so much that you never go a single visit without paying him a compliment. It’s only fair. You do it until he takes them with anything other than a pass off or a denial. Even after, because appreciating Silver is the best part of your day. Congrats. You’re a simp. Big Ol’ simp - side note, being so forward for his sake has turned you confident in other aspects of life as well. Congrats on being the social one.

"Your hands are unnaturally soft for a student. Perhaps I am used to callus' from training, but yours are warm enough to feel through my gloves. I heard once that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Yours must reflect a gentle personality, which is true - hm? What's wrong?" <-Wholesome. Fucking wholesome.

Animals (Inherited): How do you feel about woodland creatures? Would you consider raising bunnies, or leaving the window open in the mornings for songbirds to perch? The answer is yes. Always yes. Otherwise they will whack at the glass until you do. Silver is beloved by nature. Being around Silver means being around all the animals that perch at his side when he clocks out in random places. Eventually you'll be waiting with birdseed in your pocket, prepped to distract those that perch on his head. Ramshackle has multiple bird baths out in the gardens, and you've built shelters for the wildlife on campus to camp out in when they visit (always when Silver does. Coincidence? No).

Just Chilling (Developed): Not relationship-exclusive. Any time you find Silver clocked out, it’s instinctual to just drop everything and lay down next to him so it looks like you’re both chilling out. Doesn’t matter if he’s asleep for ten minutes or two hours - you don’t leave him. Not unless someone trustworthy comes to take your place.

Haircuts (Developed): A lil snip here, a chop there - and you're cutting his hair in the kitchen at 9:00pm with one of the old sheets tied loosely around his neck like a bib. All it took was one time for him to nick his ear while doing it himself, and you so graciously forced him in a chair. Now you cut both his and his father's hair. Since Lilia's a little turd, and if Silver gets a freebie than so should peepaw. Briar Valley could use another stylist, y'know. You already have two loyal clients!

"Thank you. My bangs can get in the way of my training, so I try to keep them short. Maybe I should adapt a cut similar to Kalim's?....Why are you looking at me like that?" <- Kalim's hair is adorable, but if Silver cuts off his shimmering silk-soft locks it will literally be a crime against cosmetology.

Alarms (Inherited): You sleep through alarms. There isn't much to say. Have you seen his bedroom? There's like - a dozen clocks in there. The only one that gets him up is you, usually whacking him with a pillow because no amount of love will ever make up for dealing with nonstop ringing every morning. You started off having a near heart attack on the first night. A few years down the road, and it takes about 2-4 of the clocks to go off before you're up.

The Way Of The Sword (Inherited and Developed?): Another one without much to elaborate. Silver insists on teaching you some swordsmanship. He does not play around either, and is a very stern teacher. Lilia engrained the danger of weaponry and battle into him from childhood.

"Steel your nerves. They will only impede your progress. Do not worry about anything other than my instruction while there is a blade in your hand. I am here for that." <-The sword exists to protect, but that does not mean you are invincible. He won't put you through a Knight's training - but as one of the few 'sane' people? Homie, you really need to learn some self defense. It isn't even about his feelings (although he does worry).You are a walking magnet for bad luck, and a firm understanding of defensive combat is necessary so you don't end up dead in a ditch.

Habits He Steals:

Wet Wipes (Developed) : It’s so tempting to draw on Silver when he’s complete zonked out in the ninth dimension. How he hasn’t woken up to any uh…hehe, ‘special’ and ‘totally not vulgar’ images all over him on a daily basis is an honest shock. Especially in a campus full of dudes. Some not so friendly with the whole dorm rivalry going on. Then again…maybe it’s his aura. Drawing a dick on Silver’s forehead feels like a crime punishable by Lilia’s homemade gazpacho.

"...I sense a disturbance." <- Regardless. It’s your civic duty to make him a work of art…much to Silver’s reluctant compliance. Some day’s it’s heartwarming. He’ll wake up and find little hearts on his cheeks, or a note on his collarbone. A lipstick kiss left smack center of his forehead…which takes endless scrubbing to get off before equestrian club. "Mngh...ah, you're here father? I could smell jasmine and oakwood and thought - wait, isn't that MC's pencil case?" <- Other days Silver wakes up covered in tic tac toe games with his father snickering over him and your form making a speedy guilt-ridden retreat off in the distance - and yes, Ramshackle smells of Jasmine and Oakwood. From repairs and the herbal cleanings.

You’ve Got Mail (Developed): Squirrels make good messengers. It helps that you live in a dilapidated dorm with a lovely forest not too far for them to skitter about. It would be troublesome if you lived somewhere like Heartslabyul…Riddle would never allow Silver’s animal friends to stay. Since you’re so open to suggestion, and skittering about yourself, he’s made a habit out of using the animals for communication.

"Please take this gift to them, would you? Today is a special day, I must take precautions not to forget." <- He’s not too big on phones since he might pass out and miss a call…or forget. So Silver likes to pen his notes when he can and trust his little buddies to make sure you get them. It especially helps with big events like anniversaries or days he cannot make it home.

Mints (Inherited): Someone get this man an Altoid, stat. Whatever curse is on his ass, crack open that tin and shove three strong peppermints between his teeth. They’ll spark more than just a crack of the great beyond in him. Giving Silver a tin of strong mints is like giving a Victorian child one singular sour patch kid. You carry the things around to punish Grim. Y’all know it’s bad if the living garbage disposal won’t even eat them….now if we could just somehow compress Lilia’s cooking into a pill form, we might be onto something bigger.

"This is a remedy from your world? Oh - it's candy? Maybe it will work then...thank you. I'll update you if there are any changes."

The Open End (Developed): Silver’s precautions extend to all matters, big or small. He’s trained to be Malleus’ guard since he was a little boy, going through strict training and beyond in order to match royal standards. Some might think him cold, but his father raised him to care deeply, truly, and so he is proactive in ensuring your comfort. When at the cinema, he sits in the inner seat. Both so he’s blocking you from strangers and so you can have the chair with two arm rests. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk, shares his umbrella but covers you fully at the cost of his sleeve, gives you more of the blanket at night and once gave you his shoes when yours were pinching your toes. If there are two cupcakes, he pushes you the one with more sprinkles, and he never forgets to ask how your day is.

"Are you happy today?...I see. That's good. I've been working hard to not disappoint you as a partner. It is nice to know my efforts have been yielding results." <- Ever the hard worker. Silver works on your relationship like it's training - but not in a bad way. He just doesn't want to reflect poorly on you, especially when this is new to him and tracking his performance in a relationship isn't the same as studies or physical training. He could do with some verbal affirmations, just saying.

Smelling Salts (Developed) : Silver does not want to sleep all the time. He is determined to overcome it - and you support him by suggesting method after method. Sometimes it takes an otherworldly person to bring in new ideas? Another cook in the kitchen, y'know. Can you believe that in all of Twisted Wonderland, with their fancy shmancy potions and charms, no one thought to get him military-grade smelling salts (or trigger his fight/flight by putting a bit of Lilia's pot roast in front of his nose)? His curse is potent, but it staves the episode off just enough for him to get to a bench or out of a clearing. I swear - magic spoiled these people. It's a blessing and a curse. It's no cure but he'll take anything at this point. Who knows what other ideas you might bring.

"Mm...thank you. I am lucky to have someone as wonderful as them in my life. I strive to be a good partner and influence. Your compliment makes me quite happy. I will be sure to pass on the message." <- Silver's expressions are typically difficult to read, they're so miniscule. Yet it would take a blind man to miss the way his disposition softens. One might mistake the far-away look in his eye for an incoming siesta, but no. He's merely in love and excited to tell you how appreciative he is to have you in his life. Whatever dreams he has that night, you're in them. As always.

Habits you steal:

Volume (Inherited) : Spoken like a true Queen. Literally. Sebek’s volume blasts your eardrums like a child’s screech plugged into an amplifier broadcasted over the Night Raven intercom. Mans has his vocals, there’s no doubt about it. The thing is that Sebek won’t stop until he’s been heard, so you have to get loud for him to listen. That can be hard to tone down when he’s not around, and you have to remind yourself that Epel will hear you just fine at a level 2 not 6.

"Disrespectful! My human can speak to their desire, apologize for suggesting otherwise this very instant. It is an honor to hear their voice!" <-Aye...sometimes your volume hits the frequency where people cover their ears, just as they do for him. He misinterprets this as a smite on your freedom of speech.

Gotta Keep Up (Developed): Get those legs moving prefect. Ya gotta go sonic fast. Sebek-y long legs over here moves in big strides. Big strides for his big personality. One of his steps is the equivalent to three of yours, no matter how tall or jittery you are. He will out jitter you with his Type-A pacing. You’d think he was on a mission and not on a date with how Sebek zooms through a shopping mall. Sebek, honey, we’re here to buy clothes, not race the evil sales clerk and save Malleus from the storage room.

Bookies (Inherited): You never know when you’ll be stuck waiting around or following Malleus with him. Sometimes it’s a sacrifice you have to make for some quality time together, and it’s not so bad. Malleus is cool with it, Silver’s good company, and Lilia is mildly stressful company. You could just go on your phone to pass the time, but Sebek limits your screen time. No IPad partners or brain rot on his watch. Read a book. Don’t make him quiz you, ‘cause he will.

"I have been thinking to start a book club, and you can be the first among many initiates! This week we will be reading My Liege's autobiography as sourced from the Royal Palace. I can think of no better introduction!" <- Dear god, he'll put in the request too. Stop him. You love Malleus to pieces but 600 pages on his birth alone is just destructive.

Prim and Proper (Developed): It’s a bit hilarious that he takes personal offense when you’re not groomed properly. Especially when near Malleus (of course). If you want to follow with the troupe, you need to look the part. He’d likely ask for a Diasomnia uniform on your behalf if it wasn’t against the school dress code. Secretly though? He enjoys fixing your tie, hair, etc. It makes him feel useful but that sweet emotion gets masked by a scolding.

"Tsk. It is an honor to wear this uniform. You should take precautions to ensure your appearance doesn't reflect on Lord Malleus. As his chosen friend and my partner, you are a representative of Briar Valley. Step forward and allow me to preform an inspection." <- Sebek has more than one jealous bones in his body. They’re all jealous bones. Make sure he’s the one to fix your tie and not Rosehearts, unless you want him to sulk.

Battery Pack (Developed): Lowkey? Sebek zaps you frequently. Think the electric buzz from pulling out a plug too quick. The sparkles come out when he gets very emotional - which is all the time. So…yeah, you might secretly carry ointment for that. Don’t tell him? He feels awful. Not awful enough to stay calm when you ask him to charge your phone. Jokes on him. The anger zap brought it to 100%.

Habits he steals:

Response (Developed): Sebek has this teensey-weensey annoying habit of answering on your behalf. He thinks it a way of proving his devotion. Partners are meant to know each other down to the tiniest detail, no? So when he responds correctly, it’s like he’s passing a test by knowing exactly what you’d want.

"They will do no such thing! Your childish antics will only reflect poorly on your dormitory. You will not taint them into participating in needlessly reckless activities!" <- While his intentions are pure, the act itself can be frustrating. Especially when he puts his values in your mouth when chatting with friends. It’s a work in progress, but he will still become overzealous to order your coffee or recall your schedule if asked.

Handkerchief (Developed): Exchanging handkerchief with one’s partner was a popular courting method in the past. Considering the handkerchief Sebek carries is meant for his lord, him offering it to you is a grand gesture. Especially since he does not replace it with one meant for Malleus, as this is something exclusive to lovers, and carries one from you instead. If you don’t have one? Well - expect to get one asap. Author’s authority dictates that you will not disappoint him.

"The embroidery on this handkerchief is exquisite. According to Master Lilia, it is the same style as lacework from my homeland's establishment...and it is yours. Please accept this as a token of my affections."

Portrait (Developed): Sebek keeps your picture hidden at NRC. There's one stuck between his mattress and the boxboard, one behind his ID card in his wallet, and a small portrait he keeps taped under his deckchair. He cannot properly display it like Malleus' - partially from not wanting to disrespect his Lord and partially from bein emotionally constipated. Expect the exact opposite when he is older though. Listen. Do not try to tell me this man wouldn't commission an extra-large oil painting of his spouse to hang up in his barracks room in the palace. He's literally the blueprint of a fanboy, and if there's no available merch then us nerds get to commissioning.

Escort (Developed): Sebek Zigvolt can and will sit in the husbands' chair while you try on clothes in the store. He will carry your bedazzled hot-pink purse with pride, guarding the thing like it's worth millions. You can leave your cup with this one when at a ball worry-free. You have somewhere to be and he isn't on duty? Sebek is hot on your heels. He has no shame. Better yet? He's the one shaming anyone unable to do such simple things.

Gotta Slow Down (Developed) : Pairs with 'Gotta Keep Up' as he tries to match your stubby legs. At first Sebek attributed your slow pace to a lack of stamina, but no. He's just a jitterbug. Obviously he can't tug you along or stop every other minute for you to catch up either. It's funny watching you both try and forget to consider the other. On loop, a never-ending cycle. NRC hasn't seen a pairing like this in centuries.

Chivalry is not dead (Inherited...just not from you) : Lilia fucks with him and you’re subjected to many, many odd courting attempts…some he unironically takes a liking to.

"What must I do for you to reciprocate my intentions?! I have bestowed pearls shucked with my own hands, invited you to dance under moonlight, hung dried thyme over every door and given earthly offerings to all your kin! I implore you for transparency this instant!" <- Oh...oh, His trust in your batty elder wanes for months after being tricked so cruelly. Only until you accept (out of pity?). Then he feels guilty for ever doubting Lilia and begs for forgiveness. At least life never gets boring? Haha...hah...ha...

‘My human’ (Developed) : Sebek gets hit hard with a crippling awareness for your mental well being. He defended your 'honor' once and had it thrown in his face that he calls you a human more than your own name. Old habits die hard, and he prostrates himself on the ground as an apology. He really didn’t realize it came off so derogatory. Especially considering your relationship. Felt awful. Apologized profusely. Only says it in an affectionate way or with pride now. Tacking in the ‘my’ makes it better somehow? It's a work in progress.

"An apology is in order. My actions until now were unbecoming, and I am truly repentant. I cannot begin to beg for forgiveness, knowing that my words have struck you. I was wrong. You are no mere human, you are my human. A very special one whom I could not have foreseen in this lifetime" <- You know it's bothering him when he takes a gentle tone, looking directly in your eyes with shame open on display. Responsible enough not to look away and face his wrongdoing in the face. Even after you forgive him, Sebek will carry this lesson with him forever.

Flower preference (Inherited): In the language of flowers, which means a great deal to fae kind, he goes for the one associated with your birth month. Carries a pressed one as a bookmark, changes his cologne, and places a vase of blooms by his bedside that never seem to wilt.

"It is an honor! I shall never cease striving to improve. It is only natural that my partner does the same. Your acknowledgement is noted and appreciated. Please continue to treat them well." == Insulting Sebek is a challenge. The comment could be made with the most nasty undertone, but he only hears that you're behaving like a model citizen. You must, if you are beginning to resemble him in so many ways. Hearing that you are a positive influence on him is nothing short of baseline knowledge. Of course you are? He picked you to be his partner? Honestly. If people have time to sit around and gossip, they could go do something more productive.

Habits you steal:

Acronyms (Inherited): Does this truly come as a shock? Big L on your part if so. C'mon, this is Idia we're talking about here. Bro cannot go two sentences without pullin' some quote out of his mental backlog. Since you're stuck in TWST, not watching their culturally founding shows and cartoons is a crime. You'll be speaking in pseudo-lingo like how Spongebob quotes make their own language around these parts.

"Whehehe way to debuff your charisma stat - you might want to craft some mimic gear before Professor Trein locks ya in detention....n-not that I care! It's just that I'll have to solo tonight's raid and you're the one with the rotation buffed character!" <- On one hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. That's good. Less work for Idia. On the other hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. They're totes going to make fun of you now and it'll be his fault. You'll get lingo-lashed by professors and feel burdened and - okay. He'll shut up now.

Evil Laugh Who? Villain Where? (Inherited): We all know Idia has two modes: nerdy and sofuckingarrogantheneedsacoldshower. You know exactly when he's feeling number two via his laugh. That over boisterous 'WHEE HEE HEE' which is way too high pitched to belong to a villain but perfect for when Idia's in the zone. It comes out when you're feeling especially ecstatic or embracing your inner gremlin. A bit more subdued than his, but you've seen him do it so many times that the adaptation is subconscious.

"Ah -?! What w-was?....No! NO I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING! Just hurry up before we gotta interact with more NPCS! Awahhh my blood pressure's already spiking back up..." <- He first caught it when you insisted on playing one of those cheap festival-games outside the main market in Fleur City. All he wanted was to grab a grape juice and get back to his group before they noticed he ditched, but you saw some handstitched plushies and just like in some mainstream otome, he just had to get it for you. It was easier than sitting there watching you get cheated by a sleaze. He was amidst convincing himself that he robbed you of the fun, handing the doll over while sucking down his second grape juice when he heard it - on one hand, is this what he sounds like to other people? Scratch that. No way he's this cute - wait. No. He didn't just think that -

Gatcha (Inherited): One of Idia's go-to hangouts is playing an MMO. The dude already gave you a console as a gift for what happened at S.T.Y.X. One inkling of interest towards one of his main games and he won't hesitate to build you a PC. He'll take care of the maintenance and even send over some matching accessories. Ortho will be the one to drop it off of course, but it'll already be set up with whatever games he thinks you'll want to tag-team in and some extra money to explore on your own....and thus, the addiction begins.

"Hey, press this button for me real quick. I need to test something. N-no! I'm not setting you up, uggh just do it would you?" <- Your pulls are better than his and Idia can't decide if lady luck is smiting or blessing him. On one hand? Ultra rare pulls are going to a beginner account. Yet you're more likely to keep playing this way....fate truly tests the Shroud name every day.

Night Owl (Inherited and Developed): Freedom...is powerful. As the Shrouds are responsible for Blot Control, you're left with little to do at S.T.Y.X. You can work anywhere in the facility. As a lab assistant, tech maintenance, heck even the kitchens if you want - but Idia's on that night-life and likes to work when most are asleep. So you match it. Maybe not to a T - going to bed at 6:00am and waking at 4:00pm like him - but time does get a bit disoriented in a place where the sky is simulated.

"Why're you still up? This isn't a 24hr stream, y'know. Even I'm not crazy enough to do multiple all-nighters in a row...well, I'm off for now. Wanna watch the PREMO concert from last week with me?"

Vitamins (Developed): You take them. Idia is taking them. No matter what bro says - he cannot live off the Ignihyde snack machine. Get him the kiddy gummies if you have to. You started taking vitamin D in preparation for moving to S.T.Y.X in the future. Surely they've got something better than the options at Sam's, but you won't be developing Seasonal Affective Disorder anytime soon.

Snacks (Developed): A very simple kindness. Idia uses deliveries as an excuse to get you to visit Ignihyde, and in the future that doesn't change. Expect calls to do deliveries around S.T.Y.X and run 'confidential' reports whenever he's antsy for a visit. We all know he won't explicitly ask...ah, it's reminiscent of all the bogus orders he'd put in at Sams so you'd stop by.

Habits he steals:

Financial 'Responsibility' (Inherited): You both are very bad with money - and by bad? I mean that Idia is a jerk who thinks he can solve everything with money. Minor red flag - something to address. Definitely the type to apologize by sending an unnecessarily gigantic stuffed bear or something akin since he's afraid of saying something that will make it worse. Then pray you don't say anything as he stews over a fight like 12hr simmering sauce.

"Please spare me your double-standards the next time you're shoving vitamin water in my snack stash. SRSLY, Headmaster's a worse deadbeat than I thought if you're living like this....uh, don't tell him I said that" <- On the flip side, he's also flippant with that Shroud inheritance and will buy stuff on your behalf all the time. He's the type to go 'Oh, I thought it was going to be more. You live like this?' when wiring you money for groceries (because Grim ate your allowance in tuna smh). As for how you're bad? You're just flat broke man, so he's responsibly irresponsible as a result.

Vitamins Again (Inherited): Bro. Bro, genetics are making you pale but that diet is what is making those eyebags so prominent despite having a decent skincare routine. You need Vitamin D but he needs the whole spectrum. His potassium is so low, that you'll be staring him down with a plate of cooked salmon in one hand and a bottle of vitamins in the other. Is it pushy? Sure, but you don't want him keeling over within the next decade. Eat the vitamins or it's time to raid his search history. Ortho, get them medical reports out stat.

RPG (Developed): Every chance he gets, Idia will model his MC after you in an RPG. A character customization screen HATES to see this man coming, because he will sit there for hours until it is as close to your image as the system allows. You won't even know since he plays these games solo and has photographic memory to recreate you without a reference. If caught, will deny it despite the evidence being right there. Flat out takes this to the grave.

Sour Candy (Inherited): Fun fact? Citric acid is the perfect stimulant to shock someone out of a panic attack. You find the sourest candy he can tolerate, and it does it's job. If anything it creates a placebo effect, where when Idia tastes it he'll make an association with being anything but anxious. One time he ran out while stuck in a work meeting, and Ortho had to swipe a lemon from the cafeteria.

"Eugh! Sour! Sour! My tongue's gonna shrivel up like a prune! I should have knew this was a prank -" <- Proceeds to forget why he was anxious. Stops himself mid-rant, face sours realizing that you were right, apologizes under his breath and doesn't question you again.

Protective (Developed): Idia teeters the yandere line, to be fair. He's highly protective of the things he considers worth caring about - scratch that, the things he allows himself to care about - which are few. Very, very few. His self-doubt both keep this protectiveness in line while also fueling it. He is quick to convince himself that he has little right over your person, and that it's only a matter of time before his role gets snubbed or written out. Yet the moment his position becomes threatened by something he considers inferior? He hates the thought of some noface coming along and making a muck of your life. It's not his fault if you don't realize Idia's doing just that - but he'll be damned if someone else puts their two cents in, pushing him towards a bad ending.

"Hey - so uh, totally unprompted question that you can just ignore in all honesty - but what's it like living with so many ghosts? They don't give you any trouble or anything - 'cause if they do we've got a few empty rooms over in Ignihyde....only if you wanna! I mean - we're a buncha shut ins but it's pretty quiet and stuff. Okay, fading into the background now." <- Do you remember the Ghostbride? Idia does. Vividly. He also remembers you were the only person aside from Ortho who actually wanted to help him and didn't need cohersion. Stupid move on your part but he's hyper aware of the paranormal now regardless.

Sharing a bed (Developed): Unheard of. Especially since he's stated how miserable he was sharing a dorm - Idia surprises himself with this one. Not a single person would believe just how clingy bro is - but he's only clingy because 'you're' clingy - or so Idia loves to say if anyone teases him for going back on his whole 'solo for life' rants. He goes from the whole 'eww normie love bleh bleh' to 'oh you normies just don't get it because you don't have it hwee hwee'. Look. You're the one matching his sleep schedule, making him used to sharing a bed and having something other than a pillow to curl around - he didn't want to get used to it, he was adamant that this lifestyle was an absolute no-no, but now he's ten years too deep and he's screwed.

"Snkk - funny joke, Ortho. Almost got me there with that one. Inheriting any of my skills is like welcoming a one-track path straight to doomsville. You and I both know it." == Ever observant Ortho is very eager to share all the little changes he's seen in both yourself and Idia. Especially when the latter enters self-deprecation mode and is insistent that your relationship is nearing a band ending. In truth? Idia notices. He doesn't feel entirely himself anymore, and it terrifies him. Not everyone's meant for companionship, and for a long time Idia thought he was one of them. Someone perfectly content on their own with absolutely zero need for other people. Especially those hot-shot nosy hero types that would try to fix him without asking if he wanted to be 'fixed'. Thing is? You haven't pushed him to change at all - and he's freaking out because he's not supposed to want this. You're not supposed to want him.

[hyckstarz]

breaking the rival code | l.mk

pairing. rival!mark lee x afab reader

word count. 6.1k

genre. smut · enemies to lovers trope · humour

synopsis. Mark had a way of getting on your nerves, to the point you'd even considered shutting him up for good. However, your best friend eventually planted a seed in your head that fucking your rival, and breaking the unspoken code, would be enough to finally end the long-standing feud.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, fingering, use of pet name (baby), choking, oral (fem receiving), haechan as best friend and instigator

A/N. i had this buried in my drafts for months but it had me screaming into my own pillow whenever i read it so, it couldn't stay unpublished for long.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Mark Lee," she's fuming, as per usual. Eyebrows tightly knit and throwing daggers with her hard glare while Mark just laughs, "It's due next week, and you haven't even written up a plan?!"

Mark rolls his eyes, his glasses almost slipping down his nose, doodling absentmindedly in his notebook, "Relax, that's 168 hours of time to work on it, it's nothing."

She sinks back into her chair, crossing her arms in that arrogant way — as Mark would describe it, "Actually, it's less than 84 hours if you factor in sleep, other classes you have to go to, and fucking surviving. Mark, do you take anything seriously?"

Mark rubs his face in frustration, facing her, "It's the first year; none of this counts towards our grade," he goes back to doodling small Spider-Man caricatures but, as always, he can't resist having the last word, "And you're too serious, princess. Live a little."

Small things like that always set her off. She was aware of how she came across but, when it involved Mark, she only ever saw red. She somehow manages to calm herself down, realising they're in the campus library and already earning a few curious, judgemental stares.

"Mark...," she manages to whisper somewhat loudly, leaning in close enough for him to feel her minty breath against his skin, "Can we please get most of this done today? I'd very much like to be free of your presence."

Mark chuckled under his breath, his dark eyes slowly drifting over her subtle features, raising a brow in amusement — the weight of his gaze caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. Finally, he gave in and pulled out his laptop. He began clicking through their assignment brief and taking notes down, surprising even her, who started doing the same. As English literature students, it was a given that they had to read a stack of novels and articles, even for an assignment worth 0% towards their final grade.

Yet even small victories in their relationship were rare. It was a miracle that they were somehow able to work through the tasks efficiently, though that moment was short-lived before they were at each other’s throats, with Y/N starting it again.

"Mark, we're meant to critically analyse, not describe. Do you have any working brain cells in that thick head of yours?" Her fingers twitched, as if to hold herself back from clenching her fists and knocking some ounce of sense into him.

He rolls his eyes in response, jaw hardening as he scowled at her, clearly not in the mood for their usual back and forth, "We need to have a synopsis of the texts, I don't know how else you expect me to include all of the relevant info without having a short paragraph in there."

She simply looks at him in disbelief, shaking her head as if he'd just said the most absurd thing ever, "Mark... do you really think we can afford a whole paragraph just on a summary?"

He just chuckles in response, clearly uncaring. She leaned forward, her fingers digging into the desk and turning white as she struggled to maintain her composure. Mark’s casual smile only fuelled her irritation, but she lets out a heavy sigh, judgy eyes flicking across his face.

"You're like those pretty dumb blondes; the only thing you've got going for you are your looks, sorry to say," she sneers, going back to taking notes, but she internally curses at herself for admitting she found him at least objectively attractive.

Mark pauses, head snapping to her, his eyes flicking over her features, trying to decipher what she'd just said, or if he'd even heard her correctly under the hushed whispers of the library. He spins the pencil in his hand, eyes narrowing at her as a smug expression tugs on the corners of his lips, "You think I'm good looking? I'm flattered."

Y/N gives him an exasperated glance, snorting at his sudden change in demeanour and sitting up to look at him straight on, "I know you took me for a fool, but a blind one too? Damn," she said with a sarcastic lilt.

When Mark doesn't respond, just a cocky smirk widening — his gaze intense — she feels her heart rapidly beat against her chest and, as a way to hide the effect he has on her, she rolls her eyes for the nth time that hour, clearing her throat and focusing back on her task, "If you weren't so annoying, or if you learnt how to shut your mouth and do things correctly, you'd have a lot more going for you," she sends him a glare, "But you don't, so your looks only take you so far, and that's below average in my books."

He mocks in response, "Wow, you read? How surprising."

This time, she couldn't hold herself back. Mark did have a way with getting under her skin, so well in fact, that it led to them being asked to leave the library, only furthering their frustration and anger towards one another.

It wasn't always like this, either. When Mark had first met her, he was a shy, slightly awkward teenage boy and, the first impression she had of him, was cute. He was incredibly sweet and outgoing; it was easy for him to make friends and that meant they easily got close too. The only problem was, they were so alike in all the wrong ways. He was just too competitive and stubborn, always aiming for the top, and so was she. It was only natural that friends turned to rivals, competing with one another over everything. With that being an understatement.

From whom could get to the cafeteria the fastest, to who could submit their assignment the earliest and get the highest grade? It was competition, after competition. Most would get exhausted after the first two or three, but for them, it was thrilling, though they'd never admit that to one another.

"I can't believe your loudmouth got us kicked out of the library," his jaw hardened as he met her intense gaze, "Can't you sit still and take comments with some sort of, I don't know, strength? Because clearly, you're so sensitive over such simple, meaningless words," He slings his bag over his shoulder, already walking off.

Only further proving his point, she chases after him, tugging at his arm so that he wouldn't get away.

"You're the one who can't let things go either, always needing to have the last word, what are you, a child?" she crosses her arms and nods her head with a questioning brow, as if to say, 'go on'.

Mark just scoffs, about to walk off before turning around, his hands moving in frustration as he glares down at her, "You- you're such a pain in the ass, you know that? You really know how to drive me crazy."

He's panting, frustration evident. But it was the way he was looking at her that threw her completely off balance. His narrowed eyes flicked to her lips, brows furrowed as though he were etching her features into his long-term memory. She felt her heart drumming in her chest.

Before she could respond, a familiar yet equally as annoying mutual friend of theirs appears, snickering at the pair and their usual quarrelling, "Jeez, can't you two just fuck already?"

"Shut the fuck up, Haechan" they both say in unison, tearing their gaze away from one another with a scowl.

Haechan only snorts, glancing between the pair with an amused brow, "Clearly there's some sexual tension that I'm interrupting here, it would explain why you look at each other like that," He leans in-between them, as if to reveal the biggest secret in history, "I bet you two dream about each other too — in, you know, that kinda way."

Mark just stands there, mouth agape and in disbelief at the absurdity Haechan was spewing, looking between the two. Y/N just scoffed, grabbing the man by his bag and pulling him away without so much of a word. Haechan waved a chaste goodbye to Mark as he was being dragged off to God knows where.

Someone was going to die today, and it was definitely Haechan.

It was quiet. Way too quiet. The coffee shop was empty, hence for the low whispers of the baristas in the far corner, and a cheeky Haechan sitting before her, happily drinking his iced tea after telling his two closest friends that they should fuck each other. She groans, letting her head fall into the palm of her hands.

Usually, this coffee shop was a place where she could find peace and solitude. It was bright, with large windows that let light in all throughout the day, creating a florescent streak of amber and pink through the thin stickers attached to the panels. The colour schemes could easily brighten one's day as whites and pinks peppered along the walls.

The foliage brought life to what would otherwise seem like a cold, simple design, and the bakery added a subtle hint of beige, creating a natural environment. But the best thing about any coffee shop, was the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, and the sounds of the machine working, or even the quiet conversations. Though, sounds were non-existent today, except for her constant groaning, which started to bother her best friend.

"If you make one more frustrated sound, I'm leaving," he takes another sip of his cool drink, "Is it because of what I said earlier? Just know, I wasn't lying, that would definitely help you two."

She pulls her hands away, pursing her lips as she started twirling her straw, watching the milk mix with the coffee and caramel, "No, it's because I'm... I don't know, frustrated?"

Haechan glared incredulously, "Clearly."

"Not like that, I meant... I miss how Mark and I used to be, how we would laugh at silly jokes, or talk for hours without it having to turn into a competition, but now everything he says or does has a way of getting under my skin," She takes a sip of her drink, eyes twinkling at the taste, "He could just be sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, and I'd I just want to-"

"Want to what?" Haechan asks, ears perking up, waiting for a gotcha moment.

"Well, what I usually do." She shrugs, going back to her drink.

Haechan takes everything she says in, nodding his head slowly, "Anyway, it's sort of funny as Mark said the same kinda thing to me the other day...," Haechan takes a sip of his drink, whining when he finds it empty, "He said he missed the old you, or when you guys used to be friends."

She pauses, meeting her waiting friend’s gaze. Her brows furrow. Mark... missed how they used to be? But she doesn't say anything to Haechan, keeping her thoughts to herself.

The usual smug expression returns as he leans back in his chair, leg bouncing under the table out of habit as he crossed his arms behind his head, "Anyway, as I said, you need to get your frustrations out in other ways. You clearly have a thing for each other. The way you express it is a little... unconventional, but you're both immature, so I'm not surprised."

She simply looks at her friend in disbelief, lips parted as she gapes at him, to which Haechan only grins annoyingly at her. He also had a way with words, just like Mark, except he seemed to understand boundaries a lot better, and was chill enough to not want to fight back.

"What? Please tell me you two at least have moments of either flirting with each other or checking the other person out-"

"No." She scowls, shivering at the thought. Though, she couldn't help but remember the way he'd looked at her earlier, brushing off the thought, "It's hard enough to even look at him without wanting to strangle him."

"Okay, so you're into choking, got it." Haechan chuckles, nodding as if to make a mental note of it.

"No, I'm not into that! Whatever, look, I don't have a thing for him, so just drop it." She looks at him with a serious, intense gaze, as if to emphasise the fact she really didn't want to talk about this anymore.

Her friend only nods, putting his hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, just know Mark would definitely jump you if he had the chance — I mean, which guy would put up with your shit? No offence."

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink in hopes it would be refreshing enough to block out her growing irritation, "Anyway, the sooner I get this assignment done, the sooner I can move on from this Mark topic."

She quickly pulls out her phone before Haechan could drop in another one of his grand ideas, finding Mark's contact and immediately sending him a text. She almost spat out her drink at how fast he had responded.

You: Let's just get this assignment done with. I don't feel like getting kicked out of yet another establishment, so just come over to mine tomorrow or something.

You: *sends her address*

Mark: Fun.

Mark: I'll be there around 4 if that works

You: 👍

She bit her nails anxiously, eyes glancing between the door and the clock on the wall - each tick of the hands signalled it was only getting closer to 4, which was when Mark said he would arrive.

That wasn't why she was anxiously boring holes into the clock, however. She could curse the heavens, the earth and the 12 Olympians, but instead, she chose to curse the lust demon himself, aka Haechan. She buried her head in her hands, tugging at the roots of her hair in frustration. She can't believe she dreamt of Mark last night for the first time and, it wasn't just any dream — which was the worst part. Why did her mind have to be so vivid and make Mark so incredibly sexy? She had no idea.

When a knock came from the door, she stood up a little too quickly, rushing to it and praying that Mark looked far from presentable than he had been in her dream. But he wasn't, of course. She'd never seen him in jeans before and the green hoodie was the cherry on top. She swallowed hard, peering up at him as he adjusted his glasses.

"Are you going to let me in?" He raised a brow, his dark eyes glancing over her features in suspicion, taking a quick, subtle glimpse at her plaid sweatpants and pink t-shirt that didn't do much to hide the outline of her bra. He swallowed hard, tonguing the inside of his cheek in annoyance yet, the only thing that swirled in his mind were thoughts of how fucking attractive she was without even trying.

His annoyed expression grounded her temporarily, falling back into her usual demeanour as she rolled her eyes and held the door open wider for him, "If I catch you slacking once, I'll kick your ass out of here."

Mark gives her a side eye, frowning before kicking his shoes off, "Are you trying to motivate me not to do the work?"

She laughs sarcastically, leading him to her room as she props herself on her bed, noticing Mark looking over her interior.

"I expected your place to be put together, but not drenched in pink," his gaze trailed over her shelf, taking note of the various photo frames and mini ornaments.

She chuckles under her breath, pulling out her laptop and notes, "What, too girly for me?"

He turns his gaze to her, a quiet silence envelops them for a moment, and she takes that time to admire him. She knew he was attractive — objectively — but never had she looked at him in that way. The kind of way that made her heart and mind race.

Mark finally straightens up with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and getting his things out as well.

It felt strange having Mark in her home. If it weren't for getting kicked out of the library, her apartment would have been the last place he would be at. Though, now seeing him sat almost politely at a respectable distance from her, typing away on his keyboard quietly, made it start to feel right somehow.

She opened their shared document, reading the notes he was typing up. Even though he tended to be a lazy ass — or a procrastinator, as he would call it — there was no doubt he had a way with words. When he really put his mind to something, he would always deliver quality work. At times, she'd look back on why they had turned rivals, or enemies, and then she'd see what a complete genius he was. Maybe it was always her. Maybe she was just jealous that, no matter how hard she worked, Mark would always be ten steps ahead.

"I wrote up all the notes," Mark's voice cut through her thoughts, "How far did you get?"

She turned back to her laptop, pursing her lips at the blank screen. When she took her time responding, Mark scrolled down the document to where her cursor was and sent her a deadpanned expression, "What did you say about slacking off...?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or smack him, so she picks the secret third option and scowls, "I did more work than you yesterday."

"That's old news," he sighed, looking through their to-do list, "I thought you wanted to get this assignment done and dusted because... what was the reason again? Oh yeah, you wanted nothing to do with me."

She scoffs, sitting up as she points an accusatory finger at him, "Don't act like you don't feel the same way."

Mark clears out the already completed tasks on the list, colour coding the other bullet points to distribute the work evenly between them, "Oh I do, and I wonder why." He doesn't even spare her a glance.

"Go on."

"Maybe it's because you continuously bitch over every little thing, it's no wonder Haechan is the only friend you have and, it's probably because he's waiting for some kind of green light," Mark's bitter words reeked of jealousy as he spoke through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me?" She shrieks before she leans over the bed and grasps at his hoodie, his hand immediately grabbing her wrist, "That's too far, Mark, even for you."

He raised an unamused brow at her, fingers tightening on her wrists, yet she doesn't waver, "Maybe, but I'm sick of it. All you ever do is complain and treat me like some sort of idiot and, when I give you the same energy, I'm the problem."

His voice is tight, jaw hard as he doesn't break the eye-contact. She pulls him in closer, anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach, "What a joke, you're just as much of a problem as I am and, you know what? Maybe Haechan was right, maybe we need to fuck for us to finally pull our shit together."

The moment those words leave her lips, she regrets them. From up close, he was even more attractive that those words naturally came out. Mark's eyes widened comically and she could almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

His brows furrowed, "Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually suggesting that?" his voice carried a disbelieving tone despite his cheeks growing redder by the minute.

If it weren't for the dream she had last night, or that stupid green hoodie he was wearing right now, she would have laughed it off as a joke or even knocked him out in hopes he'd forget what nonsense she'd just spewed. However, all she could think about in that moment were his hands gripping at her plush thighs, spreading them apart as he lodged himself between her legs, his soft lips parting against hers desperately. She swallowed hard.

"Yes, I am suggesting that," she doubles down, the words more confident now. She knew she wanted him, even if he drove her bat-shit crazy. Even if he'd think she's bat-shit crazy.

It was almost laughable how wide Mark's eyes had gotten, his lips parted in shock, "you're fucking serious, Y/N?" This was too cruel of a joke from someone like Y/N. He knew she would rather curse him out than make absurd suggestions such as sleeping with each other. And the more he thought about it, on top of the intense gaze she carried, the more he believed she was being serious.

She leaned in, her warm breath fanning against his skin. She could smell his musky cologne — it was a scent she felt she could easily get addicted to, "I am serious, Mark," her big, doe eyes peered up at him through her lashes, "Hell, I even dreamt of you last night thanks to that blabby-mouthed Haechan."

Mark suddenly grows flustered, averting his gaze. She dreamt of him? His words practically came out like a croak from the nerves, "H-hey, that's a little..."

She raised a brow, waiting for him to continue his sentence yet he'd only grown quiet, his jaw clenched as he processed the situation. He felt his throat go dry and, the way she was staring at him made him feel breathless - a little too out in the open under her gaze. It was taking everything in him to hold back, but their shared history and his growing annoyance towards her kept him stuck in place.

"What? Mark, don't be a pussy," she scoffed. Despite her harsh words, they had rolled off of her tongue like honey, "Do you want this or not?"

Mark's head whips to her, his brows furrowed, "I am not...," the words faltered on his tongue as his hands came to rest behind her on the bed, his nose brushing against hers. He was way bigger than her, his arms caging her in, looming over her, "I'm not as much of a loser as you think I am, Y/N," the words were bitter; however, he felt like he was falling too deep.

Being this close to her, with her wide, surprised eyes staring back at him, her flowery perfume more prominent at the proximity, and her warm breath... He couldn't find it in him to deny it anymore, "Fuck, I do want this," he muttered, the whispered confession slipping past his lips before he himself could process the words.

At that, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing his nose fully against hers, "I want this too." Her soft words drew him in like a moth to a flame and it felt like the string that held onto his sanity had snapped.

Mark pressed his lips to her glossy, pink ones that tasted like cherry, breathing in her flowery scent, to which she parted her lips against his in response. His hands gripped at the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her in impossibly close. He tasted minty, mixing with his musky cologne and it was like she couldn't think straight anymore, losing her grip on reality and, instead, losing herself in him. In Mark. Her supposed enemy and rival.

It didn't take long for her to pull him on top of her, her back falling against the mattress whilst her leg rode up his side, hooking over his hips. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of her neck, nipping at her skin and down the valley of her clothed breasts. She was going insane, and it was his fault, "Mark, take off my damn shirt already," she groaned in frustration, sitting up.

He didn't waste any time. Stripping off her shirt, he subtly admired her plush breasts which sat pretty in her lilac laced bra, barely leaving anything up to his imagination. As much as she got on his nerves, he couldn't deny the effect she had on him by being effortlessly gorgeous even as her brows were tightly knit. He pushed her back down onto the bed, planting his hands on either side of her head, "Are you always this demanding?"

"Only with you," she mutters, tugging at his hoodie impatiently, to which he chuckles, taking it off. She couldn’t help but gawk at him, sending him a glare for being more attractive than her dreams could ever do justice.

He kisses her again, his hand trailing down the side of her breasts, not giving her time to run her mouth. Then, his hand pulls the bra down, letting her breasts slip out as he cupped and kneaded the soft mounds, groaning into her mouth at how they fit perfectly in his hand. He rolled the nub between his fingers, grazing his thumb over them.

Mark kisses down her body, taking a nipple into his mouth — biting and tugging at it as his hand continued to twist the other between his thumb and index. He relished in the soft sounds that escaped her lips and the way she tugged at the locks of his hair.

He continued to move down her body, his finger hooking under the waistband of her sweatpants as he met her gaze, "I know you beat my ass over this, but you sure this is what you want?"

She deadpanned at him, "You just made out with my breasts, Mark. If I didn't want this, I would have stopped you there."

Mark just rolls his eyes in response, slipping her sweatpants down, "Could have just said yes."

She's about to retort when she feels his hand cup her, finger tracing the clothed slit of her pussy and she has to bite her lip to stop her from making a sound. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction so soon. Didn't want him to know just how badly she wanted him — more than she'd like to admit.

However, Mark was as stubborn and competitive as she was, and he wouldn't hold back until she gave in. He pushes her underwear to the side, leaning in so that his warm breath fanned against her sensitive folds, causing her to whimper.

'Fuck,' she thought.

Mark, without warning, slowly licks a stripe up her slit, his flat tongue drawing out a shudder from her — back naturally arching. Each time, he'd go in for more, slowly bringing up the pace. Her thighs clamped around his head, holding him hostage until he groaned and grabbed onto her plush thighs, pinning them to the bed; fingers leaving marks along her soft skin. Her own fingers grabbed at anything they could, from the sheets beneath her, to the healthy lock of hair on his head, letting them knot around her digits and tug with every wave of pleasure he had given her.

She could feel his cocky smirk as he sucked on her clit, enjoying every moment of her falling apart on his mouth. Falling apart for him. When he pulls away from her, she let's out a frustrated whine to which Mark only laughs at, "Open your mouth."

She sends him a skeptical look, "Fuck no."

Mark's patience wears thin, "Don't be a stubborn brat now."

Surprisingly, she obliged and he pushes his fingers past her plush, kiss-swollen lips. Her mouth suckles on the digits, tongue swirling around them, and he retracts his fingers with a pop.

"Fuck, your mouth really does have uses other than spewing insults and demands," he teases, voice low, tracing her entrance which had her letting out shallow breaths.

"At least it has more use than your fingers-" her words cut short when he pushes his finger in, palm pressed to her clit as he looks up at her with a 'you sure about that?' look.

It doesn't take long for Mark to add a second finger, curling them in search for the spot that would make her see stars. And then, he finds it, and she let's out a sharp gasp which only grows louder when his lips wrap around her clit, continuing his earlier ministrations of lapping at her folds like a man starved.

Just as her dreams failed in visualising just how attractive her nemesis was, it had also failed in expressing how utterly, impossibly, and irritatingly good he was with his hands, lips, tongue-

"Mark, fuck-!" She starts to tense under him, eyes pierced shut as she chases that feeling of ecstasy.

"I believe I'm getting there...," Mark chuckles, the vibration of his voice fluttering against her.

And, just as she starts to see the twinkling behind her eyelids, the light at the end of the dark tunnel, and a glimpse of the heavens, Mark pulls away, leaving her empty, wanting, and embarrassingly needy.

Forget Haechan, Mark was the number one man on her hit list.

In a second, he's over her again, cupping the back of her neck and lifting her slightly up to kiss her. She can taste herself on his tongue, feel the way his lips apply just the right amount of pressure to say he's here, and it's so soft, so gentle, so wanting — it was the perfect contrast, the perfect contradiction to the image she'd created in her mind of him. His thumb brushes against her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair, before he pulls away, forehead resting on hers as he breaths against her.

His eyes flicker open to gaze down at her; warm and oh so inviting. It felt like the Mark she once knew. The genuine, loving and calming person. Though his next words threw her completely off balance, and she was quick to retract her claims.

"I'm going to fuck that sexy, infuriating attitude out of you, baby," he lets the pet name draw out. In every other context, with any other person, she would have cringed at that word, but it felt so undeniably attractive coming out of his lips, that she wanted to hear him say it more than once.

Mark got up off of the bed, pulling out his wallet to fish for a condom that had been in there for God knows how long, chucking it on the bed next to her and kicking off his jeans and boxers in record speed. She barely had a millisecond to admire the sheer length of him before he was on her again.

His deep brown eyes kept their hold on hers and she could see a subtle hint of affection; the space between his brows crinkling in focus as he slowly pushed into her. His calloused fingers pressed along her waist, leaving white marks along her curves, while she could feel every ridge, vein and pulse of his cock.

When he bottomed out, she immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in impossibly close. Needing him closer to her. She could feel the rough planes of his body pressed to her soft ones as he started to rock against her. He gripped her thigh, pushing it further up so he could angle himself better, remembering the spot that had her seeing stars earlier.

Each time he'd hit that spot, she'd clench naturally, rocking her hips to meet his that had him softly groaning by her ear. He smelt so good, felt so good, was so good. She felt her mind start to fog up, jaw slack from the loud, erotic sounds that forced its way out from her throat. It was too much in the best possible way.

That wasn't as far as Mark would go though, he wouldn't stop at just good. He wanted best. His hand snakes up her body, gently wrapping around her neck — thumb pressed to her jaw — as he applied enough pressure to her pulse point. She knew then that maybe she did actually enjoy being choked or, at least, enjoyed anything Mark did.

She throws her legs around his waist, pulling him down, desperate to feel more of him, to reach her release she craved, pride long forgotten, "Mark... Mark, fuck- please..."

Mark pressed a sweet, uncharacteristic kiss to her cheek, "Please what, baby?" he brushed the strands away from her forehead, never halting his movements.

"Need more of you...," She could barely get the words out, but Mark knew exactly what she meant. Without time for her to process, he flipped her onto her stomach, pressing her face against the pillows, fingers tangled in her silky hair as he snapped his hips into her with more strength.

She could have sworn she started hallucinating seeing stars in the room from how deep he was reaching in this new angle, hitting her spot with added ease. Her glossy lips stayed parted against the pillows, drool staining the cotton case as she let out soft grunts.

Mark's head rolled back at the filthy sounds of her and how fucked out she looked. It made him want to carve this scene into the deepest part of his memory, "You're doing so good for me... So pretty like this."

His soft voice did not match the roughness of his fucking, but it made her clench around him, "C-close..."

Mark hummed, grabbing locks of her hair and tugging it back so that she arches against him, "Be a good girl and come all over my cock, then."

She nods eagerly, reaching behind him to grab at his hips, urging him to go faster, harder. She chased that release as if seeking closure from her pent up frustrations at Mark and hers usual bickering and challenges. She sits up to lean against him, knees pressed to the mattress and head rested on his collarbone — his own arms wrapping around her body. Finally, she came, body shuddering in his hold and, at the feel of her convulsing around his length, Mark bit her neck, muffling his sweet sounds as he followed suit.

They stayed like that for a while, panting, hair sticking to their foreheads. She wouldn't be close to exaggerating by saying this was the best sex she'd ever had, but she would also blame that on the sheer tension they carried for years around one another.

When Mark slips out of her, she fully expects him to make some usual smart comment, but he only pulls her with him as he lay in her bed, keeping his arms around her, "Who knew we'd be so compatible?"

She snorts, "I can name at least one person," she thinks of her best friend, the whole reason this night even happened and speeding up the process between them.

Mark smiles, snuggling into her and letting out a soft sigh, feeling sleep catching up to him, "I hope this isn't just a one time thing, though," he says suddenly with a soft voice, "you don't know how long I wanted this for. Wanted you. It drove me insane trying to be... I guess, respectful and casual about it all."

She sat up, turning to look down at him with a playful look of disbelief, "I call bullshit, you weren't respectful about nothing. Not that I'm complaining, it's attractive seeing you annoyed."

Mark rolls his eyes, smirking at her, his cockiness returning, "I knew you found me more than just objectively attractive, you're down bad."

She easily admits it, "Yeah, I am. But you're in way deeper for asking Haechan for advice of all people."

Mark immediately sits up, his face pale from the shock despite his cheeks being flushed, "Dude- Wait, what?"

"We're on dude terms now after you fucked an outline of my body into this mattress?" she scoffs, her crude words making Mark increasingly more flustered than he already was, "The choking kinda gave it away. I just know Haechan threw that in conversation with you."

Mark laughed sheepishly, pulling her into his chest as he pressed a kiss to her temple, "Guilty as charged. Though, I'm proposing we get back at his arrogant ass by not telling him a thing. We'll slowly drop hints to mess with him a little — see how long it takes for him to catch on."

"I'm in," She giggles, feeling sleep overtake her as she nestled into Mark's chest.

Before today, neither of them would have imagined that fucking each others rival would be the secret to finally ending the long-standing feud and breaking the rival code.

© hyckstarz

[beloveds-embrace]

Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-���

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

[happyhauntt]

— march fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in march that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

what do you want from me by @rubysunnday. notes: literally perfect wtf.

dark days by rubysunnday. notes: i reread this literally constantly, it is so perfect, kaz's characterisation is perfect, i adore it.

bloody hands by rubysunnday. notes: i devoured this whole thing like a starving person it was sO good.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds. notes: this is so beautiful honestly i have no words.

the lost princess by @ellewritesalright. notes: look it's only part one but elle is a fucking wizard and i'm a sucker for an anastasia au.

you and me (a whole lot of history) by @heliads. notes: this was so cute and such a clever concept i fell in love!!!

schat by @amourology. notes: fully choked this is so adorable.

soulmate by @magpiencrow. notes: KAZ BREKKER SOULMATE AU didn't know i needed this but now i need 100 more!!!!

➡ nikolai lantsov.

nine long years series by @ellewritesalright. notes: i am actively fucking screaming over this fic. i will never stop. this might genuinely be the best thing i've read in a LONG while. everything about it has me sobbing i actively CANNOT COPE. and it's not even finished yet.

one of us by @songofpatrochilless. notes: literally had me sobbing you don't understand the domesticity of it all!!!!!.

come on back to me by @atlabeth. notes: there is a very strong chance that i'll literally never stop screaming about this fic.

dreams of you by @wh0refornikolailantsov. notes: every cell in my body is SCREAMING.

this love by @lantsovsupremacist. notes: did not, in fact, give you permission to hurt me like this do it again.

salt in the wound by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: brain goes brrrr this has everything i need to survive tbh.

wanting was enough by @rubysunnday. notes: beautiful stunning magnificent i want to eat it.

an exhausted smile by @writing-havoc. notes: think i had an aneurysm reading this it was that amazing.

run away with me by @sumsebien. notes: i am still sobbing over this.

in emerald hearts, emerald minds by @undiscovered-horizon. notes: love love love love love. there aren't enough words in any language to describe how much i love this.

➡ alina starkov.

alina starkov x reader by @heliads. notes: alina does not get nearly enough love and this was so fucking sad and cute and brilliant.

➡ nina zenik.

the ten steps to 'i love you' by @sophierequests. notes: this was SO HEARTWARMING AND SWEET i adored it!!!

➡ zoya nazyalensky.

forget-me-nots by @syllvane. notes: not enough zoya fics on this hellsite. but also this ripped my heart out and made me sob so RUDE. i feel devastated.

➡ inej ghafa.

inej ghafa x reader by @heliads. notes: INEJ MY SWEET BABY, this fic is everything to me. everything. and it's so beautifully written!!!

➡ the darkling.

the dark side of the moon series by @myhairpintrigger. notes: this fic is ASTOUNDING. i haven’t cried this much reading something in a long time. i was FULL-BODY SOBBING. i don’t even like the darkling. i am Not a darkling girlie. but i was intrigued by concept of this fic and i can safely say it has ruined my life. this is Emotional Damage Incarnate. i will never recover. author, i salute you.

911.

through the smoke by @borntobewondering. notes: spent twenty whole minutes sobbing after reading this. i felt undone i felt hollow i felt so utterly fucked. author is a genius and that's all there is to say.

not so one night stand by @shmaptainwrites. notes: this was so fuckin adorable i'm in love.

d.c. to l.a. by shmaptainwrites. notes: bobby my guy just doesn't get enough fucking credit and this is so fucking adorable.

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs. notes: this series is. it's literally. everything. i love bugsy like she's my own child. sister relationships are everything to me. i spent an hour sobbing in my bed over parts 2 and 3. i want this tattooed on my forehead.

➡ aaron hotchner.

found by @benedictscanvas. notes: DADDY i mean what. all jokes aside this was so sweet and beautiful and i'm in love the writing!!!

doctor who.

rage rage (against the dying of the light) by @morganas-pendragons. notes: felt feral after reading this. kayla just gets me in my feels every time.

heartbeat by morganas-pendragons. notes: this was the most emotional devastating thing i've ever read and i fully needed 3-5 business days to recover. rude. i want 100 more.

untitled by morganas-pendragons. notes: PAIN i love this so much.

ache by morganas-pendragons. notes: just scoop my heart out of my fucking chest i don't want it anymore after reading this.

a mind full of blissful terrors by @magiccath. notes: simply fucking amazing.

light in the dark by @i-imagine-my-doctor. notes: screaming please i adore this so much.

baby talk by @kisstherainwriting. notes: THE ABSOLUTE CUTIEST EVER. there's not enough clara fics and this had me squealing and feeling all warm and fuzzy!!!

holding my hand by kisstherainwriting. notes: angst galore this was STUNNING.

in another's eyes by @cas-kingdom. notes: PERFECTION.

where do we go now series by @theetherealbloom. notes: literally so fucking amazing i don't have enough words.

marauders.

the winner takes it all by @ellecdc. notes: brb faye is having a STROKE--

come back, be here series by ellecdc. notes: i think i had a full on stroke while reading this series. the attention to detail is insane. the characterisation is perfect.

i don't know you anymore (maybe i never really did) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels. notes: SCREECHING i'm in love you don't understand.

bridgerton.

➡ anthony bridgerton.

distractions by @peterpparkrr. notes: simply immaculate.

right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch. notes: did you mean one of my favourite tropes bc this is it.

right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 & @thirteenisles. notes: i felt feral after reading this tbh.

➡ sibling!reader.

reluctant caretaker by @rubysunnday. notes: this fic hit my heart in all the right places okay sibling stuff means everything to me.

did she have a cookie by rubysunnday. notes: a joyous read from start to finish i CACKLED the whole way through.

moon knight.

come back to me by @mgparker. notes: still sobbing. immaculate.

the other sarcophagus by @starryevermore. notes: i literally reread this constantly i adore it so much!!

marc spector x reader by @softlyspector. notes: i had an aneurysm reading this and i haven't been the same since.

more marc spector x reader by softlyspector. notes: i am having an intense emotion hold on. anytime i see autistic stuff in canon content for any fandom i SQUEAK. and this is so well done honestly.

star wars.

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional. notes: i reread this constantly, it's so amazing and heartwrenching and beautiful and i want to eat it.

little talks by @light-yaers. notes: you simply do not understand how much i adore everything beff writes. i adore this fic more than i need oxygen to breathe.

right where you left me series by light-yaers. notes: personality-defining series. i LIVE for this fic. every update adds five years to my lifespan. if you're not reading this you are MISSING OUT.

a light, a song, a bluebird by @millllenniawrites. notes: made me SOB 10/10 would recommend if you like emotional trauma.

invisible string by @campingwiththecharmings. notes: pining!!! loneliness!!! i adore!!!

hard landings by @softlyspector. notes: no. no you don't understand. this fic doesn't just own my soul it is my soul. i want it tattooed on my face.

misc.

hopper x reader by @luveline. notes: you don't understand this might be the cutest shit i've ever read and jade is a fellow welsh person which automatically makes them brilliant in my book.

muña by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: alicent means fucking everything to me and this had me sobbing.

mistletoe magic by @writingsbychlo. notes: literally the cutest fucking thing ever, had me kicking my legs and squealing!!

[glamourscat]

Literally love your Tim Drake works 🙏 so good to see him get some hype!!

Can I please request Tim Drake with Gn!reader teasing him about essentially being his sugar baby? Not using him obvi, but like as a broke college student myself, I know he would simply not be able to witness our conditions without stepping in. Idk if he's ever canonically gone to a dorm, but I think explaining the concept of having to wear a "shower shoe" to avoid communal shower fungus would be enough for him to just buy you an apartment for the next 4 years 😭 or looking in the fridge only to see the takeout box, bread, and ketchup combo cause groceries are toooo expensive 😭 The "damn bitch you live like this" meme personified

Sorry this became off-topic ramble-ly lol I just think it's funny how stressed he would be by his partner's early 20's ✨ broke era✨

a/n: when I tell I saw the request and immediately my fingers started writing😭 loved this! thank you so much, I hope it’s what you were looking for <3

cw: slightly suggestive towards the end

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“For the love of—babe?” Tim’s voice rang through your college dorm room.

You looked up from the bed where you were working on some assignments, meeting his eyes as he crouched near the mini-fridge under your desk.

“Yeah, hun?” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“What in the actual hell is this?” he exclaimed, holding up a few boxes of Chinese takeout and random half-open sauce packets—most definitely “borrowed” from fast food joints and restaurants alike. His face was a mix of shock and genuine concern for you.

“Ah, yeah. That was my dinner yesterday, my lunch the day before yesterday, and my breakfast… yep,” you said casually, shrugging as you went back to your work.

After all, it’s not like you’re the only one in this situation. Sure, you would have preferred to eat a proper meal, but broke students have to survive somehow, right?

“Babe… you are seriously surviving off of scraps? This can barely keep you fed, not to mention the—” he stopped as he looked over at your desk. “Now what in the hell is this?” His voice was slightly high-pitched as he stared at the shower shoes on your desk that you had forgotten to put away before he came by.

“Those? You’ve really never seen shower shoes?” you said with a hint of an amused smile. “Those are shower shoes, Tim. I use them in the communal showers since we don’t have individual ones. To avoid getting shower fungus or athlete’s foot, ya know? Stuff like that.” Your words were so calm, so… like you were used to it.

Tim stared at you with his eyes almost bulging out of his skull, genuinely trying to make his last remaining brain cells understand how this way of living was even possible on college grounds. But more importantly, how the hell were you supposed to live like this for the next four years?

“Where are you going?” you asked, confused, seeing him rush to put his jacket on.

“Put your jacket on. We are going to look at apartments right now. I think I caught something just by thinking of you living here for the next four years, malnourished and worst of all, using communal showers. What if something happened to you? Yeah, fuck that, c’mon” he said frantically, almost dragging you out of your dorm by the hand as you tried not to laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting—”

“No,” he cut you off. His expression was almost comical in how genuinely frantic he was. But, despite that, it was also cute seeing how much he cared for you.

“Tim, I know you’re concerned but, I mean—an apartment is a big thing. I—”

He stopped, turning you to face him in the empty hallway. His hands rested on your waist. “I have the money. You can’t live like this. Let me help my lover, okay? I will still do it, you know that. If not now I’ll gift you an apartment for Christmas since it’s around the corner.” His voice got lower. “Besides, we certainly can’t do anything in here, one moan from me—”

“TIM!” you said, flustered, a small embarrassed chuckle escaping your lips.

“What? It’s the truth. Everyone will be all up in our business…” he whined quietly as he got closer, his soft lips leaving a warm kiss on your neck.

“Besides—” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers to run down your spine, “I can’t sneak in with my Red Robin costume here. And you bet your ass I’m coming over after patrol so we can be together. Soooo, an apartment it is,” he hummed proudly, leaving another kiss, this time a soft peck on your lips. He pulled back with a soft smile that just made you want to squeeze his cheeks for how cute he looked.

“Still, I mean…” you sighed softly. “I feel like your sugar baby, hun,” you said half-jokingly.

“Yeah?” he said with a cheeky twinkle in his eye. “Then that just means I need to spoil my baby more. That’s the bare minimum I can do after all hmm?” He wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you close as you two walked off giggling to yourselves like fools, yes, but fools in love.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[moonlight-prose]

I saw that prompt list you reblogged and so if you’re looking for logan ideas i really liked:

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them

Love your fics btw too!!! 💜💜

hunger

a/n: oh my brain went to mush at this one. like actively i've lost brain cells and am currently scrounging to find more. this is basically me being a horny bitch for this man. (possibly cause i'm ovulating). but that's okay. we're all here to do the exact same thing!

summary: things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, hints at oral (f receiving), cigar smoking, voyeurism, dirty talk, he's so filthy i blushed writing this.

Accidental was far from the word he'd use to describe the current situation. He'd rather say it was intentional. At least that's what it felt like when you sent him to your drawer for a pair of clean boxers you stole from him in the first few weeks of dating. Logan was used to the act. Finding his flannels strewn throughout your closet—his leather jacket draped across the foot of your bed like a fancy throw blanket.

He felt it before he saw it. The soft silicone feel of something small—an uninteresting object he normally would have overlooked. He pushed it out of the way at first, mistaking it entirely for the little portable charger you usually keep by the bed.

Only for it to roll to the side, the button hitting the drawer. A loud buzz drew his attention close within seconds. His hand grasping the small vibrator and flicking it off with a smirk. A look he wore when the choice to fuck you into the mattress solidified in his mind.

"Hey what's taking so long?" You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel—water droplets streaming off your naked body, forming a small puddle on the hardwood floors of your shared bedroom.

He close his fist around the small device when he stood, holding the clothes you were waiting for. Logan watched you smile, reach for his hand, and stop short as his other palm opened—revealing the black little toy you only kept for emergencies.

For nights when he was called on a mission that might land them in deep waters for days on end. You never minded—it was part of the job after all—but telling Logan that you fucked yourself in your spare time to ease the thoughts of him that plagues you...wasn't an easy conversation to have. Yet there it was. Staring directly at you; taunting you with the knowledge that he found it before you could locate a better hiding spot.

"Got somethin' to tell me bub?"

Your mouth dried at the sight of his grin—nostrils flaring as your scent sharpened in the air. Thicker than before; the tell tale sign that you weren't angry or irritated. But interested in where he might take this.

Before you could snatch it from his hands, he tossed the clothes back into the still open drawer. His smile on deepening at the sight of your swallow—the steady thrum of your heart now a quick flutter under your chest. There was no hiding how you felt with him. Not when he was so in tune with your body it nearly scared you.

He could smell the pool of slick that began to form in between your clenched thighs. The sharp breath you sucked in giving him enough confirmation to keep going. You wanted this—him. And though he could never understand why, he rarely questioned it.

So he nodded towards the bed, dragging the chair you kept at your desk over to sit a foot away from where you were perched. Your hand still clutching the towel and eyes stuck on the vibrator in his hold.

Logan lowered himself with a sigh—legs spread and body relaxed as your eyes trailed down his stomach to the thick expanse of his thighs. Last night you were perched on one, reduced to a whiny moaning mess as he dragged you along the rough denim. Watching you work yourself into a high that left you immobile.

His head tilted, gaze dragging down your body, tongue swiping out to wet his bottom lip. "You aren't gonna need the towel bub," he rasped.

"I don't know what we're doing."

"Don't you trust me?" You nodded quicker than you expected. "Then drop it and spread those pretty legs for your old man."

A soft whimper barely legible above your gasp echoed in the room. Logan heard it as if you pressed it directly to his ear. You scooted back on the bed, the towel now forgotten and dropped to the floor. He shifted at the sight of your feet pushed against the soft comforter, your cunt on full display for him to view.

"There we go," he murmured.

Your hand slipped down, sliding through your slick for barely a second before he was clicking his tongue. "That's not what I want."

"B-but you said-"

"I said spread 'em. Not touch your pretty little clit."

"Logan," you breathed, fighting the pull that demanded you find some sort of relief. Even if that came in the form of your own touch.

He merely lounged in the chair, smiling at how you battled with yourself in order to be good for him. Oh how he loved the sight of your brows pulled together—need eating away at the very core of your body. If he was a better man he'd let you choose what to do.

He'd follow your lead.

But that remained something he never excelled at.

"Don't worry. She'll get the attention she needs." He leaned over you, placing the familiar device between your breasts—a kiss quickly snuck against your nipple that peaked under the wet heat of his mouth. "I'm real interested in how you use this sweetheart. Show me?"

The breath escaped you with a punch to your stomach as he settled back in his previous spot. You glanced at him—heat spilling beneath your cheeks—and felt a wave of slick drip down to the bed at the sight of him pulling a cigar free. He cut the end off, stuck it between his teeth, and flicked the lighter on with practiced ease.

This was a show and he remained the only audience member.

"Go on," he mumbled, smoke unfurling past his lips. "Be a good girl."

With a shaky breath, you gingerly picked up the vibrator and turned it on. This was second nature to you now. Laying in bed with your legs spread as you listened to the buzzing sound that would bring you your desired orgasm. You'd been here before. You would no doubt be here again.

Only this time Logan paid attention to every minuscule movement. He clung to the way you slid your hand down and pressed the end of it to the very top of your clit. Almost as if you were the best fucking program he had the privilege to watch.

Instead of the rush of sweaty embarrassment you almost expected. You were greeted with a boost of pride at the sound of his harsh groan. The chair creaking under his weight as he shuffled to find some relief for his growing cock.

"How's it feel bub?" he breathed, inhaling another drag from his cigar.

You sighed, high pitched and needy. "Good."

"Yeah?" He shifted again when you slid the vibrator through the lips of your cunt, a moan spilling past your parted lips. "Fuck. You normally take your time with it?"

Nodding, you dragged it back up to your clit, teasing yourself with small circles. "F-Feels better like this."

That familiar tug in your gut began to grow the longer you held it against yourself, building quicker than before. You knew it was on account of him watching you. Licking his lips and white knuckling his cigar to keep from sliding his tongue through your slick. You had half a mind to beg him. To see if you could get him to break.

The minute you slipped it down further and plunged it into your tight walls was enough for him. He snapped with a feral grunt. His hands working the belt buckle of his jeans—a whisper of his zipper being tugged down—before his cock sprang free. The tip red and shiny with precum.

You moaned at the sight, legs trembling as you pumped the vibrator clumsily into your cunt. "Touch yourself," you gasped, stomach going taut. "Please. Need to see you baby."

"Fuck sweetheart. Gonna make me cum like a fuckin' teenager." He spit loudly into his palm, slicking up his cock with a heady moan.

"P-Pretty," you slurred.

"Look whose talkin'," he huffed. The cigar now clamped between his teeth.

The intensity of his gaze only grew when you replaced the device with two of your fingers. Rapidly working them in tandem with the buzzing on your swollen clit. Sparks shot down your spine, heat clamping tight around your stomach. What time you thought remained now worked its way to an eviscerating crescendo.

"Your creamin' around your fingers bub," he grunted, the wet slap of his hand blending with the echo of your cunt. "Want to lick you clean after this."

Your walls fluttered, heart leaping to your throat. "Can I suck your cock?"

A ragged moan filled the empty spaces that lay between. "Can't say no to you."

"Logan," you mewled. "'M gonna-"

He snarled, abruptly sitting forward, hand still working his cock in rapid strokes. "C'mon. Cum for me. Give me a show."

The string holding you together broke in two, flooding your body with bliss and turning your vision blurry. His name was a broken cry torn from your throat—hips canting up into your touch as you pushed the vibrator harder against your clit. Until the pleasure began to seep into pain. A whimper echoed in the room when you pulled away, legs falling to dangle off the bed—body now entirely spent.

The soft press of his lips against your knee jolted you slightly; the nerves under your skin still sensitive. He dropped to the floor, eyes latched onto the way your entrance fluttered, cum now forming a mess between your thighs.

"Made such a pretty mess for me bub."

You sighed, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "You like it?"

Wet open mouth kisses trailed along your inner thigh, his nose pressed to the curls above your center. "I fuckin' love it," he sighed, inhaling your heady scent with a groan.

"It's yours."

You gasped when his tongue slid along your cunt, thumbs spreading you to reach every fucking inch. "Yes it is." He pressed a kiss to each lip, sucking them into his mouth as if he was kissing you. "All fuckin' mine."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Look Behind You

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, semi-linear story telling, enemies to lovers

Summary: You've made a mistake. You've been reckless and fallen in love with Bucky. There's only one way to deal with this.

Make a list.

Author's Note: This is one of my favorites, I think. Thriving in the semi-linear story telling, feelings, and list making. Gotta love a good list. Enjoy!

Word Count: 11.9k

The pen in your hands feels more like a weapon. The last line of defense against the unthinkable. 

The only thing holding your sanity, dignity, and life by a single thread, set to snap if you’re not careful.

Nobody will bother you in this coffee shop. Not even Bucky will look for you here. You’re in public. You’re somewhere obvious and simple, and that’s the whole point. Sam and Bucky will lose themselves down dark allies and in hidden corners of the city before they think to check an emotionally significant landmark in downtown Manhattan. They won’t believe you’d be that stupid, make it that easy for them. They’ll think that—because you’re dodging calls, because you were gone when Bucky woke up and you didn’t meet with Sam before lunch—you don’t want to be found.

And you don’t.

So they’re not going to find you. 

There’s a lingering fear that a search team might be assembled, and the city may be barricaded in until you’re found, but you don’t think Sam will abuse his power like that.

Bucky might try to convince him to.

You’re about fifty percent sure Sam won’t cave.

It’s a bridge you’ll burn when you reach it. When they do—eventually—find you. When you—hopefully—have your answer, and you have to look Bucky in the eyes and keep finding a way to live with yourself.

If this goes as you hope, that will be quite easy. You’ll lie through your teeth and say you lost your phone—it’s right next to you, the SIM card removed and battery purposefully dead, but they never need to know that—and thought that Sam and Bucky would be able to find you if they needed you. They’ll look embarrassed and make a silent vow to each other that you’ll pretend not to see—swearing that they’ll never tell you how they almost called the coast guard in—and then everything will go back to normal.

If it goes the way you’re afraid of, that will be more complicated. You’re not entertaining that possibility with things like plans or strategies, because you simply won’t allow it to happen. This will work. You have the pen, the paper, and at least eight hours before Sam and Bucky grow a brain cell and figure out where you are.

Deep breath. The coffee in front of you is sweeter than you’d usually want it, almost sickly, but it can be a motivation. The coffee shop is crowded, and the tables are blue. You can smell the decorative roses on the windows. You can hear the music in your earbuds. The pen is heavy in your hands, but all that means is it’s real. And this is going to work.

List of Reasons to Hate Bucky-

You pause, and scratch out Bucky. It’s too intimate. You’re setting yourself up for failure. 

List of Reasons to Hate James Barnes.

You have reason one locked and loaded. You’ve been rehearsing the whole list for a week—since the revelation that can’t be spoken of, because that will make it real—and you know half of your pre-planned reasons will drift into nothing as you go through the list, but at least you’ll have one. 

It’s better than none of them.

You’re a little worried a hundred won’t do the job.

You have to try anyway.

1. He stares.

——————

You don’t know how you got here. Sitting across from Captain America, kicking your feet slightly and humming to yourself as he and his very angry looking sidekick glare at you.

It seems like a contest, trying to figure out who will break and speak first.

It won’t be you.

Captain America is out of his suit, and, logically, you know his wings won’t just spring out of his body. They’re mechanical, not biological. Part of you is still wondering—should you move suddenly and startle him—if he’ll squak and take off like a real bird. 

He won’t, and you don’t think either of these men will find that as funny as you will. The Cap seems intently focused on trying to puff out his chest in his chair—like an odd sort of intimidation ritual or mating dance, done more on instinct than logic—and his sidekick is looking at you as if you’re the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen.

You’ve gotten that look before. It doesn’t shake you on his face any more than it does anyone else, but there is something… different. Most people will glare with that revolted look at what you’ve done, and for what expression, and it won’t sink deeper than your skin, because they don’t understand. They don’t know what the shadows and colder nights feel like, they don’t know how long you’ve been broken and alone, they don’t know that—whatever loathing for you has wormed its way into their heart—they don’t hate you. They hate what you’ve done, and they really don’t fucking understand.

This guy looks like he understands you perfectly, and it’s viler to him than anything in the world. Like he knows exactly who you are, like every marred and twisted organ is visible to his unwavering stare, and it’s the worst thing he’s even seen.

You’d laugh, if it didn’t cause an odd sting in your heart. Because you know who Bucky Barnes is. You know that any blood on your hands is mirrored on his, and if he really knows who you are, he’ll think better than to turn the violent glint behind his eyes into action. 

Especially because you know he won’t hurt you. He can’t, but you don’t think he’ll even try. He’s cured. He’s free. He doesn’t hurt people anymore, and you’re technically a person.

You’re also starting to be incredibly certain that this is some sort of staring competition. There’s no other reason for the silence to be stretching on this pointlessly long. It’s a little amusing, how they seem to have started a game they’ll never win, but it doesn’t change what’s happening. You’re handcuffed to a chair in an unknown location, Captain America and the Ex-Winter Solider are trying to break you with only very angry expressions, and you could escape in a second but you’re bored, and you don’t care about winning, but you want them to lose.

And they do.

Because Captain America breaks first, and smile pulls at your lips that you don’t bother to hide.

“You know why you’re here?”

You shrug, keeping your voice bored and amused. “Should I?”

He blinks at that, looking over his shoulder at Barnes, and letting out a long breath as his companion just keeps glaring at you. “Buck-“

“Don’t say my name, dumbass-“

“She already knows who we are-“

“She hasn’t been in damn public for a decade, we don’t know what she knows-“

“Man, c’mon, Fisk has TVs.” Captain America rolls his eyes, and turns back to you. “You know who we are?”

“I don’t think so?” You look between them with your best, perfectly innocent and confused expression. “Should I?”

Barnes narrows his eyes, scanning over you with an unblinking fury that’s almost scary. Not quite, but almost.

“You know who we are.”

“I don’t think I do-“

Barnes scoffs. “Don’t lie-“

Captain America shakes his head, cutting Barnes off with a firm glare. “I dunno, man, you’re the one who said-“

“I know what I said, but- You’re really falling for that?” Barnes gestures to you with a scowl, and you give him a sweet smile in return. “She’s clearly lying, Sam-“

Sam rolls his eyes. “Who’s sayin’ names now, Bucky-“

You clear your throat, and they both look back to you with almost twin, venomous glowers.

“What.” Sam snaps, and you let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Do I have to stay tied to the chair while you two fight? Or can I go home?”

“Home?” Barnes gives you a pointed look. “You gonna head right back to Fisk, doll?”

You don’t answer, just shrugging and letting your smile widen, even as the thought of willingly running home to fucking Fisk makes bile rise in your throat.

Barnes holds your gaze with a glare. You don’t think you’ve seen him blink once. It might be the main thing keeping you in this chair.

You want to see what they have to say, and you’d really like to see if Barnes can blink, or if it will make his circuits fry and heart go into an arrest.

You get the former first, when Sam runs a hand over his face, leans forward in his chair, and mutters your name. Your real name.

He knows your name. That’s interesting.

“Look, we-“ He glances at Barnes—still glaring at you—and lets out a long breath. “We know who you are.”

“Oh?” You look between them will well-practiced, faux innocence. “Do you?”

“Fisk’s pet.” Barnes grunts, and Sam sighs again. He seems to do that a lot.

“I- Coulda phrased it better, but yeah. You’re his hit… woman.” Sam’s voice drops as he continues, watching you carefully. “Look, we got an opportunity for you. Help us bring down Fisk, you get a full par-“

“Okay.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t done-“

“I don’t care.” You shrug. “I’m in. Can you let me out now?”

“Uh-“

“That’s it?” Barnes cuts Sam off with a snap, his tone full of a disgust that’s a little dramatic. “You’re just- You’re gonna flip like that? No questions, no loyalty? Out of fuckin’ self-preservation?”

You snort, not bothering to sit up as you hold his gaze. “Of course it’s out of self-preservation. Would you rather I hold my moral high-ground and keep working for the evil crime lord? Would that be better for you? Cause I can flip back, you just need to say the word and I’ll go tell Fisk that Captain America tried to cut a deal with me-“

“Hey, no.” Sam holds up his hand, letting out a long, slow breath as he glares at Barnes. “C’mon, man, you know we get one shot at this, stop antagonizing her-“

“She’s antagonizing me.” Barnes mutters, and you scoff. 

“You’re not the one cuffed to a chair, dipshit-“

“You-“ Barnes’ jaw clenches, and his hands curl at his side. Maybe he’ll punch you. That feels like it’ll help, somehow. “Sam, this cannot be our only option. She,” he gestures to you, and you wink at him. It doesn’t help. “Is not the only person in the whole damn city that works for Fisk. We’ll find another-“

“I’m the only person he trusts that will flip.” You hum. “Everyone else in his inner circle believes in the cause, or something. They love him, worship the ground he walks on. I’m the Stockholm puppy, they’ll never assume I flipped, and they’ll tell me whatever I ask because they don’t think I’d have this,” you give a vague wave of your hand in Sam and Bucky’s direction. “In me. I’m not just your only option. I’m your best option.”

There’s a long silence as they stare at you— incredibly uncuffed from the chair—and before Barnes can lunge at you with what might have been snarl, Sam stands up, shoves him away, and they exchange low, angry words.

You settle for examining your nails as you wait, and Barnes’ glare pushes right under skin and sticks to it. You don’t know how you know, but there’s a very certain feeling that for the rest of your life you’re going to feel a buzzing, electric heat under your skin that’s entirely made of James Barnes, glaring at you. 

You really don’t think he can blink. 

But you’ll have plenty of time to find out, because when they return it’s with the news that they’ve come to an agreement—more likely Barnes lost an argument, but you don’t really care—that you’re in.

Barnes won’t stop staring at you. And you could leave, if you wanted.

But you’re interested in seeing how this plays out. And Barnes may be rearranging every nerve point and organ in your body with only his attention, but that isn’t nearly as important as getting away from Fisk. 

So you stare right back. 

——————

Reason two is a little harder. You’d had it lined up as well, but it hurts to even think.

You have to. If you’re going to get through this, you have to write down all the reason, even if you’d punch anyone else square in the jaw for saying them.

Bucky doesn’t deserve this. You need to pretend he does.

For your own sanity, you need to pretend he does.

2. He can be an asshole.

You don’t make it three second before something rattles in your body, and you add- 

But so can you.

——————

“You know,” Barnes drawls behind you, and it’s amazing how bad he can be at shutting up. This is supposed to be a stealth mission. He hasn’t stop talking to you since Sam put you two on a team and then fucked off to go fly around the warehouse. “The spider kid’s told us all about you, doll-“

“Parker?” You hum, and Barnes blinks. 

There it is.

“How’d you- No-“

“I know Spider-man’s Peter Parker.” You give Barnes an overly sweet smile, and you’ve been their double agent for a month of back-alley meetings and careful exchanges in noisy rooms, but it hasn’t seemed to stop getting under his skin. “I’ve known for like, five years.”

Barnes shakes his head, as if he doesn’t believe you. Like you just somehow guessed. “But Fisk doesn’t-“

“I didn’t tell Fisk.”

You turn back to the path ahead of you, and you can still feel Barnes’ glower.

“You think you’re fuckin’ smart, kid-“

“Yes, I do.” You throw him another smile over your shoulder, and his glare deepens. “What did Peter tell you about me?”

“That you’re kind of a bitch.” Barnes grunts, and you roll your eyes.

“He’s just still mad I gave him a concussion.” You mutter. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t mean to give him a fucking concussion-“ 

“I didn’t know how strong he’d be. It was new, I thought I’d just be breaking his nose-“

Barnes grabs your arm, yanking you back without warning and covering your mouth with a gloved hand, muffling your yelp.

“Be more careful.” He grunts in your ear. “Almost walked right into the open, you’ll get yourself shot.”

If you lean a little further back, your skin will touch his. Maybe he’d be stronger than Parker. Maybe you could hit hard enough to knock a new personality into him.

Because for the past week, Barnes has been a fucking dick. You understand not trusting you. It’s a reasonable conclusion to reach. 

But he doesn’t listen. He shoots down all your intel and acts both like you’re a weak little child, and an atomic bomb set to go off any second. You’re neither. You want Fisk dead more than anyone, and you’re in complete control. If you weren’t, you would’ve killed him days ago, and never even fucking blinked.

It’s a testament to that control, that you shove yourself away from him without tapping into Parker’s strength. You could’ve sent him flying out the window, if you wanted. But you’re being diplomatic, and you’re trying to do the goddamn mission, so you don’t. 

“Don’t grab me.” You snap, and Barnes scowls.

“I was helping you-“

“Did I ask you to?”

“No.” He narrows his eyes, taking a firm step forward until you’re almost nose to nose. “But if you die, Sam will yell at me. So be more damn careful.”

The staring contest lasts another minute before Sam’s voice crackles in both your ears, and you have to get back to work. By the time they’re fighting some of Fisk’s men—you’ve been, fucking stupidly, sidelined so as not to blow your cover—Barnes has called you incompetent in ten more ways. You’re too loud. Too smug for someone who’s not doing anything. You’re slowing them down, and he’s stuck babysitting you for your shitty intel—shitty intel that got them here, but he seems to be selectively ignoring that—and you’re too willing to kill people and run into fights with no powers.

He’s used that one a lot, after you’d convinced Fisk to give you a vacation and started to crash with Sam. Barnes has muttered countless times that he can’t believe you’re the woman everyone in New York is afraid of. 

“Who says I have no powers,” you’d snapped after the third low comment, sprawled out on Sam’s couch and watching TV, and Barnes had rolled his eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready to prove you got some, doll, I’m ready.” He’d raised his brows in a silent challenge, holding your glare. “Until then, get off my couch.”

“It’s Sam’s couch. And I’m watching TV.”

“All you fucking do is watch TV, doll, can’t be good for you-“

“Aw,” you’d shot him another sickly-sweet smile. “The old man is worried about my screen time-“

“You’re hogging it.” He’d grunted, ignoring your teasing, and you’d flipped him off.

“Sam doesn’t have any good books, and I’m not allowed to have a phone. What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

You’d won the argument. Barnes had circled back to you being a waste of space—and you were, but he didn’t know that—and not actually having any powers, so in your eyes, that meant you won.

Because you do have powers. You’ve been saving it for a good moment. Just to prove your point, you’ll use them in a way that blows his stupid fucking mind, and really makes him feel like a dumbass.

That moment comes when one of Fisk’s men is aiming a gun right at his back, he’s turning a little too slow, and Sam is all the way on the other side of the room.

You’re on the ceiling. 

You drop down with the dramatic, fancy landing you’ve been practicing since you got skin-to-skin contact with Parker, and punch the grunt backward into the wall. 

There’s a sickening crack sound from the impact, and it rattles over your ribs and skull. You memorize his face, and add it to your tally. Your graveyard. Another piece of you that will never get to be whole or clean. 

When you turn back to Barnes, he’s staring at you, a look of borderline amusing confusion on his face.

“You-“ He glances up to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “You just fucking killed that guy.”

Your teeth almost snap in your mouth, and you feel a little bit of bile in your throat.

“Obviously.” You mutter, flexing your fist as you let Parker’s powers go dormant once more. “And it saved your life. You’re welcome.”

Barnes narrows his eyes. “I didn’t say thank you-“

“You should work on that, then.” You snap, storming past him as Sam wraps up the last grunt. “It’s rude.”

——————

Your coffee is finally finished, but it’s more bitter than normal on your tongue.

You think you might just miss Bucky, and it’s having a physical effect on your body. 

You need to keep going.

3. He’s bad at using his words.

——————

You jump out of your seat when the book slams down in front of you. 

“What the fuck-“

“Go read.” Barnes grunts, dropping down at your side. “My turn with the TV.”

You gape at him, not bothering to hide the slight amusement in your voice. “Your turn- Are you fucking five-“

“No. Read.”

“I-“

“Read.”

You scowl, and whack him on the arm with the book. “Stop interrupting me, Barnes-“

“Stop calling me Barnes,” he snaps your name in a mocking tone, catching your book before it can land on his arm once more, shoving it fully into your hands. “Go read.”

“I-“ You swallow, watching him wearily, hugging the book to your chest without thought. “What?”

His jaw ticks slightly. “Read-“

“No, why don’t you want me to call you Barnes.”

He’s silent for a long second, staring at the black TV screen with an unreadable expression.

“You call Sam his name.” He finally mutters, something bitter in his voice. “And the spider kid Peter. We’re supposed to be a fucking team. Use my name.”

You narrow your eyes. “You never thanked me for saving your life. Teammates thank each other.”

“That’s your thanks, genius.” He taps the book, still not fully looking at you. “Read it.”

He won that conversation. You don’t have a good response to that, so Bucky won. The asshole.

He buys you five more books in the next two weeks. One for every successful mission. And when you end up with a large gash on your leg, he half shoves you down onto the couch and kneels at your feet, patching it up without a word.

You don’t like the silence. It’s too heavy around your throat.

Only half a second later—like he can hear the stutter in your every breath—Bucky breaks it.

“You didn’t need to jump in front of me.”

“You were going to get shot, dummy.” You snap, crossing your arms and leaning back on the couch. “I did you a favor. Say thank you.”

He doesn’t. He won’t. But you know you’ll get another new book tomorrow, and that’s enough.

“Didn’t know you could get hurt.” He still won’t look up from your leg. “Thought I saw you get shot last week and walk it off.”

“I was ready for that.” You mutter, wincing as Bucky presses the rubbing alcohol to your leg. “This- fuck- I got caught off guard. Won’t happen again.”

He grunts, frowning at your leg. “You’re… selectively invulnerable.”

“If I chose right, yeah.”

That gets him to look at you. There’s the usual confusion clouding his eyes, along with… something else. Something deeper and vaster than the ocean, that’s almost jarring to see. Not frightening. Just different. Strange.

“What the fuck are you?”

His tone isn’t hateful. There’s a strange kind of light in it. Like awe. 

Not awe. 

But like it.

“I’m-“ You swallow, and you haven’t ever really explained it. Once Fisk made you, you just were. Once he figured out what you could do, it was all you did. Nobody asked. They never had to.

Bucky bows his head again, glaring at your leg as he speaks. “You don’t gotta tell me-“

“Shut up. I’m a mimic.”

He looks back up with raised brows, and you take a deep breath before you continue. 

“Fisk created me. Partnered with some crazy scientists, saved me out of a home, and made me into his little pet hero. I can mimic anyone’s DNA, if I touch them skin to skin. It’s just- I only use it on superheroes. Otherwise it’s not really useful.”

Bucky glances down at his gloved hands with a small frown, then back to you. “You stick to the ceiling a lot.”

You nod, and shrug. “I’ve touched Parker, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s how I know who he is. I beat him in a fight, unmasked him, and he was-“ You swallow, a knot tightening and grinding in your stomach, and Bucky finishes for you.

“Just a kid.”

“Just a kid.” You echo. “Couldn’t kill him. Never want to kill any of them. But there’s-“

“Not a choice.” He mutters, and the strange thing in his eyes seems clearer. “Bite down on this.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

Bucky shoves the glove from his flesh hand into your mouth, and starts the first stitch.

The next day, there’s a phone and a book waiting for you in the kitchen.

——————

It takes too long to come up with the next reason. You get lost in thoughts of how you’ve read that same book a dozen times, and you’d caught Bucky reading your annotations with adorable concentration only a few weeks ago.

He always spends more time reading your thoughts than the actual story.

And it had hit you then, too. You can’t think about that, because it’s making this impossible. You can’t think about how Bucky had fallen asleep reading your annotations and looked adorable, or how the phone he gave you is the same one on the table next you right now. How the case on it is the one you bought as he hung over your shoulder, muttering how phone cases were stupid.

You’d made him show you his phone, after he’d said that. The screen had been cracked and shattered, and it had taken a month to get him to buy another. 

That can be a list point. You’re back on your game.

You almost write stubborn, but you substitute it for something stronger at the last second.

4. He can be controlling

You stare at it for a long moment, because something is off. Bucky can be controlling. He can man-handle you and order you around, his voice low and smooth and the intensity in his eyes a little dizzying-

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath. You messed up again.

Because you’re right.

But, fuck, it turns you on.

——————

“You need to stop fucking doing this,” Bucky mutters your name, his metal arm holding you in place as he pressed another round of rubbing alcohol over your gut. “One day you’re not gonna get lucky.”

You wince, but give him a weak smile. “I got shot, Buck, I wouldn’t call that lucky-“

“You got shot.” He hisses, scowling up at you. “Because you were fucking reckless.”

“I saved you-“

“That is not your job, kid-“

“Then stop almost getting shot!”

“I-“ Bucky lets out a slow breath from between his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “No. That’s my job. You’re not even supposed to be in the field-“

“But I am.” You snap. “And I’m not just going to let you get hurt-“

“You’re not letting me do anything.” He mutters, setting down the bottle as he moves back to the medkit. “You’re done in the field.”

You gape at him, the words too slow to sink it. Bucky said them too casually. He said them like they were his call to make.

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

“You’re not going out there again.” He grunts. His metal hand is still on your leg. “We’re almost done anyway. You’re best for intel.”

“Int-“ You cut yourself off with a scoff, glaring down at him. “You are not my boss, James-“

“No. I’m not.” His jaw ticks slightly. He still won’t meet your eyes. “But if I see you in the field again, I’m handcuffing you to your bed.”

He says that so easily, and a heat you have to ignore pools in your stomach. 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” You hiss, leaning down to try and drag his attention fully to your glare. “I am not going to just sit at home-“

“Yeah.” He grunts, still not looking up. “You are.”

“I told you, you are not in charge of me-“

He snorts. “If I was in charge of you, doll, you’d be on full fucking lockdown.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean-“

“Don’t worry about it-“

“James Barnes. Fucking look at me.”

He tenses, and drag his eyes to yours as if the action pains him. “What.”

“I am going to keep working.” You hiss. “Because it’s my job. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously I have a fucking problem with it. And I’m deadly serious,” he grunts your name, holding your gaze. “You try and go on another mission, you’re getting cuffed.”

“We’re so fucking close, you asshole, you don’t get to bench me now-“

“That exactly why I’m benching you-“

“Because we’re close? What, you worried I’m gonna flee the moment we wrap this up?”

If you were furious with Bucky, you’d be worried he was going to break his jaw. “No.”

“So it’s not because you don’t trust me?” You sneer, and he shoots you of a look practical shock.

“Of course I fucking trust you-“

“Then why Bucky?! You can’t just fucking bench me and not tell me why! This is my fight too, and if you think fucking handcuffs are going hold me-“

“I won’t cuff you if you listen-“

“I won’t listen if you don’t speak fucking clearly-“

“It’s- fuck- It’s because Fisk is going to know it’s you soon!” He roars, and you freeze. You’ve heard him yell before, but not like this. There’s something hot behind it. Something almost pained. “You know what he’ll do when he’s figures out where you went off to?! What you’ve been doing, that you’ve been working with Me and Sam?!”

“I-“

“I’m not gonna be the one they’re aiming at anymore, doll. And they’re gonna be shooting to kill. And what if I’m not fast enough?!” he squeezes your leg, his lips curling as his eyes dart down to the wound ripping open your stomach. “What if they’re shooting you, and you’re not ready, and I’m too fucking slow?!” 

“Bucky-“

“I’ll fucking lose you.” He hisses, and you’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m not fucking losing you. I only just goddamn got you, and you are not allowed to bail on me because you’re reckless and stupid.”

He finishes with a long, ragged breath, and you blink at him. Your skin is hot, mouth dry, and it’s as if you’ve been wandering in the desert for a million years. 

You haven’t been, though. 

But nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. With that fervorish awe, and unyielding fury like a tidal wave. Your hands feel clean. For the first time—maybe in years, maybe in your life—you don’t feel any small amounts of blood or grime under your fingernails. It’s that ocean, you think. The one trapped inside of Bucky, that’s slowly been flooding your senses over the past few months. A tide rising with every traded joke and shared book, every mission where he’d trusted you more and more, every story you’d told each other about the heavier, tainted parts of your shadows. 

You move to touch his face without thinking, and his skin is soft. The stubble of his beard is almost grounding—a small, rough reminder that he’s changed since you met him, even if the only obvious part of that is the length of his beard—and he’s looking at you like he’s afraid. Parted lips and blown out eyes as his hand catches your against his face, holding it there as he stares at you with that same fucking awe.

“I’m not losing you.” He repeats the word like they’re a prayer. An oath. “I’m not fucking losing you.”

——————

You need to take a ten-minute break. 

He hadn’t kissed you then. Fucking Sam had interrupted, because you’d been closer to the end than you thought you were. 

Fisk had fallen the next week. He’d never know it was you until he was sitting in a cell, and you spoke to him through the bars.

That had been a… long and confusing day. Bucky had been waiting the entire time. He’d almost killed you the moment you walked out of the cell.

6. He’s bad at reading situations

——————

Your eyes sting.

You don’t know why you’d cried. Fisk had made your life hell. He’d ruined it, and you’d won, and you’d still cried for him.

“You were like a daughter to me,” he’d hummed your name, nothing but sheer fucking disappointment in his eyes. Like you’d failed him. Like he was more hurt for you than angred at your betrayal. “You know, I always loved you for exactly what you were. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You’d only swallowed, any sharp words dying in your throat as Fisk continued.

“Do you think the Winter Soldier will like the reminder? Of who he was before?” Fisk had shaken his head, and sighed as if he’d been mourning you. You’d almost thrown up on the tile floors. “No, not as you are. And you don’t change, my girl. You’re not meant for… soft things. You could’ve ruled the world and now… You’ll be nothing. Alone.”

You’d found the words to cut back, somehow, but you don’t remember them. You only remember the knot in your stomach and bile in your throat. 

You hope you’d held the tears until you were hunched over the toilet. You’d only just managed the vomit.

And you hadn’t reacted, when Bucky had come up behind you. You want to think it was because you were off your game.

It was probably just because it was Bucky.

He’d held your hair from your face. He’d rubbed your back with the metal hand, and it had eased your breathing too fast. And when you’d finally sat up, he’d pulled you into his chest like you were something delicate.

Fisk’s words are too loud in your head. Your voice, when you finally speak, is too soft.

“This is the women’s room, Buck.” You mumble, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

“’S fine.” He shrugs, the movement shifting you slightly against him, settling you more comfortably in his hold. “You’re here. This is where I’ll be until someone moves me.”

You hum, pressing your face to his shoulder, as if you can’t fucking help it. “Miss me that much?”

He grunts, and you could swear you feel him nod. “Needed to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, and when you lean back, he’s staring again. 

You think he’s going to rip you apart. At least then, maybe, he’ll keep some of you in his pocket. A little bit, to always be held like this.

“Bucky-“

“Go on a date with me.”

——————

Number seven is easy. Number seven flows right off of six, because you’d said yes like you were only breathing—even as all the air in the world became too thin, and you almost passed out from the branding focus of Bucky’s gaze—and Bucky had grinned like he’d never seen the sun before, and now it was shining just for him.

It had been cute.

Too many parts of Bucky could be cute.

7. He can be unbelievably sweet at the worst possible times.

——————

You’re going to strangle him. 

The date was perfect. Horribly perfect. Impossibly perfect. Fairy tale, romance movie, only-exists for valentine’s day propaganda perfect.

Bucky bought you flowers. A big bouquet of yellow roses, because he knows how much you both hate red. You went to a fancy restaurant, and walked in the park for five hours just holding hands like idiots, until he was spinning you around and swaying you in his arms, and you were giggling.

You don’t giggle. You didn’t even know you could make that sound. 

But Bucky had guided you through a romantic, smooth dance—his body warm around yours, nothing to see you in the dark but his bright eyes and the slowly clouding night sky—and you’d giggled. He’d smelled like pine aftershave, a deep, slightly spicy cologne, and something earthier that was just Bucky, and you’d giggled.

You’d been vulnerable. In public, in the dark, in the open. But Bucky had been there, and there had been a secure feeling over your skin like the sky could split open with fire and hail, and you’d be alright. Bucky was there, so you’d always be alright.

And you’d giggled.

It was dangerous. It was dangerous when he’d kissed your cheek after handing you the flowers, standing in your doorway as if you didn’t fucking live together. It was dangerous when he held your car door open, and when he helped you into the seat at the restaurant. When he took your hand like touching you was the most natural thing in the world, and started to dance as if that had been what he’d been planning to do the whole time.

Given the small smirk on his lips when the first giggle had escaped you, it might have been. 

But the most dangerous thing had been when it had started to rain, and he’d picked you up. Hauled you into his arms without a grunt and run you into an all-night coffee shop, keeping his body folded over yours as if you’d melt into a puddle if he didn’t shield you from the world.

You’d found a little table, ordered some drinks, and lost track of time.

He was so handsome, with messy, wet hair and eyes bluer than the rain could ever hope to be. He was warmer than the heater of the coffee shop. 

You knew he’d taste better than the small scone he’d bought you, too.

And then again, like he could read your fucking mind, he’d shaken his head.

“We’re not doing that tonight,” he’d drawled your name, grinning at you from across the table, and you’d blinked at him.

“I-“

“We will.” He’d shrugged. “Trust me on that, I’ve- Shit- We will. But not tonight.”

You blinked at him, shaking your head slowly. “Bucky-“

“We’re not fucking, doll.”

And now you were here. About to kill him.

“I never said we were-“

“Didn’t have to.” He shoots you a wink, bumping your knee with his under the table. “Saw it all over your face, baby.”

“You-“ You swallow, and he can’t fucking do that. It’s not fair. He can’t say no sex tonight and then wink and call you baby. That’s not fair. “I- Why?”

Your words are almost a whine, and Bucky’s grin widens. It’s too adorable, too gleeful and affectionate, and his knuckles are brushing against your hand and he smells so good-

“I want that to be its own thing. This is our first date. We’re doing number two because this was fun and we,” he gestures between your bodies, watching you carefully. “Work. Not cause I fuck you until you can’t walk.”

He finishes with a shrug, and even though he’s still grinning—he knows exactly what those last words did you to, the asshole—there’s something firmer in his voice that tells you he’s being serious. 

That’s annoying. And sweet. So fucking sweet.

So you let it go.

“Aw.” You give him a teasing smile, pressing your thighs together to relieve just a little bit of your need from his attention. “You think we work?”

“Yeah. I do.” He’s staring at you again. You might have started something you can’t finish. “Do you?”

You swallow, and lying feels pointless. You’re trapped. He’s handsome and amazing and he’s not going to fuck you, but he promised he would later, and you’re trapped. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, and you don’t know when you started holding his hand again. You don’t really care to let go. “I do.”

——————

This isn’t working anymore.

All you can think about is how that might have been the moment. The one where something sparked and grew and razed through your body, reshaping your organs and tissue to all mold a little better for Bucky. He’d said I do like it was the easiest thing in the world. Less of an answer to a question and more of a statement.

There had been a finality to it. Like that was all he’d ever have to know again. You were all he’d ever have to know.

He’d made promises and kept them. You’d remained warm every time it had stormed, and through the following winter, and it was because that had been the moment and this strategy isn’t fucking working.

Bucky had told you later, and now that later is all you can think about. Bucky is all you can think about, and every single thing you cast to mar the picture of him in your head just makes it stronger. Makes every memory sharper, every thought of Bucky in your head more beautiful.

8. He’s perfect. It’s impossible.

——————

You don’t know exactly how you got here. There were flowers involved, and a dark theatre, and Bucky had whispered something low in your ear that made you gape at him in the dark, and then he’d kept his hand on your thigh the rest of the night, and the whole world had become unbearable hot.

It’s only a haze now. A big, warm haze that’s cooled by one metal hand on your hip as you burn and burn and burn, and Bucky hasn’t even done anything yet. But he’s been teasing you. Keeping you pinned cruelly under his body for what feels like hours, kissing and sucking over your neck and slotting his knee between your thighs, letting you grind against him and pull at his hair until you were whining for more, you need more-

“Think you can take more, baby?” He murmurs against your lips, and you don’t know if he’s doing the anticipating thing again, or just teasing you a little more. “You even know what you want?”

He uses your responding moan to push his tongue down your throat, kissing you heavy and long and deep. 

And Bucky’s kissed you before. A lot. There had been one, world-making kiss that had grown into an addiction, becoming kisses in the corner of every room and against the wall of every hallway, into the cushions of the couch until Sam groaned and walked away—promising to never come over for movie night again—and right up to every edge, but never further.

Bucky seems to be under the impression that he needs to be a gentleman. That there needs to be a right moment to stop pulling away with heavy, shallow breaths, swollen lips, and flushed faces. That he needs written permission to go further.

You’d given him that permission this morning. You’d slid him a small paper over the counter, and when he’d read it, he’d raised his brows at you in amusement.

“This says fuck me.”

“Yep.” You’d hummed, holding his gaze as you’d taken a large bite of your banana.

It had been a warfare strategy. It had seemed to work then—his eyes had darkened, nostrils flaring and fist closing around the paper as he stared at you—but you know it’s worked now.

Because this kiss is different. It’s another, newer tidal wave that’s all thirst. Desire.

Need.

Bucky’s holding himself by a tether. You can feel it when you bite his lower lip, he groans down your throat, and his hips jerk forward. 

“You’re- Shit-“ Bucky grunts as you suck a small, dark mark on his jaw. “You gotta be sure, doll, I can’t-“

“I’m sure.” You whisper, leaning back to hold his gaze. He looks almost nervous, and it makes your brow furrow slightly. “Buck, are you-“

He crashes his mouth back down to yours, his metal hand playing with the hem of your skirt. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” He mutters, pulling back to scan over you once more. “I’m- If we’re doing this, I’ve gotta be- I need to-“

“I know.”

He blinks at you. “You do? How- Sam.”

You giggle slightly at Bucky’s violent glower—you’ve been doing that a frightening amount lately—and raise a hand to trace over his jaw.

“He says he- uh- Heard you. Once. Months ago. And it’s okay.”

He shakes his head, still watching you with that caution. “I- It doesn’t have to be, doll, I know that your past isn’t all sunshine and daises and bein’ in control either-“

“I- I’ve had to do most everything for myself. For survival.” You whisper, tracing your thumb over his cheek. “I’ve never had- I trust you. And with what Sam mentioned-“

“Gonna fuckin’ kill him-“

“I don’t think it’s as dramatic as you think.” You finish, ignoring Bucky’s muttered threat.

His jaw ticks slightly, his words suddenly so low you can barely hear them. “If it’s too much, you gotta tell me-“

“I can take it.”

Bucky sighs your name, and you shove his chest. Not hard. Enough to move him. Jolt him. Make him look at you with wide, shocked eyes.

“You-“

“I can take it, Buck.” You grin at him, raising your brows pointedly. “I’ve got you.”

His eyes widen as he understands—you’ve got him, his strength and durability mirrored in your body—and there’s a slight shift in the air. It’s hot. Everything is suddenly so hot under Bucky’s attention, expect for the cold, metal hand, trailing under your skirt and cupping you over right over your aching pussy.

“Fuck, you’re wet, doll.” The awe has creeped from Bucky’s eyes to his voice. You can only grind against his fingers teasing over your slit, and moan when a metal thumb starts to rub firm, rough circles over your clit. “And no panties on? All fuckin’ night, just waitin’ for me?”

“Yes,” you moan, our hips jolting when he pinches your clit lightly, a high whine leaving your throat. “Bucky-“

“That’s my name.” He mutters, resting those two fingers right against your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you’re already so wet, I wonder what’ll happen when I do this?”

With that last word, Bucky slams the metal fingers into your cunt, and starts to finger fuck you like it’s a mission. It’s so fast. Metal whirring in your ear as the pace becomes impossible and mind-numbing, hitting you so fucking deep, almost massaging and taunting at the sensitive spot, and it’s only just started but you’re already going to explode-

“Bucky-“ You moan out his name, trying to somehow meet every thrust of his fingers with your hips, but only managing to grind your clit against his wrist and sending your brain into a dizzying blur of pleasure. “God, I- Close, Bucky, so close-“

“Hold it.” He grunts, not letting up pace, and you almost whimper at the idea. “Need you to hold it for me, baby, can you do that?”

You can’t. 

You nod anyway, because Bucky’s still here, still holding you and touching you and looking at you, so you have to try. For Bucky, you need to try.

“Good girl.” He mutters, and you clench around him with a squeak. “Oh, you like that? Like me talkin’, tellin’ you how good your doing-“

“Oh- Fuck-“ You gasp, your back arching off the bed as he somehow hits deeper. “Please, I- God-“

He hums, dropping his weight slightly to keep you pinned to the bed. “Say my name, doll.”

“Buck-“

“No.” His voice is slightly softer, and he leans down to hover his lips right over yours. “Other one.”

“I-“ You take shallow breathes, each one rounded with another moan as you search Bucky’s face for the answer, and his fingers never slow their movements. “Please-“

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got it-“

“James!” You half scream it, writhing under him in desperation for release, and start to repeat it like a prayer as his eyes shine in approval, and his cock twitches against your thigh. “James- James please, I- I need it- Need you-“

He swallows your words with another deep kiss, squeezing your hip with his free hand as he mutters against your lips. 

“There you go, babydoll.” He smirks at your whimper, his eyes trained on yours as you give him another, pleading look and whisper of his name. “Cum for me.”

The sound that leaves you is undignified, needy and loud and made of slurred curses and shouts of James. But you can see the stars, and feel them bursting through your body, and it’s all just good.

When you come down, Bucky’s brushing your hair from your eyes, looking down at you with that same wide awe everywhere over his handsome features.

“Was that good?”

You hum, still panting heavily, and he raises his brows. 

“More?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.

“Already so fucked out you can’t speak? Haven’t even pulled out my cock yet-“

You moan into his mouth at just the word. “Bucky, please-“

“Please what?” He pulls back entirely, and chuckles when you slam your hand into his chest with a glare.

“Hey-“

“You gotta tell me what you want, babydoll, and I’ll get it for you. But,” he raises his brows, catching your hand when you try to shove him once more and pinning it over your head. “I’m not a mind reader. Tell me.”

You think that’s a lie. You think he can read your mind, and he’s just being mean.

But God, it’s so fucking hot. His shirt is gone—you don’t know when that happened, but you’re not complaining—and he’s looking at you like you’re art, laid out for him to see and touch and have, so you’ll play along. If it will make him finally fuck you, you’ll do whatever he asks.

“I want your cock.” You whisper, holding his gaze. “Want you to fuck me, and I’m clean and on the pill, so I want you to cum inside of me, then leave it there. Wanna feel you tomorrow, James, please.”,

Bucky’s throat bobs slightly, his voice becomes barely a growl.

“Jesus Christ.”

He seems to be done talking after that.

Your hand stay pinned over your head as he rips off your shirt, then his own boxers. There’s a half-grumble of buying you another bra tomorrow, but it’s all you get before he’s ripping that off as well.

When he lines himself up at your entrance, he pauses, giving you one last chance to shove him away. 

You tangle your hand in his hair and shove his lips to yours without hesitation, moaning his name into his mouth, and it’s enough.

Bucky slams himself into you with one thrust, diving his mouth to suck and lick at your nipples as you gasp, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you.

It’s perfect. Big and thick and full, you feel so full, and you’re going to fly out of your skin if he keeps flicking his tongue over your nipple like, throbbing inside of you but not moving-

He can definitely read your mind. Before you can even moan a plea, Bucky starts to drill into you without warning, and any noise turn into more of those loud, desperate pleas. 

It rough. Bed creaking and skin slapping, and he keeps tossing you around like no angle is deep enough, flipping you over to fuck you from behind so his balls are slapping against your clit and he’s kissing up your spine, before he’s hauling you up to his chest, wrapping his arm around your stomach to hold you still as he drills up into your cunt,  and biting and marking along your throat and jaw. You throw your head back on his shoulder, and he captures your lips in a long, searing kiss, rolling a nipple between his fingers. 

Then you’re back on your stomach, with his weight completely covering you and his grunts right in your ear, sending shivers up your spine. 

He pauses only for a second there, thrusts slowing as he grabs at your hips, and before you can ask him if he’s okay, if it’s too much or—worse—not enough, you’re moving again.

Bucky rolls over, tossing you up onto his lap so you’re grinding down onto his cock, and this is it. You can see it in his hooded, satisfied expression as he watches you bounce above you, his flesh hand wrapping around your throat the metal moves to your clit, rubbing small, furious circles as he groans your name.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your every word choked as he pounds up into your fluttering, aching pussy. “I- James-“

He grunts, pressing harder as his dick hits that deep, sensitive spot inside of you. “Come on, babydoll, gotta gimme one more-“

This orgasm washes over you like a wave. Deep, easy pleasure that makes everything glow, lingering in your body long after Bucky gives one last, jagged thrust up into your pussy, cumming with a roar of your name.

You both stare at each other for a long second as Bucky releases your throat, his fingers tracing over the marks left by his grip with a furrowed brow, and you smile at him. 

His release is dripping down your thighs as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.  

It’s somehow not enough, and still more than you could ever ask for.

And your smile is a little cock drunk and there’s light bubble up your throat, but you don’t care.

So you giggle. Airy and blissful as Bucky rolls your bodies over so he’s on top once more, and you bury your face in his shoulder. 

He rises over you on his forearm, raising his brows as you smile up at him. “Somethin’ funny?”

You nod, your giggles almost pathetic. You don’t really mind. “Told you I could take it.”

He sighs, but the grin on his face matches yours.

Wide. Stupid.

Happy.

“Yeah.” Bucky mutters, tracing slow fingers only your cheekbone, and the awe seems to be a permanent addition to his voice. “You did.”

——————

When you get back to your table with ice water, people are staring at you. Whispering.

It’s not in your head. You know the difference between paranoia and caution, and this is the latter.

You scan over for an easy target, and land on a skittish looking man with large arms and a gym bag. When you stop at his table, he looks like he’s going to pass out.

“What’s your name.” You keep your voice cool and even, and he swallows.

“Mike.”

“Awesome. Can I please have your phone, Mike?”

He nods, unlocks it before passing it to your hands, and you give him a sweet smile before you scan over his screen, and let out a long sigh.

Sam abused his power. You’ve been declared a missing enhanced. The city hasn’t been barricaded, but everyone in New York knows to be looking for you, and expect Captain America upon response.

You pass Mike his phone back with another grimacing smile, and stalk back to your table and notebook.

9. He can be really fucking dramatic.

——————

You don’t know how Bucky puts up with you. He’s clean. Neat. Does all his dishes and folds his laundry, vacuums the floors and straightens every picture when he fucks you a little too hard against the wall.

You’re… not.

Taking care of yourself has never been important. Never been allowed. Fisk had men who cleaned up after you, because your priority was walk around and be feared. Be the untouchable princess.

Untouchable princesses don’t clean up. Once, at the beginning, you’d tried to help the crew after a particularly messy job.

Fisk had been furious. You’d gotten blood on his favorite toy. 

You’d stopped trying to clean up after that, 

But Bucky never gets angry about it. He’ll wipe your face when you get sauce on your cheek, change your sheets—even though you haven’t slept in your own bed for months—every week, and do your laundry, all while never asking for anything in return. 

This is another night where you don’t understand him. He made your favorite food, even though he had the long day. He’s not meeting your eyes again, but you’ve learned that he only does that when he cares. When there are things inside of him he can’t work out how to say, so he’ll keep his gaze averted like he’s trying to shield himself from being seen.

He isn’t aware he does that. You only know because you know him. Because he sits across from you like this every night, and wakes up next to you every single morning, and presses his brow to yours—keeping his eyes closed, but his hands on your face delicate—every single day. He’s with you all the time, even when he’s across the city, so you know him and you-

“Move in with me.”

You blink at him in the low light of your shitty dining room. It’s all plastic table and fold-out chairs, because neither of you are good at having nice things and keeping them.

He might be the nicest thing you’ve ever had.

You don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about.

“What?”

“I- We should move in.” He pokes his plate, frowning at it like he can will it to understand, and explain to you properly. “Together. You and me.”

“Buck, we already live together-“

“In a shit apartment Sam found us.” He grumbles. “In two separate bedrooms. With plastic furniture and a dead plant.”

You sigh. “I told you I’m not good at plants when you got it. I wanted a cat, but-“

“Our lease doesn’t allow it.” Bucky shoots you a pointed look, leaning further over the table. “If we moved in together, I’d get you that cat. I’d get you whatever you wanted.”

“Bucky-“

“Fresh start.” He grunts your name, and you swallow. This is a little stronger than the awe gaze. This is borderline hope, and it’s so rare on his handsome face, and he has you folding for him in a second, but he keeps going anyway. “You and me. We’ll get a nicer couch without any blood on it, and eat off plates that aren’t paper, and- We can get the cat, or two cats- fuck, twenty cats-“

A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Twenty is a lot, darling-“

“Then one. One is good.” He has the solemn, focused gaze and tone he uses when he’s planning a mission. He’d stood up and crossed his arms. This is serious. “No more plants. I can- Sam will help me build all he furniture, I’ll get you a desktop, and I can have the smaller one, cause you always get annoyed when I break it-“

“It’s called a laptop.” You offer, keeping your voice softer than you’ve ever been capable of with anyone else. “And I don’t get annoyed-“

“Yes, you do. ’S fine, I deserve it-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That’s not the point, doll-“

“It’s important to me.” You snap, and that gets him to stop. “You’re important to me, and I don’t get annoyed. It’s not your fault your bags are always getting smashed-“

He scowls. “I’m the one who smashes them.”

“Because other people are fucking idiots, and you’re good at your job. You don’t deserve me being annoyed, and I’m not, because you’re-“ You swallow, words you don’t fully understand yet getting caught on the edge of your tongue. “You’re important to me, Buck. You’re a good man. You deserve good things.”

He blinks at you, and the hope is almost a tangible, touchable thing on his face. “Move in with me.”

“You already asked me that-“

“Please.” He mutters, and suddenly he’s on his knees before you, his arms around your waist as he stares up at you. “Wherever you want. It’ll be ours, and I’ll keep it clean if you make it beautiful.”

“Bucky-“

“You- fuck-“ He drops his brow to your lap, and you’re trying to tell him yes, but he seems to be trapped in his own head. All you can do is run your fingers through his hair and let him ride it out. “You make everything so beautiful, you just- You- Please. I’ll never ask ya’ for anything again. Move in with me.”

“Okay.”

He blinks up at you with wide eyes. “I- That’s it? Just like that?”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and it’s hurting your cheeks, but it’s the best pain you’ve ever felt. “You gonna let me up now?”

He nods slowly, but pauses before he stands, and throws you over his shoulder without warning.

“Bucky-“

“C’mon,” He start to move towards his bedroom, ignoring your squirming. “You’re- Got plans for you, babydoll.”

“We have all night, you dramatic asshole-“

“You love it.” He mutters with a squeeze of your thigh, and you have to stop pounding on his back to moan. “And if it were up to me, we’d never stop doin’ this. Never gonna waste one fucking second with you. Ever.”

——————

He’ll be here soon. Someone will have had the balls to report where you were, Bucky will burst through the doors, and you’ll have to know that this didn’t work. That you probably drove him insane and beat your heart to sinew, only to come out of this knowing that you failed. 

You have your answer, and it’s the one that’s terrifying. The floor could open into a trench, and the sky could catch fire, but that would be easier.

This is new. This is dangerous and frightening and new, and there’s nothing you can do about it, because you failed. There are no paths forward that you know how to follow, no corners of the world you can hide where you wouldn’t find yourself crawling back to Bucky.

And he’d meet you halfway, because he’d be looking for you, and then he’d pull you into his arms you’d be safe.

Safe and cared for and clean, and awfully, greatly in love.

10. You love him, and that’s not fair.

——————

He sleeps peacefully now. At your side, on the memory foam mattress you made him pick out, wrapped around you like he’s trying to pull you into his body. The sheets are tangled and smell a little like sweat and cum, but nobody seems to mind. Even Alpine has settled at the foot of the bed, on Bucky’s side, because she likes him better. 

Of course she likes him better. You picked her because she has the exact same blue eyes as he does, and you feed her, but she likes him more because he’s Bucky.

And this suits him, far more than you think it could ever suit you. 

Because this is what he would’ve been. If Bucky had never fallen off that train, he’d have simply been this. 

Happy. 

Peaceful in the soft, golden-white light of the morning, holding a perfect, faceless woman. She’d clean up after him, and make him food that didn’t taste like ash. He’d never have the nightmares that still sometimes rock him now, but he’d have worse nights—he’d still been a solider, still fought a war—and she’d only give him comfort. Never demand it in return, nights later when she woke up screaming. 

And she’d have less opinions, and never make him worried because she kept getting shot, and she’d giggle all the time. Not just when he pried it out of her with dancing and fucking. 

She would’ve been easy. She wouldn’t have made him read with her, and she would’ve let him get twenty cats. 

You hate her more than anything.

But it would’ve been what Bucky deserves. Has always deserved.

The exact same one you don’t.

You never would’ve been here. Fisk found you in the dirt, and you hadn’t been a lovely, blooming beam of sunlight before he turned you into a weapon. Bucky had earned all his sneers and snarks and scowls.

You’re just like this. 

And you somehow have him, in a way you can’t lose. Won’t lose. You’d do anything for Bucky, you’d kill and maim and scratch and scream and rip yourself to fucking pieces just for him, before stitching yourself back together with your heartstrings, because they’d still be beating in a sound like his name, because you-

No. 

Oh no. 

That can’t be right. You don’t- you’ve never had that. That’s too good. 

You don’t deserve that.

You’ll break it.

——————

You wait outside for him. Bouncing on your feet as people shoot you odd looks in passing. You expect sirens. Being turned over and checked from every angle, because this had been a really stupid thing to do when you were you. A problem. An asset until you flipped. An enemy so easily, and an insufferable ally to have.

Bucky still puts up with you. But you think he knows you’d never flip on him. He trusts that the same instinct that made you run from Fisk is the one that will always send you back to him.

It’s been nine hours, and you miss him like you’re drowning. Like you can see the sun, right above the surface, but you can’t remember how to go up.

You can only drift, and wait for blaring red lights that will carry you home.

They never come. And when you feel a tap on your shoulder you don’t flinch, because you know that tap anywhere. The pressure and shape of the finger, the exact placement near the cartilage, always leaving a slight brand of his touch.

“What’re you doing, baby.” Bucky mutters, and you let out a long breath, turning to give him a weak smile.

He’s staring again.

You love it when he does that.

“Hi,” You whisper, and he drops his brow to yours for a long second, right before pulling you right into his chest without a second of hesitation.

You’d thought he’d be angrier. You’re a little sick of being wrong.

“Why-“ He takes a heavy breath, squeezing you a little tighter. “You wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“I turned it off.” You mumble. You don’t think you can stand to lie to him like this. You’ve already done enough. “I- Can we go inside, please?”

Bucky leans back with a tight frown, scanning over you once more. “Did something-“

“I’m okay.” You duck your head back into his chest, and you understand why he never meets your eyes in moments like this. It’s far easier. “I promise. I just, this will be easier if we sit down, please.”

You can feel him tense against your body, but he guides you inside regardless. Right back to the table you’d been at before, even if he doesn’t know that.

People might be staring. 

You don’t really care. You don’t have the energy for it. Everything has to go into this. Into telling him before it’s too late, and you either lose him or, worse, he stays. He keeps tolerating you, not knowing that you’d grow a forest on the moon if he asked—just to hide somewhere safe and quiet, together—and turn the sun into something portable for his back pocket, just so he’d never have to fear ice again.

Bucky says your name slowly, glancing around the shop. “Is this where we had our first-“

“Yeah.” You fumble with your bag, your hands already shaking slightly, and Bucky notices.

Of course he does.

Perfect fucking asshole.

“Are you sure you’re okay, cause I can make Sam call 911 again-“

“Don’t make Sam call 911.” The paper is crumpled, and ripped at the corners. It will have to do. “I’m okay. I- I’m going to be okay.”

That last one is mostly for yourself—no matter how fast Bucky leaves, no matter how much your heart screams, you’ll be okay—but he still hears it, and his frown deepens.

He grunts your name, leaning forward in his seat, and you shake your head.

“Just- take this.“ You slide the paper across the table, watching sleek, black fingers rest on the edge, but not tug it further. “Please.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but he listens. You look up just in time to see him scanning over your words, and the lump in your throat might choke you. 

At least it will be over quicker. 

“What is-“ He cuts himself off, and you can’t look away. It’s worse than a car crash. It’s a missile, hurdled straight for your head as you’re rooted in place, bracing for the impact but knowing it will tear you apart all the same. 

You know the moment he reaches the last point. His eyes widen, and flick up to you in disbelief. 

He reads it three more times before he sets down the paper, and maybe the lump in your throat is your heart. Maybe it’s trying to beat out of your body and run in the gutters, before it can be broken and shattered and-

“You-“ Bucky places the paper flat on the table, and points to that like. “Is that- You mean it?”

You nod weakly, still starting at his finger on the paper—it might be one of the last part of him you get to see, and you’re trying to memorize it—and Bucky clears his throat. 

“Can you look at me?”

It takes a second. Ragged, slow breaths and Bucky’s knee, bumping yours under the table. 

But you do.

And he’s still so beautiful. 

You can see the awe in his eyes. It shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t- not now-

“I love you, too.” He says, and it’s more powerful than the missile. It’s an atomic bomb. “You’re- It’s the only thing I’ve really known, since I got back. You’re the only thing I’ve known-“

The world is starting to sting and blur. Your heart is trying to claw out of your throat. “Bucky-“

He shakes his head, pushing on. “Listen to me, doll, for once in your damn life. I love you. No one but me talking, telling no one but you, I love you. I have been to fucking hell and back, I’d do it all again, every damn time, if there was even a chance it would get me here.”

“That’s- That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Course it does.” He shrugs. “I’m not the me that loves you if I don’t fall off that train and end up in the future.”

“It’s not the future-“

“It’s the future to me-“

“James, we are not having this argument again. It’s not-“

“Is to me.”

There’s that rare, small grin he saves only for you. This is cruel. 

“You- I’m not worth hell.” You whisper, and you’re holding his hand. You don’t know when that happened. You’re not strong enough to pull away.

“Yeah, you are.” 

“Bucky, I’m being-“

“I know you’re being serious, doll. So am I. And I know I’m,” he taps the paper, giving you a pointed look. “Bad at using my words-“

You swallow. “I’m sorry, I-“

"You’re not wrong.” He mutters, still all but trapping his gaze on yours. “But I got words for this, baby. I love you. Hell and back.”

“Bucky, you don’t-“ 

“What, love you?” He raises his brows. “You somehow miss that part of my shitty ass speech-“

“It wasn’t shitty-“

“Kinda shitty. Didn’t seem to get through to you.”

“I-“

“Just- Listen.” He leans forward, still holding your gaze. “Would you do it again?”

“Do-“

“Would you walk through your hell, Fisk and the scientist, Parker and that asshole with the horns that made you blind for a week, Sam and me and all the court trials, if you thought we’d end up back here, at this horrible fucking coffee shop, one more time?”

“Yes.” 

It’s not a question. You’d do everything, every time, the exact same way, if it meant you’d maybe get Bucky one more time.

And that’s mirrored on his face. Smug, quiet satisfaction as he grins at you, and shrugs.

“There it is.”

You return his smile because it’s easy. You keep holding his hand because he’s not letting go, so you’ll never even bother to try. 

You echo his words because he’s right. Maybe the only right thing in the whole universe, right across the table, touching you, and all yours.

“There it is.”

End Note: Love throwing in a bunch of tiny easter eggs for purely my own entertainment. Also love throwing a little plot relevant smut in there, as a treat.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery

@generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r

@winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka @megara0224

@funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @solsborg @sheneedsjesus @bonkydarnes

@whimsicalcherry @charliethemanticore @cats-chaotic-mind @forzalando @roseblue373

@sleepysongbirdsings @angrydragon90 @dumbwhorestuff @biodegradable-glitter-fest @idontwannabehere78

@miss-marmalade @foolinthera1n

[kurooh]

OOO OMG I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRTIE FOR DENKI, but if you do, could we PLEASE get some morning wood action. im talking denki wakes up and its full shaft bro. he either grinds into you, or jerks off cause ur away, creative freedom! 😇 LMAKDOAOAA okay im leaving now

⊹₊˚. SNOOZE ! — mornings with kaminari denki

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, gn! reader, consensual somnophilia, grinding, light fluff, pet names.

xoxo, juno: nonnie come back 😭 this is like a month late ahhhh, i hope you see this

“babyyy, you just look so good,” denki murmurs into the slope of your shoulder, voice sleepy and soft. “it’s too early to be losing my mind right now.”

engrossed in your dream, you let out a sigh and barely shift against him. he thinks your quiet snores and even breaths are so cute, but his palm coasts down your side and lands on your hip. it’s late enough for the sounds of the morning rush to have passed already, but too early to get out of bed just yet.

denki probably couldn’t even get out of bed in this condition, though—neglected and heavy, his cock is as hard as a steel flagpole between his legs. it’s just so sensitive this morning that he’s too aware of the precum bubbling at the tip and the extra heartbeat that can’t seem to stop increasing.

he experimentally tickles your stomach with his fingers, light as the brush of a feather—and you shift again, pressing your ass into him before moving away. it’s only a simple touch, the kind that would ordinarily do everything but make him sick to his stomach with desire, but denki chokes out a gasp.

“if you just—if you knew,” he says dumbly, curling his fingers into your hip and pressing his crotch into your ass, “how easy it is for you to make me crazy. i never used to be this hard when i woke up, but you fucking—ooh, you changed me.”

truthfully, denki doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying.

he’s still half asleep and just disoriented from such a rush of testosterone through his body, but he still feels the need to talk to you. it’s difficult to understand what’s coming out of his own mouth with the way all of his brain cells are exploding with bliss—in an attempt to keep himself grounded, he nibbles at your shoulder and tucks his nose into your skin.

of course, this does nothing but make the friction on his cock feel even better. your natural smell mixed with faint traces of your soap makes him nothing short of feral.

“babe, babyyy,” denki cries, fingers digging into your skin as he humps your ass more desperately, “‘m no good at talking, really. that’s your job—haa, shit—i know it’s not good to assign jobs during sex unless it’s for a blowjob, but it’s your thing! i don’t even know how you don’t get confused in the middle of it, but that’s why it’s your thing, i—fuck!”

denki knows he’s absolutely done for when he feels that familiar tightness taking root in his balls. your ass is just so perfect, so plump and perky and wonderful to get off on. it’s good, so damn good, and the relief that washes over him in warm waves with every stroke is even better—denki’s gonna cum, and he’s gonna cum hard.

stray tears fall down his cheeks as it occurs to him, just how fucking filthy he’s being—so desperate, all for you and only for you. denki’s actually about to cum, and he just needs one final push to successfully make it over the edge. although he’s hazy with so much lust that it’s excruciating, he does notice the intentional press of your ass against him.

you’re awake, and you’re helping him out. oh god, you’re even whispering sweet, sleepy nothings to him to encourage him to cum—denki squeezes his wet eyes shut and emits a whine so loud it may not even be considered human.

“oh fuck, oh fuck,” denki’s sobbing now, fingernails digging into your skin as if you’ll fade away like a dream, “gonna cum, baby—ugh, you feel so fucking good—can’t hold it..”

with one final rut of his hips into your ass, denki cums. a series of shudders rock his whole body and leave his hands shaking uncontrollably, until you envelop them in your own to calm him. spent and too weak to get up and change his soaked boxers, denki curls into your side, still coming down from his hysteric euphoria.

“sorry i . . made a mess,” he heaves out, chest working hard to breathe, “i’ll clean it up.”

an easy laugh slips out of you as you fully turn to cuddle him. “you better. anyway, would now be the right time to ask what the hell got into you?”

he’s falling asleep again. “it’s always you. like, just seeing you beside me when i wake up—i can’t.”

“denki, i think it’s time to get up. alarm’s going off in less than five minutes.”

“don’t care,” he huffs, pulling you in with the last of his strength before you can pull away. “if you stay, i’ll make it worth your while when i can feel my legs again. they’re numb.”

“okay, but what does that have to do with—”

denki clears his throat and peels an eye open. “silent snuggling time. just snooze the alarm and relax with me, babe.”

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby

- gojo satoru x reader

a domestic life with your husband and baby

genre: teeth-rotting fluff, sugary dump fluff, and simply pure fluffff, baby-related, mentions of pregnancy, dad!gojo

note: inspired by this fanart by Deltapork in twitter! from the moment i saw that artwork, i just can't get this out of my head😫

and this is a part of a series of gojo drabbles i’ve planned called gojo's love entries anthology -> updated masterlist here

general masterlist

Watching your husband entertain your child would never fail to make you smile.

"Aw, my cute baby!" Satoru joyfully exclaimed as he and the baby, secure in his hold, emitted almost harmonious squeals of delight. Both of them practically shared the same brain cells at this point.

And it was a sight that warmed your heart so much, especially when the old Gojo Satoru was a prick who used to made little Megumi cry just for the sake of it and always said that babies and everything that came with them were a pain.

He playfully devoured your son's plump cheeks and burst into laughter, paying no attention to the curious glances he garnered from other shoppers at the supermarket.

"Satoru, hush," you chided gently as you pushed the cart, yet still smiling all the same.

"Ah, look, mama doesn't approve," he remarked to your babbling son, wearing a playful pout. At the same time, your barely seven-month baby puckered his lips too, turning him into a perfect miniature version of your mischievous husband at his best, melting your heart even further.

"It's time for his milk," you pointed out, retrieving the milk bottle. Satoru reached for it and offered it to your baby, who eagerly latched on and started drinking.

Your precious baby continued to feed on the formula, clearly relishing it. It appeared that he couldn't get enough, with the way he drank with such enthusiasm.

"He's a hungry baby... just like you," you mused.

Satoru laughed out loud once again. "Why are you comparing a baby with a grown-ass man?"

Your son was still drinking the milk and seemed like he wanted more, but you could definitely tell how content he was in that moment.

"Because it's your baby, duh. And not only he looks like you, he's also reflecting what you've been doing to me so far, it's uncanny."

"So I've turned our son into a mini-me now, have I." He regarded you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And what have I done to you, darling? Tell me."

"...A lot of bad things."

"Heh, is that so?"

The baby then stopped drinking and seemed to want you to cuddle him, as he reached his tiny hands towards you. Satoru handed him over to you, taking the bottle away, and you gently pulled him close, cradling him against your chest.

"Yeah. Bad, bad things," you cooed to your baby, your eyes sparkling with joy. "First you seduced me, then got me pregnant. And then you forced me to go through that painful labor."

Satoru didn't miss the way the clerk eyed him after you said that. But he chuckled anyway. "Well... in the end you fell for me, and I probably seduced you a bit..."

He paid for the groceries and then the two of you walked out of the supermarket.

"But is that so bad?" He continued with a meaningful smirk. "You seemed like you love it so there's nothing to complain about."

"Hmph."

"And then I got you pregnant... well, you wanted a baby, dear, so you can't really be mad and blame just me for it all, okay?"

The fact that you were having this crack conversation at a crossroad made you struggle to stifle your laughter, to say the least.

Your son was still cuddling up to your chest and now he was looking at you with those wide, glassy blue eyes. You could tell how much he liked and needed you, as well as spending time with you, his mother.

This is your baby with the man who loves you. How could you not love him in return?

Satoru looked at his son in your arms. “Our son is the cutest, isn’t he?”

He seemed tired more than anything though, with the big yawn he just emitted.

“He is so… defenseless.”

“Well, he’s a baby,” your husband said matter-of-factly. “That’s how babies are, darling. He’s learning how to do things and completely defenseless, so he needs his parents. You and I.”

Your baby’s eyes became a little droopy. He was sleepy now, and wanted your warmth to fall asleep.

“Let’s… protect him together, yeah, Satoru?” you muttered softly as your child settled in your embrace, peaceful and content, falling asleep.

Your heartstrings were pulled when you witnessed the expression of absolute adoration on your husband's face.

“Silly. I’m the one who will protect both of you, sweetheart.”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[manmuncher777]

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna…” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

[storiesfromafan]

His Nightmare - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: do forgive me and my lack of Mattheo stories, or updates on my Obsessed series. But I am back, gracing you with a small under 1000 word one-shot.

I promise I am workiing on the next part of Obsessed 😅

They say Mattheo Riddle was possessive and a psycho when it came to you, his girlfriend. And that was warranted. The only thing most students didn’t know was that you were just as bad, if not worse then your boyfriend.

A silly Hufflepuff girl makes goo-goo eyes at Mattheo as she passes him in the hallway. You’re waiting a head of her, by a set of stairs. And when she is near, that girl accidently ends up going down them all the while you look on with a pointed glare.

An over confident Gryffindor girl passes Mattheo a note in potions, while you’re sitting next to him. Sure you both had a laugh at her stupid confession. But she ends up with detention after you hex her potion to explode when Snape is inspecting her potion. The classroom unfortunately has to deal with a dark cloud due to Snape being covered in a foamy substance.

A cocky Ravenclaw girl falls into Mattheo's lap when out in the courtyard, giggling and calling herself clumsy. When she’s far from it. Of course your boyfriend rolls his eyes and plays nice. But you don’t hold your tongue. Telling her to get her brain checked for a possible misplaced brain cell. Or better yet, go to Madam Pomfry and get her to use her bone growth potion to help fix her shotty legs. While you’re at it, get a life and sod off, as Mattheo ain’t interested in no bird brain. That last part a shot at the girls house.

Slytherin girls knew better. As the last, and only, girl to try to make a move on your boyfriend got the worse of it. No one will say what happened to her, but no one confirms nor denies an unforgivable curse was used. And that girl hadn’t returned after going home for Christmas break. Which didn’t help the rumors.

You’re a strong, darkness in Mattheo's life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. For he was the same. Two dark souls, all consuming and loving the other. The unofficially titled King and Queen of Slytherin.

Lounging in the courtyard, you were propped up against a large tree. Your loving boyfriend was laying down, head resting on your lap. He was smoking a cigarette while you were reading and running your fingers threw his dark locks. Peace for the moment for you both. Something that doesn’t happen often. Your friends either in detention or bothering other students.

“I heard some interesting gossip" Mattheo said after expelling the latest draw from his cigarette.

“Hmm, really? Do tell" you replied turning the page you’d just finished.

He chuckled recalling the gossip. “I heard some Hufflepuff girl in flying lessons fell off her broom today".

“Oh? Is that all?” You questioned with amusement, your lips quirking at the corner in a small smirk.

Mattheo smirked to himself. “No, no. It seems the silly girls broom took off on its own. Taking her on a rather lively ride around the open area, before finally shaking her off and into a ditch".

You giggled darkly. “Is that so? How clumsy of her".

Mattheo looked up to you, amused by the joy you were experiencing from his words. “I thought you would have told me love, as you were in that class".

You marked your page and closed the book, setting it down beside you. You looked down at your boyfriend with warmth and satisfaction in your eyes. Leaning down you placed a small, lingering kiss up on his lips. The taste of his current cigarette invading you, but you most definitely enjoyed it when it was mixed with his own natural taste. Pulling back you gave him a beaming smile.

“It must have slipped my mind love, sorry" was your simple reply with a cute giggle. Before you sat back up, picking up your book and continuing were you left off.

Mattheo laughed, feeling nothing but pride. “Hmm, yes it must have".

He knew it was you. But what he didn’t know was that the Hufflepuff was mouthing off about you. Saying how Mattheo could do better then you. How you were beneath him. How she was better. You had laughed at that. And hexed her broom to teach her a lesson. Which it has, as when you crossed paths earlier in the hallway, as she was heading from the infirmary, displaying a frightened look on her face before she scuttled away. Tail between her legs.

Yes, girl after girl who comes up against you learns their lesson. Other female students know their place, but there are still those that step forward to challenge you. And you will always knock them down, to the place beneath you, were they belong.

“You are such a nightmare" Mattheo mused with delight and love.

You smiled, twisting one of Mattheo's curls around a finger. “Yes love, but I am and always will be your nightmare".

A/N: requests are open 😊

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #14 死

† camping trip mysteries †

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

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k

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

☠ author's note ☠

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

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

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

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

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

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

xoxo 💋

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

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

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

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

"What the hell happened here?"

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

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

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

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

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

You don't miss a beat.

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

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

Those roses have teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes?

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

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

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

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

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

Thorns prickle your skin.

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

Unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Persistent without being belligerent; consistent without being insistent.

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

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

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

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

"Peaceful morning, isn't it?"

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

There's something calming about his presence though.

Like he's the drizzle after the hurricane.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you're not about to tell Takama that.

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

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

Because with V you have a noncommittal answer.

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

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

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

It's not easy, you know that much.

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

A pause. Then he adds, hushedly:

"Maybe more."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah; that's Kkangpae for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he needs to stay the fuck away from Yunjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how many of them keep him up at night.

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

Then—crash.

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

It's Chaewon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you do know how to clean up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he'd just been prepared...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

Even if part of you is already plotting round two.

This time with actual protection. Because seriously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here. I prefer vegetables anyway."

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

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

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

You cough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile is small but genuine. "Right."

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

For a second, you think she might turn around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Takama cracks a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

Even gang members need lunch breaks sometimes.

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

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

"Meeting. Council of 9, now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet.

You'd fucked him.

Well, kinda.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A rustle in the bushes makes you lean back.

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

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

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

"Me? Why would he—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We have a situation that needs your input."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, searching for the right words.

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

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

The air feels like a forest fire waiting to happen.

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

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

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

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

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

A very personal message.

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

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

The thought makes your skin crawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AD jerks his chin toward you.

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

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

Finally—a chance to prove yourself.

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

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

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

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

Amazing, really love that for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another day in Kkangpae.

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

Unity and trust.

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the actualfuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—

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

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

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

Seoul's most dangerous gang, ladies and gentlemen.

Truly terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually...

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

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

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

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

The look of pure horror on their faces is priceless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's your friendly neighborhood psychopath plotting this time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Drier.

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

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

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

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

Her giggle vibrates against your stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence stretches.

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

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

"Haunt play?" Her eyes go wide  before she breaks into giggles. "That's... weirdly specific. But don't knock it till you try it, right?"

"Yun." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "He'd probably set up a whole haunted house just to get his rocks off."

"Okay but..." Yunjin props herself up on her elbows. "Haunted house but make it sexy? That's kind of genius."

"You're actually insane." You shove her shoulder, both of you dissolving into laughter. "I swear to god, if I ever hear spooky music from his tent—"

"You'll what, call the ghost police?"

Her laughter shakes your whole body, bright and infectious, and the small space of the tent makes this ridiculous conversation feel somehow safer, more intimate.

Just two girls discussing their terrible taste in men while hiding from a storm.

Even if one of those men happens to be Seoul's most notorious psychopath.

Yunjin flops back down, using your stomach as a pillow again. The drama's still playing on her phone, but you're too busy thinking about V's games to focus on whatever chaebol drama is unfolding now.

"For now," she sighs dreamily, "I'll stick to living through these ridiculous romances. Much safer than the real thing, right?"

You hum in agreement, watching raindrops race down the tent's surface.

"Sounds smart. But if you do decide to test out V's haunted house kink..." You poke her side. "I want every single detail. For science."

"Deal." Her giggle vibrates against your stomach. "But only if you keep saving me from his 'passionate teaching moments'. My knife skills are fine, thanks."

"Always."

The word comes out softer than intended, but you mean it. In Kkangpae, real friendship is rare as fuck. People either want to kill you, fuck you, or use you—sometimes all three.

But Yunjin? She's different.

And all the while; the rain keeps drumming steadily against the canvas, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.

In here, none of that exists.

Not V's thorny games, not Jeon's hurricane, not the Council's secret meetings.

Just you and your best friend, safe and warm while the storm rages on.

For now, anyway. Tomorrow's another story.

goal: 400 notes

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @vialattea00 @kuusstuff @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @mimi1097

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[therealmylesmorales]

Dating Loser!Vi Headcannons

A lot of this was thought about with the homie @ficsonpost-its, kind of a way for us to cope with the ending of Arcane 🙃

And I never cared enough to follow the plot so this is a college!au where everyone is alive and (maybe) happy

Warnings: Vi herself is kind of a warning, masc4masc couple if it matters, maybe suggestive at some parts, some parts with Jayce are inspired by “the blind leading the blind” stuff one tictok

She met you through Ekko. You were his (adoptive, biological wtfever shut up) sister and safe to say, she was borderline obsessed with you. But, she didn’t know how to approach you at first. Her very obvious crush on you was noticed by both Ekko and Jinx so they took it upon themselves to help her out.

To get some extra money, she works at her dad’s bar, The Last Drop. She’s a bouncer and whenever she’s around, people tend to behave themselves. It was a normal night until Vi saw you chatting up a storm to Vander and she immediately started to panic. But it all seemed to go on well, seeing how the night ended with your number in her pocket.

Vi can count all of the friends she has on one hand, one of them being her sister. So safe to say, when she admitted that she somehow has a girlfriend, none of them believed her. Jayce even called her a liar until she pulled up pictures.

Vi was out one day when she bought you both matching boxers. She cherishes them like it’s her most prized possession, next to you and the brass knuckles Vander gave her.

“Vi, what are these?”

”Batman boxers!”

You couldn’t help but match her wide smile. “Why Batman?”

”Cause he’s a fucking goat.”

Vi will full on body slam or suplex you, carefully, on the nearest couch or bed whenever you seem to be minding your business. The first few times caught you by surprise but now, it’s almost a daily occurrence that you look forward to.

Vi’s fashion taste is something you admire; from the ripped jeans to the cropped muscle shirts that she cut herself, you have nothing but good things to say about her clothes. However, in the comfort of her own home, she never wears a shirt. It’s even rare to find her in her sports bra while she’s lounging around.

“It’s nine in the morning, why are your tits out?”

”Are you complaining?”

”Of course not. But Jayce is coming over so he might.”

You can hear her groaning the entire time but she’ll do it.

Speaking of Jayce, it’s never a good idea to leave them alone for too long or else something would happen. Separately, they’re geniuses but together…those brain cells are nonexistent.

“Vi, it’s been fourteen hours, where the hell were you?”

”Oh, I was getting that tattoo I told you about.”

”For fourteen hours?”

”Yeah, Jayce was with me and he thought it was a good idea to get it done in one sitting. He even got something!”

Needless to say, both you, Mel and Viktor always expect something to go wrong with those two. (Have we lost the art of a good poly-ship? Jayce has two hand so just kiss and shut up)

Do not EVER call her Violet, she’ll think you are upset with her and will probably tweak out and cry. The only acceptable names to call her are Vi, obviously, or ‘Pretty Girl.’ You were only a few months into your relationship when you called her that, she spent like 5 minutes in straight silence not really sure how to react; something you did notice was that her face was as red as her hair.

Vi will also lay her complete body weight on top of you when you lay down; it's one of her favorite ways of cuddling. (For my gamer!readers) Especially if you’re playing a game, you will wrap your arms around her with the controller laying on her back. The both of you will stay there for hours.

“Motherfucker.”

”Die again, cupcake?” She muttered into your chest.

“Radahn is ass.”

A little something extra for my black!readers that love Vi 🫶🏾

Say you can’t find your bonnet. You looked all up and down the apartment, pretty much flipping it over but it was still nowhere to be found. And seeing how it was your favorite, you were a little upset that it was gone. Until Vi came out of the bathroom, said bonnet on her head, giving you a small smile, completely unaware of what she was doing.