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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #15 死

† arrangements †

"You were supposed to go back to individual training sessions with Takama. But torday, it is Jeon standing there instead. And you really feel like easing off some tension."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k.

content: training with jeon (it gets intense), sexual tension off the roof, kissing, ass grabbing, boner popping up (lmao), cafeteria shenanigans.

☠ author's note ☠

AHHHHH MY PRECIOUS BABY CHIMCHIM (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

What are you getting yourself INTO, you financial genius disaster? Every time I write Jimin scenes I'm just sitting here like "no baby no don't do it" while simultaneously typing out exactly what he's doing. I'm his god yet I have no control. The duality of being an author.

ANYWAY, let me know your thoughts about Y/N and Jeon's little "arrangement". ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Also... the way this man goes from cheeky little shit to MAN OF STEEL in 0.2 seconds is honestly doing things to me. Like the DUALITY?? One minute he's all sarcasm and eyerolls and the next he's all commanding presence and intense stares. Please show me all your facets while I mil—

ANYWAY! 🥰

Hope you enjoy this chapter, you magnificent disaster magnets! I see you all in the comments thirsting over fictional gang members and I just want you to know I'm judging you... from my very similar position of also thirsting over fictional gang members. It's a hard life, but someone's gotta live it.

Stay hydrated! You'll need it after this chapter!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Training room it is today. Takama is probably waiting for you.

You step inside immediately and—fuck. The air's different. Not the usual sweaty, stale gym smell, but something...else. It's like walking into a storm front, all electric and tingly on your skin.

Weird.

You stop, blinking. Your brain's trying to process what your body already knows: something's off.

Shaking it off, you scan the room for Takama. He's usually here by now, ready to nag you about your form or whatever. But nope. Instead, your eyes land on—

Oh.

Jeon.

Shit.

Your whole body goes rigid. This is not what you signed up for today. Takama's stern but predictable. Jeon? He's a walking thunderbolt.

He hasn't clocked you yet. He's too busy with his hand-wrapping ritual, black tape winding around those knuckles like he's prepping for war. I̶t̶,̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶i̶r̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶m̶e̶s̶m̶e̶r̶i̶z̶i̶n̶g̶.̶You've tried it yourself, but you always end up looking like you got in a fight with a roll of duct tape and lost.

The door clicks shut behind you. Loud. Way too fucking loud.

Jeon's head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours. Fuck. It's like being caught in a headlight beam, but instead of deer-in-headlights frozen, you're fight-or-flight wired. His gaze is pure Kkangpae—hard, sharp, seeing right through your bullshit.

"Thought you could sneak up on me?"

You try for casual, miss by a mile. "Takama's usually not this quiet."

Jeon's mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like you just told a joke only he got.

Great start. This is gonna be fun.

"Takama had to handle some business. Guess you're stuck with me. It'll be good in preparation to our upcoming mission."

IIt's not a question, it's a fucking statement. And you know better than to argue with that tone.

Right. The mission.

Shit.

It all comes flooding back now. That goddamn mission assigned to you and Jeon back on the camping trip. The one where you both have to infiltrate MDF—Kkangpae's number one rival. Talk about high stakes.

You know how crucial this is. You know you need to concentrate now—more than ever.

But fuck.

Your eyes betray you, sweeping over Jeon's training attire.

It's insulting, is what it is.

That simple tank top might as well be painted on, doing jack shit to hide the sculpted landscape of his muscles. And those grey sweatpants? They're hanging so low on his hips it should be illegal.

(If you tried hard enough—which you're not, obviously—you're pretty sure you could see that happy trail you remember from that night in the tent.)

The fabric clings to him like it's got a personal vendetta against your sanity, obeying gravity with a lazy kind of insolence. And that silver neck chain? It's playing peekaboo from under his top, daring your eyes to follow its path. A metallic tease against skin you shouldn't be thinking about.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of distraction.

Focus. Mission. Training.

Not Jeon's body.

You make your way to the corner where bandages and tape are strewn across a metal shelf. The mess speaks volumes—countless sessions of wrapping, unwrapping, preparing for fights both won and lost.

Grabbing a roll of black tape, you try to mimic what you've seen Jeon do a hundred times before. But your fingers feel clumsy, uncooperative. The tape sticks to itself, to your skin, everywhere but where it's supposed to go. You end up with more gaps than protection, the wrap loose in all the wrong places.

And Jeon? He's watching you. You can feel his eyes on you, sharp and intense. His face is unreadable, a perfect mask. But you'd bet your last dollar he's judging every fumbled attempt, every misplaced piece of tape.

Then he scoffs, the sound cutting through the air like a whip crack. Before you can react, he's moving towards you—footsteps echoing in the quiet room, each one making your heart beat a little faster.

And then he's there, right in your space.

The heat rolling off his body makes you acutely aware of how cool the air is around you.

He leans in close—too close—to inspect your sad attempt at hand-wrapping.

"Let me," he growls.

You don't even try to argue. What's the point? Jeon's already unraveling your sad attempt at hand-wrapping like it's the world's shittiest birthday present.

His fingers brush against your skin and for a second it's like someone just plugged you into a live wire.

He starts rewrapping your hands, and you're caught in this weird... limbo.

Because his touch is firm, almost stern, but there's this... gentleness to it that makes no sense coming from him.

It's a mindfuck, really.

This is Jeon. Cold, distant, get-the-fuck-away-from-me Jeon.

But here he is, handling your hands like they're made of glass.

Your heart's going a mile a minute, and you're praying to whatever gang deity is out there that he can't hear it. His hands are everywhere, wrapping the tape around your wrists with a precision that's almost artistic. It's like he's crafting this black armor just for you, and every pass of the tape feels more intimate than the last.

And why the fuck does he have to smell this good? It's unfair, really.

Every now and then, his eyes flick up to meet yours, and it's... like looking into the sun peeking between the clouds.

Like something is hovering—something molten and wild that reminds you of tents and nighttime.

"Tight enough?"

You manage a nod, amazed that your brain can still form coherent thoughts.

"Perfect," you say, definitely not thinking of the innuendo.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for a heart-stopping second, you think he's read your mind. You don't like that knowing look in his eyes.

"There," he says, giving the tape one last tug. It pulls you closer, just a fraction, but it might as well be a mile. "You're ready."

Ready for what? you want to ask. Ready for training? Ready for the mission? Ready for whatever the hell this tension between you is building towards?

But you don't say any of that. You can't. Because this is Jeon, and you're you, and there are a million reasons why this—whatever this is—can't happen.

Even if it already happened once. Even if he's there, looking like a five course meal.

So you just stand there, hands wrapped perfectly, heart racing, caught in the gravity of Jeon's presence and wondering how the fuck you're supposed to focus on training now.

"Let's get started."

It hits you like a sledgehammer to the chest—everywhere at once—this massive storm system rolling in, all dark clouds and electricity. The kind that makes your skin prickle and your hair stand on end. The training room suddenly feels too small to contain it.

Contain him.

You move to the center of the mats, too aware of every step and where your feet are landing. He's still watching you—you can feel those eyes tracking your movements like a sniper's scope.

You try to copy his stance, but it's like your body's forgotten how joints work.

Everything feels awkward.

"How are you with your blocks?"

"I can handle it," you say, going for confident but landing somewhere around defensive.

He laughs. It's not a nice sound. More like broken glass wrapped in velvet.

"We'll see about that."

Because fuck. Training with Takama was... different. Predictable. Safe, even. You knew what to expect—his patient corrections, his methodical approach.

But this?

This is like jumping into the deep end of a pool filled with sharks.

And Jeon?

He's the great white circling you.

Everything feels suffocating, like there's not enough oxygen in the room for both of you. It's hard to breathe, his presence pressing in from all sides like you're caught in a fucking typhoon. You can practically taste the ozone.

Jeon circles you lazily and honestly? It's terrifying how someone so big can move so quietly. His control is infuriating—while you're here trying not to vibrate out of your skin, he looks like he could be ordering coffee.

"You're tense."

No shit, Sherlock.

The observation hits a nerve. Maybe because it's true, maybe because you hate how easily he can read you. You try to relax your shoulders, aiming for that casual 'oh-this-is-totally-fine' vibe.

Then his hand hovers over your lower back.

You flinch. You can't help it. He's not even touching you, but you can feel the heat radiating from his palm, just a breath away from contact. He's telling you to fix your posture without a single word, and your body responds before your brain can tell it not to.

Your abdomen tightens in defiance, like some part of you is still telling him to fuck off. But you straighten up anyway, because what else can you do? Not like Mr. Perfectionist here will take anything other than perfection.

Jeon steps back, and you try to remember how breathing works. Focus. This is training, not whatever the fuck that hand-wrapping thing was. You need to get your head in the game before he notices how rattled you are.

You watch him demonstrate a block.

It's unfair, really, how he makes it look so effortless—like he's been doing this since birth. (Maybe he has—he definitely looks like he fights nurses, if his attitude with J-Hope is any indication).

His forearm cuts through the air in this fluid motion that's somehow both defensive and threatening at the same time.

"Now you," he says, and oh there it is. That hint of smugness in his voice that makes you want to either punch him or—

Absolutely not. You are not going there.

He knows though. You can tell by the way his mouth quirks up slightly at the corner. He knows exactly what he's doing, the bastard. Knows he's got you at a disadvantage with his years of experience. But there's something else there too, in the way he's watching you. Like he's getting some sort of kick out of whatever this is.

You mirror his movement, slicing your arm through the air; and it feels good—solid. Like maybe you're not completely hopeless at this.

He gives you this tiny nod, and for a split second, there's something that looks almost like approval in his eyes.

But it's gone before you can really process it, replaced by that laser-focused look he apparently gets when he's in full instructor mode (like right now).

"Again," he orders, and you comply.

Again.

And again.

Each time, the movement feels more natural, less like you're just flailing your arm around and more like you might actually be able to stop someone from punching you in the face.

And all the while, he watches like a fucking hawk. Cataloging every single one of your mistakes, every moment of hesitation.

It's intense, being under that kind of scrutiny. Makes your skin prickle.

Then he moves—just this slight shift of weight—and suddenly he's closer.

His foot nudges yours, and you get the message without him having to say a word.

Your stance is off.

You adjust quickly, shifting your feet until you feel more grounded.

"Like this," he says, and it's low and gravely.

His voice shouldn't affect you. It's just two words.

It does.

You force yourself to focus on the technical stuff. The way his feet are positioned, how his knees are slightly bent like he's ready to move at any second. And then you copy his stance, feeling the stretch in your calves as you adjust.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count it out in your head.

One, two, three, four.

Anything to keep your mind off the way he's circling you again.

Because that's what he's doing now—moving around you like some fucking lion sizing up a calf.

His presence is like gravity, pulling at something deep in your chest.

It's distracting as hell.

But you're determined not to let it show.

You've got something to prove here, after all. Even if you're not quite sure what that is anymore.

"Not like that", he says and...

His hand's moving again, and your brain halts all its processes when his fingertips brush your shoulder.

It's supposed to be professional. Just another training correction.

But your body didn't get that memo, because every nerve ending lights up like it's a fucking carnival.

His hand starts this slow slide down your arm, and you're pretty sure this isn't standard training procedure. Your arm quickly gets covered in goosebumps, betraying exactly how not professional this feels.

When his fingers wrap around your elbow, you almost forget how to breathe. His grip is firm—s̶e̶x̶y̶ steady—and you can feel the calluses on his fingertips from years of handling weapons.

"Your alignment," he says, and shit... His voice has dropped into that same low register he pulled back in the tent. "It's crucial. When you block, you need to be solid, unyielding. Like this."

You feel the strength in his grip all the way up your arm. The way he's holding your elbow, it feels like he's trying to rewire your muscle memory through touch alone. It's invasive in the best-worst way possible, like he's leaving his fingerprints on your bones.

You should be focusing on the block he's teaching you. That's what a good student would do.

But instead, all you can think about is how his palm is practically burning against your skin, how strong his fingers feel, and how every "correction" feels more like a caress.

When he finally lets go and steps back, it's like someone just yanked away your favorite blanket. The air feels too cold where his hand was, and you have to fight the urge to chase that warmth.

"Now, let's see you put it into action," he says.

Get it together, you tell yourself.

This is training. Just training. Nothing else.

(You don't even believe your own lies anymore.)

You try to focus on breathing. In, out. Simple stuff. But it's not working, because every time Jeon adjusts your stance, every careful correction he makes, it's like striking matches against your skin.

At this point, your brain can't string two thoughts together.

Not with Jeon there, touch somehow both grounding and displacing.

Then he's back in your space.

And his hands are suddenly on your hips.

The touch is professional—or it's trying to be—but his fingers spread wide, pressing into you through your training gear like he's trying to leave prints. Like he's trying to remind you of that other time those hands have been there.

He stares at where his hands rest for way too long to be just about fixing your stance.

The air gets thick. Sticky.

You can feel every slight adjustment of his fingers, how his palms mold against your hips like they're meant to be there.

When he looks up, it knocks the breath right out of you. His eyes are dark, searching your face for... something. You're both breathing the same air now, and fuck, you remember this kind of proximity. Remember what it leads to.

Then his tongue flicks out, wetting his lip ring, and your brain just—stops. It's absent-minded, probably, but Christ. The metal catches the light, and suddenly you're back in that tent, remembering exactly what that piercing feels like against your—

Focus, bitch.

His hands haven't moved from your hips. Haven't even twitched. Like he's forgotten they're there, or maybe like he can't bring himself to move them.

He's not apologizing for it either, though.

Not that you want him to.

"What about now?" Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.

"Yeah," he says, and oh. His voice has gone all rough around the edges. "This is good. Real good."

The way he says it—like he's not just talking about your stance—makes heat pool low in your stomach. You know that tone. You've heard it before, whispered against your skin in the dark.

Professional, you remind yourself. This is supposed to be professional.

(It's really, really not.)

His thumbs start moving against your hips—tiny, barely-there circles that are definitely not about fixing your stance anymore. The touch is light through the fabric, but it might as well be branded into your skin.

Then he clears his throat, the sound sharp and sudden. Just like that, he's stepping back, putting distance between you.

Your skin feels weirdly empty where his hands were.

You watch him slip back into Chief mode. It's fascinating, really, how he does it. Like watching someone put on armor piece by piece. His face goes blank, eyes cooling until they're giving nothing away. Pure business. This is the Jeon that everyone else sees—the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, not the guy who just had his hands on your hips like he owned them.

Training kicks back in.

The tension does not dissipate.

He spars, but this time it's like... Like he's built this invisible wall between being your instructor and being... whatever else he is to you. And he's trying real hard not to cross it.

You match his energy, throwing yourself into it. You're here to be instructed, after all.

Then he pulls this move—his feet moving so fast they blur. You think he's going left, but nope. It's a trap, and you fall for it like an idiot. You stumble, losing your balance, and—

Oh.

His arm catches you around the waist, hard and sure.

The contact hits different this time—no pretense of training, just pure instinct.

This isn't your instructor catching a student.

This is just Jeon catching you.

His grip is steel, anchoring you against him. You can feel everything—the hard planes of his chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, the way his bicep flexes against your back. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you try very hard not to think about that.

You can feel his heart hammering where you're pressed together, matching yours beat for frantic beat. His hand spans your waist like he owns it.

You turn your head, just a little, just enough to see— Jesus.

His eyes are dark, wild. Like he's fighting a war with himself and losing badly. Pupils are blown wide, fixed on you.

You've seen that look before, in a tent, in the dark.

When he swallows, you can't help but track the movement. His throat works, pulse visible under the skin.

It's weirdly vulnerable, seeing that flutter of pulse on someone who's usually all hard edges and control.

The silence in the room feels heavy. All you can hear is breathing—yours, his, both of you trying to pretend this is still just training.

His grip on your waist tightens, just a fraction, and your body betrays you. You lean back into him, seeking that solid warmth. Because apparently, your survival instincts have left the chat.

His other hand hovers near your stomach, not quite touching. It's weirdly protective, like he wants to shield you from something.

From what?

From himself, maybe.

The hand trembles slightly. Jeon is trembling.

That hits different, knowing someone so controlled is fighting for composure. It has you almost whining, the distance between his palm and your body.

Focus. Breathe.

But how are you supposed to focus when he's right there?

Because hell, this is Jeon—Chief of Tactical Assassinations, walking danger sign, and somehow the person you want most.

Your eyes drift to his lips because you're a m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ glutton for punishment. They're right there, and that lip ring is practically taunting you. You remember exactly how that metal feels, how it tastes. Your throat works as you swallow, mouth parting on its own, like your body's sending out an open invitation.

At that, his eyes immediately drop to your lips. Just a flicker, almost nonexistent, but you saw it. The look in his eyes—fuck.

You've seen hungry before, but this?

This is starving.

You tilt your head up, slow, careful, like you're approaching a wild animal. Your heart's trying to break out of your chest, and breathing? That's for people who aren't about to kiss their superior officer.

You lean in, slow. So fucking slow. Like if you move too fast, he'll spook and bolt.

His breath catches. The sound is soft, intimate, does stupid things to your core. You brush your lips against his, just barely, just enough to test, tease.

For a moment, he's completely still. Like he's processing, like he can't believe this is happening.

Then—holy fuckity hell.

He kisses you like he's dying for it, like he's been holding back forever and can't anymore. His lips are insistent, demanding, coaxing yours apart. There's something desperate in the way he angles his head, deepening the kiss, claiming your mouth like he owns it.

Your hands move without permission—one in his hair, one gripping his shoulder. The contrasts under your fingers ground you: soft strands, hard muscle. He tastes like mint and something darker, something that makes you want to crawl inside him and stay there.

It isn't some sweet, gentle thing.

It's a continuation of your sparring match, just with different rules.

He softens for a moment, less demanding, more inviting, and you lean into it, chasing his taste.

Finally, finally, his hovering hand makes contact. It spreads across your stomach, possessive, anchoring you against him like he thinks you might try to escape.

As if you could.

As if you'd want to.

Your fingers find his jaw, smooth skin under your touch.

When he pulls back, it's like it physically pains him. He gasps, the sound cutting through the heavy air. His eyes are wild, unfocused, like he's just come up for air after nearly drowning. There's a storm brewing in those dark depths, and you're caught right in the middle of it.

"I thought that was a spur of the moment kinda thing?"

His voice drops low, and you know exactly what he's talking about. That night in his tent during the camping trip, when things got real heated real quick.

You raise an eyebrow, channeling every ounce of b̶a̶d̶ confident bitch energy you can muster.

"I don't see why it has to be. I find you hot, you find me hot."

"Making assumptions now, are we?"

The playful edge in his voice does things to you. He's toying with you, and the worst part? You're kind of into it.

"Actions speak louder than words, Jeon." You lean into your sass because fuck it, why not? "And considering I had you cumming all over me a couple of days ago, I'd say you don't find me aesthetically unpleasant."

His lip curls into that fucking smirk—you know the one. It's rare and deadly and makes your stomach do this weird flippy thing.

"Oh?"

It's just one syllable, but Jesus Christ. The way he says it—all low and gravelly—makes your lungs seize.

"Going there, huh?" He tilts his head, and you can practically see the cockiness radiating off him. "Then I guess we can say the same about you."

You can't help the scoff that escapes.

It's either laugh or combust, honestly.

"I already said I find you hot. Craving compliments that much?"

"Just wanna hear it again." His smile widens, and fuck, it's not fair how good he looks when he's being an asshole. "Strokes my ego."

You swallow hard, trying to get your shit together. Because this? This is a whole new side of Jeon you're seeing. One minute he's Mr. Ice King, all cold and untouchable, and the next he's... this.

This s̶e̶x̶y̶ infuriating bastard who knows exactly what he's doing to you.

And the worst part? He's really good at it.

(Your underwear situation is becoming a serious problem, but you'll die before admitting that to him.)

"I think you're hot," you whisper, because fuck it—might as well lay all your cards on the table.

"I know."

The sheer audacity—

He says it with this cocky certainty that should be annoying but somehow isn't. Like he's stating that water is wet or the sky is blue.

You press on, because apparently your brain-to-mouth filter decided to take the day off. "So it doesn't have to be a one-time thing."

"Really."

It's not even a question. He's amused, the bastard. His chuckle hits different—low and rich and doing things to your insides that you'd rather not analyze right now.

"Just..." You try for casual, miss by a mile. "Think of it as a way of improving synergy between gang members."

The moment it leaves your mouth, you want to cringe.

Synergy? Really? But you see the way his lips twitch, and yeah, okay, maybe it wasn't your worst line.

"Hmm? I'll make sure to send Moon the briefing for approval."

"Make sure to give me credit then."

"Will do."

"So indulgent," you tease, because apparently you have a death wish.

He raises an eyebrow, and oh. Something shifts in his expression—something dark and promising that makes your stomach flip. He does this thing with his tongue, running it along the inside of his cheek like he's considering all the ways he could r̶u̶i̶n̶ wreck you.

"You know how indulgent I can be, sunshine."

Fuck.

That nickname. The way he says it—soft but loaded with intent.

It's not fair how he can take two simple words and turn them into something that feels like a caress and a threat wrapped in one.

Your heart's going absolutely feral in your chest. You're pretty sure he can feel it, which is just... great. Really great.

You swallow hard, trying to remember how words work.

"Don't you think..." You pause, trying to find the right words without sounding too desperate. "...that as gang members, we need to... release some tension from time to time? For the sake of the gang."

His mouth twitches. You want to punch him.

"For the sake of the gang," he echoes.

"Mhm." You feel a little rush of pride at having his complete attention. It's not easy to get Jeon to focus on anything that isn't mission-related. "And, you know... Fucking just seems like the healthier option."

The silence that follows should be awkward. It should be, but it's not. It's charged.

You wait for him to shut you down, maybe throw some sarcastic comment your way.

Instead, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, and fuck, that shouldn't feel as good as it does.

"Mhm. You're persuasive." His voice drops into this low purr that makes your insides twist. "Are those your seduction skills in show?"

"Maybe." You tilt your head, feeling bold. "Is it working?"

"I don't know..." There's something dark and promising in his eyes. "Considering I have you all over me right now, who's seducing who?"

Your eyes drop for just a second because—oh. That's... definitely something pressing against your thigh. Something very familiar from that night in the tent.

"I guess it depends on whether you want to include your boner in that analysis," you say, meeting his gaze.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and against your palm.

"Fair. But only if we include those 'fuck me' eyes you're giving me."

The crude language coming from him is... something else. Instead of making you blush and back down, it makes you want to push harder.

"What can I say, Jeon? Lust is a human emotion."

"It is." His tongue swipes over his lip ring, and Christ. "And you have a lot of it."

"Funny you say that when you're also looking at me like you're undressing me with your eyes."

"I never said I didn't."

The way he says it, all casual with that hint of a smirk—it's doing things to you. Things you probably shouldn't be feeling in the training room, but here you are anyway.

Professional training session your ass.

Your hand moves before your brain can catch up, fingers skimming over his chest. You look up through your lashes, meeting his gaze.

"Good then. I guess it's settled."

"What is?"

"You. Me. Fucking."

Real smooth. Way to be subtle about it.

"And how do you wanna go about it, exactly?"

The way he says it—like he's trying not to laugh—makes your face heat up.

You pause. Wait. Shit.

You hadn't actually thought this far ahead. The logistics of it seemed... well, obvious until now. People just fuck, right? That's how it works? But now that he's asking, you're drawing a complete blank.

"How... What?"

Real articulate. Nailed it. You're doing amazing sweetie.

He actually laughs at that, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into yours because you're still pressed together like some kind of human sandwich.

Then he's moving, helping you get your feet back under you so you're face-to-face.

His hands stay on you though, like he can't quite bring himself to let go.

"I mean, I'm game for it being a way to blow off steam." His thumb starts that little circle thing on your hip again, and fuck, that's distracting. "And as you said, we're not breaking any rules if there's no strings attached..."

You blink. Slowly. Because is this actually happening? Is Jeon—Mr. Ice King himself—actually considering your half-baked proposition?

"However, we should probably set some ground rules. Any limitations? Is there anything off the table?"

"Well, we can see when... time comes."

"And when do times come, sunshine?"

That fucking nickname again. The playful edge in his voice isn't helping your brain function any better.

"We can just tell each other, no?" You say it without thinking, which seems to be your brand today.

"What, do you really want to say you want to fuck in front of everyone—"

"God, Jeon, no—" You cut him off because Jesus Christ. The thought alone makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. "But we can say something like... we need to ease off some tension."

"So 'ease off some tension'? Is that our code?"

Amusement twinkles in his eyes, and you kind of want to punch him.

Maybe.

Not really.

"Yeah. Yes." Eloquent.

"Okay then."

"Okay."

And just like that, you've somehow negotiated the most professional friends-with-benefits arrangement in the history of gang life. With your Chief. In the training room.

What could possibly go wrong?

"What about halting?" His eyes lock with yours. "Need a safe word?"

You glance around the training room, brain scrambling for ideas. Your gaze drops to your hands, still fisted in his tank top. Oh.

"Black tape," you say. It feels right, given the context. Then, because your mouth apparently has a mind of its own: "And maybe... white tape? Like, for when things are good to go?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Black tape stops everything, white tape means keep going?"

"Yeah." You nod, feeling weirdly professional about this whole thing. Like you're negotiating a business deal instead of arranging hook-ups with your Chief. "Black for stop, white for go."

"Alright." His voice drops lower, settling somewhere in your chest. "Once either of us says 'black tape', everything stops. Immediately."

"Okay."

The word's barely settled in the air between you when something possesses you to just—

"I wanna ease off some tension."

Real smooth. Way to be patient, dumbass. (Have you seen him though? Like...)

But the way Jeon's eyes darken? Maybe being smooth is overrated.

His eyes snap to yours—look pure animal—irises swallowed whole.

Jeon's fingers stop their little dance on your hip, like he's taking a moment to process what you just said.

Everything goes quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you hyper-aware of every little sound—birds chirping outside, people talking somewhere down the hall, completely clueless about what's happening in here.

"Yeah?"

It comes out as this low rumble that you can practically feel in your bones.

Then he's moving closer, crowding into your space until there's barely room to breathe.

Not that you're doing much breathing anyway, because the way he's looking at you right has knocked the air out of your lungs long ago.

You manage a nod because words? What are words? Your brain's pretty much short-circuited at this point.

His smirk turns wicked—the kind that promises trouble—and then his fingers are sliding under your clothes, and oh.

Oh, okay.

You can feel him pressed against your inner thigh, hot and hard and very, very interested in where this is going. He notices you notice, (of course he does) and he sways his hips slightly like he's testing the waters.

A sound escapes you—something between a whimper and a gasp—as you arch back, exposing your throat. Like your body's offering itself up to him before your brain can catch up.

(And what the fuck are you, a cat in heat?)

You're both still technically fully clothed in a training room where anyone could walk in, but honestly, it feels more obscene than being naked.

Maybe it's the forbidden aspect, or maybe it's just him, but it's like everything is on fire.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, a little voice is reminding you that this is probably not what RM had in mind when he approved combat training. You tell that voice to shut the fuck up.)

He doesn't just dive in—no, because Jeon's the type to take his sweet fucking time. His mouth traces your jaw with these slow, deliberate kisses that make you want to tug at his hair. Each one edges closer to your neck, and hell, the anticipation is killing you.

When his teeth find that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, you nearly lose it. He bites down—not hard enough to mark, but the sensation shoots straight through you, and this embarrassing sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.

"No... marks," you manage to get out, even though your brain's pretty much offline at this point.

He laughs against your skin, and the vibration does things to you. You can feel his smile—that smug, knowing one that makes you want to strangle him with his own hair or something.

"Okay."

You both know why there can't be marks—can't have evidence of whatever this is showing up in training tomorrow.

His breath fans hot over the spot he just bit, and you're pretty sure you're going to die if he doesn't do something soon.

Then his hands start moving, and okay, maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. He maps your body like he's trying to memorize every curve, every dip. His thumbs sweep over your clothes, and even through the fabric, his touch burns.

When he gets to your ass though? Different story.

He grabs two handfuls like he's been waiting to do this all day, and the sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up pornographic. You should probably be embarrassed, but you're way past caring at this point.

He squeezes like ike he's finally getting his hands on something he's been thinking about for way too long.

"God..." He says—voice wrecked, all rough and deep. "You've got one hell of an ass."

You laugh against his mouth.

"All this training must show results."

"Fuck if it shows."

That compliment—delivered in his sex-roughened voice—does weird things to your stomach. You press back into his hands because you're only human, and the way he responds tells you all you need to know—fingers dig in harder, and yeah, okay, this is definitely happening.

You claw at him in retaliation like some kind of feral animal, nails dragging down his back through his tank.

You can't think straight—can't think at all, really.

Your brain's on fire, fuzzy with want. If this is what losing your mind feels like, you're kind of okay with it. Actually, more than okay. You're drowning in him, in the heat of his hands, in the way he's marking you up without leaving marks, and—

Clink.

The sound of the door handle cuts through your lust-haze like a bucket of ice water. Pure instinct takes over, and you shove Jeon away from you with enough force to send him sprawling onto the training room floor. The sound of his body hitting concrete is probably the least sexy thing you've ever heard.

When you look at him, his eyes are wide with shock that quickly turns into this mix of annoyance and—wait, is he amused? There's this little twitch at the corner of his mouth that says he kind of wants to laugh, even though you just threw him on his ass. But there's also a storm brewing in his eyes because Jeon? He doesn't do pretend losses.

Especially not to you, in what's supposed to be a basic training session.

Then Takama walks in, all decked out in Kkangpae black, and raises an eyebrow at the scene in front of him.

You must look like a mess—hair probably everywhere, breathing like you just ran a marathon, standing over Jeon who's sprawled on the floor.

"Thought you two would be done by now," he says, confusion lacing his tone.

"Training got a bit... intense," you manage to say, trying to sound casual while your heart's still doing its best to break your ribs.

Your voice, however, comes out steadier than you expected, considering you were about two seconds away from letting Jeon rail you against the training room wall.

The irony of using "intense" to describe what was definitely not training isn't lost on you. But hey, at least you're not lying.

Technically.

Takama lets out this low chuckle, and you can feel his eyes darting between you and Jeon, who's still sprawled on the training room floor like some Renaissance painting gone wrong.

"Gotta say, I'm surprised to see Jeon flat on his back. Never thought I'd see the day."

There's this note of respect in his voice. Because yeah, you just put the Chief of Tactical Assassinations on his ass. Even if it was totally not what it looked like.

Jeon's still looking at you as he gets up, fluidly and graceful despite having just been thrown to the ground.

He brushes off his clothes, but his eyes?

They haven't left yours for a second.

It's like he's trying to tell you something without words, and you're getting the message loud and clear.

"She's a quick learner."

You both know exactly what kind of "learning" he's talking about, and it has nothing to do with combat training.

Takama, bless his oblivious soul, just strolls to the center of the mats like he's not walking into the world's most sexually charged training session.

The sound of him cracking his knuckles cuts through the air then.

"So, ready for another round?"

He has no idea about the conversation happening without words. No clue about the way Jeon's still looking at you like he's thinking about all the different ways he could pin you down—and none of them involve training.

"Always," Jeon says.

His voice is pure sin, wrapped up in that one word like a promise. Like a threat. Like everything you want but shouldn't.

"Bring it on," you manage to say, and you're pretty proud that your voice comes out steady.

Because this? This is definitely not just about training anymore.

Not even close.

You drag yourself into the cafeteria with Yunjin, who's been talking your ear off since you left training. She's going on about something—probably important, if you'd actually been listening—but your brain's too busy playing "Where's Waldo" with the dinner crowd.

Not that you're looking for anyone s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ important.

(That's a lie. You totally are.)

Your eyes keep scanning the room like some kind of desperate radar system, and you want to smack yourself.

Since when did you turn into one of those people who can't walk into a room without checking if he's there?

Jeon's not the center of the universe.

He's not even the center of this cafeteria.

But try telling that to your traitor eyes that won't stop searching.

You follow Yunjin to the buffet line, nodding along to her chatter about work stuff and gang politics. The food looks good tonight—all steam and color and promise of actual flavor. You're reaching for the rice when—

Oh.

There he is.

Jeon's standing a few people ahead, his back to you like he doesn't even know you exist. Which is bullshit, by the way. You know he knows you're here. But he's pulling this whole 'I'm too cool to acknowledge your existence' act, and honestly? It's working for him.

You can't help staring at his plate because of course it looks like that. All protein and greens, like a sad jail meal. No carbs in sight because god forbid the Chief of Tactical Assassinations eat a fucking potato. It's like looking at a fitness influencer's meal prep, except this one could probably kill you with his chopsticks.

He drives you insane. How does he do this? How does he go from being that smug bastard in the training room—all heated looks and smart mouth—to... this? This walking ice sculpture who portions his vegetables like they might try to escape?

You're still watching him stack his protein like he's playing food Tetris when Yunjin's elbow catches your ribs.

"Hey, you okay? You've been zoning out a lot today."

Great. Now you're so obvious even Yunjin's noticed.

But how are you supposed to explain that you can't stop staring at the way Jeon handles his chopsticks because it reminds you of how those same hands felt on your—

Nope. Not going there. Not in the cafeteria, not while you're holding rice tongs, and definitely not with Yunjin right there giving you that knowing look.

You flash Yunjin what you hope is a convincing smile. "Just tired. Been a long day of pretending I actually know what I'm doing."

You both grab your plates and—okay, maybe you glance in Jeon's direction one more time. Just a quick look. For science.

The way his jaw moves when he chews shouldn't be this interesting, but here you are anyway, feeling heat pool in your stomach because apparently now everything that he does is just hot.

Get it together.

You scan the cafeteria for a free spot and spot Kazuha sitting alone. She's got this serene energy about her that makes you feel instantly calmer. It's kind of ridiculous how put-together she always looks, even after a full day of work.

"Hey, Zuzu!" Yunjin chirps, already bouncing over. "Got room for two more?"

Kazuha looks up from her food, and her smile is soft, genuine. Like she's actually happy to see you both.

"Of course. How was training?"

You plop down next to her, already digging into your food because you're starving. "Bold of you to assume I survived. Pretty sure my muscles are plotting revenge."

"That bad?" Kazuha asks, and you can hear the amusement in her voice.

"Let's just say I'm considering a career change. Maybe I'll become a nun."

Yunjin snorts into her rice. "You? A nun?"

"Hey, I could be holy!" You protest, but you're grinning. "I mean, how hard can it be?"

"About as hard as that time Eunchae tried to seduce that businessman and ended up talking about his cats for two hours," Kazuha reminds you, dry as desert.

"Okay, but in her defense, his cats are adorable—"

"And second of all," Yunjin cuts in, "she got the intel anyway because he thought she was 'refreshingly genuine' or whatever."

Kazuha shakes her head, but she's smiling. "Only she could fail upwards so spectacularly."

The conversation flows easy after that, just three girls sharing dinner and stories from their day. It's almost normal, if you ignore the fact that you're all trained in professional seduction and manipulation.

"Zuzu, you seen the new race bikes downtown?" Yunjin's practically bouncing in her seat. "They've got some wild colors this year. Bright as the neon signs lining the alleys."

"They're really something," you add, grateful for the distraction from your Jeon-related thoughts. "Makes you wanna take one for a spin, just you and the empty streets at midnight."

Kazuha's smiling that soft smile of hers, the one that makes her look like she knows all your secrets. "I saw them. Wish we could know the stories behind them."

"Speaking of stories," Yunjin says, and there's this gleam in her eye that makes you nervous. "Kazuha, aren't you usually having dinner with Saku and Eunchae around now?"

It's an innocent question. Totally innocent. Except nothing's ever really innocent in this place, is it?

Kazuha lets out this little laugh that somehow sounds like wind chimes.

"They're training. Apparently, the training room was..." She pauses, and you swear your heart stops. "...in heavy use earlier."

You start coughing like an idiot because of course you do. Real smooth. Your neck feels hot, and you just know you're turning red because your body is a fucking traitor.

Because yeah, the training room was definitely in use earlier. By you and Jeon. Doing... training things. Totally professional training things that absolutely didn't involve his hands all over you or his mouth on your—

"Oh, is that so?" You try for casual, miss by about a mile. "Training room's been busy lately. Gotta stay sharp and all that."

Yunjin's looking at you like she can see right through your bullshit. Her eyebrow does this little thing—this 'I know what you did' arch that makes you want to crawl under the table. The way she's staring at you, it's like she's reading a book where every page is stamped with "I ALMOST FUCKED JEON IN THE TRAINING ROOM."

Kazuha, bless her soul, just nods serenely. The conversation moves on, but Yunjin's still giving you these looks. You can practically hear her thoughts: 'We're so talking about this later'.

You end up having this whole silent conversation with Yunjin through eyebrows and meaningful glances. She takes a sip of her drink, ice cubes clinking against glass like they're laughing at you, and the little smirk on her face says everything.

Busted.

(You're really going to need to work on your poker face if you're going to keep this thing with Jeon going. Or maybe invest in a paper bag to hide your face. That could work too.)

You're in the middle of telling Yunjin about this absolutely ridiculous mission report you have to finish when—

CRASH.

"You bastard, you think you can talk to me like that?!"

The whole cafeteria goes quiet. Like, pin-drop quiet.

You whip around to see Dongho—V's right-hand man and certified hothead—with his fists bunched in Woojin's shirt. They're both red-faced and looking murderous.

Great. Just what you needed with your dinner: a testosterone-fueled throwdown.

"What the fuck," Yunjin whispers, already tensing up. Kazuha's gone still beside you, like a deer sensing danger.

The thing about fights in Kkangpae? They're never just fights. There's always some deeper shit going on, especially when it's between different divisions.

And this?

This is V's second versus some guy from tactical assassinations. The rivalry between those divisions runs deeper than the Han River.

Speaking of V—you spot him across the room, looking way too entertained for someone whose deputy is about to start a brawl. He's got that look on his face, the one that makes your skin crawl. Like he's watching his favorite show.

"Now, now, let's not get too rowdy, gentlemen!" V calls out, voice dripping with absolutely false concern. When that doesn't work, he cups his hands around his mouth: "Simmer down, boys!"

But they're not listening. Of course they're not, they're men.

You watch as Woojin throws a wild punch that Dongho barely dodges. People are scrambling now—some to get away, others to jump in. It's chaos.

Then Takama's there, all six feet of concentrated 'don't fuck with me' energy. He plants himself between them like a human wall.

"Enough! Stand down, both of you!"

The command in his voice could probably stop traffic.

But Dongho—because he's either brave or stupid or both—just sneers.

"You're the same rank as me. Don't you ever try to pull authority on me."

Oh shit.

You feel the tension in the room spike. This isn't just about whatever started the fight anymore. This is about division politics, about the endless pissing contest between V and Jeon's teams.

And their seconds are about to throw down right here in the cafeteria.

You hear V's dramatic sigh that would put soap opera actors to shame.

"Why must things always descend into violence?" he asks JM, who just shakes his head like he's seen this show a hundred times before.

You watch as V's face changes. It's subtle, but terrifying—like watching a cute puppy turn into a wolf. His playful smile twists into something darker, and then there's suddenly a knife in his hand.

(You're not even sure where it came from; he just does that sometimes, produces weapons like a deadly magician.)

"I tried asking nicely," he says to JM, casual as if he's discussing the weather.

Then—oooookay.

The knife flies through the air, spinning so fast it's just a silver blur. It hits the wall with this loud THUNK that makes everyone jump, landing exactly between Dongho and Woojin's faces. Like, exactly.

You know V well enough to know that wasn't luck—if he'd wanted to hit them, they'd be picking pieces of their noses off the floor right now.

The whole cafeteria goes dead silent. Every head turns to V, who's sitting there looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

But his eyes? They're gleaming with something that makes your stomach turn.

"There, that got your attention." His voice is soft, almost sweet. Then, louder: "Now sit down and play nice, children."

Dongho and Woojin break apart like they've been electrocuted. You watch Takama and Dongho share one last murder-glare before going their separate ways.

"Holy shit," Yunjin breathes next to you, eyes wide as saucers. She lets out this low whistle that perfectly sums up what everyone's thinking. "Only V could pull that off so effortlessly."

She leans in closer, practically vibrating with excitement.

"That was kind of hot, don't you think?"

You turn to her, eyebrows shooting up. "Didn't know you had a thing for psychopaths with good aim," you tease.

Yunjin's cheeks go pink, and she does that thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's flustered. It's kind of adorable.

"What? Confidence is sexy," she defends, sneaking another look at V. "And you have to admit, that was pretty impressive."

You follow her gaze across the room. V's already moved on, chatting with JM like he didn't just turn a cafeteria brawl into an impromptu knife-throwing demonstration.

But that's V for you—deadly and dramatic in equal measure.

Yunjin's practically glowing as V catches her eye and winks. The smile she gives him is shy, which is funny coming from someone who literally seduces people for a living. But that's just Yunjin—confident as hell on missions but turns into a blushing mess when she actually likes someone.

Speaking of liking someone...

You notice JM's acting weird. He's sitting next to V, pretending to be super interested in his food, but his chopsticks are gripping that poor piece of kimchi like it personally offended him; movements sharp and jerky—very un-JM-like.

He keeps doing this thing where he looks up at V and Yunjin, then quickly back down at his food like he's playing the world's most obvious game of 'I'm not looking, you're looking.' The tension in his shoulders is giving him away though. JM's usually all soft sweaters and gentle vibes, but right now? He looks like someone replaced his bones with steel rods.

After what feels like an eternity of aggressive chopstick action, JM turns to V and says something too quiet for you to hear. His tone's forcefully light—the kind of casual that takes effort. V glances at him with that signature smirk of his, says something back, and suddenly JM's whole face changes. His eyes get all crinkly at the corners, like he's trying not to smile.

Then JM leans in closer (way closer than necessary, if you're being honest), and whatever he whispers makes V laugh. Not his usual theatrical laugh either—this one's soft, private. V nudges JM's shoulder, and just like that, the tension bleeds out of the moment.

You can't help but watch them, pondering. Maybe V's little knife-throwing show bothered JM more than he's letting on. Or maybe...

Oh.

Well, that's interesting.

JM catches you staring and gives you this little smile that definitely means 'nothing to see here, move along.'

You return it because what else can you do? Start announcing your theories about whatever's going on between him and V in the middle of the cafeteria?

The conversation around you picks back up, and you let yourself get pulled into Yunjin's excited whispers about V's 'totally unnecessary but kind of hot' intervention. But part of your brain is still turning over what you just saw.

Because either you're reading way too much into this, or there's something brewing on JM's behalf that makes the gang's 'no relationships' rule look more like a suggestion than a law.

You file that little observation away for later. Right now, you've got food to eat and a best friend to tease about her obvious crush on the gang's resident knife-throwing psychopath.

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bernardsbendystraws · 8 months ago

Text

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

01: open up the door

The hot flashes of light didn’t take away from his eyes burning into my skin. Every pose, I’d catch a quick glance of him in the corner of my eyes, but he just wouldn’t look away. Matt simply sighed, wandering around the set.

“Relax your face a bit and…perfect,” the director guides. My lips fall into a subtle smile. I can feel Manon, the other model, leaning against me, moving with ease and grace as I struggle to keep up.

They weren’t critiquing her—only me. She was perfect. Years of modeling experience, a face that could fit with any vibe and aesthetic…she didn’t have anything to worry about. I did. The problem was me. Any issue they found, it was my fault.

At first, it was my hands. I kept fidgeting, not realizing the awkward position of my fingers would stand out that much. They did. And they made sure to tell me just how much.

“Okay, and….there!”

Danny, my manager, calls me up as the camera stops flashing. My skin feels heavy—almost as if it’s wet. It wasn’t the physical labor that drained me, it was the emotional exhaustion. The constant directions, the aggressive tones…it all hurt a bit too much.

Walking back to my makeup chair, I stare into the reflection. I don’t look like me, I don’t even feel like me. A hand lands on my shoulder. I don’t have to look up to know who it is, it’s him.

“You good?” Matt asks.

Nodding silently in response to him, he sighs. The light pressure of his hand massages onto my shoulder. I feel my muscles relax under his grasp, but the sound of steps makes my back jolt up straight.

“Hey, babe?”

Babe. I hated that name.

A huff pushes through my lips as I force myself to look over at him—Hayden. Matt’s hand drops from my shoulder. I frown, missing the warmth.

“You’re late.”

Matt’s bitter statement makes Hayden shrug, rolling his eyes.

“I got caught up in some things. Relax, man,” he says, walking over closer. I shy back into the chair as Hayden walks over to my side. “How was it, babe?”

Babe. I bite my tongue as I shove miscellaneous items of mine back into my purse from the makeup vanity top. “It was okay, I just…why are you so late?” I ask.

Looking at him through the mirror, I see him staring at his phone. Of course.

“Are you—”

Hearing Matt’s spitting tone, I look over my shoulder to give him a pointed glare. Don’t. The silent warning is enough. Matt shakes his head, walking away with heavy shoulders.

I hear Hayden laugh. Turning to look at him, I’m met with the sight of him leaning forward. Before I can even process anything, his arms tightly wrap around me. My body tenses as I lightly pat his back.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“Mhm. I have a date planned for us tonight.” My eyes widen at his statement. Tonight? “It’s that event you really wanted to go to. That bonfire night with all your friends and shit.”

Oh. The bonfire. I had asked him about it nearly a week ago, saying I wanted to go with friends. Although, the ‘friends’ implied Matt and his brothers. And a couple other people, but Hayden didn’t let me even get to their names before shutting the idea down completely.

Apparently, I only ever hung around them anymore. But I knew ‘them’ wasn’t the problem. It was Matt—and Chris, but mostly Matt. After Hayden learned Nick was gay, he didn’t care very much if I hung out with him or not. He didn’t openly say it, but I saw the hints of insecurity in the ways he gritted his teeth when spitting out Matt’s name.

Not only did it piss me off, but it was tiring. I wanted him to just say it. He had no reason to doubt me and I knew he was projecting. I was hoping it was just his own insecurities, but sometimes the way he smiled typing on his phone made me doubt how loyal he was.

“Babe?”

Babe. My teeth clenching into the side of my cheek pull me back to reality. I nod over at him, slinging my bag over my shoulder and standing by his side as we walk out.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks for, um…” thanks for taking me to an event I wanted to go to without you? “---let’s just go to your place and eat real quick. I’m starving,” I say, opting out of much conversation as we walk to his car.

My hand attempts to pull open the passenger door, failing as the car remains locked. I look through the car windows, seeing him smiling down at his phone.

“Hayden?” I call out.

His head whips up, the look of realization plastering onto his face as he quickly unlocks the car and climbs in. I follow his actions and climb inside the vehicle, shrinking into the chair with paranoia.

Is he doing it right in front of me? Is he texting some other girl?

“Okay, yeah,” he states, shutting off his phone and throwing it into the cupholder. I look over at him, watching as he starts to drive down the road. “---Noah is just gonna meet us there with his girl.”

Squinting my eyes shut, I swallow a thick lump. He was texting Noah. Why would he take me on a date tonight if he was cheating on me? Why did I have to assume the worst?

Why was I projecting?

“Let’s get ready real quick. I might need you to make us dinner while I shower. We’re short on time and I can’t go like this,” he grabs his shirt, gesturing to the random stains covering his clothes.

Reaching over, I try to rub out the stain. My eyebrows furrow at the color, a neon green painted stain in the pale orange graphic T-shirt. “What even is this?” I question.

“Uhhh….” he scratches his head as he turns down the street. “---I think it’s some sort of goop? I don’t know, we did a Halloween theme for the video today, you know, pre-filming.”

The weight of my body relaxes back into the passenger seat as I hum in acknowledgment. Hayden made a podcast, one with all his ‘boys.’ I wasn’t the biggest fan. Sometimes, they said things that just didn’t sit right with me. But, it wasn’t my place to talk. It was his career and he had reminded me that I didn’t have to watch it.

I didn’t anymore. Not because of his comment, but because everytime I tried to watch it, I could hear my judgmental thoughts pushing forward. And it wasn’t my place to judge. It reminded me that I was the problem, that I was self sabotaging my life in any way possible.

“You okay, babe?”

Cringing, I nod curtly. “Yeah, just tired.”

My statement is quickly brushed off as he moves forward, turning up the volume to the music. The loud blasting makes my ears rush with a buzz. Why? I just said that I was tired.

“Are you serious?” I spit, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Hayden pauses, turning down the music before shrinking back into his seat. “---’m sorry. I…I just got excited.”

Regret makes my heart feel heavy as we sit in an uncomfortable silence. Pursing my lips together, I reach out for his hand. The limb lays unmoving. “I’m sorry, I just…I—”

Slowly sliding his hand back into his lap, my body runs stiff. “You were just tired. I know. I…I can never do anything right. It just…I’m taking you somewhere you wanted to go after I worked all day. You…you never act like this with your friends. Why do you always—-you know what, forget it. We’re gonna have a good night. It’s…it’s whatever.”

His words make my skin crawl with an itch of disappointment. He tries. I sabotage. The opportunity of love I had always wanted was right in front of me, but my doubts and anger manifested constantly. I couldn’t imagine how he felt. How disappointed would he be if he knew the thoughts that ran through my head?

The car pulls into the driveway of his apartment. We walk into the minimalistic building silently, the elevator ride feeling like eternity.

“Just…I’ll go shower.”

He walks off down the hallway. My feet carry me to the kitchen while I start to rummage through the pantry and fridge. There’s plenty of options. Pasta, frozen meals, salads, and even pre-done things. I don’t know what he wants though.

Taking slow steps towards his bathroom, I knock on the door. “Ha—”

My lips slam shut as I hear an undeniable sound of moaning. Teary-eyed, I press my ear to the door, listening to the running water and lewd noises.

“Oh! Yes!”

The moans and slapping noises are fake, an obnoxious porn video looping on repeat while I stay frozen in place. He’s not cheating. He just doesn’t want me.

Who would want someone that makes them feel so less-than?

My feet patter lightly on the clean floors. I pull out a frozen pizza, putting it in the oven before laying on the couch. Swadling myself in a couple of blankets, I let out a shaky breath. I feel my phone vibrate, looking down at the screen to see a text from him—Matt.

| From Matt: I heard you’re coming to the bonfire tonight with him. |

Swallowing a thick lump, I feel a tightness gather in my chest.

| To Matt: Yeah. I didn’t know until now. Apparently I’m going with him and Noah and Paige |

The dots appearing on my screen are hypnotizing as I wait for him to send a message back. It doesn’t distract from the muffled noises coming from the bathroom, the fake moans meshed with familiar groans makes my stomach start to feel uneasy. Swarms of anxiety and loathing combine into a brutal mess.

| From Matt: Are we gonna be allowed to hang out? Or is he gonna be manhandling you all night again? |

Letting my phone drop on the couch, I heave in a shaky breath. He wasn’t wrong. It still didn’t feel nice to hear though. The last time we had all hung out at a party was a nightmare. Hayden’s arm around my shoulders was practically sewn into my skin. He dragged me to every corner, talking to all of his friends. Then he got mad at me when he saw me texting Matt.

To say the least, the night didn’t end well. But, it wasn’t just his fault. He wanted to spend time with me, introduce me to his friends. I was the one who was staring at my phone all night, texting Matt from across the room because I couldn’t stand listening to him and his friends trash talk things I loved.

I should’ve just sucked it up. Maybe the night wouldn’t have ended so terribly if I had just been a good girlfriend and actually tried to relate to his friends. It was my fault. I grew silent instead of redirecting the conversation. The effort was non-existent on my end.

Getting so caught up in my own thoughts, I barely register Hayden’s figure walking into the living room while tugging a muted red T-shirt over his head. His slick hair is dripping onto the fabric, his gaze shifting around the room until his eyes land on me.

“Did you set a timer?” he asks, nodding his head over in the direction of the oven.

Fuck.

__________

Cracks of firewood and cedar blister through the air. The spit from the fire lands on my hand, a slight sting making me clap onto my own arm.

“Did it spit at you? Are you good?” Matt asks from beside me.

Opening my mouth to respond, I’m cut off by Hayden tugging his arm tighter around my shoulders, repositioning me to turn and face Noah and Niki. Their conversation is blurred by my instincts. I whip my head around, giving Matt a quick sympathetic frown. He sighs, looking down before walking away.

“---tell them how you got a new gig today, babe.” Hayden looks down at me with wide eyes, urging me to speak. My mouth gapes as I stare at the three pairs of eyes.

“It’s…uh, it’s for Space Camp. Nick’s new brand.” I answer. The looks on their faces tell me more than their words. Smiles of acknowledgment fade into an aura of judgment. He’s my friend, it’s not a job—it’s a favor.

Their conversation is blurred by my overbearing thoughts. Crashing waves and the ringing in my ears make my body jitter with anxiety. Minutes feel like hours as the weight of Hayden’s arm around my shoulders starts to feel heavier and heavier.

“Hey, um,” I whisper upward, tugging on his shirt as he stares down at me with predicting eyes. “---I’m gonna—”

“Whatever, just go,” he spits. My hand falls by my side. The curl in my stomach grows with nausea as I remove myself from under his arm. Anticipation of feeling lighter is gone. It all feels so heavy—his words lingering in my mind, filling me with regret as I try to take a deep breath.

“---he finally let you go, hm?”

Looking up, I’m met with his eyes. Matt’s lips relax as he analyzes my appearance. The furrowed creases in my face seem to alert him as he takes a couple steps towards me, lightly grabbing my arm and starting to guide me further away from the crowd.

“Hey,” he turns me to face him. The sunset glows onto his face, the saturation creating a hue of welcoming energy as I feel the exhaustion creep into every muscle in my body. “---are you—well…do you wanna talk about it?” he asks.

With a slow shake of my head, he huffs. “Let’s….let’s just sit down, alright? He’s being a real dick. I don’t know how you fuckin’ put up with this shit, I really don’t,” he mutters bitterly.

Matt starts to sit down, patting the sand next to him as he crosses his arms over his bent knees. Silently, I lower myself down next to him. My legs glide upward as I let my hands graze the surface of the sand.

“Are you…is this all he’s doing? I know it’s none of my business. I’m trying not to push—I really am, but…” Matt trails off, unsure of how to ask the burning question.

“He doesn’t hit me.”

“That’s…I don’t know, okay? Something isn’t right. I—I can tell something isn’t right. Just…talk to me, please. What’s wrong?” he breathes out, huffing the question in defeat while letting his eyes drift over to me. I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth.

My head whirls around to spot Hayden, seeing him talking to Noah still, but his body language tells me more than I want to know. He’s stiff. The way he’s standing shows me how tense he feels, how frustrated he is. And it’s my fault—it’s because of me.

“It’s my fault. I’m the one fucking things up. I….I keep being such a bitch and—I don’t even know why.” My teeth clench at the end of my statement, the pulse in my ears growing with a drum as I dig my fingers into the sand. The grits seep under my nail beds, a slight sting making me wince.

His warm hand shields mine from the gust of wind. I feel Matt gently grab my wrist, placing my limp hand back into my lap as he hesitantly looks over my shoulder. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath.

“What?” I ask.

Shaking his head, Matt leans forward once more. “Nothing, it’s just, well—how do you think it’s your fault? Let’s start there. Because—truthfully, I don’t think you’re seeing the full picture.”

“It’s my relationship, Matt. You—” my face scrunches as I remember the events from earlier. The moaning. The dumb fucking groans coming from the other side of the bathroom door. “---you don’t see the stuff I see. I mean, the man is disgusted with me because I make him feel so shitty about himself. He…he doesn’t even want me, but—I don’t think I can really blame him anymore,” I sigh.

A silence follows my words. I look over, finding Matt’s face twisted with an unreadable expression. His lips part for a moment, pulling shut before he turns to look over at me.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, I wait patiently as his eyes glance over my shoulder. “I—-do you wanna get a milkshake?” he offers.

My mind buffers for a moment. Taking a quick look over my shoulder, I see Hayden staring directly at us, a bitter squint of his eyes apparent in the fading sunlight. Well.

“Yeah, I’ll just go tell him real quick. Hold on.”

I get up, hearing Matt slowly start to dust off his jeans while I take hesitant steps over to Hayden. My heartbeat seems to quicken as my boyfriend's jaw clicks and he swallows gruffly.

Tapping on his shoulder, I frown as he just shakes his head with a loud huff. “What?”

The overwhelming exhaustion settles in the pit of my gut as my hands clutch around my waist. “I…I was just gonna go—”

“Yeah. Go with Matt, because I’m driving the car back alone. Just…you really couldn’t even try for five minutes, could you?” he seethes.

My eyes water at his tone. With flushed cheeks growing in color, I shake my head. “I…I did try, I just—I already worked today, this is really over—-”

“It wasn’t overwhelming when you wanted to come alone though. Just go. Because—I worked too. I left earlier than you did. You…keep making excuses, keep running off with that guy. I…I’m so tired of you—you, fuck. Just leave. Leave before I say something I’ll regret.”

Teeth clank in my mouth as I clutch my jaw shut tightly, attempting to stop my quivering lip. My feet shift in the sand. Looking up, I see Matt’s eyes squinting at me and peeping behind my shoulder with concern and curiosity.

A slight shake of my head tells him enough. He opens up the passenger side door, closing it after I step in, walking around to the driver’s seat before starting the car. The familiar playlist starts to flow from the speakers at a peaceful level.

“Do you want to catch some of ‘em for me while I drive? I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but it will at least keep your mind distracted.” Matt’s offer is sweet. He shoves his phone into my hands, the familiar Pokemon animations making me sigh.

“Matt, I suck at—”

“Can you catch them for me? Please?” he asks.

Squinting my eyes at him, I look around the cupholders of the car. “Don’t you have that gadget? The one that catches them for you?” I question.

“Oh, look! Oh my god….so cute,” Matt coos, pointing at a dog as the car starts to drive forward. The light tone in his voice makes me smile, relaxing into the seat as I stare down at the screen.

“Do you need directions?” I ask.

Quick to shake his head, he pops out the brisk statement. “Nope.”

My fingers dart on the screen, helplessly trying to play the game while cliffsides pass by in my peripheral vision. His hums wash over me, giving me a sense of relief. The sensations of warmth radiating below me make me look to the seat warmer button, seeing the red glow signifying he turned it on for me. My bottom lip pouts down from the kind gesture.

“You turned my seat heater on?” I point out.

Matt’s eyes quickly gleam over at me. He hums in response. “Mhm, just—relax for a couple minutes, okay? You…you don’t have to worry about anything right now. Not when you’re with me.”

My bones seem to melt in my body, complying with his words as I feel the light buzz of the engine practically rocking me to sleep. The dimming sky seems to leave my eyes falling, my hands curling around his phone.

__________

“---yeah, and that’ll be all.”

Matt’s voice makes my mind stir awake. The soft material of his sweatshirt rubs against my cheek. His arm is resting on the center console, my head resting on his shoulder as I slowly start to sit up.

“Get a good nap?” he jokes. I hazily nod, smiling as his light chuckle gets louder. He slowly pulls through the drive-thru window, milkshakes set in each of the cupholders and a brown paper bag set in between them. It smells so good.

Parking, Matt hands me one of the cups, sticking the straw in it before crumpling the paper in his hand and tossing it into the front compartment. My eyes follow his actions, pausing as I notice the red and white circle—the fucking Pokemon gadget.

“Liar.”

Matt’s eyes shift to mine with confusion. I raise my eyebrows, my eyes flickering between him and the circular object. He follows my gesture, a sheepish smile covering his features as he shrugs. “Whoops. Forgot, I guess.”

I roll my eyes at his statement, taking a sip of the sweet drink as he pulls out a box of fries from the bag, placing it on my lap. “You got me fries? I thought we were just getting milkshakes?”

A quick shrug from his end brushes off the gesture as if it was nothing, but I can’t help the grin that slowly pulls tighter on my lips. Leaning over the console, I press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” I mumble, shoving a fry in my mouth as his skin begins to flush with a pink saturation.

“I, uh—yeah,” he rushes, grabbing another box of fries from the bag and starting to munch on them.

The silence is soothing. My mind seems to wander around my subconscious as if I’m still asleep. I notice the air whistling and creeping in from a small crack in the tops of the windows. Fresh air leaks in, a cool breeze making me feel lighter.

“Ya know,” Matt looks over to me with raised eyebrows. “---we could watch some halloween movies back at mine. Sleepover? I bet Nick and Chris will love—-”

“I’d love to.” The short answer makes us mirror a smile at each other. I feel something pulling me in the back of my mind, a vibration in my lap making me feel more aware. Looking down at my phone, the screen lights up with a text.

| From Hayden: We need to talk. |

I feel my face fall with realization and regret. Why? Why do I have to make him feel so unimportant to me? Why is it so hard for me to please him?

“Hey,” Matt pets over my hand with his own fingers. I watch the screen fade into black before letting myself look up into his eyes. “---whatever is going on, just forget about it tonight. Nick and Chris…they miss you—I miss you.”

My head falls pathetically against the headrest behind me as I squint my eyes shut in frustration. “Matt, I can’t–”

“Hey, you….text him. Tell him you just need a minute to yourself for a clear mind. He’s gotta understand that. I…I know I don’t know everything, but…I know you. It’s—it’s killing me watching you be so paranoid all the time. I’m your friend, let me be there for you, okay? I just…you need to take care of yourself for a minute.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. Nodding, I take a gulp as I type a quick message.

| To Hayden: I’m just gonna spend the night with Nick, Matt, and Chris. I just need to take care of myself for a minute and clear my head. I can come over tomorrow and we can talk? |

Hitting send, I stare at the screen as I watch the typing bubbles appear and disappear. The screen begins to dim. I tap on it, sighing loudly as I watch for a response—one that I know deep down just isn’t coming. I feel Matt’s fingers curl around my hand tighter.

“Just…don’t worry about him right now. Worry about you. He should understand that you need to be alone or with other people. Here,” Matt grabs my phone from my lap, holding down the power button and sliding the device to power off completely.

Taking in a deep breath, I feel my lungs fully inflate with the cool air from outside. “I…thank you. You’re a good friend, I—I really appreciate you,” I say softly.

My eyes drift back to his, finding intent in the way he gleams back at me. It’s like layers of plastic are being peeled away from my skin, leaving me bare and boneless under his gaze.

“I…I really like being there for you,” he whispers back.

Alarm bells ring off in my head as the peace becomes too much. I shouldn’t feel like this—I shouldn’t want to lean in closer. Leaning my back completely against the seat, I watch as he stares down at the center console with a light breath falling from his parted lips.

Silence consumes us as he stares down at our hands. He swivels his thumb against the back of my palm, clearing his throat as he looks back up at me with a soft smile. “So…” he trails off, his soft fingers tracing lightly over my own. “Hocus Pocus or The Haunted Mansion?”

“Will Chris and Nick even wanna watch a Halloween movie? It’s barely September,” I point out.

Matt gives me a light shrug, “Well, I just wanna do what I know makes you happy. Fuck them. It can just be us. So, which one? You know I love doing anything that involves fall.”

“I don’t wanna decide. I hate deciding!” I exclaim. Laughing at me, Matt shakes his head while staring down in his lap. “Ugh. They’re both good. You pick? Please?” I smile.

Matt looks up at me, nodding as he turns the car on. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll choose, I’ll choose. Just…can we wear our matching PJs? The Halloween ones?” he asks.

I nod firmly. “Well, duh. Nick and Chris better put their on too—even if they don’t wanna watch the movie with us.”

“We could make cookies and bribe them,” Matt taunts. Looking over at him with a smirk, I whip my head as soon as he looks over at me with daring eyes.

“I like the way you think,” I say, watching out the passenger window as familiar buildings pass by.

“Awww, thanks.” I snort out a laugh at his sarcastic tone. “I’ll even feed you the raw cookie dough, but you can’t eat too much. I don’t wanna accidentally kill you,” he reasons, huffing with a dry laugh.

The gentle care in his soft voice is enough to make my face feel hot from emotion. It just feels so relieving—but that relief came with a hint of looming guilt swaying on my shoulders.

I’m not cheating. I would never cheat. Our lips never touched, but our eyes seemed to linger a bit too long at times. Why did I feel like this with him? Why did I feel like he had touched every part of my soul when he hadn’t even seen me naked?

Why couldn’t I have met him a little sooner? Why did it have to be the day before Hayden asked me to officially be his girlfriend.

“You won’t kill me,” I lean onto his shoulder, smiling as I feel him lay his own head on top of mine for a quick second. “You care too much. You just…you’re too sweet, Matt. It’s almost annoying,” I joke.

Matt huffs his hand squeezing mine as he turns down a familiar street. “You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, swallowing a thick lump of guilt. “I guess I do.”

A little too much.

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mistymisfit · 2 months ago

Text

Red hood's witness protection services

summary: Reader works for a private forensic investigation firm but when it gets bought by Penguin she turns to Red Hood for help

wc: 5.1k

a/n: decided to scrap the smutty part last minute so if it feels weird that's why

warnings: forensic psychologist! reader, fem!reader, mentions of death, guns, violence, etc. making out and implied sex (aka a badly cut to black scene), mentions of a plan b. Unedited as per usual lol

You found yourself in a dangerous situation; your boss' new boss was none other than Penguin, another one of Gotham's infamous crime lords. And you wanted nothing more but to leave, this is not what you signed up for. It was not your fault that he decided to buy the organization you were working for. There was an implicit "no one gets to quit and walk away with their life" rule since you handled sensitive information and someone in your office already got killed. Essentially, you and the very reduced number of co-workers handled every investigation and background check he needed done. The air was tense in the office, it wasn't a private forensic investigation firm that mostly worked with law firms or the occasional rich family. Now he used you to find information on anyone he suspected or even tell him if his own people were betraying him. It was sick. You used to handle interviews, given you had a natural talent to read people, and years of studies in profiling.

It was a relief when you finally got a hold of someone who could help you in your situation, Red Hood. Or rather, he got a hold of you first, he needed information which you were more than happy to talk. Cops weren't going to be of much help since he had some on his payroll, and you'd likely end up dead before getting to make a statement. So in Gotham, your next best option-- or let's be honest, the best-- was a vigilante who was dead set on screwing the man who's making your life a living hell. The worst part was giving him information in a way that couldn't be specifically traced back to you, like where to find his accountant. You did notice he hired a new one two days after you told Hood about him, and couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he was dead.

You had fallen into some sense of partnership, maybe even friendship, with the masked vigilante and former crime lord himself. Maybe it was the, probably empty, promises that he'd stop that more people get hurt, or that once he's done with Cobblepot, you'd be able to move away and disappear completely. The fact you could tell that he was around your age, even if you had never seen his face, how he always treated you with respect and seemed to genuinely care about your safety made you develop some type of affection towards him. At that moment, he was the only reassuring thing in your life.

But you were foolish to think you could balance working for Penguin and being Red Hood's informant without anyone finding out, until you walked in your shared office. You go quiet at the scene; you drop the disposable coffee tray so both your hands can cover your mouth even if no noise could come out of it. Tears are fast to cloud your vision as you watch the bodies of all of your coworkers lying there. All of them killed with a clean single head shot, some fell at their desk, blood dripping from the paperwork to the carpeted floor. Your boss was on the floor of her separated office, the glass wall that divided her space was broken by the bullets. You were saved by pure chance, just because it was your turn to do the coffee run. A choked sob escapes in the dead quiet, and only when you hear steps do you realize that whoever did this might still be there. You think about running out the door, but what would you after? you needed something to use as leverage. You decide to grab the external hard drive from your boss' desk and make a run for it. It has everything, from emails to transcripts of interviews, crime scene analysis, and even contact and financial information of at least a dozen of Gotham's richest and more of Penguin's people. You bite your lip, holding back the need to puke when you see the body on the floor, her death seemed to be more brutal than the rest. Peeling your eyes off the gruesome scene, you kneel to the safe, trying to remember the combination amid all the fear and trying to hurry. 57, 89, 23, you let out a sigh of relief when you got it right on the first try. Your boss had only mentioned it once, that she needed you to empty it in case anything went wrong. She only confided the password in you a week after Cobblepot showed up.

The first thing you see is money, probably to hide the more valuable things behind. You are shocked to find a revolver inside too but take it with you, just in case. Not that you knew how to use it. Finally, the hard drive was well hidden under a necklace in a jewelry box. You throw everything inside your purse and close the safe before leaving and don't look back as you run as fast as your legs allow you into the street. You make it to five streets before you catch a cab and go home. Not your safest option, but your judgment was very disturbed given the circumstances. Once inside the car, you frantically search for your phone to call him. He picks up after the first ring, he always does, no matter how busy he might be.

"Hey, uhm, something happened" You try to keep it vague since the driver was listening "Can you meet me at my place?"

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yes, uhm..." You sniff before continuing: "I got fired"

"I see, are you alone?"

"No, can you hurry?" He knows something must've shaken you pretty badly to call him crying like this. You've never cried in front of him before, he's almost too shocked to react.

The driver only gives you a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror, and you're grateful he's not chatty. Jason is in your apartment before you even get there, and you can tell he's worried too by the way his words lost their usual cool. Normally, he's sharp, calculating, and even witty when he's in a good mood, but today he's spitting question after question. And he's even holding your shoulders tightly, he's never done that before. You barely brushed arms or hands once or twice, you figured he liked his space or didn't like being touched.

"They are dead," Is all you could manage to say between sobs "it's my fault"

"You didn't pull the trigger, you didn't give the order to kill them" He tries to reason with you, to make you pull it together. Partially because he needs it to work his case, partially because --and he wouldn't admit it out loud-- he's fond of you.

"Might as well have, they're dead because what I did" You ramble "Just like that accountant I told you. He suspected all of us so he-"

"We have no way of knowing that, Cobblepot gets rid of his employees after a while" He tries grounding you "like that guy, I got to him and he was already dead"

"Really?"

"Yes, why don't you tell me what you saw?" You start shaking your head no, and his grip tightens, forcing you to look up at him. "You've analyzed crime scenes before, I need you to do it now"

"I don't do that, I just do profiles and interviews and shit" You argue, even though you've worked long enough to know how to do it."I've only read crime scene reports"

"Get a grip" He demands. His tone is too serious, that combined with how it feels like he's lifting your feet off the ground with no effort are enough reasons to knock the fight out of you.

"Three people, at least two of them professionals" You sniff, remembering the horrifying scene. You recognized the wound as soon as you saw it, and from their positions, you knew they were quick and ambushed them. That's why some of them were still sitting on their desks, and only one fell on the floor, who likely got up and failed to run away. "they- they used silencers,"

"What about the third person?"

"They used a different gun," tears start to fall down your eyes again, remembering how your boss' face was unrecognizable. "They shot my boss, I think she was the last one, and she was shot from much closer"

"Anything else?"

"God, her face, it was-" When your eyes drift off and find the spots of blood on your cuff, he can tell there's another episode of being unable to speak and choking on your own tears. He knows the feeling all too well. "What if they are after me next?"

"It's okay, I'll keep you safe" He pulls you against his chest. Despite the surprise, you accept the hug, pressing your cheek against his leather jacket as you decide to trust his promise. "I told you I protect my people"

You're lucky he can't see how flustered that made you, or the wave of confusion that comes after that. How can you be feeling like this in this moment? You just nod in response.

"There's one more thing, I emptied the safe and took a hard drive with me"

"Which has?" He encourages you to go on.

"Everything, every case, email, picture, anything we ever worked with"

"Good girl," He whispers, and again, your heart is doing somersaults and cartwheels inside your chest. Is he even aware of what he's doing? You're too vulnerable for this right now. "I have to get you out of here before they realize they missed someone and lost that drive"

"What? No" You lift your head off his chest, pushing him away to get some distance. He mourned the loss of your warmth for a split second before he argued back.

"Yes, you said they were pros, do you really think they're not looking for you already?" He sounds exasperated, as if he couldn't afford to waste the time it'd take to convince you. The way your lip trembles and tears start streaming down your face once more makes him feel like the biggest asshole. Jason's been called every possible insult, but can't tell why this hurts way more. "Sorry, I'm a jerk"

"No, you're right" You wipe your tears, this was not the moment to act impulsively. Besides, if there was someone who knew how to handle situations like this, it'd be him.

"You'll stay with me until this dies down," His hand reaches your wrist and drags you a step closer to him. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was dying to hold your hand. You found yourself nodding along as he spoke: "I'll take care of everything"

"Okay"

"I need your phone, and your wallet" He requests, and you were opening your mouth to ask why when he tells you the reason "and help me make a mess, it needs to look like you were taken from home"

"But my friends, and my family, they have to know-" Your eyes move slowly to the purse where the things he asked for were.

"You can't tell anyone, it's too dangerous" He's deadly serious, it's starting to scare you. Yeah, you understood that this was the type of thing that'd put someone under witness protection, but couldn't you at least tell your mom you weren't dead? "Understood?"

You agree, putting all your trust in him. He cracks the screen of your phone and you wince, you were lucky you had made backups recently. You reluctantly help him make your apartment look like someone was looking for something. Your coffee table is knocked over, every single drawer in your kitchen is opened, and some plates and glasses are broken too. Your clothes were scattered all over your room, and even some of your decorative pillows were torn to pieces. Though you'd never admit trashing your apartment would feel so satisfying. It all helped when a few days later a friend filed a missing person report and your apartment was now a crime scene under investigation throwing off both the GCPD and Penguin's people. You don't know if trusting him this much was even more reckless than staying in your apartment on your own, but you'd make peace with it over time.

You'd admit you were a horrible guest for the first week. Once you found out the drive was encrypted and neither of you could access it, it dawned on you how you may need to stay for longer than you initially thought. The guilt of being saved only because you lost a game of rock paper scissors and you had to go buy coffee, and how people who know you must be worried and can do nothing to let them know you're alive and okay without risking their safety too, all weigh on you. So for that first week, you barely left your room, he understood and didn't invade your space. However, you would wake up sometimes to a glass of water on your nightstand, or he'd knock on your door to leave you something to eat, which you'd only take a few bites of. One night, he even held your hair while you threw up over the toilet. Brought you a glass of water and let you sob on his chest while rubbing your back for as long as you needed. Once the initial depression wore down, then came the second stage of dealing with a problem, doing absolutely everything you can to avoid it.

But you'd get a lot of time to make up for it now that you were off the grid and not allowed to leave his place. Not that you minded, it was a big apartment; actually, he told you it was two apartments which he bought and remodeled into one. Lucky for you, since that meant you had your own room and bathroom. You didn't take Red Hood for an interior decorator, but the place was surprisingly cozy, despite the concerning amount of weapons he had hanging on the walls. He had a brown leather couch—easiest material to wipe blood off, he'd say— and a huge unorganized bookshelf. One afternoon, you took it upon yourself to put the books in alphabetical order by the name of their author. If his eyes weren't hidden under a mask, you'd think he was tearing up by the way he had to clear his throat to thank you. Speaking of his eyes, he took the helmet off when you arrived, you instantly looked away to protect his identity—which he found adorable. When he told you it was okay, and you turned to see he wore another mask under the helmet you scoffed and called him paranoid. Only to hide that what you really thought was "Oh great, of course he's hot"

His kitchen was big, you could happily dance around as you cooked or baked, which you picked up as a hobby. You also found out he had an impressive vinyl collection, so you always listened to that. He even bought some records you liked considering he cut off your access to the internet entirely and that was your only way to listen to music. You understood why, but it didn't mean you weren't bored out of your mind. But however bored you were, it didn't erase the fact that for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like yourself again.

He had been trying to be as nice to you as you were to him. Coming back home to home cooked meals was something he hadn't experienced in years, so more often than not, he'd grab a big bite nearly to the point of choking to not cry in front of you. You always talked to him, and always listened to what he had to say. His words never fell on deaf ears with you. He'd even dare to say you were making him happy, so he allowed himself to linger when you got too close. Maybe he dared to touch your waist as he moved behind you. Let you put your feet up on his legs as you both read in silence on the couch, remembering the first time you did it without thinking and quickly apologized as you cuddled back to your side. Then, feeling the warmth on his cheeks when he grabbed your ankles and put them back on his lap without looking at you in the eye, too embarrassed to admit he liked it. Isn't this what he always wanted? Someone to come home to?

Your routines were adjusted to each other, and you worked together as perfectly as all the little pieces of a watch. He bought you books of whatever you were interested in, came back home carrying whatever extensive list of groceries you gave him, and mostly did anything you asked him.

"Red?" You ask, moving closer to him on the couch.

"Yes?" He tries to hide behind the book he's reading, your sudden closeness making him blush. Tries even harder to avoid looking at you knowing it'd make it even worse.

"Talk to me," now he does give you a little side eye unsure of how to act "c'mon, I'm bored, ask me something"

He sighs putting his book down, and hopes you don't realize it's to calm his nerves down. Where did his personal space go? And why doesn't he mind that it's absolutely thrown out the window? You look up at him waiting for him to say something, anything, it feels a bit... loving? It certainly did not help that you were so pretty, and you made it more difficult by being so kind to him. He needs to break eye contact for that, he can't go around thinking like this.

"What's the weirdest case you've had?" It's all he can come up with on the spot.

"Well most of my cases were boring, but—" He feels like a jerk, his eyes get distracted so easily. Looking at your lips moving as you speak, how your arm rests on the back of the couch, they even lay on the tank top you're wearing for half a second before he reprimands himself. He's lucky he kept his domino mask so you wouldn't notice where his eyes wandered to. "turns out the lady just had early signs of dementia and they couldn't sue her, what about you?"

"I'm the chosen one of a secret cult in the Himalayan mountains" He blurts out, then regrets not telling you something more "normal". Whatever his parameter for normal is.

"You—" You laugh nervously "you're kidding me, right?"

"I've got magic swords to prove it"

"And you let me talk about some boring civil lawsuit?" You gasp, putting your hand on his chest to shove him lightly. He gets the urge to put his hand on top of yours so you'd stay there. "I'm so boring"

"It's not— you're not boring, I like hearing you talk about your job"

"You're just being nice" He wants to kiss off the pout on your face so badly.

"When have I ever been nice?" Jason thinks maybe a sassy answer can fix it.

"All the time," He feels your tone shift, now more soft than playful. Maybe you can't tell where his eyes lay, but he can definitely tell where yours do, and that makes him stop his attempts to mask how much he wants to kiss you. "you're always good to me"

You are so close, and you smell good, and your skin looks soft; he bets you'd feel just as soft under his fingertips if he had the guts to reach out. But do you even want him to? Maybe you were just this caring and tender with him because you had no other choice, just because he's protecting you. And as he gets stuck on thinking the million reasons why you wouldn't want him to kiss you—and ignoring the clearly obvious signs that you do like him—his phone starts ringing on the coffee table. Jason takes a few seconds to consider if he should just let it ring before he speaks.

"I should get that" You just nod and give him space to get up.

He answers the call with an unusual "hey", instead of an angry "what do you want?" like he normally does when getting a call from a sibling. Tim wanted a favor, some info on who knows who, who was involved in a case he had not the slightest will to pay attention to. How could he? When he felt so stupid, he should've gone for it. Or maybe he shouldn't have, cause what if you were not flirting with him and he ended up looking like an asshole and making things awkward? He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back while going back and forth in his room. Only half listening to the voice on the phone.

He ends the conversation with a "yeah, whatever, just text me the guy's details and I'll see what I can do". He gets dressed in his Red Hood gear after hanging up, deciding to leave early tonight to go for a ride to clear his head. His heart shrinks when you only reply with a distracted "see ya" while doing the dishes when he tells you he's leaving. Not that he would know that you feel bad for cornering the guy on his couch, in his own home. Or that you screamed into your pillow as soon as he left.

The ride does little to ease his worries as he spends most of the time thinking about you, when did you stop being just an informant? He knew better than getting this close to you, but it never helped that since the moment you met, you treated him like a normal human being, not like he's a bomb waiting to go off like his family does. And he thinks that maybe they're right about him, that he is bad and rotten, and all those things they think about him. That he ruins everything he touches, and it's his fault you're in this situation.

It didn't help either that you were easy on the eye, from your office wear to walking around in sweatpants, to the few times he saw you in casual wear when meeting him. There has always been something about you that lured him in, maybe that is why his mind was so quick to think that the safest option was to keep you with him, because he wanted to spend more time with you. Perhaps that's why he feels extra guilty about anything that happens to you, in his eyes, you're his responsibility. But he can't have you, not when he could so easily ruin everything. So if he has to take a cold shower every time your foot presses higher up his thigh, then so be it.

That's why he worries when he comes home one day earlier than usual, calling out your name while taking off his helmet, but the music is too loud, and he gets no answer. He starts to panic when he finally spots you in the kitchen with your head inside the oven, he drops everything—his guns—in his hands and rushes to you. His mind moving faster than his body thinking about every bad thing he could think of, was it something he did? was it something he didn't? You only feel two large hands grabbing your hips and pulling you out, you let out a confused "huh?" as he sighs in relief. He sits down on the floor next to you trying to calm down as you just stared at him with furrowed brows.

"Fuck, sweetheart," He nervously pushes his hair back, and you don't miss the way his hand is lightly shaking, "you scared the shit out of me"

"Wait, you— you thought I pulled a Sylvia Plath?" He just nods, leaning back against the fridge.

"Hey, I was just cleaning the oven," You explain while taking off the rubber gloves to hold his face. "Breathe with me"

You take a deep breath, counting to four when you inhale, keeping it in for another 4 seconds, and taking the same time when you exhale. It takes him a couple of minutes before he settles down and stops feeling the lump on his throat or that his heart is trying to force its way out of his ribcage.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, won't happen again" You smile.

"Why are you smiling? This isn't funny" He wants to sound offended, but you know there's some playfulness in his tone.

"I think it's cute you had a panic attack 'cause you thought I died" To that Jason just rolls his eyes. You may be the one teasing him, but your hands haven't stopped touching him, and it's not like you were keeping your distance from him.

"What were you even thinking? Cleaning at this hour?" You just shrug in response. It's not like you had to be up early tomorrow, or any other for that matter.

There are a few silent seconds as you both stare at each other, your eyes subtly drifting down to his lips. And he just leans forward without really thinking it through. There's been a million times where he wanted to do this, but now that he thought he lost you, even if it was for a few seconds, he's coming to terms with the fact that he can't hold it in any longer. You only hum and give in. Finally! He's making a move. You want to smile, maybe giggle a bit too, but he's kissing you with such a strong desire that you can't do it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Why would you stop?" You sigh, almost exasperated, before tightly grabbing his leather jacket to pull him close again.

He chuckles as you straddle him, maybe he should've kissed you sooner. You're sure you've never wanted someone as badly before. You could reason it was due to a lot of factors: first, he was hot. Second, he made you feel safe; third, he was the nicest guy you've met in years, and fourth, he had no problem with you living basically rent-free with him—even seemed to like it. And now he's kissing you like his life depends on it. It's desperate, messy and hurried, like he can't get enough of you. His hands pull up your shirt, and you raise your arms to help him.

"I just have to warn you," He's out of breath, and his voice barely above a whisper: "I'm incredibly touch starved"

"Yeah, me too"

You can't be bothered to make any remarks or teasing comments, and apparently neither can he as he takes his jacket off. He folds it and uses it as a make-shift pillow to rest your head on when he rolls you over to be on top of you. The movement was swift, and he put his hand on the small of your back to make sure you didn't get hurt in the process. You could only hope he'd understand your kisses as the thanks you mean them to be. Your fingers cling around Kevlar clothing and pull it up until you get rid of it. Soon enough, your pants are out of the way too, and he takes a second to admire the view.

"You have such a crush on me" You tease with a playful smirk when you catch him staring.

"Yeah, the biggest" He scoffs, lowering back down to kiss his way down from your collarbone to your hips. He stops for a brief second, weighting his options and what he's doing. Then, once he's made up his mind, he whispers his name against your thigh.

"Jason?" You question

"Yeah, that's my name," He replies, looking up at you again.

"Okay, Jay" Your lips tug up in a smile, and he can't help but do the same.

"Should we-" He hesitates "Should we do this somewhere else?"

"Floor is clean, if that's what you're worried about"

"I know, but your back... and your head, I don't want to hurt you"

"Hurt me?" You gasp, teasing him, "What are you gonna do to me?"

You laugh at the redness that paints his entire face, and he sits up pulling himself away from you. But you don't want him to feel bad over a joke, so you get up too and kiss his cheek, telling him you're just messing with him and that you could go to your room if he wanted. He gives you a shy nod, as if his head wasn't between your thighs a second ago. You lead him to your bedroom, and in between kisses and sighs, you can feel how desperate his touch was, like he couldn't get enough of you. You are surprised at how soft he is, the way he keeps on kissing you, the way his hands hold you. And it becomes obvious how needy both of you were when you remember that pregnancy is a real thing and birth control methods exist.

"Fuck-" He groans "I'm sorry, I'll buy you a plan B."

"It's fine, don´t apologize" You tease him as if you wouldn´t have begged him to finish inside if he didn't.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Maybe a book about Stockholm syndrome" Your joke is met with a sigh and his teeth grazing your skin playfully threatening to bite your shoulder.

You playfully shove him off, laughing as you tell him to stop and that's when he notices the little notebook on your nightstand. He reaches an arm over you to get it, your eyes following his movement but too distracted with how his bicep looks so bite-able to notice what he's doing. Until he asks: "What's this?"

"My journal, don't touch it" You try to pry it out of his hand, but he extends his arm to leave it just out of your reach. "It's personal"

"Oh, it's personal?" While he fakes a pout with a mocking voice, you manage to wiggle out from under him and take your journal back.

"Wait, I actually have to write about this" You open a random blank page and pretend to write as you say: "dear diary, today I finally slept with him. It was fun and he had a huge d-"

"Okay, enough, it's personal" He laughs, cutting you off.

You giggle. Yeah, he definitely should've kissed you sooner

#i have more ideas so I might write more parts to this if there's any interest #aka i had planned a part where reader uses her skills/knowledge to help jason #w: jason #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader fluff #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #okay enough tagging

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1nk20ul · 6 months ago

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Discovering Jon and Martin’s Birthdays

It’s a wonder how much you can uncover about The Magnus Archives using only a bit of mathematics and a smidge of psychology.

Apparently I have too much time for both and can definitively say that I have revealed the absolute best and most accurate dates for both of their birthdays. Feel free to join me as we dissect piece by piece when these two were born and put to rest the age old question: What is Jon’s zodiac sign?

I’ll put the results in the tags as a TLDR if you’re not interested in reading my method and simply care about what star sign they are or what date to put in your calendar so you can go out for ice cream.

Statement Begins.

To find out the birthdays of Jon and Martin, we first must determine when exactly they joined the Archives. This will be important for the wider picture, as after all, the earliest possible birthday must take place after they start working there. We also must understand the Archive team’s speed in order to understand how to space out our statements and find that aforementioned number.

Gertrude Robinson passed away, according to her file, on the 15th of May 2015. This makes 15th May our earliest possible starting date. The next time the day’s date was specified was on 13th January 2016, when Naomi Herne gave a live statement. This is MAG 13, and our latest start date. Obviously, these numbers are nowhere close to the day we’re looking for, but they act as upper and lower limits. Our answer is somewhere inside.

In Jon’s supplemental notes for MAG 12, he states that Gerard Keay passed away late the previous year. Since Gertrude died after Gerard in early 2015, he must have died in late 2014. This confirms that MAG 1-12 was recorded to tape in 2015. We know that MAG 13, the next statement, was given live on 13th January 2016. This creates, at the very least, an almost two-week gap between archiving statements. This is likely due to the holiday season, so the time between 24th December and up to 1st January can be omitted. To recap, MAG 1-12 was recorded in 2015, and MAG 13 onwards in 2016.

The key to determining archival speed lies with Martin. Martin goes missing right before MAG 17 and reappears at the end of MAG 21. As he gave such a detailed account of those two weeks, our archiving timeline can be significantly accurate. MAG 19-20 were more than likely recorded on the same day, meaning three separate recording sessions took place in two weeks. However, it took a minimum of six weeks to record MAG 14-16.

So far, the timeline looks like this:

Now we have to figure out the left half.

Calculating the average time it takes to archive statements from MAG 13-22 (removing any outliers from our calculations), we can find a true average and apply it to the 2015 year. By March of The Magnus Institute’s 2016 calendar year, the Archive staff was able to archive 1.31 statements per week. I double-checked this number by doing the same with the statements recorded between MAG 22 and MAG 39. By multiplying the average amount of weeks it should take them by the adjusted number of statements recorded, it should equal the number of weeks it actually did take them. If the numbers are the same, the average is reliable. Hoping for the number 20, the number of weeks I had calculated... was 20.11. This average seems relievingly trustworthy and fits Elias’ complaint about the staff “barely getting through one statement per week.”

All we have to do now is multiply the first 12 statements by the 1.31 average to determine how many weeks it most likely took to do the recorded work of 2015. This leaves us with 15.72 weeks and makes the earliest and most probable start date somewhere around 5th September 2015. I will round this to 1st September as I am not expecting the team to start working on statements right out the gate, so these extra four days act as a buffer for everyone to get their bearings and find the tape recorder. Also, it’s convenient for Elias’ financials to start everyone on the 1st of the month.

Now is the fun part - the birthdays. We now know that Jon and Martin’s birthdays must fall somewhere between early September and the end of February. Since March kicks off the Archives living with the threat of Jane Prentiss, they have to take place before then. After that point, the team is far too stressed to have the carefree party heard in MAG 161. We also know that Martin’s birthday has to come before Jon’s, as the team mentions going out for ice cream at Jon’s party. This event has to be long enough in the past for Jon to forget about it, so their birthdays must be reasonably spaced out from one another in the allotted time. Likewise, an amount of time must have passed after their start date for the team to be close enough bond to want to celebrate Martin’s birthday.

Martin’s birth year is easy to determine. Martin tells us his age in MAG 56. His birthday could not have happened at this point in 2017, so his birth year must be 1987. In a Q&A, it was speculated that Jon and Martin have birthdays near each other (and one being slightly older than the other), so only 1987 and 1988 are our options for Jon’s birth year. Let’s look a bit closer at that.

Early ‘88 is closer to Late ‘87 than Early ‘87. At Jon’s birthday party, he says he’s turning 38. Martin is 29 at this time. The obvious conclusion to me is that Jon simply adds a decade to his age. (I find this the most hilarious yet believable scenario.) Jonny was also born in 1988, being 28 himself when that scene would take place. As Jon’s childhood details sometimes mirror Jonny’s, I am taking this as a sign of accuracy.

And by doing some additional work that I will not share here, I can reliably say that these are the best observed birthdays for Jon and Martin:

Martin - 23rd November, 1987

Jonathan - 2nd February, 1988

Also, this makes Martin a potential Valentine’s Day Baby. Do with that what you will.

Thanks for reading!

(Full timeline for those who are interested:)

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urrmomzfavorite · 6 months ago

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PICK A CARD YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

psstt check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

Pile one : cards ( the devil, judgement, the lovers)

Pile one i’m hearing that it was a long time coming. Your future spouse feels truly intense about you, it’s weird you just provoke a reaction deep inside them. It’s not uncomfortable but it takes some time to get used to. I feel a sense of belonging and celebration, your fs feels like you’re a dream come true, the sexual tension between the both of you is intense. I could cut it with a knife. This person spends a lot of time watching you sleep, not in a creepy way but they like how in peace you look when you sleep. This person is experienced when it comes to sex, and they love taking charge and having you at their mercy. This person is quick witted and sharp when it comes to their mind. They would spend a lot of time looking at your pictures, they can’t get over how beautiful you are.They have a zest for life and a sense of freedom that truly inspires you. They would be amazing mentor to you ( you guys could have a big age difference, big for you at least). You are going to learn a lot from this person. I feel they get surprised by how much power you have over them, it truly feels like saying no to you is difficult, they just want to serve your desires.

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

Pile two: cards ( the magician, three of coins, eight of cups)

Pile number two your future spouse manifested the sh*t out of you ! they truly feel like they did lol, down to the look i’m hearing. They truly find you enticing and sexy. They are going to love to show you off. You are going to meet your FS after a period of grief in your life, you were a bit depressed if i’m being honest. You might meet them at a social networking event, I feel like they’re just going to appear in your life and you’re going to just “know”.I didn’t get the tower card but it’s going to feel like a tower moment meeting this person, seeing this person. This person has so much power, they are a boss, manager, and could own their own business. But yet they find themselves kneeling in front of you. I LOVE THIS ENERGY! They have a lot of passion for you, and they will constantly compliment you. I feel like they notice the little details and it makes you feel seen. This person feels like you were the only missing piece in their life and i feel like everyday that goes by they realized how true this statement is.

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

Pile three: cards ( Page of coins, The fool, Strength, Four of coins)

Pile three you will be friend with your FS before you guys get in a relationship, this person is really going to surprise you. The amount of joy in this relationship is uncanny. This person brings a lot of good things in your life, emotionally and financially. I see you guys going on several vacations together. Sometimes things could feel unclear and your person could spend a lot of time in their mind. But their love for you is real and you will feel like they have the key to your heart. You will keep your relationship private for the most part. People will know you guys are together but outside of this information I don’t feel like they would know much more. This is a powerful love that makes you appreciate the little things and life and someone for who they are not what you think they could be. A lot of trust in each other too. You guys stand like a pillar next to the other.

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

#tarot cards #astrology #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #spirituality

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avaantares · 5 months ago

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USAmericans: If you want to save your democracy, participate in it.

I've heard from people both IRL and online who feel helpless and overwhelmed in the face of SO MUCH awful news -- from the hostile fascist takeover of our government to the dissolution of our foreign aid agencies to the establishment of "detainment camps" (we all know what they really are) both inside and outside U.S. borders.

It's easy to feel hopeless and overwhelmed when there's so much to take in. In fact, that's exactly what the perpetrators of this crisis want you to feel. They want to flood the opposition to the point that we stop fighting back.

But here's the thing: We still have elected officials in Washington, and midterm elections loom on the horizon. Midterms can (and often do) switch which party holds the majority of seats in Congress. Even if your elected officials are Republicans, they can't alienate their entire constituency if they want to keep their jobs. The more dissenting voices they hear from their home districts, the more motivated they will be to listen.

If you want Elon Musk to keep his paws off your Social Security number, or if you want the USAID office reinstated, or if you oppose racist policies being enacted or prison camps being built or literal war crimes being committed (as Trump has proposed), contact your representatives now. Don't put it off, don't feel intimidated. Add one more tally mark to the "opposed" column in their offices.

How to make your voice heard in four easy steps:

Go to this site: https://www.usa.gov/elected-officials/

Put in your home address (or an address near where you stay, if you do not have a home address) to access a list of your elected officials ranging from the President all the way down to city offices.

Expand the "Federal" tab. Find your U.S. Senators and U.S. Representative. Their phone numbers should be listed under their names. (If it is not listed, you can Google their name and "office phone number" and it should turn up. It will have a 202 area code.)

Call each of their offices. Calling is more effective than emailing. If you are unable to call, you can email, or you can call and email, but if you're going to pick just one, calling has MUCH more impact.

Note: If you call during office hours, you will likely speak to a staff member who will take your name and address or email and ask what issue you would like to comment on. If you call after hours, you can just leave a voicemail. If you hate speaking to strangers on the phone, write down a couple of sentences about your chosen issue in advance, call after hours, and read your statement to the voicemail. It takes less than a minute.

Sample Scripts:

It doesn't have to be complicated! You can just say something simple like this:

Hi, my name is [name] and I live in [city/state]. I am calling to state my opposition to [whatever outlandish thing Trump just proposed]. I would like [elected official] to take steps to oppose this in Congress. Thank you.

Or you can go into more detail about a specific issue:

Hello, my name is [name] and I live in [city/state]. I am calling to express my concern about the unlawful seizure of personal taxpayer information by the DOGE. Elon Musk has no legal right to access the sensitive personal and financial data of millions of Americans, and I am very concerned that my Social Security and bank account numbers are now in the hands of a group with no government oversight. This is a clear violation of our privacy, and the potential for abuse of this information is high. I am asking [elected official] to protect [his/her] constituents by enacting legislation to restrict the DOGE, and working to restore the authorized, Congressionally-funded departments that Elon Musk has taken over or shut down. Thank you.

Additional tips:

Be polite. Yes, everything the Trump administration does makes us want to swear a blue streak, but the person taking your call or listening to your message is a low-level staffer or intern, and they didn't make the policies you hate. They are responsible for recording and collating the data about calls received, however, so don't give them any reason to omit yours.

Be brief. Your goal is to add one more tally mark to the list of "constituents who oppose Elon Musk having their personal bank account numbers," not to write a persuasive essay explaining what identity theft is and why this is a problem.

You can call more than once. Don't spam a bunch of calls about the same issue, but just because you called this week about the DOGE doesn't mean you can't call next week about illegal ICE raids, or the week after that about the Department of Education being dissolved, or the week after that about the detainment camps. If another issue comes up that concerns you (and let's face it -- it will), call and leave another message! Keep their phones ringing.

#usa #current events #usamerican politics #make your voice heard #resist

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zombiefiilm · 2 years ago

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It’s Cold Out Here

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer reid has just the plan to keep you warm in the car while you wait for a suspect

warnings: some mentioned with the unsub, classic cm type violence mentioned, no use of y/n, nsfw - 18+ only, making out, car sex(ish?), fingering, handjob, male oral, getting interrupted

word count: 2.1k

When you agreed to wait outside the suspected unsub's house with Spencer Reid, you did not expect it to turn into a several-hour stakeout.

You had pulled up just around the corner from the old house that looked like it was rotting from the inside out, with a perfect view of the front porch from where your black car sat, expecting the man who lived inside to leave the house to find his next victim and allow you to follow him.

His victims were all over the place, young and old, men and women, various financial status'. It just hadn't made any sense from the start and there was barely any bones to the profile at all, the only thing you all knew was that he was a man, likely between the ages of 30 and 45, who had a comprehensive knowledge of the human body and that he was somehow able to take his victims from public places in broad daylight. There didn't seem to be any sexual behaviour in these killings, the unsub killing each victim with a single gunshot to the head and cleanly taking out a different organ from each victim.

The only reason you even had a suspect in the first place was two witnesses stating that they had seen a blue Volvo Sedan that seemed to have driven off in a hurry from the locations the victims were being taken from at a similar time. Thankfully, one of the witness statements had included a partial plate, which Garcia was easily able to track down.

Prentiss and Reid had knocked on the front door earlier in the day, hoping to talk to the unsub with the premiss of him being a witness, but to no avail, the door never opened and with every curtain drawn, they had no visual of inside the home either.

Eventually, the plan had become to wait out the unsub, to follow him and pounce once there was any sign of suspicious behaviour, but it was taking significantly longer than expected.

Since the BAU had landed in Missouri, the unsub hadn't made a single move. While it was fortunate that there had been no more victims, it made it quite hard for you to get closer to finding out who he was. Through his patterns though, you were hoping that tonight would be the time for him to find his next victim.

You had gotten to your spot at around 4pm, Spencer driving and you in the passenger seat, and the blue car was still parked in the driveway. You set yourself up, expecting to be waiting for 4 or 5 hours maximum, but as the clock hit 11pm, alongside the command of staying at your 'stakeout' spot until someone walked out of that front door, you knew you were going to be in for the long haul.

Armed with a box of ritz crackers and beef jerky, you both indulged in the most depressing meal you had in a while.

"One of us should try get some sleep and the other can stay awake and watch, just so we're not both out of our minds tired tomorrow" you told Spencer, wrapping your jacket tightly around yourself, attempting to battle the cold air in the car.

"You can sleep first, I want to read through the files again, see if we've missed anything" he brushed a stray hair out of his face as he reached around to the back seat and grabbed one of the thick folders.

"Alright" you replied, tilting your seat back as far as it could go and wrapping your arms around yourself. "Wake me up in an hour".

"Got it"

"Night Reid" you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest.

"Night".

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep, but you woke yourself up with your own shivering. The car had somehow gotten even colder in the time you were out. You groggily rubbed your eyes, turning around to see Reid engrossed by what he was reading.

"How long was I asleep?" you sat up, still shivering.

Spencer looked over at you, and then down at his watch. "About two hours".

"I told you to wake me up" you hit his shoulder, "you need to sleep too".

"I'm fine, plus you've been complaining about not sleeping well since we got here, you needed it"

You smiled at him, a little giddy over the fact that he was showing how much he cared about you.

You sat up fully now, taking another folder from the back of the car and opening it up. You knew you wouldn't be able to get back to sleep and there was no point in trying.

As time passed, you hadn't even noticed that your teeth had started clattering with the cold.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, putting down the papers in front of him. "You've been shivering for a while".

"Yeah, just really cold" you answered simply, glancing up at the house again to see nothing had changed.

"You can have my jacket" he quickly shrugged it off "I run hot".

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be cold either"

Without answering, he just leant over the centre console, and wrapped his jacket around your shoulders but stopped when his face was right in front of yours.

It felt like an eternity where you both looked into each other's eyes without a single word. Right as he went to sit back in his seat though, you grabbed his arm to stop him. You weren't even sure what your plan was but you just knew you wanted him to stay that close.

Neither of you were unfamiliar with looking at each other like that. with longing looks across the office and always sitting across from each other on the jet, it was quite clear to everyone on the team that you both felt like more that coworkers.

"I do know another way to warm you up" he gave you a bashful smile, looking anywhere but your face.

"And what's that?" you whispered, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

He briefly looked into your eyes, and then down to your lips. You took that as your sign to lean in, gently pressing your lips to his. He almost seemed taken aback, but he quickly kissed you back, opening his mouth and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss was gentle, warming, as his hand slowly trailed from your knee up to your inner thigh. You wouldn't have expected him to be this forward, but before you knew it, his large hand was resting right over your heat, through your jeans.

He broke away from the kiss, both of you panting lightly "Is this okay?" his question was genuine as he waited for your okay before doing anything.

"Yes Spencer, please, please touch me" you hadn't expected yourself to be so desperate but the thought of his slender hands down your pants had you squirming in your seat.

The smirk that planted on his face at your desperation would be stuck in your head forever. He quickly unbuttoned your jeans and helped you tug them down to your mid thigh, quickly followed by your underwear.

The moment he saw your cunt, he practically moaned to himself, making quick moves to touch you. His fingers slowly gathered up the slick from your slit before his finger gently caught on your clit, making you jolt.

"God, you're so wet already" he whispered to himself, lifting his finger up to the light to get a good look at your juice on him. He moved his hand back down again, this time gently circling your clit.

His movements had you falling into him already, long forgetting about the freezing temperature of the car, your head resting on his shoulder as his finger travelled down to your hole.

He slowly slid his finger inside and you gasped quietly, the way you were already clenching around the single digit had Spencer rutting into the console he was leaning over.

Pumping in and out of you, he quickly added a second finger. You couldn't help but moan in his ear, your attempts to keep quiet waning as he began to curl his fingers, hitting your g-spot right on.

"H- holy shit Spence" you whined, as his fingers perfectly moved against your spongey walls. With your verbal reassurance spurring him on to please you more, he began to circle your clit with his thumb, in time with his quickening thrusts of his fingers.

All of his moves seemed thought out and calculated, like he was studying every single one of your reactions. He pressed his lips against yours once again, his tongue licking into your slack mouth in time with the movements of his hands.

It only took a few minutes before you were a mess, gentle whimpers slipping from your lips, your hips desperately jerking against his hand, desperate for your release, your hands gripping onto his forearms for stability.

As soon as he added a third finger, you knew you were done for. You squirmed in his hold as his fingers sped up, the slick sounds of your cunt filling the humid car as the coil in your stomach tightened.

"God- Fuck Spence, please, I'm gonna"

"Go on, cum for me, please" he groaned, his thumb circled faster around your clit as he pressed his own hips harder against the car, desperate for some form of release.

It was as if your body obeyed his words, seeing white as the pressure in your stomach released.

Your hips jerked into his hand as you came down from the high, Spencer's fingers still pumping in and out of you to help you ride out your orgasm.

Once you finally came down, you feverishly kissed Spencer, desperate to taste him again. You whined into his mouth as he pulled his fingers out of you, quickly missing the feeling of being so full.

As you separated again, Spencer placed his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself on his fingers. Once you licked his fingers clean, he pulled his hand back and kissed you again.

"God, you taste so good" he muttered, sloppily kissing you. It was then you noticed his shifting, desperate for stimulation on his cock.

"Let me help you now" you pushed him back into his seat, palming the crotch of his trousers.

He looked up at the door of your potential unsub, ensuring that he was still inside the house before giving you a nod. You desperately unzipped his trousers, pulling them down just far enough for you to pull out his cock.

You quickly pulled his erection out of his boxers, practically drooling at the sight. God.

The tip was red, precum smeared all over his tip, and it was big in every way.

You eagerly wrapped your hand around him, allowing a glob of your saliva to fall onto his tip before you pumped your hand up and down in small movements. You periodically swiped your thumb over his tip, spreading the pearly white liquid around.

Spencer was gripping onto the car door at your movements, his knuckles white as he desperately attempted to stop himself from bucking his hips into your hands.

Then, you decided you desperately needed to taste him. You leaned down, gently taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

Spencer, in that moment, thought he had died and gone to heaven. He couldn't stop the moans from spilling out from his mouth.

Then, you took pushed your head down as far as you could, tickling the back of your throat as the hair at the base of his cock just-about brushed against your nose. Spencer was on the verge of biting through the skin of his lips to stop himself from fucking your face.

You moved your head back up before taking him entirely in your mouth again, but then Spencer tapped your shoulder and began to lift you off of him.

"The door, the door" his words stopped you in your tracks as he rubbed some of the condensation off of the windscreen in front of him. You got off of him, straightening yourself up in your own seat and pulling up your pants as he tucked himself back into his own trousers.

"I'll get you back" you half whispered as he started the car "later".

You could see him blush lightly as he started to follow behind the unsub. Maybe getting stuck in a car with Reid for 10 hours wasn't such a bad thing.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x you smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencerreid #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fluff

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chimielie · 1 month ago

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cw: business major!down HORRIBLE!oliver x f!reader. a couple mentions of sex (obviously. it’s oliver). people who love each other just like a disturbing amount.

oliver doesn’t even know why he decided to go back to school.

he needs to have backup income someday, he reasons, if one of the other football freaks he grew up with decides to shoot him in the kneecap someday and he manages to spend all the money he’s made from being the best fucking player of all time. it has nothing to do with the two-year business degree your school offers, neatly solving the problem that had been created when you up and decided to move countries for graduate school.

the nerve of you, seriously.

he (and everyone else) had had his doubts about whether he’d stick to it, but it turns out university is really easy, or at least it is for him. most of his classes are online and his professors are all a little starstruck (thank god you would only go places with good football, good little girlfriend that you are), so he skates by on minimal effort.

the only exception is accounting. he sucks at accounting, but it’s mostly the professor’s fault because she’s actually evil. he swears she’s gotta be an isagi fan or something because she has it out for him. her class is so shitty he actually has to study for it.

oliver’s pretty sure he’s never studied in his life ever.

you are siding with the devil and insisting that he can’t just drop out right before his final semester, which is totally uncaring and callous by the way, so he’s stuck burning the midnight oil with printouts of financial statements and a headache like 40 kicking drills straight to the skull.

oliver stares at the statement of cash flows until the number start swimming before his eyes. he groans and drops his forehead to the kitchen table. you’re in bed already and he’s been stuck out here for hours. what the hell happened to him? he used to be a fuckboy and now he’s just letting you rest peacefully while he tortures himself calculating diluted earnings per share?

he won’t stand for this. he’s gonna get up and abandon his studying and when he inevitably fails his final, he’ll eat you out until you forget your name before he confesses so you don’t have the will to scold him for not being able to commit.

he likes this plan. he should start practicing that last part now, actually. it’s been a whole six hours and he’s starting to get the shakes—you’d tell him it was the four cups of coffee, but you’re not even a doctor yet.

as his chair scrapes the floor while he moves to get up, his phone screen lights up white-blue. a message from you reads you still up? we need to talk.

he knocks the chair over as he sprints to the bedroom, slamming open the door.

“what?”

“oh, hey, baby,” you say, your gorgeous face illuminated by your phone. your eyes are half-closed, puffy with sleep, but you’re smiling the same as you always do when you see him. his heart drops to his stomach. how long has he been mistaking this mask for fondness? how long has he been fooling himself for your love?

“what do you mean you want to talk?” he says, hovering awkwardly next to the bed. he wants to grab you and stop you from whatever you’re about to say. he wants to apologize but he knows that starting in when he doesn’t even know what he did is wrong.

a little anger creeps in. he doesn’t even know what he did!

whatever it is, you’re probably right. he folds his arms tightly over his chest against the thought.

“i just wanted to wish you good luck on your exam,” you say, putting down your phone and sitting up on your knees, stretching up to put your hands on his shoulders and kiss his lips lightly. “i heard you giving up out there,” your grin is demonic. “thought i’d shock you awake.”

oliver stands there, dumbfounded. you take the opportunity to slide your hands to the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while you wait for him to process.

“you are evil,” he accuses. “and i love you very much and i remember now why i let you trick me into settling down and stalking you internationally.”

“love you too, baby,” you hum against his lips. he has enough presence of mind to reciprocate now, putting his big hands on you, sliding one up your shirt, finding solace the longer he kisses you.

“have they given you your degree in psychology yet?” he asks, smirking a little at your dazed expression. yeah, he can totally still knock you off your feet. he adjusts the plan in his head a little: he’ll ace the exam and then you’ll reward him by letting him eat you out until you forget your name. he congratulates himself on this incredible idea silently. “you could seriously write a thesis on manipulating and torturing me.”

“yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, sinking back into the bed. “go kick some ass on your final.”

he salutes you on his way out, flipping on the lights so you’ll have to get out from under the covers if you want to sleep. a guy’s gotta have a little revenge, he thinks.

“oli!” you call after him. he pauses, turns around. you collide with his chest, sliding on the hardwood floor in fuzzy socks. “you know i’ll be proud of you no matter how you do. it’s, like, insane that you’re even trying.”

his heart melts. he rocks you back and forth slightly, squeezing you into his chest.

“i know,” oliver grins. “don’t be stupid.”

#do i need to tag reader being a grad student of some sort #shorts!#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader fluff #oliver aiku x reader #aiku oliver x reader #oliver aiku x reader fluff #sorry for posting business major exam fanfiction do you still love me #don’t save him he is exactly where he wants to be

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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The Younger Kind Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley doesn't know how he will be able to function if Meredith wins custody. As Noah cries in the courtroom, he whishes he would have done more to ensure this never happened. But when he watches you, terrified but supporting him anyway, he knows what he really needed this whole time was you.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

The courtroom was freezing cold. Your blazer was scratchy against your arms, and Noah was already crying. As soon as Bradley had to hand his son over to the court appointed counselor, Noah's tears started flowing. And now you were seated in the front row, right behind Bradley, but you couldn't slide down the bench to get to Noah. You couldn't even look at the back of Bradley's head for too long without feeling like it was suspicious.

So you sat there and listened to Noah softly ask for his dad over and over again while Judge Greene listed everyone who was present today. When your name was called, Meredith and her lawyer both turned back to look at you with identical sneers.

Stay strong. Stay strong. You kept telling yourself you would handle this, but you didn't even have to do anything yet, and you already felt ready to fold. But the soft sobbing from Noah and the fact that Meredith hadn't looked at her son once kept you motivated.

Both lawyers gave statements which were largely identical, each one claiming their client would be the better option to raise Noah. But you noticed that while Bradley was fighting for zero visitation rights for Meredith, she was doing the opposite. She seemed willing to have Bradley visit with Noah if she won today. And that made you nervous, because even to your untrained ears, it sounded like she was more flexible than him. She also made it clear she was going to fight for financial support.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, please stand and give your statement," Judge Greene commanded. You had listened last night at Bradley's kitchen table while he read over his personal statement with Tracy, but hearing his deep, raspy voice shake now had you squeezing your hands to keep calm.

"My son turned four on April twelfth. For every single one of his birthdays, I have been the only parent involved in his life. If something needs to be done for him, I do it. I pay for everything. I care for him in every way. He only knows me," Bradley said, taking a deep breath. "His mother abandoned us. Both of us. And I know he's sitting right behind me and listening to everything I'm saying. And I can hear him crying, which is making it really hard to stand here right now. But I also know he has no idea who his biological mom is. I do not think it would be in his best interest to remove him from his home and the parent who loves him."

When Meredith stood to give her statement, you could tell she felt defensive. It was rolling off of her in waves. Her voice was harsh as she tried to make claims that you just couldn't believe. "Bradley has kept my son from me. For years I've tried reaching out to him, and I'm lucky to even get a response. So the idea that I could have abandoned them is preposterous. He never asked me for money, so I never gave it. Had he asked, I would have been more than happy to help provide. But along with that, changes in my lifestyle have meant that I'm ready to take full control of my son's custody. As his mother. And I'm more than willing to work with a court appointed counselor to ensure that visitation rights would be granted. I'm being more than fair. A mother is better equipped to care for her child than a father."

You were shivering in the cold room now, and while Bradley's posture had only incrementally changed, you could tell he was angry. But Tracy looked completely relaxed. How could that be? Meredith was a fucking liar! And Noah was whining for his dad! And nothing that was going on in this room was fair or just.

The lawyers were going back and forth like a verbal wrestling match now. It was impressive. Mesmerizing. When one of them seemed to have the upper hand, the other made a swift comeback. The only problem was, Meredith was being made to sound like a saint. You couldn't understand why Tracy wasn't going for the kill right now. The sooner this was over, the sooner you and Bradley could take Noah back to his house and let things go back to normal. The three of you eating dinner together would help Noah forget about his tears. You wanted your boys to pretend today never happened.

You watched Meredith's profile as she sat there, completely aloof when Judge Greene called the counselor and Noah up toward the bench. Noah pulled his hand away and ran right for Bradley, tears in his eyes again.

"It's okay, Bub," he soothed, dropping down from his chair to kneel in front of his son. "It's okay to go with them. It won't even take long."

"I want to go home," Noah hiccupped, looking between you and Bradley, knowing the comfort that one or both of you usually provided him. But none of that came right now. Bradley picked him up and handed him over with a soft kiss on the cheek. Noah wailed as he was carried off to the judge's chambers for some one on one questions with Judge Greene.

And Meredith sat there like she hadn't a care in the world while Bradley cradled his head in his hands on the table in front of him. Tracy tried to get him to drink some water from her bag, but he wouldn't. You reminded yourself not to look at him too much, and that's when Meredith caught your eye again. She was fighting to try to keep the smirk from her face as she tried to appear serious. You knew what she was probably going to have her lawyer ask you. You knew it was going to be ridiculous. But you didn't like the way she was looking at you like you were the only thing between her and what she wanted.

When Judge Greene returned empty handed, Bradley scrambled to his feet. "Where's Noah?" he asked, and Tracy was immediately trying to get him to sit down.

"In my chambers, coloring. He's just fine. Now, I'd like to call up some character witnesses."

You waited while three separate people spoke about Meredith like she was sunshine incarnate instead of a woman who left her son behind like he was nothing to her. Then your name was called. You made your way up to the seat near the front, and Meredith's lawyer wasted no time in trying to break you.

"You're a character witness for Bradley Bradshaw?"

"Yes," you replied, mortified by the way your voice shook. "I am."

"And how do you know him?"

You swallowed hard. "I babysit Noah on occasion." It was the truth, but it felt like a lie. Saying you were just Noah's occasional babysitter was a wholly inadequate representation of what the two of them meant to you. Of how much you loved them. You had to swallow against the sick feeling in your throat.

"Is that all you do when you're watching Noah? Or do you stay? Earn some money by doing things for Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

Cold sweat broke out along your neck and chest, and your eyes shifted to Bradley without warning. He looked irate and red in the face, and you were already embarrassed after less than a minute of questioning.

"I object!" Tracy called out, waving her hand in the air. "That's hearsay. And irrelevant."

"Sustained," Judge Greene said calmly, as if there was no reason for you to feel like you were going to vomit right now. "Any further questions?"

But of course Meredith's lawyer had more questions for you. And they were all designed to make you look bad.

"How did you pay for nursing school? Did Lieutenant Bradshaw offer to give you an outlandish salary to spend time with him? Do you actually have any experience watching a child that age? How are you qualified to spend time with him? What sorts of questionable things did you find in that house?"

You tried to answer each question with calm composure, but soon you felt like you couldn't breathe. Your eyes were burning. You turned to the judge, but she gave you a bland look. You were on your own. So you took a deep breath, determined to finish this even if your voice was shaking again.

"As a nursing student, you must have access to prescription drugs. Do you use them?"

"No!" you said, having had just about enough of this. Bradley was rubbing his hand along his face, barely keeping it together. Tracy was looking at you, eyes pleading with you to hold it together. "I do not steal or use prescription drugs. I'm studying pediatric nursing. I'm more than qualified to take care of Noah."

"Would you be willing to be drug tested?" the other lawyer asked.

"Absolutely. You want blood? Urine? Hair? Depending on the lab, you could have results by the end of the day." Your jaw was clenched tight.

"One last question," he said with a smile. "Is it true that you seduced Lieutenant Bradshaw? And that you're pregnant with his child?"

The audible gasp that came from you mirrored Tracy's. Bradley was now gripping the edge of the table in front of him. You were shaking as you said, "I'll take a pregnancy test, too."

You would do it if they made you. But it didn't seem fair. Your relationship with Bradley didn't have anything to do with how he cared for Noah. It didn't have anything to do with how qualified you were to babysit. Tears filled your eyes, but you had promised Tracy you wouldn't cry. You watched through blurry vision as she jumped to her feet and approached your seat.

"He's badgering the witness with irrelevant questions!" she said, and Judge Greene told the other lawyer to sit down.

Tracy must have been able to tell you were shaken up, because she asked, "Can we take a short recess?"

"No," Judge Green replied with a sharp shake of her head. "Let's carry on with your questioning."

Tracy took her time walking back to the table and gathering her notes, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Your hands were still shaking when Tracy asked you, "Did Lieutenant Bradshaw ever make you feel uncomfortable?"

"No. Never."

"Did he ever criticize the way you cared for his son?"

"No," you said, your voice sounding stronger now.

Tracy shuffled her papers and asked, "Does Lieutenant Bradshaw seem to be a loving and caring parent to Noah?"

"Yes," you replied with conviction.

"Now, can you tell me a little bit about how you injured your arm in the parking lot at Meyer Park?"

You watched the color drain from Meredith's face as you recounted the way she had scared you, forcing you to run to safety with Noah.

"And was that the only time you saw her prior to this morning?" Tracy asked.

"I saw her yesterday," you replied. "At the grocery store. I thought she was following me."

"Objection!" shouted the other lawyer.

"Sustained," responded Judge Greene. Your head was swimming with what you were supposed to say and what you were supposed to stay away from. You couldn't remember. And you could barely focus on Tracy. But she wanted you to get to the point. You could tell.

So you blurted out, "Meredith asked me if I was sleeping with Bradley to get to his money. She mentioned a life insurance payout and his expensive car."

"It's actually a Bronco," Bradley muttered, raking his fingers through his hair as Meredith slammed her hand down on the notebook in front of her and started whispering to her lawyer.

Tracy asked another question quickly while everyone else was distracted. "And what did you do when you left the grocery store?"

She was giving you an encouraging look, so you said. "I looked some things up online. About how her business filed for bankruptcy. And her home went into foreclosure. And she said in an interview after Noah was born that she doesn't have any kids."

"Objection!" the other lawyer shouted again.

"Overruled," said Judge Greene, and Tracy looked like just won the lottery. "Please continue," she said, brow creased in concern now.

You felt like an idiot as you told Tracy that you used Google to search for information about Meredith, but you just kept going.

"I found articles that suggest that her business went into bankruptcy because of mismanaged funds. And insider trading with her business partner. They were married, but it appears that he left her."

Every single time the other lawyer tried to object to what you were saying, the judge overruled it. And then Tracy urged you to continue. But you were shaking from a combination of anxiety and fear.

"It sounds like she has no money," you said, voice quivering again as you met Bradley's eyes. You'd never seen him look so distraught or so hopeful before. He was silently cheering you on, like he knew how strong you could be. So you kept going.

---------------------------

Bradley was practically ready to crawl out of his own skin. He couldn't stand the way Meredith's lawyer kept yelling at you. He hated that he had to sit here in this horribly uncomfortable seat and just listen as your character got ripped to shreds. He wanted to take you and Noah home, order a pizza and watch a movie. You looked like you wanted to cry, but you didn't. And Bradley was so proud of how strong you were.

When Tracy started asking you questions, you sat up a little taller. You sounded a little bolder. And then Meredith was the one in a state of panic.

"It sounds like she has no money," you said, as you met Bradley's eyes. "That doesn't sound like the right reason to fight for custody of a child."

The room went silent for a second after that. And then Meredith stood up and said, "I've lost everything, okay? Everything! But Noah is my blood, and I have a right to him, too!"

Then chaos broke out. When Bradley stood and said, "Why do you want him now that you're broke, huh?" he felt Tracy's hands on his arm, pulling him back to his chair.

"Let her sink her own ship," she whispered, keeping a firm hand on his forearm. You were still sitting up in the front, perched on the edge of the seat like you wanted to run. He wanted to scoop you up like he always did, for your own comfort, but for his as well.

He listened to Meredith rant and try to blame him for everything as her lawyer begged her to sit. He listened to her call you a slut and claim once again that you were pregnant. She said she knows you bought pregnancy tests at the grocery store. So what if you were pregnant? It didn't have anything to do with Noah or Bradley's ability to take care of him. It didn't have anything to do with that fact that Bradley would never abandon a child like she had.

He watched Judge Greene remain completely calm as Meredith's lawyer finally got her to sit down. Then she stood and said, "Please bring me all written evidence. I'll have my decision shortly." Both lawyers handed her folders before she disappeared into her chambers.

"Where's Noah?" Bradley asked Tracy immediately, accepting a bottle of water from her.

"He's with the counselor. He's fine. And you did great."

"I barely did anything!" he growled, worried he hadn't done enough today. He'd done nothing compared to you. As you stood and made your way to the rows of benches behind him, you never met his eyes. He loved you. All he ever wanted to do was protect you from all of this. You shouldn't be here right now. If he lost Noah today, he didn't know how he was going to continue to exist. And you should have had no part in this nightmare.

He'd forced this on you in a way. Every step he took since he met you led you here. Bradley had tried so hard to cut you out, end things with you, but he was so fucking weak. He should have been more focused on Noah. But he had been. He'd been trying to find someone to date who would make him and Noah complete, or at least better. And despite his initial reservations, that was you.

When he turned to face you, your eyes snapped up to meet his. He'd never be able to thank you enough for everything you'd done for both of them. But he wanted to have the chance. He wanted you to know what you meant to him and to Noah.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked Tracy, wiping his sweaty palms on his suit pants. He could hear Meredith talking, but he kept himself focused on his lawyer.

"Hard to say," she told him calmly. "Just keep breathing. Focus on your breathing."

So he did, and when he started to feel sick again, Tracy talked to him. And then Judge Greene was coming back out, and Bradley could see Noah through the door before it closed. Dread rose inside him as the judge had everyone in the room stand. He felt like his limbs weighed a million pounds as he faced the front of the room.

Every second of silence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He almost had to reach for Tracy when Judge Greene said, "In light of today's testimonies and evidence plus the collection of evidence I reviewed leading up to the trial, I have reached a decision regarding the custody of Noah Bradshaw."

Bradley had to close his eyes. All of his senses were overwhelmed, and he was afraid he was going to breakdown.

"The following decision is a reflection of what is in the best interest of the child. Full custody is to be awarded to Bradley Bradshaw. There will be no visitation privileges. There will be no child support owed. The child's biological father is to be his sole guardian."

Bradley collapsed back down onto the chair as he cried. "Oh my god," he groaned, cradling his face in his hands. He was gasping for air as he felt Tracy's hand on his shoulder. He could see Meredith storm out of the room. He could hear you laughing and crying at the same time behind him as the counselor walked back out of the judge's chambers with Noah.

And then he was out of his chair again, rushing toward his son and scooping him up. "I colored you a monkey," Noah told him as Bradley smothered his whole face in kisses.

"I love it," Bradley promised him without even looking at the coloring sheet. "It's perfect, and I love it so much." He buried his face against Noah's neck and inhaled.

"And I colored a unicorn for Princess."

"Yeah?" Bradley asked, holding him tight. "She's gonna love it, too."

"I know," Noah replied confidently. "I told them about how she brings me coloring books and cooks food like spaghetti. And how she plays blocks and reads and can sing good."

"You told them about Princess?" Bradley asked, turning to the back of the room. You were waiting patiently for them, a huge smile on your face as you bounced a little bit on your feet.

"Yep. I told them that she loves me and that you do too. Can we go home yet?"

As much as Bradley wanted to keep you separate from all of this, he needed you the whole time. And so did Noah. He rushed toward you and took you by the hand. "Now we can go home."

------------------------

You unlocked the front door with your key, and Bradley kissed you again. A huge smile was still plastered all over your face as you watched how much he loved his son. He ended up on his back on the living room floor while Noah sat on top of him and laughed. Bradley's suit was a wrinkly mess now as you knelt down next to them.

"You want spaghetti for dinner, Noah?" Your appetite was back, and you were ravenous. There was no doubt in your mind that Bradley could do with a good meal as well.

"Yeah! And ants on logs!"

You kissed his chubby cheek and said, "Let me check on the raisin situation." Then you leaned down to kiss Bradley's lips, and he pulled you back for a second and a third.

He murmured, "I love you," before briefly swiping your tongue with his. You ran your fingers back through his hair and let your forehead rest on his.

"I love both of you." Then you kissed his nose and went to the kitchen, letting them have a little more time alone as they laughed on the floor.

As you set a pot on the stove to boil some water, your eyes filled with tears. It felt like a combination of stress and relief and happiness. You sank to the floor with your back to the cabinet and cried. When you left the courthouse with Bradley, Meredith was nowhere to be found. Bradley had hugged Tracy with tears in his eyes, and she promised to be in touch with him soon to take some final actions. And then she told you that you had done a great job of staying calm and presenting evidence against Meredith while acting as a character witness. "I wish everyone was as professional as you."

Her words echoed in your head as you remembered that you didn't live here with Bradley and Noah. Not really. You were still going to need to finish writing your final papers for school and start looking for a job to support yourself. Because contrary to what Meredith thought, you hadn't been fucking Bradley to get him to pay your tuition. You had a mountain of loans to pay off now. And really, it would be better if you left after dinner tonight and went home. You'd have to get used to a routine where Bradley was your boyfriend with his own space.

Noah came running in a minute later as you wiped your eyes. "I'm hungry," he informed you, sitting down on your lap. Bradley walked in without his suit coat on. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. His tie was loose, and his top few buttons were undone.

"How about I make dinner and you just supervise?" he asked, pulling you to your feet. "You had a long day, too."

So you nodded at him, and he picked you up and set you on the counter. And then he set Noah on your lap and started the playlist you made. You showed him how to brown the meat and add the sauce. You showed him how to keep the spaghetti noodles from sticking together.

And as he was plating the food, he paused and looked at you. "I forgot. I picked something up at the store the other day for us to celebrate with. Wait here." He dashed out of the room, and you slipped down off of the counter with Noah in your arms. You finished getting the spaghetti onto plates and pulled out the carrots to make him some ants, and then Bradley was back in the kitchen with the biggest bag of Skittles you had ever seen.

Laughter bubbled out of you along with another sob. "I'm happy, but I can't stop crying."

He tossed the Skittles aside and grabbed you by the hips. "That's because you really care about us. You always have. And you saved us today."

The prickle of his mustache against your skin had you parting your lips for him. He held you close, his thumbs stroking you through your pants as you worked your fingers through his hair. "I love you," he rasped, releasing your lips in favor of whispering the sexiest, loveliest things in your ear while Noah made a huge mess of spaghetti at the table.

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Ahhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh! Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 26

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

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obsidian-pages777 · 2 months ago

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PAC: How will the battle end?[You/Your gang v Toxic Opps series]

Tope Left to Right= Pile 1-> Pile 2, Bottom Left to Right- Pile 3->Pile 4

Introduction

Hope this reaches those who have been having a desire for the blood of the enemy, the one that is in the world that comes against you the moment you step out. Inspired by my favorite movie series of All time John Wick.

🗡 Reading 1: "Silent Exit, Shattered Stability" Timeline: Within 2 weeks to 1 year

You disappear from their life like smoke—no warnings, no long goodbye, no explanation. They underestimated your silence. By cutting off all contact, you removed their energetic anchor. Without you to monitor, provoke, or manipulate, they spiral. Their obsession grows as your absence becomes louder than any words you ever spoke. At first, they fake it. But over time, their mask slips. They lose their grip—emotionally, mentally, even financially. It's not just about you leaving; it’s that you took with you the attention, energy, and reflection they thrived on. Their support systems begin to crumble. The people they used to triangulate start to walk away too. The image they maintained begins to crack. Within months, they're a hollow version of themselves, while you bloom—untouched, unbothered, and glowing in a peace they’ll never taste again.

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🔥 Reading 2: "Power Moves in the Shadows" Timeline: Within 5 weeks to 2 years

This win is slow-cooked and deliciously strategic. You don’t rush it. You don’t need to. You play chess while they play checkers. With quiet precision, you leverage your connections—friends in higher places, allies who owe you favors, or people who simply respect your character. You don't need to attack them directly. You whisper the truth to the right ears, and doors that were open for them start to close. Opportunities vanish. Their name gets replaced on guest lists. Projects get restructured without them. They try to fight it, but it’s not a loud war—it’s a thousand silent no’s and missed calls. A gatekeeping they can't prove. You are seen as the phoenix; they, the liability. The petty satisfaction? Watching them realize they opened the door to their downfall. And that you didn’t lift a weapon—just a single finger pointed in the right direction.

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⚖️ Reading 3: "The Law of the Land, and the Land of the Law" Timeline: Within 7 weeks to 3 years and 1 month

You collect evidence like moonlight—quietly, thoroughly. You have receipts. Timelines. Screenshots. Statements. You make your move not out of spite but out of necessity. You report them. Maybe to HR. Maybe to legal authorities. Maybe to a higher force like a licensing board or community body. At first, they scramble. Deny. Lash out. But the weight of truth is too heavy. The case builds slowly. You may even forget it’s ongoing. But they don’t. Every step forward they try to take is interrupted by consequences: court summons, workplace investigations, public exposure. Their energy drains in legal fees, stress, and reputational damage. Eventually, they are held accountable—fully. You don’t celebrate publicly. But you sleep better knowing justice was served—not by rage, but by righteous precision.

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🌍 Reading 4: "Universal Justice & Cosmic Reversal" Timeline: Continuously over 5 years

This is a divine orchestration. The kind of karma that doesn’t come as thunder—but as a long rain. You do nothing. Others start to see the truth for themselves. Allies emerge—not just for you, but others who were wronged by your opps. You become untouchable, while they become increasingly exposed. One by one, their masks fall—publicly. People stop defending them. The people they betrayed turn on them. Friendships dissolve. Relationships break. Their lies become too obvious to ignore. And the world? It responds faster than expected. New rules, new systems, new energies align against them. They keep trying to play the same dirty game in a reality that no longer supports it. And you? You ascend. Higher than they ever imagined. Without revenge. Without effort. Without having to look back. This is divine justice in its most poetic form—and it will be undeniable.

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#tarot reading #pick a photo #pick a card #pick a pile #karma #karmic retribution #daily tarot #psychic readings #intuitive readings

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liondrakes · 2 months ago

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Experiencing Transspecies Identity Through Philosophy

by Sivaan of Candlekeep

No blurb. This is a short, self-explanatory one.

Estimated reading time: around five to six minutes

This morning, I decided to chat a bit about being transspecies and why my experience is mostly approached from an ontological angle. Although I’m interested in options that’ll physically align with my identity, I’m not looking to immediately hit these goals. I’ll consider those pursuits when I have the time and money for them, but I’m not in an environment where I can.

Furthermore, that’s not why I label myself as transspecies. When I first considered it, I started out by reading “Transspecies: Two Flags & An FAQ” at the Sundragon’s Roost.

Initially, I was skeptical over whether or not I’d fit the label. It was the first option I considered outside of the alterhuman community. Although plenty of alterhumans use the label (such as myself), I also knew the term took root decades prior to and outside of alterhumanity as we know it today. I wanted to get a basic understanding of the label and its community first.

While reading, this particular passage caught my interest:

“People who choose this label also often have political reasons for doing so– making a statement of refusal of the social construct of humanity, and deliberately drawing comparisons with the transgender experience in order to make people think about how we construct these categories.”

This follows after information regarding physical and/or social transition within the transspecies community. This perspective wouldn’t be the only one I’d find. It came up again in other transspecies readings such as Aster’s “Why I Call Myself Transspecies”:

“What I'm trying to get across is that the status of "human" is socially constructed. It's been granted and taken away based on things like race, ethnicity, disability, orientation, gender, and far more throughout history into the modern day. "Human" and what that means has been looked at in myriad ways by different peoples since homo sapiens could first question our own being. "Human" is not the same as Homo sapiens. And I feel neither.”

“Part of "transspecies" for me is criticizing the mixed messages I'm sent by society as a queer, Mad, crippled, plural, nonbinary alterhuman that I must be human -- but I'm not human and don't deserve to be treated like one. It's saying "fine, I'm not human, and I refuse to be." With the "dehumanization" I've faced, I'm choosing to embrace it. To say "no" to every effort to make me conform to the idea of "human" that is constantly shoved down our throats. To some degree, it's Voidpunk. But that's a very recent stance I've taken on it, and it's far deeper and older than that for me, too.”

“So, "transspecies" comes from two places for me: both a place of "human" as a social/political construct that I reject entirely, as well as an innate and literal part of myself. One rooted in lifelong dysphoria and a deep desire to change my body to resemble inhuman beings that's tied firm to my sense of gender and body.”

For the rest of the essay, Aster goes into detail about faer experiences with dysphoria (species- and gender-wise), how faer gender identity and species identity intertwine, the steps fae wants to take or already has taken to transition, and faer personal thoughts on the pursuit and struggle of attaining body modifications.

This includes seeing a therapist who supports faer identity, gaining tattoos to ease paw dysphoria, and estimating the financial requirements for faer transition ($4,800 upwards for ear-pointing surgery, digileg prosthetics, and other attributes). Although I’m not sure how old this essay is, I still resonate with it to this day.

Similar to Aster, my relationships with species and gender overlap. Each journey began with the realization that I didn’t need to confine myself to the standards of my surroundings. The society in which I live in is culturally Christian, increasingly cisheteronormative, and anthropocentric to its core. Time and time again, it’s been shown that this society doesn’t want any space for individuals like me and my communities. However, not once has that stopped us from embracing our personal autonomy.

Of course, I have my own reasons for using transspecies as a label:

1. My journey with my species identity parallels my gender identity.

Neither were known from the beginning, as much as I try to find signs in my childhood. Regardless, both resulted in my detachment from my society’s ontological “norms”.

2. Much like gender, I believe not only humanity but species as a whole is a construct.

I hold the right to express and interpret my species how I see fit. If I say I am a shapeshifter, then I am a shapeshifter. That should be acknowledged.

3. I resonate with the following definition: “crossing the cultural boundaries of species”. In my case, I am crossing the cultural boundaries of both species and reality.

I am transfictional. I am a fictional character and a member of several fictional species while existing in this world. Typically, your average person won’t believe my existence. After all, fiction is known for containing imaginary events, people, and worlds within its medium. Therefore, fiction isn’t regarded as a part of our reality.

What we define as “reality” can be split into two categories: shared reality and personal reality. The former is something we all exist within and engage in, but what we share doesn’t determine the finer details of one’s personal reality. At the same time, no one is obligated to adopt another’s personal reality but they’re still obligated to respect and coexist with it as long as it isn’t harmful.

Let’s use spiritual belief as an outside example. I am an agnostic animist. I don’t follow a religion, but I do believe that all things contain a spirit of sorts— that includes plants, theriform animals, elements of nature, and inanimate objects. I don’t expect others to adopt my beliefs in order to respect me.

Conversely, do I believe this world was made by a single, all-powerful God? I used to. It’s not my cup of tea anymore. Do I believe in pantheons? I think they make more sense than a single god controlling everything, but nope, still not my cup of tea. My reasoning? I believe we have no set way of proving nor disproving the creation of this world through divinity.

That said, I do believe this world has a supernatural quality to it. In other words, I believe in spirits. Although our beliefs don’t align, I’m not clashing with a devout follower or an atheist. That’s a part of their personal reality. It’s not a part of mine, but I respect it at a distance. No one’s required to add the existence of fictional worlds to their list of beliefs around me. But, basic respect is required if we’re going to interact.

Being a part of this world and in this body doesn’t define me as an individual. I involve myself in the social and political climate of my surroundings, because it will ultimately affect my experiences here. That said, I don’t need to adopt every concept of being as my own in the process— that includes how I’m perceived in this society and the world at large.

4. I challenge the notion that personhood is exclusive to human beings.

Gender and sexuality, for example, are steadily deconstructed in our societies, not only on the basis of personal experience but how these concepts are perceived in our cultures and their social mores. If we’re capable of deconstructing these concepts on such a level, then the same case should be made with the concepts of species and personhood.

Consider those who entirely reject humanity. Now, consider those who experience humanity and nonhumanity as a spectrum, or are already nonhuman and developing their own connection to humanity. What of those who created their species or have no species of their own? Where do those of us belonging to multiple species, with fluctuating species, or experiencing all species at once fall? Personhood is an open concept. Anyone and anything can exist as a person in our societies.

Personhood shouldn’t have to involve human identity unless an individual feels that it is applicable to themselves. Anthropocentrism has governed the concept of being for as long as Earth’s been spinning. By being transspecies, and transfictional no less, my existence contradicts the notion that only humans of this planet and reality can be people.

As mentioned in Aster’s essay, this same demographic has continuously stripped personhood from their own kind on the basis of race, ethnicity, disability, gender and sexuality, and many more concepts. What grounds does humankind have in claiming that only they can be people? Some of humankind’s worst actors don’t recognize more than half of the planet’s population as people because they don’t fit their image of supremacy. This is also touched on in Akhila’s argumentative essay, “On the appropriation of trans narratives by therianthropes”, but under the context of humanity:

“We should also keep in mind that in the past the humanity of some people was denied and some groups were considered closer to nonhuman animals than humans. What constitutes “humanity” has been subject of centuries of philosophical debates, and the boundaries defining “human” has always been rather blurry and shifting depending not only on scientific progress but also on cultural and historical contexts.”

And that’s only covering humanity as a concept, given that it’s treated as synonymous with all things “just” and “civilized”. Never mind the fact that human (species) and person (concept) are also treated as synonymous. Yet, if a human being is denied personhood for the constructs they fall into, where does that leave us?

What makes someone a ‘person’? When personhood can be revoked and redefined so easily by a ruling class, that begs the question of whether or not personhood is truly based in humanity. If humanity is no longer the defining factor, then what is?

Humans can’t argue on the basis of general intelligence, that’s for certain. I’ve discussed in a separate post that plenty of non-sapient animals, such as dolphins and octopi, are incredibly intelligent on their own. As are humankind’s closest living relatives, chimpanzees and other primates. If we were to use intelligence as a metric, not specifically sapience, then that would open up thousands of doors. Anthropocentric thought often ignores the fact that all animals are intelligent, with or without sapience.

Topics such as these are why I consider my transspecies experience to be largely philosophical. We should continue to push the boundaries of species, especially regarding who our societies choose to recognize as people and who they don’t.

#transspecies #transspecies community #alterhuman #alterhumanity #𓃭; the liondrake’s lore

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