#Putting one's voice out there is a weirdly vulnerable thing...

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #18 死

† procurement †

"Waking up in his bed should feel like victory, but all you can think about are those pill bottles on his nightstand."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,5k

content: morning vulnerability and insomnia revelations, elevator sexual tension that goes nowhere, council meeting drama with heated arguments, mission prep with jessi's weapons expertise, undercover outfits that make jeon stare, AD's suspicious surveillance knowledge, and the calm before infiltrating mdf territory

☠ author's note ☠

As a European, I have absolutely no clue about guns so let's hope my research was decent and their weapons actually make sense ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) If any gun enthusiasts are reading this and I've somehow made a sniper rifle that shoots rainbows, just... pretend it's for the plot.

ANYWAY THE BIG DAY IS FINALLY HERE!!! Next chapter is THE MISSION and are we excited??? Because I AMMMMM!!! I've been building up to this for literal months and my chaotic little writer brain is VIBRATING with anticipation!

Jeon + motorbike = HOT AS HELL 🥵 Like sir, you're already dangerous enough, did you really need to add vehicular competence to your list of attractive qualities? RUDE.

Also Jessi is so mother mommy mama I love her! I mean, I say that about every single one of my characters, don't I? But what can I do—they're all so complex in my opinion! I have to really put myself in their position in every single scene and think genuinely about how they would react. Because one thing is how I WANT them to react, and another is how they would REALISTICALLY react, you know? Keeping those two aligned is harder than it looks, trust me!

Anyway ramble ramble ramble shut up Kiki we don't care—I KNOW BUT I'M THE AUTHOR so you're gonna read my rambling because I said so! I don't write 8k words per chapter to have my feelings dismissed! Y'all gonna put up with me whether you like it or not (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

Thanks for reading as always, love y'all! Now buckle up because things are about to get SPICY!

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎.

The obnoxious blaring of Jeon's alarm tears through the quiet morning.

It's 6 AM—that weird time when everything feels kind of hazy and unreal, like the world hasn't quite decided if it's night or day yet.

His phone keeps buzzing against the nightstand, screen lighting up like a strobe light.

You're barely awake, caught in that fuzzy space between sleep and consciousness. Jeon's sprawled half on top of you, which should probably be uncomfortable but... isn't. His arm's thrown over your waist in this weirdly soft way that doesn't match his usual don't-touch-me vibe. You can feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warm on your neck.

For a second, you think about waking him up. But he looks so p̶e̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ different when he's sleeping—none of that cold, distant Chief of Tactical stuff.

Just a guy who really needs some rest.

"Jeon," you try anyway, voice coming out all scratchy from sleep. "Your alarm."

He makes this grunt that might be words but definitely isn't, face pressed against your skin. Instead of getting up, he actually pulls you closer, burying his face in the pillow like if he ignores the alarm hard enough, it'll give up and go away.

"Jeon, come on. Get it." You nudge him with your elbow because that fucking alarm is driving you insane. It just keeps going and going, like some kind of electronic torture device.

He lets out this long-suffering groan that perfectly captures the eternal struggle between wanting to sleep and having actual responsibilities.

His hand flops around looking for his phone, movements all clumsy in that way people only get when they're not really awake yet. When he finally finds it, he misses the screen completely on his first try.

"Fuck off," he mumbles—definitely talking to the phone, not you. The woodsy scent of his skin mixed with mint from his breath fills your lungs.

After what feels like forever (but is probably like, ten seconds), blessed silence falls over the room.

Jeon just tosses his phone somewhere (hopefully not off the bed) and immediately curls back around you like some kind of clingy octopus. His body's radiating heat like a furnace, and he's definitely not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

His aura wraps around you like summer rain, all soft and warm, making your head spin in the best way.

(You're starting to think maybe he's not a morning person.)

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, voice all rough and sleepy like some kid who doesn't want to go to school.

You can't help but smirk.

Who would've thought the terrifying Chief of Tactical was such a baby in the morning?

"Five more minutes, and you'll be the one explaining to the Council why you're late." You poke his side. "Good luck with that."

"What council?" He sounds like he's halfway to dreamland already.

"Council of 9, dumbass. You know, that super important reunion about tonight's mission?"

His only response is this little grunt before his breathing starts evening out again.

Oh no. Not happening.

You kick him under the sheets—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying. He flinches and makes this annoyed clicking sound with his tongue.

Finally, with this dramatic sigh that you can feel rumble through his chest, he gives in. His body peels away from yours like it's physically painful for him to move.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, surrendering to reality.

When he sits up, cold air rushes in where his body heat used to be. You both kind of... linger there on the edge of his bed.

You watch him rub his face, trying to wake up properly. It's kind of fascinating, seeing him switch from s̶o̶f̶t̶ sleepy Jungkook back to Jeon, the cold and distant Chief of Tactical.

Another yawn catches you as you sit up, letting the sheets pool around your waist. You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, when something on Jeon's bedside table catches your attention.

Oh.

There's a whole fucking pharmacy there.

Your eyes scan over the labels—hypnotics, sedatives, tranquilizers, sleeping pills. The kind of cocktail someone needs when sleep doesn't come naturally anymore.

It hits different now, remembering all those times you've seen him in the cafeteria at ass o'clock in the morning. Always with that black coffee, those dark circles under his eyes that you thought were just part of his whole intimidating Chief of Tactical thing.

(Turns out even the great Jeon Jungkook has trouble sleeping.)

You can't help but wonder what keeps him up at night. What kind of memories play on repeat in his head when everything goes quiet.

Sure, being a gang leader comes with its own baggage—the violence, the paranoia, always having to watch your back.

But something tells you there's more to it. Things that left marks deeper than the little scar on his cheek. The kind of stuff that makes someone stock up on enough sedatives to knock out a horse.

Your eyes fix on this one bottle of hypnotics that's already half empty. Something in your chest tightens at the sight, but you quickly squash that feeling down.

The last thing Jeon needs is your p̶i̶t̶y̶ concern.

You know how this works. Show any weakness in Kkangpae, and you might as well paint a target on your back. The gang's full of sharks, always circling, always waiting for someone to bleed in the water.

So you bite back all the questions building up in your throat. Push down that weird urge to reach out, to try and make it better somehow.

Whatever demons Jeon's fighting, they're his to deal with.

You've got your own role to play here, and playing therapist isn't it. Some things just stay broken, and some nights just stay sleepless.

And some things are not yours to fix, even if some part of you wants to.

"You ready?" Jeon asks, already heading for the door without waiting to hear if you actually are.

You follow him out with a quiet sigh, but your mind's still stuck on all those pill bottles.

On what they might mean.

On all the nights he probably spends staring at his ceiling, fighting whatever demons keep him up.

The common areas in his wing of the Assassination Division are empty this early.

Your footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way to the elevator, where Jeon leans against the wall like he's got all day. He crosses his arms over his chest, getting lost in whatever thoughts are running through that complicated head of his.

When he doesn't move to actually do anything, you have to remind him that not everyone has his fancy Chief clearance level.

"You gonna scan your card or what?" You wave vaguely at the scanner. "You know mine won't work up here."

The corner of his mouth twitches up—just barely—like he's annoyed at himself for forgetting.

He pulls out his access card without a word and taps it against the scanner. The light blinks green, and the elevator starts moving.

While you're waiting, your brain decides to dig up this random memory from weeks ago.

That night Jeon showed up at your door out of nowhere, demanding his jacket back. You hadn't thought about it then, but now...

"Hey," you turn to look at him, "how did you get on my floor that night? To get your jacket back?" The question hits you out of nowhere. "Our cards don't work on each other's floors."

His eyes go wide for a split second—clearly not expecting that question. He just stares at you for a moment, lips parted like he's trying to figure out what to say. Then his gaze darts away and he rubs the back of his neck, which is basically a flashing neon sign that says busted.

(This should be interesting.)

"I, uh..." Jeon starts, looking at you then quickly away. He's actually struggling for words, which is new.

His fingers tap against his thigh in this nervous rhythm you've never seen before. Just when you think he's going to leave you hanging, he lets out this tiny sigh, shoulders dropping just a bit.

"I asked AD for temporary access."

Wait. What?

"And he... just gave it to you? Just like that?"

You narrow your eyes because something's not adding up here.

You've seen how these two interact—or don't interact, more like it. The way Jeon basically disappears whenever AD shows up, and how AD looks at him like he's personally offended his entire bloodline.

Sure, AD glares at everyone (especially J-Hope), but with Jeon? That's a whole different level of hate.

(Not that it's any of your business what's going on there.)

"Told him I needed my jacket back."

The elevator keeps moving down, and the silence between you gets kind of heavy. Something about how weirdly hesitant Jeon's being makes your curiosity spike. Part of you knows you should probably drop it, but...

"So, your card worked the whole night?" You try to sound casual about it, but there's definitely some skepticism bleeding through.

"Yeah." He finally meets your eyes again. "Clearance passes usually last for 24 hours."

You nod slowly, filing that information away.

"But didn't AD find it weird? The time stamp would show you came in at 3 AM and didn't leave until..." You trail off, remembering exactly why he stayed so long.

Jeon's eyes snap to yours, and something flashes across his face too quick to read before he looks away. The crease between his brows gets deeper as the silence stretches out.

"I don't think he actually checks the access logs that closely," he says finally. "At least he hasn't mentioned anything about the, uh, timeframe."

You think about that for a second. It seems weird that AD, of all people, wouldn't keep tabs on security access. But maybe Jeon's right—maybe AD doesn't actually monitor that stuff.

Then you remember something.

That day after the pool training, you saw AD in the elevator with Kazuha. He'd told you both to "be careful."

Was that his cryptic way of saying he knew exactly what went down that night?

The elevator dings, cutting through your thoughts.

Jeon pushes off the wall, giving you this little nod to go in first. You step inside, and the last thing you see is his back and this lazy wave goodbye before the doors slide shut.

Anyway, something tells you AD knows way more than he lets on.

You’d never been in The Council room until now.

And it’s… Well, it’s weird. Tense today.

Everyone's taking their usual spots around this stupidly long table, and RM's at the head of it like always, looking every bit the Supreme Commander he is.

"Thanks for coming, everyone." His voice carries that authority that makes even the most stubborn chiefs shut up and listen.

Well, almost everyone.

"I don't even see why I have to be here when you're all so set on leaving me out of it." V's practically radiating annoyance.

Moon gives him that patient look he reserves for when someone's being difficult. "This mission affects the entire gang. That's why we need the whole Council present."

"But I'm not even part of it." V throws his feet up on the table like the dramatic bitch he is, crossing his arms. "So why do I have to sit through all this bullshit?"

"You listen because shared knowledge makes us stronger." RM's eyes sweep around the table, meeting everyone's gaze—even yours. "Unity isn't just about standing together. It's about thinking as one."

V rolls his eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. "Yeah, yeah, I get the whole 'one gang' thing. But do I really need every fucking detail?"

"Details matter." Jeon's voice cuts through the tension. "MDF isn't some amateur operation. One tiny blind spot and we're fucked."

"It's a goddamn snake pit we're walking into." J-Hope waves his hands around like he's trying to grab invisible dangers out of the air. "We all need to know what kind of poison we might be dealing with."

JM leans forward, all serious despite his usually gentle demeanor. "That hideout's a maze. You two need more than just a way in—you need a solid plan to get the fuck out of there."

"Exactly." RM's sighs. "This intel could change everything. We do this right, we take out one of their major operations."

Flower, who's been watching everything with that calculating look of hers, finally speaks up. "And V, whether you like it or not, this meeting is what keeps your men at the docks from getting caught with their pants down while we're focused on this mission."

V scoffs, but you can see him actually considering her words.

Jessi stops lounging in her chair like this is some kind of casual meetup.

"Alright, cut the bullshit. What's the actual plan here, RM?" She leans forward, all business now. "And it better be good."

The room goes quiet—that heavy kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle.

RM stands up, and you can feel the weight of what's coming.

This isn't just another mission briefing. This is you and Jeon walking straight into MDF territory.

No pressure.

RM clears his throat, looking down at the stack of papers in front of him.

"Here's how it's going to work," he starts, voice authoritative. "Jeon and Y/N are going undercover. We've got IDs that'll get them through MDF's front door."

The word 'undercover' makes your stomach do this weird flip thing. Jeon shifts slightly beside you, his presence weirdly reassuring for someone who's usually about as comforting as a loaded gun.

"They'll play it as traders," RM continues, spreading out this map that looks like someone went crazy with a red marker. "Fresh faces trying to make it big enough to catch MDF's attention."

Jeon nods, watching AD's finger trace some path on the map. "What about their security? Cameras?"

"System loops every three hours," AD says, sounding bored but you know that's just his thing. "We're setting up a distraction. At 23:00, when the loop starts, they'll get a power surge. Six minutes of blind spots."

"Six minutes?" Jessi raises an eyebrow. "That's cutting it real fucking close."

"We can handle it." Jeon sounds so sure it actually makes you believe him. "Had worse timeframes before."

"That's your window to find the server room and plant the bug." RM points to some spot deep in what looks like a maze. "AD will be in your ear the whole time."

"And when shit inevitably goes sideways?" V asks, and despite how pissy he's been about being left out, you can hear actual braincells there.

"You'll be armed," RM says simply. "But this is about getting in and out quiet. No firefights."

"Right, because stealth missions should totally go to Mr. Shoot-Everything-From-A-Mile-Away instead of, oh, I don't know, the actual Chief of Stealth?" V's voice drips sarcasm.

"V." JM's cuts in. "Enough."

V grunts but actually shuts up, which is kind of impressive. You've never seen anyone else get him to back down that easily.

Flower leans forward, and the room suddenly feels a bit colder. The map spread out on the table looks like some kind of twisted treasure map, except instead of X marking the spot, there's about fifty different ways this whole thing could go wrong.

"Alright, here's the deal," she says, getting straight to the point like always. "You need to be interesting enough to catch their attention, but not so interesting they get suspicious. Think you can handle that?"

She looks right at you, and you can feel the weight of what she's asking.

"Y/N, you're our front person here. While everyone's busy watching you sweet-talk them about money and deals, Jeon's gonna be doing the actual work." Her lips curve into this knowing smile. "Keep them focused on the profit. Rich assholes love talking about money."

Great. No pressure or anything. Just gotta be charming enough to distract an entire criminal organization while your... whatever Jeon is sneaks around their base. Easy peasy.

Flower turns to Jeon next, and her expression goes all business.

"You're playing backup dancer on this one. Stay in the background, watch everything, and when AD hits them with that power surge? That's your window. Get the bug planted without anyone noticing."

The room goes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Everyone's thinking the same thing—one tiny mistake and this whole plan goes up in smoke.

"Remember," Flower says, voice serious, "this isn't about showing off. It's about getting in, getting it done, and getting out without anyone realizing what happened."

"And more importantly," RM cuts in, giving you and Jeon a look, "don't fucking die. The intel's not worth either of you."

"What about communication?" you ask, because there's one pretty big hole in this plan. "We can't exactly text each other in there."

"Subvocals," AD doesn't look up from his laptop, but his voice carries that bored confidence that means he knows exactly what he's talking about. "Basically fancy mics that pick up whispers. We'll hear everything, but you two can talk without anyone else noticing. Plus, we'll feed you intel as we get it. Just keep it quiet and you'll be fine."

V lets out this little laugh, eyes twinkling like he knows something no one else does. "Sure putting a lot of faith in luck here, aren't we?"

"Luck's got nothing to do with it." RM's interjects. "This is about being prepared, being skilled, and getting shit done. Don't forget who we are. What Kkangpae stands for."

The room goes quiet again. Then, he continues speaking:

"Once you get that bug planted and grab whatever intel you can, you get out. We're not starting a war. Not yet."

Then Jeon turns to look at you, all Chief-of-Tactical mode.

Stormy.

"We split up as soon as we're inside," he says, voice gone all hard and professional. "Cover more ground, draw less attention."

"Yeah, no." You don't even hesitate to shut that down. The plan's crystal clear in your head. "We stick together, follow the script. Only split when the power goes out. That's the signal."

He scoffs—actually scoffs—and crosses his arms. "You really think playing follow-the-leader's gonna work that long? We're wasting time the second we walk in. Better to improvise early."

"We're not there to improvise," you snap back, getting annoyed now. The air's starting to feel like a brewing thunderstorm. "We have a plan for a fucking reason, Jeon. The power surge is our cover. Until then, you're stuck with me."

His jaw does that tightening thing it does when someone challenges him.

Chief or not, you're not backing down on this.

"A package deal that screams 'we're obviously here to fuck shit up'." He's practically radiating frustration. "Splitting up makes more sense. It's tactical."

"It's reckless," you cut in, meeting his intensity head-on. "Since when do we pick 'making sense' over actually being smart about this? We split up before the power cut, and we're basically painting targets on our backs."

You can feel everyone in the room watching this verbal sparring match in slight disbelief.

"You're not fucking listening—" Jeon leans into your space.

"Because what you're saying is bullshit," you snap back, refusing to be intimidated even though he's practically looming over you. "We go in toge—"

"Too risky. We split up, maximize our—"

"—chances of getting our asses caught!" You talk right over him, blood rushing hot in your veins. "We stick to the fucking pla—"

"Which is basically asking to get pinched if we're joined at the hip," he fires back, and god, his voice shouldn't sound that hot when he's being this infuriating.

"Oh, and you think going rogue is the ans—"

"It's called thinking on your feet, sunshine. Maybe try it some—"

"Save the condescending shit," you cut in, sharp enough to draw blood. "We're not there to show—"

"—that we're fucking amateurs!" He's almost growling now, and the sound does things to you that you really don't want to examine.

Your voices keep rising, cutting each other off in this heated back-and-forth that's starting to feel less like an argument and more like foreplay.

"Enough." RM's voice drops like a bucket of cold water.

You and Jeon both shut up instantly, turning to face him like scolded kids.

The whole room goes dead quiet, everyone waiting to see how the Supreme Commander's going to handle this.

"Y/N's right," RM cuts in, voice carrying that don't-fuck-with-me tone whilst his eyes bounce between you and Jeon as he speaks. "We made this plan accounting for every possible fuck-up. You go in together, no improvising. The power surge is your cue. Until then, you're just a couple of traders looking to make a deal. We can't afford any slip-ups."

The way he says it leaves no room for argument. You can see Jeon's shoulders drop just a tiny bit, like he's accepting defeat but doesn't want to show it.

"Got it," you nod, trying to look all professional and shit.

Like you didn't just get into a verbal sparring match with your Chief in front of the whole Council.

Jeon takes a second, then gives this little nod that looks like it physically pains him.

"Understood," he echoes, finally looking at you.

And so there’s this weird moment where you're both just... staring at each other; as if calling a truce without actually saying anything.

As RM dismisses everyone, you feel that rush of adrenaline from arguing start to fade. Your shoulders relax, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

Right. This whole mission is riding on you and Jeon not fucking it up by going off-script.

You can feel Jeon next to you, his whole vibe changing. He's still got that unreadable expression, but he doesn't look ready to fight anymore.

Before you can make your grand exit, Jessi's voice cuts through the room, making both of you plant your feet on the ground.

"Don't worry, you two. All that sexual tension will make for some hot angry fucking after the mission." She winks at you both like she just said something clever instead of mortifying.

"That's not—we're not—" You start sputtering like an idiot, feeling your face go red.

"Ridiculous," Jeon snaps at the same time, scowling like Jessi just insulted his sniper skills or something.

Jessi just smirks, looking way too pleased with herself. "Whatever you say, lovebirds. Just come by my division after lunch. Gotta get you kitted out for this little adventure."

You open your mouth to tell her exactly where she can shove her assumptions, but she keeps talking.

"AD's gonna set up your access, so don't be late!" And with that, she struts out of the room like she owns the place.

You take a deep breath, trying to get your shit together.

Without a word, you and Jeon turn to leave.

There's still a ton of prep to do for this mission, and you'd rather face MDF unarmed than spend another second in this room with everyone's eyes on you.

The elevator feels way too empty when it’s only you and Jeon in it.

Trapped in a metal box after whatever that disaster of a Council meeting was.

The silence feels heavy, like all that heated arguing is still buzzing in the air.

You stand there trying to look casual, watching the floor numbers tick down like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

But you can't help noticing how Jeon's jaw is doing that clenching thing again, his lips pressed together so tight they're practically disappearing. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his whole body's radiating tension like a coiled spring.

The silence is driving you insane.

So of course, before your brain can stop your mouth, you blurt out: "Just so we're clear, we are not having hot angry sex after this mission."

Great going girl. 10/10.

Jeon's head snaps toward you so fast you're worried he might get whiplash. One eyebrow shoots up in surprise, but then—oh—his expression shifts into that infuriating smirk.

"Aw, you sound disappointed," he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing register that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible. "Yeah, like I was last night."

"Excuse me?" The look of pure indignation on his face is actually priceless. "Pretty sure I had you begging."

"Begging?" You let out a laugh. "More like pointing out how fucking slow you were being."

You're going for casual disinterest, but the memories from last night keep trying to make your face heat up.

He actually laughs at that—this sharp, sudden sound that bounces off the elevator walls.

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now? Because I remember it more like... payback. For all that teasing." His eyes drop to your ass for a second. "Bending over until I couldn't take it anymore..."

You cross your arms, leaning back against the wall like this conversation isn't affecting you at all.

"That wasn't teasing. That was strategic mission preparation." You can't help the sly smile that creeps onto your face. "Besides, you're the one who changed the sleeping arrangement to fucking."

"A strategic move, huh?" His mouth does that little twitch that means he's trying not to smile. "Well, it fucking worked."

"Yeah, you broke so easily." You roll your eyes, but you can feel yourself starting to smile too. "Just for sex"

"Pretty damn good sex, if I might add." He says it like he's stating the weather, but that smirk is getting bigger.

Before you can even process what's happening, his hand shoots out to the elevator panel. The emergency stop button makes this loud clicking sound, and the whole thing jerks to a halt with this deep rumble that you feel in your bones.

Suddenly the space feels way too small, and all you can hear is your own breathing getting heavier.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s stopped the fucking elevator.

"What the actual fuck, Jeon?" You try to sound annoyed, but the words get stuck in your throat because he's moving into your space like he owns it, like he has every right to be this close.

Then you're trapped between his arms and the cold elevator wall, and fuck—the way he's looking at you makes you feel naked already.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest, completely betraying how irritated you're pretending to be. Heat starts pooling between your legs, and it's honestly embarrassing how quickly your body responds to him.

"We can't—" Your voice comes out all breathy and pathetic. "We can't do this here."

The smile he gives you is pure sin as he leans in closer, close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, static wrapping around you, making it hard to think straight.

"Why not?"

"Because we're in a fucking elevator—"

"No cameras." He cuts you off like he's been waiting for this excuse.

You try to swallow but your throat's gone dry. Your sling feels itchy against your skin, probably because your whole body's remembering what happened last night.

"People are gonna notice if the elevator's stuck—"

"Maintenance issue." He says it so fast you know he's thought about this before.

"Jeon—" You start to argue, but then his eyes drop to your mouth and your brain just... stops working.

You know you should push him away. That's what any sane person would do. But there's something about Jeon that makes your brain stop working right—like a magnet pulling you in no matter how hard you try to resist. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to just grab him and kiss him already.

Right when you're about to say fuck it and give in, he pulls back.

And the look in his eyes? Pure evil, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Sunshine," he practically purrs, voice gone all low and rough in a way that makes heat pool in your stomach, "you're too eager."

The elevator dings, saving you from doing something stupid.

He steps out onto his floor without another word, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face like he just won something.

You slump against the wall the second the doors close, letting out this huge breath you didn't even realize you were holding

As the elevator keeps moving, the whole thing feels kind of surreal—like maybe you imagined him pressing you up against the wall and looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

But the way your skin's still tingling tells you it definitely happened.

When the doors open on your floor, it's like stepping back into the real world.

One where you need to figure out what the hell to tell Yunjin about where you've been all night. She's way too perceptive for her own good, and she definitely noticed you didn't come to your room to sleep.

You walk to your room trying to come up with something believable.

Maybe you were up all night studying mission plans? Or got restless and went wandering around the common areas?

Your brain's still kind of fuzzy from having Jeon all up in your space, which isn't helping with the whole creative lying thing.

But when you push open your door, Yunjin spins around like she's been caught doing something wrong. Her eyes are all wide and guilty, and before you can even open your mouth to make up some excuse about where you've been, she starts talking.

"Okay, before you give me shit for not sleeping here last night—" The words come tumbling out of her like she can't get them out fast enough. "You won't believe what happened. I was just gonna have a few drinks with V, you know, just to chill..."

Well. You surely didn't expect that.

You stand there trying to process the flood of information Yunjin's dumping on you. She's so caught up in her story she doesn't even notice your brain short-circuiting.

"And I know we said to stay away from V's whole... thing, but fuck—" She's practically vibrating with excitement. "We've been dancing around each other for weeks, and last night was just—"

"Yunjin, hold up." You raise a hand to stop her word-vomit. "Are you telling me you spent the night with V? Like, you and V actually—"

You don't finish the sentence because honestly, you don't need to. The implication is heavy enough to sink a ship.

She bites her lip and nods, looking somewhere between guilty and smug.

"Yeah, we fucked..." Her voice trails off before picking right back up. "And let me tell you, it was good. Like, he's not even into all that scary shit everyone thinks he is? But his chaotic energy definitely carries over to bed, god, if you only knew—"

You can't help the snort spreading across your face.

Here you were worrying about how to explain your own night away, and Yunjin's gone and done the exact same thing.

There's something kind of poetic about both of you getting tangled up with people you definitely shouldn't be touching.

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. "Okay, spare me the details. But I'm glad you had fun with your psychopath."

"It was actually really nice?" She's got this dreamy look that would be cute if she wasn't talking about the gang's resident knife enthusiast. "I know we said getting involved with him was a bad idea, but..."

She shrugs, looking almost shy.

"Sometimes you can't help who you want to climb like a tree."

You nod because fuck—isn't that the truth? Your body's still kind of sore from climbing your own dangerous tree last night.

Quick thinking has you saying, "I had an early Council meeting about the mission."

It's not exactly a lie. You did have a meeting. The fact that you came straight from Jeon's bed to it is just... details.

Yunjin seems to buy it, but then her eyes narrow and this little smirk appears on her face.

"Speaking of details... that shirt looks a bit big on you." She eyes the obviously oversized fabric. "Almost like it belongs to someone else. Someone tall, maybe? Tattooed?"

Heat creeps up your neck as you tug at the shirt that definitely belongs to Jeon.

"It's just comfortable," you mutter, but even you don't believe that weak excuse.

"Sure it is." Yunjin's laugh is rather a sneer. "Tell Jeon I said hi."

She throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can't quite fight the smile tugging at your lips.

At least you're not the only one fucking a chief.

The scanner actually flashes green when you swipe your card, which is weird.

Usually you only get access to the Seduction floor and common areas, but apparently Jessi wasn't kidding about AD setting up clearance to her realm for you.

You hit the button for the 9th floor and watch the numbers tick up.

The doors slide open to a completely different vibe from what you're used to.

Gone is all that minimalist tech stuff from AD's floor or the sterile efficiency of Assassination.

The Weapons Division looks exactly like what it is—a place that deals in death. The lights are dim, pipes running everywhere like exposed veins, and the floor's just straight-up concrete. No fancy finishes here.

You've maybe been here like, three times? And every visit feels like stepping into some alternate universe inside Kkangpae's castle. The contrast between this and your division's sleek aesthetic is wild.

"Well, well, look who we have here!"

The voice booms through the hallway, making you jump.

You turn to find this huge guy with a green mullet heading your way, covered in neck tattoos that probably tell some interesting stories. You're pretty sure his name is Jae? He's Jessi's second-in-command, but you've barely exchanged two words with him before.

Not that you'd know it from how he grins at you like you're old friends.

"Jessi's waiting on you," he says, slapping your back hard enough to make you stumble forward. (What is it with these Weapons Division people and casual violence?) "Come on, can't keep the boss lady hanging."

You follow Mullet Man through these massive double doors and holy shit—the weapons depot is huge. The ceiling's so high it's got actual walkways crisscrossing it, leading to what looks like storage units. Every table is packed with enough firepower to start a small war: rifles, handguns, knives, stuff you don't even have names for.

Jessi's off to one side, checking out this fancy-looking automatic rifle like she's shopping for groceries. Her fiery aura fills the space with heating energy.

When she spots you, those red lips curl into this knowing smirk that makes you kind of nervous.

"Right on time," she says, putting down the gun like it's no big deal. "Now we just gotta wait for lover boy to complete the set."

Jae throws up this exaggerated salute and swaggers off, leaving you perched on a nearby stool while Jessi's aura dances around like actual flames.

Jessi leans back against one of the weapon-covered tables, arms crossed and this knowing look in her eyes that makes you kind of nervous.

"That was quite the show this morning. Never seen Jeon actually engage like that before."

"What do you mean?" You frown, thinking about how often Jeon and V are at each other's throats. "He fights with V all the time."

"Nah, that's different." She shakes her head, red hair swaying. "When he fights with V, it's all explosions and death threats. Pure chaos."

Her hands make this exaggerated boom motion.

"But this morning? That was like... verbal foreplay. He was actually in there with you, giving as good as he got."

You think about that for a second.

Now that she mentions it, Jeon does usually just... shut down when other people try to argue with him. Goes all cold and distant, like he can't be bothered to even engage.

But this morning he was right there with you, matching your energy blow for blow.

"Huh." The realization hits you harder than it probably should. "He's not usually much for back-and-forth, is he?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Jessi looks way too pleased with herself. "That emotionally constipated asshole usually keeps everyone at a distance. But you?" She wiggles her eyebrows in this ridiculous way. "Something's different..."

Your face heats up because fuck—she's not wrong. But you are absolutely not having this conversation right now.

"So anyway," you say quickly, probably not as smooth as you think, "what kind of gear are we talking about here?"

Jessi's smirk says she knows exactly what you're doing, but she lets it slide.

Instead, she turns to this impressive spread of weapons and gadgets laid out on the table. Some of them look deadly enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

"Only the best for our star infiltration team," she says, sounding like a proud mom showing off her kid's artwork. "Let's talk comm units first..."

Then, you catch it.

That woodsy, pine scent that clings to him like his leather jacket.

You don’t even need to turn around to know it’s him.

Jeon appears in the doorway looking unfairly good in his all-black everything, like some kind of high-fashion assassin.

When his eyes find you and Jessi, one eyebrow goes up.

"Starting without me?" His voice is dry as desert.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Jessi's teasing, but then her expression turns into something more devious. "I was just telling your partner here how I've never seen you get so fired up before. Something about her really pushes your buttons, huh?"

You kind of want to melt into the concrete floor. Leave it to Jessi to stir shit up just because she can.

But Jeon just shrugs, cool as ever.

"Just discussing strategy." His voice gives absolutely nothing away, which is honestly impressive considering how heated he got earlier.

Jessi looks kind of disappointed that she couldn't get a reaction out of him. Classic Jeon, refusing to take the bait. She lets out this dramatic sigh and turns back to all the gear spread out on the table.

"Well, now that his highness has graced us with his presence," she says, standing up with that natural grace she has, "let's get you both looking the part. Can't have you walking into MDF territory looking like gang members, can we?"

You follow her through the rows of weapons and equipment. It's kind of amazing how she knows exactly where everything is in this massive space. Her energy is contagious—she's clearly in her element here, surrounded by all these tools of destruction.

The weapons depot starts feeling less like an armory and more like some underground fashion studio as you walk deeper in.

Because of course, procurement doesn’t only mean weapons and human resource.

Apparently, it also means Jessi has a pass to turn a room full of deadly weapons into her personal styling space.

There's this sectioned-off area that looks like a makeshift dressing room, complete with different fabrics hanging everywhere.

"Over here, Jeon." Jessi's voice has that tone that means she's already planning something. She looks him up and down like she's mentally redesigning his whole outfit.

Jeon follows her, trying to look like he's not into it, but you can see the interest in his eyes. You hang back a bit, kind of enjoying watching him get the Jessi treatment.

Jessi starts pulling stuff from these racks that look like someone couldn't decide if they were making tactical gear or runway fashion. Every piece somehow manages to be both bulletproof and stupidly stylish.

First up for Jeon: this black suit that catches the light in a way that's definitely not standard issue.

"Put this on," she tells him, shoving the suit in his hands. "It's reinforced—won't stop a bullet, but a knife won't get through."

He disappears behind this makeshift changing screen, and you're definitely not counting the seconds until he comes back out.

When he does, though... fuck.

The suit fits him like it was painted on, showing off all those muscles you're way too familiar with now. The jacket makes his shoulders look even broader, and the pants are doing criminal things to his legs. He looks like he walked straight out of some high-end assassin movie.

"You could probably kill someone just by walking into a room looking like that," you say before you can stop yourself. Your voice definitely doesn't sound as casual as you meant it to.

The smug bastard actually smirks at that. "Wouldn't be the first time."

But Jessi's not having it. She shakes her head, looking at him like an artist who's not quite happy with their work.

"Too polished. We need dangerous, not James Bond. Try this instead."

She pulls out this whole new look: leather jacket that probably costs more than anything you own (which is not much), deep maroon shirt that's somehow both simple and expensive-looking, and black jeans that you just know are going to be trouble.

When he steps out this time, his whole aura shifts.

The leather sits on his shoulders like it belongs there, and that hint of maroon under all the black just... works.

He looks like someone who could sweet-talk his way into a deal and then burn the whole place down if it goes wrong.

"Now that's more like it," Jessi says, looking satisfied. "Says 'I do business, but I also do crime' in all the right ways."

You find yourself nodding along because damn.

He looks exactly like what a high-level arms dealer should look—dangerous enough to take seriously, stylish enough to have clearly made money doing it.

Jeon catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, like he's asking what you think. You give him a small nod because what else can you do? He looks f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ good.

Really good.

Jessi rummages through another rack and pulls out this long-sleeved black shirt.

"Here, put this under the jacket. The fabric's breathable but bulletproof-adjacent. Won't stop a direct hit, but it'll give you a fighting chance."

Jeon shrugs off the leather jacket and slips the shirt on. It's thin but looks sturdy—perfect for someone who might need to move fast or fight their way out of trouble.

Jessi finally steps back, eyeing him like she's inspecting a weapon.

"Not bad. Looks casual enough that no one'll think twice, but you can actually move in it." She hands him back the leather jacket. "Try it all together."

You try to look professional while he puts the jacket back on over the maroon shirt and black base layer, but fuck—the whole ensemble is perfect.

The layers somehow make him look even more dangerous, like he could either charm you or kill you and you wouldn't know which until it was too late.

While Jeon and Jessi get into some deep discussion about fabric weights and mobility ranges, you're kind of amazed at how much thought goes into this.

It's not just picking out nice clothes—every piece has to tell the right story without saying a word.

One wrong detail and the whole cover's blown.

The attention to detail is actually impressive. Jessi knows exactly how to make someone look dangerous but approachable, wealthy but not flashy.

In this world, the wrong outfit can get you killed as quick as the wrong word.

You watch them fine-tune every detail, fascinated by how each adjustment shapes the character Jeon's going to play. And then… The final touch.This plain black watch that probably has fifteen different ways to kill someone. Jeon checks it over with that focused look he gets when he's handling weapons.

"Nice," is all he says, strapping it on.

Standing there in his perfectly crafted outfit, Jeon looks like he was born to play this role. Then Jessi turns to you with this wicked gleam in her eyes that makes your stomach drop.

"Your turn, beautiful," she says, gesturing at another rack of clothes. "Let's make you look expensive but deadly."

Something tells you this is going to be way more complicated than just picking out a nice dress.

You step forward to check out what Jessi's picked out, and damn—she really knows what she's doing. Every piece looks like it was chosen to tell a specific story about who you're supposed to be for this mission.

First up is this skin-tight dress that practically screams ‘honey trap.’ Jessi takes one look and tosses it aside with a muttered "too fucking obvious."

Then there's this whole secretary fantasy thing with a high-necked blouse and pencil skirt, but that gets vetoed too. ("Can't fight for shit in that.")

Then she hands you this black button-up that feels expensive as hell, paired with these tailored pants that feel way too nice to the touch. The fabric's got that perfect balance—soft enough to feel good but sturdy enough to take a beating if things go south.

When you slip into it, something shifts. The shirt fits in all the right places, making you feel d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶o̶u̶s̶ powerful. And the pants? They let you move like you might need to throw down at any second, which, considering it's MDF territory you're heading into, isn't exactly unlikely.

You step out to get Jessi's opinion.

And catch Jeon straight-up staring at your ass.

You’re not surprised.

When you meet his eyes, he looks away so fast it's actually kind of funny, pressing his lips together like he's trying not to smile. He looks like a kid who just got caught stealing cookies, and something about that expression makes you bite back a smile of your own.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Jessi says, looking you over with that critical eye of hers. "You look like someone who could either make a deal or break some kneecaps. Perfect."

The outfit's actually making you feel kind of invincible. (The fact that it got Mr. Perfect Sniper all flustered doesn't hurt either.) You do a little turn, testing how it moves. Everything feels right—professional enough to be taken seriously, but with enough edge to remind people you're not someone to fuck with.

"Hold up," Jessi says suddenly, her eyes getting that dangerous glint that usually means trouble. "Got one more thing. Don't move."

She strides off into her weapons paradise, leaving you standing there wondering what else she could possibly have planned.

You definitely don't check if Jeon's still watching.

(Okay, that's a lie. You totally do.)

The button-up fits you like it was made for you—professional enough to command respect but with just enough something to make heads turn. You're fiddling with the collar when you notice it's buttoned kind of low. Like, maybe too low for a serious arms deal. But before you can decide whether to fix it, Jeon's suddenly right there in your space.

"Let me," he says, voice gone all low and rough (molten lava in your stomach)

His fingers brush against your skin as he does up that one button over your chest, and fuck—that tiny touch has your brain stuttering a bit.

Probably because your body remembers what those fingers can do.

When you look up at him (because of course he's using his height to loom over you like the smug bastard he is), his eyes are dark enough to drown in.

The little gleam swimming in them tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you say, trying to sound annoyed even though you can feel yourself starting to smile.

"Immensely." He says; and his voice is pure sin wrapped in amusement.

He just keeps staring at you with this intensity that makes it hard to breathe, like he's thinking about all the ways he could mess up your perfectly put-together outfit.

Then Jessi bursts back in, completely ruining the moment.

"Found it!" She's waving around this black blazer like she just discovered buried treasure.

Jeon steps back, but not before giving you one last look that promises later. That little smirk is still playing on his lips as Jessi throws the blazer over your shoulders like she's putting the final touch on a masterpiece.

While Jessi goes over the tech specs of your gear, you sneak another look at Jeon. That heated playfulness from earlier is gone, replaced by that laser-focused look he gets when he's in Chief mode.

But there's still this... tension hanging in the air between you, like neither of you has quite forgotten what almost happened in that elevator.

Jessi then looks you both up and down with this satisfied smirk, like an artist admiring her masterpiece.

You have to admit, she knows what she's doing—the outfits are perfect for your cover, walking that line between dangerous and professional.

"Now for the fun part," she says, suddenly all business. "Let's get you two properly armed."

She leads you deeper into her weapons paradise, stopping at what looks like a plain wall. But when she presses her hand against this hidden scanner, the whole thing comes alive with soft beeps and whirs. A keypad appears, and Jessi punches in some code faster than you can follow.

The wall basically transforms, splitting open to reveal these massive hidden cabinets that look straight out of a spy movie.

Inside is enough firepower to start (or end) a small war, all arranged with the kind of precision that would make Jeon proud.

You've seen weapons before—kind of comes with the whole gang thing—but this is different.

Every gun, knife, and thing-you-don't-even-have-a-name-for gleams under the lights like they're on display in some very deadly museum.

"For when things get up close and personal," Jessi says, picking up this compact black handgun, "you'll want this beauty."

She hands you a Glock 26, and fuck—it's heavier than it looks.

"Small enough to hide, big enough to make someone regret their life choices."

Then she turns to Jeon with a different gun. "You get the Sig P226. More range, more punch. You can hang back and give her cover while she works her magic up close."

Jeon takes the gun and with a flick of his wrist, he expertly checks the chamber and magazine. You can't understand why your brain thinks that's hot, but the little nod he gives tells you Jessi picked right.

She keeps pulling out more gear—silencers that look way too professional, extra magazines, these holsters that probably cost more than your monthly pay. Then come the knives, small enough to hide pretty much anywhere but sharp enough to make you nervous just looking at them.

Jessi's whole vibe changes as she finishes arming you up. "These aren't just fancy accessories. Every time you pull one of these, you're making a choice that could end someone—maybe even yourself."

The weight of what she's saying hits different when you're actually holding deadly weapons. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you can tell she's trusting you not to fuck this up.

"One more thing," she says, pulling this fancy-looking gadget from a drawer. "Multi-tool kit. Has everything from basic lock picks to a mini torch. Trust me, you'll want options when shit hits the fan."

She hands it to Jeon, who clips it to his belt with practiced ease. (Of course he knows exactly what to do with it—guy probably has a whole collection of spy gear at home.)

Jessi takes a step back, giving you both this final once-over that feels kind of like a proud mom sending her kids off to prom.

(If prom involved infiltrating a rival gang's hideout.)

"You're good to go. Just remember—get in, do the job, get out. Don't try to be heroes."

Her words stick with you as you follow her out of the weapons room.

You walk through another set of doors to find a…

Holy shit. The garage is massive.

It's like walking into some billionaire's private car collection, except every vehicle probably has hidden gun compartments or something.

So Jessi's definitely got a thing for cars. There's everything from flashy Lamborghinis to those huge Bentleys that scream ‘I’m rich and probably dangerous.’ Motorcycles, sports cars, even some vehicles that look straight-up bulletproof—all lined up like some very deadly candy shop.

You're starting to think maybe the weapons aren't even Jessi's favorite toys.

Jessi leads you through her collection of cars like a proud mom showing off her kids' trophies. She stops at this black Lamborghini that looks expensive enough to make your eyes water. The lights bounce off its surface like it's made of pure money.

"This baby right here?" She runs her hand over the hood like she's petting a cat. "Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds. Makes people's heads turn so fast they get whiplash."

Then she drags you over to this Bentley that screams old money.

"And this beauty? When you need people to think you've got more dollars than sense." The inside looks like someone skinned a whole herd of very expensive cows and covered it in fancy wood.

"We're taking my bike."

Jeon's voice cuts through Jessi's car tour sharply.

He says it like it's already decided, which—knowing him—it probably is.

Jessi whips around to look at him, and fuck—her fiery aura actually flares up like she's about to burst into flames.

"Are you kidding me? Look at these beauties!" She waves at her collection. "They're begging for some action!"

But Jeon just shakes his head. "Bike's more maneuverable. Better control. Makes more sense for what we need."

"Ugh, fine." Jessi throws one last longing look at the Lamborghini like she's saying goodbye to a child. "But I swear to god, one of these days I'm getting your ass in one of these cars."

The little smirk Jeon gives her actually looks kind of fond. "Keep dreaming."

So you follow him to another part of the garage where his bike's parked.

It's this sleek, black monster of a machine that somehow manages to look both subtle and dangerous—kind of like its owner. The thing practically radiates power, but in that quiet way that says it doesn't need to show off.

Jessi watches Jeon check over the bike with this resigned look.

He runs his hands over the handlebars, checking everything with the kind of attention to detail you'd expect from someone who regularly makes impossible shots from a mile away.

"At least you take care of my presents," she mutters, but there's no real heat in it.

Jeon just nods, swinging his leg over the bike like he was born to ride it. When he turns to look at you, his face has gone all serious again.

"You good?"

You nod, feeling your heart start picking up speed.

This is really happening.

Jessi steps back, smiles, and then just waves you two off, not before adding something else.

"Watch your asses out there. And remember—you need backup, we're just a call away."

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+ DISCOVER YOUR SECRETS

in which seong-je happens to discover secrets about his school's student council president who happens to have a spotless personality.

Geum Seong-je x reader

secret 3 :- magic hand

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 final

The halls of Kanghak High always held whispers—gossip behind lockers, tension in glances, footsteps that came and went like secrets—but today, they were quiet.

Too quiet.

Y/N’s shoes clicked softly against the faded tiles of the old west wing—the part of the school time forgot. Windows were dust-filmed, lights flickered half-heartedly, and lockers stood dented like war relics from another era. Students avoided it. Rumors said it was haunted. Or worse—claimed by him.

She wasn’t superstitious.

Just… curious.

Today, her excuse was student council duties. Renovation assessments, apparently. But really, it was something else. Since that night in the cyber café, since the teasing smirk had cracked into something real—laughter, vulnerability—Seong-je had started to haunt her thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

Still, she hadn’t expected to hear humming.

Low. Tuneless. Human.

And then—laughter. Familiar. Warm in its defiance.

Her hand froze on the doorknob.

She should turn back. She didn’t.

The music room door creaked open with a sigh, and there he was—like a devil caught lounging in church.

Geum Seong-je.

Jacket slung carelessly over a chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, smoke curling from a cigarette as he leaned back across a dusty desk like it belonged to him.

He didn’t even flinch.

“President,” he drawled, one brow raised in lazy amusement. “Thought you didn’t do abandoned places. Too much dust for your spotless reputation? Or maybe you are just following me around.”

“Funny,” she said flatly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I came here to inspect the room, not inhale secondhand smoke.”

He grinned, unfazed. “And yet here you are. In my hideout. Alone. Almost feels like fate.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away. “Fate must be bored, then.”

He took a long drag, then stubbed out the cigarette with exaggerated grace. “What, no thank-you for putting it out? Tsk. So ungrateful.”

“Try not breaking school rules for once. Might surprise even you.”

As she moved past him toward the upright piano in the corner, he watched her with the idle interest of a cat who’d spotted something fun to mess with. She pulled off the heavy cloth covering the piano, her fingers already tracing the edge of the worn wood, lingering.

“You know how to play that thing?” he asked, voice quieter now, genuine.

She hesitated.

“A little,” she said. “I used to.”

She pressed a key. Out of tune, but not dead.

She pressed another. A chord formed—fragile, uncertain.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, standing now, slowly stepping closer. “Didn’t figure you for a piano girl. Always thought you'd be more of a silent-meditation, sword-wielding general type.”

“That… sounds like a weird compliment.”

“It is,” he said with a crooked smile. “Weirdly hot.”

She turned to glare at him, but her lips betrayed her—curving into a reluctant smirk. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re not denying it.”

She scooted over on the bench. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Sit. I’ll teach you something. Since you’re so easily impressed.”

He blinked. “Wow. Am I dreaming? Is this my redemption arc?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

Seong-je slid into the spot beside her, knees brushing. He didn’t bother hiding how close he sat—his shoulder practically against hers, breath warm against her cheek.

“Try not to set the piano on fire,” she muttered.

“Try not to fall in love,” he whispered.

She gave him a look so sharp it could've sliced through the keys. He laughed softly, unbothered.

“Okay,” she said, ignoring the way her heartbeat betrayed her, “start with this note. Then this one.”

He followed, clumsy at first. His fingers were rough, too forceful. He cursed when he hit a wrong key. Then laughed when he hit three more.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he replied, tapping the wrong note again on purpose.

She swatted his hand lightly. “Focus.”

“I am focused. On your hands. They’re... elegant.” He leaned in. “You hide a lot, don’t you?”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, almost reverently, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face—his fingers ghosting across her cheek. Right where, weeks ago, she'd cried in a dark alleyway.

“I’ve seen pieces of you that no one else gets to see,” he murmured. “You break rules when you’re angry. You swear like a gamer. And now you’re here, making music like it’s the only thing that ever made sense.”

She swallowed. “You romanticize too much.”

“You underestimate how interesting you are.”

Their eyes locked.

For a breathless second, nothing else existed—not the room, not the school, not the war of reputation and rebellion that normally defined them. Just the weight of shared silence. The kind that buzzed with every unsaid thing.

Then—Y/N stood abruptly.

“The drums,” she said, brisk. “Let’s see if they still work.”

Seong-je chuckled under his breath and followed.

She lifted the cover off the old drum set. Dust scattered like snow. She sneezed.

“Bless you, Your Majesty of Allergies.”

“Say that again and I’ll break your nose with a cymbal.”

“Hot.”

She handed him the sticks. “Go on then. Make noise. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

He grinned and banged out a wildly chaotic rhythm that somehow matched his personality. Loud, messy, no consistency—and yet, it made her laugh. Not just a polite smile. A real, startled laugh that spilled out before she could stop it.

His eyes lit up. “That’s a sound I want to hear more often.”

She shook her head, cheeks burning.

“Don’t read into it.”

“Too late.”

They tried every dusty instrument after that. She played a melancholy tune on a barely-functional violin, and Seong-je watched her like she was unraveling in front of him—soft and raw in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked quietly when she lowered the bow.

Her fingers tightened on the neck of the violin. “Life got too loud.”

He nodded, slower this time. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“You’re the loudest silence I’ve ever met.”

She looked at him, confused.

“You don’t shout,” he said. “You don’t throw punches. But somehow, you’re the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t untouchable.”

Something fragile passed between them. Like porcelain, like the pause before a kiss.

“I used to come here to disappear,” he added. “But today… when you walked in…”

Y/N tilted her head. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He gave her a smile—smaller this time. Almost real.

“Guess I didn’t want to.”

The world outside kept moving. But inside that dusty music room, time hung suspended. They sat side by side again, this time closer, almost touching.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice low. “You ever think about how strange this is?”

“What is?”

“You and me. Right here. Like this.”

Her eyes met his. “Maybe.”

He leaned in, just enough. “Wanna make it stranger?”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the silence said enough.

---

They stayed until the light outside turned to liquid gold and shadows stretched long across the floor. When they finally stepped into the corridor again, it felt like stepping back into a world that had forgotten them for a while.

Seong-je lingered by the door after Y/N stepped out, the fading sun casting gold across the dusty floor. The room had gone quiet again, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence he used to crave. It felt… emptier now.

He looked at the piano bench they’d shared, at the spot where her knee had brushed his, where her fingers had guided his clumsy ones across the keys. Her laughter, her soft sighs of irritation, even the awkward stillness when he’d touched her cheek—every moment was branded somewhere behind his ribs now.

Damn it.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek and shook his head, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. This was supposed to be his hideout. His escape. No rules, no eyes watching, no expectations. Just noise, smoke, and space to breathe.

But she had walked in—and somehow, without meaning to, she’d changed the air.

He exhaled slowly, flicking ash into the tray he’d left behind. Her presence had been like pressing a piano key that hadn’t been touched in years—dusty, slightly off-tune, but still humming with something alive underneath.

And the way she looked at him before she walked away…

Like she’d almost heard the same note.

He finally stepped into the hallway, catching up to her with that lazy swagger that always got him what he wanted—or at least made people think he didn’t care.

But he did.

Too much, maybe.

She turned slightly when he pulled at a strand of her hair, that surprised blink of hers etching itself into his memory like a favorite line of music.

“Next time you decide to explore hidden rooms… take me with you.”

“Why?” she asked, cautious as ever.

The grin that tugged at his mouth was reflex, but what sat behind it wasn’t a joke.

“Because I want to discover more sides of you.”

And this time, she didn’t argue. She didn’t roll her eyes or call him annoying. She just looked at him—really looked.

That was dangerous.

He could feel it in the way his pulse picked up. In the way he couldn’t quite wipe the smirk off his face, even as they walked side by side toward the late afternoon light. She didn’t tell him to go away. She didn’t outpace him.

She stayed.

And for a guy like him, that was a bigger deal than he’d ever admit.

As they turned the corner and the music room faded behind them, Seong-je glanced sideways. Y/N was staring ahead, unreadable as always—but he caught it.

The tiniest smile.

And just like that, the static between them didn’t feel dangerous anymore.

It felt electric.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

Hope you enjoyed this part as well <33

[svtcrus]

Broken Walls || rezef hill x fem!reader

a/n : found this in my notes and really liked how this turned out. a little change of pace, gotta put out sum fluff💀 but I hope yall like this !

synopsis : rezef hill finds himself falling in love with his sister's dear friend.

rezef never once expected himself to find a woman he'd fall in love with if he was completely honest. he'd expected to find himself at the altar marrying a stranger, just days after being told he would have a arranged marriage.

he never expected to find true love due to the fact every woman would come flaunting to him with their "oh so high" status, and preposterous personalities. or perverted nobles trying to seduce him for the fact he is the only crown prince of the empire. a handsome, ambitious crown prince where every lady believed they could tear down his walls. a stupid fairytale dream, others thought. a fairytale dream he thought would remain a mere dream.

this feeling, love, was something he believed he didn't need. he didn't deserve. as him being the future emperor, such boastful feelings were deemed unnecessary to him. especially with the heavy influence of his father and the late empress's torn relationship.

but then you came along. your small visits to the castle to visit your dear friend cayena, his beloved sister. would soon enough catch the lapis eyes of the tyrannical prince.

once he saw you as just his sisters close friend. then after a social background check, he thought of you as either a pawn for his ascension, or a nuisance to his precious elder sister. oh how much he regrets at such rude ideas now.

your smile that lit up around the castle, you seemed to always appear in his sight right after he's had another raging outburst or when he simply had a bad day. were those moments a sign?

he'd always notice you from high up in the castle hallways, looking down at the garden where your laughter erupted whenever you and cayena talked.

he'd soon find himself smiling at how graceful you danced, as your dress followed with your elegant movements during parties you both attended to. you radiated so much warmth wherever you went.

he remembers when he first asked you for a dance on his birthday. you didn't act like how those other ladies would. ladies who'd flaunt their "beauty" as they beg on their knees for him to dance with them. or ladies who would weirdly accept when he's forced to set foot on the ballroom floor. instead you accepted his request with much respect and eloquent joy. you were just, different.

"oh your highness the crown prince, I would love to dance with you," you said so sweetly. your gentle voice echoed in his head that very night.

he remembers how his hands held your beautiful body, your precious hands. how his eyes couldn't help but stare into your crystal orbs, and painted lips. you were a treasure, he so desperately wanted to keep.

the way you smiled at him with so much honesty when you danced with him. despite the glares of other noble ladies who were completely outraged and envious of your spotlight, you had paid no mind.

soon after that ball, he'd invite you for a day of tea. trying to embrace the moments his sister had enjoyed whenever you had tea with her.

tea time soon turned to walks around his own garden, then horseback riding, to him spoiling you with gifts when you two snuck out into the capital in disguise.

he reminisces to the time you had giddily told him to sneak out the palace one night. to go see the lake you loved since you were a child. together, alone.

that was when he had fully let himself sink into this love he realized he had for you. and if it wasn't love, he didn't know what this butterfly fleeting emotion would be.

you let him grasp the missed times of his youth, experience the fun things a child would normally do. you let out his inner child, you became the first person to fully see his vulnerability. you became the first and only person to break down those wall's everyone else wanted to break.

then one day on one your escapades. he confessed.

"Y/n.. I have something to say. for quite some time I have found this liking towards you. everything i do with you has always given me happiness, a happiness I didn't know I deserved. hah.. your sweet meaningful nothings, your beautiful smile. who knew I'd be so dumb in love...

what I'm trying to say is.. I love you."��

he was only in a white blouse shirt and a hooded cape that day. never expecting to be professing his love in such inappropriate clothing. to ask you to be his, his future crown princess. yet here he was.

oh the way the way your eyes sparkled, despite the clear tears that were ready to fall. he hadn't expected you to cry, his eyes widened with panic, hands on your cheeks holding you with worry.

you softly chuckled at his reaction, you placed your smaller hand atop of his. leaning into his hold as you looked at him so blissfully. the moment where you had answered the question he dreaded for you to respond to.

"I love you too your highness, Rezef"

soon enough rezef proposed to you at that same place. when you swung around as he held you with his strong arms. tears streaming your face, while he kissed the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. you both couldn't have been more happier.

━━━┅━━━━*✧·̩͙♧︎🛩️♧︎·̩͙✧*━━━━┅━━

©️ @svtcrus || 08.07.2023

all rights reserved. do not copy / plagiarize my works.

[fastboatsmojito]

I am On The Clock

but I am thinking about seemingly innocent reader doing things that turn Tyler on unknowingly

the particular way they lick ice cream or a popsicle, getting themself stuck in a particularly precarious position, saying things that could be a double entendre, placing a hand somewhere or moving in a way that puts his line of sight with their chest or ass, leaning across a surface to get something to the point you're bent over it,

just thinking ^.^

-🌂

Tyler thoughts while you’re still clocked in is soo real please 😭🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Tyler Owens x innocent ! reader

|A/N; Umbrella anon cooking as per usual, thank you <3

| CW; Suggestive, Tyler has quite the dirty mouth, No pronouns/gendered terms used but you wear rather small shorts, mwah

Dividers by @strangergraphics <3

You had to be doing it on purpose, you were getting under his skin as soon as you walked out of your room, Boones voice fuzzy in his ears when he saw you in those tiny little things you like to call shorts. You sauntered up to him with your usual grin, just happy to be there.

“Hey, guys! Where’re we headed?” You asked no one in particular as you looked at them both, Boone giving some weird look you couldn’t quite place to Tyler before he replied.

“Just about ten miles North, a couple good lookin’ storms out that way, shouldn’t be too much longer now.” He nodded, giving Tyler a pat on the shoulder before leaving you, Ty’s arms crossed over his chest as his eyes moved over you.

“You okay, Ty?” Ty, a nickname you’d given him just moments after you met, getting comfortable with him much quicker than he’d anticipated.

“Just peachy.” You narrowed your eyes at him, something was definitely off but you weren’t sure what exactly.

“Well, great. I’ll.. see you later.” You could feel his eyes on you as you left, making you weirdly aware of how you were walking away.

——

Everyone was getting ready to go down to the diner when you realized you’d forgotten your jacket in Tyler’s truck a few days before.

You were going to ask him to get it for you but he was nowhere to be found and his window just so happened to be rolled down, giving you the grand idea to hop up and reach through it.

“Woah there. Could’ve unlocked it for you, you know? It bein’ my truck and all.” You gasped when his gruff voice came from behind you, leaning against the window next to you as you looked back at him.

“You got your ass out for half the town out here. You that needy, sweetheart?” His hand suddenly on the back of your knee as yours grabbed your jacket from the passenger seat.

“I- I just forgot my jacket, it’s windy, I got cold.” You shivered as his hand moved up the back of your leg.

“Cold, huh? You didn’t think to just put some warmer clothes on? No way. I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” Both of his hands moved to your waist, gently lifting you out of his truck and placing you firmly back on the ground.

“What am I doing?” It wasn’t uncommon for you to feel nervous around him, he’s a charming man, but this felt more - vulnerable.

“Wearing those sorry excuses for clothes, batting your eyelashes every time we talk, putting your head in my lap while I’m driving for christ’ sake. you might think I don’t notice but I do. I see you.” He moved closer to you as he talked until your back was against the door of his truck.

“I- it’s really not on purpose, it’s just hot out and,” He grabbed your chin firmly, disrupting your already shaky train of thought.

“Just hot out.” He mocked, eyebrows raised as he grinned down at you, leaning in.

“Right. Maybe I just need to fuck the truth outta you then, is that it?” You could smell his cologne from here, bourbon-y warmth fanning over you. You couldn’t speak, your words barely coming together in your head let alone out loud, grabbing the collar of his shirt as you shoved your mouths together.

-

I was going to make this more smutty but I think I’ll write another little smutty blurb for him soon - still mapping out his sexual vocabulary lmao 💆🏻

[mephistopheleswasrobbed]

Only two more episodes to go after this one and the gay is thriving as usual, so let's take a look:

1

Home and Peach keep staring intensly at the other's unconcious face while putting their head directly above the other's, resulting in unintentional headbuts. Boys, I know you're worried and want to be the first thing the other sees after waking up, but I'm sure there's less headache-inducing ways to go about it.

2

As per usual, Home is carrying Peach without complaint. (And I'm reminded once again that he's certainly not shy around his body o.O)

3

The looks/nonverbal communication between them are constant. Even surrounded by the rest of their family, their eyes always find each other first. Whether it's to comment on what just happened or to reassure each other on what's about to happen, one look says it all.

4

Pangpang is streaming and her viewers are shipping. They must be happy to see that Home and Peach have moved past their divorce era. ("Where's Peach?" they say, which, if you've ever been present for a live of some BL actors, well, you know.)

5

This shot is right out of a 2000s gay coming-of-age short film.

And the way Peach laughs so fondly and asks Home what he wants for dinner in a soft voice? The love is strong in this scene.

And then their kids join in to bug them.

(a commenter on YT pointed out Peach pulling down his shirt but I'm not even going to go there)

6

Home is so tuned in to Peach, when he get's a message and looks at it a little weirdly for a second, Home is immediately there to ask what's wrong.

7

Home is so genuinely happy that for Peach when he hears that he's finally getting closer to achieving his dream

only to force himself to keep up that happiness when he realises that it might get in the way of his own dream.

Meanwhile Peach can't even really be happy about this himself because being a cook is his dream but he doesn't want to lose his family, lose Home, to get there.

In fact, his first impulse after finding out is asking Home what he thinks about it, because just like Home, he's clearly at this point considering Home a part of his future. Decisions like that have to involve him. (And Home, you idiot. You could have just said you'd come with him. It's not like there's anything keeping you in Bangkok.)

But unfortunately those two have still not achieved this sense of security in their relationship (and definitely Home, probably also Peach, being orphans, I guess it's not surprising they're having some issues around attachment and feeling secure in the long-lastingness of their relationships). And so Home falls back on protecting his vulnerability by pretending it's not there. Rather than imposing difficulty onto Peach (,rather than facing the smallest possibility that Peach might choose this over him,) Home plays it off like there was never any future for them anyway, even after he had just confessed to his uncle ca. one minute earlier that all he wants is for them to stay together.

He isn't even very subtle in his overplaying (is that a word in English?) of his troubled emotions, at the same time using this opportunity to get physically close to Peach for potentially one of the last times.

8

Of course, as he told his uncle, all Home really wants is to stay together with Peach and his family.

But he has come quite a long way from tricking Peach into unfair contracts. So he'd rather stap back than cause Peach any problems, doesn't think it his right to put his selfish desires onto him. (Unfortunately, judging by the preview, Peach is also insecure so by doing that he's just hurting Peach more)

"Just us" huh, Home? You know, at this point you might as well just propose to him.

At least this time he has another member of his family there to cry into the shoulder of.

Lesbian Corner

The girls have taken a page out of the HomePeach handbook, clinging to each other at the revelation of a ghostly presence.

Now that Peach and Home are somewhat settled (well...) it's their turn to flirt their way through the end credits

Edit:

Oops, it seems I missed something. Kan and Pangpang even have their own shippers now

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

*harvey bullock's voice* : batman an' that scarecrow guy are in cahoots! i'm tellin' ya! the vigilante an' that fruitcake totally have somethin' nasty goin' on!

bullock ships it know whats up. meanwhile, gordon is like 🤷‍♂️ 'idk, they look like sworn enemies to me'. so what if batman apprehends him very weirdly.

...

(one of very lovely an’ endearing btas crane’s features for me, always gonna be how he’s a complete twerp compared to his comic counterparts. he’s not only hella scrawny, but he’s also pretty short too.

comic crane build like a pencil compared to bruce, but btas jon is this, but a small version. a real gremlin, where in the comics, he's a goblin.

him being smaller have it's +. for one, he's easier to throw around an’ manhandle. or in this case, i kinda just thought ‘hey, bruce will have no problem to just place him in his laps’. jonathan is cuddly sized for the bat. gotta abuse this advantage to the max. he can catch him this way, or can hold him too… 

an’ look at that, it might lead to one of those few *rare, very rare* times, when jon will attempt to be comforting. he sucks at this, but he does show a shine of sympathy, if he's in the mood for that. but yeah, he would only do it, when batman is all sad an’ down. if he was scared, it’s another story. 

depressed bat makes crane feel some sort of way he hates. he won’t dare to call it anything, but he would rather them do smth less…..this. being held is nice tho. so he tolerates it, telling himself that it's fine just this one time. but then, casually tolerates *basks in* it every damn time from that point on, while using the same excuse… 

he can be regal like that lol.  

an’ speaking of regal…….

i always loved, when the bat tried to catch the scarecrow for a second time in ‘nothing to fear’, an’ jon talks to him in an odd manner. almost like a teacher would speak with a student. bruce’s slightly shameful an’ vulnerable expression is everything in that scene, esp when jon stands on the upper row of stairs looking at him. the tides shift later on, naturally. but even as a kid, it was fun to see batman being kinda humbled by some short, weird guy in a potato sack. 

like, jon is so funnily rude an’ ‘argh’ through the whole ep, it’s hard not to cherish, that batman had to put up with it. the way jonathan abused his henchmen is also smth else. he literally re-broke the dude's nose, while calling him names lol. i just wish, that besides ‘lock up’, we had managed to see other sides of him, which clearly existed. love him being a rude ass almost all the time too tho, bc it suits him. an’ it’s a fun difference compared to comic crane, whose spitefulness is usually more emotionally loaded an’ childish. btas crane feels like a proper antisocial sociopath, than anythin’. but like any good sociopath, he has that one person, who he fancy *even if in a strange fashion*. so, batman has a chance to see it all, once he gets past the cold shoulder phase. 

in their case *btas universe*, i picture that jon’s wary ‘get out of my way’ fashion in which he deals with bruce, would essentially build up into proper obsession, where terrifying him is less of a curious experiment an’ method of eliminating him, but also like….he legit wanna know what batman fears. what he sees. how jon affects him an' if it affects his every-day life. fights with him getting more personal an' more crucial.

from that bit, i was wondering what jonathan might have thought about times, when batman hung out with justice league. an’ if there was a villain, who he would feel envious of. an’ idk, doctor destiny came to mind. he’s not like fear-themed villain even per say, but he can control dreams, which is scary in itself. so jon *naturally for him* assuming that dr. destiny went after batman’s fears an’ gave him nightmares. which would instantly make him possessive an’ jealous lol. it’s his an’ bat’s thing! it fully escapes crane, that batman…doesn't ever prefer whatever villain he's fighting. not in way, where he thinks that he bonds with them over being tormented lol. i mean, he kinda does it with jonathan to a degree, but he'd rather they did it in more normal way.

regardless, bruce will have to tell him, that nope, like dr. destiny totally sucks compared to the scarecrow. mostly bc if he won’t, jon might make so, that dr. destiny won’t breathe air ever again lol.)

[wrxangel]

Tanjiro Kamado with Reader who's basically Jotaro Kujo

fem reader

a/n: im just like throwing out everything in my drafts today lmao.

Want to get tagged? Fill out this form: ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚

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You leaned against a tree, eyes narrowed at the field in front of you, tapping your fingers against your arm in a slow rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of the forest, a little damp but still crisp. Tanjiro was a few paces away, his hands clasped in front of him as he watched you with that patient, kind expression of his. You could practically hear the thoughts behind those eyes of his.

"Hey, Kamado," you called out, your voice low but carrying in the quiet woods. He straightened up, his eyes flicking to you. You’d been traveling together for a while now, and while you never really talked about your past or what you did—hell, you barely talked about anything, to be honest—you both worked well together. Too well, in fact.

"Yeah?" Tanjiro's voice was warm, full of that trademark kindness he wore like a shield. It was strange, sometimes. Like he could see right through people. It made you uncomfortable and a little annoyed sometimes, but it was also... well, sweet. You didn’t have to think much around him, because he made everything feel like it was okay, even though you weren’t sure how or why.

"Stop staring at me, it's creeping me the fuck out," you muttered, pulling yourself upright. Your voice wasn’t harsh, not really, but it held that sharpness you always carried with you. That toughness you used to guard yourself. Tanjiro’s face shifted, like he was caught off guard, then looked down at his feet sheepishly.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow at his response, eyes rolling. "No need to apologize for looking at me, dumbass. I just—shit," you cursed under your breath, shoving a hand through your hair. "Forget it, I’m just in a bad mood today."

Tanjiro didn’t answer right away. He shifted his weight, looking conflicted, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. You weren’t exactly one for small talk, and he could probably smell that you didn’t really want to talk anyway, so he just stayed quiet, as usual.

"God, are you really just gonna keep being so... goddamn nice all the time?" you spat out, trying to break the tension. "Do you even know how to stop being so fucking pure?"

You could feel his eyes on you again, but this time there was something more to it, something softer. You weren't sure if you liked it, but you didn't acknowledge it. It wasn’t like you had the emotional bandwidth for this kind of shit anyway. You had a wall for a reason.

"I- uh-"

"You don’t need to explain anything to me, Kamado," you cut him off, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "You’re not my therapist. Stop looking at me like you’re trying to fix me, I’m fine." Your voice was steady, but the underlying irritation was obvious. Tanjiro, however, didn’t seem deterred. Instead, he just nodded slightly.

It pissed you off. It was as if he could see through all your layers of bullshit and bullshit excuses, but you couldn’t get a word in edgewise to make him stop looking at you with that look of... what? Compassion? Respect? You didn’t fucking know, but it bugged the hell out of you.

But something else bugged you, too.

It bugged you that the more you spent time with him, the less you felt like you needed to pretend to be the person you put out there for everyone. The asshole, the rough girl who didn’t give a damn. He made you feel weirdly vulnerable, and the last thing you needed was to start caring about someone. Because, like it or not, that’s what you were doing. And it pissed you off.

"You know, you're really starting to piss me off," you muttered under your breath, turning your back to him as if the simple act of facing away could stop whatever weirdness had been building up between you two.

But Tanjiro didn’t stop. He never did.

"Why?"

You blinked, confused by the question. He was standing there, head tilted with that same innocent smile on his face, as if he couldn’t understand why you were so irritated. "Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" you asked, voice laced with frustration.

"Because you’re important," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And because I know you’re going through something, but you’re not alone, okay? I’ll stick by you, no matter how hard you push me away."

You froze for a moment, your mind shutting down as you tried to figure out how to process those words. It wasn’t like you’d never been told something like that before, but hearing it from Tanjiro felt different. It felt... real. Something about the way he said it, so fucking genuine, like he wasn’t even trying to make you feel better, just... telling you. It hit you in a place that you didn’t know was even there.

"Whatever," you said quickly, turning away from him again. "You don’t know me, Kamado. Don’t try to act like you do."

Tanjiro didn’t press you, but you felt him step closer, and then you heard his voice again, quiet but steady.

"I don’t have to know you to know that you're a good person," he said, and when you glanced back at him, his eyes were sincere. "I just... want you to know that."

You were speechless for a second. This stupid kid, with his stupid smile, and his stupid, unwavering belief in the good in people—especially you—was really starting to mess with your head.

"Fuck off," you muttered, but there was no venom in it this time. You turned away again, leaning your back against a tree and crossing your arms.

Tanjiro didn’t move. You could feel him still standing there, his presence a quiet comfort you’d never admit you needed. You cursed under your breath, because, shit, maybe you did need him. You just weren’t ready to let anyone close enough to get under your skin.

"Whatever, Kamado," you said, your voice quieter now. "You’re really starting to annoy me, you know that?"

But when you heard his soft chuckle, you couldn’t help but feel something flicker in your chest.

"I’ll take that as a compliment," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Dumbass." You grunted, reaching up to pull your cap over your blushing face.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[kairismess]

Hello! I see that you're opening request right now, may I request about tsukishima's s/o who cries every time she comes home from work, and she ever moved from another company, but the company was also toxic, and this company she's in now is toxic too, so she's been stressing out and cries every night...

Hsshhshss I'm very sorry if this is hard to understand T u T thank you so much! 💖

OH NO WORRIES ANON !! i honestly like this idea, I HOPE I DID IT RIGHT THOUGH :'))) ngl tsukki would kinda suck at comforting if he forced it, but him just being all real with you when talking to you about it ... he weirdly gets super comforting, and he doesn't even realize it.

it's not lame at all. — timeskip!tsukishima kei x fem!reader

🏐 genre: fluff and a tall glass of comfort

✒️ word count: 975

💭 summary: kei usually doesn't find it hard to be blunt about matters like these... but he can't help but want to see you smile again, so he'll try his hardest to let you know that your feelings are valid.

another grueling day at your awful workplace, and nothing has changed from the past few places you've worked at. it's like you're destined to keep landing at poor workplaces that have a knack for treating their ordinary employees that don't stand out like you so horribly. you could only take so much mistreatment, and to think that you none of your friends nor superiors could really do anything to help you... it was like you were drowning–and nobody was out there to save you in that vast ocean of helplessness and despair that you felt.

your only relief everyday was being able to make it home in one piece, and on a good day, you'd hold in your tears until you were behind closed doors, free to weep and bawl about the misfortunes of being an adult. however, you still had to keep it down, even in the comfort of your own home–your boyfriend was going to be over that evening, and you didn't want him thinking you were dramatic over such little things, right?

by the time you got to your home, kei was already waiting for you by the your door. he looked up from his glasses, his honey-colored, wide eyes greeting scrutinizing your obviously exhausted figure. you managed to smile up at him, but for someone as clever and sharp as kei, he senses something's off about you. he furrows his thin, light blonde eyebrows at you and asks in a soft voice, "did something happen today?" and that's all that it took for your facade to crumble, and for the tears to start rolling down your cheeks in spite of your seemingly sweet, yet forced, smile.

kei walked over to you and with his bandaged fingers, took your bag from you and asked for your keys. he was going to put everything away for you, he was here quite often, and he memorized where all your essentials should be, so it wouldn't be a problem for either of you. he took your hand and led you inside, and you felt a little more ashamed that your boyfriend was leading you into your own home, as if you were a child who didn't know any better and had to rely on someone more put together than you were.

kei sat you down on the couch and got a few tissues from the coffee table, wiping away at your tears, murmuring to you to remember to blow your nose as he handed you the tissue. "...do you need some tea?" he asked you as you nodded, blowing your nose into the tissue. he disappeared into the kitchen, preparing a kettle for the tea, while thinking hard of what to tell you to comfort you. when he came back with the piping hot cup of tea, he kept gulping back the lump in his throat, he was too anxious, and that was always the case with him whenever he'd get too vulnerable with you. "um... i know these days have been... less than desirable, but, you..." kei began, struggling to find the right words, looking away from you ever so often.

he sighed, feeling frustrated with himself for holding back his true thoughts on the matter; but he wanted to sound sweeter, to comfort you. but the way kei comforts is not all sunshine and rainbows; he wants you to remember we live in reality, not in a world where everything works the way we want to just because we persevere and work hard. he looks at you and gently takes your hands in his, and takes a deep breath, hoping his words won't hurt you.

"...you deserve better." he mutters, looking into your eyes, the light in those honey-brown eyes of his had a genuine glint to them, and you could tell he wanted to help you, even if his means weren't very conventional. "i'm sorry you're being treated like that, and it makes me so pissed to know that those guys are getting away with taking advantage of you like that. but... that's reality. workplaces can be fun, and some can be downright abhorrent; but at the end of the day, you're a person who works from 9 to 5 to make an honest living—and that alone is a struggle to do, every day." he utters in a soft-spoken tone.

his voice isn't snarky nor does he hope to sound like a smart ass; he honestly wishes to help you, but to keep you grounded. he rubs the back of your hands and sighs. "...i could help tender you a resignation letter, and while we're doing that, i'll help get you a job at the place i'm applying for in the summer. i'll keep you safe, as much as i can; you've gone through too much already, and i... i want to be there for you, to make up for all the times i couldn't do anything about your suffering." he confesses, his grip on your hands tightening a little.

you felt your second tidal wave of tears coming, and you rushed for the tissues, with kei patting your back, in hopes that his touch would comfort you somehow. he can't really tell you that everything will be okay, he isn't the type to sugarcoat and lie that all will be fine—he loves you too much to build your delusions up, only to be thrown back down by the disappointment of the real world. though, kei loves you so, so much that he'd help you escape those crappy workplaces and help you both land jobs at the same place together. so even if the next one will be just as crappy, or even worse... kei's got you, and he'll make sure you won't waste another precious tear on people who aren't worth crying over; because you deserve so much better.

🦕 tags !! @emptybrain01

[saints-who-never-existed]

Tozer for the character sending ask game

I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to answer this one sooner, especially as I've been so looking forward to doing so!

First Impression Enamoured by his sheer physical presence, fantastic accent, and clear claim to the title of Chief Moany Bastard in Residence.

It's always amusing to me to see Tozer call Hickey out for grousing when he himself does nothing throughout that first episode especially but complain and ostensibly not give a shit about anything.

Impression Now Well, he gives SO MANY SHITS ABOUT ALL THE THINGS, I'll tell you that much! And there are just so many aspects of him that I find endlessly intriguing.

I think he's far cleverer than he's often given credit for being, for one thing, especially in terms of emotional intelligence. And I'm fascinated by the way he doesn't actually rely on his physical presence (or his weapon, for that matter) even though he quite easily could. Tozer is far more likely to try to solve a problem with words than with brute force.

I want to rant more soon about the philosophical sort of thread running all through Tozer's storyline too. The question of whether a man has a soul and if so, what that truly means. There's Heather, who only dies long after his soul has been consumed, and Collins, for whom the death of body and soul happens simultaneously. And finally Morfin, very much still in possession of his soul but who begs for death anyway as his body and mind give out first instead. And there's Tozer, intimately connected to all three.

I think there's something more there about that being a source of real fear for Tozer as well - some of the only times we see him explicitly afraid are when he's confronted with such things. Even facing down Tuunbaq I don't know that he feels that much fear, even if only because he's too focused on action and survival. The loss of soul and of humanity in general though seems a more visceral trigger for him.

Favorite Moment I have to go for the entirety of the final Tuunbaq showdown, I think. There's just so much to rant about in his every action in that scene.

I love the sheer physicality of it all - pacing frenetically like a literal caged animal. It's one of the only times he properly throws his weight around and it makes me feel some kind of way that it only happens once he's already in chains. There's a fun little detail I only just this second noticed - that his yanking on the chain nearly pulls Hodgson and Golding's arms from their sockets at the other end of it - and another fascinating moment right afterwards where everyone else stares around in bewilderment but Tozer is the only one looking up in fury at Hickey himself.

Then there's the moment when Tuunbaq's almost upon them, that switch flips for Tozer (interestingly, right after Hickey makes mention of men with their souls 'et out') and he's in full Marine-mode. The absolute laser focus! That clear commanding voice and the fact that it's obeyed immediately! The fact that it's Armitage that he chooses to single out and demand the gun from! Every bit of it is exquisite! I'm always put in mind of that quote about ruthlessness - about how it's not about being mean but about being able to see a bright clear line between A and B and caring about nothing else but following that line. That's Tozer in that scene for me - ruthless in the best and most fascinating sort of way.

And finally, the gut-punching pièce de résistance - that split-second pause before he marches off to meet his doom, no chance, no choice, and a gun in his hand. A soldier to the last. :'(

Idea for a Story I've been working on a short piece for a while now - just a single scene really - that continues on Tozer and Little's E08 confrontation. Tozer's protective nature sort of just takes over and he feels he can't in all good conscience leave Little, noggin-bonked and vulnerable, in the midst of the chaos. Haven't decided yet whether it'll just be one weirdly intimate wee encounter of Tozer staying long enough to offer his protection or whether it'll go further than that...?

Unpopular Opinion I don't particularly care for Tozer/Armitage?

I like what the actors did with it - purposefully being near one another in scenes and putting in lots of lovely nuance etc. Nevertheless, it's like the opposite of the Benoit Blanc meme for me -

"Makes damn sense. Doesn't compel me, though"

Favorite Relationship Slightly out of left field perhaps but I'm actually going to go for Tozer's relationship with Private Heather.

The effect Heather's injury and eventual death has on Tozer and the way he interacts with the world around him simply cannot be overstated. This wonderful post sums up the importance of that relationship far better than I can and guts me every time with its final line referencing the infamous pudding vs. cathedral debate:

-

"It is his job to protect these people, putting his own men at risk on their behalf, and they crush the most vulnerable of his men, the one I’d bet meant the most to him, without even noticing... ...Tozer loved Heather. Private Heather was a force for good in Tozer’s life. Had he lived, or maybe if he’d even been granted a kinder, less pointless death, things might have turned out differently for everyone. If we can judge people at all based on how they affected those around them, I’m willing to bet that Private Heather was a cathedral."

Favorite Headcanon I like the idea of Tozer having grown up as a shrimpy lil guy - the runt of the schoolyard - and only taking a growth spurt later in life.

I think that's a really fun and neat explanation for why he solves most of his problems with words and not brute force for one thing. One could also argue it as an explanation for the chip he has on his shoulder generally speaking and why he's caring/protective toward others - he knows too well what it's like to feel small and powerless.

[softbabyfeferi]

dirk pov; dirk cg, dave little

big cursing warning! also past abuse mention and brief self-loathing, but he snaps out of it pretty quick

The house is weirdly quiet. You came over because you had planned to hang out with Dave, and it's half an hour past when he was supposed to show up, and you're getting a little fucking concerned. Plus, as his brother, you think it's pretty much your right to break into his house to fuck with him any time you want.

Either way, you take off your shades and put them in your pocket as you look around his house. No need to give him a full-blown panic attack when you sneak up on him looking like his guardian. But, seriously, where the fuck is he? You've looked in every room downstairs. Upstairs next…?

When you stand outside his bedroom door, you're pretty sure you hear the fucking… He-Man theme? Pretty ironic, you guess. You knock once, twice, no reply.

“Dave? Bro?” You call, through the door. There's some scrambling from his room, then he opens the door.

Inside, you see a couple things- a laptop, playing He-Man on YouTube, on his bed, surrounded by plushies. Dave himself is wearing comfy PJ's, no shades, looking a little sleepy.

“Sorry, man, lost track of time and stuff. Will get dressed now.” His voice sounds a little more… like… young? than usual.

“Nah. It's cool, dude. What're you watching?” You ask gently, walking past him into his room.

“Nothing.” He says, sounding defensive.

“Seriously. It's ok.” You respond, as you look at his plushie assortment on the bed. "Sweet shark plush. What's their name?”

You turn around to ask and see Dave sniffling. You immediately pull him into a hug, despite how bad you are at them. He slumps into you, leaving you to hold up his whole body weight. Whatever, not like there's anything to do these days but work out, so he's practically a feather to you.

“Hey, what's up?” You ask as you shuffle the both of you over to the bed.

“Nothin’. Jus’ ov- ove-” He takes a big snuffly breath, face pressed into your shoulder. “Overwhelmed.”

“Woah, that was a big word, good job.” You say, hoping your monotone doesn't make you sound sarcastic. He looks up and gives you a watery smile. “Wanna keep watching your show?”

“Yea, but let's watch it in the living room.” He declares. Dave seems to be doing something akin to ASL with his hands, just sloppier with lack of fine motor skills. Noted. “Pick a stuffie.”

You look at your choices and decide on the shark from earlier. He's holding a black and gray cat plushie- holy shit, wait, is that meant to be Karkat? So fucking cute.

“Her name's Bridget.” He says, pointing at your shark. “This one's Kitkat.” He giggles a little.

“Such good names, lil dude.” You say, ruffling his hair. He giggles again. “Let's head through to the living room now.”

You and Dave walk to the living room together, with him clinging to your arm and babbling about some nonsense. You're honestly fucking ecstatic that he hasn't kicked you out already. This is a very vulnerable state to be in, and you're shocked that anyone would let you stick around while they- ok, no wallowing, we have a baby to take care of.

You set him up on the couch with a blanket and both of your plushies (so they don't get lonely, obviously).

“Want apple juice?” You ask when he's comfy, using the bit of Sign Language you know. So, basically just saying “want” and fingerspelling “aj”, but it isn't too bad. He signs “yes” at you in response. “I got you. Just sit there, ok?”

You try to get Dave's AJ as fast as possible. Lil man looked a little freaked out when you left him alone. When you get back (in record time), he makes grabby hands at you. You smile and come sit down on the couch, pulling him into your lap and giving him his sippy cup of AJ. "You wanna keep watching your show?" You ask as he gets comfy. He nods.

You maneuver around the little one in your lap to get to the remote, turning on the TV and pulling up He-Man on YouTube. You're about to press play when he taps you on the shoulder, and you look down at him.

"Can we- can we watch My Little Pony instead?" Dave asks timidly. You tilt your head in confusion. "I want you to talk about it."

That's just about the cutest goddamn thing you've ever heard. You nod and smile down at him, ruffling his hair as you look up MLP instead.

Dave only makes it around 10 minutes into the first episode until he's fast asleep. You let him rest, patting his back idly.

[lennadanvers]

Hi! I love everything youve written with my entire fucking heart like you dont understand there hasnt been a single thing of yours that I havent liked! Anyways, I was wondering if you could write some more Simon Riley? You write him so well it isnt even funny. If you cant, no worries! I think youre amazing!!!!

Hi! Thanks a lot for the praise, it means a lot (you don't even know how much, I'm pretty new to fanfic writing and posting stuff is still kinda terrifying, but when people say things like this it warms my heart). Anyway, I had this sitting in my drafts for way too long, and found the energy to finish it today. Sorry for the delay, I hope you still enjoy it.

Thanks for your patience <3

Every coin has two faces

Ghost doesn’t like to think about himself.

Maybe the mask is an effort to conceal his own face when he walks past a mirror, rather than to guard his identity. Maybe it has a double purpose. Maybe it’s just one: to hide. Whatever the case, Simon Riley avoided thinking about himself. Of how he looked. How he sounded. Or moved-

Until he had met you.

Fresh blood. As in a new recruit and as in that you were bleeding the first time he saw you. Despite the bloody nose, there was something there. A burn in your eyes. The sharp smile you threw to the recruit laying at your feet. To the one responsible for your pain. Sparring wasn’t supposed to be this dirty, but they had crossed the line. And you had slaughtered it in response. A fucking demon; you had become violence on the flesh and unleashed something nasty upon them.

Once you had won the fight -not fair and square, but they had asked for it-, you stopped. Put the leash on whatever it was that took over you, and stepped back, hand to your bloody face.

Simon smelled something rotten.

For the untrained nose, it wasn’t noticeable. Most people would have looked at you and seen a surprisingly skilled recruit, that’s it. But he saw himself. Broken recognizes broken, he supposes. The anger ready to jump out. The control; years of training that someone as young as you would only have if they started before even learning to talk.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You were another survivor. Another messed up past. Another broken child who grew into a desperate, cold monster.

Ghost saw himself in you.

It went downhill from there. Simon Riley knew it was a bad idea, he was a bad idea. But you were so good. Scary good. Too damn close to perfect for him to be at ease. He kept an eye on you. From afar. Very, very far. From a second-floor window. From his elevated position as a sniper in the field. From a couple dozens of yards in the training area. Through Soap’s gossip.

Simon Riley had never been so close to liking himself. You were fast, methodic, smart and precise. You were strong, witty, sarcastic and poisonous. He was interested, involved, captivated and weirdly vulnerable.

It haunted Ghost how much of himself he saw in you. It just made the few contrasts (sparkly smile, short body, soft curves) feel sweeter. Just made him want to be closer. If you were so… So beautiful, so elegant, deadly, appealing, valuable… Maybe he was, too. Maybe it happened to you too. Maybe, when you looked at him, you saw yourself. Maybe you understood.

That’s why the way you looked at him it chipped his heart a little.

He had never considered himself particularly handsome. Just a man. But this man had a good body -strong, healthy, taller than most. He was good at his job- effective, respected, he had earned his position. He knew not to get into other people’s business, and he had a decent sense of humor. Some women had even complimented his accent- apparently his voice was quite attractive. The few that had seen his face hadn’t complained, either.

Obviously, he didn’t expect everyone to be interested in him. Simon knew the mask weirded some people out. But it wasn’t the mask, was it?

It was him.

You looked at him like he was the president of the welcoming committee of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Like you’d shoot him if he took a step too close (he never stood within less than six meters from your personal space, mind you). Whenever he entered the room, you stabbed him with your side eye. If Ghost had to walk past you in the hallway, you’d stick to the wall like a fucking tree frog, for God’s sake. And he hadn’t even talked to you directly.

Simon hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it.

Until now, that is. After you had been chosen to go with the team to a mission. One that was supposed to be easy. In and out. No more than a couple hours. No finding a place to stay the night. No ending up divided in a couple different locations. And definitely no spending the night hiding with you.

Alone.

There had been bullets flying everywhere. He was calm, fast. You knew better than to give him dirty looks when he dragged you to safety. But you were looking at him now. And he was terrified.

All this time, the scarred, broken kid inside him had recognized the scared, lost kid inside you. Ghost had seen himself in you.

But you had seen someone else in him.

His broad figure and trained muscles weren’t attractive, were they? They were menacing. His stealth, aim and training weren’t worthy of admiration, but fear. The hard-earned respect, the power, was nothing but a weapon, a strategic position from which to attack. Your dirty looks were the hate you had spent years nursing. God, the way you pressed against the wall in the hallways- your most basic instincts keeping you away from the predator.

Simon is a threat to you.

And you’re looking at him as if he was his father.

Ghost stares back at you from across the abandoned building you’re going to have to spend the whole night in. He’s going to be sick- you look sick. Simon knows how you feel. Being trapped in a house with a man who can beat you into a bloody pulp. Someone bigger, stronger and more powerful. Big body, hard knuckles and labored breath. Next to him, you’re so small. You’re weaker, have less experience and power over him. And you can’t leave: it would be worse. You’re trapped with him.

Alone.

It kills him, the way you step away from his body as soon as you can. How you don’t look him in the eyes, following his hands instead. He feels disgusting.

Simon takes a deep breath and forces his voice to sound calm- he’s not- and quiet.

“You alright? No wounds?”

He knows both answers: no and no. But he has to ask. Has to let you know he cares. He’s on your side. Here to take care of you. Not to hurt.

You shake your head.

“Good. Gonna stay ‘ere tonight. The others can’t be far. Contact Price to let ‘im know our position.”

A nod. He’s used to giving orders, but right now his voice sounded harsher than he would have liked to hear. Ghost winces.

“Thank you.”

It’s the surprise in your eyes that ignites his hope. He’s not an asshole. Maybe.

You don’t trust him, either way. After you eat- pressed against the wall, knees between you and him-, it’s time to prepare for the night. Simon knows how he’d feel if he was in your place. He’s more than sure you’re not happy sleeping in the same room as the big, creepy guy with military equipment who reminds you of a nightmare.

He takes off the gloves first. Someone told him he has nice hands, once. They’re brutal. But human. The mask is next. Usually- always- it stays on during missions, even if they last days. He can make an exception. His naked hand undresses the chin, the mouth, the nose- the scars. Simon bats his short eyelashes, as if the dim light of the sun setting was bothering him- he wants to show you he’s weak. He can be.

You stare at him from the other side of the room, still, a deer in headlights. Simon tucks the mask and his gloves into one of his pockets. Decides he’s keeping the bulletproof vest. But he can spare his gun. And the sniper rifle. And his knives- except for the one hidden inside his pants: he’s not undressing in front of your terrified eyes, and at least he has something to defend himself with, in case the enemy finds you. Everything else goes into a pile on the floor. He then steals a glance at you.

You’re looking at him unsure. He’s not only your superior, but a ruthless soldier. This is not the protocol. In fact, he’s being quite stupid by choosing to spend the night disarmed.

Simon shrugs. He’s not going to explain himself to you.

“’s uncomfortable to sleep with all that metal. ‘m a fucking bell.”

You give him another nod. It’s weird, how much you talk around other people. You’re usually loud, even your laugh. You laugh with other people. He’s seen you laugh at Soap’s jokes. He’s heard you teasing him about his accent.

Or, rather than that, the weird thing is how quiet you are next to him.

Ghost likes his recruits obedient and focused. Makes it easier to give orders if people have a cool head and are ready to follow. But you’re not. You’re ready to fight, flight or freeze, and you don’t trust him. You don’t trust he’ll keep you alive and well. Because you’re too busy making sure he can’t hurt you.

Except he can. He could. If he wanted. He doesn’t. For the life of him, he does not want to hurt you. Simon himself is terrified of the possibility.

Ghost knows it’s an absurd idea. He has no reason to. He is your superior, and you’re together in this. You’re supposed to watch each other’s backs. To be a team.

But right now, all you are is terrified.

And he doesn’t know how to make it stop. So he resorts to giving you choices.

“Wan’ the first watch?”

Say no, and he’ll make sure not even a cockroach crosses that door. You’ll be safer than in base.

You nod.

He bares his neck. Ghost has seen your teeth, and they’re more than enough to cause serious damage. Go on, he’s telling you, make sure I can’t fight back. Simon doesn’t say it, of course. Instead, he lays on the cold floor, away from the door and from you. Look, he’s out of the way. You can run, if you want to. You can wait until he’s asleep, grab his weapons and disappear. You can hide somewhere else until the sun rises. He just knows you’re good at hiding. He turns his back to you. There, it is yours to stab. If he ever gave you any reason to feel like this about him, by all means, go on. End his misery. But, most importantly, end yours. Take your pick, he left you an arsenal. He’s dying a death by his own weapons either way.

The shadow your body casts on the wall stays still a long time. It’s been well after an hour since he slowed his breathing down when you finally move into a comfortable position. The ruffling of your clothes and the little sigh you let out make him feel a little less cold. A little less like a monster.

When the sun wakes him up the next morning, you’re still sleeping. Ghost should reprimand you severely; should have woken him up, should have made sure someone was watching the door. But he can’t find it in him to do it, to betray this shadow of trust.

So Simon takes a mental picture of your relaxed face- he’s never seen it so close, it’s a sight worth risking his life for- and turns around. He pretends to sleep until you wake up and start making noise.

I hope you liked it, thanks again for the ask <3

If you (or anyone) have an idea/request/suggestion, I'll be happy to read them. It may take some time, but I promise I'll do my best. Also, I'm sorry if I made any mistakes, English is not my first language and today my brain was particularly confused. Just let me know and I'll fix it.

Masterlist here

[redwayfarers]

scarcely can speak for my thinkin'

ffxiv. wol/artoirel de fortemps. genderbend. set post stb. no spoilers. mature, 1k words. n.b genderbent artoirel was heavily inspired by this artwork by @eemamminy-art. ty for putting this bug in my head cass!

Nika thinks all of this is fucking weird. 

The mirror stands still, an axis upon which his mind twists and turns at random. His reflection moves with him and highlights the weirdness of the whole thing. Orchestrion plays a weirdly classy tune, Artoirelle’s work (with Nika’s added commentary, he thinks proudly) and that too offsets Nika’s desire to laugh at the whole situation. 

A situation that he himself chose to be in, mind. Now that’s the funniest thing of all. 

“You look good in them,” Artoirelle says, lounged at a chaise nearby. The orchestrion plays softly still. 

Nika frowns at his own reflection. “Really? I think I look dumb.” 

“It is pleasurable to you, yes?” She gives him one of her small, yet wolfish smiles. “Then it does not make you look dumb.” 

“You’re just into it.” 

“I will not force you to wear them if you dislike them,” she simply says. Nika turns to her and watches shadows play on her face, the soft fall of her dark hair, the contrast between the collar of her shirt and the messy strands on it. “This is all on you, Nika.” 

“I hate you,” he whispers and puts his hands on his hips. The offensive material rubs against his knuckles. She laughs. 

The lacy lingerie feels rich, expensive and exquisite. That’s what you get when you marry a Countess; you express one fucking fantasy one night, just the one, and suddenly you find yourself with a pair of white lingerie and stockings in your room. All discreetly packaged, delivered with a note in your wife’s stupidly fancy script. 

Okay, white does suit him. He even went as far as to add some pearl earrings and unearth his flowery perfume. So now, like a stupid doll, he keeps staring at his reflection, the scars and wiry, dark hairs on his body, the softness of his belly hanging out a little, the broadness of his shoulders and arms. 

And the worst part is that he likes it.

Artoirelle likes it too, judging by the way she looks at him. Her gaze lingers on the line of his ass and he laughs, but it sounds a little too awkward. Better laughing than squirming in place, he reasons. He may have fucked up, however, because she stands up and rolls her neck lazily. Nika swallows at the sight of her neck, long, pale and entirely too markable, but he isn’t allowed to relish in the moment. 

“Something’s funny?” she asks, but there’s steel to her voice. 

“Only me,” he mutters, dropping his hands to his sides. “I just–” 

She comes to stand near him; if he only dared move his hand, he could touch her. He can see the creases on her shirt this close, deep V of her shirt that falls lower than she normally wears. He knows that shirt, he loves that shirt. She borrowed it from him. It’s too short and too wide for her elezen self, but she wears it well. Nika gives a smile, private and vulnerable, at the gesture. 

Artoirelle knows, however. She’s always been attentive, always straightforward and never overt, mindful of perceptions of others. His is the only perception she cares about tonight, just as hers is the only perception he cares about. He doesn’t bother suppressing a thrill. 

“It should be me in that shirt and you in lingerie,” he says quietly. “It’s how other couples do it, right? It’s how it’s done? And yet, we dress up in reverse.” 

Her heels echo strongly, like a bell, against the marble floor. She’s a warm and long pressure behind him, and she drapes a hand over his shoulder. “What is done is me marrying an Ishgardian nobleman,” she says, leaning down. Her eyes are wide and impossibly blue this close. She smells like cologne. “And did that happen?” She drags their wedding band against his cheek. 

Nika giggles. For fuck’s sake. 

“Halone supports it,” Nika says, half to make a joke, and half to convince himself. He isn’t sure Halone is real, but it’s good enough for her, right?

“Halone supports it,” Artoirelle whispers solemnly. Nika laughs. She takes a chance to sneak her hands around his waist and pull him closer; he doesn’t even have a chance to react before she’s kissing him, letting her hands roam his exposed body. He doesn’t even have a chance to think about how fucking weird and strange it is for them to be this into it. 

He moans a little into her mouth when her hand finds a nipple and rolls it between her fingers. She parts their lips for air, but he can feel her breath on his cheeks. She’s always been this type of demonstrative person, and it’s a language Nika understands well. The fact she speaks it too is why he married her. 

It feels so fucking weird to say he’s married, and married to the most striking woman he’s ever seen. And that she likes him in coats and suits just as much as she likes him in lingerie and pearl earrings. 

“Don’t overthink it,” she breathes out, looking into his eyes. He can’t look away. “Come to the chaise and don’t overthink it.” She then sticks her tongue out to lick at his scar. Nika huffs and then yelps when she picks him up and carries him over to the chaise. 

He has more than enough time to blush from ear to ear and thank Halone or whoever the fuck that it doesn’t show that much. 

“Don’t overthink it,” she repeats when she sits down and he’s sitting in her lap. Rich people business, he thinks fondly, and then she kisses him again. Her hands land on his ass and she holds him there, feeling the lace under her fingers. He wraps his arms around her neck and kisses her, buries his hands in her hair, and it feels right, somehow, transgressive yet so right, to be here, with her, where his head can’t catch up. 

And maybe that’s half the thrill, he realises as their tongues meet. The transgression, the safety, the trust because– fuck, he trusts her, he trusts her strong arms, her stalwart soul. Here, it is uncomfortable but safe. 

Deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He isn’t ready to say it yet, and the knowledge will crush him later, but it’s there, it’s singing. So he settles. 

It’s the best feeling in the world. 

[beaissofuckingdone]

more ryu hayabusa headcanons

When Ryu Hayabusa Falls in Love:

He tries to hide it at first. But it’s painfully obvious. He lingers when you leave. He checks your surroundings before saying goodbye. He doesn’t smile, but the way he says your name? Velvet.

Love makes him reckless. He’s usually controlled... until you’re in danger. Then suddenly, he's crashing through walls, slicing demons in half, screaming your name like it’s his last prayer.

He starts training you. Not because he doubts your strength, but because teaching you the way of the dragon is the highest form of trust he knows.

He memorizes how you say things. Not just your voice, but your pauses, your sighs, even the way you mumble when you’re tired. He listens like you’re music he doesn’t want to end.

Modern AU Headcanons (because I love these)

He’s a martial arts instructor. Stoic, precise, terrifying to newbies, but when a child asks if he's a real ninja, he bows solemnly and says, “Yes. But don’t tell anyone.”

The first day you signed up to his classes, you left thinking you'll definitely pay the monthly subscription.

He refuses to use emojis. Texts like:

“I’m outside.” “Be careful.” “Eat something.” And then sends a picture of his bruised knuckles with the caption “fine.”

You had to get used to seeing the period "." a million times and convince yourself he wasn't mad... that's just the way he types.

He drives a black motorcycle. Helmet? Optional. Leather gloves. Puts a mask on to cover half of his face. Pulls up and you can smell the intensity.

He takes his helmet off in slow motion like a movie scene. Time stops.

You were behind him on a red light and were completely hypnotized, the way his back got tense, the muscles shining through the black shirt he wore, leaned and drove away... The car behind you honked because it was already a green light.

His apartment is neat but... pretty minimalistic. One futon, one bonsai, one katana mounted on the wall. But your hoodie is folded neatly on the corner of the bed.

Jealous Ryu Headcanons

He doesn’t say he’s jealous. His posture changes. Suddenly, he's looming behind you while someone’s talking too sweet. One step closer and his hand is on your lower back.

When you're alone after: “Was he bothering you?” You: “No, he was being nice.” Deadpan “...He was breathing in your direction.”

He doesn’t argue, he asserts. Kisses you like a warning. Not possessive. Just intense. Like he’s saying: You are mine. And I do not share.

But otherwise? he's very calm about it unless someone is really, really trying to get you.

Sick Ryu Headcanons

Doesn’t admit he’s sick. When you saw him after a mission, you noticed his eyes were slightly red and watery. “I’m fine.” (He's literally shaking.) You touch his forehead and it’s boiling. He tries to wave you off, coughs once, then pretends he didn’t.

Sleeps with his sword next to him even with a fever. You have to convince him to please just let go for ONE night.

Gets weirdly clingy. Not cuddly, but… he’ll reach out and tug your sleeve, eyes half-lidded. Just to know you’re near. Won’t ask. Just holds on... Like a shy cat that has an angry face but still hold for his dear life on your arm.

When he finally crashes, he mutters your name in his sleep. Over and over. Like it’s keeping him anchored.

Sleepy - Vulnerable Ryu Headcanons

He sleeps like a ghost... silent, still, unreadable. But sometimes, if he’s really exhausted, he’ll curl ever so slightly toward your warmth.

He has nightmares. About his clan, about old wars. You don’t wake him, you just hold his hand. And he calms. Every damn time.

When he wakes and sees you beside him, there’s always a second of wonder. Like he can’t believe you’re real, that you chose to stay.

and tbh, i think he's the one that falls in love just one time ever, in his whole life. And not with another ninja, he would fall in love with someone kind, very soft, low profile.

[sleeping-diary-the-fic]

Sleeping diary (a pink aftermare story)

Chapter 9: What in carnation???

First Previous

Orchid stood there, a few feet away from the grass circle, staring, glaring in a seemingly random direction, full of nothing but darkness.

His candy floss colored kitten slippers thumped against the vaguely solid ground.

He swore he heard something that way.

He kept staring for a while, his stillness only broken by this incessant stumping.

One could never be too cautious around here. 

A noise in the save screen, that didn’t come from him or the faint but constant buzzing of the checkpoint, was very suspicious.

The monster wasn’t sure if he preferred it to be from Gaster deciding to visit the periphery or something else entirely.

His hands, tucked in his coat’s pockets, picked at the inner fabric in a nervous fidget.

Maybe he imagined that.

Maybe that sound solely came from his fragile mind, sleething its way out by a fissure that would never close fully.

Orchid took his hand out to readjust his scarf and sighed.

Getting poetic again, lonely guy?

Finally deeming an investigation was not worth trudging away from his only light, he simply sat and picked up his favorite activity.

That book.

Berlingot went to sleep already so he only read back old exchanges and counted the pages they completed so far.

A lot.

Between idle chit-chats and paper games, they had decorated many new pages of small moments of life.

Orchid smiled at that.

Berlingot had a lot of free time or was weirdly invested with talking with him.

He didn’t mind however and wouldn’t probe. It’d felt like breaching that invisible barrier they each put up tightly around some aspects of their identity.

It wasn’t like he wanted to talk about his life or situation, why would he demand that of Berlingot?

A flutter moved right in his mostly blind side. The right side of his face was damaged enough that he barely perceived the world from that eye.

He froze.

This time he was sure of it.

He did not imagine that sound.

Twirling around fast, two summoned blasters fired beams of raging fire towards the source of the noise.

“WH-”

Someone else was there. 

Someone who barely dodged his blasts and was now floating, eyes wide, not so far from him.

It was a skeleton, with a similar build, clothed in a slightly pinkish white robe thing tied by a thin cord. 

Its eye sockets were dark and empty, partly obscured by his hood. The dark pink inside of the fabric contrasted with the pearl white of his bones.

Maybe it was really a ghost this time, he couldn’t see any feet under those clothes.

The apparition whistled before addressing him.

“Well, that wasn’t far… You’re a bit twitchy there, buddy?”

They talked.

“Who and what are you?”

“Maybe we could,” slender fingers gently point to his still summoned blasters, “put away the big guns before we try the whole conversation thing, bucko?”

“Answer my question and I might bring the puppies home, stranger.”

“Ok, ok,” they put their hands open in from of them, “sorry for startling you, I’ll answer your questions, cowboy~”

The floating guy lied down up there and pointed finger guns at him. Confused by the unexpected endeavor, Orchid unsummoned his blasters.

He swore, now was not the time to seem vulnerable.

“Soooo, I’ll admit I’ve been called a fair share of names!”

Their hands fished out squared papers from two colorful bags, hanging from his belt.

“First,” the stranger started folding the paper with a surprising velocity, “my brother calls me Sans. I’m sure you know this name, other me.”

Winking, he put down the origami.

A candy-shaped one.

“How-”

“What, can’t believe there are other worlds than your small one, boo?” 

The doppelganger folded a few similar paper constructs and put them in neat lines.

“I would have thought that with your… history?”, he lowered his voice, “not that I know much about it beside you got a copy in there and you out annnd the fact the bloodiest resets finally stopped… So don’t worry about that, candy-cheek!”

Orchid startled and almost rubbed his cheek where he knew the candy-mark shape rested.

10 small paper boxes had been produced again.

“Can you stop with the weird nicknaming and just come down and explain what’s up besides you?”

The other did a small looping and skillfully hid away  in his sleeves his creations.

“No can do, pal. I’ll come down at the end of our conversation annnnd you didn’t give me a name for me to use? I wouldn’t assume you still go by “Sans”, do you? Oh and,” the floating guy produced a more complex paper construct made of all the origamis he folded earlier, “you can call me Kusudama! It’s better than my work name and I choose it myself!”

The chatterbox seemed like he could be going for hours but Orchid did not relax yet. There was something in those fast-paced words, in this wide smile and empty sockets that just enerved him. How did “Kusudama” enter the save screen and why?

“I do have another name but I ain't sure I trust you so what if you get down there and we discuss how you breached this place and what you are seeking exactly here?”

No use in beating around the bushes, he might as well get to the point.

“Well it all does have a thing to do with my job but frankly I feel like procrastinating some more and believe me Sans-”

“Orchid.”

The correction fuzed before he could stop it, he couldn’t bear this name in this foreign mouth anymore.

“-Orchid, be-leaf me when I say it is in your best interest, flower guy.”

He tssked at the joke, who was he to steal a pun he could have done.

“And what is your job, world’s worst spooky decoration?”

Kusudama giggled and twirled, putting his hands under his shin, the fabric spinning around him in an aquatic dance.

“I wish,” he sighed.

Something in the atmosphere soured. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Kusudama lowered himself a bit, standing almost to reach now.

“I said I had many names and a few are directly tied to my job, whomst I do not enjoy that much on a good day. But I guess someone has to do it.”

Orchid took a step bad, a hand raising in case he needed to summon something fast.

The other raised a hand as well, holding the colorful origami amalgamation. He threw it high.

His bags shook and a myriad of papers flew out, obscuring his vision suddenly.

Orchid tensed but waited.

A chuckle resonated in the empty place.

A glint of a blade grazed his shoulder and tore through his vest before he could react.

“Uhuh, not that fast.”

The view cleared and Kusudama reappeared, a pair of mismatched paper wings decorated his back. A tall scythe rested in his hands, the misshapen wood let place to the deadly blade where the weird origami thing sat.

“Maybe I played long enough. Hello, I’m a reaper, some call me death and I’m here for you, bye!”

Before the words even registered, the attacker lunged in his direction and it was only by reflex Orchid managed to summon his weapons to fight back.

The other was fast and bones, papers and blasts flew everywhere in a chaotic ordeal.

The monster dodged, more and more in extremis, each attack thrown his way, the blade swiping at him every time the death-bringer managed to close the distance. 

A wave of bones made the aggressor tumble farther, tearing through the fragile wing. He didn’t have time to cheer as the hole closed itself using new furniture from the annoying bags and his enemy threw himself back into action.

This couldn’t continue for long.

He would tire.

He would give up.

Could he even die here, when he only had a half-life left, when this place kept him alive when he should have been dust for a long time already?

Another attack barreled down on him.

He side stepped it and grabbed hard on whatever he could touch.

His hand ensnared a wrist and the hardly thought maneuver sent them both flying in the same direction.

They stopped in an awkward heap of limbs.

Both fighters froze, unsure of what to do next. 

After a while, they entangled themselves and stood there observing the other.

Kusudama’s eye sockets were blown wide for some reason and the previously determined to harm stranger stood there, limbs limp, as papers retreated and scythe unsummoned, leaving only the colorful ball he built earlier.

“What?”

Orchid didn’t let go of his sharpened bone stick as he shook in an unstable stance despite the sudden change of endeavor. This could be a scheme.

The reaper inspected his hands before tilting his head to the right.

“...why are you still alive…?”

While he couldn’t figure out what action should have killed him so surely the fact it didn’t produce such a confused face on “death” itself, he might as well answer what he knew.

“Beat me if I know. That place helped I guess.”

“...I’ll… I’ll come back later.”

With that, Kusudama disappeared soundlessly.

“YOU BETTER NOT COME BACK,” yelled the monster to nobody in particular, the sound echoing in the now empty space.

What a weird day.

End of chapter 9! Go to chapter 10?

Aftertale belongs to @/loverofpiggies Reapertale belongs to @/renrink Berlingot, Orchid and Kusudama belong to me

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

some random blues klues/bitana headcanons bc i love them and want to pull my skin off

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

kitana is calm and collected, and is able to cool (hehe) down bi-han when he gets into one of his moods the usual. she has the ability to use just her soothing voice to bring bi-han back to reality

bi-han is driven by independence and self confidence and so basically drills into kitana that she is capable of leadership and just as- if not better- than her entire family when it comes to her ability and skill to lead.

kitana validates bi-han's anger and annoyances, bi-han doesn't often have people actually listen to him, and so this is a very strange occurrence that takes him by surprise.

bi-han basically orders (out of love) for kitana to focus more on herself, on what she wants to do, as opposed to just what her mother, sister and empire want. they don't matter. the only thing that matters is what kitana really wants.

both kitana and bi-han are very awkward and stiff when it comes to physical touch, cuddling or hand holding, and it takes them both a while to get used to it. they're both opposed to physical touch in most aspects of life, but something about the other makes it easier, it's still weird, but they quickly warm up to the idea.

kitana loves resting her head on bi-han's back as he's sitting down on one of his rare breaks from work or training. his quick breath and rising body is weirdly relaxing to her, and bi-han has found her asleep on several occasions. he'll (definitely annoyed lie) gently pick her up and carry her to bed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

bi-han loves having kitana just hold him, as he buries his face into her chest as she talks about her day, various plans for outworld military, things like that. he feels...safe. something that took him a while to realize or even admit. and he's able to just forget about the outside world and all his annoyances.

kitana has never really had anyone to talk to in a way where she can fully let her guard down, and not just be "princess kitana", but bi-han was different. sure it took him a while to get used to actually having a partner, and for the two to get used to each other, but bi-han truly listens to her, he doesn't expect her to be a princess, to put on the mask she puts on everyday. kitana is able to be raw and vulnerable with him, voice her anger and concerns about her family, the royal house, everything. she doesn't have to pretend with him, and it means more to her than bi-han will ever know.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[quezzzs]

"Markus we're going now."

"Okay but Simon, I think you're gonna want to hear me out on this."

Simon maneuvers himself around the ragged stones and crevices with determined direction. He had to track down Markus after he went missing from Jericho for wanting to 'make peace' with the anti-androids.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me about it later when we get back." Simon waves him off as he tries to go int he same path he took among the dilapidated building wreckages, the sounds of rocks and wood hitting against the floor.

Markus follows behind Simon as he tried to explain himself. "But this update isn't really for 'later', it's more for 'mind-shattering, dire, and right now need to know' kind of situation."

The LED on the side of Simon's head shined bright red, tracking forward in his path. "Why don't you go ahead and add it to the list of all the inane and reckless things you've done already."

A groan of frustration was made by the RK200 as he pushed away the broken bricks to make some space for himself. "Simon, I swear, this surprise is gonna be an intense one to deal with,"

When Simon was getting closer to the exit, his eyes spotted Josh standing to the side and looking at an opening.

Him and Markus slowed down in their tracks, Markus still blabbering on about what he was saying. "When you see it, you'll have to take it as delicately as..."

Markus then stops when he sees Josh turn around, his face full of surprise. "...possible."

Josh walks away from the opening and pats Simon on his shoulder, whistling aside. "You're gonna take this one." He says to the PL600 before staying by Markus' side.

Confused, Simon goes over to where Josh was looking at, grabbing a metal pipe for safety.

"Maybe, put the pipe down?" Markus tries to intervene but Simon went on.

And there he saw her.

Standing across from the open roof room of the top floor they were currently standing on, a redheaded WR400 in stealth gear stood as mighty as she could with a defensive expression on her face.

At that end was North.

Simon's blue eyes softened almost instantly, the grip on the metal pipe loosened as it fell to the ground ringing. Markus and Josh stood behind him, watching as the scene takes place.

The side of North's mouth twitches as she began to speak.

"I know what you're gonna say, Simon. How could I have done this?"

She shook her head away in slight shame, continuing to give reasons for her fake death.

"Stayed away all this time, and why didn't I come back to you? To our group?"

The two androids held eye contact with one another, North maintaining her tough persona as Simon stepped gradually to her.

"Well, what sign did I have that you could change, Simon? That anyone in Jericho could. I kept arguing so many times for us to fight back, to fight the humans for what they've done to us but did any of you tried?"

North took small steps back, cautious of what little floor she had left to step on without falling. Simon kept going.

Josh elbowed Markus' side lightly. "This is why I never dated. This, and another reason." Markus only looked at him weirdly for a moment before looking back at the long-time deviants in front of them.

North's brown eyes darted around, her outward appearance decreasing with every second she sees Simon.

"I know that I left you to take care of our people alone, but I thought I'd be better alone with my own views. I...was wrong, and Markus showed me that, but.."

North finally stopped backing up, no longer having anywhere else to go as Simon stood in front of her, his sight never leaving her guarded face.

Her voice cracked slightly, signs of worry winning over instead. "Fuck- stop being somber, Simon."

A mimic of tears began to form in North's eyes, the glossiness of the liquid revealing her vulnerability for the blond android in front of her.

She was desperate to get anything from him.

"Go on, shout, scream, say something-"

North's thirium pump increased in the rhythm of beats when Simon placed his gentle hand to hold up her face, analyzing every single detail that was made on her face. The face only he could see as beautifully unique of her own.

And so he spoke,

A coneflower petal floating lightly upon water.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

Both of them left in astonishment, no words to be said left.

The feeling of Simon's pale thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down once North closed her eyes, relieving in this profound moment.

His movement steady and without a sense of rush, moving closer so that their lips could meet again after all the time they had been isolated from one another.

Hands intertwined as the synthetic skin retracts, a burst of overwhelming emotions overloaded their senses.

They didn't care at all.

Only caring about this moment of intimacy.