#and...that's fine! If people have fun at it!

[coldfanbou]

Doing is Better Than Watching

Here we go with something a little fun. It was something that was made for an odd pairings challenge. I did end up adding a little.

Length 3.7K

Chuu X Mreader X Hwasa

Chuu scanned the area, her heart beating out of her chest as she looked up at the sign. As her eyes drifted downward, she saw the bodies pressed against the window. Their breath fogged the glass as the people on the other side watched. It was arousing. The young woman had never felt like this before. As she stared at the act being committed before her, her legs rubbed together, her hand moving to her core before she stopped herself. Chuu gulped and took a step back. Turning her head away from the lewd sight. She started away, pushing through the crowd of onlookers and crossing the street. 

Chuu turned back, the name of the building being ingrained in her mind. Tinkerbell. She went home, her mind flashing back to the woman she watched. The way her body had grinded against her partner’s, the euphoric look on her face. It was all in her mind. 

Opening the door to her apartment, Chuu saw you flicking through channels. She balled her hands, her thumbs nervously rubbing against the side of her fingers. “Hey, what’s up, Chuu?” She opens her mouth to reply, but her voice doesn’t come to her. 

She purses her lips, considering how to answer. The first thought in her mind was to ask, “Have you ever heard of a place called Tinkerbell?” She pushed the idea back, saying “nothing,” instead. “How was your day?” Chuu sits down beside you laying her head on your lap, poking your thigh with her finger. 

You place your hand on her head, moving her hair away from her face. You see the edges of her lips curl upward in a smile. “My day was fine. I didn’t do very much. By the way, have you decided what we’re going to do for our date?” Chuu shook her head; she had completely forgotten about it. For a moment, she considered asking about Tinkerbell again. Reasoning that a guy would love to go there, and maybe she could watch it go on from outside. Chuu bit her lip; she hadn’t yet shared those sorts of details about her desires with you. She didn’t know if you would want that, so she kept it to herself.

“I haven’t thought about it much.” Chuu turns her body, looking up at the ceiling. She kicks her feet as she considers what she should do for a date. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“Our last date was my choice. It’s your turn to choose what we do.” You reply, tapping the top of her head to remind her you took turns choosing what to do.

“Well…there’s something I want to do, but…I don’t know if you want to.” Chuu felt her heartbeat quicken. She refused to look you in the eye and turned her back to you just as quickly as she had turned to face you. 

“Chuu, it’s your choice. Remember when I made you go bungee jumping?” You ask, shaking her head. Chuu swats your hand away, a smile forming on her face as she remembers the trip you took, how her legs shook as she stood on the edge of the platform and needed to be pushed off. “You screamed holy shit the entire way down before yelling and crying like a baby.” You were teasing her, it wasn’t that bad, and she knew it.

“I did not!” Chuu yells, shooting up. She straddles your lap, raising her fist against you, a sly smile as she tries to batter you. You reach up, trying to grab her wrists. Chuu giggled as you tried to stop her. Your hand slides up one of her arms, stopping at her wrist. You try to stand, falling forward instead, landing over Chuu. You grab her other wrist and hold the small woman down. She tries to resist for a moment before giving up. Her breathing begins to slow as she stares at you. “You cheater, you can’t grab my arms. It’s not fair.”

“Why isn’t it fair?”

“You’re stronger,” Chuu whines, puffing out her cheeks. The sight makes you smile; Chuu’s expressions always look so cute. You bend over and kiss her cheek. Chuu tries to stay mad, but as you pepper her with small kisses, she breaks into a laugh, her toothy smile shining through now. You let go of her wrists, and she wraps her arms around you. “No cheating next time.” She giggles before moving in and pressing her lips against yours.  You shake your head at the ridiculous thought.�� 

“Alright, so are you going to tell me what you want to do?”

Chuu purses her lips. “D-do you know of a place called Tinkerbell?” You recognize the name and cock your head to the side. “I want to go there.”

“What do you mean?” You were confused about what she meant by she wanted to go there.

“I want to go there for our date.” Chuu’s voice becomes a murmur, embarrassment taking hold. “I want to see you fuck someone.” Chuu turns her head away. “You can go inside and I’ll watch you from outside.”

The idea didn’t quite sit right with you. “Isn’t there something else we could do? It’s supposed to be a date.” Chuu pouts and reiterates her wants. You mull over the idea. You weren’t really interested in being with another woman; it didn’t feel right, especially if Chuu was just going to be watching. “What about you come in with me? If you come in with me, then we can do it.”

“Really?” Chuu asks, surprised that you would make such a deal. 

“Yes, that’s my condition.” 

Chuu jumps at the opportunity. “Let’s go right now!” Chuu wriggles out from under you and jumps on your back. “Date night, date night!” she chants, her grip tightening.

“Well, I guess we don’t really need to dress up.” Chuu climbs off you and rushes to the door; her excitement is almost contagious. She puts on her shoes and goes around in circles, waiting for you to get ready. Once you're out the door, Chuu skips ahead of you, almost dancing, occasionally peering behind to see if you're still there. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Chuu led the way, bringing you inside the building. You were lost for a moment, the entrance being a bit confusing, but you figured out the lobby was a little further in. The man working the front desk was confused at the sight of you and Chuu, but greeted you as warmly as he could. 

“Excuse me, is it possible to get a room?” Chuu asks, her fingers tapping away at the desk. 

“This isn’t  a hotel.”

“We know, we just want to be with someone.” 

“I see, well, if you look behind you, there is a board with our workers for the night. Some are more open to a threesome than others; if you’d like, I can select the worker for you.” Chuu nods along, listening intently. 

“That would be great.” She responds before walking over to the board, looking at the dozens of faces and names. You slip the worker money, which he deposits in the big machine. The worker sucks in a breath as he looks at who’s available. 

“Ah, she’ll be good for this.” He mumbles to himself before selecting a tan woman. The picture used was fierce, giving her something of a domineering aura. As your eyes move downward, you read her name, Hwasa. “There we go.” The worker picks up a card and hands it to you. “Here’s a keycard. Please go to the room written here. It is up the staircase, the second door on the left.” You were surprised how well he knew the building, to the point that he could say that off the top of his head, but Chuu soon stole your attention. You heard the sound of her feet banging against the stairs as she rushed upward.

“Chuu!” You shout before chasing after your girlfriend. She giggles on her way up, the excitement of it all taking hold of her. She rushes to the door, waiting outside with a silly smile on her face. You tap the key card against the door and push it open. On the other side of the door was Hwasa. She had one leg on the bed, the other hanging off the edge. The tan woman was staring right at you both, a hand running up and down her exposed slit. Hwasa wore a short sheer black nightgown, in her position, it didn’t cover anything lower than her waist, not that it covered much at all. 

“Come in,” she groaned in a low, sultry tone. The smirk she held grew wider as she locked eyes with Chuu. “Well, aren’t you a cute one?” She said, stepping off the bed and treading toward her. Hwasa walked around your girlfriend, her eyes eating Chuu up. Your eyes wander along your new partner's body, taking in the valley between her breasts. Her smooth mounds were topped with small brown nipples, already hard and poking through her gown. As your eyes moved south, you noted her small waist and wide hips. Her tanned legs looked longer in a set of black heels.

Hwasa stopped behind Chuu, slipping her hands along Chuu’s waist. One hand went up to Chuu’s chest while the other moved between your girlfriend's legs. “Such a pretty girl. Did your naughty boyfriend here want to have a threesome?” Hwasa teased, her hands lingering against Chuu’s body. Chuu gasped. Hwasa’s touch was electric. 

“Why don’t you tell her why we’re here?” You interject, walking over to the bed and taking a seat. You figured it would be entertaining, if not hot to watch Chuu fumble around in this situation.

Hwasa gave you a slight grin before looking back at the woman who was becoming putty in her hands. “Yeah, tell me why you’re here.” Hwasa’s demand wouldn’t be met. One of her hands slipped underneath Chuu’s panties; her hand was resting against your girlfriend’s slit. Chuu moaned. The situation had turned around on her. She had expected to watch you and Hwasa go at it, but as it turned out, you were watching her. Chuu was losing it, and Hwasa was barely touching her. The tan woman was simply tapping her hand against Chuu’s bare slit, but it still made her moan. “Oh, baby, don’t tell me this is going to be your first time with a woman.” Hwasa’s voice was sickly sweet with her teasing. She squeezed Chuu’s breast, drawing out a moan from her. 

Hwasa chuckled, “You look like you have a lot of energy.” Hwasa glances at you, her grin plastered on her face, “Does she?”

“She has a lot of energy.”

“Great. I just love tiring people out. Let’s move to the bed, baby.” Hwasa nudged Chuu forward, as your girlfriend tried to climb onto the bed, Hwasa pushed a single finger inside Chuu. Chuu’s entire body shivered as the tan woman’s finger curled inside her. “What’s wrong, baby?” Hwasa asks, pretending as if her finger wasn’t knuckle deep inside Chuu. She pushes your girlfriend onto the bed and pulls out her finger, dragging it along her lips before sucking on it. “I have a lot of toys here, and I’ll make sure to have a nice experience.”

As Hwasa climbs onto the bed, she looks over at you, “You don’t mind watching, do you?”

You shake your head, “Go right ahead. Just don’t let her take control, or you’ll be in trouble.” Hwasa chuckles at your answer. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hwasa responds, “Feel free to enjoy the show by the way.” With that, Hwasa focused on Chuu. She stripped your girlfriend down to nothing, looking over her thin body. “You’re such a pretty girl,” she tells Chuu, planting a kiss on your girlfriend’s cheek.

Hwasa placed her hand against Chuu’s slit, listening to the petite woman gasp again. “Relax and let me work.”

Hwasa pushed two fingers into Chuu, curling them inside the young woman as she leaned over and used her tongue against Chuu’s nipple. “So cute,” She commented, hearing Chuu’s moans. “Are you enjoying yourself, baby?” Chuu nodded her head as she whined, her body tingling as she got close to an orgasm. Chuu felt a tightening in her core as Hwasa’s fingers toyed with her. When Hwasa used her palm to rub her clit Chuu was sent over the edge, her body squirming as she came on Hwasa’s fingers. Hwasa laughed at the young woman. “Poor baby came already. Here I’ll give you a treat.” Hwasa pulled away from Chuu, grabbing something from a nearby drawer. Returning to the bed, you see she has a double-sided strap-on in her hand. Hwasa moves slowly, pushing one end into Chuu, drawing a moan from the recovering woman. Once secure Hwasa pulls Chuu into a seated position and turns around, showing off her shapely ass. “Come here, baby,” she orders, bringing Chuu closer. 

“Here, have some fun,” Hwasa said, aligning the toy with her entrance. She pushed her hips back, taking it in. Chuu moaned, her hands digging into the tan woman’s ass. The double-sided strap-on shifted inside her, rubbing her walls. “C’mon baby, go ahead and fuck me.” Watching from the side, you knew what would come soon enough. Chuu wasn’t nearly tired enough to be left in charge. 

You sat back, pleasuring yourself as you watched Chuu ram the length of the toy into Hwasa. The tan woman roared as she felt it smack against her service. You knew she would regret choosing such a toy for this. In a matter of seconds, Chuu began thrusting. They were awkward, holding no rhythm as she figured out how to fuck the older woman. Still, what she was doing was working. Chuu slammed her hips against Hwasa’s ass, moaning as her pace quickened. Chuu could hardly control herself when she got like this. She brought her hand down on Hwasa’s bottom, her flesh jiggling violently as Chuu continued to take her from behind.

You think back about how you warned Hwasa, and now you are watching the results of ignoring that warning. Hwasa was biting the bed sheets as Chuu relentlessly thrust into her. Chuu’s hands were digging into Hwasa’s soft flesh, her body shaking. She was on the verge of cumming and so was Hwasa. She screamed it out, telling Chuu just how close she was. 

Your girlfriend was far too focused on her pleasure to hear a thing. She was chasing her orgasm without thought. Hwasa’s walls clamped down on the toy a moment later, and she cried out as pleasure overcame her. Despite cumming along with her Chuu continued thrusting. She loved being overstimulated, and Hwasa was about to find out. “Fuck wait!” Hwasa moaned, feeling the cock inside her continue to stir. Another orgasm washed over the pair not long after, with Chuu burying herself inside Hwasa. A smile formed on Chuu’s face, it was euphoric, showing her completely lost in the pleasure she felt. Glancing at Hwasa, you could see the tired expression on her face. Her ride wasn’t over just yet, though. 

They’re bodies were sweaty now, hair becoming matted to their skin. “This feels so good,” Chuu moaned, resting her head on Hwasa’s back. She stuck her tongue out, sampling some of the tan woman’s salty sweat. “Let’s go again.” Chuu moans, her hips already moving, her strap-on sliding in and out of Hwasa’s slick cunt. The older woman gives tired moans as Chuu drives her cock deep into her cunt for another round. Hwasa was understanding why you said not to give her control. 

As your girlfriend hammered away at Hwasa’s cunt she had the bright idea to play with her clit. She reached around, moving her fingers in small circles over the sensitive nub. “Ah fuck!” Hwasa cried out, a wave of pleasure hitting her. It was overwhelming her senses. “Harder,” she moaned. The word came out of her mouth without her meaning to say it. Chuu listened, though, and went harder. Hwasa’s rough moans filled the room now. Chuu for her part added more pleasure, reaching to Hwasa’s tits and squeezing one before doing the same to the other. 

Watching the women go at it was like nothing else you had ever seen. Hwasa was being reduced to a toy for Chuu, who had originally wanted to just watch, and was now enjoying herself to another level. After another wave of orgasms, you notice Chuu finally running out of steam, her breathing was heavy, and her thrusts slowed until she left herself buried inside Hwasa, undoing the strap and lying back on the bed. You stay seated, giving them a moment to bask in the afterglow. You chuckle to yourself, even if you didn’t do anything, it was money well spent seeing Chuu enjoy herself so much.

That being said, there was still something that needed to be done. You walk over to the tired pair and flip Hwasa onto her back. “I tried warning you,” you tease, as you grab your cock and rub it against her sensitive slit. 

You push the tip inside, making Hwasa groan. As you look over to Chuu, you tap her stomach. “Chuu, I don’t think you want to miss this.” Your girlfriend stirs, her eyes opening slowly until she sees you grab Hwasa’s waist and slam yourself deep inside her. Chuu’s hand slipped between her legs, rubbing her folds as you took your turn with the experienced woman. 

“Fuck, this real cock,” Hwasa mutters quietly, wrapping her thick legs around your waist as you drive your cock deep into her cunt. You grab at Hwasa’s breasts, their bouncing too hypnotic to leave them alone for any longer. You squeeze them between your fingers, the soft flesh bulging between them. The older woman whimpered as you played with her breasts, groping them roughly as you brought her close to another climax. Hwasa’s moans grew louder, her legs tensing around you as she got ever closer. 

Chuu fingered herself at the sight. It was just what she wanted. She pushed two fingers into her cunt, plunginng them deep into her cunt and rubbing her walls as she watched you work over Hwasa. Her moans were rising just like the older woman’s. Part of her wanted to be involved in the action, part of her wished to just to watch you fuck another woman. Her body moved on its own, and she got beside Hwasa, opening her mouth and latching onto one of the tanned woman’s dark nipples. Hwasa cried out from the pleasure, biting her lip after and holding Chuu against her chest. You lean down and take the other breast into your mouth. With both you and Chuu sucking on her nipple Hwasa was finally pushed over the edge.

Hwasa pushes you in deeper with her legs, your cock rubs against her womb as her walls tighten around you. You give her a small thrust, and cum inside Hwasa, the warmth of your cum spreading across her body. She rolls her head back and let’s out a long moan as she feels your cum fill her. Hwasa’s body shakes, and her walls milk you for every drop. Chuu pulls away from the tanned woman’s chest and etches the sight of your tangled bodies into her mind. You grind against Hwasa until she finally lets you go and as you pull out Chuu takes the chance to watch as your cum flows out of the tanned woman’s slit. Chuu can’t help but play with herself, the sight nearly bringing her to her own climax. 

You grab her, though, stopping her just short of cumming. Before she can question you you pull her onto Hwasa’s tired body, and push your cock into her wet slit. Chuu cums in that instant, moaning loudly before Hwasa grabs her face and pulls her into a kiss. The older woman, despite being tired, works over Chuu as you fuck her from behind. Hwasa holds the kiss, pushing her tongue into your girlfriend's mouth while she plays with her ass. Slapping the firm piece of flesh and leaving her handprint on it. 

You loved seeing the tan woman play with Chuu, and it fueled you. You hammer into Chuu, driving your girlfriend crazy as you trap her between yourself and Hwasa. Hwasa reached back down as you thrust, and moved her hand in small circles against Chuu’s clit. The small woman cried out, the pleasure quickly becoming too much. It didn’t help that she had just cum. Chuu’s voice filled the room, her moans rising as she got closer to her orgasm. “Oh shit!” She yelled out as she came on your cock, her walls gripping you tightly as you continued to thrust. The overwhelming pleasure coursed through her entire body, shutting down her mind as she collapsed onto Hwasa. You came soon after, burying yourself in her tight cunt and filling her just like you did Hwasa earlier. 

You drag Chuu off of Hwasa and collapse next to your girlfriend. Chuu fell asleep in a matter of moments, too tired from the experience. The tan woman runs a finger along Chuu’s chin, “That was fantastic,” she coos. “This little one has so much energy.” Hwasa moaned, sliding two fingers along her slit. “I wouldn’t mind having some more fun like this. Maybe next time we could work both holes.” Hwasa said with a smirk. “Do you think she’d be into that?” You had to admit the idea of Chuu being stuffed like that was hot. It made your cock twitch and Hwasa noticed, reaching over and grabbing your shaft. “So?”

“I’ll talk to her.” You look down at Chuu’s sleeping face, “I think she’ll be into it, though.”

Hwasa chuckles, “I’ll set a date for you two. Just make sure she can take it as well as she can give it. I have something bigger for her.” You’re amused at the comment, but don’t ask further, recovering as much as you can before your time ends and you have to carry Chuu out.

[vonbabbitt]

ojima loredump from a couple years back i wrote for my staff

i can finally post more of these now yay. tw for ojima things

so ojima, as you may recall, was one of the OTHER people who was abused by a parent! hes also the youngest of three boys with his two older brothers being four and eight years older than him respectively! his family was pretty well-off financially and his dad had a pretty prominent position in the business world, so from the outside looking in, all was pretty good! except that by the time ojima was born, his parents' marriage was already in a rapid downward spiral and his brothers were already regularly seeing the fallout from this in the form of physical and verbal abuse. ojima was supposed to be the sort of "patch" that was meant to fix their marriage because his mom thought that having another kid would force ojimas dad to be more responsible/caring/present etc, except obviously that did not happen because having a new baby in the house just made things way more stressful. his parents ended up staying together regardless, but their relationship was constantly in turmoil and for the first few years of his life ojima grew up in pretty much the same environment as his brothers: abusive and socially high-pressure

enter ojimas uncle, his dad's brother and another fairly relevant man in the world of business. hes super friendly and the boys love him and hes fun to be around and ojima in particular is attached to him because when hes out with uncle kenji, theres no fighting or yelling or hitting and everything is cool and hes only three so he has no concept of the fact that this dude is getting……..a little bit too comfortable around him! so things eventually get to the point where his uncle is taking ojima on outings without his brothers present, and from there, things escalate, and ojimas relationship with his uncle very quickly becomes sexually abusive. ojima is THREE of course so he has no idea how fucked up this is but understands that he does not like it and does not want to be around his uncle anymore except that things dont stop there and nobody really finds out about it for another two years despite it being ongoing.

so at age five ojima is talking to his oldest brother, who is now thirteen (his name is tetsuya!) and has a total meltdown. he knows hes not supposed to tell people about what he does with his uncle but hes completely losing it and he trusts his brother. tetsuya, who actually understands whats happening and is pissed, thinks it wise to go to their dad, which does not end well! dad is pissed that theyd make accusations like that about his brother and refuses to indulge the idea that ojima could be telling the truth in any way. what ensues is his dad doubling down on the psychological abuse that ojima is going through at home, and for lack of a better term, basically gaslighting him into thinking that hes lying and everything is fine, despite the fact that shit with his uncle is STILL ACTIVELY HAPPENING at this age!

so by around age six, ojima has his first experience with blacking out. between what his uncle is doing, what his dad is doing, the fact that he cant even trust his own mind anymore and the pressure of having to present all this as being totally fine because of his family's social status, something in him just snaps and he completely dissociates. hes suddenly in this world in his head where nobody can hurt him, nothing bad can happen, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, he is completely in control. of everything. ojima has never, ever been in control and its something he becomes practically addicted to because its the only way he can feel safe. it goes from dissociating once at a particularly bad moment to dissociating constantly to escape how shitty his life is. when ojima turns ten, his brother moves out and its absolutely devastating for him because thats one of the only two people in the world he can trust. from that point he pretty much never sees him again. tetsuya does literally everything in his power to get ojima and their middle brother (his name is toshiharu!) out of that environment, but hes eighteen and hes not their parent and their dad has a lot of sway, so it doesnt amount to anything meaningful. ojima is told that his brother left because hes a shitty person and he hates their family and eventually he learns to internalize that and blames his confession and his supposed destruction of their family for tetsuya leaving and never coming back. the many many attempts for tetsuya to contact ojima and toshiharu go interrupted by their dad and the two dont speak again.

things basically continue with ojima being abused at home and at his uncle's until he turns fourteen, at which point the next big milestone is that toshiharu moves out and reconnects with tetsuya, and now the two are full steam ahead on getting ojima out of that environment. except that its still basically useless because they have no legal say over him and their dad is really powerful so everything is still mostly the same except that ojima is completely alone. hes dissociated a good 90% of the time at this point because hes just incapable of handling the absolute shitstorm of things happening to him. hes in a living hell and maladaptive daydreaming is basically his only escape and the only thing that keeps him going. because of this, hes seen as weird and stupid by other kids at school and is treated like shit there too. theres pretty much nothing left in his life that could be considered good or redeeming except for the two things he enjoys: daydreaming and drawing.

contact with his uncle starts to break off around age fifteen when his uncle starts losing interest due to ojima being older now. ojima gets tremendously fucked up over this, and while hes relieved that its not happening, his brain is so torn at this point that he gets caught in a sort of spiral of wondering why hes no longer desirable and why people keep leaving him, even when they're bad people that ojima doesnt want in his life. in this time between age fifteen and age seventeen, things start to improve slightly because his uncle isnt touching him and his dad isnt constantly brainwashing him to get him to forget about his uncle touching him so for this brief gap of time, he can almost live comfortably. he starts doing some freelance illustration work because his dad wants him to get a job and it turns out hes pretty damn good at it, and he enjoys it a lot, so he spends a lot of his time illustrating. hes mainly motivated by the fact that he wants to give other kids like him a beautiful and vivid place to escape to, so he depicts all these fantastical and whimsical worlds in kids' books to give them that same sort of escape that he needed. his brothers are still desperately trying to get in contact with him/get him out of their old house, but its been years by this point and all he knows is that they both decided to completely abandon him one day and never look back, something that he entirely blames himself for.

despite things getting a bit better for him, ojima basically never grows out of the daydreaming and it takes over his life to some degree, which honestly? its debatable whether its good for him or not. on one hand, its extremely disruptive to his life and is not a healthy coping mechanism by any means. on the other hand, it was literally the only thing that got him through the past ten years alive and continues to be his only escape from the shitty life he has. anyway ojima is sixteen now! the physical and psychological torment from his dad starts to transition into a more familial/patriarchal pressure at this point - tetsuya and toshiharu are gone and severed, which means ojima is the son thats going to take over his business one day. suddenly his dad is treating him like a grown man when hes ever only been treated like a doll for his entire life - now hes being taught about business and social policy and world affairs and all these things he isnt interested in and doesnt understand. he really just wants to draw and dissociate and pretend nothing bad is happening to him. except even though hes not being tormented anymore, things are not good! because he has, obviously, absolutely massive amounts of trauma that he is not coping with. instead of ever dwelling on this or addressing it, which arent really options for him anyway, he goes deeper and deeper into his own headspace to escape it and pretty much locks himself away in this dissociative world to ignore everything that isnt his own art.

then ojima turns SEVENTEEN and the world flips. his brothers finally manage to get their case in front of a judge and the ojima family business SINKS LIKE A ROCK. his parents are in jail, and hes suddenly out on his ass. his brothers scoop him up pretty fast and do their best to piece him back together, but ojima is absolutely fucked in the head by this point. he lives with tetsuya and toshiharu and continues working because he loves to work, but he seriously struggles to rebuild the relationship he once had with them because in his understanding, they hate him. thats what hes been told for years. they live in this very tense situation where his brothers desperately want to help him, but they are also traumatized and they do not know what to do for him because hes just an absolute mess. ojima bounces around the idea of therapy for a while and frequently registers for therapy/drops out/registers/drops out repeat repeat repeat because he knows his broken and he knows he needs help, but going to therapy means actually thinking about his past and what happened to him and he cant do that. its terrifying and it hurts and he just wants to be in his own headspace. it leads to a lot of very emotional conversations with his brothers who still just dont know what to do but desperately want to get him help somehow.

and then the killing game starts

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

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'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (5)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: unrelated to this fic, trendwave sunghoon has me acting UP. but also when am i not when it comes to him…my bf fr

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: an incredible amount of sexual tension & fingering.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

The first thing you feel when you wake up is Sunghoon’s fingers brushing the hair from your eyes. The second is the warmth of his hand. 

It startles you to see him sitting on the edge of the bed and so close to you. He chuckles at your reaction and watches you gather yourself when you remember you awoke in his guest bedroom and not your own. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” 

Even his morning voice sounds like Heaven with how deep and sultry it is. You blink the sleep away from your eyes and Sunghoon continues to cradle your face as you adjust to the morning light peeking through the window. 

“What time is it?”

“A little past six. How’d you sleep?” 

You nuzzle against his palm and close your eyes. You miss the way he smiles down at you. “Really well, actually. You rich people have this sleeping shit figured out.”

He caresses you again. “You snore like a little kitten.”

“I don’t snore.” 

“Yes, love. You do.” You ignore him, and you ignore the pet name. 

“We have to get to work, don’t we? I don’t have an extra outfit and I don’t feel like showing up in the clothes I wore yesterday.” 

“We’ll stop by your apartment before going to work.”

You make a face. “We’ll be late.”

“I’m the boss,” he says. “I can tell you when to come in.” 

“Oh? This is a first for you.” 

“You need to take care of Pochi too, don’t you?”

“Hm. You’re right. I do miss my cat.” 

Sunghoon bends down and kisses you like he’s done this a thousand times before. He’s slow with it, moving his lips in tandem with you until you’ve truly registered that he’s kissing you. It’s a new sensation. It’s weird, neither good nor bad, just different. Sunghoon’s breath is minty and when you pull away, you’re surprised when he lets out a small whine.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you tell him when he leans in for another kiss. Your arms brace his shoulders and you try to keep him at bay. He doesn’t seem to care, though, and steals another kiss from you. 

“You think I care about that?” Another kiss. Your cheeks heat up. 

“I dunno. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Kiss your boss and wake up in his arms?” 

You roll your eyes and sit up, pushing him away while he laughs. “Dumbass. I haven’t kissed anybody in a long time.” 

“You’re doing just fine.” 

Looking at him makes your heart race for more reasons than one. Sunghoon is absolutely gorgeous from this angle, especially when he’s wearing casual clothes and sporting hair that looks like it hasn’t been brushed. He looks painfully normal instead of the high-demanding businessman you know him to be. Sunghoon looks almost approachable like this. If the two of you met under different circumstances, you might’ve gathered the courage to ask him out. 

On the other hand, there aren’t many times you can say you’ve awoken in a man’s guest bedroom with gentle kisses being pressed upon your face. It’s the first time anybody has ever woken you up like this, and it took a great deal not to immediately panic and push him away. It’s scary how nice being doted on feels, and you’ve only gotten a little taste of it with Sunghoon kissing you as soon as you awoke. 

This feels different than what you’re used to. Typically, Pochi makes her way to your face and nuzzles her own between your neck, the outside construction prevents you from falling back asleep when you're able to sleep in, and you usually wake up alone. What you’re not used to, however, is Sunghoon looking at you like he’s got stars in his eyes. The idea that anybody could look at you like that is alarming and unfamiliar.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he says before bending down to touch your lips with his. “I can hear that little brain of yours working so hard.”

“My brain isn’t little.” He smiles against your mouth and gives your lips a peck. 

“Mm. Definitely not. My smart girl. I can still hear you thinking, though.” Sunghoon’s hand touches your outer thigh and it sends a shiver up your body. 

“Oh yeah? What am I thinking about?”

“How we’ll be late if we don’t leave in thirty minutes. You’re probably thinking about what clothes you have left in your closet and if Pochi ate breakfast.” 

“…Am I that predictable?” 

Sunghoon shakes his head and moves his hand up your thigh. “I’d like to think I’ve picked up a thing or two after knowing you all these years. You’re not the only one who observes, you know.” 

“Hmph.”

“Relax for me, okay?” He brings his other hand up to your cheekbone and caresses that spot. “I’m not in a rush. We don’t have meetings or anything important on my docket today.”

“You looked at my calendar, didn’t you?” 

He grins. “Might’ve taken a peek. It’s connected to mine anyway.” 

Sunghoon’s blankets are keeping you warm and toasty, and his touch feels like you’re being lulled to sleep. You find yourself at odds with the idea that Sunghoon could convince you to relax at this hour, especially when you have to stop by your apartment before going into the office. It’s not like anyone would notice either. Sunghoon’s colleagues are in and out of the building all day, some of whom don’t show up until late morning or early afternoon on account of personal business. You aren’t worried about what other assistants might think either, as you’re the assistant who has been there the longest. With the hierarchy system in place, it’s more believable that you’re in business with Sunghoon than being in bed with him.

Yet, some part of you doesn’t like that you’re breaking the routine you’ve built over the years. You’ve never spent the night at anyone’s place, much less on a weekday, and you don’t enjoy the fact that you haven’t seen Pochi. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten my promise,” Sunghoon says, pulling you out of your cycle of thoughts. He’s perched on the side of the bed with his elbow resting comfortable on the pillows and you look at him quizzically.

“What promise?” 

The look he gives you is akin to the way he looked at you last night. Suddenly, the memory of his hard dick straining against his sweatpants comes to mind. You’ve been so distracted by Sunghoon’s lips and sweet talking that you nearly forgot about the way he felt in between your legs. Sure, the fabric of your clothes acted as a barrier, but nothing could ever hide the way his dick felt pressed right against your covered cunt. 

Sunghoon leans down close to your ear like he’s trying to tell you a secret. You feel his breath touch the shell of your ear and that alone is enough to make you squirm. He must know, and you can tell by the way Sunghoon digs his fingertips into your skin just a little.

“I told you I’d make you cum today. Will you let me?”

Your mouth runs dry. You look up at Sunghoon and there’s nothing humorous about the way he’s watching you. His eyes are a deep shade of brown that stare directly into yours like he’s trying to hold himself back from being too hasty. It’s almost alarming that he’s being so forward with you at this moment. There’s not a hint of shyness that you can detect, unlike how you feel with your heart beating too fast and your uneven breath. 

Would it be so bad to indulge yourself in his request? It’s not like you’re getting any action beyond the quiet of your bedroom or with the only vibrator you bought yourself after a short stint of bad sex. The fact that he’s your boss is out the window. You know what his dickprint feels like and you’ve practically memorized the way his lips feel when they’re pressed against yours. There shouldn’t be any harm in letting Sunghoon pleasure you when that’s all he seems to want. 

Sunghoon watches you spread your legs from underneath the covers and grins to himself. He helps push the comforter off just enough to expose your legs to him. 

“Can I take these off?” he asks, fingers removing themselves from your thigh to the waistband of the shorts you’re wearing. He traces the hem and you suck in your stomach at the feeling of his hand being so close to where you crave him the most. 

You consent quietly because of the intensity of his gaze. He looks like he’s moments away from devouring you whole, like a boa constrictor who’s locked eyes on its prey. The shorts come off and he tosses them behind him, and you try not to care that he’s haphazardly throwing clothes he’s taken off of your body to focus on the moment. 

Like an instinct, you close your legs when you realize you’re only wearing underwear. They’re plain black cotton, nothing exceptionally fancy since you didn’t plan on having anyone see them. Sunghoon doesn’t rush hastily. He slips his large, warm hand between your knees and slowly guides himself up your legs until your body starts to relax. 

He must feel how nervous you are. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the lack of intimacy you’ve received in the past couple of years. It’s like your body locks on itself at this foreign sensation of somebody else’s hand on your body, even if it’s consensual and yearned for. 

He doesn’t rush, nor does he immediately push his hand towards your covered cunt. Sunghoon bends down to capture your mouth in a slow kiss, his plump lips pushing against yours like he’s trying to talk to you with his body. You’re not sure what to focus on—how smooth his hands are or how wet your mouth is becoming—but it all feels so good. For somebody who is as touch deprived as you are, it feels like a million sensations all at once. 

Sunghoon moves up the expanse of your thigh when your body starts to relax against him. Whether it be the sound of your lips smacking echoing through the room or getting used to his hands, your legs start to part before him. Sunghoon doesn’t break the kiss like you think he will. His palm slides up your leg until the edge of his fingers barely brush against your panties, and that alone is enough to make you gasp against his lips. 

“Want me there?” he asks through the kiss. “Need me there?” 

You can barely pay attention to his words when his hand is hovering above you. Sunghoon’s fingers trace the outline of your covered cunt and his seductive caress makes you squirm and buck your hips with every passing touch. When you manage to nod, he rubs you with the pads of his finger. 

Sunghoon’s touch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s determined, almost like he’s got a mission he needs to complete. His fingers aren’t hesitant and scared to touch you like men from your past. Sunghoon’s touch is calculated and meaningful. He’s urgent about it, but unlike all the times you’ve had sex before, this doesn’t feel like he’s trying to get you off as quickly as possible before he gets his turn. 

Instead, it feels like Sunghoon might be as desperate as you are. He keeps a cool exterior for the most part and doesn’t allow others to see him let go of himself completely. You’ve been around him long enough to see cracks in his office persona, but Sunghoon maintains an air of professionalism when he’s not asking you to help him in his personal life, which doesn’t happen as often as people think it does. 

He brushes his thumb over your sensitive clit and it has your hips bucking by his touch. You’re embarrassed by how much he’s turning you on, and he hasn’t done anything yet. Are you that depraved? 

Before you know it, Sunghoon’s hand covers the entirety of your cunt. You marvel at how big his hands are and ask yourself why you’ve never noticed them before. He’s got his expensive black plated watch with silver accent on, the one he wears everyday without fail, and you tense. Something about Sunghoon’s accessory puts you in a frenzy. 

“You’re so worked up,” he says with a short laugh. “When’s the last time you relaxed?” 

“I don’t relax.” 

He tuts. “That’s your first problem. You don’t let go.” 

Well, it’s hard with so little time and too many obligations. Sunghoon probably knows it too, but that won’t stop him from reprimanding you for pushing yourself past your limit. 

“God, you’re so wet already. I can feel you through your panties.” His words nearly have you choking. Since when is Sunghoon bold like this? Is he like this with other girls, too?

Sunghoon pushes them aside and eyes your bare cunt. It makes you feel shy, which isn’t something you feel very often when you’re with him. But at this moment, you feel like you’re out to gain some kind of approval from him because he’s looking at it like he’s trying to inspect it. Knowing you didn’t prepare yourself for him to look at your naked lap makes you feel somewhat awkward and unprepared, but Sunghoon looks like he couldn’t care less. You pulsate around him and he groans quietly when he notices.

“That’s so good,” Sunghoon mutters as the tips of his fingers slide down your entrance, coating himself in your wet slick. The subtle intrusion makes your head spin. “Do you always get this wet?”

“W-Well, it’s been a long time since anyone touched me the way you are.” 

He grins. “Do your fingers not work?” 

“Sunghoon. This is so embarrassing.” You try to cover your face with a spare pillow, but he laughs and tosses it away from you.

“Surely my fingers will do the job. Yours are so much smaller and shorter than mine.” 

Sunghoon pushes his middle finger into you and stops when it’s half way inside. He watches you from where he sits and watches your breath hitch by how your chest has nearly stilled. 

You don’t protest nor push him away and he takes it as a sign to push his finger deeper. Sunghoon feels your smooth walls envelop him the more he maneuvers his finger in and out of your pussy, and you don’t know if you love or hate the way Sunghoon is smiling down at you. It’s like he knows he’s got you underneath his spell when he’s got you acting like this. 

“Doing so well,” Sunghoon mumbles, tongue licking the corners of his mouth as he salivates at the sight before him. His abdomen tenses and his dick swells in his pants. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me.” 

Your face warms up when he talks about your cunt like that. But it makes you gush even more, and it starts to splash onto Sunghoon’s wrist the more he thrusts into you. 

He adds another finger and cherishes the deep, loud moan that comes from deep within your chest. Your hands brace his free arm when he picks up the pace until the entire room sounds like plat plat plat. Sunghoon expertly curves his finger until he’s reaching parts of you that you’ve always thought to be unreachable. 

His forehead starts to sweat and his arm flexes. Every vein in his arm comes to your view and you feel yourself clenching around his fingers when you truly notice how well-built Sunghoon is. He’s got muscles and biceps that make you wonder what it would be like for him to pin you underneath his body. 

“Shit,” you curse. “C-Can’t believe you’re good at this.” 

He smiles wickedly. “I’m good at everything, aren’t I?” 

“Not good at checking your texts. Not good at that.” You yelp when Sunghoon thrusts his fingers inside of you at a faster speed. It’s pushing you towards your orgasm the more he moves.

“What was that?” he asks with his ear turned towards you as you gasp for air. “What did you say?”

“Not good at texting.” You manage to say it between harsh breaths but it seems to egg him on even more. Sunghoon pushes his hand harder against you until the heel of his palm rubs against your clit.

“Not good at texting? Who says I need to text you, anyway?”

“I do,” you choke, holding onto his arm as your nails dig crescents into his skin. “You need me.” 

“I need you?” His fingers don’t let up. You nod anyway.

“Brat,” Sunghoon mocks. “But you’re right. I do need you.” 

The way you clench around him makes him yearn to see you come undone like the beautiful mess he knows you can be. His hand aches from fingering you at lightning speed, but he’ll be damned if he stops now.

“Need you to cum more than anything,” he says while chuckling. “I need that.” 

Sunghoon says it halfway between desperation and with arrogance like he knows he’ll get what he wants. He knows you won’t fight him on it either because he knows how badly you want to cum. If not by the way you grip his body, then because you’ve mentioned how many times people have left you high and dry over the past few years. It seems unfair to edge you right now.

It doesn’t take much for you to crash. He stills his fingers when he realizes you’ve come to your orgasm, letting your hips rut against his palm as you chase your high. Coming undone before him is a beautiful sight to see and Sunghoon drinks in the way your hands move from his arm to the bedsheets underneath you. You try to grip onto them for stability as your hips grind against his hand while you finish on him. 

When your eyes open, the room has gotten significantly lighter from the sun peeking through the sheer curtains. Sunghoon has made you forget about the time. You push your head up and pucker your lips for a kiss. He gives into your request right away and gently rubs your aching cunt, pushing your panties where they belong before kissing and touching you slowly.  

“You’re so hot when you cum.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter against his kisses.

“Nuh uh. Just you.” 

“Mhm. I’ll believe that for now.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t get up until he’s sure you’ve returned to a state of consciousness and doesn’t leave your side until you sit up by yourself. He keeps his mouth attached to you while you steady your breath and find it in you not to feel completely mortified that you’ve allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of him. He doesn’t seem to hear your racing thoughts when you’re kissing him, and you feel your worries ebbing away. You don’t think you’re ready to decipher why that is.

He brings a rag soaked with warm water and pries your legs open with little resistance. Sunghoon gently wipes your inner thigh and pulls your panties aside again, cleaning your cum from your skin. This makes you feel more self conscious compared to his fingers rooted deep inside of you, but you try not to look away. Sunghoon looks calm and focused, like he’s getting paid a lot of money to look after you. He spends a bit of time making sure you’re all cleaned up before throwing the rag in an empty hamper. 

“Let’s get going, hm?” Sunghoon says absentmindedly when you stand from the bed. He doesn’t make a fuss about his dick straining in his sweatpants and steps out of the room before you can even think about returning the favor. Sunghoon moves around his house like you’ve been there a million times before. 

“We still need to go to your place. Is there a café by your place that you like? We can stop for breakfast before heading into the office.” 

His nonchalance pleasantly surprises you. But you think you prefer his attentive care over being left alone in bed to deal with the aftermath of feeling alone once your partner has left the room. Sunghoon doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re walking behind him.

It’s nice.

***

Nabi texts you just before you and Sunghoon leave his place to lets you know Pochi is back in your apartment with breakfast and a new bowl of water, and attached a cute video of Pochi jumping onto bee favorite spot on your couch. It makes you coo out loud, to which Sunghoon laughs at.

“You really love this cat, don’t you?”

“Pochi is my child, Sunghoon. Of course I love her.” 

“When did you adopt her?”

“The third year I worked for you.” You’re stuck between looking at him and the scenery outside as he drives to your apartment. “I was pretty lonely after a bunch of my friends moved away from Seoul. My little brother has always told me I resemble a cat growing up and suggested I get one.” 

“Sunoo, right?”

“Yeah. It’s funny though. When we were younger, our personalities were completely switched. I was the extrovert and he was the introvert. Seems like we changed over time.” 

“Why does he think you’re like a cat?”

“I don’t like being around people very much and it’s hard for me to open up to strangers. He jokes that I have to be the one to warm up to people before anyone can really get to know me.” 

“So, what, you need people to leave you alone before you decide you like them?”

You laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“That’s funny. I think I’d describe you as a lion.” 

“A lion?”

“Still a cat, just more powerful. You run the hell out of my inbox.” 

You roll your eyes. “Haha. So funny, Sunghoon.”

“I’m serious! You’re so good with meeting new people and getting them under your fold. I would’ve never assumed you don’t like being around people with how good you are at making connections.” 

“It’s for work, though. I turn on the charm because it’s good for business. At the end of the day, we all use each other just a little bit. In my personal life? I guess I can make a friend or two, but there’s never any time to meet new people.”

“This job eats you alive, doesn’t it? I feel the same way sometimes.” 

“It’s fun and it makes my week interesting. I’ll give it that.”

“It’s time for something new, huh?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Sunghoon swallows the unwanted feelings that creep into his mind. 

“How do I get your cat to like me?” he asks suddenly. 

“My cat?” 

“Yup. Who else?”

“Why do you want to get in her good graces?” 

“I don’t want to get mauled when I meet her for the first time.” 

You laugh. “You won’t get mauled, Sunghoon. She’s pretty shy and it takes her some time to get to know new people.” 

“Sounds just like you.” 

“Mhm. We’re twins.” 

“Seriously, though,” he says, glancing at you. “I’ve never been around cats much. My parents are dog people. How do I get a cat to like me and not spook them?” 

“Well, your best bet is to ignore their existence until they come up to you. They’re a hunting breed, you know. You shouldn’t make any sudden movements if you can help it. If you find yourself making eye contact with Pochi, blink slowly. It lets her know you aren’t a threat.” 

“Ignore your cat?”

“Foolproof way to get her to be okay with you in the room if I’m not there.” 

“It sounds like you’re trying to set me up.”

You gasp. “Why the hell would I do that?” 

“I don’t know!” Sunghoon says with humor. “Maybe you’re trying to get back at me for all the years we’ve worked together. You and Pochi could’ve made an alliance to kill me.” 

“Right,” you say sarcastically. “Me and my domesticated cat want to put a hit out on you, even though she’s a fraction of your size and I’m trying to help you find a new assistant.”

“Exactly. See? You’re following my logic.”

“You’re so stupid.” 

Sunghoon pulls up to your complex and parks his car on the street underneath a large tree. You make a split second decision and invite him up to your apartment so he doesn’t have to wait in the car and waste his gas by keeping the engine on to avoid sitting in the frigid air. He doesn’t make a joke like you think he will, especially since Sunghoon made you come an hour ago. Instead, he nods and follows you through the front door. 

The journey to your third floor apartment is nerve wracking. Is your apartment tidy enough? Is it clean? Is there any lingering dust that Sunghoon will notice? His house is far cleaner than your apartment will ever be, and while you pride yourself on keeping a tidy home, your two hands are no competition for the cleaning crew Sunghoon hires every week.

He seems excited enough. Sunghoon fills the silence by vocalizing his observations and particularly likes that your lobby has a state-of-the-art machine that can prepare coffee and espresso in various different ways. He likes that the mailroom is safeguarded by a touch key entrance and likes how the lobby is decorated. 

When the two of you arrive at your apartment, you hear Pochi meowing from the other side of the door. To your pleasure, your space isn’t as messy as you thought it might be, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold after watching an episode of Castlevania. Pochi jumps down from the armrest and waddles her way to your feet when Sunghoon enters your apartment and closes the door behind him. 

You’re too busy locking the door and crouching down to sift your hand through her soft fur to notice Sunghoon surveilling your apartment like he’s in a museum. He sees your dark green couch and all of the decor you have in frames. The living room is far smaller than his, but he thinks it represents who you are perfectly. 

“I missed you, baby,” you say as Sunghoon looks down to where your body is and takes off his shoes one by one while Pochi rubs her small body against your ankles. You’re cute when you talk like that. 

“Why’d you name her ‘Pochi’?” he asks when you make your way deeper inside of your apartment. He watches you throw your jacket on the back of the couch while Pochi follows and climbs up the piece of furniture to get closer to you. 

“Pochi means ‘spot’ in Japanese,” you tell him. “You see these spots on her ears? I thought she looked so cute and unique when I saw her at the animal shelter. We bonded pretty quickly and I would always kiss both of her ears when we were first getting to know each other. She gets annoyed if I don’t kiss both of them and only one.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Watch.” 

Your lips come to touch her ear. You pull back soon after and Sunghoon watches Pochi sit back and watch you with the other side of her head like she’s waiting for the other kiss. When you don’t move to complete the routine, Pochi meows until you relent and kiss her other ear too. 

“She’s so cute. Pochi might as well be my daughter with how well she listens to me.” 

“You’d look cute with a girl.”

You look at Sunghoon, bewildered. 

“You’re certifiably crazy, Park Sunghoon.” 

He just shrugs. “I’m just saying.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let me change my clothes and put some makeup on, then we can head out. Make yourself at home. It shouldn't be more than ten minutes.” 

When you disappear, Sunghoon hears the faint click of your bedroom door and walks to your couch to sit. He can hear you walking in your room in the dead silence of the morning when Pochi looks at him like she’s trying to figure out if he’s a threat or not. He follows your instructions when she tilts her head and looks away from her. 

Sunghoon notices pictures that line your fireplace. He doesn’t recognize anybody except for you, but adores the way he can see how much you’ve grown up. There are pictures of you and your childhood friends together, one of you he assumes is on vacation, and a few of you and your college friends littered throughout your space. It makes him realize there’s more to you than meets the eye, and for as long as he’s known you, Sunghoon gets the feeling he’s only scratched the surface.

He also tries not to think about the fact that his hands know what you feel like. Flashes of the early morning run through his mind. He loves the way you sound when you’re about to climax and had to keep himself in check before he made any rash decisions that the two of you would later regret. Sunghoon shifts in his seat and does his best to will his yearning because the last thing he wants is to sport a boner around Pochi, just for you to walk out and see him like that. What would you think of him then?

From the corner of Sunghoon’s eye, he sees Pochi grooming herself and tries to blink slowly when she makes eye contact with him. He feels silly and looks away when he starts to laugh at himself. In all of his years working with you, Sunghoon never thought he’d be playing nice with your cat. 

You emerge from your bedroom looking polished, and Sunghoon is impressed you were able to pull yourself together in fifteen minutes.  

“How do I look? Presentable enough?”

His eyes glance up and down your body. 

“Stunning as ever.” 

“Be serious, Sunghoon.” 

He walks to you and puts both of his hands on your hips, dragging them down to your waist before pulling your body flush against his.

“I’m serious. So gorgeous.” 

He learns in and slots his lips between yours, gently holding your body against himself. You get lost in it too, recalling the way Sunghoon’s fingers felt inside of you as he squeezes your body. The familiar ache emerges before you can even think about it, and you find yourself clenching against absolutely nothing. You think you’re somewhere between desperate and pathetic at this point, but Sunghoon can’t see or feel you down there for you to give a shit. 

“We should get breakfast,” you mumble against his mouth. 

“We should.” He doesn’t stop kissing you and your hands come to gently grip the lapel of his suit jacket. 

“There’s a place around the corner. Killer croissants and good espresso.” 

“Mhm.” Sunghoon pulls your arms away from his body to turn you around and press your ass right against his crotch, effectively caging you against his body while his lips litter short kisses down your neck. “Could eat you for breakfast, though.”

The moan that escapes your throat makes you feel embarrassed, but it makes Sunghoon’s pride swell. 

“W-Work,” you choke out as Sunghoon’s hand touches you above your work trousers. His fingers make out the ridges of your folds and slots his index finger between them. “We need to get to work.” 

“You’re no fun.” Sunghoon pouts and lets you go, but not without giving your cheek a kiss. 

“You are such a fucking menace,” you say as you scold him. “In front of Pochi too?” 

“She wasn’t even looking. Relax.” 

You look and find that Pochi is indeed nowhere to be found. She’s perched on the windowsill behind your curtain and you breathe a short sigh of relief. 

“Did you make nice with her?” 

“I ignored her, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Good,” you say with a definite nod. “She’ll like you in no time.” 

“I’m not so sure about that? It feels counterintuitive to ignore an animal if you want them to get to like you.”

“Cats and dogs are different, though.” You unlock your door and slip your shoes on at the same time after you’ve double checked that everything you need is in your work bag. “Dogs need love and affection all the time. Cats pick and choose when they want to receive it.” 

“Is that why your brother calls you a cat? Because you’re picky about all the people you let into your life?” 

He follows you out and watches you lock the door. 

“Mhm. I wouldn’t have let you touch me if I didn’t want you to.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Don’t think you’re special just because you’re my boss, Park. Keep up.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

***

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[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[engie-ivy]

690 words.

Remus could never date Sirius’ ex.

Sirius’ Ex

“Isn't this… I dunno, crossing a line?” Sirius asks hesitantly.

“Nah,” James waves his hand. “Moony and I used to spy on your dates with Dearborn all the time.”

“You what?”

James scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, those are some hours of my life I'm never going to get back. Godric, your dates were boring.”

Really, the juiciest thing they got out of those spy-sessions was a goodbye kiss that lacked any passion. And Remus was always in a bad mood when they went spying on Sirius’ dates, so it was never much fun.

“Well,” Sirius says pointedly. “Excuse me for boring you while you were spying on me.”

“No worries,” James says easily, ignoring Sirius’ sarcasm. “Though it's a good thing you and Dearborn broke up, you two had zero chemistry.”

“True,” Sirius acknowledges, making a face remembering those dates.

“Well, let's see if we get more juice spying on Remus’ date!”

“Remus did say he and Fenwick are only hanging out as friends,” Sirius says, sounding a tad insecure.

“Let's find out if our Moony was telling the truth then, shall we?” James suggests, throwing the invisibility cloak over Sirius and himself with practiced ease.

Remus was telling the truth.

The whole thing definitely has a ‘two friends getting a drink’ vibe, no ‘first date’ vibe at all. James is already bored out of his mind having listened to Remus and Fenwick discussing their latest Potions assignment for the last twenty minutes, but Sirius and he are silently sitting at the corner of the table tucked away under the invisibility cloak, and they can't possibly leave without being noticed.

“So, guess what?” Fenwick says, placing their second round of butterbeer in front of Remus.

“Ah, you're finally going to tell me the big news?” Remus asks, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

Fenwick arches his eyebrow. “You're not one for guessing, are you?”

“Out with it, Benjy.”

Fenwick grins broadly. “I've got a date tomorrow!”

So definitely just friends, James thinks.

“You do?” Remus puts down his mug. “With whom?”

“Caradoc Dearborn,” Fenwick practically beams.

James quickly glances over at Sirius, but his expression hasn't changed.

“Dearborn?” Remus asks. “Sirius’ ex?”

“Among other things,” Fenwick replies dryly, taking a sip from his butterbeer. “But he says both he and Sirius are absolutely fine with the other dating other people.”

Remus shakes his head. “Still, I could never date Sirius’ ex.”

James notices how, now that the hypothetical situation of Remus dating Sirius’ ex is mentioned, a slight frown has appeared on Sirius’ face.

“Well, I'm not as close to Black as you are,” Fenwick reasons. “And besides, we're all seventh year Gryffindors, it would make things way too difficult if we can't date each other's exes.”

“Not just that,” Remus says. “I mean being the one who comes after Sirius. Being compared to Sirius.”

“I guess some comparison is inevitable,” Fenwick shrugs. “But it'll be fine. Caradoc and Sirius broke up for a reason, after all.”

“Still, I couldn't take the idea alone of potentially being compared to Sirius Black in a relationship,” Remus insists. “Sirius is just so… you know.”

“Eh, not really,” Fenwick says.

“So… perfect, I guess.” Remus sighs. “He's of course ridiculously good-looking,” he continues. “Merlin, those eyes and that hair… But besides that, he's so smart and talented, always top of the class! And he's utterly charming, but behind that charm, there's so much more. He's brave, of course, great with animals, kind and caring…” Remus trails off.

“Well, well,” Fenwick crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “I see why you couldn't date Sirius’ ex.”

Remus’ face turns beet red. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he mutters, picking up his butterbeer and trying to hide his face behind his mug.

“So, that turned out to be interesting after all, didn't it, Pads?” James whispers, but as he turns to Sirius and sees the look on his face, he realizes that the next time he goes spying on a date, he'll have to do it on his own.

[gnar-slabdash]

The most important things about Viewing Order imo:

The Wedding Job. With the Wedding Job as #7 (airing order), it seems like Sophie is totally fine with the way things are going and then all of a sudden flips her lid about wanting a relationship. It feels like they just suddenly decided to insert drama by making her hysterical. But with the Wedding Job as number 3 it makes perfect sense: When Nate walked back into her life she must have made the totally reasonable assumption that they were going to have a relationship, and by episode three she's realizing that things are not going the way she expected. So then they have it out and she understands that he is interested but that it will take time, and that's pretty much the footing they're on for the rest of the season.

The Two Horse Job. Introducing Sterling is a big fun way of introducing something new to the mix, a way to upset the usual formula by bringing in somebody who actually has a chance against them. Broadcast order puts this as #3 which means it happens before you even have a chance to get used to the REGULAR formula. So it has less impact AND makes it harder to really get into the flow of the show, since so much is changing off the bat.

The 12-Step Job. It flows SO well into the First David Job, since 12-Step ends with quitting rehab and First David starts with the "intervention." Once you see that, it's obvious that 12 Step was MEANT to set that up and get us moving into the finale. Instead the broadcast order jams Juror #6 in between them, which is a very different tone and focus and loses that whole momentum.

The Juror #6 Job. I don't want to take credit for this, I saw SOMEBODY bring it up but I'm not sure if it was on this post or what. But anyway. If you put Juror #6 back where it belongs, it goes after the Stork Job. Which means we've just had a pretty dark Parker episode and seen how bad she is at people. So it makes sense to follow that with a more hopeful episode for her and it makes sense to insist that she needs to go do this to improve her people skills, since we've just seen that that's an issue.

Anyone: *is watching Leverage for the first time*

Me: have you heard about watch order? Do you know the watch order? Hey. Hey. Are you aware that season one is out of order and requires a specific watching order. Hey. Hey. Hey. Have I told you about watch order yet?

[maxinesgun]

it's the whiskey talking ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

abby anderson x fem!reader

drunk!reader, established relationship, abby has the patience of a saint (for you and only you), abby taking care of r, pet names, pure fluff. wc 1.5k ᡣ𐭩

“Abby. Abby. Abby.”

Your girlfriend wasn’t answering the door. So, really, it wasn’t your fault that you were here, knocking and calling out to her rather obnoxiously at what was likely an ungodly hour to be doing so. Frankly, you had no clue what time it was, and you didn’t really care. 

“Abbyyy,” you repeated, drawing out her name as if savouring it. Every word you spoke felt heavy and stretchy, like taffy in your mouth. “C’mon, I know you’re in there. You sleeping?” You yanked on the handle again, as if this time it would magically spring open, and stumbled a bit, catching yourself on the wall and cursing under your breath.

Okay, so you were drunk. Perhaps more than you’d initially thought.

You’d had a bonfire with a small group of friends tonight. It had been one of the rare occasions where none of you were held up with any assignments or patrols, and it allowed for a well-deserved and long-overdue break to loosen up and have a good time. With food, card games, and a bottle of whiskey Manny had snagged from God-knew-where, the night had passed by quickly. Abby had been absent in lieu of patrol duty that evening, and had urged you to go without her, assuring you that she’d be back before morning.

Sober you probably would have just gone back to your own dorm, assuming she’d gotten into bed and crashed after arriving back so late, but drunk you had decided that you needed to see her, to be wrapped in her arms, as desperately as you needed air.

You leaned your head against the door, sniffing dejectedly. “Okay, fine. I’m just going to sit right here, outside your door,” you called, a pout on your lips. “On the cold, hard floor. All by myself. Alone. And… lonely.”

“Hey, don’t stop now. I think there are some people on the ground floor who couldn’t hear you.”

The voice came from directly behind you, and it took you a few seconds longer than what was normal to register it before you spun around. You looked at Abby, standing before you with her gym bag slung over her shoulder, and felt your mouth drop open a little in surprise. “Oh.” You turned fully, leaning back against the door and allowing yourself a better view of her. The muscle tank she wore was certainly doing its job. “Hi,” you said innocently, a giggle bubbling out of you at your own foolishness.

“Hello to you, too.” Her eyes lingered over you with a curious expression you couldn’t quite name, sweeping down the length of your body before returning to your face. A faint smile was playing at her lips as she closed the distance between you. “I was just doing some training. Got back about an hour ago, but I was too amped up to go to sleep. I figured you’d already be in bed.”

She was right in front of you now, and you leaned forward to wrap your arms around her neck. “Mhm,” you hummed, not hearing a word of what she’d said. You were too busy staring at her adoringly, admiring the way her lips moved when she talked. They were the perfect shape, and so, so kissable. You reached to trace over her cupid’s bow lightly with a fingertip, which made her grin widen a bit beneath your touch. “You have pretty lips,” you told her, because it was important that she knew.

“Wow,” she said, her brows raising a bit in amusement. Her big hands came up to grip your waist firmly. “You are…”

“Beautiful? Hot? Gorgeous? Stunning?” you offered, grinning widely.

“I was going to say hammered,” she finished. “But all those other things, too.” At this, another giggle burst out of you, and those pretty lips of hers stretched into a wider grin. “You had fun, huh?”

“So much fun.” You leaned your head against her chest for a moment, closing your eyes. She smelled like the pine soap she religiously used. “Manny brought whiskey,” you added in a false-whisper.

You felt her huff a laugh, and imagined her rolling her eyes. “Oh, so I have him to thank for this, do I?” When you didn’t move after a solid few seconds and remained like that, head pressed to her chest contentedly, she patted the small of your back encouragingly, like one would a stubborn child. “‘Kay, let’s get you to bed, hm?”

You let out an exaggerated groan, your grip on her tightening possessively. “But I came here to see you.” You craned your head back a little to look at her, giving her a little pout. “You don’t wanna see me?”

“I always want to see you,” Abby said in a placating tone. She leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before subtly maneuvering you over to the door and fumbling with the lock, one-handed. “You can crash here for the night. That way you can wake me up if you start puking your guts out or something.”

When she got the door open you finally relinquished your hold on her, bracing a hand against the frame a little unsteadily. “Can you walk?” she asked, her hand remaining lightly on the small of your back until you assured her you could.

The room was dark, and in your already-inhibited state, your sense of balance was more than a little off-kilter. You half-leaned against the wall, kicking lazily at the shoe rack in a poor attempt to get your boots off as Abby locked the door and began shrugging her bag and shoes off behind you. Your efforts were hopeless; with a sigh of frustration, you bent over to reach your laces. As you did, you promptly felt the ground tilt beneath you—the next moment, you were on the floor. You had hardly registered that you'd fallen until Abby was looming over you.

“Shit. You okay?”

“Fuck—yeah, m'fine. Are you laughing at me?” You had rolled onto your back, and could now make out the clear amusement on her face as she held a hand out to help you up. Her lips were fighting to control her obvious grin, and her shoulders were shaking slightly. “Shut up!”

“I’m not laughing at you, babe.”

“Yes you are!” you said indignantly, ignoring her offered hand and aiming a playful kick at her legs.

“No, no. I promise. There’s nothing remotely funny about you falling on your ass.”

Abby had momentarily given up on helping you up and had instead crouched by your feet, beginning to undo your boots for you as you lay sprawled on the ground. Your arms were stretched above your head, and you stared blearily up at the dark ceiling, thinking to yourself that the floor was actually pretty comfortable.

“I could have hit my head and died. Then you wouldn’t be laughing.”

“A trained soldier who fights infected, dying of a fall while piss drunk. What a way to go," Abby mused, tugging off your second boot and tossing it aside. Then she sat back on her heels, watching you with a look of mingled amusement and affection.

“And as my dying wish, I’d ask that my girlfriend would stop making fun of me in my last moments."

"Uh-huh," Abby agreed, humouring your drunken rambling. She patted your leg, then rose up to lean over you, reaching for your arm again. “Okay, come on. Up you go.”

Too out of it to protest, you obediently gave her your arm and let her tug you to your feet. Your limbs felt heavy and floaty with both the alcohol and sleepiness, and so you allowed her to lead you to the bed and press a cup of water to your lips; you took a few swallows before flopping back against the mattress unceremoniously.

Soon Abby was tucked in behind you beneath the covers, her arm draped over your torso and holding you against her. You could feel her warm breaths against your neck, slowed and deep. Oncoming sleep pulled at your heavy limbs as you snuggled closer into her embrace.

"Abby?" you murmured quietly, wondering if she was still awake.

"Hm?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"About to be." Her voice was a low mumble in your ear.

There was a short pause in which you listened to her breathing, felt the rise and fall of her chest against you. Then, "Abby?"

"Mm."

"You smell good."

"Do I?" she breathed a quiet chuckle. You could tell by the softness of her voice that she was just barely awake. "You been smelling me?"

"Yeah, but not on purpose." You yawned. Considered for a second. "Well... sometimes on purpose."

"Weirdo."

"'s not weird. I can't help it." Another pause. This time, a full few minutes passed. "Abs."

"Mhm."

"Do I smell good?"

"Do you smell good?" You let out a short hum. "Yeah, you do. You smell like strawberries."

"See? You smell me too," you pointed out triumphantly. Or as triumphant as you could manage to sound for being half-asleep. "Weeirdo."

You felt the breathless laugh against your neck, felt her lips curl into a soft smile. She gave you a small, tight squeeze. "Sleep."

[sparklecryptid]

Things I’ve seen and done working in a library as part of my internship that was slightly weird and make me admire everyone working in a public library:

- a guy bringing in a jug of milk, which while not too weird did have all of us going ?????

- the Fake Service Dog Incident

- threats to the library because of the Fake Service Dog Incident

- children bringing in bikes and being told to put them on the bike rack outside

- parents refusing to listen or parent their children until one of us comes over and asks them not to hit each other with the foam blocks

- I did three programs in a day once (toddler and baby based) and now I thoroughly admire teachers, youth librarians, and the lady that goes around just doing the baby and toddler classes all day

- people wanting me to log into their email

- people wanting me to do applications for them

- people not knowing how to log off a computer

- the printer works fine, but even then I wound up in there for an hour and a half helping people print

- having a guy try to grab his video game holds from my hands before I had a chance to scan them out for him

- made a child cry while just looking at them. Had to bring out the puppets to make her happy.

- pretty sure I was a few babies first introduction to People of Color given the area I was in was very white and the babies and parents did not stop staring at me

- worked on a project that was run by a very obviously queer historian and got to see old WWII ammo shells that were made into vases

Anyway support your public libraries and go to them because sometimes fun shit happens at them

[factual-fantasy]

you're totally right that knockout becoming an autobot later makes very little sense. he really only did it bc his boss was batshit and he couldn't deal anymore. he's an opportunist, not "secretly a good person." he IS a selfish ass, and acts inappropriately for wartime. dont get me wrong, he's one of my favorite characters--but it's BECAUSE he's a jerk, not despite it. I'm sorry you went into tfp having autobot KO spoiled for you, because the fact is, there ARE no secret redeeming moments hinting at a later allegiance change. it was a surprise when it first aired--the only foreshadowing being that he felt threatened by megatron--which left the autobots as his only reasonable alternative in order to survive. He only switched because of pragmatism, not a change of heart or values or behavior. After all, "Autobot" isnt a moral label or character judgement like "hero", it's really just a military allegiance. And people should stop trying to make it seem like your reading of the show was wrong. KO is an ass. He's not an uwu baby, he's a jerk and a bit of a freak, and THAT'S why most ppl love him as a character. If that's not appealing to you, that's fine! You don't have to like him. And you should do whatever you want wrt your AU.

This is actually weirdly reassuring. I got so many people in my inbox defending Knockout that I was convinced I must have missed those nice moments and had to go back and look for them.

But now hearing about this, I'm more sure that he really is not a great person. And that's ok! He's fun and that's why people like him. But for the purpose of my AU his character will definitely be rewritten.

Thank you for this message, it helped me make up my mind. 😌🙏

[matteoberrettini]

genuinely hilarious btw how people on twt want soo bad to make matteo a villain in jannik's story or some shit like it's a disney movie. less than a month ago he said they'd talked recently and he's never had anything but good things to say about jannik but to some people it'll never be enough because he made a decision for his career that i understand is hard to digest but it has nothing to do with his relationship with jannik, jannik himself said it doesn't bother him, they both have never indicated they weren't on good terms. like yeah we can't ever really know the truth behind what they say in public, but i think we should stick with what we can see and read, yeah? because making wild assumptions based on nothing doesn't lead to anything good, it's just speculation and i don't see what anyone gains from it?? i think maybe some people need to grow up and accept that they don't know these people. they don't know jannik and what he thinks or feels or who he talks to or who avoids him or whatever. we know what he shows and tells us and that has to be enough because otherwise we go down dangerous paths

[mediumgayitalian]

do you have favorite appearance headcanons for will and nico? always super fun to see how other people imagine them

i do a lot of imagining everything @cometjuice and @skysmadness draw. however im going to start typing and see what my subconscious says:

WILL SOLACE

he's tall. altho he grew up short as shit so he's humble. except when bothering cecil but that is unrelated. short jokes made at cecil don't count.

forearms and neck are Covered in burn scars as a result of his harnessing the power of the sun to heal. they are unfixable and obvious (consequences of divine power in a mortal body). they expand and thicken every time he heals. he wraps them with bandages as often as he can. he is ashamed of them.

(none of his other siblings were so weak as to be burned by the gifts their father gave them.)

blue eyes that are the exact color of the sky at all times.

big hands.

freckles on freckles.

doesn't resemble his mother much which bothers him. but he has her hair exactly -- NOT apollo's. it is curly as fuck and frizzy and a little bit sentient?? once he was forced into a haircut bc he wouldnt brush his hair (hates it) and no matter how much silena cut off it just didn't get shorter. he has not been forced into a haircut since lol.

likes to wear his hair in pigtail braids when possible. it's very cute. he uses those little charm elastics to tie them back. his favorites are skull charm elastics nico bought him as a joke.

he is his mother's mirror tho. copies her mannerisms EXACTLY and has no fucking clue. (everyone else is well aware)

he is red green colorblind and it does indeed impact his ability to dress. (well theoretically. seeing color might not help with that battle LOL)

long long LONG and strong legs.

front teeth are just a littttttttttle bit endearingly big.

can't wink. (THINKS he can wink. cannot.)

athletic and hot.

it is news to him that he's hot. because his experience has been 1) cecil (dumb & ridiculous) 2) drew (disaster & for the ritual) and 3) nico (burning the torch since age 10 & no one agrees with him)

strong arms. perfect hug pressure

air hands but massive.

always smells like sunshine, even if it's been raining for a week. he's one of those people who always smells like they've just been outside. he also smells like lavender, which is intentional, because he uses lavender soap knowing it can have calming qualities. he smells like peppermint, sometimes, but if he smells strongly of peppermint it means he's in the throes of a nasty nasty migraine and hurting.

(his totally plain skin smells like strawberries on the wrong side of overripe. he is aware of this. he despises this. he spends a lot of time making sure he smells like anything else instead, including antiseptic.)

(nico likes the smell.)

NICO DI ANGELO

short. unfortunately. and NOT humble

fine hair but a lot of it. kind of a wave to it also.

hairy generally kind of u should See his eyebrows.

greek nose.

three distinct scars across his face and also in many other places. he doodles on them. badly. like little stick figures use the scars as spears or swords or whatever lol

committed to the punk loser aesthetic. never brushes his hair band shirts exclusively disgusting combat boots aviator jacket swaggers everywhere etc etc

fire hands

very strong but not a lot of muscle definition. will kind of limp into the ampitheater to get the ares kids snickering then BAM hell's fury. he kicks their ass. and the pathetic wet dog look works for him every time. it doesn't matter how many times he destroys his enemies. he walks into a fight looking like he was just drowned in a bucket of milk and he is underestimated. and then he does insane unprecedented things. it's great.

(it scares normal people. luckily for him his freakazoid boyfriend thinks it's hot. lol)

calluses on calluses on calluses. from cooking from his sword for his general vibes. rough ass hands fighter hands.

just The brownest eyes you'll ever see. dark dark dark dark. almost black. STUNNING in sunlight. they go golden brown when will looks at him, too.

wears his hair in a stubby ponytail whenever possible. (for 'fighting'. and not at all bc will gets swoony or anything. obviously. nico would never do that to his boyfriend of course not)

slightly crooked inscisors.

weird weird accent when you listen closely. because there's a little tinge of stretched vowels from his childhood but he almost has like. a transatlantic drawl?? from the casino?? and of course he spent so long on the streets and in the underworld that his vocabulary is unhinged and insane.

got bullied by hazel into actually taking care of his hair. it's really nice now. shiny and everything. he tries to now bully will but that is useless will is a 3-in-1 shampoo truther until he dies ("It's efficient! Hair is mostly dead cells! I am not wasting money on dead cells!" "William I am going to shear the fuckin dead cells off your scalp how about that.")

since he is a menace he frequently smells like sword polishing grease and dirt from the amount of time he spends Dragging percy and jason and any other person who challenges him across the amphitheater floor. but when he cleans up he smells like woodsmoke, a little bit, and leather from his jacket.

(his plain skin smells like dirt. grave dirt, if he's feeling sullen, but will insists it's more like the soil right when you're weeding your garden. like the soil right before plants grow, when it is most full of life and water and waiting. nico shoves him and calls him a sap. but it's nice to hear.)

[kumkaniudaku]

Fonder

Summary: Terry and Patrice have tough questions to ponder as boot camp draws closer.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: None

“Terrence! Terrence, you remember Paula, don’t you? Your uncle’s ex-wife!” 

Terry didn’t know Paula or that she was once married to his uncle. His mother’s half-brother had notched a ton of wives. If she existed before he knew how to walk and chew gum at the same time, he didn’t remember. Still, Terry put on a happy face and allowed the mystery woman to leave pale pink lipstick on his cheeks because that was his duty as the guest of honor. In exchange for monetary gifts, congratulations, and well wishes, he was doomed to hear variations of his first name and hug unfamiliar faces to satisfy his parents. Maybe if he played nice long enough, he could return to the folks who truly mattered. 

Under a hot late-May sun, members from his mother and father’s side of the family and a host of Terry’s high school friends littered the backyard for a combined graduation and send-off affair. If Terry were honest, he didn’t care for many of the adult faces in attendance. Invitations sent well after reasonable accommodations could be made by his forgetful father deprived a young man preparing to enter the world on a fast track of seeing the people he cared about most. Mike was in trouble again and under strict instructions to stay put. His older cousins on his mom’s side couldn’t round up enough cash to make the journey from St. Louis to North Carolina, and his crazy Uncle Myron didn’t have time in his schedule to deliver a fun but shitty DJ set to entertain his friends. A party for his enjoyment had been slowly zapped of all the things he treasured most.

If Terry had time to sit and think about all the avoidable missteps in the process, the smile on his face may have been wiped clean and replaced with a tight-lipped frown. But he chose to think about the positives. His friends were in attendance, Deidra had provided decadent strawberry cupcakes he’d miss for 13 weeks, and his girlfriend was in the prettiest blue dress he’d yet to compliment. He’d grin through a thousand kisses to get back to Patrice and the group of silly high school students making fun of Corey’s hot dog consumption techniques. 

Paula’s quick squeeze on Terry’s hand snapped him out of his haze and back into the conversation between his supposed aunt and his mother. “Will $100 do?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Terry nodded, smiling. “Thank you.” 

A $100 bill would do just fine. The mere thought of what he and Patrice could get into with that type of cash stole his attention and sent his eyes drifting over to the table full of recent high school graduates again. While the small group laughed at something Terry wished he was privy to, Patrice sat half-smiling and picking over the baked beans on her plate. He tried to will eye contact between them into existence to flash a goofy smile or crossed eyes that she always spared a few giggles for, but couldn’t telepathically convince her to look his way. Instead, Patrice kept her gaze fixed on a smattering of unfinished food until Napheesa struck up a new side conversation to break her out of her trance.

Terry had to get to get back. He’d already broken a promise to stay close. Making a habit of under-delivering couldn’t start before the biggest test of their young relationship. 

“Ma, can I be excused?” Terry didn’t mean any harm in his interruption, but the situation was urgent. 

Deidra studied her son with a curious look, following his eye line across the backyard and back before giving her blessing. “Go on,” she answered, her knowing smile barely contained and spreading to her son. “It’s your party. Go spend time with your friends. All of them.” 

A quick kiss to DeeDee’s cheek and another wave to the stranger he’d come to know as Paula sent Terry into a near jog across the lush green grass. 

He was free to enjoy the shindig thrown in his honor. A seemingly never-ending hour of shaking hands and accepting well wishes from familiar and unfamiliar faces alike felt like enough to labor to enjoy the fruits of friendship. He’d been promising to whoop ass in Uno since graduation day. Now was the opportunity to make good on the havoc he’d vowed to wreak.

Patrice saw Terry’s long legs and lanky body speed walking in her direction and perked up at the sight. He was like a mirage in the desert coming to save her from a teenage love drought. In reality, she was fine. Any time spent with her found family before they’d be forced to go their separate ways and relegate meetings to holiday breaks was a blessing. Though she hadn’t spent much time speaking, harmless jeering between best buds was amusing. She’d giggled a few times at Corey’s antics, Nate’s spot-on impressions of Marvin, and Napheesa’s reenactment of Mr. Turner’s droning final speech before they were ushered into the stadium to say their goodbyes to high school. Even Katrina had gotten off a few funnies when she typically served as the bane of Patrice’s existence. None of them were Terry, though. And, with him bolting across the backyard to join the group, they no longer needed to be. 

"James!" A booming voice still coated in bayou flavor stopped Terry in his tracks and robbed Patrice of excitement all in one go. Yards apart, their eyes moved in sync to focus on Marvin waving his son over to the grill where another older man stood awaiting his arrival.

"Sir," Terry questioned, hoping his father was only calling his name to warn him about a hazard in his way or to check if his voice still worked. 

Marvin gestured for him to come closer. "Al got somethin' to talk to you 'bout. Won't take long. Fifteen minutes, and you can get back to what you were doin'." 

Terry wanted to protest. He was 18 now. Surely, that was enough of an adult to go against decisions forced on him by his parents. But he hadn't quite lost all of his marbles yet. The few left reminded him that his father was still a spry man and embarrassment wasn't worth the hassle. 

For the first time since he'd kissed her cheek and said he'd be back soon, Terry locked eyes with Patrice. She tried to rid her shining eyes of disappointment and force a smile for reassurance. He returned a silent apology in the form of puppy dog eyes, hoping she could feel how sorry he was for another intrusion. Patrice nodded her understanding before directing her eyes back to the older version of Terry, and, for the umpteenth time, he was swept away. 

Fifteen minutes was hardly an accurate estimation of how long Al could talk. While Marvin watched over his personal steak, Terry was forced to listen to the former Marine recount stories of Parris Island, SOI, and the perils of being a young serviceman. While Terry appreciated all the information, he didn't appreciate missing out on the raucous laughter within earshot of a supremely boring conversation. 

At the thirty-minute mark, Terry prayed for a way out. A burning bush, perhaps? Maybe a slip and fall from one of the older folks in the bunch

Not enough to hurt, but enough to distract all in the vicinity and allow him an easy escape route. 

As he listened to the balding man talk without taking breaks to breathe or solicit opinions, he caught a glimpse of Patrice and DeeDee fiddling with the sound system and the rinky-dink microphone they'd borrowed from his uncle. Their shared laughter made him smile without any awareness of the joke, capturing Al's attention. 

"That your girl? The one your mama talks about all the time," Al questioned before sipping from a tepid beer. 

Terry tore his eyes away from two of his favorite people to acknowledge his unrequested mentor's question. "Uh…yeah, that's her." 

"Seems like a good girl," Al answered, taking Terry's shortness in stride. "What's her plan after high school? Sticking around for you to come back or something else?" 

"Nah, she wouldn't wait around. She's going to A&T to get her English degree and teach, hopefully. That's the plan, at least." 

Al nodded his understanding while swallowing another sip. "Y'all gettin' married when you get back?" 

The still-developing portions of Terry's brain froze and rebooted in real time as he pondered the question. Though old enough to sign his life away for the United States government, Terry had never considered the possibility of marriage. Maybe in passing to Ashantias, a younger boy, but not as a possibility fresh off of homework reminders and after-school activities. Not until Al continued his spiel to an increasingly intrigued young man trying to make sense of new love and his new obligations. 

"I'm just sayin', man. You finish boot camp, come back home, and go on ahead and tie that knot. Get out them barracks and get that extra money, man. You can figure out the rest later," he advised. "Shit, I did it. Hard work, but it ended up being worth it. She might be waiting on you to pop the question. You know how women are." 

Terry shrugged as he battled with the information. "Treece is different. I don't know if she trynna get married. Not yet." 

"Every woman trynna get married, son. The sooner, the better. Trust me." 

Minds with more life experience and better radar for bullshit concealed in purported wisdom would've forgotten each word of Al's advice, chucking it into a pile of things to never consider again. But Terry hadn't had much life experience or a fine-tuned detector for foolishness. All he had was a burning desire to be with Patrice forever and the image of Patrice and his mother still giggling with each other while testing a static-bearing microphone. 

Instead of shelving the racing thoughts in his head for a moment alone, Terry allowed them to fester as Al found another victim to verbally hold hostage. The far-off look in his eyes drew Patrice's attention from the other side of the backyard as she tried to get Terry's attention. 

"What's wrong," she mouthed when they locked gazes. 

Terry adjusted his slight frown and mouthed his response. "Come here." 

A second chance at time together came with more urgency, quickening Patrice's pace as she slyly ducked out of the conversation and tried to scurry across the back lawn. She dodged Zorah and Zanah's game of freeze tag with other smaller cousins, calls for her attention from the group of teenagers trying to settle a silly debate, and the Spades argument slowly growing into a physical confrontation to zig zag her way to the Terry. 

Like a runner sprinting toward the finish line, Patrice could feel excitement quickening her heartbeat, the sound thudding between her ears as Terry tried to meet her halfway. So close. Close enough to reach out and touch if fear of being seen by a host of adults hadn't forced them to keep the physical contact to a minimum. Three more steps. Two. Then one.

"Hey." In one breath, Terry rushed out his greeting before breaking into a smile. 

Patrice mirrored his expression. "Hey," she spoke back, the sparkle in her grin rivaling the sun trying to peak through dense clouds. "What was all that about?" 

"Nothing important," Terry brushed off before grabbing Patrice's hand. "You look…really pretty." 

"Thank you, TJ. You look nice, too. What's all this on your face." A quick swipe at Terry's cheek erased lipstick from the spot.

"Paula. My bad," He laughed. A rush of jitters and excitement coursed through Terry's body, heating his body until his ears turned red. He took a look away to steady himself before returning his full attention. "You wanna go back over there or, you know, find somewhere quiet to…talk." 

"Talk, huh?"

Goofy smiles exchanged between two people bursting with electric feelings lingered without the need for words to explain the true essence of Terry's suggestion. With the coast clear for a joint escape, the pair interlocked fingers and prepared to flee the scene long enough for some time alone until the loud screech of equipment feedback sent everyone's hands flying to their ears for protection. 

DeeDee's signature laughter cut through the interruption. "Whoops! That's what they get for letting my old ass take charge of the technology," she joked. Sparse chuckles sounded from confused partygoers looking for more of an explanation. Recovering, Deidra continued. "Thank y'all for coming to celebrate my baby and send him away the way we know best. I know y'all didn't come to see me or his daddy, so I won't hold you too long. I just wanted Terrence to have a chance to say thank you himself. Terrence! Where are you, baby boy?" 

Unmistakable sneering from his table of friends made Terry grimace and look to Patrice for support. She shared a sympathetic smile and gently nudged him forward. 

"I'll get Nate for you. Go ahead." 

Terry pushed away his desire to leave a chaste peck on Patrice's cheek and offered reassurance instead. "I'll be right back. Then we can talk inside or something." 

As Terry set off to oblige his mother's request for a few words, Patrice made good on her promise. Profanities spilled from her lips like a seasoned trucker three times her senior in Nathaniel's direction, making the group snicker. She unleashed a verbal thumbs down in a hushed whisper for three minutes. Patrice planned for three more to satisfy a full school year of annoyance but stopped once the mention of her name over the speakers caught everyone's attention. 

"He talkin' about you, girl," Napheesa squealed while pushing her elbow into Patrice's arm. "Listen!" 

Corey rolled his eyes and sighed. "Nigga already sound like he in the military. Can't believe I'm losing my boy to the government. Thought we had beat jail." 

"What's so bad about jail, nigga?" Nate questioned, offended. 

"My fault. I forgot about your brother. It's still bad, but…you know. I apologize." 

The silly back-and-forth about family mishaps did little to distract Patrice, who was focused squarely on Terry's speech as if he were Usher commanding the stage. 

Terry nervously fidgeted with the cargo pocket of his shorts as he spoke. "I'm just gonna miss a lot of people. All of y'all are important and stuff. Some more than others, but we don't have to get into that right now." Marvin's throat clearing signaled Terry's approach to a fine line, making Terry chuckle. "I'm just joking," he conceded. "Thanks to everybody that helped and came all the way over here. Shoutout to my friends for playing clean-up crew. Y'all didn't know that, but now you do. And thank you to my girlfriend for helping my mama plan all this. Everybody say thanks to Treecey." 

Before she could prepare, Patrice found several sets of eyes turned toward her, showing varying stages of gratitude for her involvement. Hand claps and a 'thank you' in unison made her wave back in embarrassed silence as she tried her best to share a smile with the crowd. 

A split second of attention was enough to send her stomach in knots. Katrina kept her eyes on Patrice well after the moment had passed, surveying her nervous fidgeting for the perfect moment to intrude. 

"That was real nice of him," she spoke up, startling Patrice. "Now I see why you been looking sad all day. I'd miss him, too." 

Patrice rushed to fix her face. "He'll only be gone for a little bit, and then we'll find time to see each other. It's not that bad." 

"Yeah, that's true. He probably ain't nothing like my sister's ex-boyfriend." 

"What you mean," Patrice asked, more interested in Katrina continuing to talk than she'd ever been. 

Katrina waved her hand, dismissing her own words. "Nothin'! He just went to basic training and stuff and broke up with her right after. He got deployed and met another girl. Now they about to have a baby." She paused to smile at Patrice. "But, Terry not gon' do that. You don't have to worry." 

At least she hadn't before then. It never crossed her mind that Terry could come back different. He'd always be Terry in her mind – boot camp couldn't change that. Thirteen weeks away couldn't change that. Right? He promised to pick up where they left off the moment he returned. Now, seeds of doubt sewn by a gardener with ill intent had sprouted buds of uncertainty in the time it took for folks to clear out and go their separate ways a few short hours later. 

A pink and orange sunset provided enough light for the ragtag clean-up crew to pick up wayward Styrofoam cups and discarded napkins around the yard. They goofed off more than they should, making stupid jokes and tossing trash at each other with no adult supervision to keep them on task. All sight of Terry had been lost once Deidra and Marvin requested his presence to wish the family a safe trip back to their accommodations for the evening.

Patrice moved around the patio in a haze by herself, filling her trash bag with ragged latex from celebratory balloons and mulling over Katrina's words when her phone buzzed in the pocket of the spandex shorts keeping her modest under her dress. 

Pooh: Come inside pls

Brown eyes opened wide from excitement darted around the immediate area for any sign of extra attention and found none as pockets of teenagers meandered nearby. Patrice quickly scurried up the back deck's stairs, praying she remained undetectable until she could slide into the back door leading into the kitchen. 

Crisp air conditioning instantly cooled skin hot to the touch when Patrice slipped into the darkened home. Fear kept her feet in place despite wanting to go on a search. Getting caught snooping would be tough to explain if anyone saw her aimlessly wandering in a house that didn't belong to her. Patrice had half a mind to go back outside and return to her task, but a whisper in the dark and the light illuminating the stairs caught her attention. 

Terry stooped low enough to show his smiling face and gestured for Patrice to come closer. "I'm in my room. Come on." 

Patrice quickly discarded her small cache of useless treasures and made the quiet ascent up carpeted stairs, careful not to make too much noise. Fear churned her stomach until she was inside Terry’s moderately clean bedroom, and risk was finally rewarded. 

Silence greeted Patrice first – silence and a playful look from intense eyes she’d miss when Terry was hundreds of miles away in training to join America’s armed forces. Terry noted Patrice’s apprehension with a disarming smile before holding his hand out for her to grab. She latched on without a second thought and soon found her entire body wrapped in the hug. 

They giggled at nothing in particular, rocking side to side like old friends leaving a rare coffee date with promises to see each other soon. Terry squeezed a little tighter and spoke into the crown of Patrice’s head. “Why’d you look so sad earlier? Somebody say something to you?” 

“No,” Patrice lied, foolishly protecting someone who hadn’t extended the same kindness in return. “Just started thinkin’ about next week. I don’t want us to be different when you get back.” 

“Who told you we’d be different?” Fire brimmed at the edge of Terry’s probing question, waiting to unleash the fullness of its power at the offending party. 

Patrice sighed. “No one.” Lying twice in one conversation threatened a confession to come up from her throat like bile after rancid food. Patrice held the words down with a thick swallow before continuing. “But, like, do you think we’ll be different.” 

“No,” Terry answered without much thought. “It’s only like three months. You’ll write, and I’ll write back when I can; then, before you know it, I’ll be back. The only thing that sucks is I won’t be able to help you move in. But I swear I’ll visit when I have my break after. I’ll take you back to campus. Swear.” 

“Swear,” Patrice questioned, eyebrows playfully pulled upward as her smile grew. 

Terry pretended to consider his options, drawing a quick swat to his chest. “Swear,” he laughed before hugging Patrice closer and kissing her forehead to soften her faux anger. “I swear. I’ll miss you, baby.” 

Baby. A nickname she’d been called a million times before by family and strangers alike assumed a new meaning and sent Patrice’s body into overdrive. Her heart raced wildly. Her stomach felt like the home to monarch butterflies taking first flight. Her mind sifted through half-formed thoughts, each of them culminating in a distant future where they didn’t need to sneak away to hug or kiss each other. They’d be free to do as they pleased once careers were solidified, and the full allowances of adulthood permitted a different level of affection.

But now, despite sincere promises and a heart that would never intentionally deceive, uncertainty weighed heavy on a mind not yet mature enough to understand the world. Fear still gripped the depths of Patrice’s young soul. She wanted to probe for more, demand more answers to settle the uncertainty in her belly, and sit them down to enact a fool-proof plan to remain themselves after time had separated them in the most formative parts of their lives. 

Patrice, the planning and coordinating maven, needed assurances. Baby, though? All she needed was a glimpse of the dazzling smile shining down on her to abandon all sense of dread and focus on the present. They had a week for the hard conversations. Today was almost over, and their moment alone would end even quicker once their absences were detected.

“Of course, you will,” Patrice smiled, looking up at her first and only love with her chin pressed into his chest. “I’m really hard not to miss. At least that’s what I heard from this one guy I know.” 

“Just a guy, huh?” 

For Patrice, answering Terry’s question took a backseat to receiving feather-light touches on her sides and soft kisses on lips still learning the ins and outs of sharing space with another. 

Fingertips sliding down her body and settling on her backside pushed Patrice flush against Terry’s body, prompting her to hang her arms around his neck and enjoy the quiet sounds of lips coming together and pulling apart. If tomorrow were to bring a different reality, at least she’d have something to hang on to. One more perfect memory among so many others. 

They’d lost themselves in the urgency of each kiss, forgetting they weren’t afforded the relative comfort of an empty and were, in fact, making out on borrowed time. Terry’s move to back them onto his bed was soon thwarted by the loud boom of his father’s voice. 

“James! You in here? Your Uncle Myron finally brought his sorry ass ‘round to the house. Come to the front yard for a second!”

Terry cursed the interruption under his breath, feeling anger creep in at the universe for continuing its sick joke. 

He pulled away from Patrice to open his bedroom door and holler, “Yes, sir! I was looking for my phone. I’m coming!”

Patrice stood adjusting her dress and trying to contain ragged breathing while she waited for Terry to make his exit. He turned back, preparing to offer a plan of escape, when she shook her head and smiled. “When you’re halfway down, I’ll go to the bathroom, then back downstairs. We’re good.” 

“You sure? I can-” 

“I’m sure.” Patrice forced a smile and shooed Terry forward. “Hurry up before he comes up looking for you. Then we’re both in trouble.”

Terry nodded, then slowly scanned Patrice from head to toe and back. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Now, go!” 

Silly smiles flashed in each other’s direction, briefly softening the blow of Terry’s absence until silence crept back into the room. Patrice was left with his scent and belongings to whisper unfavorable thoughts into her ears. 

Terry was leaving. Inevitably, he’d be off to start a new chapter of his life, going weeks without communication in pursuit of high honors and the supposed privilege of fighting for his country. Patrice would realize her dream of becoming an Aggie, meeting new faces, and navigating unfamiliar territory with Napheesa by her side. They’d live separate lives for the first time in four years. No intertwined circles or luxury of evening phone calls and weekend hangouts to strengthen their bond. They’d be learning and growing on parallel paths, hoping the road led back to each other. Distance could tear them apart or live up to the old saying passed down from generation to generation. 

Patrice attempted to shake free of baseless anxieties with a deep breath before slipping out of Terry’s bedroom and back to the clean-up shift relatively undetected. She took another sweeping look at her surroundings, committing each corner to memory. 

They’d be fine. With no evidence to prove her theory or experiences to draw from, Patrice wrote the declaration that they’d be fine on the tablet of heart. 

The heart would grow fonder. It had to. Neither of them had a plan for if it didn’t.

------

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[calebscrybaby]

the things I love about you in my mind

♡ ship: rafayel x reader

♡ about: professor rafayel helps sober up a drunk college mc after one too many drinks.

♡ warnings: possessive behavior, intoxication, implied stalker rafayel, kissing under the influence.

based on this cute fanart by kori

Rafayel is hardly paying attention.

Not to the Turkish coffee that’s going cold on his desk, nor to the texts his agent has been sending him and definitely not to the work he’s supposed to be grading.

Despite that, he doesn’t need to pay much attention to write down the critiques of what he’s seeing. It’s second nature at this point, for his eyes to see flaws. Shadow placement is illogical. He writes down halfheartedly, a hand on his cheek as his free one writes clipped sentence after sentence. Anatomy needs more work. Pose is too stiff. The lighting is all over the place.

He doesn’t mean to sound so dry and severe. The students this year are actually promising, for once. Bright and imaginative as they clumsily try and paint their way to the visions that exists in their young minds.

He sighed as he put the pen down, leaning back over the leather chair and rubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses. Rafayel assumed he’d be fine enough to work on grading to get his mind off of what’s bothering him, but apparently not.

It was a simple comment that managed to ruin his mood for the long awaited break from classes.

“Any plans for the weekend?” He had asked you when you ‘accidentally’ ran into him after your last lecture. 

“Uh-huh. I was invited to an after school party today!” You said with an excited smile plastered on your face.

Oblivious to how the corners of his mouth froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. College students go to drinking parties all the time, some spend more time in them than their actual classes. He just—somehow wished his bride would be exempt. You were hardworking and tended to be extroverted, preferring to spend your free time away from rowdy places. The friends you had (decent people, or else they wouldn’t have been near you) did arrange a lot of activities together between classes, but hardly any that involved partying. Something that he was thankful for.

Until now.

Were you pressured? You didn’t seem to be, by the excited smile on your face. But you did seem nervous. Was it your first drinking party? He’s a bit pissed he never found out the type of drunk you are. He wouldn’t be as worried if he was sure you knew how to stay safe in those kinds of parties—

Rafayel huffed through his nose, reaching out to grab his phone. Ignoring the multiple pleading notifications from his agent.

No text. No call.

“Have fun. I’m going to be in my office grading and working on my next project. Once you’re done, call me and I’ll get you back home safe.”

“Oh! I don’t want to trouble you, Professor…”

“Cutie,” he gave her a hard smile as he leaned down in that way he knew made her flustered. The wall next to them shielding the scene from other students. “It’s no trouble. Call me, okay?”

He was debating doing something about it when his phone vibrated in his hand, getting him out of his reverie.

cutie ♥️: sjxjdbajskdnanws

…?

cutie ♥️: audybqnsdn?!?? 1622

🐟: hey, what’s wrong?

♥️: didi here here

(lhttps://tinyurl.com/dz8xhjj7)

🐟: …cutie are you trying to order a car?

♥️: i am?

🐟: You are

♥️:oh

♥️: don tell professor

His mouth twitched, finger moving through the screen to call. It was a few too long seconds before you picked up.

“H-hello?”

She was slurring so hard he was surprised he couldn’t smell the alcohol from the screen.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?” He asked calmly (or so he hoped).

He heard some rustling before you continued sheepishly, “I didn’ wanna bother you…”

He sighed, knowing you’d feel reprimanded even if he didn’t say anything. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Y-you don’ have to—“

“Honey,” he interrupted in an overly sweet tone. “Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

He could hear her choke on the other side of the line before you meekly complied.

The drive to and fro was quiet. You seemed to be alright, thankfully, only stumbling a bit and not as drunk as he thought you’d be. He assumed you’d protest more or insist on calling a car again, but you were quiet as a mouse. Which was good.

Rafayel took you back to his office, much closer from the bar that was conveniently close to the campus. While he would have loved taking you back to his home, he was still mindful of your reputation. Keeping your relationship under wraps was the best way to continue the normalcy you seemed to enjoy. So instead, he took you to his office to rest before going to your dorm room.

You stumbled your way inside his office as he held you by the waist. Gently, he took off your jacket and sat you down on the leather couch.

Thankfully, his worries were somewhat allayed as he asked about the party in the car. You had fun, you didn’t get bothered by anyone nor drink enough to make yourself get sick. He nodded to himself proudly as he put your jacket on the hanger. His bride was a smart, competent woman. He didn’t need to be worried at all.

…it did concern him how quiet and flushed you were, but he would take care of that in a second.

Rafayel got a cool water bottle from the mini fridge and made his way back to the couch, when he sat next to you, he tugged your hand, pulling you closer until you were forced to move with a surprised yelp. With his other hand, he wrapped an arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, settling your soft curves against his thighs. 

Your face flushed harder, as if that was possible. He tried not to stare at the beautiful sight in front of him, your face a beautiful red up to the tips of your ears, mouth slightly open as your breathing got heavier. 

His hand unconsciously moved to touch your lower lip, unable to resist. “Drink some water, it’ll sober you up.” He murmured, acting like that was the only reason. You nodded in a haze, your hand shakily moving to grab the glass bottle from his hand, your fingers pausing as they touched his before you hastily pushed it to take a big swing.

“Careful,” he instructed as he started tugging his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. He only did it because with you so close, your close, heated body made him warmer. But it only caused you to choke on the water. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he rubbed your back. “Better?”

You nodded with your head bowed. You clearly had something on your mind, the alcohol making your emotions much clearer than usual. “Professor, I didn’t drink too much, even when they kept pouring. I was careful and safe. A-and I called you when you said you’d pick me up…”

You didn’t do the last part, actually. He tilted his head as he wiped your mouth and chin from the water you coughed. There seemed to be a point with the pause at the end. “Yes?”

You had a hard time making your brain work, apparently. He slyly noted. “S-so I must be a good girl, right?”

“Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

Oh. You must have been waiting to be praised since he called you. And I’m supposed to be the sober one here.

He smirked, normally he wouldn’t mind lavishing his cute bride in praise until you were a blushing mess, but he wanted to get himself a little payback for the worry you caused him.

He hummed nonchalantly as he nuzzled into your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair, now slightly mussed from the party. “Well, that depends on your performance today, cutie.”

Rafayel only meant it as a slight tease, he held a chuckle back as he saw the gears rapidly turn in your pretty little head.

He immediately regretted it as soon as tears sprang in your eyes. Making his eyes widen.

“I’m n-not a good girl? I’m not?” You cried out as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “Y-you don’t like me? You don’t l-like me!”

….How did your drunk mind reach that conclusion?

His hands were hovering helplessly, unsure of where to start comforting you. He must’ve underestimated how drunk you are. Rafayel finally settled on holding your cheeks and wiping them with his thumbs. “No no. I'm sorry,” he apologizes easily as you continued sobbing into the crook of his neck, his hand started petting her head gently, “you are my good girl, my best girl ever. I love you, really!”

When you kept hiccuping, Rafayel frowned. No matter how much he liked teasing his bride, a light punishment all things considered, he never wanted to upset her. His hand reached for her cheek and maneuvered her face, peppering it with soft kisses as her crying calmed to sniffles. “I even waited for 800 years for you. I love you. I'm sorry, baby…”

His tone turned from placating to vulnerable. None of what he’s saying is untrue, it’s the same mantra that repeats with every beat of his heart. Over and over across lifetimes.

“No. My bride, my only bride.”

You won’t remember it, like you don’t remember so many things. But still, he gives himself this.

Once you were calm enough, he smiled gently. Wiping the remnants of your tears from your reddened cheeks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He offered with an apologetic smile as he lifted your face to meet his.

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “…I wanna—want a kiss!” You whined your demand out loud, too buzzed and upset to feel self conscious.

“But I already gave you plenty,” he said with feigned confusion, unable to help himself.

You groaned petulantly, “not like that!”

He smiled, impossibly fond. “Well, I can’t kiss you with my glasses on, honey.”

“T-take—“ you slurred as you tried to do it yourself, growing more frustrated as your uncoordinated hands couldn’t get them off his ears. “Off!”

Rafayel tutted, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when you couldn’t focus on anything to recognize it. He couldn’t resist continuing to tease you. “Can’t? Maybe you just don’t want to. Maybe you actually don’t want your dear Professor’s kiss…”

His poor bride whined, trying harder. Even when you managed to get it off, it fell back on, askew on his grinning face. His hair was now mussed from his failed attempts, the tidy slick back he had since this morning gone with every try of your warm hands.

“See?” He tutted, the old familiar Disappointed Teacher Tone™️ slinked back into his voice. “You don’t really want one or you would have managed to get them off.”

“No—no no no.” You shook her head, immediately stopping when you clearly made yourself dizzy. God, you were adorable. “I want to!”

Rafayel laughed, light and easy as you huffed at him. His hand went up to grab his glasses and casually threw it on the other end of the couch. Your hazy mind registered it and brightened, leaning in and clumsily trying to kiss him before he laughed against your mouth, his hands reaching to cup your cheek as he took over and gave you one decent kiss. Your warm breaths mingled together as he broke it, the soft gaze of his ocean blues mixed with lemurian fire making your heart thump in your chest.

“Now, how about a nap to sober you up?”

[r0-boat]

For last night's stream we streamed a cute little dating sin called "I JUST WANT TO BE SINGLE!!"

It was a game cast of mostly girls even the MC and it was very cute.

As you may not or may already know I have a challenge where every after stream I do I make a drabble or headcanons or any writing based on the game I've played! And since the dating sim was very generic at school transfer student I thought I would do the same with WHB!

So enjoy being the human transfer student at an all demon school.

What in hell is bad? Seven Kings X transfer student

Whb high school AU

Mammon's Dad is alive, Solomon is your father these devils are younger than in the Canon games. Strictly an AU for fun silly purposes. All people are adults I don't specify if it's a high school or a college, but if it helps you sleep at night it's college. Solomon is one of those cool teachers that every student loves, Solomon isn't the best father but he is trying.

Cw: very silly, sfw but suggestive, cliche, some mention of sex because of you know who.

Intro:

What the fuck???

Three words screamed into your mind as you look on at the building that was supposedly your school It looked less like a school building and more like a castle. It's even look like the universities all your friends got accepted in. It looked more than that. Like how we would picture a top college like Yale or Harvard would look like if you've never seen or even heard of it before.

You knew that mysterious all expenses paid scholarship was a bad idea. But it wasn't a prank fine print was fine print. And the icing on the cake. Your father Solomon I would never home because of work was the one who sent you the letter.

Whatever they saw in you must be damn good to be able to get a fucking scholarship and a school that looks like this. The courtyard was utterly deserted signaling that everyone was probably already in their classes. You sigh as you walk over to the huge gated fence slowly and struggling to push the giant iron Gates open enough for you to squeeze by. Seriously who the hell are these gates designed for prisoners?!

But as soon as you stepped through the door this school was a different place entirely. It looked so orderly and clean on the outside but on the inside... It looks like a war zone. Cracks and holes in the floor boarded up windows with broken glass scattered about. The place wreaked of cigarettes and weed and alcohol. Just what kind of school was this??

You would soon get your answer when you stepped into your classroom. Handsome yet dangerous looking men stared at you sharp teeth sharp eyes and even sharper horns that adorned their head.

Devils?!

As the teacher also a devil with a tail that fully moved in such a way that you ruled out the possibility of it being fake introduced you.

"This will be our first human transfer student in a long time! And from then on... You're peaceful school life would never be the same.

Satan

Captain of devil's football (cavalry as they call it), His seating is at the back of the room, and it just so happened that next to him was the only open seat. He stared at you intensely with a scary look, with those red eyes piercing into your very soul. Your heart is pounding as you turn over with a timid smile. "H-hey..." But the devil said nothing as he continued the stair. It was like this for a while until he finally said, "yer a human right?" The word stumbled out of you immediately: "Yes!" The devil studies you for a second but a smile widens as he points "I know you! Your Mr Solomon's kid!" Hearing your dad's name you whip your head around "What? Solomon? You know him??" Satan's toothy grin goes wider "fuck yeah I do He's awesome! I never knew you had a kid though! I wonder why...." You didn't know what else to say if your dad was here you natural you had an urge to go see him when he turned to certain age to be on your own he showed up less and less so it was really hard to get into stay in one place. But Satan's energetic words cuts off your train of thought "You're definitely not going to survive here!" You must choked on your own spit. Yeah no shit Sherlock You kind of known from the moment you walked in but still it was just a shocking to hear it from someone else. "Oh yeah especially since your Solomon's child! Everyone's going to be drooling over you. Nah fuck that I'm going to protect you." He grinded his teeth at the mere mentioned And he just decided this instantly no rhyme or reason not that you think anyway. And he was true to his word a lot more than you thought because they were way too many devils that Satan had to show away That being said he didn't even like his own teammates getting too close It kind of sucked if you wanted to make new friends but I guess having scary dog privileges does help if you want to avoid not so nice people. In your short time of knowing Satan you've learned few things One of them being he had a short temper and once he blew his top he exploded like a volcano. Out of sheer anger he picked up a desk and hurdled it at a devil smashing the wall in process. Now you can see why your classmates called him "Lord of Wrath."

Mammon

You met him when he saw a crowd in the schoolyard. You've had extra free time to kill since Satan's desk-throwing stunt blew a hole into the wall of the classroom, which means an hour of free time. The group of devils gathered Drew your curiosity for you to come closer. When you pushed through the crowd you saw a man sitting on a bench He was sculpted like a rugged a mountain His muscular arms folded His legs crossed with a smirk on his face You finally were able to focus on the words they were saying "Lord of Greed something I want to buy but I can't afford-" , "say no more... Say the amount and you may have it"

"Lord of Greed those rings look so gorgeous where did you get them?!"

"Oh these cheap things? Meh the solid gold can't remember how many carrots off the top of my head but if you want it knock yourself out... They're not the best in my collection and honestly been wanting to get rid of them for a while." He looked so casual just taking off a gold ring and tossing it to the devil who asked as if these rings were worth mere pennies to him. That's when his eyes fell upon mine. His smile widened as he scooted to the right opening a seat for me "Oh? You're that human. Come sit with me." As all eyes were on you in an instant peer pressure crushed under your weight like a styrofoam cup as you shuffle toward him as if he was a god and you were a mere peasant.

As soon as you sat down his He leaned back and forth his eyes sculpting you just like a certain devil this morning before saying. "Hm... I like you, You're mine now."

"Excuse me... " You didn't realize you said it out loud until the devil chuckles "I said I like you and I own things that I like... I think humans call it 'relationship' I'm not really familiar with human courting. But you are mine now and I guess That means I am yours too." The group of devils around you too eyes widen like saucers. You had no idea what's going on as the devil's around you whisper material wealth, money,richest person in the world, jealousy This was all going so fast your head was spinning This was the second devil today that just decided that they liked you for no reason at all.

"say... What are your plans for lunch today?" You didn't even get a chance to open your mouth before he talked over you "whatever they are cancel them. You will be having lunch with me a five course meal made fresh by my father's personal chefs." You wanted to talk to say something You didn't even get a word out of your mouth when arms wrap around you and suddenly your transported in other place entirely.

Leviathan

An empty classroom with nothing but desks the same cracked walls a bottle of what you assume is alcohol have has really thrown on the floor and sitting on the desk staring at the window a man with a princely pretty looking face hair with a pearly white color that was mesmerizing to your eyes. But when you turn to look at you that color was all but mesmerizing as he looked at you with pure disgust. "You..." He snarled as he got it from his chair. Making strides toward you You were terrified but you stood your ground Even as he grabbed your face that made you flinch forcing your head left and right. Your eyes squeaks shut before putting your hands on him and pushing him away. He clicked his tongue and snarled. "Weak and annoying pitiful humans and you dare to be related to Solomon."

That struck a nerve. All day you've hadn't said a single word and this devil insulting you was the final straw.

"at least I don't have the personality of a raccoon with rabies your breath smells worse than the garbage you ate this morning."You snapped back at that moment you regarded little for your safety of what this devil could do to you No one talks to you or your family like that. Especially not assholes like him. The devil's eyes went wide for a second only to scrunch back up and click his tongue. "Just watch your back human..." He hissed storming up the classroom. First day and you made an enemy Great.... You definitely can't wait to get bullied by demons.

Beelzebub

You met him on the way to one of your classes getting chewed out by a teacher. You couldn't know but watch as the man with a single horn just nonchalantly leaned against the wall as the teacher went off on him: "You're the future Lord of Abyssos... You have to take this seriously! You're missing a lot of classes....!!!" But to the Lord of Gluttony, all this information went in one ear and out the other. When the teacher finally stormed off that's when he realized you had eavesdropped way more than you should have. When your eyes met, He smiled and pulled you into the room.

"hey haven't seen you before...hmm... You're Solomon's kid right?" He said his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leans near your face. " Um yeah. " You just accepted that probably every person in the school knows now.

"Hell ya." Please smile before something seemingly distracted him That's when he held the back of your head and leaned your head in burying his nose and your hair. Instinctually you pulled back. " Sorry sorry It's just, wondering where that smell was coming from so I thought I'd take a sample from you." with his arms still around your waist He got up from leaning against the desk walking out of the classroom dieting you God knows where. "One thing about devils. Is that if we like something we like to get 'intimate' with that thing. " He smirked and the way the word intimate rolled off the tongue major eyebrows furrow. You're not quite sure what he meant by that and honestly part of you is too scared to ask. " Where are you taking me?" You said half wanting to change the subject. "Cafeteria where else?"

"But it's not lunch?"

"pft so?" Beelzebub chuckled as if you were worried about skipping class as a mere funny joke. "You worry too much. You're Solomon's kid. The teachers won't do anything, trust." Even though You are the kid of someone who apparently was extremely popular in this school and left a bad taste in your mouth to know you were getting special treatment. And you were practically being yanked along by this random devil, so you couldn't really do anything well, not if you worried about your safety. You still remember Satan hurdling the desk like it was nothing.

Lucifer

Remember Leviathan well unlucky for you he remembered you. When Beelzebub was taking way too long to get simple drinks to bring back to you to the empty pafeteria You decided to say fuck it and just walk back to class. And does he walk through the empty hallway you stopped and that's when you saw him. His scowling face made your heart drop.

Here is a fun fact about devils you learned when you just tried to turn around and walk away. They know magic as a tendril coming up from seemingly nowhere wrapped around your neck and yanked you backward toward him when his hands grabbed your shoulders. He yanked you and slammed you against the lockers, pinning you, his face hovering over yours. "I saw you hanging out with those other dimwits... "You're not sure why, but you know exactly who he was talking about. " Someone like you shouldn't be around people like them. He hissed as you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders as he pinned you harder and harder against the lockers. When you tried to lift your arms to push him, those tendrils returned, wrapping around your arms and slamming them against the locker. His hand slid from your shoulders to your waist. And now you're confused... "You're just a weak human remember that." He got close to your face grinding his teeth before using his limbs to throw you to the side.

It wasn't until he was gone that you noticed The pain in your wrist and blood dripping from the cut. You sigh as you decide to take a trip to the nurse's office if the devil's even had one.

They compared this school's other rooms to those in the disaster state. This one seems clean, untouched... Dare you say professional? The only one working was a baby blonde-haired man sitting at a desk, spinning around a pen between his nimble fingers. When he looked up he noticed the blood dripping from your wrist he shot up before you could even say anything He gently takes your hand. "Your hurt. come with me." Wrapping a hand around your waist guiding you to one of the beds in the nurse's office as if your cut was more dire than it was when he sat you down he immediately grabbed the bandages and started to wrap you up.

"You're the transfer student aren't you?" He asked which you only nodded. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lucifer I believe we share one class together?" Wow an actual introduction, All day you've gotten no introductions all their names you learned by word of mouth or other devils introducing them for you.

"Oh." Slipped from your mouth with more surprise than you wanted to, and Lucifer's Stern face curled up slightly. "Thought I was a teacher?" You just nodded your head. "I get that a lot. Not many students come here since they're all devils, so I got this place for myself. I don't even think we have a nurse; I'd hate to see anyone get hurt. " Huh That's sweet. From what you had been witnessing all day something like this was definitely a rarity. When he was finished wrapping your wrist he saw you out as quickly as you came in.

Belphegor

It wasn't even the end of the day yet and you were being yanked in every direction by everyone in the school devil's flocked to you looking at you with curiosity or hunger (You're not sure which one it was)

So you escape to the only place you know, where you constantly come up when you know you can be away from people. The rooftop. As you walked closer to one of the benches to sit down and eat, you failed to realize someone already held that spot who was sleeping soundly until he woke up with a yawn and a stretch. "Hrm?" He hummed, rubbing his tired eyes and looking at you as you just stood there frozen in place with enough awkwardness to kill a man. He pointed at you. "You c'mere." He said his voice low and husky. He made the motion with his finger. From your experience with being dragged around all day, You probably shouldn't accept this man's request as, knowing your luck, you would just get dragged into more drama or trouble. But you did interrupt his nap, and all things considered, he didn't look like he was in too much trouble. So you stepped closer. He left the bench next to him, and since there was nowhere to sit, It was your only option. As soon as you sat down, he laid back down, his head resting on your lap. Turning from his back to his side, he muttered, "You're comfortable. Stay like this fo'me, Would ya? " He asked you to fall asleep instantly. You don't know why, but this touched your heart, kinda a moment of tranquility as you place you eat your lunch, gazing at the world below. You were surprised to know how fast he went to sleep. Knowing your luck he was probably another Lord, And you could guess he must be the Lord of sloth. You know you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. It's not like he would wake up to you running your fingers through his hair, reveling in how unexpectedly soft his locks were. Out of the hellish day you dealt with this, it was nice.

And it only got worse once lunch break actually rolled around as that's when Beelzebub Mammon and Satan saw each other and realized that they were after you as well to spend their lunch together.

Fun fact that you learned about devils when you had the displeasure of seeing your two classmates making out in the hallway while every student ignored them. Devils have no sense of shame or a lack thereof. They just do whatever they want when they want, which explains why the school rules about alcohol, weed, and other miscellaneous drug substances you have found throughout the day were so Lax. And another fun fact you learned about devils... It is that they are very territorial, apparently. You saw it first hand, as when Beelzebub wrapped an arm around you, Satan puffed up and hissed like a cat as he ripped him off you. You were lucky you escaped the scene, as when Mammon made a comment about How short Satan was, He exploded and tried to lunge at him.

Asmodeus

Was it too late to drop out??? You thought it was the end of the day, and you were beyond exhausted. And these lords did not stop either. You thought you could meet up with your dad if the bell rang. You wish you could call him, but sadly, that was off the table since your dear father had little to no interest in Mobile technology. The only one he ever had was a flip phone just to get a phone number. You swore a phone call with him was like torture as you had to listen to more static than his voice. Other devils told you and confirmed that he had his own personal office somewhere. If it wasn't for the big ass school, you would have been okay with trying to find his office, but sadly, you were already wandering around the school to stop now. When you walked by, you noticed the janitor's slightly open call. When you got closer, you snuck into the closet, and your eyes widened. A devil, no two devils... No three?? It's getting a little hot and under the collar in there. Grinding and bugging their hips against each other when you accidentally made a noise, the black-haired devil who was sandwiched between the other two noticed your presence. Your soul jumped out of your skin as you ran as fast as you could in the other direction. If he was another Lord, he was 100% the Lord of Lust, and you wanted nothing to do with him. But it seemed like he wanted everything to do with you as you kept wandering around the school, trying to purge that memory from your mind. You felt arms wrap around you. You shrieked and jumped backward turning to notice a familiar face. His smirk and disheveled clothes and hair shivered up your spine as your trembling voice fell from your lips. "Oh, it's you... What do you want?" Asmodeus giggled. "My, aren't you cute? I've never seen someone look at me with such frightened disgust."

He was practically undressing you with his eyes. Eye molesting... Whatever it was you didn't like how he looked at you. "Never in my thousands of years has someone looked at me with such... Such a 'curious expression.' You're Solomon's spawn? " At this point, so many devils have asked You throughout the day you just nod your head now in acceptance.

"I knew it. You even have his gorgeous eyes. And his sexier features that I've always admired from afar. "

What the fuck, please don't fuck my dad!? You screamed in your head. But since he was talking to you maybe he could tell you where he was since it looked like he would know a little too much "Do you-Do you know where he is?"

Their smirk only widened as he pulled you close against him. His body pressed against yours. You ground your teeth to stop from screaming as he whispered into your ear. "I do but what's my payment? You don't seem to have any on you..." He said his hands rubbing up and down the sides of your body. Before you could do anything else, you probably beat the shit out of him like you used to do with kidnappers when you were a kid. He pulls away and laughs like what he did was the funniest thing in the world.

"I'm just kidding sweetheart, You just look so cute I couldn't help but tease you. Yeah his office is on the next floor It has a purple rug can't miss it."

It's like the stress left your body as you sighed. You gave him a smile before leaving, but when you turned around, you swear to God you heard him say, " I think I'm in love..."

Bonus

You have to fight off tears when he mutters your name in a broken string of sentences, dreaming of the past when you were in diapers. You took his coat hanging from the chair and draped it over him before leaving his office

When you finally saw his office and walked inside, it looked like an old antique shop as all kinds of knick-knacks and antiques decorated the old wood shelves, and on his desk were stacks of paper, and your beloved father was caged between all those papers. Now you understand why he's always so busy as he was passed out on the desk. You are upset that you didn't get to talk to him, but you would probably get the chance tonight as you are living with him now, you understand. You never knew your mother, and to take care of you, He had to move out of the house and into an apartment, working his ass off day and night just to keep a roof over your head.

[countrycritter]

I’m telling you Price and Ghost are not able to keep up with Soap, Gaz, and Reader 😈

I can’t stop thinking about Reader that is close to the same age as Soap and Gaz because could you imagine the two old (they’re in their thirties but whatever) men watching over these three that are pretty much in their prime.

The 141 decides to go to the club one night. Of course, Price and Ghost aren’t too fond of the idea because they are just fine with going to the same damn bar every night. But no, the sergeants are BEGGING them to go out to this cool nightclub downtown.

Finally they crack and find themselves driving down to a dark building, the only hint that it’s a nightclub being the led lights showing through the windows.

The atmosphere is loud, they can feel the bass in their chests. The crowd, who are mostly people in their 20s, are grinding against each other and shouting to the music.

The 141 finds a table and orders drinks, a couple beers in and the sergeants are very restless. Of course, they go out to dance when they hear a song they love.

Price and Ghost watch with dark eyes as their younger members dance and rub against each other teasingly, obviously having fun putting on such a show. Many people around them are eyeing them up, but who wouldn’t? Three VERY attractive people drunkenly dancing and singing (shouting) along with the sex-centered songs playing over the stereos.

I’m talking “Baby Got Back”, “Blame It”, “No Hands”, “Rude Boy”, etc.

Sometimes for fun, one of them will sing the especially proactive lyrics and point at the two older men. This is quickly followed by laughs and smiles from all three of them as they go back to each other.

Eventually, Price and Ghost both decide they’re getting a little too drunk (people are getting a bit too close and they’re getting very protective) and manage to wrangle all of them.

After all that teasing, you best believe the sergeants are out like a light.

(I’m sorry if this isn’t very good the thoughts were not flowing like usual but I needed to get this idea out because it was ROTTING my brain bro 😭)