#my life is a damn sitcom

[ravinoforre]

So I need to exchange my driver's license from a UK one to a French one (I'm legally fine to drive on it atm but since it apparently expires in a couple years I figured I should get on that now). I can do that online but I need to send them those little passport photos, either through the post or print ones with a digital code on it I can put on the online form.

Ok, no problem, I think to myself, there's one of those photo booths at the train station 5 mins down the road.

So dragging my partner along for what I thought was going to be a short walk, we go to the station, and I enter the machine, select all my options yadda yadda, 8 fucking euros grumble grumble, I go to pay with my card... nothing. I click around some more, exiting and re-entering the payment screen, trying again---he's dead, Jim.

I don't have cash on me. Neither does he. Great.

Oh well, I know there's one at a supermarket less than 10 mins walk away, let's go there.

We stop by a cash machine on the way since I could probably do with some on me (and in case I have payment problems at that other machine too).

We get there, the curtains are closed and I thought someone was in there at first, but further inspection under the curtains shows a lack of feet, so I enter the booth. The screen is telling me to press the big green button to start, and... no response at all. The hell? It's only after that we both notice the crudely written "Out of Order" sign on the side.

Wonderful.

After buying some iced coffees for the road and a jar of mustard I'll never eat just because it has a picture of a Sprigatito on it, husband suggests we go back to that other machine at the station now that I have cash.

Back at the station, I get my order ready, I go to pay with cash "No Change Given" I don't care just gimme my photos, but oopsie Only €5 notes and coins are accepted, and I'm sitting there like a wally with my €10 bank note. Sigh.

Husband goes to get it exchanged at the service desk. I get given two €5 notes (one of them in the worst state I've ever seen and stuck back together with tape lol, but at least the other one is usable). The service girl comes over and makes conversation, thinking it's weird that the card reader doesn't work, it's brand new.

But whatever. She leaves, and finally, surely now I can get my damn bogos binted.

It doesn't take my note.

[peachyygoblin]

Maybe another Time?🌹

crazy how their wedding went amazingly guys am I right!!!

[cere-racha]

“smile darling! if you can’t, what hope do the rest of us have?”

— yelled at me (walking to my train, post exam, catatonic) on the street by a lovely lady who was definitely high on life or one of its many products. might just be my fav case of catcalling(?) yet.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

It took 41 spins to find a fandom with characters I recognize (Shrek).

The good news: you get to pick your new soulmate! (You can define "soulmate" however you want: platonic/romantic/partners in crime/etc. But they will be in your life, constantly.)

The bad news: you don't get to pick where they come from.

Spin this wheel until you get a fandom with characters that you recognize. As soon as you do, stop. One of those people* is going to be a constant presence in your life, whether you like it or not. So choose wisely.

*broadly defined

[gabagools]

it’s funny, every time i watch a new medical drama im reminded of why shonda ruled abc for over a decade because she made this shit look easy and entertaining. and so far no one has managed to follow in her footsteps.

like im currently trying the pitt and it’s clear this show thinks it’s much better than it actually is, which is interesting considering how rough the character development and dialogue is. just really lacks the depth and artful slickness it needs to pull off its format—how exactly is a 15 hour season meant to work for years to come? problem for the future ig—and scope of characters—so many women, so much potential for lesbianism lmao—because so far it’s a bit of a patchy mess that’s mainly redeemed by the acting.

& this is personal bias but the lack of interpersonal drama is like… im starving a bit. like hello? what happened to hi, hello, my name is? a laugh? friendship? relationships that become the defining factor of a network’s legacy? lmao ok that last one isn’t a must but still. they’ve set up a couple of interesting dynamics (trinity & samira/garcia/collins/mel, mel & mohan, collins & mckay) and i need for them to make shit shake already.

[arcadia-smith]

My Sweet Life Ep1

Moodboard/Masterlist

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Summary: Navigating everyday life with Simon Riley. Sitcom-style fanfiction.

Word count: just under 800

Next episode

"Oh, no." Simon’s groan echoed from the living room, followed by the heavy thud of his footsteps as he strode toward the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, holding up his phone like it personally offended him.

"Luv, thought you were working. But if they’re paying you for this," he waved the device for emphasis, "then you’ve got one hell of a job."

You didn’t look up from your laptop, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Okay, to be fair, you had been a little relentless lately—spamming him with kitten pictures on a daily basis. But how could you not? For the first time, you actually had the chance to adopt one, and all that stood in your way was convincing your fiancé.

Slowly, you swiveled your chair to face him, lips forming the lightest pout—the one you’d spent all morning perfecting in the mirror.

"Don’t you think they’re cute?"

Simon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. It was so damn hard to say no to you, especially when you looked at him like that—lips quivering just enough, eyebrows knitted together, eyes full of adoration.

"For the love of gods," he groaned. His arms crossed over his chest, but you could see the cracks forming. "Where the hell did you even find all these?"

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Were you actually getting through to him?

"The last two are from the shelter down the street, saw them there and just thought they were cute," you said, voice brimming with excitement.

And then—without pause—you launched into a ten-minute monologue about those kittens.

You told him everything—the way the tabby had stretched its tiny paws and yawned like it had all the time in the world, how the little black one had climbed onto your lap and immediately curled up, purring like a miniature engine.

You didn't notice when his phone lowered to his side. Didn't notice the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"And, Si, you should’ve seen their eyes," you pressed on, hands gesturing wildly now. "Big, round, and so full of love. Like they already chose me."

He sighed. A deep, long-suffering sigh, like he was about to dive into something he knew damn well he wouldn’t come out.

"So," he drawled, pushing off the frame, stepping into the kitchen. "You already named 'em, didn’t you?"

Your mouth snapped shut.

He knew.

You bit your lip, trying to play innocent, but his sharp eyes caught everything. He was a soldier, after all. A trained interrogator. You never really stood a chance.

"...Maybe."

His jaw flexed. "Luv."

You grinned, "Ghost and Soap."

That nearly broke him. You saw it—the flicker of amusement, the way his lips twitched before he caught himself.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You didn’t let him recover. "C’mon, Si," you pleaded, voice dipping into that soft, coaxing tone he had absolutely no defenses against. "Just come see them. We don’t have to adopt them today. Just—just look at them."

He lifted a brow. "You think I don’t know exactly how this plays out?"

You tilted your head, all wide-eyed innocence. "What do you mean?"

He huffed. "You get me to ‘just look.’ Then you put one in my hands, and suddenly I’m holding it. Then it falls asleep on me, and next thing I know, we’re coming home with a cat."

"...Or two," you mumbled.

Simon closed his eyes. Breathed. "I love you, I do. But this place is not for a cat, luv" he leaned against the counter "It's gonna leave his fur everywhere, probably piss in my boots-"

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest as if he’d just stabbed you. "Simon Riley, how dare you?"

"We’ve got enough to handle as it is," he reasoned.

You slid your chair closer, practically glowing with determination. "Think about it—"

"Oh, I have—"

"—a tiny little kitten curled up on your lap after a long mission."

Simon groaned again, tilting his head back like he was asking the heavens for patience. "Luv—"

"You walk in, exhausted, and there they are, all warm and soft, purring just for you."

His eye twitched.

"And, oh!" You clasped your hands together, eyes widening in faux surprise. "Did I mention they have the tiniest paws? So itty-bitty!"

Simon inhaled sharply through his nose. "You’re doin’ this on purpose."

"Just one visit," you said, voice soft, persuasive. "We’ll go to the shelter, just to look."

Simon’s jaw tensed. You could practically see the gears turning. He knew damn well there was no such thing as ‘just looking’.

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — FOUR.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 10k.

NOTE. whewwww so much happens in this. like a lot WAHAHAHAHAH. would love to hear your thoughts and comments, maybe even predictions HAHA. there’s a bit more violence in this than in the previous chapters, but y’all know what you’re getting into. anyhow, enjoy! CHAPTER FIVE.

THAT DAY WAS PERHAPS THE MOST EVENTUAL DAY YOU’VE HAD AT NALKEUTTA. It’s been two weeks since then, and in the past week you’ve been plagued by contract drafts and notarizing documents, meeting with the groups new clients (i.e. victims) to trap a few more poor souls into this burning death trap, and giving legal advice to Mark Lee whenever he calls and needs.

Honestly, if this was all that your job consisted of, you’d be a pretty happy camper, especially considering the zeroes your bank account is set to accrue. No more hearings every other day. No more angry clients trying to get a slap on the wrist for attempted assault or embezzling company funds or whatever shit. Your work at present is more peaceful than expected— that is, of course, if you exclude what’s been causing you to work overtime these past two weeks.

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you more often lately, attorney.”

Yeongdeungpo Police Station. Officer Jung tries to entertain you while waiting for Mark’s favorite mutt to get fished out of his cell. No shit, he’s been seeing you often. This is your third time this fucking week. “He didn’t get into any more trouble overnight, did he?”

“No, we made sure to put him in a single cell this time.” You sigh in relief. They should’ve done that the first fucking time. “Hey, attorney…this may be out of line, but—” 

“Then stay in line, officer.”

Maybe your neuroticism is finally slipping through your stiff mask. Your eyes flash up at Officer Jung. He appears taken aback at first, but nods, smiling, and maintains a respectful distance. Sure, he’s hot and all, but you have no intention of hooking up with a cop just to put your career, life, and safety in jeopardy. Mark has eyes everywhere. You’re pretty sure he even has a handful of the officers here under his control.

“Damn. My guardian angel came early today,” 

Enter the bane of your existence itself. He wears an annoying grin on his face while being escorted to you, free from handcuffs meaning he can with his hands whatever he pleases— which, unfortunately, is sticking a middle finger up in the air when the guy that he got into an altercation with passes by, and a second fight almost breaks out while you dumb ass of a, executive just cackles like a madman as the second guy gets held back by the officer escorting him.

You do nothing but yank on the sleeve of his arm, nails digging into fabric and the skin underneath. You’re not strong enough to dislocate him, but by god you wish you were. “Thank you, officer. We’re heading out now.”

Officer Jung smiles at you. “I’d say I hope to see you again, but I doubt you’d want to drive up here for the fourth time this week.”

“Haha.” It’s eight in the evening. You’re tired as fuck.

The moment you succeed in dragging him out of the station to avoid another count of misdemeanor, you wipe your hand on your blazer and quickly march to your car, not even checking if he’s following when you rip open the driver’s seat of your car and slam it back close. Unfortunately, he shoves himself into the front seat before you can lock it. 

“Whew,” he says, buckling himself in. You look at him through the mirror. He’s leaned against the window and his torso is pointed towards you. “Want me to take over the wheel?”

The rev of the engine. You hear Na Jaemin scoff and turn his head away.

“Tough crowd.” He props up an elbow on the window ledge, cheek resting on closed knuckles as you continue to drive to the office when you’ve clocked out three hours ago. “You were pretty chummy with that cop earlier. If I remember, the fucker is the same prick who jumps out of station to wag his tail in front of you whenever you drop by.” 

God, you don't have time for this. You block your ears. You continue driving. You just want to go home, but Na Jaemin isn’t done pissing you off yet.

“You’re pretty amazing aren’t’cha, attorney? That why it only takes a second for you to get us all out?”

Screeeeech!

“Whoa. You’re finally looking at me for once.”

That’s fucking it. You’re not dealing with his shit anymore.

“Get out.” With all this and that damned death threat letter you received, you haven’t exactly been in the most amicable mood. “Get out of my fucking car.”

Yet somehow, Na Jaemin just starts grinning wider in response to your death glare. “But the office is too far away, attorney.” You click your tongue, grip tightening on the steering wheel as you leer away. It’s the dead of night. You’ve pulled over next to a closed laundromat. Your body still refuses to look at the psycho next to you directly. One day, you swear you’re going to rip him apart. 

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.”

Your car lets out a loud honk when you slam your forehead into the car horn, breaking the peaceful quiet of the night. “Ugh.” You release a breath,the sound rasping against your throat. One day, you’re going to kill him. One day.

‎*‎

“Damn, attorney. You look like shit.”

The next morning, Lee Haechan interrupts your coffee break by being an asshole. 

“There’s no one worth looking hot for in this dump.”

“Now, I think that’s what you call a hasty generali—”

“Haechan, I don’t want to fuck you.” His face is a stiff smile, just on the verge of cracking from a fatal injury. You step aside to give him space on the coffee machine, swallowing an almost scalding gulp of your drink. Come to think of it, Na Jaemin isn’t the only idiot you’ve fished out of the police station. “Hey. Hold on. I have a bone to pick with you, bitch.”

Haechan’s mug makes a rattling noise when he prematurely drops it onto the counter. You see a trail of sweat trickle down his neck. “What do you mean?”

“You nearly ran someone over the other day,” you start. “If I have to bail you out for another DUI, you’ll be seeing your car in a landfill.”

They’re so lucky that none of their victims chose to press charges. Thinly veiled threats usually allow you to settle with a compromise for the barest minimum amount for the damages they incur, but your words won’t always work. Still. It seems like Mark doesn’t mind pouring out whatever amount of money to save his valued lap dogs. These mutts are so god damned spoiled.

“Monster! Don’t you dare touch my Penelope!”

You wanna bully him for naming his porsche Penelope, but that’d make you a hypocrite. You don’t want to give up the remaining integrity you have left, so you choose to remain silent instead and finish up your coffee. 

At the same time, you notice a third presence enter the breakroom, and you make the unfortunate decision of peering back, just in time to find Lee Jeno looming behind you. You nearly choke on your coffee. “‘Scuse me,” he says, voice low, and you waste no time scrambling to the side and coughing your lungs out.

Haechan talks to him while the latter pulls out a back container from the cupboards. “Hey, man. How’s the Daeghwang contract going?”

At that question, Jeno’s brows close together and you flinch when he replies with an annoyed grunt. “Bad.” He taps the open mouth of the container against the rim of a glass of water, white powder cascading out. “Cheongang is a pain in the ass.”

“That’s rough. Well, good luck. See you later."

He starts leaving with the glass and you can finally get back to breathing. Seriously. Na Jaemin may scare you and piss you off, but this guy is just intimidation incarnate.

“Hey, what was his fucking deal?” Your voice is both fear-stricken and appalled, pointing at the break room entryway the moment Lee Jeno’s shadow disappears from the floor. “Did I do something to him? He looked like he was gonna punch my teeth out for getting in the way of him and his creatine!”

Haechan has finally finished making his coffee. Instant coffee, which he brings up to his mouth to take a sip. What was the point of giving him way to the machine? “Oh, Jeno? That’s just his face. Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “He’s a nice guy, but Mark likes to bring him around when he’s out doing business. Adds to the aura.”

The fuck? Well. Now that you poke into your brain, you finally remember why Lee Jeno had seemed oddly familiar when you were introduced to him. That day you found out your (former) literati, over the bar crush was actually a fucking gang leader who’s actually kind of crazy. Jeno was the one with Mark carrying that big, suspicious duffel bag. That makes sense.

“He doesn’t look like it, but he’s actually very diligent and organized. He’s basically Mark’s secretary.” 

This is very hard to wrap your head around, but maybe you’re just being too judgmental. Huh. If this is the case, then Mark has formed a pretty well rounded inner circle for him. Lee Jeno’s the one helping him make sure the oil keeps running, pretty much an all-rounder. Huang Renjun deals with Nalkeutta’s external partnerships. Now, all this makes you wonder—

“Then…what about Na Jaemin?”

There’s a flicker in Haechan’s eyes. He looks at you, eyes peeking above his coffee mug, and you don’t break your gaze. “Curious?” he hums, setting it down onto the counter behind him. “What about me? Don’t you wanna ask about what my role is?”

“I already know that you’re a desperate son of a bitch. What else do you do?”

“God damn, you never hold back.” You know he manages most of the internal affairs. Gratified HR, but you don’t want to grant him the satisfaction that you give a fourth of a shit. “Jaeminnie’s our clean-up dog. Mark knows how to put his maw to good use.”

Clean-up dog. Hah. 

“If there’s anyone Mark needs to be beaten half to death, Jaemin’s the man for the job. The guy basically lives off of the adrenaline he gets from fighting. I think the money is just secondary to him, but who knows. Mark likes to keep him busy with chasing down debtors or else he’d take it out on the nearest Nalkeutta member within arms reach. He seems like a lazy prick, but he’s actually pretty competent and meticulous. Only when blood and bruises are involved, of course.” 

Now, that makes you feel like absolute crap. Not for him, but for you— finding out that you and a psycho have been relegated to essentially the same demeaning position, one judicially and the other extrajudicially. That’s a dig into your pride. It leaves a sourly bitter taste on your tongue, and you don’t even have any coffee left to wash it down.

“Well. That is until someone pisses him off. Then things get pretty messy,” Haechan continues with a drawl, checking out his fingernails. Then his eyes flicker up, tipping his head back to flash you a grin. “Which has been more than often lately. He’s been getting into a lot of unrelated fights and trouble. Wonder why.”

Your mouth folds up into a sneer. “Talk about yourself, you serial drunk driver.”

“Let me take you out on a spin with my Porsche next time, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

“And fucking die? No thanks.”

“Aww, cmon! I promise you’ll get the rush of the century, babe, you won’t regret—”

Swoosh!

Thwack!

“Ow, hey, what the the fuck!”

You jump back, gaze darting down to check out the flying object that was punted into Haechan’s temple right. You snicker. It’s a vape pen. You’re about to thank the culprit until you actually find out who it is: lo and behold, Na Jaemin at the break room entrance, looking as smug as ever, and he successfully ruins your day at nine in the morning. “Whoops,” he says, sauntering up to you both, ducking down to swipe the vape pen off the floor before holding it back up. He’s not looking at you. He’s looking at Haechan. “Hand slipped.”

Haechan’s expression gets twisted. “Oh, you wanna go?” The gap between them closes. Uh-oh. Time to find an opening to leave. “Been a while since our last fight, Jaems.”

“Yeah, you mean the day I used your fucking face as a windshied wiper? Was it fun? Wanna try it again, you little bitch?”

“If you idiots wanna paint the carpet red, let me leave first—”

“No, wait.”

Haechan grabs onto your arm. He beams. 

“We need a referee.”

And that’s how you got held hostage for a dog fight at the parking lot of your company building. It’s not even noon yet. These fuckers need to get sedated.

You question your existence as Haechan and Jaemin warm up, a considerable amount of distance between each other. Why are you even here? “I’ll make sure to give you a show, attorney.” You stare dead forward at the empty space in between, face not looking particularly entertained. And then he shrugs off his jacket, revealing his tank-topped chest, and you choke on your spit. His face lights up at your coughing fit. “Keep your eyes on m—”

Thwack!

“Whoops.”

Oh, what the fuck, you blink and all of a sudden Haechan has lunged forward to sock him straight in the kisser.

“Hand slipped.” Haechan draws back his arm, grinning. Oh shit. You’re unable to see the entirety of Na Jaemin’s face. His head is turned, eyes covered up by his hair. You watch as he hacks up his throat to spit out a blotch of red on the concrete ground. For a second there, you think he’s pissed.

Then he lifts up his head, revealing the crooked, blood-stained grin on his teeth.

“You been practicing for me, Donghyuckie?”

This guy just got punched. He just got punched in the face and he’s smiling. 

That’s when things start getting uglier and you’re forced to watch two grown men brawl as their favorite pastime. Wow, they’re just going at it. Haechan lands another hook into Jaemin’s jaw and he quickly jumps away before the former can grab onto him. From what you can tell, Haechan’s a very sneaky fighter, retreating after every strike— almost as if he’s buzzing around Na Jaemin and nipping at him like a mosquito 

“Oi.” Na Jaemin’s jaw is tight. “There’s no fun in this. Get over here.”

“Whoa!” Haechan manages to dodge another one of Jaemin’s attempts to grab at him. “No thanks!” 

Yeah. Now Na Jaemin is definitely getting pissed. You can almost see the vein popping out of his neck when Haechan fails to duck quick enough, allowing Jaemin to grab a fistful of his hair. Haechan lets out a pained grunt when Jaemin yanks his head down, allowing full access to his face— allowing you to witness the blood drain from Haechan’s face in real time, at the very moment.

“Quit running away, you fuckin’ rat.” 

Jaemin winds his arm back. You squeeze your eyes shut. And then you hear the sound of a fist hitting bone.

“That’s more like it.”

Jesus, his voice is nothing but pure elation. That’s it. You’ve seen enough of this demon’s madness to conclude that Haechan had just lost. This is where they differ— Na Jaemin doesn’t like fighting. He likes watching the willpower drain from his opponents eyes after each blow until they’re back and blue and have lost the will to live. A textbook sadist. The moment Na Jaemin has you in his grasp, you’re as good as a dead man. And that much is obvious with how much Haechan is struggling to get out of his grip without ripping a chunk of his hair off.

He looks like he’s having the time of his life “Grit your teeth, buddy.”

Haechan responds with a nervous laugh, dangling half on the floor. “Hey, man, I thought we were just sparring for fun, yeah? Let’s take it easy, ok— oof!”

Aaaaand, that’s your cue to stop watching. If the roles were reversed, then maybe you’d be more interested. You’ve seen this show and multiple encores back in high school already. So while they’re busy killing each other, you quietly sneak off to your car just a few parking spots away to retouch your lipstick. Maybe grab a snack from the glove compartment. Anything other than this mess, for sure.

Anything. Yeah, nevermind. Maybe not anything because the moment you reach your car, you notice something stuck on your windshield wipers.

There’s a wrinkly slip of paper there.

When you fold it open, it’s revealed to be a mortuary pamphlet. There’s scrawl all over it. Red marker. Count your fucking days, attorney. Wow. Not very up for interpretation. Does this fucker think you’re fourteen?

“Hey.”

You flinch. You turn your head back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing here, but apparently long enough for Lee Haechan to gather a collection of blood and bruises as he tries and fails to wiggle out of Na Jaemin’s grip.

The latter isn’t even looking at him. He looks at you as he jerks Haechan back to his knees.

“What’s the matter?”

It’s only now that you notice your hands are shaking. You hiss out a swear and crumple the sheet in the tight lump and stuff it into your slack pockets. “Some bastard left their trash on my car,” you grunt, stomping away from your car and back up to them. “Anyway, are you two done playing? Unlike you two, I have a semi-normal job here and still have work to do.”

“Not until you declare the winner, attorney.”

Na Jaemin finally decides to let the poor guy go. Haechan gets dropped to the ground with a thump, groaning in obvious pain. You look down at him, sighing. “Why’d you even provoke him if you were gonna lose anyway?”

Yeah, you’re not giving Na Jaemin the satisfaction. Haechan lets out a breath and a laugh as he settles on the parking lot floor, propped up by his elbows. “I thought I’d stand a chance toda.” He cracks at you. “But it seems like my plan backfired. Too bad.”

Although you refused to declare Na Jaemin the winner, it seems like his fight with Haechan was enough to pacify him for a while.

Seems like the bastard had his fill. You didn’t get any phone calls from Mark or the station nor did you receive any more threatening death threats over the weekend. It’s great. You hit 10,000,000g in Stardew and will soon have the same amount in your bank account. Monday rolls around again though, and you have to spend the entire day out of office to join Mark and Jeno for the Daehgwang meeting. 

It’s so peaceful. The thorns in your side have been so well behaved. Haechan’s porsche got seized by the government because he forgot to pay last month, meaning he no longer has a vehicle to drive under the influence with. Na Jaemin hasn’t even gotten into another altercation.

At least not for the past three days.

On Tuesday evening, you get another ring from the station. 

“It was a 5v1,” Na Jaemin informs you, grinning with a new busted lip on top of his bruises from Haechan. “I won.”

This time, you drive off before he could even get into your car.

‎*‎

“I swear to god, Renjun, it’s like he gets off from getting handcuffed and ruining lives.”

Renjun is your favorite Nalkeutta member so far. Meaning, he’s the unfortunate soul that’s stuck with hearing your whines and complaints over a jenga game in his office. It didn’t take much to convince him into joining you to get paid for goofing around on company time— however, you didn’t exactly advertise having to be your unpaid therapist for the time being.

“Who are you talking about again?” he asks after pulling out a successful block from the tower.

“Na Jaemin.” You crane your neck, squinting at the remaining blocks for an opening. “Does he die if he can’t get into trouble with law enforcement once a week or some shit? God dammit, this tower is tight.”

You’ve always known he was a sadistic fuck since high school. But you thought that only extended to physical pain. Apparently he has a penchant for inflicting psychological pain as well. “Uh-uh, sure he got into messes before— try that one.” You prod on the block he points at until it becomes loose. “But he wasn’t always this bad.”

The block slides out. You put it back on top and sit straight. “Haechan said something like that too.” Your brows furrow. “What exactly do you guys mean by that?”

Renjun shrugs, poking around the block tower. “He’d usually get into fights outside the job like twice a month max.”

He pulls out the wrong block. The tower collapses on the coffee table.

“I think it was around the time you joined that he got worse.”

It clicks. You understand now.

“Hey, let’s play again, that was a— wait, where are you going?”

You storm out of his office and stomp into your own. Na Jaemin doesn’t get off from ruining lives in general— it seems like he gets a special kick out ruining yours in particular. Fuck’s sake. You thought he was just a lunatic for getting into bar fights thrice a week. Apparently being his high school alarm clock for two years wasn’t enough. He needs you to contract occupational depression too. 

Inside your office now. You bang a hand into your desktop keyboard because the printer is taking too long to vomit out the shitty piece of paper. You rip it out from its mouth and march into Ganghak Division, heels clicking against the tile— a sound most have already attributed to your presence, but this time so, so loudly that heads turn at each hollow clack— and the sound halts the moment you see one of his employees that you’ve flagged as a pushover the moment he’d been admitted here.

“Park Sion.” You grab him by the shoulder. “Is your dickhole of a boss in?”

He flinches and blinks his wide open eyes at you, gulping. “Y—yes?”

You grunt and push past him, printout in hand. You spot the door that has a frosted glass window in the middle. You make a beeline and kick it open with a loud bang!

“What in the name of fuck—”

The words get cut out from Na Jaemin’s throat the moment you lock eyes, and the pissed off expression on his face gets replaced by the cold splash of surprise and something you don’t give a fuck to decipher. 

“A—attorney.” He clears his throat and tries to scramble himself back together. “Wow. Came to give a little visit?”

There’s someone else in the room— another Ganghak high schooler, standing straight and firm and nervous before his desk with a deck of papers pressed to his chest. You click your tongue barrel forward, shoving yourself between them and slam the piece of paper on his desk, a huff escaping your nostrils as you stare him down with the animosity of a thousand suns. He’s still a little shell-shocked, brows uplifted and eyes blinking before he looks down and slides the paper up to him.

“I hate your fucking guts,” he reads out your message printed in Cambria 14. You smile when he looks up from the page to meet your stare. It hurts your cheeks. Then you spin your heels and may your merry way out of his office in the best mood you’ve ever been since getting here— and this change of demeanour is very much noticed by every single Nalkeutta member that you walk past, turning heads of both horror and concern as you hum back to Huang Renjun’s territory.

Renjun turns his head to the door when you knock and swing it open.

“Whew.” You fall back onto his office sofa, causing his newly built jenga tower to tumble down. “Shit, that was cathartic. I needed that.” 

He stares at his fallen tower, a somber expression on his face. “Are you gonna share it with the class?”

You do, in fact, share it with the class alongside your hypothesis that Na Jaemin hates your particular guts to the point that he’s actively making your living hell. Renjun is attentive throughout your whole rant session— nodding along to your cries and swears while he rebuilds your tower, and he places the last block on top just in time for you to finally run out of steam. “I swear to god, he has it out for me, Renjun” you finish off with a huff, sinking deeper into his sofa.

That in itself is bad, but apparently it could get worse.

“He could be doing it because he hates you, sure,” he starts, prodding into the newly built tower. “But have you considered the opposite?”

Because Huang Renjun injects a truly horrifying idea inside your head.

“What?”

He hums, locking into the middle piece at the very bottom of the stack. 

“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but on the days you give Jaemin the slightest bit of tolerant attention he doesn’t act out.”

He, then, slides the piece out.

“And whenever you flat out ignore him for the entire day, I get a colorful text from you that Na Jaemin is in a holding cell again and you’re on the way driving to get him out.”

He takes it into his hand—

“Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention.”

—and finally sets it on top of the tower to restart the game.

“Your turn.”

You’re frozen in your seat. You carefully think back to all the times you’ve been plagued to bail him out— the first time, which was the night of the recruitment bullshit, and you did talk to him then. Granted it was to insult his smoking habits, but that completely debunks Renjun’s theory right? How about the other times— like the day after the first incident and you were far too pissed to even give him the light of day— wait. Wait. 

No fucking way. Did you see him the day you left with Mark and Jeno to deal with the Daeghwang contract? You did pass him by, but why the fuck would you have greeted him? Shit. Oh my god. This is the most depraved shit you’ve ever been cursed to consider and you’d once debated offing a man just to win a court case. 

You don’t want to believe it. There’s no fucking way.

So, you put it to the test first thing in the morning to make sure that Huang Renjun is nothing but a delusional fuck who just wants you paranoid.

You walk out of Mark’s office with him after a quick discussion on how to strengthen their loan contracts. He asks if you’ve been getting enough sleep lately and the answer to the question is in the very same hallway that you’re passing through, walking the opposite direction as the both of you.

“Jaemin-ah, good morning,” Mark greets him. The guy only stifles a grunt in reply before turning his attention to you.

You look at him. Not at him, but on the silver chain hanging around his neck because you don’t feel very brave at the moment. “Good morning, Na Jaemin-ssi.” Then you immediately scuttle away, leaving a nonplussed yet still pleasant demeanored Mark behind to catch up with you and bounce for coffee.

That entire day, you wait for a phone call from the station to arrive.

Night comes. You’re about to go to bed. Your phone does not make a single buzz. Nothing. 

You’re horrified. You’re really, truly horrified.

Listen, you’ve never been dense to a man’s advances. You’re not stupid. You know when someone has a crush on your because always a standard operating procedure, the cut and dry tactics of trying to take you out for a meal or a drink, calling you pretty, or whatever the fuck. No one fucking flirts by violating the law multiple times a week just so you’d pick him up from the police station. So, you can’t exactly be blamed when you never saw this coming.

This singular thought plagues you for the rest of the week. So much so, that you don’t exactly trust yourself driving almost an hour over the weekend to Gyeonggi to meet up with some friends from law school, so you take public transportation instead. 

The problem is, you couldn’t even enjoy your fucking brunch because they kept asking why you quit JSS, so all you could think about is all the men that have plagued you to ruination— one bastard standing out in particular.

“Seriously, is he a fucking lunatic or something?”   

“Who’s the fucking lunatic or something?”

You’d been waiting at the bus stop on the way back to Yeongdeungpo when a convertible you don’t recognize pulls over, but the person sitting in the driver’s seat definitely is. Your face sours. Then dread washes over.

“Heard from Mark that you needed a ride,” Haechan tips down his sunglasses, smiling. “Hop in. Let me take you out for a spin on my new baby, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

Oh no. Fuck. Your days of relative peace from the police are over. You need to hire someone to wreck this orange-painted nightmare before you’re forced to deal with an inevitable hit and run case. This thing is an accident waiting to happen. It needs to fucking go.

Not right now, though. You do need a ride. 

“Mind stopping by a pharmacy first? I think I’m having fucking indigestion.”

You also need to know where he parks this thing. You take a few steps back and snap your phone camera at his license plate before hopping in the car. “Why? Shitty date?” he hums, starting up the engine. “I can do you one better, sweetheart.”

“Shut the fuck and drive or else I’ll be needing more than just antacids.”

“Gotchu.”

It’s not that being a stuck-up bitch is your default. It’s just that you know better than to get yourself entangled into Nalkeutta more than you already are especially when the one thing you’re looking for is an out. The both of you make a stop at the nearest pharmacy in Gyeonggi and you pick up your medicine. Outside the store, Haechan spots a small hotteok stand to bribe you to hang out with him a bit more before heading back to Yeongdeungpo.

Ugh. You don’t wanna get back in there. That’s where Na Jaemin is and lately he’s been mentally perturbing you more than pissing you off or scaring you. You take a bite into the warm snack and start talking with a semi-full mouth. “By the way. Renjun told me something interesting.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he muffles out. 

“That Na Jaemin deliberately gets into trouble to get my attention,” you flatly say, looking at the syrup you just wiped off your mouth before licking it off. “I need a dissenting opinion or else I might actually go clinically insane.”

“Oh, you just noticed?” he says, walking back to his car and you follow. “Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. It’s pretty obvious.” 

Well. No dissenting opinion. Guess you’ll have to go insane.

“I thought bringing you to our fight the other day would distract his messed up brain. But apparently the sick fuck just got more excited knowing that you were watching. He got bored when you went back into the office. I really should’ve known better.”

“Wait, if you knew that your insane friend has a fuckied up crush on me, then why have you been trying to hit on me in front of his face?”

The both of you get back into the car. Haechan spares you a glance and a grin.

“It’s funny,” he cackles. The car starts moving. Slower than you expected. It’s surprising that this guy is actually receptive to feedback, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “I never get a reaction out of him otherwise. And, I gotta correct you about something, attorney. There are no friends in Nalkeutta.”

There’s a soft breeze brushing past your ears. You peer at him, a tug on your lips. “So, we’re not friends?” 

You almost snort seeing the way his shoulders flinch. The first time you speak to him without an ounce of venom, this idiot folds.

“I thought we’d gotten closer recently, Haechan.”

There’s no missing the way his ears flare up despite keeping his eyes on the road. God, this is pretty funny. The reason why you’re not as creeped out by the idea that another one of your co-workers harbors a petty crush on you despite the fact that they’re both demented and violent is simply because one has singlehandedly turned your last two years of highschool into a traumatic hell while also not giving enough of a fuck to remember the trauma he caused, and the other has not. 

Still, you’re not indulging Lee Haechan any more than this because you still have some self respect. You wanna continue dicking around with this newfound power a bit more, but your high is quickly shut down by a shiver down your spine.

You jolt in your seat. Your eyes flash to the rearview. There’s a taxi trailing behind. 

“Haha, have—have we gotten closer…? I thought you were more friends with Renjun, and—”

“Haechan, turn right.”

“What? That’s not the route ba—”

“Just fucking do it.”

With a concerned yet suspicious furrow of his brow, Haechan obliges your abrupt request, and what do you know— the moment you guys make a turn, the vehicle behind you does the same. “Now, make another right.” Your narrowed eyes remain fixed on the back mirror. “Left. Keep going.” 

Your companion isn’t dull. He notices the same thing as you do at the third nonsensical turn. You hear him click his tongue, feigning annoyance, but no form of play pretend could even attempt to hide the wicked grin sprawling on his face in excitement.

Ah, shit. You instinctively clutch onto the seat belt straps as if you’re holding onto your dear life. “Hey, attorney,” he starts, shifting pedals. “Hold on tight.”

What the hell does it look like you’re doing? 

The blazing hiss of rubber screeching against asphalt. This might very well be the day you die.

‎*‎

“C’mon, it’s been two weeks! Are you still mad?”

Yes. It’s been two weeks since your latest near death experience and it wasn’t even at the hands of your stalker, whom you managed to shake off thanks to Haechan, but the fact that these very past two weeks was spent trying to settle with his fucking hit and run victim has clearly pulverized any semblance of gratefulness you felt towards him.

Right now, he’s trying to win your forgiveness over by dropping a box of macarons from the new bakery in the district onto your lovely desk Savannah. You flip the box open as aggressively as you can and rip apart the unfortunate pink cookie with your teeth while you stare at him dead in the eye. He flinches. He tries to form a smile but it’s all crooked and nervous. “Sooo…are we good now?”

You finish up the remnants of your first victim and pull open your drawer, and Haechan watches as you take out a few staples pieces of paper before handing it to him.

“What’s this?” 

He opens his mouth first before reading. You marvel at the decline of man’s average intelligence.

“It’s a contract,” you hum. “Sign it, and I’ll hang out with you again.”

“Oh, sweet!” he enthuses and fishes out a pen from your variety assortment, setting the sheet down onto the polished mahogany surface. He’s already started the first stroke of his legally binding signature when he actually inquires into the nature of the contract. “You should’ve just given this to me days ago, damn I even went to— wait. What’s this about impounding my car?”

You quickly try to snatch the paper back, but Haechan may be dumber than you but he is stronger. He quickly flits back to the first page, squinting at the fine print very close to his face, and after a moment of realization, he jerks his arms down to release a horrified gasp.

“Evil! Evil woman!” He points an accusatory finger. “How could you attempt to do this to me and my Josephine?!”

His curses fall on deaf ears. You remove a bushel of lint from your blaze lapels and flick it off into a corner of your office. “I think it’s a fair agreement,” you languidly say. “We get to be friends for so long as you refrain from getting into another traffic accident. Otherwise, say goodbye to your dearest Josephine.”

“No!”

A knock on your door interrupts the tantrum you caused. It gets quiet. A head peeks in. It’s Mark.

“Are you two busy?” he asks, likely having heard your…conversation from outside. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Immediately, you shift your attention away from the high speeding demon and straighten your back towards your boss. “Not at all. What’s the matter?”

Haechan quietly greets him as well in a grumble, stepping aside in order to surrender his spot in front of your desk to Mark. “Oh, it’s not at all a source of worry,” he assures with a hum. “It’s just that, it’s been over a month since you’ve graced Nalkeutta with your expertise, but we haven’t even thrown you a welcome party yet. Things have indeed been hectic with our clients one top with our ongoing problem with Cheongang, yet these issues aren’t justifications to prevent your warm welcome.”

There’s a smile on Mark’s face. Oh no. You know where this is going and despair befalls over your face.

See, you’re not exactly against company dinners. Back in JSS, it was a regular opportunity to get your bosses and partners blackout drunk so they don’t remember you recording their not-very-proud moments. But right now, you’re not exactly keen on going home late considering your whole stalker death threat situation.

“I already booked a bar near the bridge. Let’s all take the evening off.”

Well. Now that there’s no way out of this, all you can do is hope that today isn’t your due date yet.

Evening comes, and you’re suffered to be in Na Jaemin’s presence again. He’s in the company car that Mark ushers you into, sitting in the front seat next to Jeno and you two make a split second of eye contact through the mirror before stumbling into the car seat with an annoyed grunt. God, you’ve been so busy these past two weeks that you weren’t even given the chance to stress about him. Now you’re trapped with him for the rest of the night with little to know chance to escape.

Throughout the drive, you contemplate faking sickness again but unfortunately you never got the opportunity to set it up, so you just come up with your roster of excuses in case the amount of men inside the lounge starts becoming noxious to you.

“Cheers!”

The moment drinks start rolling in, they’re cheering for your name and title—- under duress, maybe, because it was preceded by a late welcome speech from the big boss himself. Mark pours you a drink and you’re obligated to swallow it down, burning your throat. Ugh. 

Obviously, not every Nalkeutta member is here right now. Aside from Mark and his four executives, two to three lower ranking members from each division have also been extended the invitation. You recognize Zhong Chenle from Hyeongshin and Na Jaemin’s favorite lackey, Park Jisung, held hostage by his boss in a torture chamber of shot after shot after shot.

“How are you holding up?” 

Renjun settles into the velvet seat next to you— unoccupied for the last hour because Haechan is still throwing a tantrum after your attempted vehicular slaughter, Na Jaemin maybe, finally took the eloquently worded message that you delivered the other week to heart, and the rest of Nalkeutta’s members are too intimidated to sit near the in-house lawyer that regularly stomps around in a flurry of swears throughout the office and your heel clicks harbors fear.

“Fantastic,” you deadpan, bringing the god rush you ordered to your lips. “I’m tipsy and cold and want nothing more than to knock myself out via head injury right now. You think if I announce that my period just arrived, they’d be too uncomfortable to stop me from leaving?”

“You’d probably succeed, but I don’t exactly recommend you leaving by yourself.”

“This is Nalkeutta’s territory, what kind of fucking idiot would try to jump me?”

“Well, things are precarious with Cheongang right now, and—”

You’re interrupted by a meek “Ex—excuse me,” from a Daehyeon subordinate. Lee Jeno’s subordinate. You look up and raise a brow at him. The guy’s face is embarrassed and he’s holding out a jacket. “The…the boss told me to give you this.” Your eyes flit down to the article, hanging sleeves barely brushing against the bare skin of your thighs that your pencil skirt is failing to cover, and you look up across the room to see the said co-worker conversing with Jaemin, now in a compression shirt when you could’ve sworn he was more covered up earlier. 

Again, you briefly meet eyes with Jaemin. You cough and look away, accepting the jacket with a thank you before the grunt scurries away. Then you recall Haechan’s words. He’s a nice guy. Man, if only you went to Daehyeon in high school, you’d probably be a lot saner today. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Renjun continues. “It’s a little dangerous right now and those guys are just across the bridge. They could be loitering around nearby.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine, I don’t go around unarmed you know.” You adjust the newly acquired cover on your lap. “Well. Maybe I do have something to worry about considering there’s a creepy stalker threatening to kill me.”

It’s like the entire room screeches into a tense halt.

“What?” Haechan finally decides to grow up and talk to you, marching up to your side of the lounge with a knitted look. “What do you mean stalker?” 

The repetition of the word attracts everyone’s attention if your first utterance hadn’t already. Drinks stop pouring. You notice eyes on you— particularly from across the room, which you promptly brush off to entertain Haechan’s question. “Oh, you know the day you ran over that grocery owner? The one I had to beg just so he wouldn’t sue you?”

“Yeah, I fucking know, but what do you mean you’re being stalk—” It hits him. “Fuck. The taxi. I thought it was just another one of my enemies training me!”

“Attorney, is this true?” Mark finally enters the conversation, uncharacteristically concerned. “And did you say this person is threatening to kill you?”

You meant to say it as a self deprecating joke. You didn’t expect these guys to actually clock your words and take you seriously.

“Attorney?”

You don’t answer verbally. Instead you grab your purse and pull out the envelope that’s been cozying up in there since you first got it. You set its contents down on the table for everyone to see, followed by the mortuary pamphlet you retrieved from your windshield. “This one was attached to my car in the company parking lot, but I’m pretty sure it’s a personal vendetta and has nothing to do with Nalkeutta, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

It’s disappointing, but this is all you have. There are no texts or phone calls. You have nothing on this bastard but a letter and a note.

Mark’s holding up the letter. You notice the pamphlet wrinkle in between Haechan’s fingers. “When did you get this?”

“Uhhh, the day Na Jaemin beat the shit out of you?”

“God fucking dammit.” He tosses it back to the table and throws his hands in the air before stomping off in frustration. Renjun scolds him and gives the note back to you, and you promptly fold it to return to your purse, along with the letter Mark offers back to you.

“There’s security cameras there,” he says. “Have you checked them yet?”

“I did and he was masked and covered up. Same with the footage from my building. I checked in with my landlady the day after I received the note at my doorstep, and she wasn’t around when it happened.” 

“He knows where you live?!”

“Jesus,” Renjun breathes out. “You’re practically buddies with the cops at the station, why didn’t you report it?” 

You simply sigh in your seat and set your purse aside. Honestly, you’re getting annoyed. Do they think you’re fucking stupid? Do they think you’re just letting this freak run around because you want to? Fucking ridiculous. “There’s barely any evidence to identify him, much less to penalize him for anything more than a fine and a warning. I thought I’d wait until I have enough under my belt to ensure a final conviction.”

“And continue risking your life? Are you fucking stupid?”

It’s Na Jaemin who says that.

He’s still sitting in the same spot as earlier, unmoving from his seat across the lounge, staring at you with a weight that practically digs into flesh and bone. Your jaw clenches. You ignore his insult with a roll of your eyes and you down the remaining half of your cocktail.

“This isn’t something we can just take lightly, attorney,” Mark tells you as though he’s genuinely concerned, but you call bullshit. He just doesn’t like the idea of losing his safety net from the law. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Your brows twitch. You firmly set the glass down on the mess of a table. “It seemed personal,” you answer, pointedly. “I didn’t think it concerned the company. That’s all.”

There’s quiet. You don’t look up from your seat, pouring yourself another drink. There’s a ticking in your ear. You’re frustrated. A groan scratches out of your throat and you quickly try to wash it down with a lean glass of whiskey, but Renjun manages to snatch it out of your hands with a disappointed click of his tongue before you succeed with your attempt. 

You snap your head at him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Maybe you should call it a night,” says, taking out his phone. “What’s your address? I’ll book an Uber.”

“He’s right, but you shouldn’t go alone,” Mark interjects. You look at him like he’s vomiting out shit from his mouth. He ignores it and instead turns back— gaze directed to the set of seats across the room. “Jaemin, make sure she makes it back home safely.”

“What?” Your voice is a shriek. You jolt onto your feet. “I understand you’re trying to look out for your employee, but why does it have to be him?”

 Na Jaemin is already pulling on a jacket. Your bite down your lip. You already have one crazy asshole knowing where you live. You don’t need another one.

“He’s the only one capable and hadn’t had anything to drink.”

“What about Renjun!”

The man in question looks the slightest bit sorry and embarrassed. “Listen, I don’t wish upon your death, attorney, but if that threat comes tonight, I can’t protect you. I already told you that I don’t fight.”

Fucking hell. You deflate like a balloon. Mark takes your lack of further complaints as surrender and nods at Jaemin, who promptly starts ushering you out of the reserved room. “I already know that you fucking hate my guts, attorney, but now’s not the time to be picky.”

“Just take your damned orders as is like a good dog and don’t fucking talk to me.”

Frankly, you’re heated right now. That entire situation was patronizing. You can’t stomach being treated like some goddamn helpless bitch who can’t handle her own dirty laundry when you’ve been cleaning up for them for most of your fucking career. You just need time. You just need enough cards and opportunities to fuck this stalker over. It’s not beyond your capabilities. It’s not something you need a dysfunctional circus gang to fix for you.

Thankfully, your guard dog doesn’t try to pick a fight throughout the uber ride home. He’s garnered enough tact this past week to figure out your sour mood.

It’s just as quiet when you finally arrive at your building. Na Jaemin follows you all the way to the entrance. The key remains slotted into the doorhole, unturned. “What are you doing?”

You hear him scoff from beside you. “Doing my fucking job like a good dog. Your stalker left the love letter on your doorstep. You think I’d stop here?” 

“Ugh. Fine.”

Begrudgingly, you lead him up to your unit. The moment you reach the door, you spin your heels to look at him without exactly looking him in the eye. “Alright, we’re here and I’m alive and not dead. Now leave me al—”

You stop. You stop because just when you’re reaching out for your doorknob— almost relieved that you can finally rest and end the day with a shower and good night’s sleep— you notice dents on the metal that weren’t there before.

Na Jaemin notices the same thing. His brows are furrowed. He brushes your hand aside and the handle rattles with a twist. It’s unlocked. You didn’t leave it unlocked this morning. 

You remain glued to the hallway floor as you watch Na Jaemin open the door. 

The moment an opening cracks, he gets smashed on the head with your wooden counter stool and you let out a squeak and yell.

“Fucking hell!” 

“W—wait, you’re not—!”

He hisses in pain but takes less than a second to recover, grabbing onto one of the chair legs to jerk the entire thing back and reach out for the extended arm of the person wielding it before he could let go. You hear a fit of fighting grunts from inside. The chair gets dropped to the ground. Na Jaemin disappears into your apartment with the thrashing culprit, exchanging threats and swears, and it takes you a moment to get back to your senses, the thumping in your ears becoming less and less deafening, and you take your few steps inside.

To say the least, your living room is a mess.

The couch is tipped over. Your rug is in tatters. This fucker was gracious enough to spare your T.V., and your wide eyes immediately dart over to the center of it all— the sight of Na Jaemin pressing the struggling culprit against your once clean floors. 

“Fuck, let— go! Get the fuck off me! Agh—!”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll break your fucking arms.” Na Jaemin nods his head up, not even budging. “Hey, attorney. You call the shots. What do you want me to do?”

You stare at the man underneath him— the man responsible for making the mess out of your apartment and everything that preceded this very moment. You look at his face, bunched up in rage and shame and frustration, and that’s when you recognize him: your last case at JSS. The sweet, sweet old lady you helped pen her will. The same will that disinherited her two prodigal sons. You met them before. Both of them, because your client wanted to break it to them personally even though she wasn’t legally obligated to, all because she’s such a kind person.

That same person gave birth to despicable trash like this one.

They weren’t happy to hear the news. And since their mother is still under the protection order you arranged, this guy decided that the next best thing to take his anger out on is the lawyer that helped his mother screw them over.

Na Jaemin is still waiting for your answer. The right thing to do would be to take him to the station, finally file the report so they could force an admission of guilt. There’s a CCTV camera in the hallway and even if he was covered up, there’s still clear evidence of breaking and entering on top of everything he’s done to torment you so far. That’s the right thing to do. The legal thing to do.

But right now, you’re simmering. 

No, fuck it, your blood is boiling. You shrug off your blazer and toss it as a new addition to your messed up apartment floor. You roll back your right shoulder. You take a few more steps forward, staring him down on the ground. “Hold him up,” you tell Na Jaemin. It takes a second for him to register your instruction. But when it does, you couldn’t even miss the wild grin that stretches on his face— even if you wanted to.

“Since you asked nicely,” he says with a lace of amusement, ignoring the bouts of protest from the guy when he lugs him up to his feet like a ragdoll, locking him in place with two arms, and leaving him open and vulnerable. 

The first thing you do is yank his chin up by the hair. It’s a sight to see— the sheer hatred and animosity someone is capable of mustering on their face, even when they’re at someone else’s mercy. 

It’s funny. You sneer. Then you grab the other side of his head and slam his nose into your knee.

“Fuck!”

“Son of a bitch.” You jerk his head back up, watching the blood dribble down from his nostrils. “Did you have fun pulling your dumb ass tricks?”

He lets out a pained groan, but still has the strength to shoot you a glare. You let go of his scalp to grab him by the collar so you can have a better grip of slapping him in the face.

Smack!

“Shit—”

“May life is already a living hell dealing with these Nalkeutta fuckers every single day—” 

Whack!

“And then your ugly ass rears in to make things all the more worse.”

Thwap!

“Your disinheritance is none of my fucking business.”

Slap!

“To think I was scared and paranoid for weeks and weeks and weeks because of some broke ass pathetic prick.”

Crack! Your bloodied fist draws back from his jaw. He sputters out a bubble of red. You’re practically holding him up by the stretched out collar of his shirt. 

��Hey,” you say, giving him a rattle. “What gives you the right to do all of that to me, huh? Huh?”

When he doesn’t answer, you feel a tick in your temple. You go in for another smack to his face, but it doesn’t happen.

“That’s enough.”

You’ve always thought that if Na Jaemin were to grab you by the wrist, he’d immediately snap it into two.

“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”

The shock from the gentle fitness of his grip sends you back to reality, and you finally feel the dull throb on the knuckles of your right hand, the sharp tingle on the skin of your palms that seeps into muscle and flesh. You let go of him. You see splotches of red all over, and the eventual sores and bruises that’ll show up by the morning. 

You call your landlady. Na Jaemin accompanies you to the station to turn your stalker in along with all the evidence you managed to acquire. Officer Jung questions the state of the perpetration, and when you chalk it up as self-defense, he doesn’t press further and simply wishes you a good rest. 

The moment you walk out into the lobby and see Na Jaemin waiting, you’re hit with an uncomfortable whiplash at the unprompted role reversal. You don’t fight him or anything when he takes you back home. All you could do was muster a quiet, “Thanks,” when he tells you that he sent over some Ganghak members to clean up the mess of your apartment in the hour and a half that you spent at the precinct.

“Mark says you don’t have to come in tomorrow,” he tells you before you go on.

“Wasn’t planning to,” is what you say before finally closing the door on him.

‎*‎

Unfortunately, Na Jaemin was right.

“Ow! Shit! Fuck me!”

You are, indeed, regretting your whole fit of violence right now— over your bathroom counter with your med kit sprawled open. Your hands are a mess. You bandage yourself up before attempting to make breakfast. The attempt ends with you hissing in pain every time you try to hold something with your right hand, so you end up ordering something to eat instead.

While waiting, you plop down on your down fixed couch to answer the flood of messages that had been coming in since last night. Mostly from Haechan. One text from Renjun checking in on you. The last few from Mark telling you to take as much time off as you need— paid, he emphasizes. His fluency in your way of communicating is starting to scare you. You tell him you’d be clocking in back to work tomorrow. 

A new notification comes in telling you that your order is almost here. You groan and peel yourself off the couch, grabbing a pair of slides from the entryway before twisting open your already unlocked door. 

The moment you breathe the hallway air, you’re met with another commotion.

“Get out! Go away!”

“Ma’am, I’m telling you I know the resident here, I’m just— ow!”

Thunk!

“Don’t you lie to me, I know Miss Attorney doesn’t have any friends or a boyfriend! Get out!”

You stop by the doorframe, taking in the sight of your middle-aged landlady beating the high and mighty Na Jaemin with a convenience store bought frying pan. He looks so distraught shielding himself with his arms, before finally noticing you, and his expression shifts. “Hey! Tell this woman to stop, I’ve been—”

Thwack!

 “Attorney!” your landlady greets you after landing another metal blow to Na Jaemin. “This weirdo has been loitering around your unit ever since I got here! Should we call the police?!”

Your eyes flit over to Jaemin. He looks annoyed and pissed and disgruntled, but apparently even someone like him won’t raise a hand against a woman old enough to be his mom. You stifle out a short sneer, then turn to your landlady with a smile. “Ahjumma, it’s alright, he’s my co-worker,” you assure. “He’s the one who helped me last night.”

You hear him scoff. “Oh,” your landlady gasps. “I’m so sorry, dear. You just looked awfully suspicious.” Then she quickly forgets about him to address you instead. “I already called a repairman to fix your broken door. They’ll be here before lunchtime.”

“Thank you. I’ll handle it from here!”

“Take care, dear. Have a lovely morning.”

When she goes off up the staircase, you look at the weirdo loitering around your unit. You cross your arms, brow raised. “What do you want?”

He stares you down, and you catch his mouth twitch when he lets out an incredulous huff. “Your damn landlady should get heating in the hallway. My back’s all sore and all I get in return is attitude,” he snarks. “Can’t believe you had a good night’s sleep even with your lock broken after the shit that went down. I don’t know if you’re brave or fucking stupid.”

You’re hit by a sudden pang against your chest. Oh. Oh. You notice he’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You let his insult slide this time, telling him to follow you downstairs to pick up your food. It’s a good thing you ordered enough for two meals today. You don’t thank him. Instead, you invite him in for a doenjang-jjigae breakfast.

“Want coffee?”

“You gonna spit in it?” he chides from the dining table.

“Just say no, you prick,” you grunt, dragging out a pitcher of water from your fridge instead and slamming it down onto the table. You’re starting to second guess your act of gratitude. You should’ve just let your landlady beat him to death with the pan.

He pours water into the two empty glasses while you struggle to open the delivery bags and containers. You curse the plastic knot getting in the way of your doenjang-jjigae, hissing every time the plastic brushes against your still raw skin despite the bandages. Na Jaemin seems to notice your struggle because he clicks his tongue and snatches it from you to do it himself. Your face grows hot. Your pride is in tatters.

You two start eating in silence. God, this is so fucking awkward. “So, uh,” you try to crack it. “The food is…great…right…?”

“Cut the shit, attorney. Just spit it out.”

“Jeez, fine, alright,” you set your utensils down a little too aggressively, and you feel the sting deep within your palms. Your glare zeroes in on the spot on his head that you recall getting ambushed by your counter stool. “Is your head fine? It didn’t bleed or anything, right?”

He just shrugs and continues slurping down the soup. “I’ve had my head split open before. It’s no biggie.”

You stare at him. Was…was that supposed to be a brag? How many concussions has he had? Is that the reason why there’s a screw loose in there somewhere? He’s so fucking insane.

“You worried, or some shit?” He sets down his spoon to fish out a ply of tissue from the box on your table, dabbing away at the shit-eating smile on his face. “That’s cute. Does it mean you don’t hate my fucking guts anymore?”

The tofu you’re trying to eat stops midway into your throat. My god, you didn’t expect him to take that note so seriously. 

You swallow it down with water. “I just wanted to know if I had to reimburse you for any hospital bills,” you explain, somewhat defensive. “I still hate your fucking guts.” His past transgressions aside because he can’t even fucking remember them. “You were the shittiest and most stressful client I’ve ever had and I will hold this grudge until I die. I would’ve dropped your case if Mark’s very existence wasn’t a threat to my life.” All he does is cackle in response. You leer at him. “Fuck off, you treated me like crap then. I don’t get why you’ve been changing your tune lately. It’s throwing me off. Why the hell did you even help me?”

The ideas that Renjun and Haechan injected into your poor brain start to surface. Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention. Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. You hope that’s not the case. You really hope it’s not— and now’s the opportunity to finally get the real answer.

Your heart is thumping like crazy waiting for Na Jaemin to open his dumb mouth. “Ah. The visiting room,” he starts, eyes wandering up like he’s reminiscing a pleasant memory. You don’t share the same sentiment and your expression sours. “I thought you were a pushover at first and it annoyed the hell out of me. Not a big fan of spinelessness and cowardice.”

Wow. You’re speechless. He’s this close to getting kicked out.

“But then you pulled me into that room during recess in court.” 

His eyes flicker over to you— forcing the eye contact that you’d always been running away from. The look on his face forces a lump in your throat. You gulp it down and feel a rattle in your bones. What is this? What’s his deal? Is he trying to fight? What in the name of—

“And then I realized just the kind of woman I was into.”

—fuck?

“Last night, too. But it would’ve been pretty inappropriate to tell you I was turned on considering the situation.”

You blink. You gape at him. You’re not sure if your face is steaming because of anger or embarrassment, so you chalk it up as both. 

“Get out.”

This is it. This is enough. It’s time to call it a day.

“Get out of my house.”

“I’m not done eating ye—”

You grab his glass of water and douse it over half-eaten stew, some of which spills and splatters over him. “Yes, you are. Out. Now.”

Na Jaemin lifts his brows and raises his hands up in surrender as he gets up from his chair without protest, an infuriating simper playing on his face, and it just all the more pisses you off. He makes a comment about your broken door lock before you tell him to fuck off and shove him out into the hallway, his cackles finally get muted the moment you slam the door into his face.

You press your back against the wood. You suck in a deep breath before releasing it as you slide down to the floor.

“This is nuts.”

Seems like you might need another day off. You text Mark that you’ll be coming in on Thursday instead.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[mrs-johnson]

“Hot Dad Problems”

Dad! Tangerine x Mum! Reader x Uncle!Lemon + baby girl

Warnings: nothing really but jealousy reader and Lemon being Lemon.

Summary: It was supposed to be a nice family outing at your local grocery shop but turns into a unexpected women flirting with YOUR husband

Saturday mornings used to mean something different.

Once upon a time, it meant slipping a gun into a jacket and heading to some high-rise in Tokyo or Prague. Now it meant loading a stroller, chasing down a toddler sock, and arguing with Lemon over whether he was allowed to buy more chocolate milk.

You’d barely made it to the produce aisle of the local market before chaos began.

“Oi, tell me she doesn’t look just like Emily from Thomas & Friends, yeah?” Lemon was saying, grinning at your baby girl strapped to her dad’s chest in the carrier. “She’s got the cheeks, I swear!”

Tangerine raised a brow. “She’s a baby, not a train, mate.”

Lemon scoffed. “You just don’t understand the power of Thomas the Tank Engine. That show is literature.”

You, meanwhile, were trying to focus on picking out avocados and not the way Tangerine looked in his white t-shirt, gold chain catching the light, your daughter tucked to his chest like he was born for this. And okay, maybe you were a little smug that this was your life now — a reformed assassin turned hot domestic dad with a baby girl who squealed whenever he kissed her forehead.

Until she showed up.

A woman — early thirties, gym leggings, blonde ponytail — slowed her cart just a little too much. Her eyes flicked from Tangerine’s biceps to the baby and then to his face. Lingering.

“Oh my god,” she giggled, “that baby is adorable. Is she yours?”

Tangerine, polite as ever (damn him), smiled and adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “Yeah. Mine and my wife’s. She’s ten months.”

You turned just in time to see Blonde Gym Barbie tilt her head. “Wow. That’s… You don’t look like the type.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What type would that be?”

She blinked at you, suddenly noticing you existed. “Oh! I just meant… you know, he’s very—well, hot. For a dad.”

You grinned tightly. “Thanks. I think so too. Especially when he’s cleaning up poop explosions at 2 a.m. Real sexy.”

Tangerine glanced at you sideways, trying not to laugh.

But the woman didn’t get the hint. “It’s just… you’re lucky. He looks like a model. Or like one of those hot dads on TikTok.”

“Yeah,” you said, slipping your arm around his waist. “And he’s my hot dad. With a ring on his finger and a baby strapped to his chest. So maybe move along, yeah?”

She finally blinked, muttered something, and shuffled away toward the juice aisle.

Lemon howled with laughter.

“I knew this grocery trip would be exciting!” he cackled, grabbing a bunch of bananas and tossing them into your cart like he was watching a live sitcom. “Mate, you got yourself a fan club!”

Tangerine smirked and leaned down to kiss your temple. “Jealous, darling?”

You glared, half-playful, half-wounded pride. “No. I’m just territorial. Like a lioness. You’re mine. You and the baby.”

“And the bananas!” Lemon shouted from somewhere behind the cereal boxes.

Tangerine chuckled. “All yours, love. Every inch of me. Even the ones she was ogling.”

You rolled your eyes, though your hand did slide a little lower down his back possessively.

“Let’s just finish the shopping,” you muttered, cheeks warm. “Before I throw an avocado at someone.”

He chuckled, adjusting the baby again as she drooled sleepily against his chest.

And if a few more women in the store turned their heads when he passed by? Well, let them look.

You had the ring. The baby. The man.

And a very smug Lemon dancing in the frozen food aisle with a bag of peas.

[airbiscuitz]

"Don't Shut Me Out"

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: After JJ Maybank recklessly surfs during a storm without telling you—knowing you're terrified of lightning—you’re left scared, hurt, and furious. When he finally returns, your fear explodes into a heated argument, and you walk away from him, initiating a four-day silent treatment. During that time, JJ becomes desperate, wracked with guilt, and repeatedly tries to earn your forgiveness, but you remain distant. Eventually, JJ breaks down, apologizing with raw honesty and begging you not to shut him out. Though you're still angry and not ready to fully forgive him, you let him back in—signaling that healing can begin, together.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The rain hit the roof like a thousand angry taps, and thunder cracked in the distance. You were curled under a blanket on the chipping couch in the Chateau, staring blankly at the TV that played some sitcom you couldn’t follow. Your mind was anywhere but here. Four days had passed, and you hadn’t spoken a single word to JJ.

Not since the surge. Not since he went surfing in the middle of a storm without telling you. Not since he disappeared for hours with John B and Pope, leaving you terrified, pacing, calling his phone over and over, heart lurching with every strike of lightning that lit the sky.

And not since the fight—the fight. The one where you screamed, sobbed, and told him you didn’t care if it was “sick waves” or whatever he thought was worth risking his life for. You told him he broke something. That maybe this was what it felt like to realize you didn’t come first.

JJ had never looked more wrecked than when you turned away from him that night. Since then, you hadn’t said a word. Not one.

---

You heard the door creak open and slammed it shut behind him. JJ entered the room like nothing had happened, dripping saltwater and adrenaline.

“Yo, babe—you would not believe those waves. It was insane—”

“You went out there?!” you exploded, spinning around from the window where you'd been watching the storm rage. “Are you insane?”

JJ blinked, confused by the fury in your voice. “What?”

“You surfed the surge, JJ!” you shouted, voice shaking. “You went out into that storm without telling me! I was blowing up your phone for hours! I thought—God, I thought you drowned!”

JJ scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Not that bad? There was lightning, you absolute idiot! And you know what that does to me. You left me here to sit in it alone, wondering if I’d ever see you again!”

“I didn’t think you’d—”

“Exactly!” you snapped. “You didn’t think! You never do! You chase whatever gives you a thrill and forget there are people who actually give a damn whether you come back!”

JJ’s face hardened, but his eyes were wide with guilt. “I’m sorry, okay? It was a last-minute call. John B and Pope were going, and I thought—”

“You thought the waves were more important than me. Than us.”

He took a step toward you, but you backed away. “No. Don’t. I can’t even look at you right now.”

JJ’s hands dropped to his sides, helpless. “Come on, don’t do this.”

You stared at him through watery eyes. “You broke my trust today.”

And then you walked past him—out the door, out into the storm.

JJ sat outside on the porch steps, shirt soaked with dew, thumb hovering over your contact name.

14 missed calls. He’d stared at them over and over. Every time a new storm cloud rolled in over the sound, he heard your voice yelling again, breaking. John B had offered him a beer and a distraction. Pope told him to give you space. But JJ didn’t want space. He wanted you. He wanted to fix this.

He remembered seeing your face when he walked in that night—eyes red, voice hoarse from screaming, body stiff with fear. Not just anger. Fear. He’d never been the reason you were scared before. Now he couldn’t stop picturing it. You pacing. Panicking. Holding your phone like a lifeline. Alone with your fear of thunder, while he was out being a reckless moron.

He buried his face in his hands. “God, JJ,” he muttered to himself. “You really messed this one up.”

---

You heard his footsteps before he entered the room. The sound of hesitation. He always walked slower now when he approached you, like he was hoping your silence hadn’t hardened into something permanent.

“Hey,” JJ said softly. No response.

He stood behind the couch, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You want anything from the Wreck? I can go get your favorite—burger, no pickles, extra sauce. And curly fries. You always steal mine anyway.”

You stayed still, eyes fixed ahead.

JJ huffed through his nose, stepping around to kneel in front of you, hands clasped. “Please talk to me.”

Nothing.

He let out a breath, eyes filled with frustration and heartbreak. “You’re killing me here, you know that?”

You didn’t flinch.

He leaned in a little closer. “Look, I get it. What I did was stupid. So stupid. I wasn’t thinking, alright? I was just... I don’t know, trying to feel something again. You know how I get when there’s too much noise in my head.”

You bit your lip hard to stop yourself from crying. It was stupid. And it was selfish. Because he knew you were scared of lightning. He knew what storms did to you. And he left you. Left you to sit in it—alone.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” JJ whispered, his voice breaking. “I swear to God, if I could take it back, I would. I’d stay home, wrap you up in my arms, ride the storm out with you.”

You shifted slightly under the blanket, not because you were giving in—but because his words splintered something inside you.

JJ moved closer on his knees, now resting his arms on the edge of the couch, head tilted as he tried to meet your eyes. “I’ve said I’m sorry a hundred times. I’d say it a thousand more. Hell, I’d scream it from the dock, drown in that water if that’s what it takes for you to believe I mean it.

Still silent.

“I—I miss you,” JJ said, voice cracking as his eyes glistened. “I haven’t slept. Can’t eat. Pope tried to give me this ‘tough love’ speech, said you’ll come around. But I don’t care if it takes begging, I will get on my knees if that’s what it takes. I need you.”

You turned your head toward him. Finally.

JJ’s breath hitched as hope flickered in his expression. “There you are,” he whispered, like seeing your face was sunlight through clouds.

“I was scared, JJ,” you said finally, voice low, brittle. “You knew there was lightning. You knew how I feel about storms, and you still left. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. I thought something happened to you. And I had to sit in this house with the sky ripping apart outside and wonder if I’d ever see you again.”

JJ’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t think, and that’s on me. I was just chasing a rush because everything else felt too damn heavy. But I didn’t think about you. About what you’d feel. And I swear to you, if I could go back, I’d never put you through that.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, words tumbling out now that the dam was breaking. “And you do this all the time, JJ. You think you're invincible. Like none of it matters. But I’m not invincible. And watching you act like you don’t care about your own life—how am I supposed to deal with that?”

JJ sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged now, his head in his hands. “I do care. I care too much. About you. About this. But I’m not used to people caring about me, alright? Sometimes I forget what it feels like to be worth worrying over. And I mess up. I mess up a lot.”

Silence again. Just the soft hum of the TV and the patter of rain outside.

“I’m scared, too,” he added, barely audible. “Scared of being loved like this. Scared of screwing it up. But I don’t want to lose you.”

Your eyes welled up. “You already almost did.”

JJ’s face crumpled. “Don’t say that. Please. Don’t shut me out. You’re the only good thing in my life that I don’t want to ruin. I’m trying to be better. For you. With you.”

You reached out slowly, fingers brushing against his. “Then show me. Don’t just say sorry—be sorry. Next time you want to surf a hurricane, tell me. Don’t make me feel like I don’t matter.”

JJ took your hand like it was a lifeline, pressing it to his cheek. “You matter more than anything. I swear to you, I’ll prove that every single day if you let me.”

You stared at him for a moment longer—his puffy eyes, the redness on his cheeks, the way his voice shook like he was trying not to fall apart.

Then you let out a long breath. “I’m still mad.”

JJ nodded. “You have every right to be."

“I’m not over it.”

“I’ll wait until you are.”

You paused, then moved the blanket, patting the spot beside you. “Come here.”

JJ scrambled up like a boy being offered his heart back, sliding onto the couch beside you. He wrapped his arms around you carefully, like you might still push him away. But when you leaned into him, head on his shoulder, he exhaled into your hair and pulled you tighter.

“I’m never surfing a storm again,” he mumbled. “Even if the waves are perfect.”

“You better not,” you muttered against his chest.

“And I’ll never leave you during one again. I swear.”

You didn’t answer—but you didn’t have to. The way your fingers curled around his hoodie, the way you sank into him like he was home, told him everything he needed to know.

JJ Maybank had a million flaws. He was reckless, wild, too brave for his own good. But in this moment, with you in his arms and tears on his face, he was something else too—yours.

And he wasn’t going to lose that again.

[dear-ao3]

Question for the mods....

HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU MEET???

Like what???

How??

I am so god damn curious about you two. I wanna study yall under a microscope lol

Also ngl kinda envious of how close of friends you two seem to be. (Being an introverted shy af mofo sucks lmao)

I would actually probably read a whole ass book or watch a sitcom or something of the seemingly ever present weird-ass shit that seems to happen on a day-by-day basis.

/gen /lh /nf /pos

2018 newsies fandom. we weren't overly close but we bonded over race and albert a little and then katya dropped off the face of the earth for about a year.

during 2020 lockdown we both independently got into the witcher fandom and somehow ran into eachother again and had the fingers pointing OH MY GOD Y O U !!! moment in our dms. we bonded over hating jaskier. during this time we realized we were both dancers and katya was looking at dance colleges, i was already in college for dance and since it was lockdown and we couldn't go anywhere i told katya my experience auditioning at places to give him a good idea of places. and then i broke every internet safety rule known to man and said hey what if you had applied to my college but didnt know it?? and then one thing led to another and i dished out all the tea on my school. (only After that did we face reveal and give eachother our names lol) and then katya applied. mostly as a joke. until it wasnt a joke because that school gave katya a shit load of money and actually had stuff katya wanted to do. katya ended up coming to one of my zoom ballet classes and it took everything we had to not loose our shit on camera.

during this time we mostly kept eachother sane in lockdown writing witcher fanfic, and sending eachother awful thirst traps on instagram to pitbull music. one of our awful bits was using the dilf filter to make bad frat boy edits.

come august of 2021 we both moved into college. the same college. in the same building. it was wild. i pinched myself several times in shock. we went on a walk around campus with some worms on strings and were like what the hell how did we get here.

we continued to hang out and did weird insane things together. we took a class on the french revolution together where i had to put up with katya and fennec awkwardly flirting (read: making finger guns at eachother).

and then, since i was 2 years older, i was graduating and was going to stay in the area for a job and was like hey. what if we got an apartment together? and then we did. several adults agreed to this. idk why they let us. but now we live together in a real life apartment and we haven't even killed eachother yet. neither of our parents know that we met online. each of them have a different fake story as to how we know eachother and we really just hope they are never in the same room long enough to ask eachother about it. but its insane. 12/10 would recommend.

katya wanted me to include old tumblr screenshots of us talking, heres what i found from circa 2020:

we've always been like this lol

and heres some ancient greatest hits from instagram, i dont have context and trust me you dont want it:

every now and then the two of us look at eachother and go. how the fuck did we end up here??? (we have no idea)

[arcadia-smith]

My sweet life Ep 4

Moodboard/ Masterlist

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Navigating everyday life with Simon Riley. Sitcom-style fanfiction.

Word count: 558

Tags: @candlelight-reading

Previous episode // Next episode

You were already curled beneath the covers, facing away from the door, but Simon could tell by the tension in your shoulders that you weren’t asleep.

“I’ve got him under control,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, in a small voice, you said, “I don’t think he likes me.”

Simon let out a quiet chuckle. “He doesn’t know you yet.”

“I don’t think he wants to.”

Simon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll fix it.”

You rolled onto your back, looking up at him. “How?”

Truth was, Simon wasn’t entirely sure. Riley wasn’t a pet, he was a trained asset, a soldier. And somewhere along the way, he’d decided that you weren’t part of the pack.

That had to change.

“I’ll make him see that you’re above him,” Simon said simply. “Even if I have to force the bastard to understand.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“Trust me, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s handling a stubborn bastard.”

The morning came, and Simon was up before you, slipping out of bed quietly.

Riley was waiting when he opened the laundry room door, alert as ever, tail giving a single slow wag in greeting.

Simon crouched down, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “We need to have a chat, mate.”

Riley blinked at him.

“You don’t get to pull that shit with her,” Simon said in a voice, you'd call his 'Lieutenant voice', rarely heard at home, never used toward you. “She’s not a threat. She’s not weak. You don’t have to like her, but you damn well better respect her.”

You woke up groggy and reluctant, but commotion at the backyard forced you to step out of the bedroom.

There you found Simon working with Riley. Commands. Obedience drills. Establishing control.

You hesitated at the door, eyes flicking between Simon and Riley, wary but trying not to show it. Simon noticed. And so did Riley.

"Come here," Simon called.

You took a slow step forward. Riley tensed. Simon caught it immediately.

"Leave it," he ordered. Riley's ears flicked, but he stayed put.

Another step.

Simon kept his focus locked on the dog, reading every subtle shift in his posture. The tension in his shoulders. The way his tail was just a little too still.

"You trust me?" Simon asked suddenly.

The question threw you off guard. You looked at him, brows knitting together.

"Of course," you murmured.

"Then come here."

You stepped forward right up to Simon’s side. Riley remained still, waiting.

"You're gonna show him who's the boss here. You know how to order me around, the same with him, love."

You shot him a look “I do not order you around.”

“Sure you don’t.” Simon handed you a treat from his pocket "Tell him to sit.”

You swallowed, then tried to mimic Simon’s firm tone. “Riley, sit.”

And it was far from Simon's 'Lieutenant voice'.

“Say it like you mean it.”

You inhaled deeply, looking down at Riley "Sit." You repeated. Rather than sounding more stern, your voice came out softer and a pitch higher than before.

Simon huffed a quiet chuckle beside you. "That’s not gonna cut it, love."

“I’m trying.”

"He listens to certainty. Confidence. You don't ask him. You tell him."

"I know.. I'm-" you inhaled deeply "Sorry Si, this isn't working."

[textsfromhannibal]

Ghost Series Masterlist

Hello! I'm TFH, and I write serial and standalone reader-driven Ghost fics because they're basically my only coping mechanism in the face of *gestures broadly.*

Here all of the Emeritus siblings are alive and apparently heard the story about Nihil fumbling the baddie and decided 'nope, couldn't be me.' Here there are marriages and babies and Satanists going full Gomez and so much amore you'll get disgusted with me. Also a lot of humor and sitcom antics and general family mayhem.

If that sounds like your cup of dark sacramental wine, please join me at the Ministry! I take my writing seriously, but I never take myself seriously. I always welcome comments, chatting, requests, and general interaction. :D

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE THE BOX

Synopsis: Reader-driven series centered around the Eastern US Ministry campus in Massachusetts and New England/New York as a whole. We begin with the man who will become Papa V Perpetua cloistered as a monk, find Primo his perfect bratty match in a nearby town, and watch as Copia helps a local woman blossom into her role as ghoul advocate. Terzo and Secondo are coming next! All stories can be read alone or as part of the larger plot.

First Installment: What I Need to Believe

Main relationship: Papa V Perpetua x Reader

Summary: The last ten years have been nothing but trauma, and after fighting the good fight, you decide to retreat from the fray and build a peaceful life for yourself in a small town. All you want is to enjoy the natural beauty of the New York countryside, to practice your faith and work on your art... until a chance encounter with a masked monk sends you both on a quest to find your true home.

Reader personality: Independent, witchy, playful, cottagecore girly, stabilizing strength

Words: 25,872

Status: Finished

Main keywords: Mutual pining, pretty much love at first sight, golden retriever Papa V, softest dom Papa V, male loss of virginity, oral and vaginal sex, the smallest bit of breeding kink

Potential triggers/dislikes: Religious trauma, history of self-harm, mental health issues, facial deformity, age difference, a few mentions of how fucked the world currently is, inaccurate Catholicism, Perpetua has a first name

My personal favorite bit: The scene in the thrift store.

Second Installment: Life Was Breathing Its Second Day

Main relationship: Papa Emeritus I x Reader

Summary: You've lived your entire life in the shadow of the Satanic Ministry's New England campus -- the cathedral in the woods where the damned gather to worship their Dark God. Still, you've never had a strong opinion about it one way or the other, until a scourge from your family's past threatens you and one of the Clergy members comes to your defense. Primo Emeritus has devoted his life to the worship of Lucifer, he wears more makeup than you do, and he's old enough to be your grandfather -- but the more you get to know him, the more you realize that this may be a match made in Hell.

Reader personality: Sassy, bold, mature, rolls with the punches, vintage fashion and music aficionado, loyal to her family, insanely hot for an old man

Words: 26,916

Status: Finished

Main keywords: Dom Papa I, lingerie and stockings, phone sex, bondage, spanking, oral and vaginal sex

Potential triggers/dislikes: AGE DIFFERENCE, violence, referenced domestic violence, scene in a prison visiting room, religious discrimination

My personal favorite bit: ...the prie-dieu.

Third Installment: Right Back to the Bearer of Light

Main relationship: Frater Imperator x Reader

Summary: You’re a young professional trying to build a life for yourself after spending too long under your mother’s wing — and he’s a Satanist doing the exact same thing. An accident at the animal shelter where you work puts you in contact with Frater Imperator, a man who can hardly frighten you when you see so much of yourself in him. But how will your small town react when one of its most innocent inhabitants starts hanging around with the leader of the Satanic Ministry?

Reader personality: Neurodivergent, shy, sheltered, innocent, patient, blossoming, ghoul advocate

Words: 39,800

Status: Finished

Main keywords: Soft Dom Frater, shy force meets awkward object, acceptance of one another's quirks, female loss of virginity, oral and vaginal sex

Potential triggers/dislikes: History of child abuse, mental health issues, controlling adult child/parent relationship, Reader is well above age of consent but can sometimes come across as younger due to all the above, unrealized threat of institutionalization, religious discrimination, age difference

My personal favorite bit: Copia full-heartedly singing along to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.

Fourth Installment/Interlude: Your Love Will Be Born Again

Main relationship: Papa V Perpetua x Reader

Summary: After his first tour ends, the masked man who's stolen your heart joins you back in the place where it all began. The plan is to spend a month in the little cottage by the creek before winter drives you back to the Ministry... but you and Perpetua have been talking about starting a family, and it's only six short months until the ritual steals him away from you again. Is it literally time to get busy?

Reader personality: Independent, witchy, playful, cottagecore girly, stabilizing strength

Words: WIP

Status: Unfinished

Main keywords: Just straight up a breeding and romance fic, Perpetua and Reader want a baby, established relationship, married sex, oral and vaginal sex, creampie, impregnation, dirty talk

Potential triggers/dislikes: History of self-harm, facial deformity, age difference, Perpetua has a first name, unsuccessful attempts at impregnation, pregnancy, period sex

My personal favorite bit so far: EVERYTHING WE'RE BACK IN NAPLES BABY PREPARE FOR GRAPES AND CARDINALS AND SHIT

Standalone story: The Skin Starts to Fail

Main relationship: Frater Imperator x Reader

Summary: Not all Satanists worship in the open or walk the world's busy urban streets. You're a sixth-generation Devil-worshipper from the heart of Nebraska, a woman who grew up just as sheltered as the neighboring fundamentalist Christian girls -- just for entirely different reasons. Attempting to honor one of your mother's final wishes, you take the veil as a Sister of Sin, and you're sorely tempted to give it up mere hours later -- until you cross paths with Frater Imperator. A man who's never set eyes on you in person, but who's already serenaded crowds with your name in his heart.

Reader personality: Eldest sister, speaks her mind, unpretentious, compassionate, protective, devout

Words: WIP

Status: Unfinished

Main keywords: Sweet and awkward Copia, so much fucking yearning, idiots in love, Prime Mover trope, public ritual sex, breeding kink, impregnation

Potential triggers/dislikes: Pregnancy, referenced death of parent(s), age difference

My personal favorite bit so far: Copia snapping back from dissociation to find himself smoking a cigarette he completely forgot he owned.

Thank you to @gothdaddyissues for making these wonderful fanfic dividers and allowing us to use them for free, so generous! :D

[elfqueen006]

Taking Summer

Sunny Day Jack x Reader

Continued from 'Breaking Summer'.

CW: Mild 4th wall break, fictional character in "real life"

The past few days with Jack got along better than you thought they would. In fact, it seemed like he was barely there half the time as he mostly just spent it observing the world around him. And one time when you asked how different it was from his old world he replied, “A lot less flat.” You wanted to laugh at that, and maybe he expected you to, but all you could do was stifle a groan. Either way, he seemed satisfied with your response, and even flashed that classic Jack smile.

Seeing him in reality was a lot like how you would have thought he looked in the game’s descriptors of him: the sunlight catching in his hair, the presence of his form on your bed, and even the way he smelled and felt were things you could only conjure in your imagination.

He was so… 

“Perfect.” You blinked out of your stupor and looked towards your kitchen. Jack had…actually cooked for you it seems. And it was blueberry pancakes!

Wow! That’s just… yeah!

You approached him in a daze. “Wow, Jack, this is great. Thank you.”

He turned to you with a raised brow, “Pretty bold to assume I made this for you.”

Pursing your lips, you felt your ears burn, and you were just about to say a protest when he laughed, “Your face! I’m kidding. I made something for you too.”

You exhaled, the remnants of your nervous grin still present. He offered you a plate, which you took and you had both taken a seat at the kitchen table. You got a seat with the view of the TV seeing as your favorite sitcom was on. Absent-mindedly, you cut a piece of your pancake and put it in your mouth. The cake’s warm, fluffy texture paired with the blueberry’s juice made you inhale through your nose with a groan. Damn. He really could cook!

“You like?”

Several bites in you realize you had zoned out and weren't even focused on your show, let alone what Jack was saying. It took him calling you twice to get your attention. You turn to him with a mouth full of food , “Hm?”

He snorts, standing up to come around and kneel in front of you. Your eyes are wide as you let him reach over and wipe away some of the syrup and crumb at the corners of your lips. “There we are. You don’t need to force it all– hm?” his eyes locked with yours. You don’t think you have been able to see him up close like this in the beginning. You didn’t want it to feel like you were crowding him because after all he was a fully realized person now. Not a character…right?

“Is there something wrong?” Jack asked.

You finally swallowed your mouthful of pancake and shook your head. “Mm-mm, you’re just pretty.” You froze. Really you were just saying that to avoid slipping up and saying something stupid like ‘I can’t believe you’re real’ or ‘Your nose is bigger than I imagined’.

Jack’s mouth went agape momentarily before he huffed out a chuckle. “Well, I think you’re pretty too.” He said, pinching your cheek.

“U-uhm, you didn’t finish your food.” You glanced over at his still full plate. It was exactly as it was when he made it, save for the fact his butter was melted and the syrup had mostly been soaked up by the pancakes.

‘What has he been doing all this time then?’ you thought, ‘I’m halfway done with my food.’

Jack sucked in a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I realized I didn’t have much of an appetite. But you seemed to be enjoying yourself the entire time that I just thought I’d…”

He trailed off, noticing your eyebrows raised when it dawned on you that he was watching you eat.

Quickly, he stood up, “Whoa, hey! I meant it was just nice that you seemed to enjoy my cooking. I almost didn’t think I would… y’know, live up to the legacy.”

“I mean, it’s just food. I believe anyone can cook real well if you give them the basic necessities.”

“Right. Right. But I just sort of assumed you were expecting” he gestures with his hands, “more. And I didn’t want to disappoint.”

At this, you were silent. It seemed in some capacity Jack was still stuck on his origins. You supposed that you should have caught on to this. When you were on the computer he often exited the room on the insistence he gave you privacy and went rigid when you scrolled down to something that sounded like his voice. You didn’t make any effort to talk to him about it, but it was only because you thought it was something he wanted to work through on his own terms.

Little did you know, he was suffering in silence… or at least felt as if he wasn’t everything you hoped for.

“Hey.” You pat his shoulder, “I don’t care if you’re anything like the guy on the screen.”

He flinched at that, “That’s…me.”

“I mean, it’s you, but it’s a character. It’s no different than a guy playing himself on television.” The queer look he gave, told you you lost him. “Think of it this way… There’s a guy on TV… he’s a guest star. Public opinion and his persona he shows to the cameras fuel the writers script for him on this random show. But to everyone that knows him, that’s very different from how he acts in real life. Be it he’s cocky, sweet, or reserved… things like that.”

“And you don’t think I’m anything like in the…the screen?” Jack asked hesitantly.

You shook your head, “I want the real, authentic you. And before you say anything like, you don’t even know what that is, I just want you to know it has nothing to do with the self you present in front of others.”

He watched as you spoke with clumsy passion. You were obviously determined to make him feel better but there was still a trace of uncertainty in your words that showed you might not even have believed the things you said. Still, the fact you were taking this much consideration for him…

“Honestly,” you began, “I’m not even concerned about that. I’m more worried about the fact you made a whole plate of food and haven’t touched it yet. Because you’re very much real, and real people need to eat!”

After a bout of silence, Jack looked down, a grimace on his lips.

“What if I can’t taste it?”

“You will literally never know unless you try.” You said with finality.

Looking back over at his plate of untouched pancakes, Jack leans over the table and pulls it towards where you both are. He sits in the chair near you as he starts to cut it up. A little glance up at you says he wants to be sure you see him, he wants to be sure what your saying is true. Only when a fraction of the two-stack pancakes are cut off does the smell of sticky sugar waft under his nose, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

He takes a bite and chews, swallowing before going in again. His brows are furrowed all the while as if he's unsure despite eating with renewed fervor after each bite.

“Jack?”

He pauses and looks up at you.

“How is it?”

He can't believe his own ears when he speaks, “Sh'good!”

You laugh. “I told you! What did I say?”

“Ish-ish godda be a shrick, dough, are yew shure?” 

You cackle at the fact his cheeks are round and stuffed full of pancakes. “I'm positive.”

He swallowed, “It's too good to be true!”

“No, your cooking is just that good!”

Jack cuts off a sizable piece and hovers it over his palm as it guides it towards you. “Here you try.”

“Oh no, I'm way too full.’

“Just try… let me know it's real.”

At that, you give in and take a bite off the fork. You kiss your hand and put it above your head, “Delicious.”

---

I wanted to put pancake-style food play smut in this, but it felt too full. Maybe next time.

I'm lowkey impulse posting.

[suku-enthusiasts]

chapter thirteen || unexpected the expected - s. ryomen

❛ ❜ sukuna ryomen x f!reader || modern au

❝Growing up with the pink haired boy, it was no surprise when he put a ring on your finger when you both turned eighteen. The young man Sukuna Ryomen Itadori knew your dark life at home with your family, desperately trying to take you away. Until he is sentenced to 10 years of prison for keeping true to his vows… “I promise you with all of my being, I will protect you in anyway I have to, til the day I die.” And protects you he does…❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol/weed. hurt/trauma. family trauma. consent/non consent. smut . anxiety. death.

main masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

“I have my yearly check-up tomorrow,” you murmured as you lifted your fork to your lips, the flickering television bathing the room in a soft, bluish glow. The scent of roasted vegetables and the quiet hum of a sitcom played between you like background static. Sukuna, sprawled beside you on the couch in sweatpants and a worn black t-shirt, didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m off tomorrow,” he replied casually, his tone easy, familiar. “I’ll take ya.” You smiled faintly, but your appetite faded. You pushed your plate away and folded your legs beneath you, turning to face him. “Hey, Sukuna?” He didn’t move at first, but the use of his full name had his eyes cutting toward you. Not "babe" or "Suku"—just his name. It always meant you were about to open a door to something heavier, and he respected that. “Yeah?” he asked, his gaze softening slightly. You hesitated, then let the question fall from your lips, quiet but sincere. “What’s something you’ve enjoyed the most… since getting out?”

Sukuna blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in mood, but not uncomfortable. He let the silence settle before answering. “This,” he said simply, gesturing at the half-eaten plates, the blanket pulled over your legs, and the dim TV light spilling across the room. “Watching TV with you. Eating a home-cooked meal.” His tone dropped slightly, becoming more tender. “And waking up to you. Not to the sound of keys or someone shouting down a hallway, not to metal bars or that damn cement slab they called a bed… but to sunlight creeping through those curtains and touching your skin like it’s never known anything cold. That’s something I’ll never take for granted again.” Your heart swelled at his words, and your smile trembled as your eyes dropped to your lap. No matter how much time passed, he still had the power to unravel you with honesty. But there was more. Something heavier sitting just beneath your ribs. “Why did you refuse to see me?” you asked softly, watching him closely. “When you were in prison. Why didn’t you let me come?”

The question landed like a stone. His entire posture changed. The way his shoulders tightened, the twitch in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes—it told you the answer before he even tried to speak. He rubbed his hands over his face, calloused palms dragging down his cheeks with a sigh that sounded years old. “I just…” he paused, searching for words. “I didn’t think that was a place you should ever be. You were already carrying so much. What your father did to you… the trial… the press… I didn’t want to add to that by letting you see me behind bars, in chains, caged like an animal.”

“But I wanted to be there for you,” you said, voice catching. “I know,” he murmured, lowering his hands. “But I wasn’t just locked up, I was… a fucking wreck. Angry. Not at you—never at you—but at myself. At everything. I’d look in the mirror and see a man who failed to protect the only person who’s ever really mattered. I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve seen it, stopped it. But I didn’t. And when I finally snapped… I didn’t think about who was watching. I didn’t think about how it made you look.” You reached for his arm, your fingers curling over the warm muscle of his bicep. He was still so solid, still your shelter even when he thought he wasn’t worthy of being one. “I love you,” you whispered. “With every broken part of me that you never walked away from.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek, and for a moment, everything felt still—like the world had finally quieted.

Then the knock came. Three firm raps at the front door. Both of your heads turned instinctively, tension crackling through the room like electricity. “Did you invite someone?” you asked, brows knitting, “No.” Sukuna was already standing, a protectiveness setting into his spine as he moved toward the front hall. “Wait here. Let me check.” You followed him halfway, staying in the living room’s threshold as he opened the door. The air changed.

“I would like to speak to my daughter,” came the voice, and your stomach dropped. Your mother stood there—so much older than you remembered. Her face wore time like guilt, her hands clutching a tray of cookies like a peace offering that wouldn’t hold. “You shouldn’t be here,” Sukuna snapped before you could move, his arms folding across his chest like a stone barrier. “Turn around.”

“Suku…” you said gently, brushing past him and stepping into view. Your eyes widened with disbelief. “Mom?” She nodded, her voice small. “I… I just wanted a moment of your time.” Behind her, your sister climbed out of a car and approached the porch with a harried sigh. “Sorry, I was on the phone with work.” You looked between them both, your heart thudding. “What is going on?”

“She’s been wanting to talk to you for a while,” your sister explained. “And she wouldn’t stop asking. She needed to come today.” Sukuna scoffed darkly. “And who the hell are you to make that decision for my wife?”

“Sukuna,” you said, laying a hand on his chest, your eyes pleading with his. “Can I talk to them? Just for a bit. On the porch. Alone.” He stared down at you, jaw flexing as he assessed your expression. With a begrudging sigh, he finally stepped aside. But not before pointing directly at your mother with a warning that could cut steel. “If I hear you disrespect her,” he growled, “I will drag you off this porch myself.” With that, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the house. You gave your mother a small, cool smile. “Let’s sit.” You guided her with a soft hand on her back, pulling out a chair for her like a courteous stranger rather than a daughter. She seemed surprised by the tenderness, unsure how to react to the woman you’d become��poised, calm, composed. “Sukuna’s temper…” she murmured, her hands nervously picking at the edge of the napkin under the cookies.

“Doesn’t he have the right to one?” you asked without missing a beat, your voice calm, but sharp, she looked down. “I understand,” she said. “But I’m just… an old woman. I could never hurt my daughter.” You nodded once. “Abuse doesn’t always leave bruises. Sometimes it’s quieter. Sometimes it’s the things you didn’t say. The people you didn’t protect me from. Sometimes… it’s pride. And denial. And pretending you didn’t hear me crying in the bathroom at night.” Your mother’s eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t soften. Not yet. You had waited too long for this moment. Too long to be heard. “I was just a little girl,” you continued. “And all I wanted was for someone to choose me over him. But you didn’t. Not once.” Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. You folded your hands together in your lap and finally looked her in the eye. “So say whatever you came to say. But understand this isn’t a reunion. It’s a reckoning.” And with that, the evening air thickened with a silence that promised truth would soon be laid bare.

“Mother…” you began, folding your hands tightly in your lap, your voice quiet but firm. “I have a darling husband inside making dinner for me, and I don’t have all the time in the world. So if you came here to say something, I’d appreciate if you just… said it, so we can move forward. Or not.” The air between you stretched, taut and fragile. Your mother sat on the porch chair across from you, the tray of cookies still trembling in her lap. Her eyes darted down, then up, and finally she let out a breath she’d clearly been holding. “Alright,” she murmured. “I… I’m sorry.” Your stomach twisted. “I know ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything. Not really. And I know it doesn’t begin to cover the pain I allowed… but it’s all I can offer you. I let that man—” her voice faltered, “I let your father do those things to you. And I live with that guilt every day.” You stayed silent, jaw clenched as your heart pounded behind your ribs. “I was scared,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Terrified he’d do the same things to your sister. She was so sick all the time… so frail. I thought—I thought if I could just keep her safe…”

“What about me?” you cut her off sharply, eyes locked on hers, unwavering, and she froze. “I should have protected you both,” she said softly, guilt washing over her face. “I never worked. Never went to school. He provided for me… and without him, I had nothing. I didn’t know how to survive without him.”

“So,” you said slowly, bitterness creeping into your voice, “you let me be molested my entire life… because you didn’t want to get a job?”

Tears immediately pooled in her eyes, her lips parting. “My dear… I was so young. So naïve. He was all I knew.” You stared at her, unblinking. “So because he was all you knew, because you didn’t have an education or a safety net, that gave you permission to ignore what was happening right under your roof? That justified the nights I cried myself to sleep? That excused the bruises, the panic attacks, the shame I carried into the relationship I have?” She said nothing. Just looked down. And that silence? It told you everything. You let out a cold laugh, shaking your head. “Why did you push so hard for Sukuna to go to prison?” Your mother’s eyes snapped up, wounded and defensive. “Because he killed a man.”

“That man,” you said slowly, your voice trembling now, “raped me. Touched me from the time I was three until I was nineteen. He tried again that day. What did you expect my husband to do?”

“He didn’t have to kill him, Y/N!” your mother cried. “But he did,” you said. “And thank God he did. That was the only way I was ever going to be free. It was the only way you were ever going to be free. You got everything you wanted, didn’t you? You got the house. The insurance. You became a widow without having to share a bed with a monster. And yet… you wanted my husband to suffer for protecting me? For saving my life?” You let the question hang heavy in the air. “Sukuna has never been good for you,” your mother snapped suddenly, her voice rising. “Look at him—he looks like a criminal!” You stood abruptly, heart pounding, hands shaking. “That man you call a criminal?” you whispered, “He is the gentlest, most beautiful soul I’ve ever known.” She scoffed. You kept going.

“He has never hurt me. He’s never even raised his voice at me in anger. He makes me tea every morning. Rubs my feet every night, even when his hands are sore from work. He kisses my shoulder when he walks by, calls me ‘baby’ when I’m crying, runs my bath when I’ve had a bad dream. He stops in the middle of making love to me when I flinch—because of what your husband did to me.” Your voice cracked. You were trembling now, shoulders heaving with barely restrained emotion. “He might be covered in tattoos. He might have a foul mouth and a temper. But he is kind. He is patient. And he’s mine. He didn’t have to treat you with respect, but he did. Because he’s a better human being than you’ll ever be.” Your voice broke then, the tears spilling before you could stop them. That was when you heard the porch door open behind you.

Sukuna’s footsteps were heavy but slow as he approached, his expression dark and unreadable. He’d heard everything. “You don’t get to talk about him like that,” you whispered hoarsely, turning back to your mother. “He is not a criminal. He is not the villain. He is my husband. My hero. And you will not take him from me. Do you understand me?” Your mother’s lip quivered, but she said nothing. Only nodded, silent tears trailing down her face. “I don’t want to talk anymore,” you said quietly. “Not today. Maybe not for a long time. This… this is too much for one afternoon.”

You wiped your face, turning toward Sukuna. He was already reaching for you, pulling you gently into his chest. You collapsed into him, face pressed against his collarbone, sobbing uncontrollably. “I think it would be best if you two left,” Sukuna said calmly over your shoulder, one hand cradling your back. “Please.” Your sister gave him a look—full of apology, full of regret—but he didn’t falter. “We need space. We need to heal.” And with that, he walked you back inside. Closed the door behind him. Locked it. You stayed like that for what felt like hours, curled into him, soaking his shirt with your tears. His arms never left you. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask you to stop crying. He just held you—like he always did when the world became too loud.

“Y-you’re n-not a criminal t-to m-me,” you whispered at last, your lips trembling as you lifted your face and kissed his cheeks, one after the other. “You’re my hero, Sukuna.” His breath caught in his chest. “You’re all mine,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his forehead, to the corner of his mouth, to his jaw. “All mine.” He cradled your face, forehead pressed to yours. “Always.” And the night moved on. Not quiet. Not peaceful. But real. And healing. And yours.

“Love me, baby…” you whispered, voice thick with tears, rising slowly to your feet as your trembling hands began to undress. Your heart was raw, wide open—aching for closeness, for something real to anchor you. “Please… make love to me…” you cried, your voice cracking mid-plea as the weight of the night pressed down on your chest. You weren’t trying to be seductive. You were just trying to feel whole. To feel safe. To feel his love—wrapped around you, inside of you, steadying your storm. Sukuna’s brows drew together, concern flickering across his face. “Baby… I don’t think—”

“Please,” you whimpered, your voice small as you climbed into his lap, wrapping your legs around him and curling into the warmth of his chest. “I need to be close to you… please, Suku…” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, the scent of him grounding you as your body shook from the sobs still threatening to spill over. He didn’t need to hear another word. With a soft grunt, he lifted you easily in his arms, carrying you down the hallway like you weighed nothing at all. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, reverent. Once in the bedroom, he laid you down gently—like glass, like something he refused to let break again. You watched him undress, his body strong and scarred, beautiful in a way only he could be. Your fingers trembled as you reached out.

“Come close to me,” you whispered, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He leaned down, his lips finding yours, and the kiss was slow—soothing and deep—as he slid inside of you with a careful, aching tenderness. Your breath hitched as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. The stretch of him filled you, but it wasn’t just your body that felt full—it was something deeper. Something fragile and fierce. You moaned softly, your fingers brushing along his jawline as tears rolled from your lashes. The emotional pain didn’t vanish—it bled into the pleasure, layered and thick and unbearably human. “I love you so much,” you gasped, lips pressing against his cheek, your hips trembling as you came around him. He followed soon after, but didn’t move, didn’t pull away. He stayed nestled inside you, arms cradling you like a shield.

“My husband…” you whispered through kisses. You pressed them to every inch of skin you could reach—his lips, his temple, the space between his brows. “All mine…” He stroked your side with the roughest part of his hand, but touched you like you were something soft and sacred. “My wife…” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you curled tighter into his chest. Later, he ran you a warm bath, and you soaked in silence, nestled between his legs, your back resting against his chest. By the time he carried you to bed, your eyelids were heavy. You fell asleep with your face tucked under his chin and your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him tighter than usual. He didn’t mind. He knew. Knew it was the fear. Knew it was the vulnerability. Knew you just needed to feel him right there—real, solid, safe. So he let you hold on. And he held you tighter in return.

When morning came, his voice was the first thing to stir you. “My love…” Sukuna’s voice was low and gentle, his hand lightly shaking your shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart.” You stirred slowly, lashes fluttering. “Hmm?” He smiled softly, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “We’ve got your doctor’s appointment today. Time to get up.” You groaned lightly, stretching before leaning into his chest. “Mmkay… but can we get pizza after?” Sukuna chuckled under his breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” He stood and disappeared into the closet to get dressed while you lingered in bed, your chest feeling heavy again in his absence. You sat up slowly, then padded barefoot into the bathroom, brushing your teeth, splashing your face. The ache in your chest returned, dull and insistent. You needed to see him. “Sukuna?” you called, stepping into the bedroom, eyes darting around until he reappeared in the doorway, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. “Yeah, doll?” he asked. “Sorry… I just didn’t know where you went,” you said quickly, your eyes avoiding his, your voice quieter now. You hated how clingy it sounded. How scared. But you couldn’t help it.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Y/N.” He walked toward you, his jaw tense, veins along his arms pulsing subtly beneath the skin. When he stopped in front of you, his hands gently cupped your face. “Yeah?” you asked, your eyes finally meeting his. “I think…” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose. “I think we should go see someone. A professional. Like… a therapist. We’ve both been through a lot. And I don’t want to keep carrying it the way we are. I wanna unpack it. Together.” You stared up at him, your throat tightening. Your fingers fidgeted at your sides as tears gathered on your waterline again. “D-do you think…” you hesitated, “do you think you’ll get sick of me one day?” His expression didn’t even flicker. He tilted your chin up gently, eyes locking with yours. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, steadying you. “I could never. We’re two parts of one whole, you and me. I can’t walk without my other leg, can’t think with half a brain.” He smiled faintly, then leaned down to kiss you—slow and firm. You melted into it, your arms wrapping around his waist. “I think seeing a professional is a good idea,” you murmured against his chest, your voice a little steadier now. He held you a moment longer, his lips pressing once more to your forehead before letting you go to get dressed. The drive was quiet, but peaceful. No tension. No pressure. Just the soft hum of the road and your hand resting in his on the center console, fingers interlaced. For the first time in a long time… the silence between you didn’t feel like something you were avoiding.

It felt like understanding. When you pulled into the parking lot, Sukuna shifted the car into park, then looked over at you. “We’re here.” You nodded, taking a breath… and reached for his hand again.

“Good morning, Mrs. Itadori,” your doctor greeted with a warm smile as she stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We’ve got all your lab results back.” She flipped through the chart, humming thoughtfully. “Thyroid looks great, cholesterol is steady, and blood pressure is just a little high—not dangerously so, but something to keep an eye on. It’s often linked to stress or anxiety. How’s your mental health been lately?” You sat up straighter on the exam table, legs crossed at the ankle, fingers worrying the hem of the paper gown. “It’s been… a little stressful,” you admitted with a soft breath. “Adjusting to a new rhythm in life, you know. A new routine.” Her brows raised slightly, intrigued. “New routine? How so?” You gave a quiet smile, eyes soft. “Well… my husband came home. That’s been wonderful, but it’s still… a transition. And then, my mother came back into my life, wanting to make peace. So I’ve been processing a lot all at once.” Your doctor nodded with understanding. “That’s a lot of emotional labor in a short time.” She paused, then smiled again, teasing lightly. “I must say, I was surprised to see such a big man sitting beside you in the waiting room. He’s hard to miss.” You laughed softly, eyes shining with fondness. “Oh, he’s amazing. He’s gentle, thoughtful… incredibly attentive. He always knows how to calm me down. He makes me feel safe.” She tilted her head, a glimmer of something unreadable behind her smile. “Good.” Her hand reached out, giving your knee a gentle squeeze. “Well, I think the rest of these results… your husband should hear too.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “O-oh… okay,” you stammered, she rose, stepping out into the hallway. “Mr. Itadori?” she called. Sukuna glanced up from the chair in the hallway where he’d been scrolling aimlessly through his phone. “Yeah?”

“Would you like to come in and join us for your wife’s results?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a check-up, right? I figured she didn’t—”

“I really think you should come in,” the doctor interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. Sukuna sighed and stood, towering over her. “Wow,” she chuckled, glancing up at him. “You really are tall.”

“Six-seven,” he replied flatly, already stepping into the room. He sat beside you, arm resting along the back of your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder. You tried to read his face, but it was calm, neutral. He hadn’t caught on yet. You reached for his hand anyway, lacing your fingers with his. Your doctor took a seat and exhaled, looking between the two of you. “Mr. and Mrs. Itadori… you’re pregnant.” The words hit like a quiet thunderclap. Sukuna’s eyes widened, his body going rigid beside you. You felt your own breath hitch, your heart pounding loud in your chest.

“You’re about nine weeks along,” she continued with a soft smile, “so just over halfway through your first trimester. Everything looks healthy—strong heartbeat, good growth. Would you like to see your baby?” You could barely nod, your hands already trembling as she dimmed the lights and applied the cool gel to your belly. Sukuna stayed completely still, eyes glued to the screen as a soft flicker appeared in grayscale. “There…” the doctor pointed. “You see that little shape right there? That’s your baby. Size of a grape.” A breath escaped you—part laughter, part disbelief, part something else entirely. Sukuna just stared, jaw slightly slack. His red eyes were wide, unblinking. “I’ll get these printed for you,” the doctor said warmly, “and give you a moment. Get dressed when you're ready, take your time.” She stepped out, leaving the two of you alone with the faint outline of your child still on the screen. You slowly sat up, hand instinctively moving to wipe away tears that hadn’t yet fallen. You reached for your clothes, but Sukuna still hadn’t moved. He was still staring.

“Doll…” his voice was quiet—barely audible. Almost afraid to speak too loudly, like the moment might shatter. You turned, your throat already tightening. “N-not yet…” you whispered, “I’ll start crying…” He finally looked at you then. “I… do you not want this?” he asked gently. His voice wasn’t angry, just confused. Vulnerable. You looked at him, eyes already glistening with tears. “Want this?” you echoed softly. “Sukuna… this is the best day of my life.” Your voice broke—and so did the dam. You collapsed into his arms, your sobs shaking your whole body. You cried into his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt, gasping for air between broken words and overwhelmed joy, and then… you felt it. A soft drop of water on your head. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wet, tears brimming silently. He didn’t speak—he just smiled.

“Baby…” you breathed, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into your palm like it grounded him, like your touch was the only thing holding him together. “We’re havin’ a baby,” he said, his voice thick, soft, disbelieving—but so full of warmth it made your chest ache. He smiled again, slow and tender, like he’d just found the missing piece of himself. You didn’t know what kind of parents you would be. You didn’t have it all figured out. But you did know this— That baby would grow up never questioning if they were loved. Because that baby would be protected, cherished, fought for—just like you had been. Just like Sukuna had learned to be. Just like the two of you were, together, and the greatest thing you would ever do… was love that baby the way you loved each other.

next

[astrronomemes]

THAT '70S SHOW: STARTERS

a collection of my personal favorite quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 1998-2006 television sitcom, That '70s Show. change & alter as needed.

"Well, damn, [name], I can't control the weather!"

"If I could run across a beach into my own arms, I would."

"Yelling is the only part of being a father that I enjoy."

"What did you eat for breakfast? Carnation Instant Bitch?"

"Why do you think the Martians won't land here? Because they're green, and they know people are going to make fun of them."

"It's every little girl's dream to get married out of spite!"

"We keep our Christmas decorations down there! Baby Jesus was watching!"

"If this van's a-rockin'... we're in there, doing it."

"Well, I'd like to help, but not as much as I'd like not to."

"Anyone else feel like a rainbow?"

"My heart aches with pain. When I see you, I vomit. Die away from me."

"The beautiful cannot be held responsible for the havoc our looks create."

"My foot is shaking, it wants to kick his ass so bad!"

"Just once, I want the right thing and the topless thing to be the same thing!"

"If you don't get caught, everything is legal."

"I am not drunk! I am upset! ...And drunk."

"Where Zen ends, ass-kicking begins."

"Life is too short to spend it with people who annoy you."

"I'm a hot-looking, smooth-talking, frisky-ass son of a bitch."

"[Name], get in the car. We're going on a freaking date."

"When I go to the hospital, I like to not die."

"Crack a book, you lazy son of a bitch."

"If you really do love her, there's only one thing to do, man. You got to dump her, and live free."

"I'm going to go out, meet some boys, and crush their hearts one by one."

"I'm like ketchup. I go good on everything."

"I was never happy. I was just less pissed off."

"So that's what an adulteress is! I always thought it was a tiny adult."

"For your information, I'm already sorry I was ever born."

"What are you gonna put on your résumé? Dumbass?"

"I'd get up, but my back is still sore from that knife you stuck in it."

"I don't want to go outside! There are people out there!"

"I cannot be held responsible for the things that come out of my mouth!"

"Oh, no. Now I have to act normal."

"You can hit him in the groin with a banjo."

"Well, I've got to go to sleep, because I have a big day of misery ahead of me tomorrow."

"I don't need another friend. I've already got two."

"Seeing you work hard and take pride in what you do... I lost respect for you, man."

"I wanted to get you a card, but they don't have one for our specific situation. So, here — happy first communion."

"I could kill you without making a sound."

"I can't go outside. I'm allergic to pollen. And social situations."

[rose-maidenn]

Chaos magick of Gemini-punarvasu , Devi Aditi and my personal takes , ft Wanda Maximoff

Before I start Aditi choses her power to create with peace and love always and though I have done some comparisons in no way am I against Wanda or my Goddess .

Also it's @azure-cherie here I'm back cause I had to share this with yall , a possible explanation would be that in a way I need a change and my life has been rapidly changing too , I will keep this blog low-key and less serious so I can focus on my life and post some interesting observations. I hope yall have been well I missed yall so so much

Let's begin :

Wanda is played by punarvasu moon Elizabeth Olsen . After the death of vision entirely fabricates another reality in the show Wanda vision , though she does not realise she causes pain and agony and separation to the people around her she formulates a husband and her kids , she wants a fairytale so she creates it , this goes to show the height of punarvasu illusion the world of fantasies and delusions one uses to protect themselves against the harshness of the reality , the grief in her is her is so large that it encompasses the creation of something new .

After the tear shed of ardra the grief in her creates something new a new world of wonders as the punarvasu renews the light, the renewal of light is often a creation accompanied by transformation and though the process might be of beauty the transformation is of generative power , the world often complains of suffering and pain the creatrix Aditi also created the matrix the sadness the happiness are all but fragments of her Maya she is Bhuvaneshwari all encompassing , she holds the power to lead you through transformation which ofcourse is preceded through the dark night of the soul .

Her grief makes her to form new realities one could call this a form of schizophrenia caused by ptsd that's what happens when the kick of magic falls in it creates new realities . One more example of this can be seen in Shelly Duvall , some articles claim her to be schizophrenic which was cause due to her trauma in life, she nevertheless lived a life of her choices. We all go to our childhood when we need a sense of peace we search paradise in it wanda's paradise was a 60s sitcom and the way out to reality was through facing her traumas that's what all of us have to go through once in a while .

As Agatha narrates wanda " This is chaos magick wanda , that makes you the scarlet witch " she narrates how Wanda is a being capable of spontaneous creation, she creates what she creates she does have power over herself but not over her chaos magick it protects her it empowers her . In the shastras there isn't much written about Aditi who she is where she emerges from etc she simply appears , she simply creates , she's simply a secret likewise life imitates the divinity , Agatha makes her know that she has been written about in the book of the damned . She also says her that she has power but a lack of knowledge, as she hasn't learned the basics of magick .

" The scarlet witch is not born she is forged, she has no coven , no need for incantation " likewise Aditi appears before the universe she creates the Trimurti , she creates Daksha and is Born to Daksha , she rules she creates she forms shes truth she is maya she is the lotus the divine swan . Agatha tells wanda how it's her destiny to destroy the world , to which wanda replies she never learned magic and ultimately wanda tries to protect her fabricated reality but it wears off , the darkhold takes control of her and she reappears in the multiverse of madness ( didn't watch it yet ) I know yet that she was forced by her mind into a new world of dark spells and craft but ultimately wanted to stop strange from doing the mistake that she herself did , she didn't die at the end of the movie as a red light shines " Scarlet witch is alive and breathing " her ways might be dark but her intentions were pure .

🌷My views on the entirety of the situation

Punarvasu bestows you with the gift of creation but it's in ones hand to channel it use it for the good and the bad , it's dependent on us .

The power is preceded by the dark night of the soul and intense situation of purge and fantasy and illusion to win against Maya one has to understand Maya likewise punarvasu has to go through it to understand the true power of themselves .

Punarvasu acts as the antihero in the dynamics of the world , we all mimic the deity of our nakshatra so do we mimick her , yes the world was created for peace and beauty but the cathonian question always arises that why there is so much pain in the world then? We complain to the divine mother our mother about the pain but can she eradicate pain because the eradication of the pain eradicates the chances of existence , the world is constantly jiggling between creation preservation and destruction one has to go through it all , you can blame the mother but can you truly blame her she's the antihero.

Punarvasu like a child goes on teaching when they themselves don't know enough, power without knowledge brings pain , in my personal experiences this is true , I believe I was in dire need of more knowledge that's what I'm seeking right now.

While scorpio engulfs power from the sources to their requirements they know what they deserve and so they can handle it while the gemini is a naive child who simply holds mostly without a vessal so cultivation of strong boundaries in punarvasu is essential for ones sanity . The power disparity in Scorpio and gemini sometimes creates fallouts between Scorpio and gemini because the Scorpio doesn't find the gemini worthy . But scorpios do bring enlightenment to geminis.

A hold upon our boundaries is the most crucial or else the generative engine that doesn't cause exhaustion starts causing delusion which taps into the darkside, start empowering yourself and in humbleness live a beautiful life . The beautiful life might call for you to disappear or just be silent but know that true power is one within ones mind it's not to be shown but just to be felt .

Om Aditi namah 🪷

Thank you so much for reading I believe I'm truly blessed by Aditi devi for the knowledge she imparted in me regarding this I feel blessed . Have a beautiful time ahead.