#could I have cut it down? maybe. will I? No!

[zevrra]

𝐢. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

synop: you and vik get caught “messing around” in the lab by jayce; who surprisingly wants to join in on the fun.

wc: 1.8k

includes: straight smut, p w/o p, fem!reader, jayce x reader x viktor, slight vöyeurism, oral (m receiving), slight dirty talk, threesome, bottom!viktor

extra: part 2 is here! reblogs are appreciated <3

“don’t worry,” you whisper, fingers twirling along a red tie before smoothing down the front of viktor’s vest. “i sent jayce out on an errand run and he won’t be back for a little bit. just enjoy this v.” you add with a hum.

viktor looks up through his pretty lashes at you. he leans back against his desk, practically sits on top of it to keep weight off of his leg, as you two stand inside of the lab. he had been working far too hard recently and the only way you could keep him distracted long enough not to think about anything involving his work was to pleasure him. it was the same way trying to get him to sleep every once and awhile, when he would sneak into your room. you had never suggested doing it in the lab though…and the thought thrilled you just as much as it thrilled him; even if he thought it was a terrible idea.

“w-we shouldn’t. not here in the lab and what if—” viktor mumbles but his words end in a soft gasp as your fingers begin to untuck his shirt from his pants.

“viktor,” you chirp as you fall to your knees in front of him, unbuttoning the front of his pants and pulling them down ever so slightly. “you need to take a break. be a good boy and just relax.”

your fingers are just grabbing the hem of his underwear when the door to the lab is being thrown open and jayce’s large figure enters the room. “hey, i was looking for this thing you asked for but i—“ jayce had begun to speak, his eyes pointed down as he entered the room, before he finally looked up and caught the two of his friends in the act.

you freeze in your spot, eyes widening as you stare at jayce from the floor. a scarlet red blush is spreading across your face, you can feel the heat on your cheeks in an instant and you’re sure you match not only jayce’s shocked face but viktor’s as well; and you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him. you probably stay like that for a little longer than you should’ve until jayce clears his throat and you and viktor alike scramble from each other.

“we!” you start as you stand up straight and as quick as you possibly can. “wait it’s not what it looks like! we were uh just uhm—“ you ramble before looking at viktor to help dig both of you out of this hole. but he’s busied himself with trying to zip his pants back up, making it far more obvious if it hadn’t been already. you sigh, turning your face off to the side to stare at a small spot on the floor, unable to look jayce in the eye.

“do…you do this often?” jayce’s voice cuts through the built up silence in the room like a knife.

you shake your head quickly but viktor speaks up for you instead. “never in the lab.” he mutters.

“it’s unprofessional, we get it, let’s just drop it and forget this—“ you begin to add but the sound of the door closing with a lock interrupts your rambling. when you finally bring your gaze to jayce, his eyes are soft but clear in their intentions. and it was his turn to no longer be able to look at the two of you.

“can i…watch?” he whispers under his breath.

and with three little words, everything changes between all three of you.

now, jayce leans against the lab’s desk as viktor leans back against his chest. jay’s strong hands fully support viktor as you’ve returned to your spot in front of him. you had never in your life thought jayce might have been interested in whatever you and viktor had going on. maybe you just assumed he already had a lover and never brought it up again. but now his hazel eyes stare down at you, just as viktor’s amber eyes also watch you, both with a hunger to their eye. it almost made you nervous, being watched, but your fingers once again hook around viktor’s underwear and pull down, ignoring the jitters that hum under your skin.

your hand wraps around vik’s semi hard cock and you give it a soft tug, rubbing right up the shaft until the tip. there was a new feeling in the air around all 3 of you. breaths being held, eyes watching ever so closely, the slight tremble to your hand. it had been different when it was just the two of you enjoying midnight meetings but now with jayce there too…it felt far more scandalous and naughty.

“tell me what it feels like.” jayce whispers, purposely placing his chin into the crook of viktor’s neck, as his hands slowly run up along vik’s chest.

your own hand continues to move against viktor’s shaft, stroking him slowly up and down, moving to press your lips against his head.

“mmph, her fingers are a little cold,” viktor replies with a low groan. his chest rising and falling in quicker succession as he begins to get turned on. “but it feels good.” he adds. and his honesty makes you smile a little.

you move your hand faster in return to his praise. trailing your fingers along his head, pressing your thumb into the slit of his cöck, where he’s growing sensitive and causing him to gasp softly. you take the moment to lean forward and capture the head of his cock inside of your mouth. drinking in the sight of viktor’s eyes fluttering, his fingers tightening onto whatever he can grasp, as your mouth wraps around him.

“keep going viktor.” jayce instructs as you watch him place hot, heavy kisses against vik’s throat. one of his hands groping his thin chest and waist.

“w-warm! it’s so warm and wet,” vik breaks. he’s fully hard now as you suck on his head, making him whimper at the feeling. “feels—ah—really good.” he adds with a groan as his eyes return to watching you.

you can feel his thighs tighten as you swallow more of his cöck, continuing to use your hand to stroke up to your lips. you watch every expression that crosses viktor’s face along with jayce’s fingers that slowly begin to take off his vest. strips him of his vest and then works on unbuttoning his brown shirt underneath.

jayce keeps laying hot kisses along the back of his neck and on his throat, slumped over and threatening to swallow all of viktor’s thin frame.

the sight makes you somewhat giddy and excited to see what jayce does. but it never distracts you from making viktor feel good as well. sucking a little harder, spit bubbling up at the sides of your lips as you sink further down onto his lengthy shaft. your eyes are almost falling close to help you focus as you swallow more and more of him, but jayce’s voice catches your attention once again.

“she looks so pretty like that, doesn’t she, vik? makin’ you feel so good.” he whispers against just as pretty, pale skin. his words cause vik to stutter, hips lifting up and forcing you to swallow the rest of him. and you do so with ease.

you truly wouldn’t have guessed jayce was so good at dirty talk but you welcomed any surprises at this point. viktor simply whines in response, head hanging low, gaze still on you as you continue your routine of sucking him off.

jayce stands to his full height then, hanging over viktor just enough so he could turn his face and capture his lips. viktor’s eyes widen in response but he does nothing to stop jayce; no, instead he’s melting into the kiss. you watch with eager curiosity as their tongues clash together, jayce easily winning in the battle of dominance, as one big hand of his moves up to gently caress viktor’s throat.

fuck, was it hot watching them. you can feel your pussy throbbing at the sight just as you can feel yourself growing wet against your panties. you squeeze your thighs together, slipping a hand down below to press your fingers into your core. the best you can through the pants you wear for the moment but the pressure is enough to make you groan. you move your lips faster along viktor’s shaft, sucking harsher and sloppier to bring him closer to his end.

the change of pace and jayce’s tongue surely has viktor coming undone quicker than usual. for he breaks the kiss with a harsh whine. “i’m close!” vik gasps, tossing his head back onto jayce’s shoulder.

jayce presses a quick kiss against his jaw before his hazel eyes return to watch you suck viktor off. his eyes are hazy and full of lust as he fixes his intense stare on what you do; which makes you shiver with newfound pleasure under his sight. his strong gaze makes you press your fingers into your pussy once again, seeking any form of satisfaction you could get for the moment.

“look viktor,” jayce instructs as his hand smooths over viktor’s lower abdomen. “she’s touching herself.”

viktor’s breath hitches in his throat but he moves his own lust filled gaze down to stare at you. with both of them returning to stare at you, you palm yourself harder through your pants. moving your hips in sync to every bob of your head, needy and desperate as things evolve, all the while you moan around vik’s cock.

it’s all too much for viktor as his hips lift and he thrusts wildly into your mouth. “going to—!” he cries softly, body tightening, throwing his full weight back against jayce.

but jayce is quicker. one hand grabs your hair and pulls you off of vik’s twitching cock before he takes his hand and wraps it around where your mouth had just left. “stick out your tongue. i wanna see the mess he makes all over your face.” he grunts, pumping his fist quickly along vik’s entire shaft. his hand is much bigger than yours and it wraps entirely around viktor with ease, and it makes vik lose all control he might’ve pretended to have.

but you do as your told and swiftly stick your tongue out to catch whatever you can. all it takes is viktor staring at your tongue and jayce’s hand jerking him off to finish his orgasm. viktor forces himself to watch as he comes, fingers grasping and gripping onto anything he can that’s near him as he tumbles over the edge with a sharp cry.

your name, along with jayce’s name, leaves viktor’s lips in a pathetic whimper as he comes. can feel the sticky substance coat your tongue, cheek, and chin with each rope jayce rubs out of him. all the while viktor and jayce watch as he makes a mess across your lips and face, never once looking anywhere else.

not until vik is completely spent, limp against jayce who holds him up effortlessly. the only noise now in the room is the shared panting between all three of you. you lick your lips, trying to clean yourself up just a little, before it was your turn to break the silence.

“let’s keep going.”

[curtins]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[prael]

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

-

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

[fluffylino]

serpent hybrid hyunjin 2 🌱🐍

his venom doesn't have the effects to kill you, instead you find your body craving for him...and his eggs

@seo--changbin gave me brainrot

reblogging > liking

part 1

-contains mature themes (idk wtf possessed me while thinking of breeding and monster cocks aaaa)

its been a while since changbin's come over to your apartment. the rabbit hybrid had grown buffer. stronger, with his muscles quite literally bulging from his armsleeves.

hyunjin and him being the best of friends. an unusual friendship between a serpent and his prey.

lithe and tall versus buff and small.

you couldn't help but ogle at bin's wide upper body, sipping on some tea while you listened to their conversation.

it only lasts for a few minutes, and you stare at hyunjin. taking in the sight of your boyfriend. his scales shining under the light. the newly grown scales on his collarbones giving him a sleeker appearance.

you gulped, watching his long slender tail swish around mindlessly on the floor. eyes wandering to the way he sat on the couch.

legs parted and maybe...just maybe you could see the outline of his length. well his 'lengths'. mentally slapping yourself as you tried to look away.

"hyun...need your help" you say, already going to the kitchen. smiling at changbin. hearing hyunjin saunter into the other room without even questioning why you were calling him there.

"you look too handsome. kiss me."

grabbing his collar, pulling him down to kiss you. a surprised noise leaving him but he laughs. giving you a firm kiss.

"should we buy some pizza for dinn-"

you cut him off, with another kiss. looping your arms around his neck to jump on him. he holds you up, groaning at the sudden eagerness.

firmly squeezing your thighs. pulling away to press a palm over your mouth.

"whats up with you?" he cocks an eyebrow. truly confused with your behaviour.

you bring your hands up to touch his lips. poking his canines. they had grown longer, much sharper.

"not now. later." he lets out. and you feel your mind shut off with how sternly he warns you. whining into his neck.

its only when bin leaves that you realise why you're feeling so desperate.

were you ovulating?

was it just him being hot?

a part of you wondered if it was because he playfully bit you in the morning?

"come here." hyunjin calls out after an hour. finding you sprawled out on the bed with no thoughts in your brain.

standing at the edge of the bed, with his hands on his hips.

"i think you made me horny..." you mumble, staring at the ceiling. lower abdomen burning with want.

he hisses softly.

"this is not normal horny...this is horny on another level..."

glancing at him and you close your thighs. panties soaked. every part of your body screaming for him.

"is it cause i bit you?" hyunjin asks.

his tail wrapping around your ankle casually. and he pulls you closer to him. the display of strength leaving you breathless.

"you're a black mamba. shouldn't i die if you inject me with venom?" you whisper, unconciously spreading your legs apart.

watching as his eyes go down to your panties. the shirt you had on was his.

"so you're saying my venom is actually a 'fuck me please' aphrosidiac ?" hyunjin lets out, letting his finger prod over your panties. feeling how wet you were getting.

"hyun....give it to me"

"give what to you, baby?"

"give me it all"

"what all do you mean, sweetheart?"

"your babies...your e-eggs"

and hyunjin chokes on his spit. the grip his tail has on your leg tightens. watching you with a sharp gaze. tongue peeking out every few seconds . tasting the air.

"god, whats wrong with you" and he pulls you closer.

using the tip of his tail to push your panties to the side. hissing at how you're practically dripping. a mess between your thighs.

"h-hyunjinnn"

"mh?" tail slipping and sliding against your slit. bumping into your clit. chuckling at the way your legs close around it. but he continues poking at your cunt.

"hyunjin!" you whine, awkwardly trying to grind onto his appendage. gasping when he forces your legs apart.

the same musky smell filling the room. his tongue growing longer, fangs peeking through.

"fuck. my heat's creeping up on me" he groans, dropping his head down to exhale heavily. his scales appearing more bolder.

"your smell...you smell fucking delicious" and you whimper. watching as he tastes the air, eyes closing.

"are you gonna eat me mister snake?" you tease nervously. squeaking at the expression he makes.

obviously turned on with you acting so hopeless.

a predator and his prey.

.

.

.

writhing at the mere slide of his girth against your insides. bumps on his length hooking onto your walls.

forcing him to thrust into you with short movements. gripping your thighs with clawed fingers. leaving his marks on your body.

"yeah? i don't usually fuck my prey before eating them whole" the serpent grunts.

a long hiss slipping past his lips. throwing his head back at the feeling of your cunt pulling him in. squeezing his dicks and coating them with arousal.

"h-hyun" you cry, body overheating with how much you wanted. this wasn't enough. you needed to feel him in your cervix.

this wasn't how you'd act. was it really his venom?

"shhh~" as he sits on his haunches. fucking into you harder. his pupils turning into pretty slits. taking in the sight of your body reacting so well to him.

shivering when he places a claw on your breastbone. gently sliding it down to where your uterus would be. and he draws slow circles over the skin.

"want me here, don't you~" and you nod aggressively, not expecting him to slide his finger lower.

placing the pad of his calloused finger over your clit gently. his thrusts having you slide up on the bed and back down.

"you'll take my eggs like a good mate would, won't you, my precious.."

gathering your slick and pinching at your swollen bundle of nerves.

grinning lazily when you let out a little scream. squirming at his tortorous teasing. cooeing as you beg for him.

hands flying down to weakly hold onto his wrist. but he's strong and only flicks your clit meanly.

.

.

.

to say its a weird sensation is an understatement. his hand intertwined with yours, calming you down as one of his dick throbs.

stuffed so deep inside you that when you feel the first egg, its another sensation of fullness.

filling you with more cum while he pumps another into you. maybe soft shelled eggs weren't that bad.

the third egg, however makes you whine at the stretch. a tinge of discomfort.

gasping at how his tail seems to have a mind of its own. wrapping around your ankle and quite literally spreading your legs apart. hooking your left leg over his shoulder.

"m'here. f-fuck taking me so well" hyunjin praises. pressing down on your lower abdomen. revellling in the way you keep it in.

"no venom for you next time" he chuckles, and you breath heavily. overwhelmed with everything. body buzzing with pure pleasure and satisfaction.

"m-more" you tease. laughing at how his eyes widen. going back to normal.

"MORE?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

plz i love snakie hyunnie so much. its an obsession at this point. soft serpent hyunnie drabble coming soon hopefullyyyy

[dreamscapeee222]

Could you write Arcane characters and reader fight. Who is the one to apologize first.

A/n: This took a while. I think I liked writing this one. I hope you like it too !!

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

You’re pacing the apartment, arms crossed as Vi throws her jacket onto the couch, fresh bruises blooming across her knuckles.

"You promised, Vi," you say, voice trembling, though it’s unclear if it’s from anger or worry. "You said you’d stop throwing yourself into danger."

Vi exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "What do you want me to do? Sit back and let everyone fend for themselves?" Her tone is defensive, her walls already going up. "No, I want you to consider how I feel when you walk out that door like you’re invincible!" you shout, tears brimming. She flinches at your words but doesn’t respond, instead turning toward the door. "I need some air," she mutters, leaving before you can say another word.

Hours pass, and the apartment feels impossibly quiet without her. You’re curled on the couch when the door creaks open, Vi stepping in hesitantly. Her face softens when she sees you, guilt written all over her. "I shouldn’t have walked out," she starts, voice low. "And I shouldn’t have made you feel like you don’t matter. You do. More than anything." She sits beside you, her hand brushing yours. "I’ll try to be better—safer—for you. Just… don’t give up on me."

Jinx

The argument starts with something small—a misunderstanding spiraling into chaos, as things with Jinx often do. You’re frustrated, arms crossed as you say, "You can’t just act like nothing matters. You keep running off, leaving me to pick up the pieces." Jinx’s eyes narrow, her voice defensive. "Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you stopped trying to control me, I wouldn’t have to." Her words cut deeper than you’d like to admit. You shake your head, hurt threading through your voice. "That’s not what I’m doing, Jinx. I just want you to let me in." She scoffs, brushing past you with a muttered, "Whatever." The slam of the door leaves the room eerily silent.

Later, you find her sitting on the floor of her workshop, surrounded by half-finished projects. She’s fidgeting with a small gadget, but her movements are jittery, unfocused. When she looks up, there’s a flicker of guilt in her wide eyes. "I’m not good at this, okay?" she says suddenly, her voice soft but frantic. "I mess things up. I don’t mean to, but I do." You step closer, kneeling in front of her. "You didn’t mess up, Jinx. I just—" She cuts you off, shoving a tiny, lopsided trinket into your hands. It’s a crude carving of you two, rough but undeniably heartfelt. "I made this. I was mad, but I kept thinking about how much I hate when we fight." Her gaze drops. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you away. You mean too much to me." You wrap your arms around her, and she clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Her whispered, "Don’t hate me, okay?" is a quiet plea that you’ll never stop reassuring her about.

Caitlyn

The fight begins when Caitlyn forgets to show up for dinner, something you planned weeks ago. You’re sitting at the table, the candles burned low, food cold on the plates when the door finally opens. She looks exhausted, her uniform slightly disheveled.

"Caitlyn," you start, your tone sharper than you intended. "You didn’t even send a message." Her brow furrows. "It was work—there was an emergency. You know I can’t just drop everything." You stand, crossing your arms tightly. "I get that your work is important, but do you ever think about us? About me?" Her expression falters, but instead of conceding, she doubles down. "This isn’t fair. I’m doing everything I can to keep things safe—for all of us." The tension snaps, and you turn away, muttering, "Maybe you’re better off with someone who doesn’t need you to show up."

The silence that follows is deafening. Caitlyn doesn’t respond but leaves quietly, and for the rest of the evening, the apartment feels colder without her presence.

Hours later, the door creaks open again. You’re curled up on the couch, pretending not to notice her until she speaks softly. "I thought about what you said," she begins, sitting on the edge of the couch beside you. "And you’re right. I haven’t been showing you how much you mean to me." You glance at her, catching the guilt in her tired eyes. She reaches for your hand. "I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll do better. For us." Her sincerity melts away your hurt, and as you lean into her touch, she adds with a small smile, "And next time, I’ll at least bring dessert as an apology."

Ekko

The argument begins when Ekko overworks himself again, pushing past limits you’ve warned him about. He’s been up for hours, fixing up a broken clockwork mechanism, his hands trembling with exhaustion.

"You promised you’d take breaks," you say, stepping into the workshop, frustration clear in your voice. "You’re going to burn out, Ekko." He doesn’t look up, his jaw tightening. "I don’t have time to stop. The Undercity needs this, needs me." You cross your arms. "And what about me? Do I even matter in your world of never-ending responsibility?" His head snaps up at that, brows furrowed. "That’s not fair. You know I’m doing this for a reason." The hurt spills out before you can stop it. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting on the sidelines for scraps of your time." You leave before he can respond, your heart heavy.

Hours later, you’re in bed, staring at the ceiling, when there’s a soft knock on your door. Ekko steps in hesitantly, holding a small gadget you’ve seen him working on before—a music box. "I made this for you," he says quietly, setting it down beside you. The melody that plays is soft and familiar, something that always calms you. His voice cracks as he speaks. "I messed up. You’re not on the sidelines—you’re the reason I keep going. I just… don’t know how to balance it all sometimes." You look at him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through your lingering anger. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing yours. "I’ll do better. For you. I swear." The fight doesn’t disappear instantly, but as you lean into him, you know you’ll figure it out together.

Jayce

The fight begins when Jayce cancels plans at the last minute—again. This time, it was supposed to be a rare, quiet evening together, but his work at the Council dragged him away.

You stand in the kitchen, arms crossed, as he walks in late that night. He looks tired, but you’re too frustrated to care. "Did you even think to tell me you weren’t coming?" Jayce sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was swamped. Things ran over—what do you want me to say?" "I want you to say you actually care," you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His expression shifts, hurt flickering across his face.

"That’s not fair," he counters, his tone defensive. "You know I care about you. But this work—it’s not something I can just walk away from." You shake your head, stepping back. "Sometimes it feels like your work is the only thing that matters to you." You leave him standing in the kitchen, retreating to your room and shutting the door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, there’s a soft knock on the door. Jayce steps in, holding a small tray with coffee and your favorite breakfast. His sheepish smile doesn’t quite mask the regret in his eyes. "You’re right," he says, setting the tray down. "I’ve been letting work take over, and that’s not fair to you. To us." He hesitates before sitting beside you. "I hate fighting with you. Please let me make it up to you." You sigh, leaning into his warmth. "You have to actually try, Jayce." His arms wrap around you, his voice soft. "I will. You’re more important to me than anything else. I’ll show you that."

Viktor

The argument starts after you notice Viktor pushing himself too hard again. His lab is dimly lit, a cluttered mess of papers and prototypes, and he’s leaning heavily on his cane while adjusting a mechanism.

"Viktor, you need to rest," you say firmly, stepping into the room. "This isn’t sustainable." He glances at you briefly but doesn’t stop. "There’s too much at stake to rest," he replies, his tone clipped. "You know that." You cross your arms. "I also know what happens when you push yourself past your limits. You can’t keep doing this to yourself." Viktor stiffens, his frustration bubbling over. "And what would you have me do? Sit idle while everything crumbles around me?" The sharpness in his voice stings, and you take a step back. "I just want you to take care of yourself for once," you say quietly before turning and leaving the lab.

Later that evening, you hear a knock on your door. When you open it, Viktor is standing there, looking apologetic, a faint tremor in his hands. "You’re right," he says, his voice softer now. "I’ve been careless with myself, and that’s not fair to you. Or to us." He hesitates, as though searching for the right words. "I never want you to feel like I don’t hear you. I just… get lost sometimes." You step aside to let him in, and he takes your hand gently. "I’ll try to be better—for you. For both of us." His sincerity melts the tension, and as you sit together in the quiet, you know he means it.

Mel

The argument begins with Mel’s tendency to keep her emotions guarded, leaving you feeling shut out again. It happens during dinner, her silence heavy as she focuses on her work instead of you.

"Do you even care about this relationship?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them. Mel’s head lifts sharply, her calm demeanor cracking slightly. "What kind of question is that?" she replies, her tone cool but defensive. You press on, frustrated. "You never let me in, Mel. It’s like you’ve already decided you don’t need me." She sets her utensils down with precision, her voice clipped. "And you’ve decided to make this about you. I have responsibilities that extend beyond personal feelings." The words sting, and you shake your head. "Maybe I should stop trying if you’re not willing to meet me halfway." You leave the room before your voice can break.

The next morning, Mel finds you sitting by the window, your face turned toward the city. She approaches quietly, holding a small, beautifully wrapped box. Without a word, she sets it down beside you. Inside is a delicate bracelet, the design intricate and unmistakably hers. "You’re not wrong," she admits softly, sitting beside you. "I’ve built walls to protect myself, but they’ve shut you out. That wasn’t my intention." Her hand reaches for yours, her touch tentative. "I care for you more than I’m able to show sometimes. Please, don’t doubt that." You turn to her, the vulnerability in her expression easing the ache in your chest. "I don’t need grand gestures, Mel. I just need you." She nods, her voice firm but warm. "And you’ll have me—every piece, no matter how long it takes."

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[foone]

Some technical details under the cut if anyone is interested:

As someone who makes Stupid Keyboards (near to Stupid Mice, and don't think I don't have Stupid Mice ideas): I think this is fake, as in they didn't actually make a Toy Horse That Is A Mouse.

So, first of all, out of context reasons: It was made by Pablo Rochat for Yahoo. He's a director of a group of artists who do marketing stuff for companies. He doesn't have this one on his page yet but based on their other stuff, it seems to be mostly photoshop/video editing based.

And here's the thing: Faking a mouse is frighteningly easy.

Record your screen as you move a real mouse

Play back that video while you move something that's not a real mouse

Done. It looks like it works.

The final reason is that I don't think their lens would work. See, modern optical mice are based on a light + lens + tiny camera. The light shines on the surface so the camera can see the surface move.

The problem is that it's focused right at a set distance, which is supposed to be set to how far the sensor is from the mousepad. Try picking up your optical mouse now (assuming you're not on a phone or laptop): You'll find that it works while not touching the mousepad, but only for a couple millimeters. Once you get farther, it stops.

The reason is the lens: It's trying to get the most contrast possible at a very specific distance, and once you pick it up by more than a few millimeters, it gets too blurry to work.

So lets think about how you'd put a sensor in the horse toy.

The obvious place is in the horse's belly: but then your lens wouldn't work. You'd need a custom lens to make it work. That sounds like a lot of work, and it might not even work with the standard optical chip they use.

The second option would be the hooves. This would work! you're at the right distance, you just need to run the cable down the leg, and you're golden.

Except those hooves are too small. Optical mice are built on standard chips these days:

The chip is a specific size because it is floating over a hole in the PCB. The bottom of the chip is a camera. The lens is a piece of plastic that fits in there. It's hard to tell the scale from this picture I stole, but the problem is the chip is too big to fit down the hoof of that toy horse. Maybe you could do it if you had a horse with some Big Hooves? but there's no way to fit one of these in there. Sorry.

So yeah. They faked it.

Unless they got clever and faked it in another way: That "grass" mousepad could be a tablet. It could be multi-touching the hooves, and then transmitting their location to the PC.

You'd need to wire up the horse so the capacitive touch works, or use a resistive touch screen, but you're still cheating a little.

But all that is hard: faking it completely is easy. So I'm very sure that's what they did. I'd do the same if I was doing art as a client of a company and I had a deadline. It doesn't affect the video if this is "real" or "fake".

btw: I don't say this to lessen anyone's enjoyment of it or as a "callout", I'm just interested in "how real is this" as someone who makes Weird Tech Art too.

Bruh

[notlongtolove]

the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

"Hi," you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—" you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up. 

"Let me tell you about crazy," she says, her grin sharpening. 

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

"Crazy, right," she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. "That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours." You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

"Oh, they’re going fine."

"Fine?" She raises her brows. "Trouble in paradise?"

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.  

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, "I don’t know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little..." She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence. 

"A little… what?" 

"Boring?"

You blink. "Boring?" 

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring. 

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that. 

"Well, yeah, sure we do…" you say finally. "Um, we went to a museum recently." You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.” 

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there," he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long. 

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening. 

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded. 

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.” 

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else. 

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think. 

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours. 

“When.” 

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think. 

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here. 

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.” 

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you. 

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?” 

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes her tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine. 

Because all that matters is that it's going. 

Your garden is growing. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee

[xx-reverie-xx]

Hihi!! I just read your Sevika HCs and I absolutely love them!! I wanted to know if you could (please) write HCs for Sevika and Vi after an argument with their partner? :) Whether it’s an argument the reader started or they started can be completely up to you! Or you could even do both scenarios if you prefer! 💕

Thank you and I hope you have a nice day/evening 💖

🖤Sevika and Vi after an Argument🖤

men dni men dni men dni men dni men dni men dni men dni

🤎Sevika🤎

I don’t think arguments would be common in a relationship with Sevika.

When she locks into a serious relationship, she means serious. She covers all the important bases for a healthy relationship; communication, loyalty, respect, trust, and so much more.

Covering these bases, especially communication, helps to avoid frequent arguments.

It won’t completely cut out the occasional argument though.

When you two do argue, it’s almost always about bigger things. For example, her working so much and not taking much time for herself, or maybe her drinking and smoking.

Post-argument time usually has as “how can we avoid this in the future” moment where you guys have a heart to heart about whatever started the argument.

If you start an argument:

Be prepared to apologize first. And only apologize if you’re really sorry.

You should always finish what you start, after all.

Your apology may be met with an affectionate an eye roll and a huff.

She never stays mad at you for long.

Once you apologize she usually makes space for you wherever she’s sitting and wraps her arm around just to let you know it’s really okay.

If you’re just apologizing because you feel like you need to, don’t. She can see right through you if you’re bullshitting her.

If you’re stubborn like her, sometimes apologizing can genuinely be difficult. She gets that. Which is why her patience with you is a blessing.

Again, when you’re ready to apologize , she’s affectionate and accepts it.

If she starts an argument:

This woman is stubborn. For her to apologize, it just doesn’t feel right.

She’s only ever been truly sorry a few times in her life. In the Undercity, living a life like hers, she never had time to be sorry.

Being sorry gets you hurt. It gets you killed.

But…

It’s obviously different when it’s you. You aren’t a big bad wolf waiting around the corner. You’re her partner, her ride-or-die.

In the heat of the moment, what she said felt right. It felt like something you needed to hear.

The thought of you feeling hurt by something she said just eats her alive.

She comes to you first.

It isn’t anything crazy, usually just a simple, gruff “I’m sorry.”

She’s awkward and stiff about it, but completely genuine.

Asks what she can do to make it up to you, if anything.

❤️Vi❤️

Violet runs hot. She isn’t a loose cannon but someday’s it can be hard trying to keep all of her emotions under wraps.

This has definitely lead to arguments over petty things like dishes in the sink or eating the last of her favorite snack.

It’s also lead to arguments about very serious things. Her pit fighting, drinking, and her occasional impulsivity.

Arguments always hit her hard, even the petty ones. No matter how old she gets, arguments always make her feel like a little kid, just waiting for the ball to drop. The ball being losing you.

That feeling of dread, like this argument could be the last, if that makes sense.

Physical touch is usually present in the make up process after an argument. It helps ground her.

The good news is, the two of you always make up very quickly.

If you start an argument:

If the argument is a petty spat about dishes or snacks, she still apologizes first, albeit rather begrudgingly.

This links back to her feeling like this argument could be the last. What if she never hears “You promised you’d take out the trash this week” ever again?

You, however, shut that down. “It’s my fault, I should be the one apologizing.” You tell her.

These arguments are extremely easy to come back from because you two are always on the same level. Two halves to make a whole, equals

There isn’t a point in staying hung up on petty nonsense for long.

If you start a big argument, you apologize first.

She distances herself and you have to go to her.

You’ll usually find her someplace where she shouldn’t be, like a bar. Or, you might find her someplace safe, like with Loris or another friend she feels comfortable around.

Not only should you apologize, but it would also be a good chance to thoroughly explain why you’re upset or might think something is a bad idea.

Once you do that, she’ll open her arms up to you and usually things can be resolved somewhat easily after that.

If she starts an argument:

Again, she apologizes first.

If she starts an argument, big or small, the dread of possibly losing you over this hits her like bricks.

For smaller arguments, she approaches you casually. If you let her, she’ll wrap her arms around you. An apology hug, if you will.

Says, “I’m sorry, baby,” in the softest voice she can muster.

These smaller arguments are always easier to come back from just because she’s so sweet. How can you ever stay upset when she’s such a sweetie?

Big arguments are something else though.

After she’s said whatever it is that she’s said, the weight of it all is suffocating.

If she said something really stupid and hurtful in the heat of the moment, she might need some space for a bit. Things like that take her back to that day.

But she’ll come to you when she’s ready.

May or may not have a little gift for you for extra measure. Usually it’s something simple like your favorite candy bar.

She tells you she’s sorry and explains why she got so worked up. Usually this leads to a steady and warm embrace and you let her know it’s okay.

hello!!! thank you for the request ♥️ please let me know if you enjoyed it or not. i had so much fun writing these. i kind of got carried away with vi’s headcanons 🙈. . i was purposefully vague about what started the argument so you can sort of imagine your own scenario for why the argument started!🎠

ask box is open for multiple fandoms and nearly every arcane character! check my pinned for rules, fandoms, and characters. i write headcanons, reactions, drabbles, and more!

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[meanbossart]

Sorry if you've gone over this before, but you've said a few times that DU Drow and Astarion both sleep. I know BG3 can be a little fast and loose with the original D&D rules to fit video game logic (some stuff I think they do better for it), and there's no wrong answer here but I was just curious. There's dialogue referring to the player sleeping no matter what race they are, so I figured maybe it was something to do with the tadpoles: Astarion lost a few vampire quirks while infected, maybe elves would lose the ability to trance/meditate and would HAVE to sleep. Or maybe they do still trance and they just say sleep because it's basically the same to non-elves. And on that note, would DU have the ability to trance at all, since he's kind of just... A bhaalspawn wearing a drow-ish skin? Again no wrong answers here cause you're the one running the show, I was just curious if there was any lore going on behind the scenes.

I could go into how most sources I found (at the time and right now) state that elves can sleep if they so wish, and honestly I can also come up with reasons why both Shadowheart and Astarion would choose to avoid reverie... But I'll be honest with you anon, I just don't find the concept very interesting!

The idea of being able to rest without ever actually letting your guard down, plus having the time required to replenish your energy being cut in half, is... Very boring to me, so I ignore it, it's as simple as that 😅 you are free to come up with your own reasons or just pretend I'm saying "meditate" instead of sleeping whenever I mention it.

Regardless of headcanon though, DU drow isn't capable of it and lacks most other perks of being a drow.

[fookinhellcurly]

So last night, one of my fave music reactors on yt dropped a reaction of Right Now live in San Siro, and it was requested by his sister whom he hadn’t really been close with especially the past few years (they were when they were younger). It was out of nowhere when she messaged him, asking if he could do 1D reactions - so of course, he did because he felt it was time.

The whole time he was speaking about Liam in his intro, his was already in the verge of tears and I could feel the pain in his eyes and voice. He’s British and he’s been following the news about Liam since it broke out. I tried to not break down AND MIND YOU, he hasn’t even started the video yet. That Right Now live is arguably one if not the most emotional live performances of 1D for me. It was the perfect song to share with this reactor because he’s not afraid of showing his emotions.

When Liam sang his first solo lines, he straight up looked into the camera while holding back his tears and said “this is my first time hearing Liam sing” and it broke my heart. Throughout the entire video, my mind kept on thinking how beautiful the crowd was in that moment, how they were on top of the world, and how we got to show them how much we loved them so deeply - that we were by their side as they fought through the hardships in reaching their dreams.

And it killed me. Because I remember when the boys were talking about the end of it all; what if their peak was THAT exact time - them in that moment, being in the band, touring with their best mates and being in the height of their careers. Liam referenced Benjamin Button and said maybe they’re meant to do it backwards. That after the glory and the fame, they’re supposed to enjoy life and have families and kids. I’m so glad Li got to become a loving father, but it wasn’t supposed to be cut short and abruptly like this.

Bear was supposed to grow up hearing more stories about his dad when he was a younger and trying to make it as a singer. How he dreamt of becoming a fireman before realizing he has a shot of becoming a star. How he got to be a part of the greatest team this world has seen, sharing the stage with 4 other simple boys who were just like him, just trying to make it, and they did more than that - they are ETCHED IN HISTORY.

And Liam, our sweet Liam, he deserved more time in this world than what he got. He was supposed to release more music he’d been working so hard for to share with us. He was supposed to have his own moment and tour just like the rest of the boys do - those same tours he supported them with. He was supposed to reunite with his best friends and share the stage with them again when the time is right. He was supposed to grow old with us, find help and peace in time so he could heal, and recover from the cruelty of the world he’d face. He was meant to be bigger than this.

And I wasn’t supposed to be writing down these heartbreaking thoughts so early in the day because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Liam, love, I hope you know how much we love you. I hope you have finally found your peace.

It just… it wasn’t supposed to go this way. He was supposed to get the help he deserved and recover. They were supposed to eventually get back together and rob us all (happily, of course) blind of our life savings for their reunion tour tickets. I was supposed to be able to see him in person, bounding around stage, singing his harmonies and verses, doing mic flips, saying “sing it” and reading silly fan signs. He had so much more life left! He had so much more to do!

This isn’t fair! It isn’t right! This shouldn’t have happened! It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

[yuiiiriii]

synopsis : after a traumatic event, Jay, a complete stranger, has only did anything but comfort you. From the night you guys met, it was only humane to fall for one another.

includes : 5.9k words, strangers to lovers, undergroundfighter!jay x reader, smut! (mdni), teasing jay, f!oral receiving, possessive and jealous jay:3

warnings : assault, harassment, overthinking, miscommunication

The streets of Seoul were cold like no other. Approaching winter, it was only obvious. Yet you still forgot to pack a jacket. So you clutch yourself and your bag as you walk down the late night streets. Work was tiring as always and you wanted nothing more but to succumb to your bed.

As you walked your familiar route you always winced at a specific dark alley, it always made you uneasy. You find yourself almost past it when you’re being tugged harshly by your wrist. The lamppost only growing smaller as your tugged into the alley. Your fight or flight mode comes on and you scream. Pushing, punching, kicking, anything you could to get this random guy off of you.

He pins you to the wall, his big hand clasping over your mouth and nose, closing your airways. Your hyperventilating, sobbing, tugging at this guys arm. But he’s just too strong and as you’re still fighting, you slowly feel yourself slipping away. Vision going blurry as a tear runs down your cheek.

Jay leaves the convenience store with a bag in his hand. It’s late, yes, but it’s somehow still busy. So he pulls his hood up, hiding the cuts and bruises that litter his face and lips. He opens his bag of chips, popping one in his mouth. As he gazes at the cars passing by his body freezes and body chills when he hears a scream. His head shoots towards the dark alley and without a thought he’s sprinting in, dropping his bag.

He doesn’t even have to go that far when he sees you struggling. His eyes widen, the pure fear in your eyes. He retracts his hand, clenching his fist, he socks the man in the face. You fall to the ground, choking and gasping for air.

When you look to the side you see a guy on top of the man, beating him to a pulp. You pull your legs to your chest, shaking like a leaf. Jay pants, giving one last kick to the guy, he turns to you, his brows immediately pulling together. He kneels in front of you.

“Hey, let’s go back in to the city okay?” He says softly, lightly grabbing the sides of your arms and lifting you up.

He leads you to a bench, back into the streets. He stares at you worriedly and your gaze is so far off. Your cheeks have a little bruising, making Jay clench his fist. Your eyes are a little wide, tears still lacing them, and your breaths still ragged. You’re shivering so he doesn’t waste a second in unzipping his sweater, putting it around you.

That seems to snap you out of it and you stare up at him. You blink down at your wrists, noticing they were marked from how hard the guy held them. You begin to cry again, rubbing at your wrists harshly. Jay kneels down again, quickly grabbing your hands.

“Hey it’s okay, you’re okay.” He whispers, you glance into his eyes and they look so sincere. You notice a cut on his cheek and you gasp.

“Oh no, you’re hurt.” You whisper, your hand coming up to glide along it. Jay’s eyes widen a bit but he smiles regardless.

“I’m totally fine, let’s worry about you yeah?” His lips pull together in a small smile. You nod, staring at his hands still clasped in yours.

It’s a little odd how you’re very touchy with this guy, he’s a complete stranger. But there’s something so comforting and soothing about him, maybe it’s because he just saved your life but you think it’s more than that.

“Were you…walking home?” He sits down next to you, you hum. He pouts and you let out a giggle.

“I know. Stupid right? I just didn’t think I’d be out of work so late and I live really close by so…” You drift off, Jay does his best to keep you distracted.

“Oh, did you want a ride?” He immediately sputters.

“Uh, I mean, maybe I could walk you home?” He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way and he was pretty sure getting into a strangers car was the last thing you wanted.

“Sure.” You smile, the both of you falling into step with each other.

“So do you always work late?” He breaks the silence, in no way was it awkward but he’d be lying if he didn’t want to get to know you more.

“Kinda? I don’t know stuff at the office has been more demanding lately. So I have to stay overtime.” You pout and he smiles, only because you look so adorable.

You reach the gate to your apartment and turn around to him. He seems to be pondering and you perk up.

“Oh! Your sweater!” You move to take it off but he stops you, sliding the fabric over you once again and zipping it up.

“It’s cold. Just keep it.” He smiles and you open your mouth to protest but he stops you.

“Would you want me to walk you home from work?” You blink, you were already home.

“You mean like…for the next time?” You tilt your head and he laughs.

“Yea, for the next time.” You quickly raise your hands.

“You really don’t need to! You’ve helped me so much already.” You play with the string from his sweater.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t know if I’d be happy with myself if you weren’t safe.” He mumbles, a faint blush on his cheeks. Yours resembling his now.

“Ok then.” You quip, smiling at the ground. He hands you his phone and you type in your number.

“Your names pretty.” He smiles and you laugh.

“Thanks…”

“Jay. It’s Jay.” He laughs.

“Right.”

As you were about to bid him goodbye, loud tires screeching is heard behind him, the both of you turning to the culprit.

“Jay! Where the fuck have you been! I’ve been calling-” Heeseung shuts up at the sight of you, making his lips curl in a teasing smirk.

“Oh? So this what you’ve been ignoring me for?”

Jay pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Hold on.” He murmurs to you.

You stand there blinking as Jay talks to the guy, you’re assuming they’re pretty close. He then sends you an apologetic look, waiting patiently as Jay walks back to you.

“So I guess I’ll see you when you get off work?” He smiles down at you and you nod.

“Yea. I’ll text you.” You smile.

“Take care okay? Only a call away.” He smiles, getting into the car.

You laugh bidding him goodbye as Heeseung speeds away.

Jay rests on his bed, fresh out of the shower. It’s been a week and he hasn’t gotten a text from you. Now he knows he shouldn’t pry or bug you, you have a life and so does he.

Maybe you just decided you didn’t want his help anymore. But still. Jay can’t help himself, so he shoots you a text.

Jay

Haven’t been working late?

He bites his lip.

Really Jay? That’s all you could think of?

He sighs, tossing his phone on the bed as he finishes drying his hair. That is until he gets a ping, his eyes gazing at his phone. He picks it up and smiles at the sight of your name on his screen.

Y/n:)

Haven’t worked this whole week lol.

I asked for time off

Because yk…

Jay frowns, the thought of you still scared that you didn’t even wanna go to work aches him. He wanted nothing more than to protect you, at least by his side he’d always make sure you were safe.

Jay

I understand

I hope you’ve been well:)

Y/n:)

I have been thank you Jay

I hope your week is going well

He sighs, if only it were that easy. He’s been packed with fights on fights. Heeseung has had him booked to the brim, trying to earn that ‘fast cash’ as he’d say.

He rolls his eyes at the thought. He gazes down at his hands, the cuts and bruises that litter them. The small cut on his cheek that’s almost done healing. The two of you send a few more texts and that was pretty much it. However you roam his mind all of the time. Your smile, your cute flushed face, your laugh, your voice.

So Jay is only ecstatic when you send him a text, letting him know you had went to work today. He throws on a t shirt and some baggy black jeans, pairing it with a black jacket.

He looks at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair and spraying a bit of cologne. As he walks to the living room to grab his shoes, Heeseung stares at him with confused eyes.

“What are you wearing? Where’re you going?” He says standing in front of him.

“Gotta pick up Y/n.” Jay says lightly, finishing his other shoe.

“The fight?!” Heeseung yells in disbelief.

“I said I wasn’t fighting tonight. Figure it out.” Jay grunts, clearly irritated. Heeseung crosses his arms.

“You gotta, there’s a lot of money. I’ll pick you up when you’re done walking her home.”

Jay doesn’t say a word but slam the door behind him. He huffs as he makes his way over to you. He feels undressed when he stands next to you.

You’re in slacks, a button up, with your trench coat draped over your shoulders, a scarf wrapped around you, your heels clanking on the floor.

He’s at a loss for words.

God you were so pretty and even prettier when you shoot him a smile, waving at him.

“Hey.” You say a little too giddily.

“Hi Y/n.” He smiles, standing in front of you.

“Oh! Your sweater. I washed it for you.” You hand it over to him and he gives you a heartwarming smile.

“You didn’t have to you know?”

“I know. I wanted to.” You stuff your hands in your pocket.

He smiles, throwing it over his shoulder. Jay stands close to you as you both walk, which brings you comfort, you know it’s just his presence though.

“You’re all dressed up. You going somewhere tonight?” You grin, playfully teasing him.

Jay flushes, he would admit that he did try with his appearance tonight, even if he is just walking you home. He needed to get a grip.

“Uh, you could say that.” He scratches at his jaw. You chew your lip, not being able to resist the guilt of possibly holding him back.

“You know Jay if you were busy you didn’t have to walk me home. Even though I appreciate it.” You send him a nervous smile and he quickly shuts you down.

“N-No! I don’t necessarily have plans. I just wanted to look nice.”

For you.

He’d like to add but he fears it might be too early for that.

You hum, readjusting your bag. He catches this and swiftly pulls it off you, slinging it around him. When you look at him to say something he just sends you a smile.

The two of you are red in the cheeks but you’d both just blame it on the cold weather. His heart pangs when your apartment comes into view. Hating how shortly lived your guys talks and walks were.

“Well, this is my stop.” You turn to him and he hands you your bag.

You noticed how red his nose has gotten and you laugh, making him blink in confusion. You unwrap your scarf, placing it over Jay’s neck, his breath hitching.

“There.” You pat it down, your hands sliding off his chest.

“It’s getting colder Jay, make sure to cover up.” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re to cute.” He says before he can even stop himself. You both freeze, staring at each other wide eyed.

“Uh, sorry, it just slipped.” He laughs dryly, running a hand through his hair. You laugh it off, not ignoring how it made your heart skip a beat.

“I was gonna ask, maybe if you’re not too busy after work we could grab something to eat? On me of course.” You hum, nodding up at him.

“I’d love that Jay.” He hums, hands in his pocket as he watches you reach the gate.

“Have a goodnight and get home safe.” You narrow your eyes at him and he laughs.

“I will, goodnight.”

Almost as if on cue, Heeseung is pulling up next to him, rolling down his window.

“Come on! We don’t have much time!”

Even though you’re inside, you pause a little watching them interact. Heeseung throws him a tank top and Jay quickly takes off jacket and shirt.

Your eyes bulge out of your skull.

He was so toned and lean. His biceps perfectly sculpted and his back muscles. Don’t get started on his abs. You hurriedly turn around rushing up to your apartment. After he slides on the tank top, he’s closing the car door shut.

“So have you kissed her yet?” Heeseung cheekily says and Jay groans.

“Shut up and drive man.”

You and Jay’s little walks became a routine and ultimately, something you looked forward after your harsh work. Jay did end up taking you out for dinner the next day and now you guys try something new every single time you go out to eat. It became something you both enjoyed.

Especially for Jay, after rough matches and knowing a belt fight was awaiting him. Being with you always seemed to keep him at bay.

You’re on your break when a coworker of yours comes up to you. Nelly. She was nice but also nosey.

“Hey girl, you didn’t tell me you had such a hot boyfriend!” She exclaims and you almost choke on your drink.

“W-What?”

“Yea! The guy that’s been walking you home for what? More than a month?” You’re flushed and she grins.

“Does he have any hot friends too? Set me up!” She pats the wall of your cubicle.

“We’re not dating Nelly. But sure I’ll ask him.” You mutter and she barks back a dragged out thank you. You laugh to yourself pulling out your phone and sent a couple texts to Jay.

Y/n ❤️

omg my coworker has been spying on us

not actually lol but she mentioned you always walking me

and also mentioned if you have any hot friends

anyways gotta get back to work, see you after Jay:)

Jay spits out a wad of blood, cringing at the cold water that’s being poured over him.

“Come on man, this guy ain’t any different, you got him.” Heeseung says, his words of encouragement to lock in Jay’s position for the belt fight.

Jay had been training for weeks upon weeks. There was no way Heeseung would let him lose now.

With a ding, both fighters are meeting up in the middle of the ring, circling one another. Few punches are thrown, which Jay dodges with expertise. Jay lands a damaging liver shot, causing the fighter to falter. Jay’s eyes glimmer with fire upon seeing an opening.

With a faint jab he’s knocking his opponent out with his signature right hook. The crowd roars as Jay smiles, the arena screaming his name. In the locker room, Jay dries his hair from the shower.

“My man!” Heeseung laughs, slapping him right on the back, Jay winces and Heeseung mumbles a small sorry.

“You’re a money maker you know that? We’ll probably be millionaires when you win that belt fight.” He laughs and Jay shakes his head, a small smile lacing his features.

“I’ll see you at the apartment, gotta get Y/n.” Heeseung eyes widen a little.

“Uh Jay?” He turns to him.

“It’s not too late?”

Jay freezes, ripping out his phone from his pocket, seeing missed texts and missed calls from you, he curses, sprinting out the doors. If Jay had calmed down and maybe stopped to think he would’ve asked Heeseung to give him a ride. Yet of course he didn’t, and he’s sprinting to your job.

Coincidentally, your work wasn’t far from the underground gym he fights at but still he was tired from the performance he just put up. When he arrives at the front of your job, he calls you, panting.

“Y/n, Hey! I’m sorry I’m late—” He says rushed out but you interrupt him.

“Jay, it’s okay. My friend gave me a ride home. My house is on the way to his anyways.”

His?

It doesn’t sit right with Jay, as a matter of fact it irks him. Jealousy bubbles in his chest and he can’t resist the way his tone changes.

“Oh, did he get you something to eat?” He taps his phone, his jaw clenched.

“Yea, we went out.” He grips his phone tighter, rolling his eyes.

“Great.” He replies shortly and you side eye your phone, a pout gracing your lips.

“I told you Jay if you’re busy you don’t have to feel obligated to walk me home.” You sigh and so does he.

“It’s not that, I—just had to do something and it slipped my mind.” His words don’t help the situation and you frown.

“You’re proving my point.” You laugh awkwardly and he grows frustrated.

“You know what I gotta go, glad you got someone else to take you home.” He doesn’t even let you answer before he hangs up, leaving you dumbfounded.

Jay hadn’t texted you for almost two weeks and you were both frustrated and worried. Even if he did answer he’d respond with short replies or excuses as to why he couldn’t walk you home. You can’t help but repeat your guys last conversation over and over in your head.

Was he jealous? You guys never discussed what you guys were.

You guys had to be just friends right? Pushing down your feelings and looking at it realistically you truly didn’t know if Jay even reciprocated your feelings.

Even if there was knowledge to how you both felt, there was no label.

It’s not like Jay was doing any better. He was upset and yet he has no reason to be since you guys weren’t even together, it still bothered him.

Jay knew he liked you but he wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. And even though this guy was your friend he couldn’t stop his mind from racing at the thoughts of you seeing other people.

That thought alone leaving a sour taste in his mouth and an ache in his heart. It was bothering him so much he wasn’t even doing good in training.

“Damn man, what is wrong with you? You got the power but where’s your strategy. You’re fighting sloppy. The fight is tomorrow.” Heeseung says frustratedly and even a little worried. Jay rips his gloves off, tossing them to the side.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Jay snaps. Heeseung grows angrier.

“What the fuck is your problem? Things ain’t going good with your girl?” Jay scoffs, taking a drag out of his water.

“I’ll take that as a yes, don’t fuck this up.” Heeseung says, walking away.

“Fuck you.” Jay spits, his breathing uneven.

Leaving him alone to rustle with his thoughts.

You’re at work when you overhear your coworkers talking about some fight in the lunch room.

“Man! You said you’d come! This is like the biggest fight ever!” He exclaims pointing at a paper. You blink and continue to eat your food.

“Who’s fighting again?” Another coworker asks and the guys eyes glint with excitement.

“The one and only RAS! Jongseong Park! Jay?” The guy says and your head snaps towards them.

Their words die out.

It couldn’t be your Jay right?

“Hey, can I see it?” You point to the paper and your coworkers stare at you confused.

“Uh sure.”

Your eyes almost bulge out your skull when you see Jay on the front of it, a lopsided grin on his handsome face adorning no shirt at all.

He was a boxer?!

Scratch that an underground fighter?! You couldn’t believe your eyes.

“They’re fighting tonight?” You say in disbelief and the guy hums.

“I didn’t take you as a boxing watcher?” The guy grins and you hum.

“My brother is obsessed with it.”

Is the last thing you say before making your way to your computer. Searching up Jay’s name and the fight to begin with. You find nothing other than small posts about it.

However you find a an address, matching the same one on the paper. It was less than fifteen minutes from your job.

You realize now that the topic of Jay’s occupation never was mentioned. But now it made sense, all of the injuries he’d have.

You can barely focus on your work for the rest of the day. Only on Jay and this fight that was coming up.

Immediately after you clock out you’re making your way to said address. It’s in a very sketchy part of the city. You can’t help but feel like a piece of meat with the way everyone stares you down. However you make it to the building and it looks like a motel.

“I’m here for the fight?” You say and the guy blinks at you.

“Fifty bucks.” He says and you sigh, sliding the cash over to him. He nods at the guards and they let you pass, opening a door.

As you walk down the stairs, screams and cheers grow louder. You gawk at just how big this place was. It was like an underground stadium! You quickly notice all of the banners, posters, cutouts, you name it, of Jay.

As you walk through the crowds, you’re being stared down once again. You understand why, you look too formal to be here. Most of the women wearing little to no clothing, you stood out like a thorn. The lights turn off and you gasp. Shining right in the middle of the ring. The crowd silencing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” He yells and the crowd roars, claps, throwing drinks.

“This fight lasts ten rounds, each three minutes long. Make sure to place your bets because we’re ready to rumble!” He screams, further pumping up the crowd.

“Fighting out of the blue corner, Ethan, Boogieman Davis!” The crowd is filled with boos and cheers, the man raising his hands up, holding them near his ears.

“Out of the red corner. The one and only, Jongseong RAS Park!”

The whole ground shakes with the amount of people screaming for him. Jay smiles, raising his gloved hand and bowing.

“God he’s so fucking hot right!” A random girl nudges you and you blink at her.

“He must be so good in bed. All that stamina has gotta go somewhere.” She laughs and you flush.

As the round starts you’ve accepted that you can’t watch it. To scared to see the outcome or watch Jay get punched. So you roam around the place. You pass by the bar and what looks like to be a food court and the restrooms.

Until you find another set of stairs. You walk up them as the scream’s Ooo’s! and Ah’s begin to fade again. You find a hallway, doors littering them. As soon as you reach one of them, it opens. You freeze and the mystery person doesn’t stop until they see you.

“No fucking way.” Heeseung gawks. You blink at him and he hasn’t moved.

“W-What are you—How? Oh my god.” He freaks out, pacing and grabbing at his hair. You open your mouth to say something but he cuts you off, pushing you by your shoulders.

“Honey you need to leave like right now and act like you’ve never ever came here ok?” He says all rushed out and you stop spinning towards him.

“I’m not leaving.” You pout and he groans.

“If Jay sees you. I’m dead!” He emphasizes with his hands.

“Scratch that. He can’t see you.”

“Why?”

“He’ll lose! I don’t know what has happened between you but you have got him riled up and in a bad mood for the past two weeks! So if he sees you there’s no way he’s winning. And I need him to win!” Heeseung says almost desperately.

“Well I can’t leave.” Heeseung whines and looks down at you, nibbling on his lips.

“Fine! But you’re staying in here.” You open your mouth to protest but Heeseung isn’t having it.

“Stay. In. Here. You’re safer in here anyways.” He sighs.

“I gotta go, Jay needs me.” He says, throwing an apologetic look your way and leaving without another word. Y

ou can still hear faint cheers and you sigh, your nerves all over the place.

Back down in the ring, it’s the 6th round. Both fighters are already battered up and even though Jay looked almost unscathed, he has a nasty gash on his eyebrow, due to the opponent “accidentally” headbutting him.

“You have to end this quick. He’s playing nasty, technically you’re winning by that point deduction but still. We want a knockout.” Heeseung says as a medic helps to clean and stop his cut from profusely bleeding.

The seventh round commences and without a second passing the “Boogieman” is delivering hard punch right to the Jay’s gash, making him stumble. The guy grins and doesn’t hesitate to land calculated punches on Jay.

He’s against the ropes, trying to block and evade any punches that are being thrown.

He’s so tired.

He wants to stop.

He wants it to be over.

Maybe if he just let one connect and lose it’d be fine.

His mind travels to you, your voice buzzing through him. ‘My Hero.’ You once said jokingly to him when he caught you from almost tripping. He smiles at the memory.

God did he miss you so fucking much.

At this time you both would probably be roaming the streets, getting snacks and cracking jokes. With the seventh round surely going to his opponent, Heeseung grows worried.

“Fuck, come on man. You gotta win this. If not for yourself, for Y/n.” Jay’s head snaps towards Heeseung and he gulps.

You’re with Jay all the time, when he’s home, training or even right now. You never leave his mind. Even though you don’t know this side of him, he’ll use you as his motivation.

That if he wins this, he’ll stop being a fucking coward and fess up his feelings for you, maybe even kiss you like he’s always wanted to.

So with the beginning of round eight, he lets his opponent land a couple of hits, reading his movements. It’s a risky play and Heeseung is practically shitting himself.

Right when his opponent goes into his mantra of rushed punches, Jay waits for an opening.

Stupid move.

The “Boogieman” had let his guard down, believing Jay wouldn’t do anything other than block. But in a moment Jay is ducking, turning his body, he’s delivering a nasty uppercut.

The whole crowd silences for a moment, sitting at the edge of their seats as the fighter hits the ground. The referee begins his counts and people begin standing up, counting with him. Jay breathes heavily, ready for sign that his opponent might get back up.

However the ref reaches ten, signaling the fight is over. The arena is louder than ever, as Jay smiles in relief, almost laughing. Heeseung and some people from their team join him in the ring, picking him up and cheering. With the announcer, both fighters and the referee between them.

“Our new lightweight champion by KO, Jongseong ‘RAS’ Park!” The announcer drags out, the referee holding his hand up as they wrap the belt around his waist. Jay smiles as the crowd chants his name, holding his belt. Jay gives a small speech, showing his respects to his opponent, the fight is over.

As quickly as victory is there it’s gone when Heeseung remembers you waiting in the locker room. The both of them walking up the steps.

“Jay.” Heeseung says and he turns around.

“What’s up.” He says stopping in front of the door. Heesung’s gives him an envelope.

“Y/n is here.” He almost whispers and Jay grows angry.

“Really man, that’s not fucking funny.” He rolls his eyes, beginning to turn the handle.

Heeseung stands with his head down as Jay opens the door and sees you standing there. The envelope falling from his hands.

He blinks once.

Then twice.

Then he’s turning around, definitely going to kill Heeseung.

“Wait!” You both yell and Jay freezes, his eyes snapping towards you. You stand there with a pout.

“Just, talk to me please. Deal with him later.” You mumble. Jay sends a glare to Heeseung.

“Leave.” He grits and Heeseung is gone in a flash.

Jay picks up the envelope and closes the door behind him. You watch as he sits on the bench, unwrapping his hands. You sigh at the cuts on his face. He doesn’t pay you any mind until you’re in front of him with a first aid kit.

“What’re you-” You hold his face and he blushes, eyes meeting yours.

You stare at him a little longer before you begin to open the box. You inspect the deep gash on his eyebrow. Your finger softly gliding around the skin.

“You’re gonna need stitches.” You whisper and he hums.

“Did you win?” You break the silence and he sighs.

“Mhm.” He says shortly, making you pout. You narrow your eyes and push the cloth with alcohol in to one of his cuts.

“Ah! What the hell!” He groans staring up at you.

“You ignore me for two weeks and you’re still mad? I don’t even know what I did!” You continue to pout as you tend to his wounds.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says.

“I’m being stupid.”

“Yea you are.” He narrows his eyes at you and you smile.

“Actually I have a right to be mad. Why are you here.” He frowns, crossing his arms.

“What? You didn’t want me finding this out? The one and only RAS?” You tease and he groans.

“You don’t care?” He grows a little conscious.

“No? It’s hot anyways.” He blushes again and you smile, gliding your thumb along a cut in his lip.

“You should be happy. You won.” You say softly and he nods.

“Thanks to you.” He gazes up at you and blink.

“I thought of you, you’re like my only motivation.” He mumbles, now his ears and neck were red. You smile and swiping his hair out of his face.

“You big sap.” You laugh, biting your lip. His hands come up to rest on the small of your back, rubbing circles.

“I really like you.” He whispers and your heart clenches.

“And I’ve been such a fucking coward and when you mentioned that guy—I just.” You can’t help but smile.

“I like you to Park.” He rolls his eyes, you lean down and peck his lips.

His eyes widen, staring at you in disbelief. You smile cutely as you clean his cut, but he grabs your wrist. He stands up, caging you against the lockers. His hand cups the back of your neck, the other on your waist. He pulls you into another kiss. You both lose yourself in each other, your hands tightly gripping his tank top.

“Wanted to do this for so long.” He breathes against your lips. His hand slides down, gliding along your waist and back.

“Got so mad when you mentioned that guy.” He huffs, nibbling on your bottom lip. You gasp and he shoves his tongue in your mouth.

“M-My friend?” You question and he almost growls.

“Don’t care what he is. You’re mine.” He breaks away from your lips, planting kisses down your neck.

“J-Jay.” You moan, your hands gripping his hair.

He hisses, clamping his teeth down on your neck. You whine, craning your neck to give him more access as your hands drag down his chest. You finally feel the muscle and rigid of his abs, making you bite your lip.

“Please.” You whine and he smirks.

“What you begging for huh?” He whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe, you grip his shoulders and he grins.

He pats your thighs and you jump. He carries you with ease, setting you on the counter of the sink. His hands rub at your thighs as he slots himself between your legs, spreading them apart.

“Can I?” His hand rests on your shirt and you nod. He teasingly unbuttons it slowly one by one.

“Jay stop teasing.” You whine, tugging at his wrist.

“Such an impatient girl.” He smiles, sliding the shirt off of you. He immediately places kisses on the apple of your breasts, squeezing one of them.

“So fucking beautiful.” He whispers in to your skin.

“I’m gonna take these off okay?” He says, tugging at your slacks. You nod dumbly and he smiles, pecking your lips.

As he works off your pants you rake your nails along his abs, making him shudder. He drops down to his knees, placing kisses and sucking marks into your plush skin, massaging your thighs.

“Perfect, you’re so perfect.” He gazes up at you and you moan at the sight.

He peels off your panties, licking his lips upon seeing your glistening folds.

“Fuck pretty, you’re wet.” You whine in embarrassment, your hands shooting to cover your face and he laughs.

Licking a long achingly strip. You sigh, your thighs twitching. He cups the back of your knees, placing your legs on his shoulders. He sucks and nips at your clit, pretty noises leaving your mouth as your juices cover his mouth.

“Taste so sweet.” He groans and you flush at his words.

“S-Stop talking—ngh!” You moan as he inserts two fingers inside your greedy hole.

“What was that baby?” You whine, as he pumps them inside you, his arm flexing.

“You’re mean.” You whimper and he only smiles wider.

As his fingers move faster so does his tongue, flicking your bud. His lips so plump and fast.

“Jong—” You moan and he can feel his cock twitch.

“Fuck, say it pretty girl.” He pulls out his fingers and you pout at the emptiness until he’s replacing it with tongue. A guttural moan leaving you.

“Close! So close Jongie.” Your hole clenches around his tongue, only sucking him in.

He groans against you, only adding more stimulation, feeding the fire that you feel in your core. His hand moves up to rub your clit, he feels you flutter against him, your cunt spasming against him.

“Cumming!” You cry out, your legs closing around him as your hand tugs at his hair, riding his face. He licks and sucks up all your juices, rubbing soothing circles on the inside of your thighs.

“Did so good for me.” He says breathlessly, peppering soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, even one on your tummy.

Your head still fuzzy from your orgasm but you smile down at him. He gently slides your panties back on along with your pants. He wipes his face with one of his towels, placing a kiss on the side of your head.

“So does this mean I can take you out on a date?” He asks, his hands at your waist once again.

“After that performance, I can’t say no.” You grin, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re talking about my fight or my mouth.” He grins as you shove him away.

“Who knew you were such a freaking tease.” You flush, his hands intertwining with yours.

“Still waiting on that answer angel.”

“You called me like a million names already.” You laugh and he smiles.

“Just seeing which ones I like more but they all suit you.” He smiles and you do too.

“Yes Jay, I’ll go on a date with you.” He pecks your lips, tasting yourself on his lips.

“It’s Jongseong to you or Jongie.” He grins.

“Just to be clear you’re mine right? I just don’t wanna ask you like this.” He raises his brows.

“Yes, I’m yours.” You laugh.

“All yours Jongie.” You drag out and he nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Atta girl.”

Heeseung😒

wrap it up dude

the owner is waiting for you two to leave

glad you made it to third base though;)

[danroiie]

Jayce Talis x male!reader. NSFW. MDNI.

content; soft!needy!dom!Jayce. sub!reader. grinding against clothes. fucking on a desk. light masturbation (received). rough but soft grinding. maybe a little bit of “friends” to lovers(?. he is a ‘please’ boy.

A/N; I need more of him x m!reader. 👹 #needthat. Well, what I was coming to. English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammatical error, I do what I can 😪🫶🏻. Feel confident to correct me (as long as it is with respect, of course)

By the way, this was planned to be longer, but in the end I didn't like it and I cut that part leaving only the action. You can imagine what you want about what happened before.

The second punch of the day hit his right cheek. This time, you felt the regret forming in your chest as you watched him complain of the pain. But despite that, his hand was still firmly clinging to you, with no intention of letting you go. You took his wrist, trying to separate his hand from your forearm, but the only thing you got was a war of struggle through the room.

The fight ended only when you were cornered between your desk and Jayce. Most of the things that were on the nearby desks ended up on the floor. You don't know how long you two had been like this, but the sweat had already accumulated on your forehead because of the physical effort, just like on Jayce's.

He was close enough to you that you could feel his breath hitting your chin. You both stared at each other, trying to regulate your breaths. You hadn't noticed how much he had changed until he was very close. His hair was longer than usual, as was his facial hair. You were surprised that you were able to recognize him just moments ago.

For his part, you were almost the same since the last time he saw you. Of course, the only difference was the small dark circles under your eyes, but other than that everything remained the same. You kept looking at him with those eyes even though your expression or words wanted to make him believe otherwise. Your hair was not in that tidy hairstyle you used to wear; it was untidy and small strands stuck to your forehead because of the sweat. That only made you look so much better.

His gaze unconsciously turned to your ajar mouth.

He had really missed you, more than he should have.

You felt one of his hands slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, where it stood still and firm. You swallowed hard as you continued to look at him carefully, avoiding losing any other movement. You watched him exhale in a very peculiar way as he met your eyes again. He approached uncertainly, stopping millimeters from you. You could swear that his nose brushed against yours.

And what had only happened in your deepest dreams was fulfilled.

His lips crashed with yours in a fierce and needy way that barely gave you time to react. The hand that was on the back of your neck had now tangled between your hair.

You clung to the collar of his shirt to bring him closer to you. He let out a gasp among kisses as he carefully got you on top of the desk, positioned himself between your thighs. His kisses moved away from your lips only to continue their journey across your cheek, whispering repeatedly how much he had missed you as he passed by your ear. His path then moved down to your neck where he left sloppy kisses.

After a short time, you began to feel a small erection growing in the middle of your legs. You felt your face burn with embarrassment and you tried to close them, only to remind that Jayce was between them. The small pressure on his hips made him stop at his work with your neck to look down confused by the sudden movement. He let out a low and small laugh as he raised his head again to look at you, smiling sweetly before planting a small kiss on one of your reddened cheeks. "Don't hide it from me" he whispered to you with that same low tone in your ear, his hands slowly went down to the buckle of your belt.

His forehead rested on yours as he closed his eyes. You did the same as you felt one of his hands slip inside your trousers. The two of you let out a gasp in unison when he finally managed to touch you over the fabric of your underwear; you clung to one of his arms at the same time as your other hand clung to the wood of your desk.

His touch began slowly and softly, as if he was afraid of hurting you. Then, he started to go a little faster when he made sure you were wet enough.

"You look so pretty like that" he managed to say with difficulty.

"Shut up"

A contagious giggle escaped from his lips and you couldn't help laughing too.

You moan in reply when you feel his hand move away from you, but that didn't last long. His hands rested on the lower part of your thighs, raising them slightly upwards, which caused you to almost have to lie down on the desk. You looked at him confused for a few moments until you felt his own erection colliding with yours.

You heard him let out a hoarse moan before he leaned down to find you. You got up as best you could with your elbows. Your gaze traveled to your crotch, where you could better appreciate his erection against yours.

You couldn't help but moan when you saw that.

You felt Jayce's arms rest on both sides of you and the soft touch of his forehead against yours. You looked up to meet his eyes again; he watched you for a short time before leaning over to kiss you.

You could feel how he began to grind against you faster and faster, so much so that your desk began to move, throwing some of the papers that you had previously scattered on top to the floor. You felt your legs falter, but Jayce's hands made sure not to let them fall by clinging tightly to your thighs.

After a while, both of you let go of each other's mouths, with a small thread of saliva connecting your lips.

“Ah fuck-” You whimper, almost out of breath “I’m gonna-”

“Don't look away, keep looking at me, please”

Your underwear was soaked with the fluids of both. Your elbows hurt from the effort to support your weight, and not to mention your legs. Them were only still up thanks to Jayce. Your back began to arch from time to time, and you knew that soon you would cum.

Your breathing was a mess. You no longer knew if what came out of your mouth were moans, if you were just hyperventilating, or even a mixture of two.

For god's sake, it was just a grind, why was it making you so fucking bad?

“Jayce, I can’t… I… I need it, I need it so bad”

“Ssh It’s okay, I'm right here” he whispered to you in gasps “Why don't you lie down completely, hmm?”

Your back leaned completely against the desk. His hands grabbed your arms and brought them straight to his neck, where he quickly intertwined them before returning his hands to your thighs.

“Just let me make you feel good”

His face was hidden in the hollow of your neck as he continued to grind against you desperately. You clung to the fabric of his shirt, biting his shoulder and muffling the sound of your whimpering. You could only hear the sound of your desk hitting the wall of the room and Jayce's sometimes hoarse moans.

After a moment you heard him curse as he moved away from your neck, looking for your gaze.

“I need you to cum with me, baby, can you do it, please?”

You nodded quickly; you didn't make an effort to say anything because you knew it would be in vain since only incessant whining came out of your mouth. You looked at him, and you could swear that you had come right at that moment; the way he looked at you pleadingly and needy made you question which of the two looked more pathetic now. It was a miracle that you could contain yourself. You clung to his back tighter when you felt your pelvis contract as well as your legs. You would do it; you were close.

On your way to hide your face in the hollow of his neck one of his hands stopped you, holding you by the nape.

“Look at me when you cum, baby, don't hide your face, yeah?” you didn't tell him anything, but it wasn't necessary. The way your eyes looked at him told him everything.

For a moment, you genuinely believed that the desk would break under you. Jayce's hips began to move against you in a disastrous way, with an irregular but fast and strong rhythm. One of his knees rose to lean on the corner of the desk, and you felt one of his arms take you by your lower back. You could see the sweat on his forehead.

Your vision clouded as you felt the heat forming inside you; your orgasm approaching with each stroke. And, as if he knew, the grip on your thigh tightened harder, just like the one on your back.

“oh yes!, please, please, please, please”

Your body reacted to his words, and that's when you felt the barrier of all your control break. You felt your orgasm hit you with a wave of pure pleasure all over your body. You cried out, your voice broke with lust and need as you felt your legs tremble just like your back arched. Feeling your body pressing against you, Jayce's own climax rose to the foreground with the intense sensations pushing him to the limit.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his eyes rolling back with hips jerking erratically.

His body fell on yours, avoiding crushing you, of course. Your foreheads joined together while trying to regulate your breaths; both let out a small chuckle as you looked into each other's eyes. As the last pulses of his orgasm faded, Jayce tenderly wiped the tears and saliva from your face, which you hadn't even realized you had. He looked at you with sweetness and softness, still holding your face.

"You have a lot to explain" a smile drawn on your lips.

"You have no idea"

[bisexualcharmanderenergy]

Claribel knew the curse was unbreakable. Okay, that wasn’t technically true. Technically, all magic that could be done could be undone; the trick was to make the condition of its undoing extremely difficult to achieve. The particular curse Claribel had placed, that no man would ever fall in love with Marina Kedar again, could only be undone upon the death of the dragon of Shadowpeak Mountain, and since that wasn’t going to happen for five hundred years, which was far longer than Marina, being a human, would live, the curse was for all intents and purposes unbreakable.

This would have been amazing and Claribel’s coven would have been praising her for a job well done… if only she hadn’t put the curse on Marina Kedar rather than Martina Kedar. Martina had absolutely deserved the curse, given her cruel habit of seducing young men, insisting they give up everything and everyone they cared about for her, and then abandoning them. Marina, on the other hand, was a genuinely lovely person who did not by any means deserve to be unloved for her entire life.

“I think you’re about to get your ass kicked,” Claribel’s raven familiar, Ferdinand, announced as he flew in her window. “Marina Kedar is riding into these woods, and she has a sword.”

“Fuck.” Claribel sighed. “I guess I’d better face the music. If she kills me, tell the rest of the coven what happened.”

“And not peck her eyes out?” Ferdinand looked at Claribel in disbelief.

“I just ruined her chances of a happy marriage,” Claribel pointed out. “If she wants to kill me, she is completely justified.”

Ferdinand’s retort was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Claribel spoke up as soon as she opened the door. “I know an apology isn’t going to cut it, but—“

“An apology? Are you kidding?” Marina Kedar stared at Claribel in shock. “I came here to thank you!”

“Thank me?” Claribel shook her head in disbelief. “I put a curse on you! No man can ever love you again!”

“Exactly!” Marina’s face spread in what was honestly the most beautiful smile Claribel had ever seen. “You saved me from all my annoying suitors! Do you know how annoying it is to have three different guys following you everywhere you go with flowers and terrible sonnets?”

“You don’t want to get married?” Claribel had never met a village maiden who didn’t want a husband.

“If I could marry another woman, maybe,” said Marina. “With our current laws, absolutely not.”

Claribel breathed a sigh of relief. “So you didn’t come here to kill me?”

“Of course not!” Marina shook her head vehemently. “Like I said, I came here to thank you. Now that I’m under this curse, my parents will never pressure me to pick a suitor again.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Claribel blurted out. She hadn’t exactly planned to say that, but she definitely didn’t regret it.

“I was just about to ask if I could treat you to dinner!” Marina smiled that gorgeous smile again. “I figured that’s the least I could do for the beautiful witch who just gave me the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“I’m making jambird stew tonight, but you can treat me tomorrow.” Claribel’s cheeks flushed as it occurred to her that Marina had just called her beautiful. “Sharing my dinner tonight is the least I can do for the beautiful maiden whose life I didn’t actually ruin.”

Marina did stay for dinner that night, and Claribel did go down to the village for dinner the next night, and two nights turned into many, many more.

Twelve years after Claribel first placed her curse, she and Marina became the first two women in the kingdom to marry each other instead of men.

A witch found out to her horror that she had somehow cursed the wrong person. Expecting retribution when the victim came knocking at her doorstep, she was surprised to find them rather pleased with the curse's effects.

[ariascoven]

✹ ── JEALOUS GIRL

PAIRING : agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : fem reader. established relationship. petnames (hun, pet, love, kitten & angel). possessiveness and jealousy. use of y/n (once). mention of exhibitionism. smut. marking & biting. mommy kink. pussy slapping. choking. fingering (reader receiving). oral (agatha receiving).

WORD COUNT : 3.6k

A/N : it's 2am and i might suffer tomorrow because of that but at least i managed to finish this and get my motivation back

MY MASTERLIST | REQUESTED

Knuckles turned white with the force Agatha was gripping her own thighs, painted red nails digging and scratching her skin even through the thick fabric of the pants she wore. Icy blue eyes were locked on you, looking so innocent while having a conversation with your new neighbor, a big smile decorating your pretty face. Her jaw clenched at the way you threw your head back at one of her jokes, the sound of your laughter loud and clear even from the distance she was at. Maybe she wouldn't be so jealous if she hadn't noticed the way the other woman shamelessly found an excuse to touch you every two damned minutes.

The way she grabbed your hand, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear or touched your waist for just a brief moment, but enough to make Agatha’s blood boil with immeasurable anger. The witch knew you weren't aware of the neighbor’s oblivious flirting and advances — Goodness, you couldn't take a hint to save your own life. If there was anyone who could talk about how clueless you were, it was Agatha. Only the witch knows how long it took you to realize she was flirting with you. But even so, she couldn't help the possessiveness burning inside of her, the need to mark you as hers making her skin crawl. She got up from her seat in a flash, marching towards the two of you. A smile appeared on your face when you felt a pair of familiar arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head turning to look.

However, that bright smile was quickly replaced by a confused frown when you saw the way Agatha’s eyes seemed to pierce right through the other woman’s body, like sharp daggers ready to cut and stab at any given chance. You rested a hand on top of hers that laid on your stomach and her expression softened immediately at the touch — she was probably just in a bad mood, you figured. You couldn't help but melt when she pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, so smitten by the woman you called yours that the way the blonde woman’s face fell went unnoticed by you. But Agatha noticed it, and her lips curled up into a cruel smirk as she stared at her smugly.

“Hi, baby. This is our new neighbor!” You said in your usual bubbly demeanor before looking at the blonde in front of you, completely clueless. “This is my wife, Agatha.” You watched with a smile as your lover reached her hand out for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you.” You didn’t like the way poison seemed to drip dangerously from Agatha’s lips as she spoke, her tone slightly mocking. Your eyebrows furrowed just the tiniest bit as you tried to think of a reason for her to be acting like that. Agatha’s possessive nature wasn't unknown to you, and you loved her regardless — and couldn't deny that her jealousy turned on you every single time without fail. But that? That was new. Whenever Agatha got jealous, she never directed a single word towards the other person, preferring to just glare at them with a cold, stern expression on her face that sent shivers down their spine. But never that way, smug and taunting.

In no time, you were back in your shared house after saying goodbye to the woman, who dragged her feet towards the entrance of her own house. “What the hell was that?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you spoke in a demanding and annoyed tone, watching as Agatha took her shoes off calmly. You got no response from the older woman, and just as you were about to repeat the question, she whipped around and pushed you against the wall with an intensity that made your head spin. You stared at her dumbfounded, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. “Agatha—”

“You're mine.” It's all she said while her hands gripped your arms and pushed them against the wall behind you. The look she had in her eyes was indubitably one of lust and desire, one that you knew too well. One that made you throb for her. “You know she was flirting with you, right?”

You became even more confused at her words. Was she talking about the neighbor? “Of course not, Agatha! She was just being friendly, that's all—” She cut you off, slender fingers tightening their grip and eliciting a shaky breath from you.

“Friendly?” She raised her eyebrows and let out an incredulous scoff. “Friendly! For fuck’s sake, Y/N! She was flirting with you! Undressing you with her eyes, if I dare say!” Her jaw clenched at the memory of the woman biting her bottom lip as her eyes wandered down to your cleavage.

There was a pause as your eyes widened further, realization washing over you. Then your body relaxed under Agatha’s rough grip, your formerly parted lips curling into a frown as you felt terribly stupid all of a sudden. “Was she, really? I didn't realize… ah, I was being so friendly to her, too. Do you think I gave her the wrong idea?”

Agatha smiled slightly at the whiny tone in your voice as you understood the situation, nodding. “But she knows you're mine, now, hun. Did you see the way her face fell when I kissed your cheek?” You shook your head and she chuckled, hands dropping from your arms. She stared at you with a loving gaze, hand reaching to caress your cheek. But the lust in her eyes was undeniable, and that could only mean one thing. She leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Wish we could give her a show, baby.” Those words were enough to get you clenching around nothing, flashes of all the times she fucked you mercilessly just to to remind you who you belonged to beginning to float through your mind. “Wish I could fuck you in front of her just to make her remember you're mine. Always been mine and will always be.” She pulled back, tilting her head and giving you a mocking pout. “Right, pet?”

You nodded mindlessly, cheeks flushed at how embarrassingly quickly you got turned on, the wet patch on your underwear making you shift uncomfortably. Not expecting that the slightest bit of friction against your clit from the movement would be enough to make you mewl pathetically. The sound made Agatha’s eyebrows rise in surprise, a wicked grin falling upon her lips. “Oh, I see how it is. Maybe we should inform Ms. Neighbor that she could never make you all wet for her so quick, right, love?” Her hand traveled down to the waistband of your skirt and started playing with it. The heat between your legs grew more and more intense within every second that passed, and your patience grew thinner.

With shaky, impatient hands, you reached down to hike your skirt up around your hips, exposing the dampness on your underwear and the slick dripping down your thighs in a silent, desperate request, chewing on your own bottom lip with an intensity that almost drew out blood. The way you literally dripped for Agatha never failed to amaze her, eyes locked on the heavenly sight appreciatively. She was over three centuries old, but she never found someone who made her feel so desired the way that you did.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared down at the obvious evidence of your arousal. Before you even had time to register what was happening, she was already rubbing circles on your clit over the damp fabric, cold lips attached to your neck — sucking, nipping, biting, devouring, doing anything she could to mark you as hers, as you were. She always told you she liked you better with your neck all bruised from her love bites, and there was no denying that you felt the same. Few things beat the delicious feeling of staring at the mirror and seeing the mess your wife had made the night before, covering your neck in a beautiful mess of purple and red. Sometimes, the teeth marks wouldn't fade for days, but you never bothered to cover up or try to hide it; instead, you showed them off proudly, wandering around Westview with your wife’s possessive masterpiece in full display for anyone to see, the pride you felt for being the one she chose making something flutter inside you.

You let out soft moans at her touches, fingers clutching Agatha’s shoulders like your life depended on it. “Mommy, please.” You whined, half lidded eyes giving her a pleading look, the best puppy eyes you managed in your dazed state. You needed more, you needed her. The delicious sounds you made and the way you looked at her drove Agatha to insanity, and she was sure she could get high from the sight. Slender fingers moved your panties aside to rub your clit without any barriers between the two of you. Your head fell back against the hard, cold wall pathetically as you let out a low moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck—” You mumbled, already feeling the way your knees threatened to buckle under the weight of your body. Agatha’s tongue traced your neck up to your jaw, then she started peppering it with featherlight kisses that sent shivers down your spine.

Your hips rolled against her hand as you desperately seeked for friction, the ache between your legs worsening within every second under the torture — that woman could be a devil when she wanted to. “Mommy, please. I need you.” You begged her, nails digging into the soft flesh of her arms in an attempt to steady yourself, legs trembling like jelly.

She pulled back to analyze the flushed face she adored so much, she would never get tired of that sight. “I really am the luckiest witch in the world.” She said huskily, bruising your hips with the force of her grip. The pitiful whine that left your lips caused a low chuckle to escape hers as she shook her head in feigned disappointment. “My little kitten is eager today, hm? You need mommy to fuck your needy pussy, is that it?” You felt pathetic, dripping even more at the sound of her words — the way she said it and the fact it was her saying it, it drove you wild with desire. Eyes rolled to the back of your head when she circled your entrance oh, so lightly, teasing you in a way that infuriated and turned you on at the same time. Your hips bucked against her hand, begging to be filled. “Who do you belong to?"

“You, momm—” A sharp slap to your cunt forced you to stop talking as it stole the breath from your lungs, a pained, desperate yelp leaving your lips instead. Wide eyed, you felt her slender fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing lightly, the delicious pressure causing you to see stars.

“Not mommy. Say my name, pet.” She almost growled, and you hated to admit how hot she sounded like that. “Who do you belong to, hun?” She questioned again, more firmly this time.

“Agatha Harkness.” Her name fell from your lips like a whispered prayer, your head tipping back to give her full access to your neck, allowing her to choke you as much as she wanted to. She hummed in approval, nipping at your pulse point and making you tremble. “Please, fuck me.” She couldn't tease you anymore, not with the way you begged for her so beautifully, her fingers twitching to feel you from the inside. Two of her digits easily slipped inside of your soaking cunt, your back arching at the feeling of being filled by her. You let out a guttural moan when she began scissoring her fingers inside of you.

“Gotta get you open wide for me, angel. You're so fucking tight for mommy.” She groaned at the feeling of your inner walls gripping her fingers tightly and making it difficult to move. “And so, so wet. You love it when mommy is possessive, don't you, my sweet girl?” She cooed, voice laced with feigned innocence and a hint of amusement. She watched as you nodded mindlessly with a devilish grin, knowing she had you exactly where and how she wanted you — wrapped around her fingers (literally) and melting into a puddle.

Your eyes rolled back as Agatha kept scissoring her fingers inside your sensitive pussy, her name dripping from your lips like honey in the form of shameless moans that drove the witch wild. She stole your breath away with a possessive kiss, and her free hand moved to grope one of your breasts under the fabric of your shirt. She squeezed the soft, plump flesh over your bra, her tongue tracing your bottom lip before asking, demanding for entrance. Your lips parted for her without hesitation, a groan escaping you as her tongue explored the mouth she was so addicted to. You were dizzy, sure you were going to fall onto the ground any time with the way your legs were weakened and trembling.

Long, slender fingers pumped in and out of you at a quick pace, the wet noises of your needy cunt filling the otherwise quiet room. She leaned down and nuzzled your neck once more, kissing and soothing the marks she gave you just a few moments before. Her thumb began rubbing your clit slowly once more, and the desperate whine that left your lips when she slowed down her fingers inside you only served to fuel her primal hunger even more. Agatha let out a soft moan of her own, feeling her own wetness between her thighs, drenching her underwear.

Your hips rocked to meet the slow pace your wife set, although you knew it wasn’t enough to make you cum — it didn't matter, nothing mattered except for the fact you simply needed her. Agatha chuckled hotly against your ear at the strangled gasp you let out when a third finger slipped inside you, nibbling on your earlobe before burying her face in your neck again. The pace quickened again, her fingers slipping in and out of your cunt forcefully, your body shaking with each hard thrust. You gasped each time her fingers hit that sensitive spot that made you dizzy with pleasure, eyes tightly shut and eyebrows furrowed.

“Look at me, pet.” Agatha’s velvet voice sounded rougher than usual as she demanded, the way she twisted your hardened nipple between her fingers bordering on painful. Obediently, you obeyed, moaning pathetically at the way you could barely see the blue in her eyes, completely overshadowed by her blown wide pupils. “Cum.”

You were on the edge, so dangerously close to falling. Shaky hands found the back of Agatha’s neck and pulled her in for a rough kiss full of desire and want, full of pure need. Hearing the gasps and whines you let out against her, Agatha became even more turned on, if that was even possible. Her underwear was uncomfortably sticky, glued to her dripping pussy — it was becoming too much, the last bit of her patience slipping away.

A fourth digit inside you was exactly the small push you needed to explode, lips breaking away from Agatha’s as your head fell against the wall with a loud moan that turned into a scream. She held you up against the wall with her own trembling body, watching with dazed eyes as you shook and cried. When your head came forward to nuzzle her shoulder, her hand stilled inside you, now completely drenched with your juices. Being the devilish woman she was, Agatha couldn't resist giving your swollen clit a quick rub, a breathless giggle falling from her lips at the way you whined and weakly slapped her hand away.

The hand previously on your breast traveled down to your hip, keeping you steady while the other was slowly removed from inside you. You tried to regain your breath, half lidded eyes watching the way Agatha’s lips wrapped around her own fingers, a soft hum falling from them at the taste of you. She held you close, hands gently caressing your hip and arm, waiting for you to fully come back to your senses. With your breath still slightly labored, you nodded at her, signaling that you had recovered.

Barely registering what happened, you winced in both surprise and pain when your knees roughly hit the ground, a veiny hand on your shoulder pushing you down forcefully and quickly moving to grip your hair just as hard, eliciting a pained yet lustful whimper from you. Agatha pulled your head back by your hair, demanding for you to look at her.

“Eat me.” You moaned at the words, quickly scrambling with the zipper of her pants while her fingers remained tangled in your hair with a firm grip. Your mouth watered as soon as you pulled the pants down to her ankles — her underwear was drenched, pride washing over you at the fact you made the Agatha Harkness herself so terribly wet. Hands moved to hold her soft thighs and you leaned forward to plant gentle kisses on the soaked fabric, a groan falling from her lips as she threw her head back, eyes closing. “No teasing.”

You could never tease her, especially not with the way she made you see stars every single time she touched you. You wanted to make her feel as good as she always made you feel. In a hurry, you peeled the lacy panties off her, a moan escaping you at the sight of her perfect cunt. You worshipped her. Every little inch of your woman was breathtaking, like a painting that belonged in a museum — prettier than any and every painting that was ever created. With your lips immediately wrapping around her clit and sucking hungrily, you gathered some of her wetness on your fingertips.

Her hips bucked against your face, the sound of the contented sigh she let out only serving to make you crave her even more. Addicted to the taste of her, you flicked your tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves before licking up the slit slowly, eyes never faltering from her face, relishing in the pure bliss written all over it and those parted lips. You could die like that — on your knees for the woman you so thoroughly adored, making her melt under your touch and tongue. Your heart raced with excitement, anticipating the feeling of her cum filling your mouth. The simple thought was enough encouragement for you to move faster.

“Fuck, angel…” Her whispered words were followed by another one of her loud moans, tugging at your hair and forcing you even closer, spreading wider and allowing you more access to where she needed you the most. You resisted the urge to grind against the floor, focusing solely on her pleasure rather than your own. You earned another tug, harder than the last one, when your teeth gently scraped against her clit. The vibrations from the moan that fell from your lips caused a moan of her own, hungry eyes finally snapping open to look at you

“I love you like this.” She purred, breathless with her ragged breathing, a hand now soothingly caressing your hair instead of pulling at it and hurting your scalp. “So hungry for mommy, aren’t you, love?” You nodded against her, tongue never stopping its movements as you devoured her like it was your last meal, eyes wide with nothing but pure lust. The moan that fell from her lips was sinful, eyes rolling back when your tongue slipped inside her. You went as fast as you could possibly go, not nearly as fast as Agatha did when eating you out, but just enough to get her on the edge.

You started drawing little circles on her clit with your thumb and by the way the noises coming out of her mouth grew even louder and became high pitched with each thrust of your tongue, you knew that she would explode soon enough. It wasn't difficult to double your efforts with the series of desperate moans that fell from her lips spurring you on. With a desperate noise of your own and fully drunk on her pussy, you closed your eyes, the free hand gripping her thigh squeezing the flesh.

A chain of whiny and high pitched ‘fuck’s warned you about her incoming orgasm, as well as her nails digging onto your scalp and tugging at your hair. With a shameless scream of your name, she came undone, body undulating desperately against you as she rode her high. You lapped at her juices with hunger, humming in approval at the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life. Breathless, you reluctantly pulled away from her cunt and brushed your hair off your face, covered in her.

Agatha groaned at the sight and the exhilarating feeling of her climax, steading herself up by holding onto your shoulders, not trusting her weakened and trembling legs with the task of supporting her weight. She tugged at her bottom lip and grinned mischievously as she looked down at you, her breath still shaky. One thing she adored about you is that you never wiped away the remaining cum off your face, and she knew just how much you enjoyed being covered in it.

“Who do you belong to?” With a raised brow and blue eyes glimmering with playfulness and adoration, she questioned again, the hoarseness of her voice sending delicious shivers down your spine and arousing you even more.

“You, my love.” At the pet name you used, her expression softened and she weakly tugged at your shirt in a silent request for you to get up. When you did, she wrapped her arms around your neck and rubbed your noses together, her eyes squinting adorably a stark contrast between the dominant and demanding woman she was just a few moments before. “And I suppose I need to cancel the shopping trip I planned with our new neighbor?"

At your words, her eyes narrowed, both playful and serious at the same time as she responded.

“Yes, yes you do.”

divider made by cafekitsune

header by me, images found on pinterest

[willowsnook]

Wouldn't have it any other way

rye with salami, ranch, and mikes way please and thank you! (idk if i did that right, i've never done this before)

jack hughes x reporter!reader

she isn’t you

——————————————————

Working as a reporter covering the NHL was a childhood dream of yours that came true. You worked your ass off in college, having internships each summer which led to an opportunity at ESPN that turned full-time after you graduated. You were ecstatic when they moved you to New Jersey to cover the Devils. It had been six months and so far you had gotten along well with all the players…well except one.

“Ya we got whacked two games in a row, so the last thing you want to do is stand and talk in front of you guys,” Jack Hughes told the small group of reporters crowding his locker, you included. You rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say, sweetheart?,” he said, eyes honing in on you.

You felt your cheeks flush with anger at his condescending tone. "It's our job to ask questions, Hughes. If you can't handle that, maybe you should find a new career."

The locker room fell silent, all eyes darting between you and Jack. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.

"And maybe you should find a new team to cover if you can't handle a little attitude," he shot back.

The tension was palpable. You'd butted heads with Jack since day one, his arrogance rubbing you the wrong way. But this felt different, more charged.

"I can handle you," you replied, holding his gaze. "Question is, can you handle the heat when you're not performing on the ice?"

A collective intake of breath from the other reporters. Jack's eyes flashed dangerously.

"That's enough," the Devils’ PR manager said, ushering the reporters out of the locker room. You shot Jack one last glare as you followed the rest of the pool out. You knew you were going to get your ass chewed by your boss but you couldn’t help it. Jack was infuriating.

Unfortunately, your phone rang the second you were out of the arena and you listened to your boss rant at you. The moment was apparently already blowing up on social media and it was not a good look for you or Jack really. Half of the internet said you were too young to be in your job and wildly unprofessional while the other half defended you, calling Jack a dick who needs to respect women. There was another weird fan side of hockey twitter that were now actively shipping the two of you together, claiming it could be a perfect enemies-to-lovers story.

—————————————————————-

Headphones in, you watched workers out the window as they loaded luggage onto your plane. New Jersey to Vancouver was a long flight so you had splurged, upgrading yourself to first class to try maybe and get some actual sleep. The seat next to you was still empty and as the time ticked by you grew more hopeful that it would remain that way but nothing good lasts forever.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice called out next to you and you looked up to meet the eyes of none other than Jack Hughes.

Your heart sank as Jack glared down at you, his tall frame looming over your seat. Of all the people to be stuck next to for a cross-country flight, it had to be him.

“Why aren’t you flying with the team?” You questioned.

“I overslept and missed the flight,” he muttered and you snorted.

Jack huffed as he stowed his carry-on and slid into the seat beside you. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You both sat rigidly, avoiding eye contact as the rest of the passengers boarded.

As the plane began to move, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Jack. His jaw was clenched, hands gripping the armrests tightly. Was he... nervous?

"You okay there, Hughes? Not scared of flying, are you?" you teased, unable to resist.

He shot you a withering look. "I'm fine.”

But as the plane started to take off his breathing grew more rapid and you started to get concerned. You hit a bit of turbulence trying to level out, and Jack’s hand moved towards yours, gripping it tightly.

“Sorry,” he rasped, but you kept your hand in his, caressing his skin softly with your thumb.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Just try and breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped and you rolled his eyes. “I need you to distract me.”

“How?”

“Just tell me something about you I don’t know,” he asked looking over at you pleadingly.

“Hockey isn’t my favorite sport,” you said instantly. It felt like your dirty secret being a hockey reporter, but it was the truth.

Jack let out a strained chuckle, “oh yeah, what is?”

“Football,” you replied and he nodded at you to keep going. “I fell in love with it when I was just a kid watching Brett Farve. Him leaving the Packers was my first real heartbreak in life. I like college football more now and while I love the atmosphere of hockey, there is nothing like a Saturday night home game in the palace. The lights illuminating the fields, the smell of popocorn and hotdogs, the fight song playing in the background, and everyone knows that $20 beer tastes better watching your favorite team. What’s more romantic than that?”

If Jack didn’t have the history he had with you, he thought he might have fell in love with you right then and there. His grip on your hand loosened slightly as he listened to you speak, his breathing becoming more even. He found himself captivated by the passion in your voice as you described your love for football.

"I never would have guessed," he said softly, a hint of a smile on his face. "You always seemed so... intense about hockey."

You shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable having shared something so personal. "It's my job. I take it seriously."

"Maybe too seriously sometimes," Jack muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

The plane leveled out and you both realized you were still holding hands. You quickly pulled away, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Thanks," Jack said, avoiding your gaze. "For, you know... helping me through that."

You nodded, unsure how to respond. This was the most civil conversation you'd ever had with Jack Hughes, and it felt weird. The rest of the flight went by without a spectacle; you were happy to catch some shut-eye, and woke up as you were about to land, Jack nudging you awake. He grabbed your bag for you, and you followed him off the plane, stopping when he turned to face you.

“Back to our regularly scheduled business of hating each other,” he said with a smirk, and you laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Hughes,” you shot back before heading off.

—————————————————————————

After a long call with your boss the next day, you were very irritated. Since the Devils were playing the Canucks, he wanted a short fluff piece about the Hughes brothers reuniting.

“It won’t be that bad,” Luke said after you tracked him down to tell him about the assignment. “You love me, and Quinn will love you.”

“I’m not worried about you two,” you told him with a look. “I’m worried about your other brother, who makes me want to jump off a cliff.”

“You’re dramatic,” he said, crossing his arms and you huffed. “We are all getting dinner tonight; just come with us. It’ll be a good chance to see us all off the ice.”

Later that night, you find yourself in the lobby with Luke, waiting on his brothers. Dressed down and out of your business wear, you felt more like yourself in a cute white sweater and jeans. Jack stepped out of the elevator and you immediately crossed your arms, already not in a good mood seeing him.

“Why is she here?” He asked Luke, completely ignoring you.

“She is writing a piece on the three of us, so I thought it would be nice to let her see the non-hockey side of things,” Luke explained and Jack groaned. Quinn stuck out his hand to introduce himself, and you smiled warmly at the oldest brother.

“So you’re the one who has little Jack by the balls?” He teased and Jack shoved him while you laughed.

You and Jack didn’t say a word to each other on the way to the restaurant and you luckily ended up being diagonal from him. It was a steakhouse but you weren’t that into steak so you opted for a grilled chicken salad with no tomatoes of course. Remembering that you were here for work, you kept quiet just observing the brothers.

"Remember when Jack tried to dye his hair blonde and it turned orange instead?" Quinn chuckled, earning a glare from Jack.

"Hey, at least I didn't cry when mom cut my mullet," Jack shot back, causing Luke to nearly spit out his drink.

You couldn't help but smile, seeing this different side of Jack. He was more relaxed, his guard down as he joked with his brothers. You caught yourself staring at him a few times, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

The waiter soon returned with your food and you sighed as you watched your salad be placed in front of you with the tomatoes you had asked to be left out. You were never one to send something back, so you accepted your fate and unrolled your silverware.

“Everything look good?” The waiter asked. You nodded absentmindedly as Jack opened his mouth.

“She asked for no tomatoes,” he said, pointing to your salad. Your head snapped up and the waiter began to apologize.

“Oh it’s okay,” you said, trying to wave him off but Jack gave you a stern look that made you sit back.

“Don’t like tomatoes?” He mused. “Kind of childish, don’t you think?”

“You literally ordered a lemonade,” you shot back and his eyes narrowed at you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s every kid’s favorite drink,” you retorted.

Jack scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sophisticated Palette. Let me guess, you’re a black coffee type, right? So edgy.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your soda. “At least I don’t need a sugar rush to get through lunch.”

“And yet, here you are, drowning in soda. Classy.”

You gestured to his plate with a smug smile. “Says the guy who’s been avoiding the broccoli on his plate like it owes him money.”

Jack’s smirk faltered, and he glanced down at the offending vegetable. “It’s not avoidance. I’m saving the best for last.”

“Sure you are. Must be why it’s still untouched and getting cold.”

“You know, you’re a lot braver with your words when I don’t have a hockey stick in my hands.”

You shot him a fake, sweet smile. “And you’re a lot more tolerable when you keep your mouth shut.”

Quinn and Luke were thoroughly entertained as they observed the back-and-forth banter between you.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Luke said, looking at Quinn once you and Jack had finally stopped.

“Jack finally met his match,” he commented, prompting an eye roll from the mentioned brother.

The rest of the dinner passed with a mix of tension and grudging amusement between you and Jack, while Quinn and Luke kept the conversation flowing. As you all left the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at how quickly you and Jack fell back into your antagonistic pattern.

"So, got enough material for your fluff piece?" Jack asked sarcastically as you walked back to the hotel.

You sighed, "Probably. Though I'm not sure how to write about the Hughes brothers' dynamic without mentioning how insufferable one of them is."

Jack chuckled, surprising you. "Just make sure to mention how charming and handsome that one is too."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "In your dreams, Hughes."

As you reached the hotel, Luke and Quinn said their goodbyes, leaving you and Jack alone in the lobby. An awkward silence lingering in the air between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He asked and you gave him a weird look, trying to figure out his angle.

“Where else would I be? I’m always front row waiting for you to mess up,” you joked and he gave you a playful frown.

“Very funny,” he said before bidding you goodbye and going up to his room. Things felt different between the two of you tonight, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

———————————————————————-

The Devils beat the Canucks handily and you found yourself with a couple of other reporters waiting for Jack, who had scored, and a new girl that you didn’t recognize.

“Hi Jack,” the girl called out as he got settled and he looked at her amused. She looked like a puck bunny who had snuck in; beach blonde hair, fake spray tan, low cut top, you knew the type. Jesus, what had gotten into you, you thought, trying to shake off your cattiness.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before,” he commented and she giggled. Literally giggled in response. The other reporters were amused but you kept your lips in a firm line.

“You were so great out there; it’s so impressive how hard you work,” she said and he smiled awkwardly thanking her. “Do you ever get scared when the puck comes at you?"

You couldn’t help but snort out loud when she asked that and Jack looked amused at you.

Jack’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk growing wider before he turned back to the blonde with a practiced ease.

"So," he said, leaning casually against the bench, "you’re new to the media scrum, huh? They usually send someone more…" He glanced at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Experienced."

The girl giggled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, well, I’m just filling in today. I guess I got lucky getting to talk to you."

"Guess I got lucky too," he said smoothly, his tone playful. "Usually, I’m stuck with—" He cut himself off, letting his eyes flick to you with mock innocence. "Well, people who don’t seem to enjoy the job as much as you do."

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your face neutral, scribbling something completely irrelevant in your notebook to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"So," the blonde continued, practically glowing under his attention, "what’s it like to be so focused all the time? You’re just so… intense on the ice."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Takes a lot of practice. But I don’t think I’m half as intense as you just now."

Her eyes widened, and she laughed, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. "Oh my God, stop! I’m just trying to do my job."

"And you’re doing it very well," he replied, his voice low and charming.

You shut your notebook loudly, drawing Jack’s attention as you stormed out of the locker room, your cheeks flushed with anger and... something else you didn't want to acknowledge. You made it halfway down the hall before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!" Jack's voice called out. "Where are you going?"

You spun around, glaring at him. "Away from that circus. I have actual work to do."

He jogged up to you, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. "What's your problem? Jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Of what? Your ability to charm airheads?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, that's pretty harsh. What happened to journalistic integrity?"

"What happened to professionalism?" You shot back. "Or do you always flirt with reporters during interviews?"

His expression shifted, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.

“You are jealous,” he said confidently and you were about to argue back but he grabbed a door handle behind you, yanking the door open and pulling you in it. It was a smaller equipment closet, but you didn’t have much time to look around before Jack had you tight against his body.

“She isn’t you sweetheart,” he said as your body flushed against his.

Your breath caught in your throat as Jack's words sank in. The closet suddenly felt much smaller, the air thick with tension. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling against yours.

"What are you doing, Hughes?" you managed to whisper, your voice betraying your conflicted emotions.

His eyes searched yours, intense and unreadable. "Something I've wanted to do for a long time," he murmured before closing the distance between you.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and insistent. For a moment, you were too shocked to respond. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you found yourself kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss was everything you never knew you wanted - passionate, electrifying, and months of frustration bubbling over. His hands moved under your shirt and up your back as his touch burned your skin. Resting your head back against the wall, he took advantage, latching on to your neck, sucking harshly.

“More,” you gasped. “I need more.”

He pulled your shirt over your head and you unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes glazed over, looking at your chest and you smirked before tugging at his shirt. He lifted it off and you admired his toned body, tracing your finger down his abs. His breath hitched as he watched you and you smirked seeing the bulge against his sweats get bigger.

Jack's eyes darkened as he watched your finger trail down his abs. In one swift motion, he lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips found yours again in a searing kiss as his hips ground against you, eliciting a soft moan from your throat.

"God, you drive me crazy," he breathed against your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Your hands roamed his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing under your touch. Jack's mouth moved lower, trailing hot kisses down your collarbone to your breasts. You arched into him as he took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Jack," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. He looked up at you, a mix of lust and something softer. “I need you in me.”

“Let me savor this sweetheart,” he pouted and you shook your head.

“Not the time or place,” you argued back and he sighed. Pulling down his pants, you spit into your hand before bringing it to his cock, pumping a few times, causing him to hiss. Shimmying out of your pants, you let him lift you against the wall, angling himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“Just this once,” you said and he rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he replied and you started to argue back but he pushed in and your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

Jack began to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm. You clung to his shoulders, biting back moans as he hit just the right spot with each stroke. The closet filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin.

"God, you feel amazing," Jack groaned, his pace increasing. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, urging him deeper.

"Harder," you demanded, nails digging into his back. He complied, slamming into you with renewed vigor.

The tension that had been building between you for months was finally finding release. Every thrust, every touch was electric. You couldn't get enough of him.

"I'm close," you panted, feeling the familiar tightening in your core. Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urged and you cried out, his hand coming up to muffle the noise. Riding out your orgasm, you were clenching hard around him and he grunted as he kept up the pace, pounding into you.

As your walls continued to contract around him, Jack couldn't hold back any longer. He buried his face in your neck, groaning out your name as he spilled into you.

For a few moments, all that could be heard was your heavy breathing as you both came down from the intense high. Jack leaned his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your skin. You both took a few minutes to catch your breath before Jack slowly pulled out of you. You winced slightly and Jack gave you a concerned look. He handed you your clothes and you quickly put them back on, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n,” he said softly and you finally looked over at him. His face was flushed, hair all over the place, but the look he was giving you made you want to take your clothes right back off.

“This was just two people blowing off steam, nothing more,” you said and he grinned widely.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I hook up with that other girl next time instead?” He asked and you frowned before quickly morphing into a neutral expression but Jack had already caught it.

“Ugh,” you exclaimed before opening the door slowly, peeking out before you walked out. Jack was right behind you and you thought the coast was clear until you walked right into Quinn and Luke. You froze and felt Jack still behind you as he saw his brothers.

“What were you two doing?” Luke asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“We were just talking,” you defended, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh yeah? In the supply closet?” Quinn teased.

“It was quieter than the locker room,” Jack said.

“Didn’t sound that quiet,” Quinn shot back.

Your face burned with embarrassment as Quinn's words sank in. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Jack or his brothers, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I... I have to go," you mumbled, pushing past Luke and Quinn without meeting their eyes. You practically ran down the hallway, desperate to distance yourself and the Hughes brothers as much as possible.

Once safely in your hotel room, you collapsed onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. What had you done? Hooking up with Jack Hughes in a supply closet was bad enough, but getting caught by his brothers? Your career could be over if word got out.

Your phone buzzed with a text. Hesitantly, you checked it, half-expecting it to be Jack. Instead, it was from Luke:

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with us. But you might want to figure your shit out with Jack ;)”

You groaned, turning over, trying not to think about what happened in the closet or what it meant for you and Jack.