#i'm not tagging this as meticulously as I normally would

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[lian-fang-zun]

...god. why'd I write this JKLSJKLDGH

(well. I know it's (loosely?) bc of a nasuverse kink meme prompt, but you know)

[slytherinslut0]

tom riddle. | everyone has their vices

summary: tom riddle tells you he jerks off (and more) to relieve stress. just….in typical tom fashion.

word count: 2k

tags: 18+, suggestive content, so much tension you’ll choke on it, frustrating subliminal tom riddle (though reader is just as stubborn), flirting, masturbation insinuation, make out sesh.

"But how?”

Tom inhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he prepared to reexplain for what felt like the hundredth time. "Because, the slightest distraction or doubt can result in consequence—as I said previous. A momentary lapse in any of the areas we covered will result in splinching."

You blinked, staring at him like he'd spoken an alternate language. The late night and the relentless focus on Tom's face for the past four hours had blurred everything into a haze and dulled his voice into a monotonous hum, blending with the soft rustle of parchment and the distant lapping of the lake against the window. He could see it—your disconnection, the way his words slipped past you like water through fingers.

He exhaled, slumping back in his chair, a hand raking through his dark hair in frustration. "Should we call it a night?"

"Probably," you muttered, your gaze drifting to the window behind him, the surface of the Black Lake rippling under the moonlight. "You've overloaded my brain. I stopped comprehending two hours ago."

You felt Tom's eyes narrow slightly as he studied you—you must have looked a mess. Strands of hair had fallen out of your ponytail, your uniform shirt was half undone, and there was a dullness in your eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. A week bedridden with the flu had set you back, and now, despite Tom's best efforts, you felt like you were drowning.

He knew you were stressed beyond measure—you were normally not like this.

"You need to relax," he said, the words landing with the flatness of an undisputed fact. "You won't retain anything in the state you're in."

"How can I relax when I'm two weeks behind? And exams are next week?" Your voice cracked with the weight of your frustration as you leaned your elbows on his desk, burying your face in your hands. "I'm helpless, Tom. I know you know it."

"Would I be sitting here wasting my time if I thought you were helpless?" He watched you, almost clinical in his intensity as he spoke—tone matter-of-factly, devoid of any false comfort. It cut through your despair with ease. Tom Riddle never did anything without purpose; if he was here, it meant he believed you were worth the effort. "My suggestion is that you reset your brain," he continued, his voice steady like his fingers as he shut the textbook between you. "Take a walk. Have a cold shower. Jump in the lake. Whatever you need to do to decompress."

The simplicity of his suggestions almost made you laugh, but it was the kind of laughter that would easily turn into tears if you let it. Tom had a way of stripping everything down to its most basic form—of cutting through your stress and chaos and presenting you with a simple, unvarnished answer.

You were a mess, and he was telling you to fix it—no coddling, no pity, just a clear-eyed assessment of the situation. And somehow, that was exactly what you needed to hear. You appreciated him for it.

"Decompress, huh. I don't believe I've ever done such a thing." You leaned back in your chair with a lopsided grin, arms crossed. "Is that what you do? Jump in the lake?"

Tom let out a huff, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in what was almost—almost—a smile.

"Something like that."

Interesting—Tom Riddle, always so composed, every inch of him meticulously put together, as if the mere idea of stress was a foreign concept. You couldn't imagine him spiralling, not the way you did—frankly, you couldn't imagine him ever feeling overwhelmed at all.

The curiosity gnawed at you, wondering what he did to unwind—what rituals or habits did the untouchable Tom Riddle indulge in when no one was watching?

"Something else, then?" You pushed it further, gently, your eyebrow arching just slightly.

For a moment, his gaze flickered, something dark and inscrutable passing behind his eyes. You knew he was considering your words, debating whether to indulge your curiosity or keep you at arm's length. Such a fascinating creature he was—all brick walls and boarded windows—you had a feeling he was going to shut this down.

Until, he leaned forward.

"If you're asking if I have habits—I suppose I do," he said, your eyes drawn to the way his lips moved, the way his voice curled around each syllable. "Habitual things I do to—relax, let's say."

You hummed and pulled your lower lip between your teeth as you considered him—fighting to hide your amusement. That was the biggest personal moment you've had out of Tom Riddle since the day you met him in first year where he told you his name.

"Well, isn't that a revelation," you teased, toying with the edge of your skirt. "Just the mere insinuation that Tom Riddle has to do something to relax—as though he's not always cool, calm, and collected like he lets on."

His lips curled slightly at your words, his gaze dipping briefly from your eyes to your mouth, trailing lower in a slow, deliberate sweep that brushed over your chest before landing back on the desk.

Your brain buffered, tingles in the wake of his wrath. He picked up his quill, spinning it idly between his fingers. 

"Everyone has their vices—if they don't, they end up like you," he said, his tone laced with an ambiguity that made you wonder just how deep his ran. "Perhaps it's time you found some."

You scoffed, leaning further back in your chair, the fabric of your shirt pulling tighter across your chest. You forced yourself to ignore the visceral reaction your body had as you caught the brief flicker in Tom���s gaze—the way his eyes darted up to the movement before he quickly masked his expression.

For a moment, you thought you might be imagining things, but the tensing of your thighs betrayed a reaction you couldn't quite shake.

"And what are yours?" You asked after a moment, your voice softer now. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a conversationalist—and yet here he was, indulging your curiosity instead of shutting it down. He was humouring you, and you intended to make the most of it. "Decompressing with bland tea and ancient tomes? Sneaking into the Restricted Section when no one's looking?"

“Mm, no.” Tom let out a snort, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips— "I’d say my vices are less...pedestrian, than all that."

The quill in his fingers stilled—the change in his demeanour was subtle, though you felt it in the air—electric, making your pulse quicken. He traced the edge of the feather with the tip of his thumb, the motion slow and deliberate, and you found yourself inexplicably distracted, fighting the urge to shift in your seat.

Why in Merlin's name was that so damn captivating?

"Less pedestrian?" You echoed, curiosity at an all-time-high. "What do you do, then, Tom? Dance naked by the light of the full moon?"

"I should hope not," he laughed—a low, rumbling sound that resonated in the pit of your stomach as you giggled alongside him. The quill twirled again in his fingers, the motion languid, almost hypnotic. "No, I'd say my vices are more...private. Less suited to polite company. Perhaps I should let you guess since the mystery of it seems to fascinate you so."

The look he gave you made you stiffen, a challenge—no, a dare—clear in his deep, dark eyes. Your thighs involuntarily reacted again—less suited to polite company?

"I believe I've already made several guesses," you tried to compose yourself with a shallow inhale. "I'm quite at a loss."

He shook his head, stifling his grin. "Clearly, you lack imagination."

"Clearly, you enjoy being cryptic." You shot back, unable to stifle yours.

At that, he hummed—it was obvious your stubbornness was as entertaining to him as it was aggravating. Perhaps you could say the same. He set the quill down, his eyes on yours as the fingers of his free hand began to tap idly on the desk—and then his gaze dipped again, tracing the curve of your lips before drifting lower, a slow, deliberate path that made you tense.

For a moment, you wondered if the tension in the air was all in your head. Was he always this adventurous with his eyes?

"When the mind is under strain," he began, his voice smooth, clinical, "it's a result of an excessive influx of neural signals. Synapses misfire, disrupting cognitive function. A basic physiological response." He watched your reaction closely, as though gauging the impact of his words. "To address such a state, one must reestablish control over these neural pathways. To be direct, I find the most efficacious methods involve tasks that stimulate the senses without being emotionally or physically taxing. A simple, repetitive action can suffice—something arbitrary enough to encourage the subconscious to lose focus."

You fought the urge to scowl at his change in speech—Tom knew damn-well just how overwhelmed your brain was—and then continued to recite scientific jargon as if it were his full-time occupation.

You’d almost be mad if it weren’t for the fucking words that stuck to the inside of your ears—stimulate, repetitive, lose focus—

"You're a walking textbook, aren't you?" You continued to play it off—you didn't want to make assumptions—you hated the way he danced around the edges of things, never quite saying what he meant. "Be specific."

Tom's grin grew as he leaned in slightly, his fingers stilling on the desk between you. "I find tasks that involve the hands particularly useful. Something that can be repeated in a smooth, steady rhythm, with little conscious thought required. The ability to lose oneself in the pattern is key."

Merlin help you—the atmosphere in his dorm had changed with those words; the air turned viscous, cloying, each breath sticking in your throat like syrup—hands, steady rhythm, lose oneself—the words pulsed with implication, even if it was buried under layers of his typical, infuriating ambiguity.

He was absolutely referring to—no—no assumptions—

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "So...knitting?"

The words tumbled out, a weak attempt at humour to cut through the tension, but they hung lifeless in the air—as hollow as the chuckle that rumbled from Tom's chest.

His eyes traced over you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle. "Not exactly."

"Hm. A different kind of needlecraft, perhaps." You shifted in your seat, trying to inject a semblance of nonchalance into your posture.

But you weren't fooling him—you never had—

"How much longer are you going to play coy?" He murmured, the amusement clear from light-years away.

Heat surged up your neck, the flush burning across your cheeks, betraying you—"how much longer are you going to continue holding your tongue?"

Your voice came out sharper than intended, laced with a challenge you barely felt capable of meeting. You and Tom had always been cordial, the slight suggestive comment here and there, mostly from your end. But this—oh, this was different—this was uncharted territory.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Would you prefer I do something else with it?"

Oh, fuck yes you would—

"You're being obtuse," you practically choked out, though the words lacked the bite you intended. "Entirely vague."

"I'm being clear," he countered, his gaze never wavering. "But you're being obstinate—willfully ignorant to my meaning because you refuse to acknowledge it without me saying it outright."

The air between you dissipated—you tried to grasp for a coherent thought, something to regain your footing, but your mind faltered, stumbling over the implications of what he was saying. His eyes never left yours—and you watched them deepen in colour, black pupils eating away the rich brown of his irises, darkening with something that made the room feel unbearably small.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, pooling low in your belly. How did he do this to you? How did he turn you inside out with nothing more than words and that infuriating, knowing smile?

"Tell me," you breathed, hating how desperate the words sounded, "what do you do with your hands, Tom?...how do you use them to relieve...stress?"

The second those words left your lips you realized what was truly happening here—Tom Riddle never did anything without intent—every word, every pause, every smirk, was a thread in a web he was weaving, intricate and inescapable. He'd led you here, gently, subtly, with the barest hint of force, and now that you were caught, you realized that you wanted this.

Needed it.

And it was clear he did too. Otherwise you'd never have gotten to this point—he wanted you to push, to dig deeper—your stomach twisting as you watched Tom wet his lips, but there was no smirk on them this time.

Only something intense—jaw set, eyes focused—

"I think we both know what I do with my hands," he whispered, the double entendre clear in every syllable— "you knew exactly what I was insinuating the moment this started."

Your breath snagged in your throat, a tremor running through your entire body as the warmth pooling in your belly began to spread, sinking lower, threading through every nerve. Your vision narrowed, centering entirely on him—his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his presence seemed to devour the room, leaving no space for anything else.

And then, you nodded, the movement barely there—a subtle acknowledgment of your understanding.

"Do you touch yourself, Tom?..." the words escaped you, a soft, breathy whisper that you could hardly believe were your own. "Or do you touch someone else?"

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, suspended in the intensity of those questions.

The world narrowed to the point of his gaze, the sharp line of his jaw—the reality of where you were, what you were doing, almost seemed to blur—trapping you both in a moment that felt surreal, like a scene caught in the still frame of a film. Never—never—had you imagined a conversation like this with Tom Riddle, hardly your acquaintance, the untouchable genius of the school.

And yet here you were, heart pounding, every nerve on fire, and Merlin help you, you were going to wring every drop of this out for as long as you could.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement, entranced. "Depends on my level of stress."

Tom's expression was unreadable—except for the subtle tension in his shoulders as he leaned back, spreading his legs a fraction wider, the fabric of his dress shirt straining against the flex of his biceps—

"...and how stressed are you right now?" You whispered, reckless, without a trace of restraint.

Tom's throat bobbed with another swallow, a gesture so simple yet so charged that it sent your pulse roaring in your ears.

"Quite," he murmured, his voice taut, stretched thin. "The past four hours have been rather taxing—wouldn't you agree?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up, escaping before you could stop it. You tried to steady yourself, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. You had never felt so intensely aroused and frustrated in your life, and you knew, without a bloody doubt, that he was perfectly aware of it.

"Are you trying to imply l'm the cause of your stress?"

"On the contrary," he said, his gaze raking over you, his eyes dark and hungry, as if you were something to be consumed, devoured whole. "I'm saying you've exacerbated it. Though I'll concede a fair share of the responsibility—as it is mine, after all."

"How kind of you," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "To admit your own fault in the matter."

"I'm a kind man." His voice was a low purr, the kind that seeped into your bones, making your blood thrum with anticipation. "I like to take responsibility for my shortcomings."

Yes, yes—so very kind—

"Then take it."

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them, a challenge thrown into the thick, suffocating air between you. The tension was a living thing now, colled tight, ready to snap, turning your insides into a churning mess of want and need.

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"Take it?" He echoed. "And what exactly do you want me to take, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart.

The pet name rolled off his tongue with a casual ease that sent a flush of heat straight to your core— the simple word wielded like a weapon, striking you down with its intimacy. There was no denying the power that name held over you, especially when coming from his lips.

"The responsibility..." you whispered, the words trembling as they left you, barely more than a breath. "…for your..." you hesitated, your eyes locked onto his as you finally said, "…shortcomings."

For a moment, everything hung in the balance—until, oxygen extinct, Tom leaned forward, closing the space between you until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own.

Curse this fucking desk between you.

"My shortcomings," he repeated, his eyes flicking to your lips. "Is that all I should take responsibility for?"

"Are you suggesting..." you leaned in as well, the distance between you shrinking to a breath—your gaze drawn to his own mouth—the plush of it, how bad you wanted to feel it against yours, "...there's something else you wish to take responsibility for?"

Said mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile and witnessing the shift this close felt dangerously religious—as though you'd experienced something sacred not many have before—part of you knew you did.

"Many things," he whispered, the sound soft as velvet, dangerous as a blade. "The list is long and varied..."

The heat in your body was painful—you had never been this close to him, never felt the full weight of his presence bearing down on you like this. His cologne—faint, rich, and so distinctly Tom—overwhelmed you, the same scent he'd worn since you first met him.

It was infuriating, how everything he did was so subtle, simple—yet so fucking intoxicating, so irresistible.

"...I'm not quite sure where to start." His eyes flicked back to yours.

Every word that fell from his lips was a new form of torture, his dark eyes pinning you in place, searing into you. The heat radiating from his body made you want to retreat, to find air, to find space—but the thought of putting any distance between you was unbearable, the need to be near him overriding everything else.

You'd rather lose consciousness than pull back.

"Why don't you start..." you whispered, tilting your head, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. "By fixing the insatiable ache in my curiosity...the one you created when you mentioned how you use your hands...to relieve stress..."

He exhaled, the sound rumbling from his chest like a growl and you could almost imagine that if he parted his lips, you'd glimpse fangs behind them right now—you'd never seen him like this—his gaze predatory, fucking ravenous, and it was as though he could devour you whole if he so chose to.

But you knew better. Tom Riddle would never be so crude. His methods of torment were deliberate—Methodical. A slow depletion of your senses until you're gasping for something only he can give you.

Then, in a voice that was all gravel and silk, he whispered, "is that all that's aching...your...curiosity?"

"Gods no—"

But you never finished that thought—because in an instant, his hand was tangled in your hair, pulling you forward with a force that sent you careening over the desk and into him—Tom Riddles lips crashed against yours, and it was like drowning, his tongue invading your mouth, stealing your breath and dragging all ounces of your cognitive ability along with it.

You were half out of your chair, caught in the gravity of him, unsure if your legs were even working, or if it was his grip alone that held you upright. His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the desk as his mouth worked you with a fervour that made your head spin. The kiss was incendiary, a wildfire scorching its way through every nerve in your body, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake—the intensity of it, the sheer, unrelenting pressure of his lips on yours, made you wonder how you survived this long without it.

All the heat in your blood pooled low, deep between your thighs, an ache so profound it threatened to consume you. Tom Riddle was about to show you precisely how he used his hands to relieve stress, and Gods, if that wasn’t the only thing you’d ever needed right now.

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You

SUMMARY: Heavily based on/inspired by Enough for You by Olivia Rodrigo. After months of chasing storms and harboring unspoken feelings, the moment of truth finally arrives. When Tyler returns to the team with someone new by his side, it shatters the hope you secretly held onto. In the aftermath of his abandonment, you're left grappling with heartache, wondering why you were never enough for him. As Tyler tries to make amends for leaving, the conversation takes a painful turn when he confronts the feelings he never knew existed. But some apologies can't fix what’s been broken, and all you want is to go back to the way things were—before you let him into your heart.

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love.

WORD COUNT: 6.3k (sorry, not sorry)

Note: This is angsty as hell! I've been going through some heavy stuff in my personal life that has me feeling extra angsty. This fic is filled with angst and heartbreak so just be aware. This is how I'm coping with what I'm dealing with in my own life. Hope you enjoy xx

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The bathroom mirror reflected a version of yourself you’d rarely put on display. Your hair was curled just the right way, and your makeup, while subtle, was meticulously done. You hadn’t planned on going all out like this initially, but after scrolling through pictures of girls Tyler had been seen with—girls with flawless hair and expertly done makeup—you couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would take for him to notice you.

Tyler Owens. The name that had taken up too much space in your mind for the past several months. He was more than just the leader of The Wranglers team or your boss; he was the man you’d fallen for. Hard. And you didn’t just want him to see you as a friend anymore.

The rest of the team was downstairs already, probably gearing up for the day’s shoot. Normally, you’d be there early too, grabbing coffee with Boone or discussing ideas with Lily. Today, though, you needed these extra few minutes. Maybe, just maybe, today was the day Tyler would finally notice you.

You gave yourself a final look, smoothing down your shirt, and headed out of the room. By the time you reached the lobby, the team was already gathered, discussing plans for the day. 

Boone was the first to see you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Whoa! Look at you! You clean up nice,” he teased, though his tone was genuinely complimentary.

Lily turned at the sound of Boone’s voice and smiled. “You look amazing! What’s the occasion?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you shrugged it off. “No occasion. Just felt like switching things up.”

The compliments kept coming. Dexter, who was typically more reserved, gave you an approving nod. But the one person you hoped would notice? He hadn’t said a word.

Tyler stood off to the side, his focus on something entirely unrelated, fiddling with his storm-chasing gear on his truck. He didn’t even glance your way, and your heart sank a little.

Boone, always quick to read a room, smirked and nudged Tyler’s shoulder. “Hey, man, what do you think? She’s looking good today, right?”

Tyler paused for a brief moment, barely looking up from his equipment. His expression didn’t change as he muttered, “I’m not really the compliment type, Boone.”

Your stomach dropped at his response. You had been hoping—no, counting—on some kind of reaction, but his indifference stung more than you’d expected. You tried to brush it off, hiding the hurt with a forced smile, but inside, the disappointment was palpable.

Lily shot you a sympathetic look, sensing the tension. 

Boone, never one to let an awkward moment slide, gave Tyler an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Not the compliment type? Man, give her something. She looks great.”

Tyler shrugged as if the whole thing didn’t matter. “She always looks fine,” he said simply and then turned his attention back to his gear.

Fine.

The word echoed in your head, and for the first time that morning, you felt foolish for trying so hard. You had put in all that extra effort to be noticed, to be something more in his eyes, but apparently, "fine" was all you were.

You forced yourself to join in the conversation with the others, but the sting of his words stayed with you. As the group began to move toward the parking lot to load up the vehicles, you fell into step beside Lily. She bumped her shoulder against yours lightly.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispered, offering a small, supportive smile.

You tried to laugh, though it came out hollow. “Yeah, well, I knew that already.”

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The Wranglers’ convoy made its way out of town, the early morning sun casting a golden hue over the horizon. The team was running on fumes, both literally and figuratively, so when Boone pulled into a gas station, everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. While the others went about refueling the vehicles and stretching their legs, you spotted a small coffee shop across the street.

A chance to bring back some caffeine, but more importantly, a chance to do something for Tyler.

Without thinking twice, you hurried across the road, the familiar smell of roasted beans hitting you as soon as you stepped inside the shop. The bell above the door chimed, and the barista greeted you with a smile. You rattled off two orders: one for yourself and one for Tyler—black coffee, extra shot of espresso. You didn’t even need to ask what he wanted; you’d known his usual for months, committing it to memory in a way that only someone who cared a little too much would.

Within minutes, you were heading back to the gas station, clutching both cups in your hands. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside you—maybe this would be the moment Tyler noticed. Maybe the fact that you remembered his drink order without needing to ask would mean something to him.

You spotted him leaning against the truck, his arms crossed as he waited for the tank to fill. His focus was elsewhere, probably already thinking ahead to the day’s chase, completely oblivious to the fact that you were heading his way with a small gesture of care.

“Here,” you said, holding out the cup toward him.

Tyler looked down at the coffee, momentarily confused before taking it from your hand. He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

“Black coffee. Extra shot of espresso,” you said softly, your heart picking up speed as you recited his order, hoping the words would register with him. Hoping that he’d realize you didn’t need to ask because you already knew.

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours briefly before he gave a slight nod. “Thanks,” he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips and taking his first sip.

That was it. Just a nod. No smile, no acknowledgment of the fact that you’d remembered his exact order, nothing. The flicker of hope you’d felt moments earlier dimmed into something closer to disappointment.

You stood there, feeling a bit like a fool for expecting anything more. After all, this was Tyler Owens—the same Tyler who never gave out compliments, the same Tyler who always kept his emotions locked up tight. Why had you thought this would be any different?

You shifted on your feet, holding your own cup a little tighter. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up,” you added, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping for... something.

He nodded again, glancing back toward the others as Boone finished filling up the tank. “Appreciate it,” he said flatly, his focus already shifting away from you and back to the task at hand.

You forced a smile, though the sting of his indifference was hard to ignore. You weren’t expecting grand gestures, but maybe just a little more than a nod. With the wind knocked out of your sails, you turned and headed toward the other side of the truck, sipping your own coffee, the bitter taste mirroring the feeling settling in your chest.

Lily caught your eye from where she stood talking to Dexter, and she shot you a questioning look as if to say, How’d it go? You gave her a small shake of your head and shrugged, silently communicating that it hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped.

The team loaded back into the vehicles, ready to hit the road again, but as you climbed into your seat, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of always trying, always hoping—only to come up short.

And the worst part? No matter how much it stung, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop caring, couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, one day, Tyler Owens would notice you the way you’d been noticing him all along.

The Wranglers team hit the open road, the small town shrinking behind them as fields stretched out on either side of the highway. You sat in the front passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, a map spread across your lap, though you both knew you wouldn’t really need it. Tyler had been storm chasing for years, and he could practically navigate these roads in his sleep. Your job as navigator was mostly just for show, a formality, but you took it seriously nonetheless—just like being the DJ.

Tyler drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The rest of the convoy followed behind, the team moving as one unit, always in sync, always chasing the next storm.

You unlocked your phone and scrolled through your Spotify library, stopping at the playlist you had saved specifically for moments like this. The one titled simply “Tyler.” A collection of his favorite songs, the ones you’d spent months curating, learning the words to, and playing on repeat just to feel a little closer to him.

You had watched him during countless drives, noting which songs made him tap his fingers against the steering wheel, which ones he hummed along to, and—on rare occasions—which ones he’d actually sing under his breath. The playlist was like a map of his soul, each song a clue to who he was beneath the surface.

You pressed play, the first song filtering through the truck’s speakers, a familiar beat that you knew he liked. Your heart raced a little as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’d notice.

The music filled the space between you, the silence replaced by lyrics you knew by heart—not because they were your favorite songs, but because they were his.

Tyler’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look over, didn’t comment. He just drove, his eyes fixed on the road as if the music were simply background noise.

You shifted in your seat, trying to hide your disappointment. Maybe he hadn’t realized yet. It was still early in the playlist, after all. You tapped your fingers against your knee, silently mouthing the words to the song, hoping that at some point, he’d notice. That he’d realize you weren’t just playing random songs—you were playing his songs. The ones that made him smile or relax, the ones that you knew by heart because of him.

Another song began, this one more upbeat. You couldn’t help but glance at him again, waiting for some kind of reaction—a nod, a hum, anything to show that he recognized the playlist as his own.

But if he noticed, he didn’t let it show. His face remained unreadable, his focus unbroken as the miles ticked by beneath the tires. He was calm, in control, as always.

You felt the familiar pang of disappointment settling in your chest, but you pushed it down, telling yourself not to get your hopes up. Tyler wasn’t the type to express things outwardly. You knew that. You’d known it from the beginning, but still... a part of you had hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

You swallowed the feeling, keeping your gaze out the window, watching the landscape blur past. The music continued, your playlist running through the songs you’d carefully chosen, each one holding a piece of him. You wanted to believe that, at some point, he’d hear it. That he’d realize how much you’d been paying attention all along.

But for now, the road stretched on, and Tyler remained as distant as ever, his silence louder than the music that filled the truck.`

A week later, after a long day of chasing storms, the team had found their way to a small bar on the outskirts of town. The neon lights flickered in the windows, casting a soft glow over the worn-out booths and the dartboard that had seen better days. You followed them inside, but your mind wasn’t on the drinks or the games of pool and darts that the others had already started.

You slipped into a booth in the corner, away from the noise, with your bag slung over your shoulder. From it, you pulled out a book—the book. It was a self-help book you’d noticed Tyler reading last week when he thought no one was watching. You had immediately ordered a copy, telling yourself that it was purely out of interest, but deep down, you knew why. You hoped that if Tyler saw you reading it, he’d think you were smart. Maybe even that you shared the same interests. Maybe he'd even come over and talk to you about it.

The cover felt smooth under your fingers as you opened it, pretending to lose yourself in the words, but really, your eyes kept darting toward the team as they laughed and played darts a few feet away. Tyler stood at the dartboard, one hand gripping a beer, the other lazily aiming for the bullseye. His concentration was unwavering, just as it had been all day on the road, but you couldn’t help but glance his way every few minutes, hoping—wishing—he’d look over and see you.

You settled back against the worn leather of the booth, opening the book to where you’d bookmarked a random page. The words blurred slightly, not because you weren’t capable of understanding them, but because your mind wasn’t truly on the text. Instead, it wandered to the what-ifs, the scenarios where Tyler would walk over, slide into the booth across from you, and ask what you thought of the book. Maybe he’d smile, that rare but breathtaking smile you’d seen a hundred times, and the two of you would actually talk. Not just the usual team banter or logistics about the next chase, but really talk.

But as the minutes passed, the background noise of laughter and clinking glasses felt like a reminder of just how far away that possibility was. Tyler was still over by the dartboard, chatting with Boone as they took turns tossing darts. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction since they’d arrived at the bar.

You tried to focus on the book again, reading the same line twice before finally giving in and glancing at him once more. Nothing. No flicker of recognition that you were there, no acknowledgment of the effort you had put into reading his book, hoping it would make you stand out.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned your elbow on the table, resting your chin in your hand. Maybe you were trying too hard. Maybe all the little things—the playlist, the coffee, the book—were just things he’d never notice. Or maybe, and this thought stung the most, maybe you were invisible to him in that way. A friend. A coworker. But nothing more.

You looked down at the book again, reading a few more lines as if they could somehow distract you from the tight knot forming in your chest.

A few minutes later, Boone called out to you, holding up a pool cue as if inviting you to join their game. You shook your head, waving them off with a small smile, holding up the book as an excuse. Boone shrugged and turned back to Tyler, who was lining up his next throw.

For a split second, Tyler’s eyes flicked toward you. Your heart jumped, but before you could even process it, he threw the dart and turned back to the game as if the moment had never happened.

The diner was warm, the kind of warmth that came from too many bodies crammed into small booths and the lingering scent of coffee and fried food in the air. You sat across from Boone, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold, staring blankly at the chipped rim. The conversation around you was a low hum, drowned out by the thoughts racing through your head.

Tyler had left without a word this morning. Just gone. No explanation, no heads-up. Just a quick exchange with Dexter about her—Kate. The girl from Storm Par. The girl who’d seemed to have swept Tyler off his feet in the last two days. You hated to admit it, but the jealousy gnawed at you, each thought of them together, of him abandoning the team, felt like another crack in your resolve.

Boone nudged your arm, drawing you back to the present. “You alright?” His voice was low, concerned, but you just nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Across from you, Ben, the British journalist tagging along with the team, was flipping through his notebook, occasionally scribbling something down. You could tell he was enjoying the chaos of American storm chasing, but his eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you, the one Tyler should have been occupying. Everyone had noticed his absence, but no one had said much. Not directly, anyway.

Lily leaned over, her elbow brushing against Dani as they huddled together over their phones. “He’ll call,” Lily said with forced optimism, glancing at you. “Tyler sometimes does this—goes off on his own for a bit. He’ll be back.”

Dexter and Dani nodded in agreement, but Boone wasn’t so convinced. You weren’t either. Tyler wasn’t just gone. He was with her, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

Night came, and still no word from Tyler. You’d tried calling him once, your stomach twisted in knots, but there was no answer. No response. You wanted to believe Lily and the others, that he would come back, but every passing hour chipped away at that hope.

The next morning, the skies had shifted. Clouds churned ominously in the distance, the kind of promising sight that normally would have Tyler barking orders and loading up the gear. But today, there was just a quiet, palpable tension as the team stood in the parking lot of the motel, debating whether to head out without him.

“I don’t know,” Boone muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the horizon. “Feels wrong going out without Tyler.”

You felt the same. It felt like a piece of the team was missing, the driving force behind it all, but the skies were waiting. And so was Ben. You glanced at the journalist, who had been watching you closely, eager for the action he’d come all the way from England to document. You couldn’t let his time go to waste.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice steady, even though your insides were anything but. “We’ve got the van and the RV. We can still get some good footage, even without Tyler’s truck.”

The team exchanged glances, unsure. But you stepped forward, taking the lead. “Lily’s drone can get us the close-up shots we need, and we’ve still got the cameras. We can’t afford to wait. We’ve got to keep the channel going, and we need content.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow, impressed by your sudden shift into leadership, but Boone still looked hesitant. “What about Tyler?” he asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

You forced a calm you didn’t really feel. “Tyler will catch up with us when he’s ready. Right now, we can’t just sit around. The storm’s not going to wait for us.”

Boone finally nodded, and with that, the decision was made. You piled into the van with Lily and the rest of the crew, leaving behind the uncertainty of where Tyler was, or when he’d come back. Ben hopped in last, his camera at the ready, his excitement barely contained as you pulled out onto the open road.

As you sat in the passenger seat, guiding them toward the brewing storm, a familiar weight settled in your chest. You were used to being the one behind the scenes, managing social media, making sure the team’s content reached the masses. But now, as the makeshift team lead in Tyler’s absence, you couldn’t help but wonder—if he ever did come back, would things ever be the same between you two?

Your fingers hovered over your phone, tempted to try calling him again. But instead, you locked the screen and turned your focus to the skies ahead. You had a team to lead now. Tyler’s absence hurt, but it wasn’t going to stop you.

The morning air hung heavy, thick with the kind of heat that settled into your bones. You were leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to let the frustration bubbling under your skin show. Boone stood beside you, his phone buzzing on the dashboard where he’d tossed it. You both glanced at the screen as Tyler’s name flashed across it.

Boone let it ring, his jaw clenched tight. After a few seconds, it went to voicemail. Neither of you said a word, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Tyler was trying to reach out, but neither of you were ready to hear him out just yet.

Moments later, Lily’s phone chimed. She didn’t hesitate, picking it up and putting it on speaker before Tyler had a chance to duck out. "Hey, Tyler," she greeted, her voice neutral.

"You ready for the next chase?" she asked, her tone deceptively light, but you could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

But before she could say anything more, Tyler cut her off. “No, we’re gonna need you guys for something.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, and Boone shot you a sideways glance, his brow furrowing in confusion. You mirrored his look. We’ll? What did Tyler mean by that?

Lily pressed, “Do we need to drive all the way to Sapulpa?”

Tyler’s voice was quick to respond. “No, no. We’ll come to you.”

That we echoed in your mind, sinking deeper with each moment of silence that followed. You exchanged another look with Boone, but neither of you said anything. There was an uneasy feeling settling in, but none of you knew exactly what to make of it.

Minutes later, a text from Tyler buzzed through to your phone. You looked down to see the name and address of a trailer company. “What is this?” you muttered, sharing the text with Boone and the others.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Dexter said, climbing into the van with a shrug.

When you arrived at the lot, confusion still lingered in the air as the team climbed out of the van. The parking lot was full of trailers, rows upon rows of them in every size and shape imaginable, glinting under the afternoon sun. The purpose of being here was still unclear.

Then you spotted Tyler’s truck pulling in. The familiar hum of the engine sent your heart rate spiking, but it wasn’t just him that got out.

Kate. She emerged from the passenger side, her face lit up with that same easy smile she’d been wearing ever since the two of them had met.

You felt the knot tighten in your stomach, the same one that had been there since she’d entered the picture two days ago. Dani was the first to break the silence. “You finally made it,” she called, a hint of relief in her voice.

Tyler gave her a smile as he stepped up to the group. “Ben, you stuck around,” he greeted the journalist, shaking his hand as Ben nodded.

“Turns out there’s more to this story than I thought,” Ben said, eyeing Tyler with curiosity.

Tyler grinned. “We got a new ending for you.”

Meanwhile, Dexter raised his hand in a mock salute toward Kate. “Look who it is. City girl.” He shot her a grin that was almost welcoming. Almost.

Lily wasn’t far behind. “What’s up, Kate?” she asked, sounding a little too casual as she strolled over to them.

Kate smiled, sliding easily into conversation with Dexter and Lily like she had been part of the crew all along. You watched as they started chatting about storm footage, Lily showing her clips on her phone from the chase the team had gone on without Tyler and Kate. It wasn’t just that they were talking, though. It was the way Kate’s eyes lit up at the footage, the way she leaned in closer, asking about Lily’s drone.

"Can you rig that drone to collect data?" Kate asked, her interest piqued.

Lily nodded, explaining how Cairo, her drone, worked and all the modifications she’d made. Watching Kate take such an interest in the team felt like watching her slip further into Tyler’s world. A world that, for so long, had felt like yours.

Tyler, meanwhile, was making his way over to Boone, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he began, his voice sincere. "I’m sorry."

Boone didn’t look at him, his jaw set. "Man, you abandoned me," Boone muttered, his voice tight with hurt. "I don’t know nothin’ about no makeup-"

Tyler cut him off with a smirk. “How about we launch some new rockets?”

Boone’s expression shifted, the tension breaking as he perked up. "You said rockets?" His tone was a mix of surprise and cautious excitement.

Tyler nodded, a grin forming. “I did.”

For a moment, it felt like the old Tyler and Boone—the way they always found common ground no matter what. But that still left you.

Tyler turned toward you, taking a few steps in your direction, his face softening. "I’m sorry," he began, but before he could get out anything more, Dani and the salesman walked up.

The apology hung in the air, unfinished, as you stood there, watching him. He hadn’t called you, hadn’t reached out directly. And now, standing in front of you with Kate by his side, the apology felt... hollow.

The van's engine hummed steadily as you followed behind Tyler’s truck, the road stretching endlessly ahead. You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the trailer lot. The silence between you and Lily was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the sky was bruised with the remnants of a setting sun, casting long shadows over the landscape. But inside the van, it felt like the world had dimmed.

Your eyes were locked on the truck ahead, on the faint silhouette of Tyler’s head just visible through the back window. You knew Kate was sitting there, right beside him, and the thought twisted in your chest like a knife. You blinked, trying to hold it together, but the tears came anyway, silent and hot as they slid down your cheeks.

Lily glanced over at you, her brows knitting together in concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly, giving you space. But you could feel her eyes on you, the way she hesitated before speaking.

“Hey…” her voice was soft, cautious. “You okay?”

It was a ridiculous question, really, but it was all she could say. You shook your head slightly, trying to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your jacket, but they kept coming, harder now.

Lily sighed, her hand reaching across the seat to give your arm a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to say it—you both knew. She had been the only one who knew. The only one you had confided in about how you felt about Tyler. She had believed, just like you, that maybe he’d wake up and see what was right in front of him.

But now... now it was clear. He had found someone else. Someone more exciting, more interesting. Someone like Kate.

The tears fell faster, and you pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to keep the sobs at bay. But your mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let you escape from the reality of it. Tyler hadn’t just left you behind. He had abandoned you without a second thought, without even realizing how much it hurt. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. Gone like you meant nothing.

And you were left wondering what you’d done wrong. Why you were never enough.

Lily’s voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts. “You know… none of this is your fault, right?”

You let out a shaky breath, but didn’t respond. How could it not be? You must have done something—been something—wrong for him to walk away like that, like you didn’t even matter.

“He’s a fool, you know,” Lily continued, her voice firmer now. “I really thought he’d pull his head out of his ass eventually. Realize what’s right in front of him.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He never even saw me.”

Lily didn’t argue, and you were grateful for that. Because it was true. Tyler hadn’t seen you—not the way you wanted him to. You had spent so long hoping, waiting for him to notice, to realize that you loved him more than anyone ever could. But he didn’t. He found someone else instead, someone new and shiny like Kate.

Your thoughts spiraled further, the pain gnawing at you from the inside. You could barely breathe through it. God, Tyler couldn’t have cared less about someone who had loved him more. Loved him with everything you had.

“I’d say he broke my heart,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “but I think he broke a lot more than that.”

Lily’s hand was back on your arm, squeezing tighter this time. “You deserved better. You still do.”

You nodded, though it didn’t feel like that right now. All you’d ever wanted was to be enough for him. Just enough to be seen, to be cared for the way you cared for him. But that had been too much to ask.

The miles passed by, the road stretching endlessly ahead, just like this ache inside you. You watched the truck in front of you, the taillights glowing faintly as Tyler drove on, oblivious. You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of you at all—or if he was too caught up in Kate’s orbit now to even notice the wreckage he’d left behind.

You turned to look at Lily, her eyes full of empathy. “I don’t think I ever stood a chance, did I?” you asked quietly.

Lily’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head softly. “No. I don’t think it was ever about you. He’s just… lost. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You nodded, feeling that hollow truth settle in your bones. You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he didn’t see you or the realization that you might have been waiting for someone who was never really yours to begin with.

The air was still, thick with the calm before the storm. The team had scattered, gathering near the RV to eat lunch and regroup before they moved on. Laughter echoed from where Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat in lawn chairs, enjoying the brief pause in the chase. Ben, Boone, and Tyler stood near Tyler's truck, their conversation drowned out by the low hum of the wind sweeping across the open field.

But you weren’t with them. You hadn’t been all day.

You sat alone in the van, the door open, your legs pulled up to your chest as you rested your forehead on your knees. Your eyes were closed, trying to block out the ache that had settled deep inside your chest. The tears had dried, but your face still felt tight from the tracks they left behind. You just wanted to disappear, to not feel the way you did.

Tyler’s laughter drifted over from where he stood with the others, and the sound made your heart twist painfully. He had no idea, no clue what was going on inside you.

Until Lily caught his eye.

She saw him glance toward the van, saw him hesitate, his body half-turned as if he wanted to approach but wasn’t sure if he should. She knew it was only a matter of time before he’d find out—before your carefully hidden feelings were laid bare. The thought of you sitting there, hurting like this, was eating her alive.

With a deep breath, Lily made the decision. She walked over to where Tyler stood, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Tyler, can we talk for a second?”

He glanced down at her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Lily glanced toward you in the van, then back at Tyler. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. “It’s about her. I think... I think you need to know something.”

Tyler’s expression changed instantly. His eyes followed hers to where you sat, and he felt the weight of her words before she even said them. “What is it?”

Lily sighed. “She’s not just upset about the team. About you leaving. It’s more than that.” She hesitated, then spoke more quietly. “She’s been hurt by you bringing Kate on board. Especially without saying anything.”

Tyler frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Hurt? Why would—”

“She cares about you, Tyler,” Lily interrupted. “More than you realize.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood there, frozen for a moment, processing what Lily had just told him. “Wait… you mean…?”

Lily nodded. “She’s had feelings for you for a long time. And when you left, it broke her. Then when you came back… with Kate...” Lily trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. The silence said enough.

Tyler felt the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. Guilt gnawed at him, the realization sinking in. He looked back toward you, sitting alone in the van, your back to him.

“Damn…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Lily replied softly. “But now you do.”

Tyler gave her a nod, his jaw clenched as he turned and started walking toward the van. His footsteps were slow, hesitant. The closer he got, the clearer it became—he hadn’t just hurt you by abandoning the team. He’d hurt you far worse without even realizing it.

He stopped halfway to the van, watching you. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way your head was bowed like you were trying to hold everything inside. It gutted him. But he wasn’t sure if approaching was the right thing to do.

After a moment, he made the choice. He walked the rest of the way to the van, coming to a stop just beside the open door. You didn’t look up at first, didn’t acknowledge his presence. But you knew he was there.

He sat down beside you, careful not to sit too close. The silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler started, his voice low. “For leaving. For abandoning you guys. It wasn’t fair to put all that on you.”

You still didn’t look at him, but he saw the way your hands tightened around your knees.

“I saw the footage,” he continued, trying to offer something, anything that might make it better. “You did great. You really stepped up. Led the team better than I could have.”

You said nothing, just kept your gaze down, the ache in your chest only growing with each word. None of this was what you needed to hear.

Tyler let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I talked to Lily. She told me…”

At that, you finally lifted your head, your heart lurching at the sound of those words. She told him. You felt the sting of betrayal—Lily had said too much.

“Tyler, don’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

But he didn’t stop. He needed to say it, needed to acknowledge it. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know you felt that way. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky as you tried to keep it together. “Please… just don’t.”

But he pressed on, his voice softer now. “I do care about you. I really do. But not in the way you want me to.”

Those words felt like a slap, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to fall again.

“I don’t need your apology,” you finally said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I don’t need your pity either.”

Tyler’s brows furrowed. “It’s not pity. I just… I want to make things right.”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh that was more of a sob. “You can’t fix this, Tyler. You can’t just… say you’re sorry and make it all go away.”

He watched you, pain flickering in his eyes. He hated that he had done this to you, hated that his actions had caused you this kind of hurt.

“I never asked for much,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to be enough. Enough for you to notice me. To see me.”

Tyler looked away, guilt settling in his gut like a lead weight. “I’m sorry.”

The words fell flat. Meaningless.

You turned away from him, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that felt so shattered. “It was just a stupid crush anyway,” you muttered, forcing a small, hollow laugh. “I’ll get over it.”

But both of you knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just a crush. It had been so much more than that. And now… now it felt like you had lost something you couldn’t get back.

Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“There’s nothing you can do,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe there was a chance.”

He stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. He had broken something inside you, and no amount of apologies would fix it.

You wiped your eyes, standing up from the van. “I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, though it was more for yourself than for him.

And with that, you walked away, leaving Tyler sitting there, watching you go, knowing he had lost something he didn’t even realize he had.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say I Do (m) | jjk

Summary: you and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed)

AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au

Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

Word count: 5,2k

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once).

Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I love talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘 

Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜

This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜

Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now).

This has nothing to do with my other fic 'say that again (I dare you)', but if you want to read that I'm not opposed (it's also a jjk fic) ✨

Fancy reading on AO3? 😉 

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story. 

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck. 

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell. 

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion. 

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table. 

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips. 

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests. 

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression. 

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown. 

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences. 

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes. 

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment. 

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook. 

Fuck. 

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you. 

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends? 

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention. 

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests. 

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere. 

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy. 

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated. 

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm. 

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants. 

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx. 

–

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness. 

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass. 

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you. 

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips. 

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins. 

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.” 

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body. 

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing. 

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold. 

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric. 

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit. 

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers. 

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp. 

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence. 

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your a*s with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall. 

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more. 

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?” 

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two. 

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves. 

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix. 

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!” 

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too. 

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him. 

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot. 

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment. 

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction. 

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo. 

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels. 

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy. 

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

Please let me know if you liked it with a comment, reblog, and ask or whatever 💜

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

-> Chapter 1(Here)| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ...

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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.

And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.

-Eli

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.

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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.

You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.

The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.

As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.

You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.

You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.

Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.

'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.

You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infront of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.

Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.

You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.

The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.

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also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:

Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah

Taglist:

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[weirdsht]

My Field of Flowers - LoTCF & Reader

a/n: this prompt was in my notes for the longest time, but i didn't manage to do it justice so i'm high-key sad... Oh also this is heavily inspired by fairy tail's Ankhseram' s curse (the curse of contradiction)

tags: male reader, platonic relationships only, dragon half-blood & reader, cale & reader, based on chapter 458 onwards, passive detrimental thoughts from reader, open ending, possible ooc cale

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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“…Hyung?”

[Name] softly asked as his gaze landed on the half-blood that was supposed to be dead. Well, at least that’s what everyone told the man. They all told him that his hyung was dead and that his never coming back.

Nonetheless, he was here, in front of [Name].

He was weak, he looked like a normal human. The air of elegance and power around him was almost gone.

But still, he was here. He isn’t dead like everyone had claimed him to be.

That’s enough for [Name].

He tried to reach out to the Dragon half-blood, but an arm stopped him from doing so.

It was Dorph’s arm. Of course it was, who else would it be after all?

“You mustn't [Name]-nim, that bad hyung has betrayed your father. We don’t want you being tainted.”

The man retreated his hand. Dorph’s voice and actions were soft, as if [Name] was the finest jewel that would break if handled wrong. However, that jewel was already shaking even after being cared for so meticulously.

[Name] did not dare argue. It was obvious in his eyes how he wanted to be by the half-blood’s side, but no words came out of his mouth. Dorph looked back at the man and smiled in satisfaction after seeing [Name] follow his orders.

“Take that calamity– that boy with you.”

Cale who had been watching the exchange heard the Dragon half-blood whispered. His brain was still in disarray, but he had enough wits left to tell Cale to take [Name] with them.

Of course, Cale isn’t someone who would trust an enemy so quickly. For all he knew this could be a last-ditch effort to have the upper hand.

The half-blood knew he couldn’t be trusted, but he still insisted.

“White Star will take a huge blow if you take him. That kid also doesn’t know how to fight back, I can guarantee it.”

As if to prove his point White Star arrived and the first thing he did was look for [Name].

White Star gently smiled at [Name] as his gaze landed on the man. It was as if a father was looking at a beloved child. However, that affection is unreciprocated as [Name] becomes even more scared upon the reincarnator’s arrival.

[Name] became even more scared after the bastard whispered something in his ear.

“B-but hyung is with them–!”

“Hurry up, before White Star forces that calamity to use his powers!”

The so-called calamity tried to plead with White Star at the same time the Dragon half-blood whispered to Cale. Urgency dripped with every word the chimera spoke. He even almost sounded scared at the man’s ability.

It made Cale scoff. He still doesn’t know the whole picture, but this was enough to finalize his decision.

“Choi Han!”

The young master shouted amidst the chaos and the enemy's monologue. Choi Han immediately knew what to do. He quickly yanked the mysterious man and ran towards where Cale and the others were.

With that, all of them safely teleported to Marquis Stan’s territory.

[Name] was dizzy. Both physically and mentally.

He had no shred of clue what was happening. One moment he was behind Dorph, then all of a sudden this swordmaster grabbed him and now it looks like he was underground.

The poor man was scared. Most of the people he met wanted something with him. They all sought him out for what he could provide for them. This is especially true with powerful people.

And this group is full of just that.

Nevertheless, he said nothing. He merely followed everyone while staying as quiet as possible. His hands strongly gripped the back of the distraught Dragon half-blood’s clothes. As if that cloth was [Name]’s last lifeline.

Honestly, it could be.

For all he knew they could force him to use his ability to its maximum capacity and then he would die.

As much as he didn’t mind dying he didn’t want the aftermath of using his ability.

“This kid has an ability called barren. Calamity, explain it yourself. You’re not a kid anymore.”

What a flimsy excuse… it was obvious that the half-blood just wanted some thinking time.

Still, [Name] complied and started introducing himself to Cale.

“I’m [Name] and unlike hyung and White Star I’m a normal human with a normal lifespan.”

The weird introduction made Cale’s eyebrows raise. But he said nothing and waited for the man to continue.

“As hyung said I have an ability called barren. The best explanation for it is death for everyone and everything as long as I will it so.”

Ah, suddenly the nickname “calamity” is starting to make sense.

“Of course, it’s not without a price. I can kill anyone in the world at will but it would cost me my life.”

[Name] proceeds to explain how the price is his own lifespan. Every time he uses his powers his lifespan shortens. Hence why all this time White Star used it sparingly.

“I… I’m not really allied with the White Star. He found me on the streets one day and discovered my ability. Since then I’ve been forced to do whatever he wants me to…”

His voice shook as he spoke. Fear and anxiety apparent with every word. However, truth was also there along those things. He might be shaking in his boots, holding onto his hyung like his life depended on it, but his voice and eyes showed Cale that he spoke the truth.

“We’ll talk more later. For now, we need to get that earth attribute power.”

Unfortunately, things became hectic after that. The next time they got to talk was after Sheritt and Raon found out the truth about what happened to the red egg.

“Thank you.”

[Name]’s voice was sincere as he thanked Cale.

“For what?”

“For giving my hyung a choice. It means a lot to him. More than he is willing to show.”

Cale’s insolent tone was drowned out by [Name]’s genuineness.

“What about you?”

[Name] made a humming noise at the redhead’s question. Asking him to explain what he meant.

“You were never given a choice.”

A serene look glazed over [Name]’s face and for a moment Cale couldn’t help but think about how odd this pair of “siblings” are.

“Seeing my hyung have the possibility to redeem himself is good for me. It’s enough.”

The ability user’s voice became quieter, more content.

“You see young master, I’m a blight. It’s why my family abandoned me. Someone like me should never exist. Did you know that at first, I couldn’t control my ability? I would accidentally kill the trees and grass around me.”

A distant look glazed over the man. He wasn’t with Cale anymore, he was back in the past. Back in his childhood memories.

“I hate White Star. I never wanted to kill so many living things, but he made me do it. He said it’s for the greater good, but I’m not an idiot… Still though…”

[Name] choked up a bit, as if his next words had to be forced out of him.

“I’m thankful to him because he taught me how to control my powers. It’s because of him that I can talk to you peacefully like this.”

Cale wasn’t sure where this was going, but he still listened. Not an inch of him moved from his position. Record unknowingly working hard to take in [Name]’s words.

“What I’m trying to say is that this moment of peace is enough for me. Being able to talk to everyone without having to worry is enough for me. In fact, this is already too generous for a calamity like me.”

That glazed look in [Name]’s eyes disappeared as he came back to the present.

“Ah, I’m sorry I spoke a bunch of nonsense. I’ll be retreating in my room now. Please call me if you need anything.”

Cale didn’t say anything as [Name] bowed an apology before walking in the opposite direction.

He wasn’t stunned or surprised per se.

It was just that he saw himself in [Name].

Not him as Cale Henituse, the young master of a wealthy noble family.

But him as Kim Rok Soo, the abused and battered child who had long given up. The child who had succumbed to the whims of the incompetent adults around him. The man who only woke up every day because he hadn’t died yet.

And maybe it was because of some twisted self-satisfaction. Maybe it was Cale projecting into [Name]. But the moment the man had turned his back the redhead made a promise.

A promise for no one else to hear but Cale only.

A silent vow that he would give [Name] all the possible choices he could give him. Ensure that he’ll find out the joys of living, of not being in pain.

Cale silently vowed that he would put in the effort just so that [Name] could enjoy his own small field of flowers.

[theothernads]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ❛❛ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ⁶: 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎 ❞ || YJW

☰ ❛❛ 𝖮𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌❞ Y.JW.

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𐙚 ⋆ ｡ ˚:

Yn believed in logic. Jungwon believed in understanding his emotions. Their friends knew they would get into petty arguments. All in all, they desire a successful university life, away from their past and families. However, when murders appear in the premises of their own school, and the past comes back to meet them, they find a link and team up with their logic and emotions to find out the culprit and resume their normal lives. But, no one guaranteed their safety and their feelings for each other.

ᯓᡣ𐭩𝖸𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 × 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ౨ৎ. ｡˚

☰ TAGS: college au, enhypen smau, jungwon+reader, thriller, yandere themes, crime, slow-burn, angst

╰┈➤𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 (comment or give an ask)

𐙚 ◦ Full warnings on m.list page

╰┈➤ [ REBLOGS and COMMENTS are appreciated]

Wc: 2.09k

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A STUDY CAFÉ AFTER TWO HOURS OF CLASS WAS A BREATHER. A way for everyone to cool the foggy effect of lecture notes and the languid speech of the professor. You could have almost fallen asleep atop your laptop hadn't it been for Jungwon clearing his throat.

Jay stated that he needed to tell everyone something, so no one could resist the urge to gather together in the neat and cream-coloured, study room. The large, white table was soon littered with laptops and the recent book everyone was reading; eventually, everyone sat down.

Jay leaned forward on his elbows once he caught everyone's attention. "I was talking to Jake this morning, and guess what?"

No one spoke a word upon seeing the slight dapple of despaire on Jay's face so, he continued.

"The case where we found that dead man, may be closed, like, forever."

The heavy silence was suffocating, so many unspoken words mixing in the air as everyone stilled. Jay could have thought he was staring at a paused video until Yunjin scoffed, brows buried deep downwards, reflecting yours and Jungwon's reaction.

"You must be kidding," she said quietly as she crossed her arms and quelled the silence. The unpleasant news forced your eyes to wander anywhere but Jay, rocks of anxiety anchoring your mind down. Jungwon remained silent.

"Yeah, I'm not kidding," Jay declared once more to everyone's dismay, gazing back at his lit laptop.

Jay continued to explain that in the whirlwind of the murder case, the route to who the culprit is was hidden by too many obstacles that the police didn't know how to tackle: no footprints, no cameras and no witnesses. It was a dead end.

Scaring yourself was not an option, so you tried desperately to subdue that train of thought and grasp at anything logical despite your own intuition.

"Well, if they closed down the case, I guess, they tried to take everyone's interest at heart." You fiddled with your pen, flicking it vigorously to-and-fro as silence pervaded the study room once more.

"It's just strange. They couldn't find... anything?" Jungwon urged Jay, confusion entangled in his tone. Uncertain, his friend let out a shaky sigh.

"It's probably nothing, as Yn said. Maybe it is genuinely not a threat to us or the university," Jay insisted, trying to put confidence in your weak excuse. Not much was said as Yunjin shrugged, languid.

"I guess so. Whatever. I'm done with that shit. Let's just work," Yunjin announced with a new determination, swerving away from the morose topic and onto becoming academic weapons for the rest of the semester.

Everyone agreed and dived into their work. Ten minutes passed and Jungwon decided to call his good classmate for the upcoming film project. Through the screen, he saw Taehyun's boba eyes and the profuse blinks to make sure the actual facetime was working.

Jungwon wasn't looking but he swiped a hand through his hair and allowed Taehyun to catch a glimpse of Jungwon's meticulously clean nails. Taehyun snickered, causing Jungwon to incredulously raise an eyebrow to the other.

"What are you laughing at?" Jungwon asked, bewildered. Taehyun waved a dismssive hand, clearly trying to conceal his humour. Upon seeing Jungwon's unyielding expression, he finally gave in.

"No - I just saw your nails and they look pretty. Are you going to do them again," Taehyun chimed with mischief, making you, Yunjin and Jay chuckle a little under your breaths. Only Jungwon forlornly crossed his arms and directed his glare at the latter on the screen.

"Seriously?"

Within a second, Taehyun's smile dropped and nodded with a deadpan expression. "Yes."

Whilst you and the others were laughing at the comical situation, Jungwon found it far from that; irritated, his frown remained as he pulled up the page for the assignment.

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Days passed and you were walking along with Minji, Chaewon and Heeseung. Psychology class evoked a session of inevitable ranting that everyone thoroughly required. It was a routine to go through.

The front area of the school was where you and the others were headed, the breeze brushing through your locks; it was a refreshing way to liberate the clouding information from the unpleasant lectures.

More booths and kiosks littered the place, colours displayed from the banners hung meticulously on the stands. Each one delivering the name of the club and the unavoidable prices to capitvate the future customers.

You walked longside Chaewon until you reached the wooden table that was occupied by Yunjin, Jay and Jungwon. Apart from your friends, there were definitely more people out there - more near the platform resembling the stage. Your gaze was not stuck there for long to see who was on it, but you were drawn back to Yunjin and Chaewon squealing in delight.

You stood beside Minji and observed them fussing, a small speck of apprehension seeping into their faces from the way Yunjin ran a hand through her hair.

"I cannot believe we get to dance at the festival, Chae."

"You're dancing as well and I didn't know?" you exclaimed to the blonde girl, your jaw dropped. Chaewon nodded with a modest smile.

"Yeah, Yunjin and I dance with some other girls," She said and was accompanied with an enthusiastic nod from Yunjin. Crossing your arms, you sent a cheeky smile to Chaewon.

"I didn't know you dance."

Chaewon shrugged, almost innocently with her eyes morphing into cheerful crescents when she grinned - as if she didn't know what you were even talking about. "I thought I said so."

On the other hand, Jay placed his phone down with a knowing smile when he glanced ateveryone. Heeseung, sitting opposite him, grimaced at the expression Jay had.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Heeseung asked, disgruntled. A glare was all that Jay delivered to the latter.

"Well, I am also expressing my excitement since I'm also dancing - but with a dude called 'K'," Jay explained with excitement tainting his voice. The name threw everyone, but Chaewon and Yunjin, off.

"K?" you uttered, not even burying the incredulity that crept up your tone. Even Heeseung tilted his head, but Jay dsmissively waved his hand.

"I wasn't the one that named him - anyway, it's short and snappy."

"Yeah - in text," Heeseung remarked with a snort, resulting a terse slap in the back of the head by Minji. A yelp slipped past his lips as he pacified the slight pang in his skull.

"Ow, what the fvck?"

When the conversation reached its end and everyone was about to art their ways, a static screech washed over the entirety of the courtyard. Everyone curtly halted, heads turning, and a wince escaped your lips.

The source was at the stage, the speakers blaring a man's voice; the male figure had black-rimmed glasses, jet-black hair brushed in a tiny man bun and brown eyes that held this hollow calmness in them. When you scanned over his features more, you discovered he was middle-aged and he was flanked by some other people behind him. There was this unnerving, small smile he had that disrupted the serene waves of thoughts within you.

The man patted the mic softly and soft bass sounds followed after it, catching the attention of everyone there. You couldn't look away now that the uncertainty simmered in your stomach.

Who the fvck was this?

As if the man heard your inner monologue, his voice dispersed from the speakers.

"Hello. You are probably wondering who I am. I want to introduce myself as Moon Minseok, the sponsor of the school."

Those eyes that were roaming from booth to booth landed on you and the others. No words were exchanged but everyone acknowledged the dubious shiver prowling down everyone's spine.

It forced you to swiftly divert your gaze into something that was not worthy of attention - much like everyone else. You tried to drown out the remnants of the speech.

You don't even know when the speech ended, but you and Jungwon departed ways together to get to the gardening booth. Danielle was already there and directed you to simply tag the prices to each gardening product before she also sauntered away.

It was easy enough.

So, you and Jungwon found yourselves sitting in the comfortable silence, the subtle breeze caressing yours and his clothes whilst the sunlight feebly seeped through the thick blankets of clouds.

The little cactuses and ferns were adorably small, the plastic wrapped around it in a way that didn't bend their leaves or figures. You couldn't help but smile at the miniature, clay pots.

It was almost calming in a way until a multitude of nefarious footsteps approched the gardening booth, making you and Jungwon curiously glance up.

There was clear tension in your muscles when those empty eyes, of none other than Minseok, landed on you and Jungwon. Behind him, the same people flanked him, tablets in their hands, and the principal also accompanying him. The headmaster looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It appeared amusing to you, but you didn't react and, instead, gave a short glance to Jungwon, who also gave a sceptical look back.

With the oncoming footsteps, you and Jungwon politely bowed despite the clear tension pervading the air. It was almost difficult to even make eye contact.

Minseok had a confident gait, each step on the grounds of campus made his; this mellow smile curved onto his lips whilst he had his hands behind his back. His eyes possessed that icy calmness that made your voice dig back into your throat.

"The gardening club," the principal spoke, gesturing to you and Jungwon awkwardly standing there behind the table full of tagged garden products.

You didn't want to speak, neither did Jungwon. Both you and him had your thoughts drifitng into space. Realising you were just tentatively staring, you captured the wandering thoughts and brought yourself back to reality.

"Um... hello," you uttered, voice coming out much quieter than you wanted. Jungwon was about to give you a relentless side-eye but Minseok stepped forward and ran his gaze over the various assortments of petite plants commonly grown within the university.

The silence seemed to disturb the principal a lot more, the nervousness dissolving into his face; he shifted in his place, hands rubbing over the knuckles of his other. Maybe he was sweating if you observed closely enough to the crown of his head.

Minseok met your eyes in a second and you swear your heartbeat spiked up, clutching your vocal chords and forcing you to just awkwardly smile. You had the fierce urge to run away.

"My mother would love these. These are lovely," he began to say. There was a insincere smile in your smile, but he didn't need to know that. Shrewd, Jungwon fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie, nails digging into the plush fabric.

"She has good taste in plants," you stated whilst your own gaze ran over the green stems and the soil. Minseok gave a small, humoured laugh.

"She had good taste," he corrected you and immediately sending heat to flood your cheeks and neck. You could tell the principal was probably itching to take Minseok away from your clumsy obliviousness.

"I'm so sorry," you mumbled, bowing in slight apology. You just wanted the eart to swallow you up. Minseok shook his head as if it was nothing serious, and smiled with that tranquil expression again.

"It's fine, she can't hear us, " he responded with mirth to your humiliated state. Jungwon could have scoffed to your mistake, but his muscles were too frozen with tension to even move. And, he didn't know why.

After Minseo recieved silence from you, he picked up one of the plastic-wrapped plants. "She was a lovely woman. She tended to her garden, decorating the house with ridiculous kinds. It's endearing now since she is now buried with them."

It was a depressing conversation so much so that you were holding a breath as Jungwon gave a subtle side-eye.

"I learned from that moment that people must treasure what they have. You may lose the," Minseok added on, gaze flickering to Jungwon. Following his gaze briefly, you noticed the way Jungwon's eyes darted nervously, jaw slightly clenched.

You didn't have the time to ask if he was okay since Minseok dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out some notes to hand it to you. It was a little daunting, and you didn't know whether to take it since he was offering money that was worth more than what was displayed on the small plant.

From the corner of your eye, the principal gesticulated that you should take it. Not wanting to embarrass yourself anymore, you gave a small smile before taking the money.

"Keep the change," he said, holding the plant.

"Thank you," you murmured, to which Minseok curled his smile a little more, eyes scanning over your features as if he was trying to grasp something off it.

The brief silence was cut off when one of his advisors sauntered to Minseok, a ringing phone in hand. Minseok's gaze faltered before he gave a courteous nod to you, a brief glance to Jungwon and taking the advisor's phone. Then, like the wind, he walked away with the principal.

When they were far enough, you looked to the 10,000 won worth of notes. It was a simple interaction but enough to leave you still drifting in your thoughts. Curious, you glanced to Jungwon, who was still frozen.

You wondered if he was even breathing.

"Jungwon?" you nudged his elbow a little, causing him to flinch and look down at you. The brief discomfort stayed rooted in his eyes, jaw still clenched.

This time, you wrapped your fingers gently around his forearm to nudge him again with bewilderment. "You okay?"

Jungon snapped out of the foggy daze and nodded. A deep breath escaped him, shoulders sagging finally and discomfort melting away when he registered the soft grip of your hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He just seems a little... odd, don't you think?"

The return of his voice did addle you a little, but you didn't dare mention it, not wanting to ignite whatever worry was just extinguished. Your hand stopped holding his forearm.

"Yeah," you agreed, seeing Minseok and the principal in the far distance, "I think so too."

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<< m.list >>

╰┈➤ A/n: omg, heeyy. My life has been so hectic that I wanted to just- 💀👍🏼. Anyways, still in a hectic moment, but I managed to update chapter 6. Didn't feel amazing while writing it but I tried. And I'm so sorry if the picture quality basically decreased. Idk why. But, pls tell me how it was <3

─────────────────────────────────

Taglist: @jwonistic @ilovejungwonandhaechan @sincerely-sun

[kimbapisnotsushi]

hi! please share your headcanons about jay. thanks!

ooooooooh sure thing let's get it!!

(also please keep in mind that soke was literally my first time dipping back into dc after a LONG while, so i have a bit of catch-up to do in terms of characters and stories, and thus some of my knowledge might be outdated!!! also i love jay but i do consider myself still very new to understanding him and thus most of these will be silly fun :333)

damian makes fun of him for that all-black ninja-esque stealth suit he wore to sneak into star labs because there was literally NO POINT in jay trying to disguise himself like that when he didn't bother covering up his BRIGHT FUCKING PINK hair

yes i'm still mad about yes i would like to know his thought process

is it natural btw??? i've seen different takes around where people think it's dyed bc of his other version in aos:jk, but i feel like that's pretty unlikely considering it was shaved all the way down when he got taken prisoner and experimented on and it grew back exactly like that

for the record i'm not a hater i'm just saying 1) it made him a walking beacon and 2) it being natural is so fucking funny to me since he clearly didn't inherit it from his mom, which begs the question:

who the fuck is jay's dad

while jay does care for all of the revolutionaries as their ally and everyone at the truth as their boss, and as an overall friend, i think that wink and the aerie are especially close to him and they consider each other family. they were pretty much the closest thing to adult supervision jay had for a while, and he relied on them a lot when he was settling down in metropolis and figuring out how to live alone

this meant that he called them for stupid things like "if something explodes in your microwave do you call the fire department", and not-stupid things like "help me open a bank account because metropolis bank has laws that won't let me do it by myself as a minor"

they were also the first people he came out to

jay loves them even if they CAN be really annoying

jay: "are you—are you guys ACTUALLY planning on shovel-talking superman" wink: "technically, he's superman's son" the aerie: "and if he's late to the coffee shop, i'm taking points off"

i think jay would get along with tim actually

the dude is an underground hacktivist refugee, investigative journalist, and a former president's son. he's probably used to always looking over his shoulder, ready to be jumped at a moment's notice. he's got a plan for everything but the plans only exist inside his head because he can't risk hard copies being found or digital ones being hacked. he's memorized them all. they're either alphabetized or mentally color-coded. we're talking levels of elaborate just-in-case getaways and meticulously planned investigations that would get a normal reporter killed if they asked the wrong question. it's dedication to a terrifying degree

yeah tim would definitely rock with him

jay has this neat little trick where if he's in a situation in which someone's poisoned his food and he has to eat it/can't let them know he knows, he just partially phases his organs so that the food falls through his body a little bit at a time and never enters his digestive system

jon is HORRIFIED when he finds out. damian is really fucking impressed

does gamorra have its own language???? i feel like jay would be fluent in it if so. of course he would be. he'd do anything to keep part of home as close to his chest as possible

oh that's another thing i'll probs mess up on btw i am legit so confused on gamorra considering it's apparently in asia and i would assume has its own distinct culture? but jay's surname is japanese and that random kid on the boat has a japanese name so are they like. japanese-adjacent??? or is gamorra made up of multiple asian identities blended into one (read tags for clarification)

i should probably read absolute power shouldn't i

okay sorry that got WAY off topic but yeah jay is definitely someone who loved his home despite not being able to go back and did everything he could to maintain his ties

ALSO can we talk about jay being a student at metropolis college at seventeen???? did he skip a year of school when he got to the u.s.??? did he lie on forms or something??

like i don't think he's taking extra credit classes as a high school student because he was also advertising the media department when we saw him, and i don't think he'd be doing that if he was in high school

jon makes sense because he had a fake identity which COULD put him in college. but jay???

honestly lying on paper is such a jay nakamura thing to do if he doesn't want people tracking him down by cross-referencing his birthday with government records

jay nakamura's number-one tip of running an anonymous underground activist stream: hide all identifiable information from the government

(this does not work when you are widely recognized as superman's boyfriend)

also now that dick is backing the truth can we PLEASE get tim in on it. i think it'd be so fucking funny. i think he and jay would have a grand old time breaking into firewalls and digging through internet archives and exposing corrupt people

tim is like "FINALLY i have something fun to do at all those fucking galas bruce makes me go to" because jay needs some rich guy's vacation itinerary so he knows the prime time to break into his house and gather evidence for something

i just have so much appreciation for jay nakamura you guys i love him so much

[mysticstarlightduck]

Character Profile Tag!

It's been a while since I've done one of these, and I really like this tag, so I'm gonna make a few lol.

Let's go with Adahm Ryker from Scrapyard Boys for this one!!! <3

Full Name: Adahm Tiberius Ryker

Kind of Being: Human (Mutant Variant)

Age: Presumably 19 years old, has no birth certificate and has a snake-like biology so the details of how he ages are unclear but he is around that age physically.

Sex: Male

Appearance: Adahm is very tall and lanky, with warm white skin that is slightly sun tanned but without any freckles. His eyes are a piercing light yelloish green, almost neon, hue which look distinctively like the eyes of a snake. He has very long light brown hair that he usually keeps loose, brushed to one side, or tied in a messy ponytail. Adahm's smile usually appears normal if not for the fact that his teeth are generally sharper than that of a 'regular human' and that he has two, pointy snake fangs - like a reptilian vampire. A fun detail is that he can stretch and detach his jaw like a snake would and it makes for a devastating biting force. Adahm usually wears black clothes, with a dark - kevlar reinforced - jacket, black or dark grey button up shirts, dark denim pants and black leather combat boots, as well as fingerless grey gloves.

Occupation: Serial Killer (of corrupt people), Vigilante, Rebel

Family Members:

Taylen Ryker: adoptive younger brother, ward

Charles Zarin: childhood best friend (deceased)

Unnamed Parents

Pets: No pets

Best friends: Jax Strobber (they/them), Sasha Valentine (she/her), Gwyn Whitewood (she/her)

Describe his/her room: Adahm's room is spacious and meticulously organized/clean. It's on the smaller side, so as not to take up too much space in their safehouse, but comfortable. His bedsheets are dark grey with some black details, and his bed is usually pristinely made, and there's a light blue sleep mask usually tossed onto it. The room often has a light citrusy smell due to air freshners he buys, and there's a small study desk/work desk by the reinforced glass window where he does most of the planning for his missions. There's a holographic picture of him and Taylen on the edge of that same desk. In his wardrobe, he keeps his clothes - which are usually all in dark tones of black, grey and blue - and his vast collection of guns (ranging from pistols to precision rifles and one small machine gun) and knives (his preferred weapon, usually sharp daggers, common knifes and a few thin swords, as well as a pocket swiftblade);

Way of speaking: Faint (fictional) english accent. He is usually soft spoken, to the point he can sound like a hissing snake when he is speaking specially sharply, but almost always has a dangerous lilt to is voice that commands a certain amount of fear and respect from those around him. His way of speaking changes drastically when he's talking to Taylen - whenever he is addressing his brother, Adahm sounds genuinely kinder, more excited and gentle than he ever would have sounded while speaking to anyone else.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude):

Towards strangers: Cold, snake-like, moving swiftly from spot to spot almost imperceptively, confident, scarily so. He usually has a wild/feral attitude to him, despite his calculated behaviors and emotionless persona, having a wild animal's unpredictability and deadliness to him. He has a sharp, imposing smile that usually sends chills down people's spines, and his eyes can be disturbingly cold and unemotional, though they do show a strong glint of enjoyment whenever he is inebriated by the thrill of a kill.

Towards Taylen: When around his little brother Adahm becomes an almost completely different person, being genuinely warmer/gentler, patience, easily excited about different topics and doting. The shift in his usually murderous outer personality he shows the world to his kind, protective older brother personality that is reserved for Taylen alone, can be jarring for those who don't know him well, but Adahm himself doesn't seem to realize that.

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse: Extra poison vials, combat daggers, ammo, climbing gear and spy gear, commlinks, his phone, an extra jacket or coat (he's ectothermic due to his snake biology and sensitive to temperature changes, especially cold weather) and snacks, preferrably dry ones.

Favorite sports: Swordfighting, Boxing, Climbing/Parkour, Swimming

Powers: Snake Biology, Venom/Poison Manipulation & Generation, Shadow Movement, Enhanced Senses/Speed

Relationships (how he/she is with other people):

When he knows the person: quiet, funny, attentive, kind, protective, easily excited, happy, and genuine

When he does not know the person: cunning, manipulative, sociopathic (he does suffer from sociopathy but it becomes much more clear when he's dealing with strangers, especially enemies), murderous, dangerous, sadistic, cold and unpredictable.

Fears: Losing a loved one again or being unable to protect them (especially Taylen), actually being a 'freak' or unworthy of love, being forced to comply by arbitrary rules, being weak, being touched without consent

Faults: Emotionally detached from strangers, murderous, ruthless, vindictive, blunt/unkind, vicious/bloodthirsty, tendency to tunnel vision, bad at reading people and especially stunted at emotional cues (of people he doesn't know)

Good Points: Kind, genuinely cares about those around him, has a good sense of humour, protective, loyal to a fault, deadly smart, loves his brother more than anything and is a good guardian even though he doesn't know how to parent, rebellious and free spirited

What he/she wants more than anything else: Justice, Revenge, being able to keep Taylen safe, and being worthy of respect/genuine love with no strings attached.

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@differentnighttale

@wyked-ao3 and OPEN TAG

Taglist for Scrapyard Boys below the cut 🧪

Scrapyard Boys Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3,

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@thecomfywriter, @the-letterbox-archives, @differentnighttale @wyked-ao3

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[luxaryllis]

It's Quiet Uptown

Note: Okay, I know I have a bunch of requests in my inbox, and I'm so sorry BUT!! I got into a Hamilton phase and now, you all are gonna have to bear with it with a songfic.

Also, for the sake of this fic (and for my convenience), I'll refer to Vil's father as his stage name, Eric.

This takes place at the first alternate ending of my Vil's Younger Sibling fic. Find that here, but it's part of a series, so keep that in mind!

(tagging: @dr3amscap3)

Warning/s: Angst no fluff, Death, Slight spoilers for Chapter 6, Canon divergence, Spoilers for Chapter 5, My attempts to change some lyrics to fit the situation

Vil's fingers press on the piano keys, his hands already knowing the notes and chords of every part of the song. Every cue to step on the pedal. From his posture to the elegance of his fingers, nobody would have thought that Vil was grieving.

There are moments that the words don't reach

There is suffering too terrible to name...

It had become almost habitual at this point, keeping up a mask to hide his true emotions. It was a skill actors and models always had to have, after all.

He just has to look perfect. No emotion, not even a flicker, not even the tiniest amount of weakness must be shown. Nothing must be out of place.

He is perfect. He needs to be perfect. He is fine. He's moved on. His past is behind him. He needs nothing else, no one else.

He is whole...

The door opens, a small creak and a set of footsteps signifying the entrance of someone. Weary and puffy purple eyes look at Vil as he plays the piano. The sight was normal all the time, but Eric can't help but feel that something was missing.

In the Schoenheit household, the sound of piano chords was always accompanied with the sound of violin strings. Vil and his younger sibling would always be playing music together. And Eric loved coming home to hear the sounds his children would make together.

But [Name] wasn't here. They no longer are here, and perhaps that is why the sound of the piano on its own never felt right. The violin in the corner of the room is untouched, left in its case all in the back of the room.

Eric walks closer to Vil and the piano, listening and lightly humming along with the music. The two stop for a moment, expecting a certain violinist play a wrong note or add a new melody. [Name] always changed the line, they changed the melody every time.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

Vil buries his face in his father's chest, his tears soiling Eric's dress shirt, but the man couldn't care less. Eric pats his son's back, running a hand through his hair in the hopes of soothing his eldest son.

You hold your child as tight as you can

And push away the unimaginable

Eric doesn't cry. He can't cry. Not right now, when Vil need him to be strong. It tires him to cry, but it tires him even more having to acknowledge the truth every day.

There are moments when you're in so deep

It feels easier to just swim down

...

The Schoenheits give up their crown

And learn to live with the unimaginable

Vil heaves a sigh as he walks around town. Eric had pushed him to take a stroll, perhaps to try taking his mind off of everything. Eric had a waver to his voice that made Vil know that his father only made him go out the house so the man could cry on his own.

I spend hours in the garden

I walk alone to the store

The hustle and bustle of the town was normal, everyone was living their lives. The townspeople had gotten used to having the Schoenheit family just nearby, and mostly left them unbothered. It was a slow and silent day, to Vil at least.

From one of the houses nearby, a certain wolf beastman looks out the window, seeing the model walk past. Jack can't help but frown a bit, watching how Vil walks and stands tall, but his eyes have a faraway look to them.

And it's quiet uptown

I never liked the quiet before

Vil plops down a bouquet of [Name]'s favorite flowers by the tombstone, taking a clean rag and wipes the grave meticulously. There was barely any dust or dirt on it, thanks to Vil's weekly visits, but he couldn't stop himself.

I visit their grave on Sunday

Placing some flowers on the floor

At the very least, Vil could still pamper his younger sibling the best he can. The actor blinks multiple times, the tears in his eyes making it hard to see his surroundings properly. A Purple Emperor butterfly lands on the flowers on the floor, resting its wings.

...

And I pray

That never used to happen before

Vil sighs, burying his hands in his pockets, burying the lower part of his face behind his scarf. He mumbles to himself, whispering apologies and reminiscing memories of [Name]. Vil can't help but manage a pathetic chuckle. He would always scold them for mumbling and hiding their face.

If you see him in the street,

Walking by himself, talking to himself,

Have pity

Vil always told [Name] to be proud of who they are.

But Vil can't even follow his own advice, for once. Not when guilt and self-blame eats him up on the inside.

"[Name], you wouldn't like things right now, it's too quiet right now..."

He is working through the unimaginable

...

Eric walks through the city, trying to ignore the press and paparazzi following him incessantly. The man, for the first time in what feels like the longest time, wishes he had bodyguards with him or that he had simply not gone out at all.

His hair has gone grey, he passes every day

They say he walks the length of the city

But he knew that he had to leave the house. If he hadn't, then he would have been stuck in his youngest child's room, looking through every picture for the millionth time that day.

He looks across the street, seeing a father lifting up his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he plays around with his children, his wife laughing and taking pictures of the moment. Eric feels a pang in his heart, wishing that family nothing but happiness.

Eric remembers the first time he held Vil, the first time he saw [Name]. He remembers his children's first words, their first steps, he wouldn't even need a photograph or a video to remember it. When he saw [Name] smile for the first time, Eric remembers his exact words and thoughts in that moment:

"You knock me out, I fall apart"

Can you imagine?

...

"Look at where we are, look at where we started." Rook places a hand on Vil's shoulder, looking at him in concern.

Vil looks back at him, keeping back his emotion. He must be perfect, and not a single speck out of place. But the hunter could see and hear very clearly, how Vil was clearly too stressed for anything. It was a wonder how the dorm leader could handle going back to school like this.

"The students don't deserve me, Rook-" Rook shakes his head and gently shushes Vil. He can't bear seeing his Roi du Poison so anguished, but knows that there isn't much he can do. Despite this, he tries anyway.

"Shh, hear me out, that would be enough."

Vil huffs and shakes his head in return, his thoughts spiraling back to the VDC tournament. His foolish decisions that led to his sibling's death.

"If I could spare their life... if I could trade their life for mine..."

Vil trails off and glances at Epel, who was despondently playing with his food. Normally, Vil would have scolded the first year for doing so, but he didn't have the heart nor the energy to do so.

Rook sighs and makes Vil face him, holding him by the shoulders, trying to comfort his friend.

They'd be standing here right now, and they would smile

And that would be enough.

"I don't pretend to know the challenges you're facing. I know there's no replacing what was lost, and you need time."

"But don't be afraid, you'll know when you're ready. Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough."

...

Vil briskly walks over to Epel, who was going back to the dorm from club time. The dorm leader had been trying to talk to the first year for a while, but it's been hard getting Epel to speak or even look at Vil for more than three seconds.

If you see him in the street

Talking by his side, walking by his side

Have pity

"Epel, do you like it right now? It's quiet right now.."

He is trying to do the unimaginable

But Epel ignores him, walking faster and faster until he starts running to the mirror, leaving Vil alone in the hallway.

...

Epel walks as Vil tries to catch up with him. The first year's blue eyes gaze at the wall and the floor like it was the most interesting in the world. He can't bear looking at his dorm leader.

See them walking in the hall, staring at the wall

Taking in the glances full of pity

Not when Vil looked so much like [Name]. Not when looking at Vil reminds Epel of the friend he lost too quickly.

Then a butterfly flutters nearby, and Epel glances at it. His meemaw always told him that butterflies symbolized the dead, and he tears up. He could hear [Name]'s laugh from when they messed around when [Name] was staying in his house. And then he heard their scream, when the rubble fell down and crushed them under it.

Epel stops walking, his gaze distant but fixated on the butterfly fluttering around him. Vil takes this as a chance to try speaking to Epel, but the first year beats him to it.

"Look around, look around, [Name]..."

It was an absent-minded murmur on Epel's part, but it brought Vil to tears as well. The two didn't speak, only stood next to each other, watching the butterfly land on an apple tree, eating an apple that fell to the ground.

They are trying to do the unimaginable

...

Every class he goes to, Vil always notices the Purple Emperor butterfly following him. Some of the other students have pointed it out, Rook especially. The hunter would say that [Name] was always watching over him.

There are moments that the words don't reach

There's a grace too powerful to name

But Vil won't believe it ⸺ he can't believe it, rather. Why would [Name] watch over Vil, of all people? It was a foolish thought, after all. Vil was the reason why [Name] died. So why would they follow him when they could simply rest in the peace that reached them too soon?

We push away what we can never understand

We push away the unimaginable

...

Vil watches [Name] as they play with the butterflies that float around them. The younger Schoenheit had a ghost of a smile on their face as the beautiful insects fluttered about them. And Vil eyes the scene with wide, unbelieving eyes.

They are standing in the garden

Vil by [Name]'s side

The older Schoenheit slowly walks over, hesitantly approaching his younger sibling, who was acting like nothing had happened. Like it was all a dream.

As though sensing their older brother's presence, [Name] turns around, the small smile on their lips still there. And they do something Vil never thought was possible.

They take his hand...

[Name] opens their mouth to speak, looking up at Vil with a sad, accepting smile.

"It's quiet uptown."

Vil's eyes widen and the dam of emotion is released once again. He falls down to his knees, clenching his eyes closed as tears run down his cheeks, ruining his makeup. Gently squeezing his younger sibling's hand, he presses it against his cheek, trying to prove to himself that [Name] was indeed here.

Forgiveness. Can you imagine?

And for the first time in a long time, Vil smiled. Happy tears fall down his face and he looks up at [Name]. Then he notices a small flicker in [Name]'s expression.

Their eyes darken.

Their smile turn into a smirk that looked almost evil.

And then Vil realizes where he was.

Forgiveness.

Vil quickly jumps away, narrowly dodging a pile of rubble that fell right where he was a second ago. The Schoenheit rubs his eyes, wiping away the tears and gets his magic ready to defend himself.

Vil isn't in a garden. He isn't in home. He's in STYX, getting tested on because he overblotted and survived, though Vil wishes he never did. His heart aches, and he can't help but curse the Shroud brothers in his mind for bringing sweet [Name] into this.

He curses the world for having the gall to create a version of his younger sibling based on his memories just to attack him. For getting his hopes up, for getting him to think that [Name] was still with him. For making him go against his sibling once again. For making this the last time he'll see [Name] 'alive' and well.

Can you imagine?

[kozachenko]

Some thoughts on some of the newest CDS chapters below the read more tag for spoiler's sake, since I have read the newest one and have some thoughts

As flawed as Cheating Detective Satori is, one thing I will give it is how it shows the reactions of the spirits and Youkai living in Former Hell to the whole "sealing it up" thing. While I was initially annoyed about the whole "sealing former Hell" thing, I feel like the newer chapters have kinda made the whole thing make more sense, especially in the newest one where Parsee mentions how in the case of a vengeful spirit making too much trouble, Former Hell is just gonna seal right back up and become Hell again, which is a system that has been around since Former Hell was established. I think what this little addition does well is that in retrospect it makes the whole decision of sealing up Former Hell make a bit more sense. Also, the mystery that the latest chapter left off with (Parsee's realization that Former Hell must have been sealed from the outside) is really interesting, and had that bit of realization not been included by Parsee, it probably would've been a major plot hole that Parsee's tunnel also got plugged up when the whole system was made years ago when Former Hell was first established. Also, would Parsee know who Mizuchi is? Or have at least heard of her? Or is Mizuchi kind of treated like an SCP in Former Hell and is kept a secret from everyone else, even though in the earliest chapters of CDS, Satori mentions that Mizuchi has been a bit of a problem before, and Yuugi also knows her sooooo is this a writing mistake or intentional? Although there are a lot of vengeful spirits in Former Hell so knowing who each and every single one is is probably giving the denizens of Former Hell a bit too much credit lol. But still, Mizuchi seems to maybe be a more well known vengeful spirit so I'm still a bit confused on that, or maybe it could just be as simple as Parsee having never met Mizuchi when counseling vengeful spirits.

Maybe certain people aren't allowed to even see Mizuchi since they could be prime targets for her to possess people and escape. Which could also be related to the reason why she escaped in the first place, maybe she possessed someone with a grudge against Reimu or anyone in the Hakurei bloodline and used them to get out of Former Hell?

Also, when you think about that and the fact that Zanmu is the one who proposed the move, it gave me the headcanon that Zanmu also put that system in place since she wouldn't just leave it carelessly unattended. Since it's in her character to think ahead and meticulously plan things, why wouldn't she put this safety measure in place?

Utsuho and Koishi were also really good in this chapter, and Utsuho's title is so fucking good, I love it. Koishi also trying to get the other vengeful spirits to chill out is also a fun detail. Her point about the vengeful spirits not even being allowed to leave regardless is also something interesting to think about. Though it is explained in the manga that the vengeful spirits just needed a reason to attack, the idea of someone getting mad about the loss of a freedom that they would normally never use is very interesting to me.

When the manga is finished I'm most likely gonna do a full review on it, since my last one had way too much swearing and I was also really tired and wanted to sleep and I am just overall not happy with it. Plus, the manga seems like it's starting to get better, and with ZUN himself saying that he's aware of the criticism towards CDS, I'm gonna stay optimistic with this manga. Also, it would be really interesting to see how the people in New Hell react to the restoration of Former Hell, especially Zanmu due to how important she is in the actual creation of Former Hell, although a small part of me thinks that she would just go, "not my Hell, not my problem" and leave it at that, the other part of me thinks that would maybe be a little out of character for her. Like, I don't think she'd be panicking, but at the same time she's not gonna treat it like a non-issue. Though that could just be me since I like Zanmu a lot lol.

All in all, just a lot to think about with this new chapter.

[comphy-and-cozy]

unforgettable - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Word Count: 3.1K

Author's Note: This is fully the most self-indulgent and personal fic I have ever and will ever write, so if no one likes it I'm still not gonna be sorry. This is wildly contrived and barely passable as realistic. It is quite literally Y/N's Story (C's Version). You'll know what I mean when you read it. Thanks to @smileysvech for listening to me be unhinged about this for like two months straight - you a real one. And in case you are wondering, this is the fic in question.

Warnings: Suggestive/adult content (18+ recommended), discussions about sex/sexual implications, alcohol use/consumption, full insanity. Like a medium burn/banter that's basically foreplay but no actual sexy times.

series masterlist | nhl masterlist | part 2

November 2021

Meeting a personal idol is always a special experience, full of excitement, nerves, anticipation; hopefully making a connection to tell them how much you admire them or what they mean to you. Even if it’s the intention, it feels a little embarrassing to be at a fan event put on by the team, like you’re too old to be at a function for the sole purpose of meeting professional hockey players, and the concept of being perceived is, frankly, almost overwhelming.

But then they turn out to be kind, funny, and courteous; not at all what you expected. They smile at you, ask you your name, thank you for coming, engage with you like you’re a regular human being. Like they’re a regular human being. (They are, of course, but it’s difficult to comprehend that when you’re used to them being little men on your television screen with ice knives strapped to their feet.)

When you get to your favorite TV Ice Man, he’s beautiful, and it takes you a moment to get rid of the shakiness in your voice when you hear him say your name for the first time. The warmth of his hand on your back when you pose for a photo together lingers long after he pulls away, smiling at you as he says, “Tag me in that on Instagram.”

It’s exhilarating, enough to have you bouncing from cloud to cloud as you leave, heart soaring. Still, after walking out on shaky legs with the most precious memories and photos tucked safely into your phone, you’re in need of a drink to settle the nerves that have been floating in your belly since the night began. 

As soon as it touches your tongue, the drink helps to calm you down, and you’re in a dreamland as you reflect on the evening behind you. A real conversation with JT Compher, the man you’ve had a crush on for years—and he talked to you! He is aware you exist! And though you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, you’ll remember the warmth in his eyes when they connected with yours for the rest of your life.

Luck is on your side, it seems, when you catch a group of tall, muscular men walking in out of the corner of your eye; the aura of the room instantly changes in their presence, like the room automatically got ten degrees hotter. In the middle of the pack is the unmistakable red hair, styled meticulously, only now he’s lost his tie in favor of unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He looks good, dressed down in a way that makes him look even more delicious than before.

His aura is different now that the event is over, like he’s able to remove the mask he put on for the public at a work event; now, he’s just a normal guy out on a Friday night with his friends. Other than the Gucci belt and Tom Ford suit, one would have no idea that he’s got an extra digit at the end of his paycheck, and he loves that.

Until he sees you. You, who knows exactly who he is, who is fully aware he’s unwinding from a long and tiring fan event with his friends. He’d have to be an idiot to forget your face, the one that made him pause when you told him your name, his breath hitching in his throat just for a moment.

When he sidles up next to you at the bar, the last thing you expect is for him to greet you, let alone remember your name. You look at him in surprise when he offers to buy your drink, gaping for a little too long until you’re nodding shyly. 

“Have fun at the event?” he asks after sliding his card across the bar to open a tab, leaning up against the ornate marble as he faces you. 

“It was incredible,” you reply with a blissful smile. “They—you guys—are always so nice.”

The corners of his lips curl upward, just slightly, pleased at your positive review. “I’m glad to hear that. The fans are so important to us, so I—we—like to be able to give back when we can.”

“It doesn’t get exhausting? Talking to all those people?”

Something shifts in his eyes, and briefly you wonder if he’s toying with the line of talking to a fan versus just a stranger, contemplating if he should drop a layer of his public persona. Eyeing the extra sliver of creamy skin peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, you’d say he’s already halfway there.

“It can be a lot,” he admits. “But it really is fun. And very humbling.”

Your drink is placed on the bar in front of you, and the bartender nods at JT when he asks to keep the tab open. Your heart does a flip, but you remind yourself he’s here with friends.

“How long have you been a fan?”

“I’ve been watching hockey since I was a kid,” you say, and he nods in understanding. You tell him of the photos of you as a toddler, standing in your neon windbreaker next to the Stanley Cup; you note the way his eyes glitter when you mention it, like he’s wistfully envisioning the day he’ll lift the trophy himself. You note the way you like it.

“Let me guess. Your favorite player was Joe Sakic.”

“Actually, you might hate this, but my favorite player was Steve Yzerman.”

JT’s eyebrows raise as he shrugs. “Hard to argue with that, even if he did beat the Avs. Are you a Wings fan?”

“I went to U of M, so I went to a lot of games when I lived in Ann Arbor. So I think I am by default.”

You can see his eyes shift at the mention of his alma mater, like something’s permanently altered in the dynamic between you. He doesn’t need to tell you that he went there, too, but he does anyway. “Go Blue.”

With a smirk, you raise your glass and clink the base against his as you say it back. Your eyes flick to the group he arrived with, upstairs in the VIP area, surrounded by pretty girls in tight skirts.

“Do you need to get back to them?”

JT takes a sip of his own drink, an Old Fashioned, then licks his lips again like he knows it’ll catch your attention. Then he shrugs, nonchalant. “Would rather stay here with you. Have to make sure the drink I paid for doesn’t go to waste.”

He’s too smooth, you think, warning yourself to keep an eye on him or you’d be swooning at his feet. Not that you aren’t already ready to, your own willpower barely holding up under his gaze and your Amaretto Sour weaving its way into your senses. 

“What’s a Wings fan doing in Denver?”

It’s a simple question, the logical one, but you’re still surprised that he asks, that he wants to know more about the one of many fans he met tonight. Still, you answer, explain that you’re visiting friends who are big Avs fans. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’ve had a crush on him for years, that you timed your visit to coincide with the event. That you’re having an internal meltdown just existing in his presence and trying desperately hard to remain cool and composed. 

And you can’t tell if he’s flirting with you, or if he’s just being nice, which makes you panic even more, gulping down the remainder of your drink in an attempt to calm your nerves. Do his eyes keep shifting down to your cleavage, or is that your imagination? Is he letting his cheek brush against yours when he speaks into your ear, or is it just an accident? 

Another round of drinks later, and he’s still here, and now you’re sure he’s at least some kind of interested. His friends are upstairs, loud, rambunctious, and he hasn’t even given them so much as a glance, instead focused on you and making you shiver under his attention.

The conversation has been steady, making its way through hockey, past childhood, and college, and jobs, and now you’re onto hobbies. And you may have accidentally let it slip that you like to write. 

It’s against your own will that your mouth announces, out loud, to a professional athlete, that you write hockey fanfiction. Or, wrote. Have written. Either way, it’s the alcohol’s fault, and you’re tempted to dump the remaining contents of your glass on the ground to avoid saying anything else.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, a grin breaking out onto his face. “Oh, now you have to tell me more.”

You’re shaking your head no, face sweltering hot when you realize what you’ve just admitted. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I just said that. I think this conversation is done.”

“Aww, come on, tell me,” he prods, nudging your knee with his. “Was it about someone I know?”

You draw your lips tight, shaking your head to tell him your lips are sealed. 

“It was!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “I bet it was about Gabe. Wasn’t it? All the girls love Gabe. He’s a dreamboat.”

Covering your mouth with your hand, you shake your head at him again. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

“No Gabe? Hm…” he looks around, as if he’s searching for the subject in front of him. “Oh! Josty. He’s got a whole following of fangirls.”

Part of you wants to laugh, and the other part of you wants to die immediately on the spot, buried beneath the ground without another word. He isn’t wrong, but he is dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He sees your reaction, inferring that no, it wasn’t Josty, and he takes another sip of his drink as he racks his brain. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, mulling over the options like he’s mentally running through an encyclopedia of NHL players. Then, his eyes shift, a glitter returning to them before they’re landing back on you, and suddenly you feel hot all over, sensing the end of your life hurtling rapidly towards you.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Face scorching hot, you can’t help the defeated smile on your face as you cast your eyes away, mortified beyond belief. Why did you have to say anything? Things were going so well, and now you’re preparing for him to make a quick exit and dash upstairs to laugh at you with his teammates, a story that would surely make the rounds through the league. You’re contemplating which path to the door is quickest, which will get you out of there fast enough to avoid dying of embarrassment on the spot.

But instead of making a run for it, he just laughs, a surprised expression on his face. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m just gonna go now—”

“No, no,” he’s quick to say, waving his hand to show he isn’t bothered, and maybe an air of, please, stay. “I’m flattered, honestly. I didn’t think anyone liked me like that.”

Oh, they do, you think, but your semblance of self-control has taken over again, covering your mouth before the thought can verbalize; at least you can shut the fuck up sometimes. Instead, you shrug playfully, then take another sip, thinking that at the very least, you can drown out your humiliation with more alcohol.

“You gonna tell me what it was about, or you playing hard to get?”

His question is subtle but clearly twofold in meaning, and you nearly choke on your drink again. Is this real? This has to be a dream. 

Forcing yourself to get your wits together, you say, “I’m gonna need another drink if you want to even remotely convince me to share that.”

“I can do that,” he grins. “Say no more.”

It’s only after he returns with another drink in hand that you notice the flush in his cheeks, the way the warm mahogany of his eyes have turned a little more molten. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe—unlikely—it’s you. Probably the former. Surely the former.

He keeps the conversation light, allowing you to ask about life as an NHL star, about his favorite part about Denver, about who his funniest teammate is. He’s surprised, though, when you ask what he misses the most about life before the NHL; what he wishes he could have amidst the fanfare of being a professional athlete.

Mulling over your question, he takes another sip of his cocktail, and you seize the opportunity to admire his face, up close. The neat landscaping of his beard, the perfectly styled coiff of his hair, the deep mauvey-pink shade of his lips. God, he’s handsome.

His laugh pulls you out of your daydream, and he raises his glass toward you. “Thank you.”

You’re confused for a moment, until you realize that your thought wasn’t an internal commentary at all, but something that slipped out of your mouth by accident. You have quite literally turned into a stuttering, bumbling fool in his presence. He doesn’t seem bothered, though, swiftly moving past the moment to answer: “Honestly, I think what I miss most are conversations like this. Where I don’t have to be ‘on,’ where I can just be a normal guy with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“A girl telling you she wrote smutty fanfiction about you is ‘normal’?”

JT’s face shifts, and all at once you realize the additional descriptor you used, immediately groaning at the accidental admission. Why do you keep doing this? Why does it have to be him?

“Smutty? Like, it’s spicy?”

“No,” you lie, but the speed of your reply is a dead giveaway, and suddenly he’s grinning.

“You wrote—” he drops his voice to a whisper, “—sexy times about me?”

Your non-answer is an answer in itself, and the smile on his face is so wide, he might as well have won the Stanley Cup. Your face burns, could probably fry an egg on your cheeks, ready to slink into a hole and never come out.

“Oh, come on, now you have to tell me!” he says. “I won’t judge. I swear.”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. It’s firmly secured under lock, key, and shark-infested waters with lasers attached to their heads.”

“Okay, fine, I can play this game,” he grins, pretending to crack his knuckles. “Was there… a blowjob?”

“Jesus, JT. Coming in hot, are you?” Then, “No.”

“That hurts, but I understand,” he places his hand over his heart. “What about… cunnlingus?”

“I am shocked that you know what that word means.”

“I have an elite education. You should know.”

“The leaders and best,” you say with a raised glass.

“Stop deflecting. Did I eat you out or not?”

The intimacy and bluntness of the phrasing makes your heart flutter, along with the area in question. The devil on your shoulder is whispering, fuck around and find out. So, with an internal shrug, you do. “You may have.”

JT beams. “Excellent.”

He rapid fires off more categories—spanking, handcuffs, edging, foot fetish?—all of which make your cheeks burn the more he inquires, as casual as asking you about what you do for a living.

“Threesome?”

“No.”

He hums. “Good. I didn’t want to share.”

The admission catches you off-guard, and judging by the way he eyes you for your reaction, he said it intentionally to rile you up. You hope he can’t see the rapid way your heart beats in your throat, the idea that this professional athlete would ever be possessive over a fan with a crush.

His last question pulls you from your thoughts and also makes you nearly snort your drink out of your nose. “Anal?”

“Jim Tim, I’m really gonna need you to cool it with topics I’m wildly unprepared to discuss.”

“That sounds like you’ll be ready at some point, though.”

“Maybe if you call me in about 100 years, I will be.”

He hums, then swirls the ice left in his glass. “What about the time it takes me to cash out and Uber back to mine?”

Your brain completely shuts down at the invitation, the proposition striking you in the face. He couldn’t have seriously been flirting with you this entire time, could he? Surely, he was just being silly with a girl—a fan—who he’ll never see again?

But he’s looking at you, and it feels like the time has long since passed if he was going to announce that it’s all been a joke. He’s waiting for your reply, for a confirmation that all of his hard work and perfect banter has not gone to waste.

So you nod, letting out a loud sigh as soon as his red hair disappears back into the crowd to pay his tab. Your hands are shaking, your heart threatening to leap out of your throat, and you glance around like everyone is going to start laughing at you for believing that JT Compher would want to take you home.

-

JT’s skin tingles as he signs his check, nodding a ‘thank you’ at the bartender before pocketing his wallet. This wasn’t what he expected when he prepped himself for the event tonight; he anticipated photos, nervous fans, hand aching from signing so many hats and jerseys—and afterward, decompressing at the bar with the guys, having a few drinks, guffawing along as Bo surely makes a fool of himself. Instead, he feels like he’s been smacked in the face, in awe of the girl he met and promptly learned he can’t get enough of. It’s only been a few hours, but he’s hooked on her smile, on her quick wit, on the way she makes his cock twitch in his pants when she laughs. 

He yearns to be with her, now, to try his chances at feeling her pretty lips on his, to get a better glimpse at the jeans she painted on over the tempting curve of her hips. Though he’s confident—she wrote fanfiction about him for Christ’s sake—it’s far from a slam-dunk, but he’s eager to embrace the challenge ahead, and equally content to just spend more time basking in her presence. 

But when he returns to the spot he left her at, she’s nowhere to be found. He scans the crowd, searching for the eyes that have captivated him so deeply. A tinge of nerves blaze through him, the thought of being ghosted flitting through his brain, but then he remembers the way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in close to her. 

So, he searches for her, sure she’s just stepped away for a moment. He checks the bar, the restroom, the front door, the back door—nothing. And then he finally accepts the truth: She’s gone, disappeared without a word, far too good to be true.

JT Ubers home alone, left to quell the burning in his gut in the somber solidarity of his bedroom, wistfully wondering if your paths will cross again someday.

SIMILAR CONTENT: Already Ready to Go* A Night in Paris* Adore You

Tagging: @somuchf4rstardust @laurenairay @senditcolton @fallinallincurls

[escapetothelake]

Mr Crow & Mr Owl for the ship asks ;)

when i say this is one of my absolute FAVORITE dynamics (remember when i said it would be toxic? i made it way too sweet oops)

i'm gonna tag @callmegaith for this one as well because ik they are also an evil bird husbands truther >:)

btw sorry this took so long i'm on vacation and have spotty internet :,)

who made the first move: i think mr. owl likely first contacted mr. crow. we know that they were working together since at least the events of roots, so it's been a very long time.

who kissed who first: aldous started by kissing jakob's ring, and then graduated to his bare hand (it's about the homoerotic tension 🤌). eventually, jakob kissed aldous on the lips. aldous was all too happy to kiss back.

who started the relationship: mr. owl did, as mr. crow is technically his underling, and aldous is a man who is concerned with propriety.

who remembers things: both of them remember EVERYTHING.

nicknames for each other: jakob strikes me as a "my love" user. i think they both say it, actually. i don't think "darling", "dear", or "dearest" is out of the question. also "beloved", "precious", "my treasure", "lover", and "dumpling" cuz these bitches are OLD.

who is more likely to pay for dinner: i feel like they'd be the kind of couple to fight over the bill, calling it "my treat".

*they're eating out together and the bill arrives* "ah. let me get this one, darling." "no, you got it last time. it's my treat." "no, it's my treat. you know how i love to spoil you." "alright dear, but next time..." "hah! we'll see."

that said, usually jakob is more persistent.

who normally cooks: have i ever actually answered this question with "x person in the couple does it"? yeah, mr. owl runs a hotel, and he has mr. toad to cook for him. though jakob knows how to cook, considering that he was on his own for a while and we saw it happen onscreen and everyone else at paradise is incompetent. i'm sure aldous knows how to as well. i think aldous likes to cook for jakob, and he makes an art out of it, incorporating expensive wines and fancy herbs and the like. only the best for his beloved.

who remembers anniversaries: both, of course. they have minds like steel traps when it comes to each other.

what would they get each other for gifts: suits, expensive jewelry and pocket watches, taking each other out to eat, all kinds of stuff! i imagine they're the kind of couple to share a glass of wine to a job well done after they successfully harvest souls.

most trivial thing they fight over: i wouldn't call it trivial, but i think jakob was at least a little upset with aldous for fucking up that one time. i think that incompetence of any sort exhausts jakob after his experiences at home (like this post haha). not that he views aldous as incompetent in any way—after all, he chose him to be his right hand—but, i mean, he goofed in a pretty big way. regardless, jakob can't stay mad at aldous for long.

how often do they fight: they don't really fight much. i think aldous finds shouting disrespectful, and they mostly work in tandem, so it doesn't happen often. when it does, though, i feel like it's a big deal. i mean, a long time without speaking and a lot of pining, because both men can be stubborn. eventually, though, they can't stand to be apart.

who uses all the hot water: both.. together :)

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: aldous. he doesn't want jakob to have to deal with that shit

who leaves their stuff around: they're both rather organized. mr. crow meticulously folds his clothes after washing them, even though it takes forever, and both men keep their suits nice and pressed.

who remembers to buy the milk: aldous gets it! he never lets jakob want for anything—the fridge is always stocked before jakob even has to ask.

who controls the netflix queue: i think they watch netflix together, cuddled up in bed or on the couch. aldous asks a million questions. jakob always answers, even if that answer is "i know the same amount of information as you, dearest".

who steals the covers at night: no one really can, since they sleep tangled together.

who cusses more: jakob when he was younger. now? neither, really.

who does most of the cleaning: aldous, or he sees that someone else does it. he doesn't like to let jakob worry about such things.

what’s their favorite non-sexual activity: talking! they really, really enjoy each others' company, whether that's over a glass of wine surrounded by candlelight, in the bath, or in bed. both of these men have had very long lives, so they have much to talk about.

who’s the cuddler: both! birds are cuddly :>

source

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: usually it's jakob big/aldous little. aldous likes to rest his head on jakob's chest (i hc that jakob is taller).

who’s more dominant: mr. owl.

who is the dirty talker: their brand of "dirty talking" imo is more like pillow talk. idk they're just pretty affectionate and like to praise each other. however, i'm gonna lean aldous for this one. i think aldous absolutely WORSHIPS jakob, and he makes it known both in and out of the bedroom.

what do they do when they’re away from each other: miss each other. a lot. both are mutually reliant on each other—aldous makes sure to make jakob's life easier, and jakob in turn gives aldous a sense of direction. therefore, their separation can be hard on both of them. they try to busy themselves with other things (there's a lot of work to be done), and remind themselves that ultimately, they serve the lake.

what would they do if the other one was hurt: both would be very worried, but the injured one would try to put on a brave face for the other. of course, both of them are seemingly immortal, but they also know what it's like to be mortal men, and the memories are all too fresh. they're very protective of each other.

a headcanon: i think that they both struggle to adapt with the times, even if they feel that they need to. for instance, they don't like to give up their old-timey pet names for each other, and mr. crow doesn't like the new-age suits. of course, he grins and bears it because it's part of being immortal, but he still believes that it doesn't matter because.. i mean.. they can turn into birds. being inconspicuous isn't exactly important to him. on the other hand, jakob kinda likes playing different roles to suit his needs. we see this in the white door, for instance. i think it allows him to live out some of the things he missed out on in his youth, whereas aldous got to live out a full life. regardless, as the times change, the biggest constant they have is each other.

[pinchofhoney]

hii!!! can i reqyest smth for your letter event?? they can just be some short drabbles and whatnots

O & P for LDW Moon Jo (if it's okay for you), and;

L for LDW Su Yeol ^^

thank youuu

omg, hii!!<33 you're my first lee dong wook request so i'm actually pretty excited!! thank you so much for taking part in my event~~in this post you will find only our charming dentist, and in the next one (i'll tag you there!) will be soo yeol! i hope it's fine with you<3

i know it was suppoused to be a fluff alphabet, but i'm not able to make this character fluffy, i'm so sorry if you're disappointed. i will do better with ryu soo yeol!!

» fluff alphabet event

» special events masterlist

o: open when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

When would they start revealing things about themselves? Well, with Seo Moon Jo, it's all a meticulously crafted game. You would think that he's like an open book from which you can read everything, but the truth is that you would only know what Moon Jo would want you to know.

At first, he might share a few innocent anecdotes or trivial details about his life. He'll casually mention his favorite hobbies, work, childhood memories, and even stories from his past relationships. But these initial disclosures are carefully chosen only to make you feel like you're building a genuine connection with him and you wouldn't even know what's the truth and what's a blatant lie.

Moon Jo understands that revealing too much too soon can be overwhelming and might raise suspicions. He definitely prefers to let information trickle out over time, like a strategically leaking faucet. He'll drop hints during conversations, gradually introducing you to his circle of friends, allowing you to feel like you're getting closer to his inner circle and that they're absolutely normal as he is.

As time goes on, he'll begin to share deeper insights, but always with a calculated purpose. He might reveal vulnerable moments from his past, making you sympathize with him and believe that he's opening up. Yet, these confessions are well-orchestrated emotional manipulations that draw you further into his web.

Moon Jo will expertly calculate your reactions, paying close attention to what resonates with you. He'll tailor his disclosures to align with your values and interests, fostering a sense of intimacy and mutual understanding. This slow unveiling of information creates a sense of reciprocity – you might feel compelled to reciprocate by sharing your secrets, unknowingly feeding his thirst for control.

In this intricate dance of revealing and concealing, Moon Jo maintains an upper hand, keeping you invested and engaged while he carefully manages the narrative. He's a master of illusion, knowing that by the time you realize the extent of his manipulation, you're already entangled too deeply to easily escape.

p: patience how easily angered are they?

Oh, Moon Jo is the most patient person you've ever known. At least, that's what he wants you to believe. His outward demeanor is a carefully crafted facade of calm and collected composure. He presents himself as someone who is in complete control of his emotions, rarely showing any signs of irritation or anger.

But beneath this veneer of patience lies calculated manipulation. Moon Jo has mastered the art of concealing his true feelings, especially when he's angry. He understands that openly displaying his anger could disrupt his plans, so he keeps it tightly in check.

When something does manage to trigger his anger, he's unlikely to immediately lash out. Instead, he internalizes it, allowing it to fuel his true intentions. He's skilled at waiting for the opportune moment to use his anger as a tool. He might employ sneaky tactics, engage in passive-aggressive behavior, or withdraw emotionally to steer situations in his desired direction.

Moon Jo's anger is akin to a hidden weapon, carefully kept out of sight until he decides to unleash it for maximum impact. So, while he might appear incredibly patient on the surface, remember that beneath that facade lies a strategic mind that uses his controlled anger as a means to kill.

[beelsbignaturals]

🐄 DEMON FORMS: BELPHEGOR 💤

AN: thanks void for helping w the tags ♡♡♡ also jsyk my requests are open and I am gonna be working on them slowly but surely. I have a con in like... a little over a week? So I'm a lil busy rn but thank u for the love on my creepy demon posts. As always you can check the obey me world building tag on my blog to see the other parts of this series :3

inspiration for this part: honestly, nothing specific unless you count like,,, The Hat Man

TWs: body horror, possession, sleep paralysis, mentions of insanity, mentions of psychosis, lesson 16 mention, demons being demons

● Okay, Level 1.5 belphie is more common than a regular human looking belphie because he can't be bothered most of the time. Also, he doesn't like humans that aren't you, so why would he want to be palatable for them? He has permanent eyebags. He goes back and forth between blinking way too fast or not at all. Which …Is unsettling. He can stare for hours and fall asleep like that. He has cow ears, and his tail is out because he plays with the fluffy part as a stress response. It makes him feel safe (probably bc beel will brush his tail for him when it gets all tangled, and he secretly LOVES it. Puts him to sleep in seconds.) Speaking of sleep, if you look directly at Belphie, he is very…. Fuzzy looking. Like you just woke up and everything's blurry, but it's only him that looks like this. 

Today is the day you learn demons can purr. You knock on the door of the twins' room, entering when you hear a quiet "come in." Perhaps you expected to see Belphie napping on Beel's back while the larger twin does push-ups. You certainly didn't think you'd see the pair sitting on the floor, Belphegor's tail being meticulously detangled by his brother. Belphie looks a bit like a house cat, curled up on the floor, eyes closed and purring as his tail occasionally swishes about. You silently take a video and leave before Belphie wakes up and forces you to delete it.

● Level 2. His tail grows large thorns, perfect for thwacking anyone who annoys him. He constantly smells like lavender and something else that no one can for sure define, but if you stand too close, you will get drowsy. Everything about him seems a bit… uncanny valley. He doesn't look terrifying so much as he looks…. Just,,,, Incorrect. His breathing sounds like a white noise machine.  This is the form he takes during lesson 16. He chooses it specifically so he doesn't make you run immediately. 

Despite the trauma that you experienced, you have learned to find comfort in Belphegor's demon form. Sometimes, you doze off to the sound of his breathing while your hands play with the soft fur of his ears. On more than one occasion, you have compared Belphie to one of the children from Polar Express, which got you smacked in the face by his tail. But even when you get on his last nerve, he is careful not to cut you with the sharp barbs on his tail. A silent apology for killing you once upon a time.

● Level 3. Goodbye sleepy, cozy weirdness, and hello sleep paralysis demon. The thorns on his tail get larger and spread to cover his arms. His eyelids just. Fuck off. He doesn't have them anymore. Jeff the Killer looking bitch. The longer you look at him the more…absolutely fucking AWFUL he looks. Five minutes? He has double the normal amount of teeth. Ten? His horns are casting shadows that look like every nightmare you've ever had. Twenty and all of a sudden you are literally frozen in place. If he's feeling kind, he will use magic to knock you unconscious. If not, you are going to be stuck like this until well after he leaves. If he leaves. Also, he eats dreams.

You will occasionally wake up in the dead of night to the sound of raspy breathing. When you look up, you find a pair of eyes staring intently at you. In the first few seconds after waking, your dreams are so incredibly vivid that it shocks you when they dissappear from your memory, as if it never happened. You yawn, throwing a pillow at the demon's face. Which causes Belphie to laugh, not losing balance from his perch at the end of your bed for even a second.

● Level 4. He is more mist than corporeal. He can be more on the solid side. He just prefers not to. If he is in this form, hold your breath and run. Breathing in any of the mist has…. Very bad side effects. You might find yourself unable to sleep ever again, no matter how tired, until eventually you go insane. Or perhaps living your worst nightmares is more your speed? Either way, it's absolutely horrifying, and he doesn't even have to do any work to destroy you. He just makes you do that yourself. If he likes you, he can make the effects a lot less awful. Breathing in the mist is literally breathing Belphegor, so he can also read your mind (all the better to find your deepest fears). You can hear a whispery voice in the back of your head… that's him. He likes to hang out and chat with Beel like this. Or plot anti-Lucifer activities with Satan since only the person he is possessing can hear him. He can suggest you do all sorts of things, and if you aren't paying attention, you might think it's your body working on its own. If he talks normally while just being a cloud of mist, his voice is surprisingly loud, encompassing the whole room.

A tiny voice, one you know all too well, speaks in the back of your mind. The first time this happened, you thought it was your conscious or something. Perhaps a psychotic break. But no, it is just the youngest of the seven demons you live with. Belphie enjoys backseat driving while you go about your day. He laughs when you trip (honestly, it might be him that caused it...), makes jokes at the most inappropriate times, causing you to choke on your own spit, trying to suppress laughter. And when someone is being particularly rude, he gets rather descriptive in his insults. But hey, he means well. You think.