#only time will tell if this means anything

[tojisun]

price calling himself daddy 24/7 just to keep you in a certain headspace. even does it when you’re in a mood and he’s sinking to his knees telling his pretty girl to fuck his mouth about it

oh jesus christ this does it for me

john seeing you be so bratty and mean — full of spite and festered resentment because this day had been so shitty — but he just. folds himself before you, sinking to his knees, all starry-eyed and wobbly lips underneath his scruff.

he rubs his thumb on the inside of your thigh, humming, “won’t you, baby?”

your breath hitches, of course it would, and john is still all quiet smiles and rumbling voice and overflowing patience.

“use daddy to get the edge off, yes? ‘cause daddy just wants to see ‘is baby happy, s’all,” he croons, his eyes darkened with his own desire.

and god, john’s got you all jittery and hyper focused on his touch, feeling like the rug’s been ripped from underneath you, leaving you to free-fall into this haze that john’s coaxing you in. he’s leading you to it with such gentle cadence that you slip underneath the fog easily — your trembling hands reach to tug at your shorts, then at your panties, before spreading your legs wider, allowing john to scoot closer until his breath’s tickling your dampening folds.

“come on, sweet’art,” john rumbles, so close to your cunt you’re sure you felt his voice pulse against your core. “hands on daddy’s head; no need t’be shy about it.”

a whimper trickles from your lips, a broken little thing, as you reach forward to fist at his hair, gripping with a trembling hesitance because john may be offering but it’s still so difficult for you to take the lead. to— to use him, as he said.

because john’s this… big man. not quite literally but he has this pull in him that makes you ache, like more than anything, you are just john’s girl. no expectations, no responsibilities; just john’s sweetheart, the one he spoils with such ease and happiness. the one that makes him fold — to his knees, like right now.

the first glide is uncertain, like testing the waters even though john had devoured your cunt time and time again. but still, this was a different voyage — you feel even more exposed like this, holding his own pleasure and his own control in your lither hands. john moans, though, loud and drawn out, like it’s your face on his crotch. and you stutter, battered with your own crashing desires, and john—

he gets it. he feels your twitching fingers and the tension in your muscles because he digs his face deeper, tongue dragging along your folds with gusto, and this, like this, the dam breaks. your veins sing with pleasure, your synapses buzzing as the onslaught of your ecstasy burns through, devouring everything in its wake.

you don’t even notice the way your grip on john’s head had tightened, so focused on using his face to fuck your cunt — sliding him up-down-in-in-more. “daddy, more!”

and john groans, an apex predator’s bellow, before wider hands grip the plush of your thighs so he could fuck his tongue deeper, pushing his face closer, not minding the fact that any more and he could pretty much be smothered by your cunt and your slick—

god, your slick. the most fucking delicious thing he’s ever gulped down. and you’re so wet, dripping down your thighs and into his tongue, filling up his jowls for him to gulp down. to devour.

his precious girl, so delicious. so beautiful. so desperate for daddy.

“gonna-! daddy, m’gonna-!”

john growls, pushing your thighs further apart. his scalp burns with tiny pricks as you tug at his hair but that’s little sacrifice for this prize that’s laying before him, all sweet and needy. cunt weeping for him. only for him.

your squirt makes a mess out of him, but john doesn’t care. he gulps it down, slurping all that slip past his maw because — “baby. m’baby,” john sighs into your pussy. “so good f’r me, sweet’art. so good.”

john chances a glance up your way but you’re not even with him anymore, your gaze faraway.

“aww, sweet thing,” he croons, finally climbing up to mount you. “come on, darlin’. come back to daddy.”

but all you could do is warble a reply, and john can’t help but coo because like this, you’re even sweeter than usual. so precious for him; so precious in your trembling ecstasy.

[meelusinee]

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT ✦ M.R x READER

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo)

SECOND PART HERE - lovesick!mattheo christmas edition

pairing: lovesick!mattheo riddle x reader tags: lovesick mattheo, fem reader, so tamino inspired word count: 3.7k warnings: just fluff again! along with easily flustered mattheo (+ teasing theo)

author's note: my second post!! i made a small playlist of tamino songs i used for mattheo in this. if you haven’t, please go listen to him (his music is so good). i based this off a small part of my first fic where theo sang to reader. as always, while english is my first (and only) language, that does not mean i claim it in any way shape or form (aka this will probably suck ass)

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love. 

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he  lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind. 

“I found something really interesting in this book  by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke. 

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms. 

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. 

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote. 

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.” 

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”  

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy 

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion. 

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself. 

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered. 

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return. 

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him. 

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered. 

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush. 

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics. 

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

[fatherbrat]

“what’d you do today while i was gone, hm?” suguru asks.

is he fucking serious?

even if you wanted to answer, you can’t. your mind is gone, any remnants of conscious thought leaving you the minute suguru bottomed out. all you can think about is the feeling of his cock pumping in and out your pussy. you think you might be drooling, and you’re sure he’s smiling down at you—the same way he always does when he knows he’s fucking you dumb—but you can’t bother to confirm that either, not with the way your eyes are glazed over, making everything you see look as fuzzy as your mind feels.

suddenly, he pulls out. you blink a couple times to clear up your vision, pussy clenching around the air.

“i asked you a question,” he says. his voice is in total contrast to his face. his expression is almost playful, but the words sound anything but.

“wh-what?” you’re scrambling to try and remember what question you’re supposed to be answering, but all you can think about is how much you need him to be buried inside of you again.

there’s mirth swimming in suguru’s eyes when you meet them. you frown, frustrated with how much he’s enjoying seeing you like this—completely and thoroughly fucked out.

his hand snakes down towards your clit, brushing against it with his knuckles. it makes your hips jerk, the consequence of already being overly sensitive from two previous orgasms.

“you wanna come?” he asks, abandoning his original question and slipping a single finger inside you. “again?”

it’s cruel. him asking you questions he already knows the answers to. expecting responses when he knows you can barely form a word, let alone a full sentence. teasing you with his middle finger while fully aware of how you ache for his cock.

regardless, you nod. frantic.

suguru only laughs, thumbing your clit leisurely. a shudder vibrates your whole body. “words, baby. use your words,” he taunts.

all you can manage is a shaky “please” as you writhe under his touch. he tuts, pushing your hips down into the mattress to keep you from moving. it’s maddening how vexed he looks when he’s the one who did this to you, denying your orgasm to satisfy his own sadistic whims. suguru catches the mean curl of your upper lip, your body communicating your irritation even when you can’t.

the smile he gives you is callous. “please what?”

your annoyance cuts through the brain fog enough for you to respond coherently. “please let me cum.”

suguru isn’t a fan of the exasperation in your voice, but he chooses to ignore it, murmuring a sweet “good girl” as he plunges his cock into you in one swift movement.

a string of curses falls from your lips, eyes watering as he thrusts at a steady tempo. he says something about your dirty mouth, but you hardly hear it over the hot, coiling feeling in your gut and the static sensation in your limbs.

it doesn’t take long for you to climax again, blissful and babbling again as your cunt flutters around suguru. he groans, not waiting for you to come down before pulling out for the final time.

he tugs your head up so he can tap the flushed tip of his cock on your bottom lip. the way you open your mouth is automatic, as if he pressed a button—a testament to how well trained you are.

you’re still shivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm when he comes in your mouth. it isn’t until after you’ve swallowed down his seed and he’s pressed a tender kiss to your lips that you come out of your cockdrunk daze.

when your vision refocuses, suguru looks smug. “you wanna tell me how your day went now?”

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[sweemmy]

⋆｡ﾟIn their love, they bloom like a dark rose, its thorns only striking those who try to escape. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

Vi would do anything to protect you, but her obsession consumes her, driving her to see threats in every corner, even where none exist. In her mind, danger lurks in the shadows, always watching, and you are the only one who can escape this threat... even if it isn’t real.

Her irritable nature compels her to act impulsively, before her mind has the chance to halt the torrent of emotions. She doesn’t hesitate to confront anyone, even if they are just a stranger who has approached you out of curiosity, convincing herself that anyone who crosses your path is a danger, no matter how harmless they seem.

Vi clings to her justification, arguing that her control is merely an expression of love, that everything she does is for your own good. But beneath those words lies a dark echo, as if she cannot fathom a world where you don’t need her, where her influence is not vital to your survival.

Her gestures of affection, far from being tender, are invasive and violent. Her hugs, excessive and tight, feel as if she could crush you. The words she whispers in your ear, filled with intensity, steal the air between you, with a fervor bordering on obsession, as if she’s marking you, immortalizing you in her world, only for herself.

Though her exterior is one of hardness, beneath that mask beats a deep fear: the fear of losing you. She knows that without you, her world would crumble, empty, incomplete. “If you don’t want me near, just tell me… but don’t expect me to stand idly by while someone tries to take away the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

CAITLYN.

Caitlyn becomes ensnared in her own whirlwind of thoughts, convinced that her obsessive love is the only thing capable of offering you the care you deserve. She sees herself as the only one who can truly understand and protect you, regardless of the boundaries she must cross to keep you by her side.

With a sharp, calculating mind, Caitlyn weaves invisible threads around your life, orchestrating every detail so subtly that you're barely aware of her control. From the people you allow into your circle to the places you step foot in, everything is meticulously designed to keep you under her sway.

Using her charm, Caitlyn spins a web of carefully chosen words, manipulating your perception with a smile that conceals the darkness lurking inside her. She has no qualms about distorting the truth, lying, and creating parallel realities, all to ensure you remain bound to her, oblivious to the trap you've fallen into.

Her control over you goes beyond the physical; Caitlyn becomes an emotional necessity, feeding your dependency with gestures that seem loving but are, in reality, invisible chains. She makes you feel as though you cannot breathe without her presence, turning herself into an irreplaceable part of your life, a constant shadow you cannot escape.

Anyone who dares to get close is seen as an immediate threat, and Caitlyn doesn’t need to resort to open violence. Her deadliest weapon is her influence, capable of destroying slowly, without anyone suspecting a thing. "Why waste time with them, darling? I’ll handle everything. It’s much better if you follow my suggestions; I promise everything will be fine."

SEVIKA.

Sevika sees you as hers—like a treasure no one else deserves to touch. Her obsession is a dangerous blend of control and overbearing protection. Should anyone dare to put you in harm's way, she will become the shadow that eliminates any threat, without remorse and with brutal precision.

Any intruder who gets too close will be stopped by her mere presence. The intensity of her gaze and the unyielding strength of her stance instill terror in even the bravest hearts. She needs no words: her silence is a warning, and her actions, the verdict.

Believing the world is a deadly trap for you, she begins to build a cage of isolation. Every argument she makes is wrapped in false sweetness: "It’s for your own good, trust me," while the chains of her obsession tighten a little more with each passing day.

Flowers and sweet words are not her style, but her actions speak louder than anything. The moment she senses you’re in danger, she will unleash an inhuman fury, showing just how far she’s willing to go to protect you.

Her emotions are a storm hidden beneath a mask of cold serenity. Every action is calculated, every decision made with precision. "I don’t need to shout to show you how much I love you. You see it in what I do, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice calm yet carrying a weight that leaves no doubt about the intensity of her devotion.

JINX.

Jinx would always watch you with eyes filled with obsession, as if you were her precious toy, meant only for her. Her love is no simple feeling: it’s a wild, unpredictable whirlwind, packed with emotional explosions and flashes of madness. She cannot stand anyone else getting your attention, and her “jokes” toward those who dare to come close often end in a macabre, lethal spectacle of destruction.

Within her chaos lies a desperate search for stability, and you are her anchor, but always on her terms. Trying to pull away or challenge her twisted world only triggers a collapse in her mind and a violent need to reaffirm her control over you.

Her love manifests in disturbingly creative forms: bombs adorned with hearts, explosive devices bearing your name, or "trophies" taken from those she deems rivals. Each one is a sickening declaration of how deep and dangerous her affection runs.

Her greatest fear is abandonment, trapped in the loneliness that haunts her. If she senses even the slightest hint that you might leave, she’ll do the unthinkable to make sure you stay by her side. It doesn’t matter if she has to chain you—literally or figuratively; in her mind, the end always justifies the means.

Jinx won’t hesitate to destroy—even herself—to keep you close. Her desperation drives her to dark extremes, hurting others or putting her own body at risk. “Do you see this? I did it for you. Now you can’t deny how much I care. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

[multisstuff]

Mr. Crawling x gn!reader

Warning: mr. Crawling uses ur ass as a pillow but it's mostly just fluff i guess

-

After a long day of running away and hiding from monsters who want to hurt you, you finally reach a room with a somewhat clean bed and functional doors.

You carefully check the room for anything dangerous and as you turn to mr crawling he nods his head signaling that the area is safe for a little break as he points to the bed "you rest, you need rest."

Ever since you've been getting these headaches and dizziness, Mr. crawling has been pressing you to finally take a rest so as not to hurt yourself.

You push the only chair on the door and try to somewhat secure it even though it'd be a pointless attempt since they're not getting stopped by a mere chair.

You finally drag your tired body to bed and lay your crowbar next to you as you plump down on your belly.

Immediately, the soft mattress luls you to sleep too exhausted to stay half awake knowing Mr. crawling will most likely stay by your side and watch over you.

After some time, you wake up from a sleepless dream and feel a weight on your bottom. Confused, you turn around to see Mr. crawling, grinning, and giggling at you as he appreciates the plump ass he uses as a pillow.

"Fun, fun, I like" he nuzzles his head against to show you how much he enjoys it and the gesture makes your cheeks burn but since he looks so innocent and happy you don't have the heart to yell or smack him away. Plus, he has done the same thing just on your legs when you've been standing, so it's not that of a shock to see him like this.

Instead you slowly turn around on your back and pet his head trying to think of a way to tell him how inappropriate this was of him but the lack of terms in his language make you come up with nothing good. Maybe these creatures don't even have things like sex and don't even have the need to.

Sighning, you shake your head before giggling yourself. Allowing yourself a moment of sillyness admits the danger and chaos this world brings. You pull him closer to you and hug him as you whisper "me grateful" and you mean it, he's been there from the beginning and even though you attacked him with your crowbar he still stood by your side protecting you.

XoXo <3

[shdysders]

too late

pairing: jenna ortega and reader

summary: in which, after weeks of hesitation, you finally decide to tell jenna the truth—only to realize she has plans of her own.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: sensitive topic - lung cancer

authors note: in honor of november being lung cancer awareness month.

It began with a cough.

Not the kind that comes and goes with a cold or allergies, but one that lingered—sharp, persistent, and out of place.

At first, you brushed it off, chalking it up to stress or the changing seasons. But days turned into weeks, and instead of fading, it seemed to grow heavier, like it was pulling something deep from your chest.

You'd ignored it longer than you should have, convincing yourself it was nothing.

Jenna had even teased you about it once or twice, her laughter light and dismissive as she handed you a bottle of water and told you to "take better care of yourself." You'd laughed along with her, but deep down, something about it unsettled you.

When the pain started—a dull ache beneath your ribs every time you took a deep breath—you knew you couldn't ignore it anymore.

That's when you made the call.

The appointment came and went in a blur.

The doctor had been kind but direct, asking questions you couldn't answer with certainty. How long had the symptoms persisted? Had you noticed anything else? Fatigue, weight loss? You'd nodded at some points, shook your head at others, feeling like each response was pulling you further into a place you didn't want to be.

"We'll run some tests," they'd said, their tone neutral, almost too neutral. "Just to be safe."

You'd left the office that day with a sinking feeling you couldn't quite explain, like a storm cloud had settled just over your shoulders. But even then, you told yourself it was nothing.

It had to be.

When the call came, days later, their voice was calm but edged with something you couldn't place.

The voice on the other end, professional but cautious, had asked if you could come in—today. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an urgency wrapped in sterile politeness, and that was when it hit you—that it wasn't nothing.

The drive to the clinic had felt like an eternity. The silence in the car had been unbearable, but every time you'd reached for the radio, your hand had fallen back into your lap. Music felt too loud, too intrusive, as if it would force you to acknowledge the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the moment you hung up the phone.

The streets blurred past you, familiar landmarks losing their meaning. All you could focus on was the road ahead and the gnawing thought that something was wrong—something worse than you wanted to admit. Your hands had gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, and at one point, you'd realized you were holding your breath without meaning to.

By the time you'd pulled into the clinic's parking lot, your chest ached—not just from the persistent cough but from the weight of your anxiety.

You'd sat there for a moment, staring at the sliding glass doors, wondering if you could just... drive away. Pretend the call never happened. Pretend nothing was wrong.

But then you'd thought of Jenna. Her face had flashed in your mind—her smile, the way she always seemed to know when something was bothering you, even when you tried to hide it. You couldn't hide this forever, and if you didn't walk in now, it would only get worse.

The waiting room had been quiet, save for the soft hum of a fish tank in the corner and the occasional murmur of voices. You'd checked in at the front desk, the receptionist's cheery smile making your stomach twist, and then found a seat near the window.

The minutes stretched on.

There had been an older man across from you, his hands trembling slightly as he flipped through a magazine he clearly wasn't reading. Beside him, a woman with a scarf tied around her head stared at the floor, her expression distant.

You couldn't stop wondering about their stories—what they were going through, what battles they were silently fighting. Compared to them, your cough and aches felt trivial, like you didn't belong in this space.

You'd convinced yourself, even as you sat there, that you were wasting everyone's time. That whatever was happening to you couldn't possibly be as bad as what these people were enduring.

Maybe it had been an overreaction to come at all, you thought, even though you knew deep down that wasn't true.

When your name was finally called, your heart jumped into your throat. You stood, legs feeling unsteady beneath you, and followed the nurse down a hallway that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.

She'd led you to a small room and asked you to wait for the doctor, her smile kind but fleeting, as if she knew what was coming.

The seconds ticked by in excruciating silence. Your eyes had scanned the walls, landing on a framed picture of a mountain range, a feeble attempt to make the space feel less clinical. It didn't work.

When the door opened, Dr. Patel had stepped in, clipboard in hand, his face calm but serious. He'd greeted you with a nod, his usual warmth muted, and gestured for you to sit.

You'd perched on the edge of the chair, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. Dr. Patel had sat across from you, his gaze steady but unreadable as he placed the clipboard on the desk.

"I wanted to go over the results of your tests," he'd begun, his voice measured, like he was trying to soften the blow before it landed.

He'd turned his computer screen toward you, the image of a scan glowing faintly against the dim light of the room. He'd pointed to an area on the scan, circling it with the cursor as he explained the findings.

The words he used were clinical, detached, but you caught enough to piece it together. Something about nodules, abnormalities, and how the mass in question hadn't been there before.

And then he'd said it. The word you'd been avoiding, the one that made everything crash down around you.

Cancer.

You'd felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The word echoed in your mind, bouncing around like it didn't belong there. You'd stared at the scan, your eyes unfocused, as Dr. Patel continued to explain the next steps—biopsies, treatments, consultations—but his voice had become background noise.

You hadn't cried, not then. You'd just nodded numbly, your hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly you thought they might snap. Your chest had tightened, the ache you'd been ignoring now unbearable, but you'd forced yourself to stay still.

When the appointment ended, you'd walked out of the clinic in a daze. The world outside had felt too bright, too normal, like nothing had changed when everything had.

You'd sat in your car for what felt like hours, staring at the steering wheel as the weight of it all pressed down on you. And for the first time, you'd thought about what this meant—not just for you, but for Jenna.

How would you even begin to tell her? How could you?

She was the person you turned to when things felt too heavy, the one who always knew how to make everything seem a little less impossible. But this time... this time felt different.

You'd closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, trying to imagine how the conversation would go. You could see her face so clearly in your mind, the way her brows would furrow, her lips parting as she searched for the right words.

You could almost hear her voice, the way it would waver as she asked, "What does this mean? What do we do?"

And that's where your mind stalled—because you didn't have the answers.

You didn't know what it meant, not really, and you definitely didn't know what to do. The idea of seeing that kind of fear in her eyes, of being the reason her world tilted off its axis, made your stomach twist.

Then there was her work. Jenna had always been busy, but lately, it felt like the world was pulling her in a million directions at once.

She'd been running from set to set, juggling interviews, photo shoots, and endless calls with her team. You'd seen how tired she was, how she tried to hide it behind a bright smile whenever she came home, but you could see the strain in her eyes.

How could you add this to her plate?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, the realization settling in with a kind of brutal clarity. If you told her, it wouldn't just be your burden anymore—it would become hers, too. And that wasn't fair. Not when she already had so much to carry.

You'd opened your eyes, staring at the dashboard, trying to convince yourself that waiting wasn't the same as hiding. It wasn't like you were lying to her, not really.

You just needed time to figure things out, to understand what this meant and what came next. Maybe once you had more information, once you knew what the treatment would look like or what the prognosis was, it would be easier to tell her.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

The truth, the part you didn't want to admit even to yourself, was that you were scared. Not just of the diagnosis, but of what it would do to her.

Jenna was strong—stronger than anyone you'd ever met—but this felt like too much, even for her. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing her break under the weight of it, of watching her world shift because of something you couldn't control.

And then there was the selfish part of you, the part that didn't want to see the pity in her eyes. You didn't want her to look at you differently, to start treating you like you were fragile or broken. You didn't want this to define you, not yet, not in her eyes.

So you'd made the decision, sitting there in the stifling silence of your car. You wouldn't tell her—not now, at least. You'd keep this to yourself, at least until you knew more, until you could figure out how to explain it without falling apart.

It wasn't an easy decision. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing you'd ever done. But as you sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on your chest, it felt like the only choice you had.

You thought that, for now, you'd carry this alone.

But after a while, things felt different.

The days had turned into weeks, and with each passing one, the weight of the secret grew heavier. It wasn't just the diagnosis itself; it was the way it bled into every part of your life, a shadow you couldn't shake.

And Jenna—she'd started noticing.

It was small things at first, things that were easy to dismiss or laugh off.

You'd caught her watching you more closely when you coughed, her brow creasing ever so slightly. "Maybe you should get that checked out," she'd said once, the words half-teasing but laced with genuine concern. You'd waved her off with a smile, promising it was nothing, but the look in her eyes had lingered.

Then there were the nights when you'd felt too drained to do much of anything. Jenna had curled up beside you on the couch, her hand brushing against yours as she asked, "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed... tired lately."

You'd blamed it on work, on stress, on anything but the truth, and she'd let it go—though not without a small frown tugging at her lips.

The tipping point had come a few nights ago, when you'd caught her staring at you in the mirror.

You'd been brushing your teeth, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet bathroom, when you noticed her reflection watching yours. "You've lost weight," she'd said softly, her voice more curious than accusatory.

"I haven't noticed," you'd lied, avoiding her gaze.

She'd hesitated, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe we should book a check-up or something," she'd suggested, her tone light but her eyes serious.

You'd shrugged it off again, changing the subject, but the way her gaze lingered on you made it clear she wasn't convinced.

And that's what finally pushed you to make the decision. You couldn't keep brushing her off, couldn't keep pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

She was already worried, even if she didn't fully realize it yet. And sooner or later, she was going to piece things together on her own.

So when she told you she finally had a night free—no calls, no meetings, no obligations—you decided it was time.

The two of you had been planning this date for weeks, trying to carve out time amidst the chaos of her schedule. It wasn't anything extravagant, just dinner at your favorite little spot downtown, but it felt significant in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You told yourself it was the right moment, that you couldn't keep putting this off. You didn't know where this illness would take you next or how much time you had before the symptoms became impossible to hide. The coughs were more frequent now, the fatigue harder to mask. It was only a matter of time before Jenna noticed something you couldn't explain away.

This wasn't how you'd wanted to tell her—not like this, over a quiet dinner on what should've been a happy night. But you didn't see another choice. You couldn't keep lying to her, and you couldn't bear the thought of her finding out some other way.

As you got ready for the evening, the weight of the decision settled over you, heavy but resolute. You weren't sure how you were going to say it or what words you'd use, but you knew it had to be now.

Tonight, you'd tell her.

You'd been rehearsing the words in your head all day, trying to prepare yourself for what felt impossible to say.

But now, sitting in the car, you couldn't ignore the way the air seemed heavier, weighed down by something you couldn't name, and Jenna—Jenna wasn't herself.

She'd been trying to act normal, you could tell. Humming along to the radio, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel like she always did, glancing over at you every so often with what you guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

But there was a tension in her movements, a stiffness that wasn't usually there.

It was subtle, barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But you were paying attention.

Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than usual, her knuckles pale against the leather.

Her gaze lingered too long on the road ahead, as if she was focusing on anything but you. The way she adjusted the air conditioning, even though it didn't need it, or fiddled with her bracelet, slipping it up and down her wrist—these weren't things Jenna usually did.

Your chest felt tight, and not from the illness.

Had she figured it out? Had she found something—a paper you'd forgotten to throw away, maybe, or a note scrawled hastily with an appointment reminder? You'd been so careful, but the thought that you'd slipped up sent a sharp pang of anxiety through you.

You replayed everything in your head, scanning for mistakes, for signs. She hadn't said anything outright, but that only made it worse. If she had found something, she wouldn't confront you about it—not Jenna. No, she'd let it fester, trying to give you space, trying not to pry. But that didn't mean she wouldn't act differently.

And she was acting differently.

Even the silence between you felt louder than it should have, thick and charged with something unspoken. You'd always been able to sit comfortably with her in quiet moments, sharing space without the need to fill it. But this wasn't that. This was an entirely different kind of silence, one that pressed down on you like a weight you couldn't shrug off.

Your mind raced, chasing every possible scenario. Maybe she'd pieced it together herself, noticed more than you thought. Jenna wasn't oblivious.

She'd seen you brush off dinner more often than not, heard the cough that hadn't gone away, seen how you'd flinched the other day when she wrapped her arms around your ribs from behind. She'd even asked, once or twice, if everything was okay.

"You're sure you're fine?" she'd said a few nights ago, her brows knitting together in concern as you forced down a glass of water to stop the coughing fit. You'd laughed, waved her off, told her you'd been pushing yourself too hard at work.

And maybe she'd believed you. Or maybe she hadn't.

The thought gnawed at you as you stared out the window, the glow of passing streetlights streaking across your vision.

You turned to look at her, and for a moment, she felt impossibly far away. She was still Jenna, your Jenna, but there was a distance now, something fragile and strange sitting between you. Her profile was calm, unreadable, her lips pressed into a line that wasn't quite a frown but wasn't a smile, either.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining things, that your own guilt and nerves were making you see something that wasn't there. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling.

When she finally pulled into the restaurant parking lot and shifted the car into park, she sat there for a moment, her hands still on the wheel.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

"Yeah," you answered quickly, too quickly. "You?"

"Of course," she said, the words slipping out a fraction too fast.

Her smile came next, bright but brittle, like it might crack if you looked at it too closely. And as she turned away, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her purse, you caught a glimpse of something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe, or something close to it.

You didn't know what it meant, but it lingered, heavy in your chest, as the two of you made your way inside.

The restaurant was warm and softly lit, the kind of place where the low hum of conversation mixed with the faint clink of silverware on plates. You'd picked it because it was one of your usual spots—familiar, comfortable, with memories stitched into every corner. But tonight, none of that comfort seemed to settle in.

You couldn't stop picturing how the night might unfold, how Jenna might react once you finally told her. Would she cry? Would she be mad—at you, at the world, at herself for not noticing sooner? Would she try to fix it, as if sheer determination could somehow erase what was already happening?

The thought of her being mad was the one that stuck, looping endlessly in your mind. Would she think you'd waited too long to tell her?

Or worse, would she be upset that you'd told her at all, that you'd burdened her with something so heavy when her life was already so full?

You could see it so clearly—her soft features hardening, her voice laced with frustration as she asked why you hadn't come to her sooner. Why you hadn't trusted her enough.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves from spiraling further out of control. But it didn't help that Jenna was acting off. You'd been together for two and a half years—long enough to notice when something wasn't right. And tonight, something definitely wasn't right.

She was trying, you'd give her that. She smiled when the waiter brought the menus, chatted with him about the specials like she always did, and even reached across the table to brush her fingers lightly over yours. But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and her touches felt more like a distraction than a comfort.

When the waiter came back to take your drink orders, she didn't hesitate. "A glass of the house red," she said, her voice steady, almost automatic.

You were about to do the same—it was your thing, after all. A little tradition you'd fallen into on dates like this. But the doctor's voice echoed in your mind: Avoid alcohol, caffeine, anything that might add strain. So instead, you said, "I'll just have a Diet Coke, please."

Jenna's head snapped up, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. "No wine?" she asked, her tone light but curious. "Since when do you skip wine?"

You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face as you waved it off. "Just... not feeling it tonight. Wanted something lighter."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, like she didn't quite believe you but wasn't going to press the issue. "Alright," she said, leaning back in her chair. But there was a flicker of something in her expression—confusion, maybe, or concern. You couldn't tell.

As she turned her attention back to the menu, you tried to steady your breathing, but your chest felt tight. You knew she noticed things, little things, even when you thought you'd been careful. And now you couldn't help but wonder if she was piecing them together in real time, one by one, until the truth clicked into place.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the napkin in your lap as the nerves swirled in your stomach.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up—pretending everything was fine, acting like tonight was just another date. Because it wasn't. And you weren't sure how to tell her that without everything breaking apart.

And still, you couldn't shake the feeling that she already knew.

But you tried to keep the conversation going, forcing yourself to focus on Jenna and not on the crushing weight of your own nerves.

She talked about work, the projects she was excited for, the roles she'd recently turned down. You asked questions, nodded at all the right times, even laughed softly when she mentioned something funny one of her co-stars had done. But the way she was looking at you—it made it impossible to relax.

Her gaze was soft, too soft, like she was trying to protect you with just her eyes.

There was a sympathy there, gentle and unspoken, that only made your stomach churn harder. Did she already know? Had she pieced it all together? The thought gnawed at you, turning every word you said into an effort just to keep up the act.

By the time the food arrived, you were too nervous to eat. The plate in front of you looked like it belonged to someone else—steaming, perfectly plated, entirely untouched.

You picked at it, moving the food around your plate, but your appetite had vanished. Every nerve in your body was screaming, the weight of what you were about to say threatening to crush you.

You didn't understand why. You loved Jenna. You loved her more than you could ever put into words.

She was the reason you smiled when you didn't feel like it, the reason your laughter didn't sound hollow. She was the first person you thought about when you woke up and the last one before you fell asleep. She was your person.

And that's why you had to tell her.

You told yourself that over and over again. This wasn't just about you. Jenna deserved to know. If there was anyone you wanted to be the first to hear, it was her.

Not a friend, not a family member—Jenna. Because no matter how terrifying this was, no matter how much it hurt, she was the one who deserved to know the truth.

You tried to convince yourself that it didn't matter how she'd react, that you'd find a way to deal with whatever came next. Whether she stayed, whether she left, whether she cursed you out for not telling her sooner—it didn't matter.

This illness was a part of you now. There was no escaping it, no undoing it, no pretending it wasn't there. And if Jenna didn't want to stay, you'd have to accept that, too. But you couldn't let her find out some other way. You had to be the one to tell her, no matter how hard it was.

A little while into the dinner, you glanced up from your untouched plate, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. You were going to tell her. Right now.

But then you noticed Jenna again. She was fiddling with the edge of her napkin, her fingers smoothing and crumpling it over and over.

She hadn't touched her wine glass in minutes, though she'd ordered it with enthusiasm. And when she wasn't fidgeting with the napkin, she was twisting her bracelet up and down her wrist or tapping her nails lightly against the table.

Her nervousness was palpable, radiating off her in waves. And it made you pause.

She looked like she already knew. Like she was bracing herself for something—maybe for you to say it out loud. The realization only made your own nerves spike higher, your throat tightening as you tried to steady yourself.

What if she was waiting for this moment? What if she'd guessed and had been dreading it ever since? It was impossible to tell, but the thought made the words stick in your throat, suddenly too heavy to push out.

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself, but the question remained, lingering in your mind like a storm cloud: Did she already know.

The silence between you was thick and unyielding, like a barrier you couldn't push through. You stared at your untouched plate, willing yourself to speak, to just get it over with. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

Just say it, you told yourself. You've rehearsed this a hundred times. Just say it.

But the words didn't come.

Your throat felt dry, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. And then, in that fragile quiet, you finally opened your mouth, the beginnings of your confession trembling on your lips.

"I—"

You barely got the first sound out before Jenna interrupted you.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Her voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade, and your eyes snapped up to meet hers. She froze, realizing she'd interrupted, her brow furrowing in apology.

"Sorry," she said quickly, her hands lifting slightly as if to physically backpedal. "You go first."

The tension in her expression, the nervous energy radiating off her, should've made you more anxious. But instead, you felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You didn't want to say it.

You didn't want to tell her, to put it into words, to make it real. Because once you said it out loud, there'd be no going back.

The illness that had already seeped into every corner of your life, consuming your thoughts and your body, would become something undeniable. And it wasn't just your burden anymore—it would become hers, too.

So you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, it's okay. You go."

Jenna hesitated, her eyes scanning yours as if to make sure you meant it. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she shifted in her seat, her fingers tangling together in her lap.

You watched her, noticing for the first time how truly nervous she looked. Her hands moved constantly, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, twisting her bracelet, pressing her palms flat against her thighs.

For a fleeting moment, your mind latched onto something completely irrational: Was she going to propose?

The thought felt absurd, but it burrowed into your brain anyway. The way she was avoiding eye contact, the way her fingers clasped and unclasped like she was gripping something small—it all seemed so... deliberate. Like she was holding onto something important.

You could almost picture it: a velvet box, hidden in her jacket pocket, the hinge creaking as she opened it to reveal something glittering and perfect. Her nervousness would make sense then. Proposing was a big deal, a life-changing moment, and Jenna would want to get it exactly right.

It had to be that. Maybe it was wishful thinking, your mind scrambling for anything to distract you from your own nerves, but for a second, you almost let yourself believe it.

Then Jenna spoke, and it all came crashing down.

She didn't look at you right away. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands were still fidgeting, and she swallowed hard before starting. "I've been thinking about this for a while," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the restaurant.

Your stomach dropped.

Her words were slow, halting, like she was trying to choose them carefully but wasn't quite sure how. She glanced up at you briefly, her eyes heavy with something you couldn't place—sympathy, maybe, or regret—before looking down again.

"It's just..." She paused, exhaling shakily. "With everything going on—with my career, and the projects, and traveling all the time... it's a lot. And I know it's not fair to you."

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

"I'm barely home," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "And when I am, I'm... distracted. By work, by everything I have to do. I feel like I'm constantly being pulled in a million different directions, and no matter how hard I try, I can't... I can't give you the time or attention you deserve."

Her hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles pale against her skin. She looked up at you again, forcing herself to meet your gaze even though it clearly took effort.

"You've been so patient with me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "So understanding, even when I didn't deserve it. And I hate that. I hate that I've let things get to this point, where I feel like I'm failing you."

She gulped, her Adam's apple bobbing as she struggled to steady herself. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself now.

The words hung heavy between you, suffocating in their weight.

"I just... I think it's for the best if we—if we break up."

The final words came out like a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout. They echoed in your head, over and over, until they drowned out everything else.

She was still looking at you, her expression raw and vulnerable, waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn't.

Because in that moment, it felt like the ground had opened up beneath you, pulling you into a freefall you couldn't escape.

For a moment, you couldn't even process what she'd said. It didn't feel real, couldn't feel real. The restaurant around you blurred into nothing—voices faded into static, the clinking of plates and glasses became a distant hum. All you could hear was the sound of her words echoing in your mind.

Break up.

You blinked, and suddenly your throat was tight, your chest heavy, and your vision stung with tears threatening to spill over. You tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a lump lodged in your throat, growing bigger with every second of silence that passed.

All you could manage was a quiet, broken, "Oh."

It was barely a sound, barely anything at all, but it carried everything. All the confusion, the hurt, the disbelief—it was packed into that one syllable that trembled out of you. And the moment it escaped, you felt like you were collapsing from the inside out.

Your hands trembled slightly as they rested on your lap, and you clenched them into fists to steady yourself.

But it didn't work. Your chest felt like it was caving in, your stomach churning violently as if you were going to be sick. You suddenly felt more ill than you'd ever felt before, like every bit of strength you had left was being drained out of you all at once.

You blinked again, and a tear slid down your cheek before you even realized you were crying.

Jenna didn't look away.

Her gaze stayed locked on you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and that only made it worse. It made your chest tighten further, your throat burn hotter. Because why was she crying? Why was she crying?

If she thought this was the right thing to do, if she believed that breaking up was the solution, then why did she look like she was on the verge of breaking, too?

The thought stirred something sharp and bitter in your chest—something close to anger.

You didn't want to be angry, not at her. You loved her more than anything, more than yourself, more than anything you'd ever known in this world. But in that moment, it bubbled up anyway, unbidden and ugly.

How could she say this was for the best and look like she was about to cry? How could she sit there, tearing you apart with her words, and act like she felt guilty about it? Like she didn’t want to do this but was doing it anyway.

If she didn't want to do it, then why was she?

Your hands unclenched, trembling as you wiped hastily at your face, trying to erase the tears that kept coming. But it was no use. They kept falling, hot and relentless, leaving tracks down your cheeks that you couldn't hide, even if you tried.

"Okay," you whispered, though it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. But you didn't have anything else to say. Your mind felt blank, empty except for the deafening echo of her words and the ache that spread through your chest like wildfire.

Your lips parted like you were about to say more, but nothing came out. There was so much you wanted to ask, to scream, to cry, but the weight of it all held you frozen. You could only sit there, staring at her through the blur of your tears, wondering how it had come to this.

Why now? Why like this? Why, after everything you'd been through together, was this the moment it all fell apart?

Your heart felt like it was breaking, splintering into a million pieces you didn't know how to put back together.

You stared at her, searching her face for something—anything—that might explain this, that might soften the blow. But all you saw was sadness and guilt and resolve. And that, more than anything, made you feel like you might throw up.

You didn't know how to respond—what could you say? Everything felt so wrong, so heavy, and all you could do was sit there, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too shattered to form words.

And Jenna, maybe out of nervousness or guilt—or both—began to ramble again. Her voice was softer now, tinged with a slight tremor, like she was trying to steady herself but couldn't quite manage it.

"I—I've just been thinking about this a lot," she said, her words spilling out in a way that didn't quite connect. "With... everything. My work, how busy it's been, and I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out, and it's like—like maybe it's just too much."

Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, twisting her rings and pressing into her palm as if she could ground herself that way.

Her gaze flicked up to you, then away, then back again. She looked like she was searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but couldn't seem to hold your eyes for more than a second at a time.

"It's not that I don't care," she added quickly, almost desperately, her words tripping over themselves. "You know I do. You know I care about you so much, and that's why—" She stopped mid-sentence, pressing her lips together hard, her brows furrowing like she didn't know how to finish the thought.

Her voice was uneven when she started again. "I just—everything's so complicated right now. With filming, with traveling, and—and I feel like..." Her words faltered again, and she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her own thoughts was too much.

Her sentences were fragmented, scattered, like she didn't fully know how to explain herself. It wasn't an argument, wasn't a definitive declaration—it was just... messy.

And that made it worse.

Because nothing she was saying felt concrete, nothing felt like a real reason. It was all just vague, unfinished thoughts that left you sitting there, trying to piece together what she actually meant. Trying to figure out if she even knew what she was saying.

Jenna swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she glanced down at her lap again. "I don't know how else to say it," she murmured, almost to herself, her voice barely audible.

But that didn't make it any clearer.

All you could do was sit there, still frozen, still unable to speak, as she rambled on, her words tangling together in a way that felt more like she was trying to convince herself than explain anything to you.

And it felt like every word she said was chipping away at something inside you, leaving you raw and exposed and aching.

You couldn't even process the idea of why she was doing this, because she wasn't giving you a reason—she was just... saying things. Vague, messy things that didn't feel like they added up to anything but heartbreak.

"What were you going to say?" She asked, clearly getting the point of her rambling not helping anybody at the table. You felt your stomach twist violently. Her tone was soft, hesitant, like she was trying to patch the cracks she'd just shattered into existence, but it only made everything worse.

You stared at her, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Was she serious? Did she really think she could just ask that now—after everything—and act like it hadn't happened? Like you weren't sitting here, choking on the weight of her words, trying to make sense of it all?

You couldn't believe it. And yet, part of you could. This was so her—to try and smooth it all over, to shove the pieces of normalcy back into place even when it was painfully obvious they didn't fit anymore. But you could see it in her face, in the way her lips trembled and her eyes flicked nervously over your expression. She knew it wasn't working. She knew this was ridiculous.

Still, you couldn't answer right away. Because, what could you even say?

What you were going to say—what you needed to say—wasn't something you could tell her now. Not after this. Not after she'd sat across from you and torn everything apart, leaving you to sit here, raw and exposed, trying to make sense of her fragmented reasoning.

You couldn't tell her. You couldn't tell her that you were sick. Because now it would look like a desperate attempt to make her stay, to guilt her into taking it all back. And that was the last thing you wanted.

No—more than that, it would make it real. Actually real. Saying the words out loud, to her of all people, in this moment, would make it something you couldn't take back. And you weren't ready for that. You weren't ready for any of it.

"It was nothing," you muttered, your voice flat and quiet, barely recognizable as your own. You stared at the table, refusing to meet her eyes, because the weight of her gaze was too much to bear. "Just... nothing important."

You hoped she'd leave it at that, though you could tell from the way her expression softened into something unbearably sympathetic that she didn't believe you. She was probably going to ask again, probably going to try to dig deeper, but you couldn't give her more. Not now. Not like this.

She didn't press you for more, but the silence that followed felt louder than anything she could have said. You didn't look at her, didn't dare, because you knew what you'd see—concern, confusion, maybe even guilt—and you couldn't take it. Not after everything.

You tried to focus on the table in front of you, the half-empty glass of soda that had gone warm, the plate of untouched food that suddenly felt miles away. But your mind wouldn't stop racing.

This wasn't how you'd imagined it. None of it.

All the words you'd rehearsed, the courage you'd spent all day building, the carefully planned moment—it was gone now, swept away like it had never existed. And no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how desperately you wished you could take it all back, it was too late.

Too late to say what you'd come here to say. Too late to stop what she'd said instead. Too late to fix whatever had been shattered between you tonight.

And now, you'd have to face it all alone.

The waiting rooms. The cold sterility of hospital walls. The appointments that stretched on longer than the days themselves. You'd prepared yourself for those things, or at least tried to, but you'd never prepared for doing it without her.

You couldn't blame her. You wouldn't. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay put, and reached for your glass, if only to give your hands something to do. The carbonation fizzed on your tongue, sharp and bitter, but you barely tasted it.

And as Jenna's gaze lingered on you, hesitant and uncertain, you told yourself the same thing you'd been trying to believe all night.

You would be fine. You had to be.

Because now, it was too late to say otherwise.

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[rafeskiss]

juno ! ᥫ᭡

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader

word count: 980

summary: boat days with rafey make you so fucking horny<333 based on the song ‘juno’ by sabrina carpenter

warnings: no actual smut, use of y/n, mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, probably more i dont fucking know

authors note: IM BAAAACK! bringing back the short n’ sweet inspired rafe fics

boat days with rafe were your favorite days. you didn’t have to be sexual with rafe to have fun together, and you guys had your own way of showing appreciation— which, of course, included sex some days, but you also just got each other.

your love for each other was showcased best on the druthers on hot and sticky summer afternoons. you’d be tanning and feel a lack of warmth for a second, opening your eyes to see rafe towering over you, blocking the sun. a fruity seltzer in his hand, he’d hand it to you and you’d continue tanning. you didn’t ever have to tell him what you were thinking, he just gets it.

or he’d let you apply sunscreen on him— this was a rarity. he claimed he didn’t care if he got burnt or not, and you’d always reply with something along the lines of ‘you will care when you get skin cancer in 20 years!’ so you’d stand on your tippy toes, rubbing the white substance on his face, chest, back, arms, and legs until you saw fit. this was also a perfect excuse to feel him up. you hated his father, ward, for giving him life-long daddy issues but this was one of the only times you’d thank him. God bless his dad’s genetics, because rafe cameron is one sight to see and feel under the north carolina heat. beads of sweat dotting his face and chest, small freckles appearing on his nose and how gorgeous he looked driving the boat.

today was one of those days; you in a tiny pink bikini and rafe looking particularly fuckable edible hot pretty. you watched as he steered the boat towards wherever the hell he was taking you, his grip on the steering wheel showing off his toned, muscular arms. you just about melted in your sun chair rafe layed out for you.

it was days like this where you seemed to be so in love you’d do just about anything for him. rafe was too busy steering the boat, leaving you alone in your thoughts as you soaked up the vitamin d. you often thought about your future with rafe, and rafe doesn’t talk about the future rarely ever, but you knew he’d want your touch for life. he hasn’t and probably won’t ever come out and directly say he wants to spend forever with you, but his words always allude to it.

you never take the things he says during sex seriously; he’s always grunting about putting a baby in you or telling you to never ever leave him— you wouldn’t dare— but you wonder if he really truly means it. however, this doesn’t stop you from hinting at the fact you would like this all to become a reality. he’d be picking you up to go to dinner and you’d do a little twirl, showing off your dress. he’d tell you you look great, just like always, and you’d be like ‘well, there’s actually one thing missing…’ rafe would grumble something like ‘fuck are you talkin’ bout, kid? you’re fully dressed.’ and you’d stick your left hand out to him, showing him your naked ring finger. ‘missing a rock right there.’ and he’d roll his eyes and tell you to get in the damn truck.

you hopped off the tanning chair and found your way to a mini fridge that’s always stocked with various drinks. you opted for a twisted tea and you grabbed rafe a beer. you giddily walked to find rafe who was standing by the steering wheel, one hand on it and the other glancing down at his phone.

“here ya go,” you smiled and handed him the glass bottle.

“thanks, baby.” he said while placing a kiss to your temple, turning his phone off.

you looked at his hands on the steering wheel, noticing the lack of a wedding ring on his hand. you frown, “looks so boring right here, right?” you look up at him, your finger pointing to his ring finger.

“can you just wait?” he scolded.

“i just think this day would be even more perfect with a mini us running around!” you declared, looking around the boat imagining a tiny rafe or a tiny you waddling all over.

he rolled his eyes and continued steering the boat.

“like, one of me is cute but two though?”

rafe laughed, “are you ovulating or something? holy shit,”

you smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek, “can’t help it.”

“jus’… gimme time, baby.” he muttered before taking a sip of his beer.

so maybe having a baby at 19 wasn’t the best idea. but there were far worse things you could be doing with your life! rafe has enough money to support you and the baby until the end of time, including your retail therapy and regular therapy, so what is so wrong with that?

“give me one good reason why we can’t have a baby right now.” you said, crossing your arms which only made rafe take this conversation less serious because his eyes were immediately drawn to your tits.

rafe smirked, “shit, i dunno. i will say, your tits would be massive with a little baby in you.”

you gasped, “so you do wanna have a baby!”

“never said that.” he sniffed.

rolling your eyes you said, “whatever. god forbid i want a future with you!” you stormed off leaving rafe behind you.

of course, rafe didn’t want to hurt your feelings so he apologized very thoroughly later. he made sure to tell you that he did want a future with you, but he wants you to enjoy your young adulthood before potentially wrecking your life and freedom by bringing a baby into the world. in response to this, you stuck your tongue out at him.

“see, who needs a fucking baby when we got you around?” he said teasingly.

TAGLIST (reply to my tag list post to be added)

@xcinnamonmalfoyx @neediestpuppy @ethanthequeefqueen @maybankslover @pankowblues @drewsphswife @wearemadeofstardust0

[exhausted-archivist]

This is the banter about his going rates that I referenced in another post, and I see the comments and tags. I cannot tell you how much this isn’t him being a nepo baby or the ���how much could it cost” meme.

Shoving the rest under the cut because I get the joke here but I need to yell about this man.

tldr: This isn’t dialogue about Lucanis being out of touch, and not knowing what money is worth. He knows, he’s a union man. This dialogue is about Lucanis learning about Harding’s values and priorities. He was worried he was low balling Harding. The tone in this dialogue throws him because what Harding says could easily be taken as “six thousand is only this much and I deserve more compensation.” Hence why he offered to negotiate with her and also why he clarified that the comparison was good.

Now for me yelling about this man:

Lucanis is a union man. Lucanis thinks everyone should be paid fairly, equally, and the market rate. He tells Neve to unionize with the other detectives to make sure she is being compensated fairly (to make sure they all are tbh) and that no one is underpricing themselves. If they are, they’re a scab.

He tells Bellara the Veil Jumpers are providing a service and risking their lives - they should be fairly and properly compensated. They should not only unionize but charge for their services.

Now there is something to say about capitalism and such, but Lucanis is vouching for this stuff because at the end of the day money is important in Thedas. With money you can buy the supplies you need. With money you can make more impactful change, bribe people with lesser morals, provide for people who need it. Cover funerary costs, compensate the families of those who died who maybe the person working for/with you was the only money earner. With money, you can choose to help on jobs that don’t pay at all because you have the comfort of knowing you have other work to cover things.

Lucanis isn’t asking Harding if that’s good because he doesn’t understand the value of what he’s offering. He’s asking Harding if it’s good to understand what her value of it is. Money is after all just a social contract of a universally agreed to system to value the more abstract concepts of value (and even then it fails at times). For all he knows she could have been presenting those examples to show he is lowballing her.

This man is offering to negotiate with her, but her words and tone throw him so he’s not sure if she is happy with the offer or offended.

Lucanis isn’t a nepo baby who thinks 10 dollars for a banana isn’t a lot. Illiaro is the nepo baby. Lucanis was born into wealth but he knows the value of it and works hard to not only earn it but also maintain it. This man has standards, he wants the best because he can afford it so he will not accept anything less than his expensive, luxury Orlesian peaches.

Lucanis doesn’t value goats or a barn the same way Harding does. For her there is personal attachment and sentimentality (see where money fails to properly put a value on something). He knows their monetary worth of those things but he would not be pleased or excited to be paid in a herd of goats (unless perhaps if they were Ayesleigh gulabi goat). But Harding does value those things. Those things have more meaning to her than their value in gold, that’s home. That’s stability. That’s purpose and security. Giving books to the whole village? That’s enriching lives, that teaching people to read. That is uplifting people.

If you asked Lucanis to list off what 6k gold could get him? You’d see his values are different, it would be coffee, luxury food ingredients, wyvern memorabilia, daggers.

Anyways, this isn’t my blorbo but he’s the blorbo of friends I have and man is up there with Cullen, Davrin, and others. Just rotating in my brain space because people I care about like him.

Also this makes me wonder how much the Inquisition was paying Harding and if Lucanis is going to provide her with one of his lawyers like he did for Neve and Bellara.

I've seen Lucanis' family villa so I knew he was rich, but this banter made me realize that he's a rich boy who has no idea what money is worth lmao.

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ top of everything (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : max verstappen x male reader

summary: max is best because he believes he is the best ( in everything )

tw : fluff; a little suggestive

fc : vinnie hacker

a/n : MY FIRST MALE READER FIC ! if you don’t like reading it, please don’t read, but leaving hate is not an option, AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY HOMOPHOBIC COMMENTS, you don’t like it or support, just skip it ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by nicholaschavez and 636,287 others

ynhacker my love is a monster in the show ( and 🛌 )

view comments

user1 HE IS GAY !?

user2 LMAO BOTH THE ACTORS IN MONSTER ARE GAY !?

user3 CHAVEZ IS GAY !?

nicholaschavez I am never letting you click pictures of mine

ynhacker alright then, you are not licking my tattoos

user4 SIR FREAK !?

user5 OPEN AN ONLYFANS, YALL WILL BE BILLIONAIRES

user6 me being an old fan and sipping tea ☕️

user7 they loooook so good together

user8 if they have a kid- the gene race is won

user9 both of them are so hot

user10 why are hot men all gay ?

liked by user1, maddisonbeer and 763,862 others

ynhacker oh, I am both 😌

view comments

user1 SOMETHING HAPPENED BETWEEN HIM AND NICHOLAS

user2 WHAT !? THEY BROKE UP

user3 no they didn’t, nich still has their pictures

user4 no, I mean, Y/n said that nicholas doesn’t like him posting thirsty pictures so for the past 7 months he had not posted even one thirsty selfie

user5 THIS IS A THIRST TRAP !?

user6 they def broke up if y/n is back to posting fuck me daddy photos

user7 he is def the one doing the cardio, not receiving -

liked by maddisonbeer, maxverstappen1 and 873,367 others

ynhacker they said Latina air and fast cars helps with break ups 🍃

view comments

user1 THEY BROKE UP 😭😭😭

user2 DAD AND DADDY BROKE UP 😔😭😭😔

landonorris it was amazing meeting you !!!

liked by ynhacker

user3 where did lando spawn out of 💀

user4 let him spawn, he is not gay

user5 Lando is dating magui I think

user6 IDC, Y/N'S FUCKBOY ERA IS BACK !!?

user7 we love a hot gay man with hot girl besties 👄

mclaren see you soon again!!!

ynhacker definitely admin, coming for the cars and bundas 🍑

user7 HUH!?

liked by user1, user2, and 736,276 others

enews Weeks after rumours, Y/N Hacker, who is the ex-boyfriend of Nicholas Chavez was seen in his car with a mystery man at the gas station in Vegas.

view comments

user1 my man does not waste time 😭

user2 who is the mystery man !?

user3 that's..MAX VERSTAPPEN !?

user4 ARIANNA WHAT YOU DOING HERE !?

user5 he is soo drunk

user6 WHY IS HE DRIVING !?

user7 they casually be exposing max breaking laws-

user8 not only the FIA but even FBI will be after him 😌

user9 MAX IS GAY !?

user10 nah, they maybe friends ?

user11 I am loving to see this side of max

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 876,279 others

ynhacker Jimmy and Sassy love me, he does too well 🙂‍↕️

view comments

user1 wasn't he a dog person ?

user2 when did he adopt cats ?

user3 those are Max's cats !!

user4 MAX VERSTAPPEN !?

user5 the f1 grid in the likes-

landonorris max is cursing in Dutch here

ynhacker that's a very Charles thing to do

charlesleclerc EXCUSE ME !?

ynahacker excused, now let Carlos overtake 😌

carlossainz55 whenever you come to Spain, tell me, you are not even spending a euro

user6 I am living for these sudden interactions-

maxverstappen1 return my sons

ynhacker they love me more than you 🤭

maxverstappen1 get my sons along with you

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,367,972 others

ynhacker shirtless because he does not own any shirt except the redbull one

view comments

redbullracing glad to see our driver doing his duties

ynhacker you certainly are not doing anything for him tho -

landonorris mate, you are going to get him kicked out

ynhacker nah, they will be digging their graves by kicking him out

landonorris YOU can get banned

ynhacker will they mess with Max's plus one?

landonorris point

maxverstappen1 why do you own a phone!?

maxverstappen1 stop clicking random pictures of me

charlesleclerc give the context of the middle on though

ynhacker one word : REDBULL

maxverstappen1 we look cute in the last one

ynhacker it's all you 🤭

comments on this post have been restricted

liked by landonorris, francolapinto and 1,762,576 others

ynhacker Lando's and I are matching 4️⃣💤

view comments

user1 his closet is exactly like I imagined

user2 messy like his driving -

user2 is blocked by ynhacker

user3 KING 👑

user4 are all the f1 drivers gay ?

user5 wasn't he like dating max ?

user6 and now Lando ?

landonorris can I kill you for exposing my wardrobe ?

maxverstappen1 let me kill you before that

liked by ynhacker

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 2,765,465 others

ynhacker MY CHAMP IS ON THE TOP OF THE CHAMPIONSHIP ( and me 🤭)

comments on this post have been turned off

tg : @callsignwidow

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter eleven

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. CONSULT AO3 FOR FULL TAGGED CONTENT WARNINGS

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Your mom used to tell you that love was a choice that she made every day. She woke up and chose to love your father, chose to put in the effort that a relationship needed, chose to stay by his side through the good and the bad. It was a point of pride to endure at all, a smile slapped on her face. She told you that until he left one night, bags in hand and another woman’s name on his lips. 

After that, love was no longer a choice. It was nights of tears and screaming matches, begging and pleading, obligatory phone calls and visitations out of state. Love was no longer a choice, but a shackle, something that you say at the end of a conversation because you must. Love is a pain you bear because you are human, and someone must hold these feelings you have.

Your mother still wants your father to call her. 

You wait for Touya to come home.

It haunts you all morning, as you twiddle away time before the convention floor opens again. You end up calling your boss with an update, only to chat with him over coffee. His niece is over again - she screams hi into the receiver- and his sister says hello as well. You try to end the call there, but he stays on, asking questions about who you’ve seen and how they've been. The conversation drags, but neither of you seem to mind.

“You aren’t watching Shouta.” It’s an observation, posed as a question. He’s speaking better today- you aren’t sure why. Death ebbs and flows.

“He asked me not to.” The truth feels right at this moment. It doesn’t betray anything changing between you two; Toshinori is probably aware of the tense air between you too. Now, it’s just tense in a different way, a way that makes your toes curl to think about.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, “Shouta is a very private man.”

More so than you know, Yagi, you think. Aizawa is very different behind closed doors, behind that wall he’s so carefully crafted. You fear you’ve only cracked one layer of him only to uncover a different veneer.

At the end of the call with Toshinori, you let slip a little “Love you.” and he laughs, surprisingly boisterous for his frail lungs. 

“I didn’t mean it,” you try to say.

“It’s okay,” he says once he catches his breath. “I understand.”

 You don’t.

The rest of the morning is spent in your room, pouring over your emails. Technically, the company is on crunch time; your newer model hits the market within two months and panic has set across the office. Everything is ready, technically, but also nothing is; every day is a new little fire, begging to be put out. Being away on a friday was actually a gift, you realize now that you’re scrolling through what you’ve missed. Your inbox is filled with random issues and scheduled meetings for the upcoming weeks. Your DMs are alight with notifications too-- these, less urgent. 

Izuku Midoriya -> are you alive? or did Mr. Aizawa murder you?

Oh, if only he knew how quickly things change.

we're both alive and well somehow <-

Another message comes through, this one in a different tab.

Hizashi Yamada -> I see you online!

Trying to sneak some work in before I get out of bed. <-

Hizashi Yamada -> Send me your room number.

He arrives in less than five minutes. As usual, Hizashi is put together in a respectfully ostentatious way. His all black outfit might be velvet because of how it eats the light, equally matte and shiny all at once. It’s the type of clothing you wish you could pull off-- or afford --but he wears it so easily, with a confidence you could never have. No, you could never so gracefully enter a room and throw off a jacket like some supermodel.

“How was the presentation?” he asks as he flops into bed beside you. It's a different feeling than being next to Aizawa; he’s perched like a girl gossiping during a slumber party, hair tosselled on your silk pillow. You close your laptop and carefully place it aside. There’s no way you’ll be working with Hizashi around.  That was probably his plan all along.

“I didn’t go-- you didn’t go either?” You playfully shove him.  “You're a bad friend!”

“I woke up late.” He shrugs, feigning sympathy with a content smirk. “And had other things to do this morning, if you catch my drift.”

He throws in an unnecessary wink. Your cringe is a reflex- you don’t really mind hearing about Hizashi’s conquests, but it does make you think about last night again. All you did was kiss, but your skin prickles as if you did more, as if you want more. 

And maybe you do. You’ve been tossing the idea around all morning, trying to figure out exactly what you want, not only from the man, but from yourself, but every time you think about it too hard, the image of Touya flashes in your mind, and your thoughts are tumbling once again.

You think of your mother. It used to be your worst fear to become her, but each day that passes, you see more of her in your eyes, in the thinness in  your skin.

“You okay, babygirl?”

He points directly at the space between your eyes, where you’ll one day have the same worried creases your mother has.. “You’ve got a face on your face.”

You try to wipe away whatever he’s seeing, but it clearly doesn’t work. Hizashi looks at you harder, expression especially soft. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m just-” you shrug. Is there a word for what you're feeling? Ennui? Horror? Somewhere in between? “Shaking off a weird feeling.”

“Weird feeling-” Hizashi throws you a wink. “I think we call it a hangover.”

“I’m not hungover--”

Before you can protest, your friend gasps, so violently that you nearly jump out of your skin. He backs up, hand over his heart and jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh my god. Oh my goooooooodddd.”

“What? What? Am I dying?”

“Your neck!” Now he points to you with a fully straight arm, like he’s accusing you of being a witch. You slap a hand over the spot instinctively. “Hello, that’s a hickey!”

Oh. Oh no. You had been too distracted this morning to notice, but apparently Aizawa’s lips have left a mark on you. Heat flushes across your face; a hickey? Who do you think you are? Kaminari? You’ve had a secret for less than 24 hours and it’s already threatening to come out.

“You got laid last night? With who? Where? When? Tell me everything!” Hizashi pushes down in the mattress to bounce himself, jimmying you up and down in the process.

“Well, uh--” You can’t even begin to make something up. The irrational fears start to take over- what if he figures out exactly who’s mouth left that mark? Hizashi’s a whore-- he might know some sort of mouth forensics or something! Or, you don’t know, maybe you still smell like Aizawa, even 

“You dirty dog, is that why you didn’t see Aizawa’s thing?” Your stomach somehow sinks lower. “Because you and Tensei fucked?”

Tensei?

“Tensei?”

“Oh my god, you totally did. You’re all flustered!”

You had completely forgotten the man even existed. Beautiful Tensei Iida, the ‘sexy’ doctor Hizashi wanted you to have… it’s funny how things never work out the way you think they will.

“It wasn’t Tensei!” You scooch away. “And it’s not a hickey!” 

Hizashi sees through that lie. He crawls on his hands and knees after you. “You gotta tell me, please-”

Crap. He’s not going to let this go. Sex and all that comes with it is Hizashi’s catnip; once he’s gotten a taste of it, he’s deranged. 

Telling the truth certainly isn’t an option. You and Aizawa? The absolute nuclear fallout that would hit the office if that came out would be catastrophic. Hizashi can’t keep his mouth shut, so even hinting at what happened last night could be the end of whatever weird thing you and Shouta have, killing it before you can even name what it is. 

And being so close to launch? It could potentially hinder Aizawa’s image--

And your and Touya’s relationship.

“It was someone I met at the restaurant after you left-” Not completely a lie. “We just-- kissed, I guess. I didn’t want to, you know, do more.”

Hizashi kicks his feet in excitement. His shoes are on your bed- gross.

“Good for you, setting boundaries!” he says. “That’s growth!”

He goofs around for just a moment longer before settling.

“Why do you look so sad about it?” He’s quick to say.  “Did they do something?”

“No! No, it was nice, but-” you start. The truth feels heavy, yet silly at the same time. You know the reaction you’re about it get, and yet you say it anyway-  “I don't know, I started to think about Touya this morning and-”

Hizashi’s face falls so hard that you swear you can hear it. His hatred of Touya has never been a secret, but before Touya made his disappearing act, he at least kept his comments to a minimum. With no Touya, there’s no limit to Hizashi’s public loathing.

“I love you. So much.” He takes your hand in his. He’s still on his knees, hunched over you awkwardly, those damn shoes still on the bed. “But thought you were over this shitbag.”

You want to protest. He’s not a shitbag, he’s just having a hard time. He’s not a bad guy, the drugs just make him that way. He’s a good boy underneath all of the troubles, you know it’s true.

But you’ve run out of excuses years ago. All you can say is the truth: “I think I still love him.” 

Compassion contorts your friend’s face. “Oh, girl. Girl. You don’t.”

“Hizashi-” You try to slide away, but he doesn’t let you. 

“He treated you like garbage for years. Years!” The blonde squeezes your hand. “And he wasn’t loyal, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t kind or sober or-” 

“It's not like he abused me or something.” You say it so quickly that it feels tinny on your lips. Both of you go quiet for a second and Hizashi throws his hands up in surrender. He ducks his head low, not in defeat, but in a humble act, like a dog that’s pushed it’s boundaries a bit too far.  With a sigh, he sits back on his knees, allowing there to be space between you.

“I didn't say that,” he says carefully.  “It doesn't have to be abuse, that doesn't mean it's healthy.”  

There’s a hesitation, then he reaches out his hand again. You don’t take it, but he keeps it there, in the air, waiting for you.

“I just care about you. I know ‘muri and I get a bit too pushy and wild sometimes, but it’s because we want you to have fun for once. We-- we want you to be with someone that makes you feel good-- who thinks you’re the best thing in the world,” Hizashi says. “We want you to get what you deserve and Touya isn’t that.”

A different type of warm runs over you- a watery one, one that stings at your eyes. You aren’t sure where the well of emotion has come from, but it’s there, bubbling just under the surface. You try to sniffle without giving yourself away. 

“Would it be so bad to let yourself move on and try something new?” Hizashi smiles.  “Let yourself have a little fun for once?”

Reluctantly, you take his hand. He squeezes and coos, pulling your hand into an awkward faux-hug, right about his heart.

 “Let yourself have fun, let yourself live.”

“I’m gonna try to try.”

--

The convention itself goes smoothly. More people ask about Yagi, but the word seems to be spreading: he’s not here. He’ll never be here. The air is bittersweet, but Hizashi always recovers it for you. He keeps the conversation flowing back to work and the bed, with much more ease than you’ll ever have.

The only time you see Aizawa  is when he’s in your periphery. He’s in the corner, caught in some conversation with people whose names you’ve already forgotten. Tensei’s by his side, basking in the probable praise, while Aizawa just nods along. The presentation must have gone well, you gather from the attention they’re both getting. That’s both good and bad; the work deserves credit, but Aizawa…

What a heavy secret to carry. What a prominent shame. He didn’t want you to see, but he was okay with all of these strangers ogling him like a science experiment. 

Does that make you more important than those strangers? Or less?

You try to look for an opening to leave, but one never seems to come.

Only once do you catch him staring back at you, his expression too far away to be read. The thump of your heart steps out of rhythm for a moment before you get yourself together.

“I see you eyeing up Tensei,” Hizashi teases. “Are you sure he isn’t your mystery man?”

You deny it, but Hizashi is unconvinced.

----

The three of you finally reunite over dinner. This time, Hizashi swears he will stay the whole time.

This time, you don’t want him to.

You’ve settled into a different booth than you were in last night. Again, the chip basket is empty before Aizawa can arrive. He’s always running late for these things, either through lack of effort or lack or lack of time management. If he didn’t have a presentation tomorrow, you’d be annoyed, but you decide to give the man a break.

Though, you do wonder if you’ll be allowed to see this one. You’ll have to go, right? It’s about your company.

“I still can’t believe you managed to pick up Tensei with Aizawa right there.”  Hizashi leans back into the booth.

“It wasn’t Tensei,” you insist. “And he was distracted.”

“By what?”

You aren’t a quick liar. 

“Some girl.” Or a good one. “They went off together.”

You know you’ve fucked up by the look on Hizashi’s face. He sits up, staring at you from over his glasses with a slack jawed amazement.

“You're lying.” He sits up even more. “You're lying straight to my face right now.”

Fear thrums you so hard that your stomach almost revolts on impact. 

“I’ve never seen Shouta pick up a stranger, ever.” Hizashi throws his hands up in the air for effect. “Never, ever. Not even in college! ”

Looking back, you should have said he was struck by lightning. That would have been more believable. From what you remember, Aizawa doesn’t date very often - or at all. You can’t remember if he’s ever brought someone to a work event or even mentioned a partner.  (Which makes you feel equally bad and… special. Are you an exception to his rule? Are you different? 

…Or, more likely, he’s just a private guy. But you can pretend.)

“Well, uh, I dunno what to say.” You still haven’t come up with a better lie. “Ask him yourself.”

“I will!”

Good. That gives you time to text Shouta and warn him about that shit storm he’s about to enter. The two of you can come up with a lie that makes sense and won’t send Hizashi screaming. Suddenly, you’re grateful that Aizawa can’t show up on time for-

“Again with the chips?”

Fuck!!

As if summoned, Aizawa is behind you, shrugging off his jacket. He’s in the same suit as he was earlier, but a lot more disheveled after making it through the day. The social interaction really took it out of him; no wonder he’s so quiet at the office. You pat the seat next to you and he practically slumps into it.

“Please tell me you aren’t escaping again tonight,” he says to Hizashi.

“Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere, trust me.” That smile sets the whole table on guard. “I have too many questions.”

“If you had questions, you should have shown up to the talk,” Aizawa says. “Which went well, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask, asshole.”

“Should have been the first words out of your mouth.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. Sensitive. I didn’t think I needed to stroke your ego today! Should I start singing your praises now, or after we verbally jack you off for a bit?”

“We are in public, Mic, stop talking about jacking off.”

“How was your presentation, oh smart one?”

“It was--”  Aizawa stops himself mid sentence, brow furrowed as he turns directly towards you. “You’re being quiet.”

“Me?” you point to yourself as if you don’t know the answer. The accusation makes your heart race- or maybe it’s those sharp eyes, boring down into you. 

“Why are you being quiet?” he says with an accusatory glare. “What did you do?”

Hizashi erupts into a giggle and the attention is finally turned away from you. 

“I heard that you went home with someone-”

Aizawa’s gaze snaps to you.  It takes effort to press your lips down and keep a neutral expression; anxiety is trilling inside you, high and frail and wild, like a little flute in a marching band finale. The man tilts his head just a bit, eyes sharp and questioning, clearly trying to interrogate you while completely silent.

“Where did you hear that, Yamada?” Aizawa’s tone isn’t flat now. No, it’s pressed, stressed; he thinks you’ve told him everything. You try to gesture with just your eyes -- three normal blinks and wide eyes, like a makeshift morse code. This obviously fails.

“Little miss girl here-” Hizashi waggles his eyebrows and Aizawa’s pupils dilate with fear-  “told you you went home with a stranger from the restaurant.” 

Realization hits Aizawa’s expression, then, relaxation. His whole body turns to you with a belabored sigh. “You little snitch.”  

The smile you’ve been trying to fight erupts across your face.  You burst into a nervous giggle, one that you have to silence with your own hand. This is a dangerous line you’re walking; Hizashi isn’t a stupid guy- he’s going to figure out something’s wrong if either of you slip up.

“It’s true?” Hizashi gasps. “What? You? You?”

“Is it really so weird that I had sex with someone?” Aizawa says.  “You do it all the time.”

“You aren’t a hook up guy!” Hizashi peers from over his glasses.  “You’re a ‘third date and a bottle of wine’ guy!”

“When have I ever had a bottle of wine?”

“Okay, ‘third date and an air of desperation.’ How's that?”

Aizawa  wrinkles his nose and bares his teeth, barking out a canned laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Fuck off.” 

The shorter man sits back in his seat and uses his drink to gesture to you. “Why don’t you harass Miss Hickey over there instead?”

The attention shifts to you for only a moment before Hizashi waves you away with the back of his hand. He shifts forward on to his elbows, directly towards his friend..“She just made out with a guy, I don’t care about that-”

“-Hey!” you object. As if Aizawa isn’t the reason you’re bruised in the first place! The dark haired man is purposefully looking down his nose at you, expression taut. 

“Sorry, but I need every nitty gritty detail of Shouta’s night ASAP. “ Hizashi grinds you back on track.

The two of them have been friends since college, you remember. You’d never really been able to see the connection before; they’re both so different that they almost seem like they’d never mesh, but today they are huddled together like boys, mirroring each other’s movements. You wonder if there were lots of nights like these, gossiping over girls and wild nights.

Did Hizashi know him before the car accident?

“I’ll tell you later, Mic,” Aizawa says.  “After she’s gone.”

It’d be best to stay quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to be purposefully excluded.

“You don’t want to get dirty in front of me, huh?” you tease. Besides, you’d like to see what he comes up with. “I can handle it.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “I’m not a sharer.”

You turn away with a little shrug. “Hm.”

Aizawa almost doesn’t respond. The gears turn behind his eyes, slowly grinding away at his patience until he grits out a little: “What?” 

His knee bumps into yours under the table. It’s fleeting, but there. 

“I was just thinking-” you start. “Maybe you’re a bit of a coward.”

“Coward?” he replies.

“Afraid to gossip-” 

It’s Aizawa’s turn to huff. “Gentlemen don’t gossip.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” Hizashi barks out a laugh.

With another exhale, Aizawa closes his eyes. A moment, then another passes, before he opens them again, one brow raised. It’s the same expression a teacher would give to the class after too much clownery. No wonder the interns are terrified of the man, you’d be scared too if you weren’t so excited to see where this is going. 

“You really want me to tell you what I did last night?” He’s deadpan. “Really?”

Both of you nod. 

“Fine.” He throws his hands up in defeat.  “I met this woman at the bar. Bought her a cocktail-”

“What kind of cocktail?” you interject.

“What?” Aizawa stares at you, lip curled in frustration. You’re making lying harder and you know that, but excitement is driving you forward. The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward quite yet. “I don’t know- something sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Margarita. The spicy kind. She tasted like it all night.”

Aizawa is alarmingly good at lying. He does it with a straight face, minus the telltale curl of his lip, but Hizashi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy sitting on the edge of his seat. You’re still trying to reconcile all of the versions of him inside your head: the work version, the ‘lover’ you met, and this lackadaisical liar. 

“Keep going.” Hizashi urges.

“Then we went back to her room. Didn’t even make it to the bed.”

The way he lays down each word is slow, meticulous, purposeful; the narrative he builds is crafted especially for you, but you aren’t quite sure of his goal. 

“ Is that enough detail?”

“Boo-” Hizashi’s fanning the flame now too. “Not the fade to black storytelling!”

Aizawa ducks in close, resting on his forearms as he talks. His gaze flicks between you and Hizashi, but lingers much longer on you, flickering down to your lips every now and again. His timbre drops lower, gritty, rolling as he whispers. 

“We went back to her room-”

You’re watching his mouth a bit too intensely. 

“- I got on my hands and knees-”

He enunciates it slowly, so neither of you miss a moment. A shiver goes up your spine. There’s a weight to his breath, a genuine enjoyment. Would he get on his knees for you?

“And I  begged to eat her out.” 

He’s proud of it. Oh, he would get down for you. He’d plead for the privilege. His leg brushes against yours again, this time with pressure and purpose, and your skin crawls with excitement. It’s just a story. You know it’s not true. 

But the glint in his eye says that he wishes it wasn’t.

“And?” your voice shakes a bit. That’s his goal, isn’t it? To get you riled up? To make you regret forcing him into this situation?

Aizawa rubs the spot where his jaw connects with a slow, purposeful circle, like he’s trying to rub out a kinked muscle. It’s borderline boastful. “And that’s how I spent the night.”

Hizashi tips his head back and laughs so loudly that the table next to you stares. “Good for you!”

“Good for her,” Aizawa replies.

Hizashi rolls his eyes. “I almost forgot you’re a munch. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten any, so-”

“Watch it, Hizashi.”

You regret the question before you ask it. “Uh, what’s a munch?”

Both of them look at you.

“Well, it’s clearly not Touya,” Hizashi mumbles, and you shoot him a glare. 

“It’s a slang term for someone who really enjoys…” Aizawa trails off, cocking his head expectantly. 

“Eating pussy,” Hizashi finishes for him. 

Another thrill of excitement goes up your spine. Enjoys it? Is that even possible? The idea has you woozy. 

“Yeah, that’s totally not Touya,” you manage to say.

Hizashi makes another comment, but you can’t force yourself to focus on that. No, not when your heart is beating like this. It’s just words, a fake story, but there’s a silent promise to it as well. You wonder what would have happened last night if you said yes. Would he have spent the night between your legs, eating simply for your pleasure?

Want trembles in your hands as you pretend to check your phone. Is it pathetic? To be worked up over a silly little story, made up to cover your tracks? The waiter comes, you all order. Aizawa’s knee pumps against yours- once accidentally, once on purpose. You hope he doesn’t notice how you’re squirming in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body is craving pressure and attention. You think, maybe, if you move right, you could get the seam of your pants to hit just right-

What are you doing? This is pathetic. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You don’t wait for a response. Pushing up from the table, you turn down the back of the restaurant. The signs lead you into a little back hallway, tucked by the kitchen, where the lighting is respectfully dim. You have to wait a moment because the door is locked, but you don’t mind. It gives you time to mull over everything.

Maybe Hizashi is right; maybe it’s okay to try something new. It’s been years since you’ve felt this alive with someone, this excited to get something more. With Touya, sex became more of an obligation. Maybe it could be different with someone else. Maybe it could be something fun, something-

A hand catches you by the back of your shirt, not hard enough to yank you backwards, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.  A gasp squeaks out of you as you stagger back into the chest of the man behind you. You crank around to see- only to relax when you realize it’s just Aizawa.

“You scared me,” you mumble out a lament. 

“You little sneak.” With a thumb, he tilts your chin up, so far that you’re looking back at him. His other fingers press ever so nicely into the length of your neck, drawing you back into his chest. There’s nothing constricting your breath, but suddenly your lungs are empty, breathless, and your parted lips pull nothing in. Aizawa’s dark eyes are narrowed, boring straight down into yours.

Oh, he’s pissed. 

And, for the first time, that excites you.

“You like making me sweat, don’t you?” His free hand is looped around your waist, holding you much tighter than the other. “Almost getting us caught-- You make me so mad sometimes.” 

The kitchen is full of mumbled orders and the clang of dishware. It echoes through the dark hall you’ve trapped yourselves in, you aren’t alone, no matter how badly you wish it to be true.  

“Thought you liked me,” you whisper.

You swear there’s a subtle dilation to his eyes, involuntary. Real. “I do.”

He leans over and dots a simple kiss on to your forehead, right where your hair meets skin. It’s simple, soft, but, god, it sets everything inside you into this wet, wobbly, needy heat, something soft and harsh all at once.

“Even when you piss me off.” The hand around your neck twitches playfully, with no real constriction. 

It’s cliche, you think, how you just sort of watch each other, breathless, patient. Neither of you tries to make a move, locked together. He smells good. Not like anything you can name, just… good.  It’s the same good you feel in your chest and an equal good to how your hands feel when you reach backwards and grab his hips. 

“I’m starting to think you like making me mad.”

“Shouta-” you say his name because he likes it, because it makes him lean in closer to you-

The bathroom door flies open and you both pull away like you’ve touched a hot stove. The woman who exists definitely knows something’s up; she rolls her eyes and sends a text on her phone as she passes. The two of you share a look; you, relieved, Aizawa amused. It’s as if you're sixteen again, with this fluttering feeling in your stomach you can’t quite swallow down. It’s too bright to be anxiety.

Aizawa steps back a bit with a nod. Oh, right, the bathroom. You don’t actually have to go, but it would be silly to not go in now. Maybe you can just try to go-

You look back at your Aizawa.

Or maybe.

Or maybe you can have some fun.

With uncharacteristic confidence, you hook a finger under a button of his shirt and tug. Aizawa’s face goes bright with realization. He falls into following as you guide him forward into the bathroom, step by awkward step, backwards until the door opens against your weight. Aizawa glances around before the door closes after him, making sure to remain unspotted, then turns to you with a wicked, narrowed, glowering look. 

The bathroom is simple, but nice. The lighting is sharp and bright, the floor is white and clean. A decorative table is wedged into the corner, topped with extra towels and real flowers in water. Your brain can’t process more than that- not with a dark haired man wrapped around your finger. He has the forethought to lock the door behind him.

“What are you doing-?” he grumbles wickedly, ducking down to catch you in a kiss, but you don’t let him make contact. You dip away, drawing him further and further in, until you’re backed against the little decorative table. With his weight, he shifts you back until your ass is seated properly on that wiggly table, one hand back to brace yourself. Finally, he traps you, stubble rough against your cheek, lips soft against yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” he says into your lips. You don’t respond-- you can’t. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, the need to breathe replaced with the need for him, the need for touch-

You hook a leg over his waist and his hand flies to it, folding it higher, pulling it tighter. 

“Oh, you can’t help it, can you?” he mumbles. “One little story about eating pussy has you desperate for it, huh?”

“Y-you-” You hate that you can’t dirty talk smoothly like he can.

“Yeah?” He’s almost condescending. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat. Aizawa waits for it, hovering above you. Oh, he won’t give it to you until you really ask, will he? You have to physically brace yourself to say it.

“Will you kiss it?” you ask, much meeker than intended. 

“Kiss ‘it’?” You expect him to keep picking at you, but instead his hands are busy unbuttoning your pants, guiding them down. “Do you mean-”

His lips find your hickey and the spot aches under the connection. “Here?”

Creeping lower, he hunches over your chest. This time, he pecks at the hem of your shirt. “Here?”

Down he goes, on to his knees. This kiss lands in your stomach, right where the tightness of want sits-

“Here?”

“Shouta-” You’re mad and annoyed and you’d frankly settle for him kissing you anywhere at this point-

Hands slip your pants down past your knees. When the air hits your skin, you suddenly realize just how wet you are, how it’s bled through your panties and smeared across your thigh. Before you can process anything, his mouth is over your clothed cunt, wide mouthed and kissing. The drag of his tongue is a lot, even though the fabric; the contact has your spine flexing all on its own.

“Here?”

“There, there,” You’re clinging on to handfuls of his hair already. “Right there.”

But Aizawa doesn’t kiss you again. 

“In a public bathroom?” He’s watching you from the floor. Your leg is looped over his back. He’s surprisingly wide and thick under you; your legs have to spread so far to fit him. God, your body is plaint enough that it just gives to his pushing hands and demands.

 “You like it nasty.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond. Your brain is fried with a deadly combination of horny and embarrassed. Is this really what you want? 

“No, you don’t like it dirty, do you?” It feels like he’s reading your mind, hands kneading your thighs with a growing hunger. He plants a kiss where your legs meets your underwear and your cunt pulses in response. “My girl just needs it so bad, doesn’t she?”

Teeth sink into your inner thigh and you kick in response: another fucking hickey. The thing that got you into this mess-

“That’s right, my girl.” He’s talking to himself now, mumbling just under his breath. A finger loops under your panties, the same way your finger looped under his button, and there’s no time to feel shame before he exposes your pussy.  “You went home with me.” 

You expect him to go straight for your clit, to devour you with the fucking need that’s been building between you all goddamn night-

But, instead, he touches his lips to the crest of your mons and breathes. It’s hot, molten, pours down you like molten lava. It’s the faintest, tickling touch, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough. A moan rips out of you, so unexpected that you jump at your own voice. 

Usually, when you have sex, you’re worried about the small things. Whether or not you’ve shaved, whether you look thin enough or pretty enough, but now, the only thing you can think about is being touched, needing touch, desiring touch.

And the time.

“We-” He hasn’t even started and you’re quivering for it. “We gotta hurry before Mic-”

“I promised you-” Aizawa says, firmly. “That we’d go slow.”

Finally, gloriously, you feel the hot press of his tongue, dragging up through your excitement. Every inch he takes is painstakingly slow until he hits the nub of your clit. That contact is fast, fleeting, but it still sends you keening and gasping. Every important muscle inside you is bunched and coiled, filled with enough potential energy to set the whole fucking restaurant on fire. You’re going to cum. You’re going to cum from practically nothing.

The vase of flowers on the table is overturned. You don’t even remember knocking it over. Water pools under your ass and everything is wet, from you, to the mess, to his drool across your inner thigh. His mouth closed over you the same way someone would eat a peach, sucking with this absurdly lewd sound as if he’s afraid to let any of your excitement escape. His jaw moves slow - just like he fucking promised- and doesn’t miss an inch of skin as he closes his mouth, lips coming closed around your clit. The pressure feels heavenly against the already puffy parts of your pussy and your hands clasp his dark locks tighter. You aren’t sure if you’re trying to pull him away or pull him closer; your body is just reacting, like neurons are firing all on their own.

Fingers clamp around your thighs. Aizawa is groaning, voice so low it vibrates against you, as if he’s the one receiving it, not you. Enjoys eating pussy… the memory rings through your skull. Fuck, what an understatement; he eats pussy like he needs it to live. His eyes are lidded heavy with pleasure. Every lick and suck and touch along the tapestry of your cunt is wet and wild, but aggravatingly skilled. The heat of his mouth against your clit - firm, but not hard- is enough to steal your breath away.

Then, he pulls away, and your pleasure begins to unravel-- unfairly fast. You hadn’t realized how close to the precipice you had been until you started falling away. The feeling is disastrous. 

He speaks with a heady exhale, warm and not nearly enough. “You taste-”

“Shut up,” Now you’re definitely pulling his face back towards you this time. “Shut up, shut up, shut up-”

He silences himself with your cunt. 

This time, there’s no savoring. His lips and tongue are on your clit, sucking in mouthfuls of your folds, bouncing against the involuntary roll of your hips. Everything inside you is hot and sticky, thick like honey. You’re saying something, maybe, but it’s all high pitched and garbled. The rub from Aizawa's stubble sends a chill up your spine and the hot and cold inside you melts into something smooth-

You can feel your orgasm coming long before it hits, everything inside you pulling high and tight, like the ocean rolling before a wave. The crest hasn't hit, but it's going to come, you're going to cum-

And then you look down, and Aizawa's staring back at you, with those dark, hooded eyes, and you unravel. It’s not my other orgasms you've had: a full body feeling, like the flush to warmth you get when alcohol hits your stomach. It rolls, through you, away from you, against you- in every fucking direction until every ounce of tension is smoothed from your muscles. Boneless had always sounded silly, but now you understand exactly what it means; you slump back and try to catch your breath.

Aizawa’s movements slow, but never stop. He runs the flat face of his tongue against you until you gather the energy you shove him back. For a split second, a string of your cum ties between you and his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe. Your surroundings feel more tangible suddenly. The sink drips, the walls echo the restaurant’s soft muzak, Aizawa’s cheeks glimmer with your wetness: it’s all suddenly real.

“I cannot believe-” He wipes his face on his sleeve.

“Shit,” you repeat. That was insane. You were insane! Your friend is waiting at the table, probably wondering what happened to you two-

“-that you let me do that. You came so--”

“Shit.” This is exactly what you needed. “I’ve never-”

Aizawa sits back on his knees with a stiff grunt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never orgasmed before.”

“No! I’ve totally-” You awkwardly shimmy up your pants and instantly regret it. It’s wet. It’s cold. “No one’s ever gone down on me before.”

Aizawa gives you the slowest, longest blink you’ve ever seen. Then, he shakes his head and stands up, brushing his pants off. You debate asking if his leg hurts, but decide against it. “How do you continuously say things that make me want to go insane?” 

He huffs about it, but you’re starting to unravel the strings of affection he weaves into his sentences. You shrug, biting back your smile.

“I’m just special, I guess.”

Eyes closed, he gives you a nod, tempering himself.

“Go back to the table before we’re caught.”

Fuck-- that’s right. You two have been gone for long enough that it's starting to get suspicious. Besides, there’s going to be a line outside the door if you don’t get moving soon- if there isn’t a line already. You quickly check your outfit and adjust your hair in the mirror; your skin looks brighter than usual. The power of an orgasm, you guess.

“Don’t  you want me to…?” You give a little jerk off motion and Aizawa rolls his eyes at the behavior-- as if he didn’t just eat your pussy in a fucking bathroom.

“I don’t want you to do anything to me,” he insists. He helps you off of the table with a hand, then ushers you towards the locked door. “I want to lay you down and eat you out until your brain factory resets like a cheap Macbook.”

He’s already done that, but okay, you could be down for more-

“But we are in a bathroom.” He gestures around him.  “In a restaurant.”

You add: “With Hizashi waiting.”

“With Mic waiting. He’s smart- he’ll figure us out if we aren’t careful,” he agrees. “Now, get out there and cover me.”

Suddenly, Aizawa leans over and kisses you. It’s not deep, but you can taste your musk on his lips and that makes your spine thrill with excitement.  It’s illicit in a way that makes you feel young and happy and, and, and-

And all those weird, indescribable highs you get when your brain is drowned in dopamine and oxytocin. For a fleeting moment, you reach out and grab his hands, holding on for only a squeeze.

“Your room tonight?” you ask when he pulls away. Your head is still racing, head still swimming-

He grimaces. “Yours has better pillows.”

“I brought them from home.” He was in your bed last night, in your pussy moments ago, but the fact he knows your pillow feels so strangely intimate. “I like silk pillowcases.”

The expression in his face softens, just at the crowed corner of his eyes. “Of course you do.” He jerks his chin towards the door.  “Get going.”

“Sho-”

“Get.”

And you walk out with wobbly knees.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena didn’t mean to overhear. She was at the bar to grab a drink, and was taking it when she noticed Kara and Alex conspiring intently together. It was a private moment, a sister moment, so she shouldn’t have listened, and yet she did anyway.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t want to ruin your wedding.”

“You’re not, kiddo. This isn’t the wedding, this is just a little night out. I’ll be happy if we get through the ceremony without a bridge collapse or an alien invasion or whatever.”

Everyone was having a good time. Kelly was with James, who’d come in from out of town for the ceremony tomorrow. Nia leaned back to Brainy as she made a giggling attempt to hit the dart board. The other guests were milling about, mingling and chatting and getting tipsy.

Lena felt more than a little maudlin, because Kara was hanging with Alex and that left Lena alone in the crowd.

“I’m so happy for you,” Kara was saying, “I just hope I get it myself some day.”

“You’ll find someone, Kara. You’re a beautiful, amazing person- not Supergirl, you.”

Lena pretended not to notice them, nursing her scotch. (A double, neat)

“That’s just it,” Kara choked out. “There is someone, Alex. There already is. She just won’t ever want me like I want her.”

Lena looked up in absolute shock and at the absolutely, perfectly wrong time. Alex’s eyes met hers, her expression as shocked as Lena’s was.

Rushing away from the bar, Lena headed for the pinball machines, not looking back. She downed the rest of her scotch in a coal-hot rush and it only added to the churning in her belly. She swallowed hard and her throat was instantly dry, and she cursed the afterburn of the liquor.

“You heard her.”

Lena wheeled. Alex was standing behind her, a beer in either hand. She handed one to Lena.

“You know what they say about liquor after beer,” said Lena.

“Lena, we both have advanced degrees and we both know that’s bullshit.”

That was good, because Lena downed half the brew in one long pull.

“Jesus,” said Alex. “I was trying to get you to slow down.”

“Yeah, well,” said Lena. “I’m Irish.”

Alex snorted. “You’re deflecting. You heard what she said.”

“Maybe.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’ve been through five fucking years of this and I’ve had enough, Lena.”

“Enough of what?”

“Kara’s wrong about your feelings.”

Lena blinked, took another pull. “How do you know she means me?”

Alex looked at her flatly.

“How do I know it’s you? Because she always rescues you. She’s always defended you. She gave you chance after chance and never gave up even when you were at your worst. Kara would die for you. A fifth dimensional imp offered to grant her wish and she didn’t wish for her planet or her parents or to have our dad back. She wished for you. For a second chance.”

“Fifth dimensional what?”

“She reversed time for you, Lena.”

Lena gaped at her.

“What do you mean? She did what?”

“She made me swear never to tell. There was a time when she was too slow, when she was already in the middle of a disaster when you got shot. She’s the only one who remembers that timeline because she fixed it. She flew at superluminal speed and went backwards in time so she could be in two places at once. Apparently a Kryptonian can do that, but she swears it can only be done the one time.”

Lena’s beer was sloshing in the bottle from the shaking of her hands.

“For God’s sake, Lena. I know you’re in love with her. You two had a bad breakup without even dating first. You spent a billion dollars to hang out with her at work. You filled her office with flowers. You let her in, you let her bring you into our family, and you forgave her for doing something really fucked up and you forgave me for pushing her to do it.”

Alex clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“Lena, sack up and go get your girl. She’s at the bar crying into a Shirley Temple because I cut her off. She’s waiting for you.”

Lena stared at her.

“Alex, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Go. Get. Her.”

Lena looked at her beer, downed the last of it, and gave Alex a curt nod, marching past her.

Kara was sitting at the bar. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a loose N’Sync t-shirt and leather sandals. She was among friends here and had removed her glasses, her hair in a sloppy ponytail. She looked like she’d rather sulk at home than party.

Lena hopped on the stool next to her.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Lee. Having fun?”

“Not really,” said Lena. She waved the bartender away as he approached to offer her another drink. “I’m kind of down honestly.”

“Weddings always depress me,” said Lena. “Watching other people get all the happiness I’ll never have, basking in their joy for a while. It’s like sitting by the fire in someone else’s house, but eventually you have to go home to your own and it’s empty.”

Kara’s eyes glittered with tears. “Yeah. It does feel like that, doesn’t it?”

Lena rested her hand on Kara’s wrist.

“May I have this dance?”

Kara looked up sharply.

“This isn’t really a dancing kind of place.”

Lena snorted. “I’m a billionaire. I can do what I want.”

She slipped off her stool and offered Kara a hand.

Kelly and Alex had reunited. They were talking animatedly, and Alex pointed at Lena. Suddenly she rushed over to the jukebox as Lena took Kara’s hand and led her to an open space.

The music changes to Wonderful Tonight. Eric Clapton.

Lena was going to kill Alex.

“Huh,” said Kara.

It seemed natural that Kara would lead, being taller and more graceful by far, but Lena put a hand on her hip and rested the other on her shoulder, wondering if Kara could feel her pounding pulse through her palms.

It started with them like middle schoolers, half a foot awkwardly apart, movements jerky, but it quickly changed. Lena didn’t know who bridged that gap first but soon they were pressed body to body, Kara tilted forward to rest her forehead against Lena’s.

Lena went from chastely pressing a guiding hand to Kara’s flank to an arm looped lazily around her hips, hand resting gently against her ass. Her other hand moved from Kara’s shoulder to her neck, thumb grazing Kara’s jawline.

Kara, hesitantly, reciprocated, less dancing with Lena and more swaying with her in a meandering hug. They were so close that Lena’s head swam.

“Do you remember when you first got back from the Phantom Zone?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” said Kara. “When I came back and I saw you standing there, I could barely take it. You looked like an angel.”

Lena nodded gently, nudging closer to Kara until she could feel the presence of the other woman’s lips without touching.

“You looked like you wanted to kiss me.”

Kara’s entire body went briefly rigid, then relaxed.

“You could have,” Lena whispered. “You could have and I’d have kissed you back. I swear I can think of a dozen times when you were about to kiss me and I wanted it right then, I wanted it so bad.”

Kara choked back a small sob. “I remember the first time I thought about it. It was when Morgan Edge was framing you and you were so upset, you were crying. You were so sad and beautiful and soft and I wanted to kiss you right then. I wanted to make you feel better any way I could.”

“That would have been a great time.”

Kara laughed. “That would have been a good time. Maybe the best time.”

“The second best time is now.”

Lena looked up. They were holding each other now and Lena knew there were eyes on them, that their friends were watching.

Kara didn’t seem to notice or care. There was a fresh sparkle in her eyes, wide and nervous, her lips trembling in a half smile. She didn’t seem to know what to make of what Lena said, perhaps questioning if she’d heard right.

Poor Kara, her Kara, would find any excuse to steal the happiness from her own hands, to martyr herself, to seek penance for a crime that she never committed. Lena knew her guilt, felt in sing in her own soul like a kind of magnetic resonance.

Lena Luthor did not believe in silly things like soulmates or fate or destined lovers.

But she believed in Kara Danvers, and Kara Danvers kissed her. Lena barely registered it at first, so gentle was the brushing of Kara’s soft lips against her own. She gave Kara no chance to retreat into embarrassment or confusion, kissing her back so intensely that there could be no mistaking the intent. When she did, it was like seeing the stars for the first time, and a pleasant warmth pooled low in the cradle of her hips.

Kissing Kara felt like coming home.

They were staring at each other. Lena drank the sight of Kara staring at her, shocked expression full of an elation, a pure excited joy that magnified her stunning beauty a thousandfold until Lena thought she might die of pure love for this woman that she held in her arms. She went in for another kiss and this time, neither hesitated.

Alex’s voice cut through it all. “Hey, you two. Get a room.”

She was by the jukebox, grinning ear to ear despite Kelly’s scowl. Before either of them could react, Alex dropped a coin in the jukebox and played… the fucking Macarena.

“I don’t know whether to murder her or send her a gift basket,” Lena snapped.

Kara curled a finger around Lena’s chin and their eyes locked.

“Maybe we should get a room,” Kara whispered.

Lena swallowed hard.

“What are we waiting for?”

Kara took her hand, and stuck out her tongue at her sister as they left the bar.

[terrortwinz]

Consistency is so vitally important. Kids subconsciously crave the stability. That means follow through with what you said you’d do. That means stick to a schedule like it’s set in stone.

When they are tantruming, they are not at a place where they can listen so just be a safe person. Keep them safe. Help them calm if they allow it. Wait them out. When they finally calm, you can problem-solve. (“What happened?” - also don’t assume you know what happened because you witnessed it. Make them tell you what happened to set them off.)

Explain yourself to them. They can understand your reasoning. Don’t assume your directions or rules are clear and understandable to them. (“When you clean up your toys it makes it safe to walk in. It gives you room to play with other toys. We clean up so we can go to lunch.” Etc.)

Let them explain things to you that you already know about. Pretend you don’t know anything about their discovery. Let them talk. Remember that the world is still a place of wonder for them and don’t ruin it by being an adult piece of shit with only one perspective. Ask open-ended questions! It prompts their brains to critically think.

Don’t be afraid to pick the fight with kids but follow through and see it to the end. When you show up and set standards for them, they subconsciously know you’re a person whom they can trust because you care enough to not abandon them at their “worst”.

Don’t do everything for them - make them try first. Guide them.

Play with them. I cannot stress this enough. Kids learn through play. Play is how you spend quality time with them.

Let them get involved in what you’re doing - have them help with laundry (they can sort!), let them help with meals (science! Measuring!), let them help with cleaning. So much good learning happening while also getting in quality time.

Read books to them. Read the words. Examine the pictures. Identify the characters emotions. Explore problem-solving solutions. Try to remember what happens next. Act the book out. Go on a letter hunt. There’s no wrong way to read a book to kids except not doing it.

Remember, with kids, it’s not about you. It’s about them. Be present. Engage. Get to know them as people with interests and opinions that are all valid.

Their brains are little sponges - they pick up everything, so to reiterate the above, watch what you say.

How to talk to children

This is based on decades of experience as an uncle and as an older brother.

Never forget that children are just as much people as adults are.

Kids 10 years or younger (and sometimes older than that) don’t get sarcasm or irony, so don’t use them.

If a child has difficulty pronouncing a word, don’t copy their misprounciation when speaking to them. They can hear the word just fine. It could sound to them like you’re making fun of them.

(Yes, this means no babytalk)

Don’t be dismissive.

Listen to what they’re saying.

To get on the same eye-level, don’t bend over or squat: it seems condescending. Kneeling or sitting are better.

It should go without saying that you should respect children’s body autonomy. Don’t force affection on them.

Respect children’s emotional autonomy as well. Let them be angry. Let them be sad. Don’t force them to be happy.

Let children like things. Don’t run down the things they like just because you find them cringy.

Don’t think that you know better.

To children, adults are giants. Be a big friendly giant.

Don’t stifle children’s curiosity.

Don’t stifle children’s enthusiasm.

To quote Sondheim, “Be careful the words you say, children will listen.”

Don’t look down on children.

[xetlynn]

season 2 claggor x fem reader maybe they get caught making out?? thank you for keeping the tag alive 

of courseee and thank you!!!<3

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Preheat

[arcane] [main page]

Summary: in which you and claggor get caught in a lil steamy moment.

“We’ll see you guys later!” Powder and Ekko wave goodbye, leaving our home to go out on a well-needed date. Claggor, Mylo and you tell them to have fun and enjoy themselves. You bring your legs up on the couch, playing around with your necklace. “Welp, this is boring. I’m leaving.” Mylo stands up, grabbing his jacket. He doesn’t even say anything when walking out the door.

 

Claggor and you turn to one another before chuckling. “We have the house to ourselves it seems.” He smiles. The corners of your lips doing the same movement. “What should we do?” You ask, holding onto your knees. The two of you had recently started dating after being friends since you two were children. You were raised by a close friend of Vander’s and Benzo’s. You had grown close with the others, especially Powder, being best friends. Claggor was her older brother and it felt weird to go after him but then he pursued you. It was kept a secret from the others and still is. You didn’t know how to tell Powder you were dating Claggor at all. Not knowing how to bring it up. 

“Want to cook?” He proposes and you purse your lips, shrugging your shoulders as if to say “why not.” He stands up from his chair, going over to you to help you up. 

You lead the way to the kitchen. “Pizza?” You tilt your head, opening the fridge. “Sounds good.” He hums, getting the cutting board out along with the flour and oil. You grab the cold ingredients. 

“I hope it turns out better than when Mylo did it.” You comment, throwing the stuff on the counter. Claggor laughs, “I don’t think we’d have the skill to catch the pizza on fire and only burn the inside.” He shakes his head, remembering when Mylo woke everyone screaming that there was a fire. “Fun times.” You whisper. 

You leave the room momentarily to put on some music before joining back. “Alright, let’s start.” You roll your sleeves all the way up to wash your hands before actually touching anything. Claggor had already done that when you left the kitchen. 

The two of you start off together before you get distracted by the song that came on. Dancing around the room, pretending to smack your boyfriend’s butt. He didn’t mind taking care of the pizza, this usually happens when you cook. In the middle of it you’d get bored or distracted by something small. Forgetting about the ingredients on the counter. 

“Alright, did you preheat the oven?” He asks suddenly, already knowing the answer though. You forgot to do it. Your arms drop to your sides with a frightened expression. He bursts out laughing. “It’s okay, babe. I figured you wouldn’t have.” He kisses your forehead and you frown. “Rude.” You cross your arms and look away. “But true.” You mutter. He gets the oven started and you both watch it heat up, leaning on the opposite counter. 

“Sorry.” You say sadly, upset that you can’t have the pizza sooner. “It’s okay, I promise.” He snorts, pulling you into his chest, hugging you. “I’m so hungry.” You whine, tugging on the chest of his shirt. 

“Same, but it’s only going to take a couple minutes.” He says, but right as he says that the oven dings meaning that it’s done heating up. He lets me go and you  open the oven door for him as he grabs the pizza and sets it in. Shutting the oven. 

“Set the timer.” He points over to the tiny little timer next to the oven on your side. You set it to twenty-five minutes, clapping your hands after placing it down. Since you two had some time you decided to go back to the couch and cuddle for a little bit. You were snug between the cushion and partly on top of him. Legs tangled together. He pets your head as you stare at the coffee table. Only thinking about how good his fingers feel on your scalp. 

He stops after a couple minutes, staring down at you. “You’re very pretty, y’know.” He compliments, you lift your head to look at him. “Really? Say more.” You tease making him snicker. “I could compliment you all day.” His hands travel down to your waist, rubbing up and down. “I’d love to hear just a few.” You cross your arms on his chest to rest your chin on them. 

“You’re very smart even though you get easily distracted.” He begins and you pout. “Not off to a good start.” His body shakes under you with laughter. “Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes. 

“You are incredibly kind, I don’t understand why. Kind to people who don’t deserve it. Also just beautiful. Your inside matches the physicality and not a lot of people can say the same.” He tells you. “So nice on the eyes. More than nice. I love admiring you.” His hands start to get lower and lower on your back/ hips. “An amazing kisser.” He raspily says when his face gets closer to yours. 

“You think so?” You hum, eyes flickering between his lips back to his eyes. “I know so.” He pecks your lips. You slowly move your legs so that you are straddling him now. You butt right above his crotch. 

“Let’s make sure I’m truly right though.” He sits himself up a little more and kisses you. 

You moan into the kiss, lips cushioning one anothers. You press further onto him, gripping his shirt for dear life. “Mm, you drive me crazy.” He musters taking a small breather before getting right back to making out. His tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You open your mouth allowing it. 

He takes it and battles with your own tongue. Going back and forth not even noticing the fact that the front door opened. 

You move his hand from your back down to your ass before bringing your own hand to the back of his neck. Not wanting to let him go. He grips your clothed flesh. You pull a little bit on his hairs on the back of his head on accident, getting a low groan in response, vibrating your lips. His free hand is holding you tightly by your waist. Making sure you were right against his torso. 

You do it for another time to take another breather, but really it was because you wanted to do something more. “Wow!” A voice laughs from the corner of the living room, startling you both. You jump off of Claggor. “In the family room!?” Ekko grips onto his stomach with laughter as Powder was trying to bite her own giggles. Claggor and your faces flushing tremendously. “I- sorry.” You put your head down, not believing that neither of you heard the door open or close. 

“We already knew about you two, don’t worry.” Powder puts her purse on the hook. “You guys made pizza?” Ekko excitedly asks, heading to the kitchen. 

“It’s not… done yet.” You say, not understanding why they’re home from their date not even an hour into it. “Oh can’t wait to eat it then.” He chuckles from the kitchen. Powder smacks her brothers back, plopping down on the couch. “Have fun there, didn’t ya.” She teases him. He rolls his eyes. 

“[Name], you okay? You look mortified?” She asks me and you turn to her, blinking slowly. “You knew?” 

“Of course we knew, you two are not discrete… whatsoever.” She smirks up at you. “And you just let me think you didn’t know!?” You cry out, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Mm I knew you’d tell me when you wanted to or I’d “find out” like this.” She uses finger quotations then does a hand motion to the room. 

“At least we don’t have to hide it anymore, babe.” Claggor stands up, rubbing your back. “Doesn’t stop the shame I am feeling right now.” You turn into his chest, still hiding your face. 

“Bleh, babe.” Powder mocks, playfully gagging. “Oh you can’t be talking, sweetie.” Ekko sits down beside his girlfriend and you turn to see her face turn red. “Shut up.” She looks away. 

[sliced-peaches]

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!